Monday, December 27, 2010

The Tragic Invention of the Epobmomic Macarbomy

Sometimes, I don't have very good pronunciation. This often happens after I do a bad rendition of a song I hate, during which I mash up the words and put on a silly voice, or after I just haven't been paying attention and I was JUST brought back into the world by some phrase that I somehow understood in or out of context. Last night, it was the second.

I was trying to fix a hand in a drawing I've been working on making wonderful, looking up to go back to the reference picture because I wanted to do the hair instead, when I heard, coming from the television in the next room over, something about people getting excited about the economy starting to get better. I heard the newscaster say, "a economic..." and I can't remember the second word because I just cannot decipher what it used to be before I mispronounced it. But, being the grammar-loving mispronouncer I am, I immediately felt this extremely undeniable urge to correct the TV because it wouldn't hear me and thus wouldn't get angry. I screamed at once, "AN epobmomic macarbomy!!!!" I guess my mom was able to tell what I meant, because she confirmed that I was right, and we went back to doing our own things (for me: Facebook. For her: TV).

So, I've decided that "epobmomic macarbomy" is a medical procedure used to remove the Epobma (a newly found virus) from various limbs on one's body. The condition is called Epoba. It is a serious and sometimes fatal condition. It is also highly contagious. However, it is only transmittable through direct contact between fingernails and toenails.

I had a similar endeavor once at a festival I attend twice a year. There was a sing-along happening, and the song where I said something stupid was a song about cats. It was a song about cats and half the song was a bunch of cat puns that the audience had to shout out. It was quite fun, and I felt so clever whenever I came up with one! Then came this:
What kind of cat is a total disaster?
I knew it, I knew it, and I shot quickly out of my strange in-head world and yelled, "CATASTROPHOGY!"
Somehow, the man running it understood that I meant to say ,"catastrophe," and we kept going.

You're Either Going to Love Me or Hate Me after Reading This Joke.


(Who's there?)

The ox.

(The ox, who?)


I thought of that one on the toilet.

A Breakthrough

I got a comment. :3

Thanks, Cat Woman. You're the first one in a month an a half.


Saturday, December 25, 2010

The Magic Wigglee (AKA: What I Got for Christmas)

I don't celebrate Christmas, and this is probably due to the fact that I am a Jew. However, this year, my siblings and I got a couple gifts. You know, we got some small things, like little calendars (mine had sleepy kitties!!!!), some chocolate, et cetera. But the seemingly greatest gift we got was a Magic Wigglee. It is this little, fluffy creature that you suspend from an "invisible" string (attached to the nose) and you make it do stuff-- I mean, it does stuff on its own. Observe.

The reason you hear me saying "crap" at the end is because the "invisible" string came off its nose.

But just imagine the kinds of adventures I could have with the Magic Wiglee!! I could-- no. Not really. Merry Christmas, everyone. I watched "A Christmas Story" twice last night, the second time with commentary. It did not snow.

I'm waking to a... greeeeen Christmaaaaas...

Monday, December 13, 2010

There Is Something Wrong with This Toilet.

The other day, I had a Spanish test. For me, Spanish comes pretty naturally, and I'm generally good at it, if I do say so myself, so I was finished with my test pretty quickly. When I was finished, I brought up my test to the teacher's desk and asked if I could go to the bathroom (in Spanish, yo!) and she said yes (in Spanish, yo!), so I thanked her (in Spanish, yo!) and left the room.

Now, in the pockets of my blue-green-teal-bluegreen coat, I carry various items, from an anti-polio button (which is now ON the pocket, thank you very much), to a big, blue highlighter, to a bag of rubber bands, to a couple of caution tape bandages, to a plastic horse (NOTE: The plastic horse was found in my pocket when I was in seventh grade, then ate a hole in my pocket later in the year, and I had to leave it at home, on my night table. I haven't seen him since. My hypothesis is that he left to see his boyfriend, Roxy, in England. I found Roxy, a Barbie horse, then lost him. I don't know where he is. I guess they're both in England. Someday, I'll post about them. Maybe.). This knowledge will come in handy later, making the rest of this story seem a lot less weird.

I went to the bathroom. I entered the bathroom. I counted the stalls (six), left out the handicapped one (five), then found the third one (the middle one). I opened the door. I went inside. I hung my coat on the hook on the backside of the door (those things become useful at wonderful times!). I pulled down my pants, etc. I sat down on the toilet. I did my business.

(NOTE: I was not that animated or excited about going to the bathroom, nor was the toilet smiling at the wall. Or you. Probably.)

