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