When I was finished with my business, I pulled up my pants etc., put on my coat, and slammed my foot down on the lever thing that flushes the toilet. And slammed my foot down on the lever thing that flushes the toilet. And slammed my foot down on the lever thing that flushes the toilet. And kept my foot there for about three minutes, waiting for the toilet to just flush already because if I didn't go back within the next minute or so then the class would probably either assume that I went to get something to eat, was doing drugs, or was terminally ill. Eventually, I gave up. I took a long piece of toilet paper, stretched it across the top of the toilet paper dispenser (which looked something like this:

except without a smile. The toilet paper rolls were, however, visible, and looked a little like giant eyes. Creepy. Also, the toilet paper does not have those nice little rippy places. You have to do that on your own. I just needed a way to make it more identifiable as toilet paper.), and wrote the following in blue highlighter, which I had in my right coat pocket:

I then hung it between the handle of the toilet and the ladies' garbage bin thing that is attached to the wall between the stalls. After doing this, I awkwardly left the stall and went to the sink to wash my hands. While I was washing in water that was too freaking hot (I'm highly surprised that my hands didn't burn right then and there) for washing, a girl walked into the bathroom. She walked past me. She stepped into my stall. She read the note. She went into the next stall.

Another life saved by none other than me. Yes. I plan to go back into that bathroom at some point in the near future to check on the toilet. Maybe it will have been fixed by now. Maybe it won't. I hope it is fixed. It probably isn't.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Apparently, Polio and the Bubonic Plague are Still Being Protested. By Me.

So, when I was seven years old, maybe younger, probably younger, I went to a science museum. Maybe it was some other sort of museum, but it was probably a science museum. At this museum, there was an exhibit on polio. I had no idea what "eradicated" meant, and I also just obviously didn't understand that it was no longer a big threat to the United States, so I picked up a button that looks something like this:

Correction: It looks exactly like that, because it IS that.

I took it completely seriously and was absolutely convinced that it was a total threat to my life, and I had no idea that I had had a vaccination for it when I was a baby, which was probably due to being too young to remember such a thing. Well, recently I found this pin again and showed it to my brother.

BROTHER: What is that?

ME: An anti-polio badge. (NOTE: I considered saying, "I got it when I defeated Virusia, the leader of the Polio Gym in Appendages City." I didn't say it.)

BROTHER: [starts to laugh] You know polio was eradicated in the USA, right? You're protesting something that's no longer a threat. Where did you even get that?

ME: A museum when I was something like seven years old... or younger...

BROTHER: That's hilarious.

So I wore it to school the next day, on my hat. When my "twin" saw it, she said, "What is that?" I told her, then started chanting, "No more polio! No more oppression!" She joined in with, "No more bubonic plague!! No more unfair stuff!!" We had some good laughs.

The button now sits proudly on my right coat pocket.

FUN FACT: My first time spelling "eradicated" for this post looked like "raticate," like the pokemon, but with an extra "er" at the beginning and a "d" at the end.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

The Two Most Disappointing Clementines EVER

I just had the second most disappointing clementine ever.

It was not ripe, or something. It was the most tasteless fruit I've had since I can remember. It was bland and boring. It was everything that a clementine is not, except for orange, round, and beautiful. But it wasn't orange on its inside: It was white-ish. That is probably a sign that it was not fully ripened. Problem.

Tomorrow, or something, we're going to get a box of better, different clementines. It's happening. And they will be delicious. Fixed.

First most disappointing clementine ever: It was a tangerine.

So was the rest of its box...

...which said "CLEMENTINES" on it.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

How Having Legs and Arms Stopped Me from Getting in Trouble with the Teacher

Okay, so, at our school, there's four lunch waves. When I have math class, I go to third lunch. There are twenty minutes between each ringing of the bell, and then the kids at lunch have ten minutes before they have to go back to class. Today, I had math class, but the teacher said, "Guys, this is my fifth class in a row today. I haven't had a chance to drink coffee, or eat food... you want to go to second lunch?" So, when the second lunch bell rang, we got up and left the classroom, and the door was locked, as per usual.

At lunch, I realized that I should never, ever agree to go to second lunch on days when I have math class during lunch block, because there's almost nobody there who is my friend, so I awkwardly sit across the table from two girls from my class and one other, one of those two girls maybe angry at me but I'm not even sure. What a joy. What a life. What a chance. ("Thank You for the Music" --ABBA)

Finally, the bell sounded for third lunch, and I watched the friends around me grow abundant, and I chatted for a while. It did not occur to me until about "seven minutes" later that the three second lunch girls had all disappeared. I finished the story I was telling and I zoomed off to the classroom. When I got there, I was not greeted by (to put in more realistic terms: I did not come across) the usual crowd of my fellow math students. Two boys were exiting the bathroom and got to the door at the same time as me, however. Each of us tried opening the door...

But it was locked...

...and nearly everyone else was inside.

I checked my watch. This could not be for real. This only happens in TV shows. Right?

We tapped on the window of the door. My friends inside and the other people saw us, and two girls (one my friend, the other not) came to the door to open it. I was the nearest to the part of the door with no hinges (the part where it can swing open) and. The door was opened about a foot before the teacher said, "No, close the door." The door was about to be closed right in my face, but I pushed it open just enough to jump in over the trash can that was next to the doorway, and I made it safely inside, and sat down. The teacher somehow, luckily, did not notice. Somehow, neither did my friend who came to open the door. I said her name and she turned around, and said, "Wait, how'd you get inside??" I told her, "I jumped."

Then the teacher went out to talk to the other kids who had come late. He seemed really mad. I was safe. I was okay. I was safe.

I thanked the other girl, while the teacher was outside, for not shutting the door on my nose.

Then I reset my watch to say what the school clocks say.


Tuesday, November 30, 2010


I went to the dentist yesterday because I had to get some work done on two teeth. Here's what happened:

Good news: It ended up not happening. Bad news: It will happen. Good news: I won't care. Bad news: It'll happen.
I got there, and I was totally freaking out and I was so scared that I was even less audible than usual and I was basically about to break into tears and then this new dentist lady I've never met came out and she was a brown-haired blond, basically (or was she blond? I think so, but I can't remember. She seemed a little ditzy) and she was very, very smiley and nice and I bet it was her first week on the job because she seems to love, love, love her job.
And she somehow heard stuff when I said stuff.
And then she brought me back into the room place with the chair and I clutched my Harry Potter book as if it was the last thing I'd ever be able to feel, and she talked to me about how she recently saw the seventh movie but hadn't seen any of the preceding ones (this confounded me, but I didn't say anything bad, I just told her to see the other ones) and then she started telling me how much she was in love with Twilight and that's when I started wishing I could just stop talking to her and then the real dentist came in.
He took his mirror thingy and his hook thingy and started looking around inside my mouth and I was about to flip out and then he asked me why I was so scared and I said, "Numb." So he asked me what part of the numb I hated and I said, "All of it. I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it." I didn't mean to say it but I guess I did. And then he asked if my mom was still there and I verified it and he disappeared and the new lady started talking to me again.
And then he came back and said that there was good news and bad news and asked which I'd like to hear. So I said that I would like to hear both so that I'd know what he was going to do to me, and he told me, "We're going to do something that we did for your brother. You're experiencing a large amount of anxiety. You are very anxious and I can see it in the way that you are sitting here. So we're going to let you go home. That's the good news. The bad news is that you will be coming back. But it's going to be during the holiday vacation, when you're free of all school-related stress and you can get a good night's sleep--" I have no idea how he knew that, for the past three nights, I had been waking up in the middle of the night, but he somehow did. "--and you're going to take this relaxant medication. You will take one pill the night before to ensure a good night's sleep, and then you will take one an hour before we begin the procedure. And you will feel like you won't care. You'll be saying, 'Come on. Drill me. DRILL ME.' and it will be just fine."
And then I went home and stopped feeling like crying and it was all better and I was able to finish my homework and go to orchestra rehearsal and then do some work on my painting.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Did I Ever Tell You About the Sock Puppet Babies of Thanksgiving?

Okay, well, my four-year-old cousin, had these three sock puppets she thought were the absolute greatest things in the world, and she called them babies.
She let me help her decorate one of them, and then I asked, "Do they need ears?" and she told me, "No, they don't like ears," and then informed me that one of them can even hear through her eyes.
So, then, we put them into a basket and put her Disney princesses blanket on them, and went into the big crowded room with all our family members and started showing them the babies. Four-year-old did not like the fact that everyone was being really loud, because they would wake up the babies!
And so we went over to her parents and aunt and my sister, and Four-year-old said to my sister, "If you are talking to people, can you please not talk to them because it is loud and the babies are trying to sleep?" and my sister said said, "Well, your mommy and daddy and aunt are talking about politics, so that might be a little hard to do. Do you know what politics is?" "No." "It's loud and explosive, especially when your parents and aunt are talking about it." "Oh. Can you tell them to stop?" "Well, I don't know. I can try."
So then my sister tells them, "You guys have to be quiet, because Ava's sock puppets are trying to sleep." The aunt and mother think this is great, but the father thinks this is just ridiculous, and says, "They're already asleep, aren't they?" Four-year-old said, then, "But you'll wake them up!!" "But they don't have ears. They can't hear us." So I piped up from behind Four-year-old, "Actually, one of them can hear through her eyes."
After a good laugh, they decided to "be a little quieter." We then moved on to where my mom, grandma, and my brother were sitting. We showed them the babies. My brother said, "That's a basket." So we opened it up and he said, "Those are sock puppets." We informed him that, no, they are babies.
Then Four-year-old wanted to push them around in a stroller, and it was nearly impossible to tell her that there was no room to do that, and then we pretended that it was night time, and then we woke up, and then we pretended to play games and go to school, and then we repeated the process (including going around and showing everyone the babies). Then, after repeating a few more times, we watched Mulan.

So, we had a synesthetic sock puppet.
It's really amazing what those things can do.
And when she was letting me decorate one of the puppets, she asked me its name, and I said, "Monster." "Is it a boy or a girl?" "It's a boy." "Are you sure?" "Yeah, it's a boy." "Is it a girl?" "No, it's a boy." "Why is it a boy?" "Because he is." "Do you like boys?" "Yes." "Is Monster a girl?" "No."

I love this kid.

Friday, November 26, 2010

This really happened.

Have I Ever Mentioned That I Love The Sound Of A Working Watch?

I LOVE CLOCKS!!!! They tell the time, they click ever-so-delicately, they can be colorful and adorable, and you can NEVER HAVE TOO MANY OF THEM BECAUSE THEY'RE SO WONDERFUL. I love clocks. I love clocks.

So, today, my family and my cousins and my grandparents and I all went to our other grandparents' house for a day-late-Thanksgiving lunch (our family doesn't do Thanksgiving dinners. We only do lunches. Yesterday we did lunch too.) and since it is also my sister's birthday, we celebrated her birthday there! And that was also my aunt's excuse for giving everybody birthday presents because she missed my brother's birthday and my birthday. And you'll never guess what I got! A WATCH!! Oh, man! I love those things! And this one actually has a second hand (my old watch and my pocket watch (see here for more details on why in the world I would have a pocket watch besides the fact that they're fantastic) don't have second hands, though they do make such soothing and wonderful ticking noises). And it makes quite a loud ticking noise! It's much louder than most watches I've ever heard before (but not louder than clocks. You can't get much louder than a grandfather clock. My friend had (has?) one of those. It was loud.), and I can hear it from something like four feet away (or more?). I love it. I wonder what it's going to be like to sleep next to this thing. Tick... tick... tick... tick... tick... tick... tick... tick... tick... tick... tick... tick... tick... tick...

In other exciting news, I'm wearing an argyle sweater. It's banana yellow and the argyle is red and brown. I love it and it's fantastic.



Tick... tick... tick... tick... tick...

Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Oh, also...

Oh, also, I didn't find out until I changed into pajamas last night, but I apparently spent all afternoon (since about 3 PM) with the button on my pants... open.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Crap Day

First of all, I'm so sorry to you all that I've been neglecting this place for a couple of days. For those of you who bother still checking to see and say, "Maaaaaybe, just MAYBE, just posted something new today," thank you so much for still having faith in me. Or maybe you don't. Whatever the case, thanks a bundle. Now, onward with my crap day.

FIRST THING: I had Aquatics today. That's how you KNOW that the day is going to suck. I actually am getting a bit better, but I'm still half-doggy-paddle-ing. It looks really weird, for anybody who's watching. Oh, also, my goggles feel as though they are exerting so much suction on my face, that I'm afraid that they will pop out my eyeballs. I'm seriously afraid of that. That gruesome detail will not be part of the following diagram. DIAGRAM:

On my way out of Aquatics, my friend saw me and informed me that I looked like a drowning animal. Then I saw firetrucks outside and followed the crowd out and down the road a little ways from the school. There was a fire. We were out there for twenty minutes. Whilst standing out there, I was told I looked like a drowning kitten. Then I was told that I looked like a drowning puppy. Pictures will be put up tomorrow, if I remember.
I mean, really, guys? Is that what I look like? Do I just not look in a real mirror whenever I think I do, and really I'm looking at some animal-kitten-puppy thing? Okay. Cool. That's... uh... I wonder how I haven't yet gotten into "Riply's Believe-It-Or-Not." Maybe I am, and I just haven't found out about it.

Whatever the case, the rest of the day basically went on without much specialties, except for my sister coming home. But when we went to get her from the train station, traffic was like trying to stuff the octagon-shaped block into the hole meant for the triangle-shaped block. It just didn't happen. The end.

I know that you're all expecting a real post from me today, but here we have a poem entitled "5 Minutes Post-Aquatics Class"




So, it turns out that the pool has bromine in it

And not chlorine




But whatever it is,

I smell like it.

Monday, November 15, 2010

My Version of "Swimming" Made It Quite Obvious that I Am Right-Handed

I had Aquatics again today. That was 20 humiliating minutes (of which type of minute there were about twenty-one) of my day (We spend twenty minutes in the pool, we get ten minutes at the beginning to change, and fifteen at the end.). Not only am I the only person in the class who is not in the least bit a proficient swimmer, but I also take twice as long as everybody else to swim two widths of the pool because I'm an awful swimmer. So, while I was at about the midpoint between the two walls of the pool, everyone else had made it to the other side. Once I had gotten to the other side, everybody was back.

This was even and especially true when the teacher "taught the class how to do freestyle." In other words, he was only explaining it to the class because I didn't know. First, he had us hold onto a wall and put our faces in the water and kick-kick-kick-kick-kick-kick-splash-splash-splash-splash-splash-splash while taking breaths (above water) every three seconds.

Then, he had us do this using kick boards, and we had to do two widths. Same breathing. For this part of class, I nearly was able to keep up with the rest of the class. Unfortunately, that glory did not last long before being squashed when arm movements were added.

"You have to keep your elbows bent at a 90 degree angle! And you want your fingers to be kept together, not spread out, so that you cut through the water. Also, don't slap the water-- cut it." Basic, right? No... not really... I guess...

This is where the whole "everybody's better than me and they all move twice as fast as I do" thing comes into the story (Well, it did before, too...). Once I had come back to the wall after my two widths on my own (with many stops to stand and catch my breath along the way), which was more than mildly humiliating, mind you, the teacher told me the following:

"You're doing a great job. This is the first time you've put your face in the water in-- how long?"

"Years," I answered quietly, ashamed.

"Yeah, well, this is a great accomplishment. I'm already seeing a bit of improvement, and that's good. That's all we're looking for." I felt pretty okay about myself until he said the next part. "Now, the weird thing you're doing is that your right arm is spot-on, and it's going at the right angle--" It's funny because 90 degrees is a right angle. "--and your fingers are in the right form, but your left arm just sort of isn't doing it. You're freestyle-ing with your right arm and doggy paddling with your left arm. Are you right-handed?"


"Thought so. That makes sense."

I'm going to go write a song.

Sunday, November 14, 2010


You know how some people like to make comics or definitions for the silly word combination things they give you in the comments when you try to make one (If you haven't commented before, then why don't you try it? It's lots of fun, and I will probably give you a response! Tra-la-laaa!)? Well, if you don't, then let me assure you that this does happen.

Well, a few minutes ago, I was commenting on a post my friend made on her blog, and I got one of these silly things, and it said, "gentai." Immediately, I thought of hentai, of course, and genetics.

Gentai: noun. hentai about genetically modified super-humans
ex. Dude, I was just reading some gentai where the dude had blue skin and the girl had purple eyes and the world exploded but they were still at it!!


Saturday, November 13, 2010

News Shoes Poos Blues Clues!

Oh, man! I'm going to tell you all about what's new around here! Oh, man!

As of last night, I'm now participating in NaSoAlMo (National Solo Album Month), even though the month is already half-over. I have so far written two and one-third songs. Yeah! My first song is called "Let's Be Happy," and it's about my boyfriend. The second one, which I am still working on making awesome and adding verses and stuff, is about invisible friends and how I haven't played with them in years because of having real friends, a life, and a crapload of schoolwork weighting down upon my back like a pregnant goat who just ate sixty pounds of wool. The third song, which I just finished, is about how humans are resistant to change, and it is called "Fluff-Balls in the Sky." Ta-daah!

In other interesting news, I have never actually seen a pregnant goat that has eaten sixty pounds of wool sitting on somebody's back. However, I'm now going to draw you a picture of one.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Re: Conversationalist

A friend of mine read the post "Conversationalist" and confronted me at lunch about how bad communications can mean bad things. I just want you all to know a couple things:

1) I exaggerate things sometimes because I do naturally, and sometimes just to make things funny. Talking to him is not actually like trying to be a duck. In fact, things have gotten a lot better since, and it is a lot easier to talk and now it's more like talking to a person who doesn't ever know what to talk about. Except for that was it from the start, just a lot worse, in the sense that he didn't ever know what to say. Yeah.

2) He's not good at talking to people in general. He talks to me more than he does to most other people, so that's certainly something.

3) Please do not be alarmed. Please.

Sorry this was such a serious post. I'll fix it. Just you wait:

It's poop fire, FYI. xD

"Sniffing My Hand, Twenty-Six Hours Post-Shower"




How the freak can I STILL smell like chlorine?!?!

"Walking into the Bathroom Many Hours Post-Shower"




It smells like chlorine.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

A Not-So-Dramatic Retelling of My Trip to Michael's

If any of you have ever been to Michael's, then you know how much fun it is to roam that store for hours on end, just looking at all the endless possibilities and different things you can make. If you haven't been, it's a craft store with endless possibilities. You should go. Right now.

WELL, now that you're all back from your trips to Michael's, you should be prepared to read the rest of this post. Here we go!

So, I originally went to Michael's to get some lettered beads for making presidential friendship bracelets (You know, friendship bracelets that say "George Washington," or something)... but when I got there, not only did I find those, but I also found a watch clock and a chain and a big clip! And do you know what is made with those components? A POCKET WATCH. I've always wanted one. And, recently, I saw one in a store when I was shopping with my mom, and I said, "Oh, man, Mom, I seriously want to get this." She told me no. She told me this evening, though, on our way out of Michael's, that, when she was my age, she also wanted a pocket watch, and she asked her parents for the one sitting on the mantel and they said, "NO! THAT BELONGED TO YOUR GREAT-GRANDFATHER! DO NOT TOUCH THAT!!" So, I just had to make my own. And...


Lastly, a poem I wrote this morning, entitled "In the Shower, Twenty-Four Hours Post-Aquatics Class"




The air...



And the steam...



It smells like chlorine.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Babies and Cake

I figured that, before I go too far into my blogging experience here, I should most definitely explain the strange words I use here!

Firstly, I'll tell you my definition of the word "baby." If you ever read the word "babies" on here, I probably mean the following:

I do not mean the following, unless I say otherwise:

I don't really know how it all started, but I think that, one day, it just clicked in my head that the adorableness of babies (the infants) was about equal to the adorableness of couples. Then, while staring at a picture of some cute people loving each other, I blurted out, "BABIES." My friends were all just a little confused, but, over time, after giving no real explanation because there just isn't a real explanation other than the fact that couple adorableness equates to infancy adorableness, we have all started to use it as a part of our everyday dictionary. Thus, the term, "BABIES!" was born (no pun intended).

Nextly, we have "OMC!" You see, I'm a Cakist. I believe in Cake. So, while most people will say, "Oh, my God!" or "...Gosh!" or "...Great-Golly-Gosh-Gee-Willacres!" or, if you're George Wilson, "...Ga-od!" we Cakists say, "Oh, my Cake!" End of story.

In retrospect...

I was probably overreacting about the whole thumb-may-explode-like-a-spleen thing. I mean, yeah, it still hurts a little, but I can probably prevent this from happening again if I just practice regularly (this is exactly what I said in my last post). This is exactly what I said in the last post (and that is exactly what I said in the last sentence). So, I made you this beautiful picture:
As you can all well see, I found the crayon setting on my painting program. I think that, from now on, just about all digital art on this blog will be done in crayon. BAM. Done. :D

Monday, November 8, 2010

In the Event that This Does Happen...

It's also to make up for yesterday.

I Am a Very Bad Girl. Also, I Am Terrified. Also, My Thumb Hurts.

I didn't post yesterday, not that anybody noticed, because I doubt that anybody actually reads/regularly reads my blog. Also, I ate leftover icing and a Kit Kat for a snack today. Stupid idea. It's all going to catch up to me, someday.

The terrified part is because I had a bad dream last night.

The thumb-hurting part is because I was just playing ukulele for a little over half an hour for the first time in months, so now my thumb hurts from strumming so much, which means that I should start practicing more regularly. Or else, something bad will happen, such as my thumb exploding when a metal cart gets shoved into it when I'm trying to get out of bed at a hospital!
This is exactly what would happen. At least, it's what happened to that girl's spleen, in that movie...

Saturday, November 6, 2010

"Is it Daylight Savings Time?" "Uh..."

I realized when I got home this evening that I hadn't yet posted today, and I've been trying to do a post every day. In the car, on the way home, I was talking to my mother.

ME: What's my bedtime tonight?
MOM: Ten. Why?
ME: I dunno.
MOM: What? You get to sleep in an hour tomorrow!
ME: So can't I just stay up an extra hour?
MOM: No. You woke up too late today.
ME: 10 o' clock! If I stay up an extra hour tonight, it'll be the same thing as waking up at the same time tomorrow, except for if we didn't do things with numbers then it wouldn't but since we do go back an hour it's okay.
MOM: No.
ME: Oh, wait. So, tomorrow will be... Daylight Savings?
MOM: Daylight Standards Time.
ME: Oh, YES! When I start Yellow Version (Pokémon) tomorrow, I won't have to run into the kitchen and ask you if it's Daylight Savings or not!

The rest of the car ride home was spent with Mom trying to convince me that it would be a good learning experience to take up the viola.

UPDATE: I can't play Yellow Version because that one's my brother's, so I'm going to either find Red Version, or attempt a Jhoto one.

Thursday, November 4, 2010


Trying to have conversations with my boyfriend and I is like trying to be a duck. It doesn't work. You can't do it. It just doesn't happen. There are a few topics that work, such as children's TV shows (ie. Spongebob, Scooby Doo, Doug), Pokemon, et cetera. However, after a certain point, I've realized that there's only a certain number of times you can have the same conversation. So, today, I just started looking around the room and naming things, and he was like, "What?" So I explained that I was trying to think of something to say. We went back and forth like this (saying the names of things around the room) for a little while until we realized that that is a stupid conversation, so he gave me the following scenario:

So you're a dinosaur, and you survived the meteor somehow. Then you wandered off and fell asleep. You just woke up in 1957. What kind of dinosaur are you and what do you do now?

Obviously, my answer was to be an omnivorous velociraptor (I KNOW IT DOESN'T EXIST AND NEVER DID, SO DON'T GET MAD AT ME.) and make it my life's mission to be the very best that no one ever was and also to go find my dinosaur friends because it's lonely being the only of my kind. I then proceeded to explain that some dinosaurs survived (birds), to which statement he did not respond.

Nextly, I supplied him with this scenario:

So you're a hooker, and you only screw female teachers, but now anti-feminists are saying that females can no longer teach, and thus there are no more female teachers around. You refuse to stoop as low as a poop-shoveler. Who will you screw?

Instead of naming some other occupation, he supplied me with the name of a dog we saw this summer. There was a joke going around that he is utterly in love with this dog.

I asked him, "How is he even an option?"

After a very short discussion of about four sentences concerning how gay people do it, I said, "Yeah, but he's a dog and smaller, and also, this conversation is definitely over."

The conversation was thusly over.

This post was probably pretty boring, so I'll end it with a picture that sucks because I need to reboot the computer due to a messed up tablet that needs to have the computer rebooted in order to work right again. It says, for those who can't read it, "This is what it looks like when the tablet gets messed up because I need to reboot the computer."
True story.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Swim? No.

All the kids in my grade are required to take a quarter of Aquatics. In other words, all the kids in my grade are required to spend a quarter of the time they would be spending in gym class, either jubilantly swimming circles and spirals and flips and hand-stands in the deep end, or fighting for their lives while barely being able to doggy-paddle in the shallow end. I am classified in the last part of that sentence: I will be fighting for my life while barely being able to doggy-paddle in the shallow end.

Here is what I predict will at least be what happens to me inside my head: I will not be able to do everything they ask. The other kids--

--are totally fine, they get praise from the gym teacher, and each and every one gets an A+. Then, there is me, looking something like this, in the shallow end:
And, if that wasn't good enough for you, let's see if I can do that again.
And what's more, I used to have gym last block of the day, and that was fabulous because I was thinking, "Oh, terrific! I don't have to walk around stinky all day! This is absolutely fantastic and I am as happy a pancake as ever!" But now I have it third block and have to walk around sopping wet for the entire rest of the day. That will look something like this:
Dripping. Wet. This is also undesirable, see, because I will indefinitely lash out at you, until a certain amount of time has passed and I forget about how obnoxious it is to have a very long mane of brown-ish-black-ish hair which is also sopping wet all over your BACK. Ugh. Ew. Ihblechyuckiddypooppoopyuck.


BY THE WAY: The reason the drawings are so crappy in this post versus the previous one is because I'm not on the desktop computer. My brother prefers to use the desktop because it has all his personal settings and stuff, and I prefer using it because it has the good painting program which I usually use but cannot right now because I'm forced to use MS Paint on the laptop. Sigh... there'll hopefully be better-quality tomorrow or whenever next there is digital artwork.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Basement Pirates. They will get you.

See those right there? They are Basement Pirates. They will get you and they will hurt you if you are home alone and dwelling in your basement. See that guy upside-down at the bottom? He is Captain Double-Peg-Leg! He is SCARY. He wears a black shirt. Oh, wait, you can't tell, because it's too drenched in OTHER PEOPLE'S BLOOD. Do not go in the basement when you are home alone, because they will be there, no matter whose basement it is. Holy poopamajig, they are SCARY. SCARY. SCARY. Consider yourself heavily warned.

Monkeys and Ghost Busting at the High School

So, at my school, there are these things called Learning Centers, where students go to study or just have quiet reading time or whatever, during the various blocks of the day. One of my friends and I were sitting next to each other during one of these, and for the billionth time that month, I saw her reading this black hard-cover book with hardly any identification of any kind on it.

"What's that?" I asked her.

"A book about monkeys with Ebola. It's very poetic. Look, a big room of them just died."

Now, those weren't her exact words; that was more of a summary of everything she said to me that day about it. She's been reading this book for about a month, because the book is kept in the Learning Center and she can't take it home with her.

So, I asked her a couple times, "WHY are you reading that?" and she answers:

"IT'S POETIC! Read this!!" and then she'll go through and find me some really descriptive and flowing passages where it sounded all dark and beautiful, but it was really just describing the amount of disgusting that is monkeys bleeding from their eyes.

Similarly but actually not at all except for the fact that it takes place at a high school, last night, I spent the break during an orchestra rehearsal pretending to discover ghosts, snakes, snake-wolves, vampires, and monsters, then calling Ghost Busters to protect us, with an eighth grader who's just so freaking cute that I had to play along.

Monday, November 1, 2010

Tea: 2; Wimp: 1

In follow-up to my previous post about me versus the tea, the title of this post says it all. No, I did not have three cups of tea. I simply had one. Here's how the epic battle went down:

After I finished the post, I figured, "What the hell? I'll just take a sip and see if it's all right..." And guess who won a point? I'll give you one guess: This kid. This kid is me. I won that point, hence the "1" next to "Wimp." The wimp is referring to me, if you couldn't tell.

However, after taking a few long sips of tea, I realized... the tea was really quite undesirable. While it was soothing to the throat because there was honey in it, and it would be helping me get to sleep because of its herbal components, it was just bitter (besides the yummy honey part) and displeasing. Tea won a point there.

Tea won a second point when I realized this morning when waking up, that I hadn't drank enough of the throat-soothing honey-tea, and my throat hurt the way I expect it would if a unicorn decided to use its horn to scrape the inside of my neck for six hours while I was sleeping. That's what it felt like. It was also very difficult to talk.

Tea: 2; Wimp: 1

Sunday, October 31, 2010


Hello, the world of blogging. I've been part of blogs before, but those were just silly things I did with friends, such as writing collaborative musicals and pretending our friends' love life was a TV show, and other stuff like that, but I've only once before had a blog where I just wrote random stuff. Recently, I've been reading other people's really funny blogs, and tonight I was finally inspired to write my own blog. I just wanted to write to the world about what's going on right now. It all started with a status update I made a couple minutes ago...

Well, it really all started a couple of days ago, when my throat started feeling a little sore.

I didn't know why it was sore, it just was. And then a couple days went by where it just got worse! And I wasn't coughing or anything, so I was a little confused. I wasn't even sneezing, or anything! And then I was talking to my boyfriend about it because I was quite concerned, as I was going to see him yesterday, and he said, "Well, are you sure you don't have strep?"

Suddenly, I was very scared that I might have it, so I searched the Internet for symptoms of strep throat, said, "Hold on a second, I'm going to see if I have any symptoms because holy crap one of the symptoms is a sudden sore throat without any coughing. Then again, it also says that it has to be severe, and I don't think it's quite that, but... hold on."

Thus, I went upstairs to my room, looked myself in the mirror and opened up my mouth very wide. But I couldn't see anything because it's dark in my mouth! So I got a flash light and I used that. No scary yellow or white spots at the back of my throat. I was safe.

Now, another symptom mentioned on the site was redness at the back of the throat. And this made me think, "REDNESS? The throat IS red. And pink." Well, the medical doctors probably know more than I do, so I'm guessing that throats are naturally supposed to be blue or green or something, and everybody in the world secretly has a mild case of strep throat. Of course, I think it would be pretty cool to have a naturally purple tongue, like a giraffe, because giraffes are awesome! But... I don't think humans are supposed to be like that, and I am human.

So, pretty sure that I didn't have strep throat, I went back downstairs and told him, "No, I don't think I have strep throat." Of course, yesterday, when I went to see him, I felt so much better, and I was so happy! And then today was Halloween.

Since I was told by my mother, who finally put her foot down about trick-or-treating, "There is nothing scarier than a bunch of teenagers walking around in the darkness of night," and a bunch of my friends were told similar things, we just had a candy party. Good fun! Candy! Who doesn't love candy? I love candy! And I baked a cake and I brought it over, and my other friend brought over rice crispy treats, and my "twin" friend was dressed up as Daisy Buchanan from The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald (BEST BOOK EVER!!!), and I was Ash Ketchum from Pokémon (The reason why that accented "e" is smaller and in a different font from the rest of the word is because I have no way of making an "e" like that on my computer, so I had to copy and paste it from somewhere else on the Internet. I'm resourceful!) It was a fantastic party.

However, when you're at a party with almost a caboodle of your fantastically crazy female friends... there is bound to be a plethora of loud noises which include but are not limited to shouting, screaming, very loud singing, laughing, and exclaiming, "NO! THAT MAY NOT GO ON FACEBOOK!" I was part of just about all of the aforementioned loud noises, and now my throat hurts just as it did (maybe for different reasons and at a different pain level) before, which leads to the point of this post.


I came home and I said, "Mom... I've probably asked you this before... what makes a sore throat feel better?" I said this very quietly because it hurt to talk, at this point. She asked me to speak up. I said it at the same volume. She told me to project. I said it again, just a little louder.

"OH! Your throat hurts? Do you think you have what your brother has? His throat hurts."

I did not want to tell her that I had had a sore throat before, because I did not want to feel the guilt of being responsible for my boyfriend getting a sore throat, or even anybody else if it can travel through the air, so I told her that the only reason I would have it was because I was in a room with something like eight other crazy teenage girls for four hours. She understood and made me some tea with honey.

Now, I heard over the summer that pineapple juice makes sore throats feel better, but it doesn't make sense because pineapple is ACIDIC-- HIGHLY ACIDIC. Why would you want acid being poured down your throat? I ate some pineapple anyway...

Now (I hate starting two paragraphs in a row with the same transition word), I'm not really much of a tea drinker, but I guess I'll try it. I've done it once or twice before. And a little while ago the tea was ready and I got the tea and I sat down in front of it and asked Mom, "Is there any milk in it?"

"Why would there be any milk? It's herbal."

"You don't put milk in tea?"

"Not in herbal tea. No."

Why would you ever...? I thought, It'll be hot forever!!!

I've been sitting with this tea for a long time, contemplating when it will be just the right time to begin drinking from the mug. I'm afraid of two things: 1) What if it burns me? 2) What if I don't like it?

I do NOT want my mouth burned, in addition to having a sore throat just from having fun with my friends!! No. Just no. Undesirable. Nuh-uh. If I get a burnt mouth, in addition to a sore throat AND if I don't like it? What if I cannot escape this situation without a burnt mouth? Then who wins? The tea.