My jeans.....

That ellipsis means "I know some of you are singing right now and I don't want to have any part in it."

Per usual beginning-of-school rush, I had to pay some extra money to ensure that my jeans would arrive at four o'clock on the day before school started. Naturally, in my stupor (when this happened, I interpreted it as euphoria) I tried them on and, after being reassured that they fit, lay them out on my desk.

You can probably imagine how the first day of school went, because I presume everyone else has the same sort of first day of school. (Except that maybe other people are nicer because in their distant land people change over the summer.)

Two days later, once it was the weekend and I was lazing around the house in my nicest clothes (read: skirts) the damage I had wreaked began to sink in.

Tally of things I turned blue:
--My socks. (many pairs)
--My Converse. (inside and out)
--My hands.
--My bedspread.
--My sheets.
--My desk calendar.
--My shirt.
--Parts of the couch.
--Some clean laundry.
--My backpack.

ALWAYS WASH THE JEANS. ALWAYS.

I like words, but. . . .

I was reading an article perhaps a couple of days ago (no, I cannot remember where, I do apologize) and read that there actually is a language up North where they have lots of different names for snow, like the snow on rooftops and snow that has not yet been stepped on.

As I brought this up, my mother mentioned that she had read a book where the main character is a truck-driver in England, and all it ever does is rain. He becomes so irritated that he develops certain names for the rain, like the misty rain, and the rain that, no matter how fast your windshield wipers go, you still can't see through.

It was then brought up that the Romans had a ridiculous amount of words for specific ways of killing people, and that made me think.

What does it mean that in America we have so many words that mean "moron"?

Does anyone else have this problem? Is that even a question I need to ask?

A lot of times, when browsing the web, I find polls.

The vary greatly (What do you think of the new budget plan? to Do you feel prepared for the next natural disaster? to Who wore it better--Pippa or Lindsay?) but they all inspire the same sort of fear.

I can't even answer that question. What kind of natural disaster? I want to say Pippa but that's a kind of ugly dress. . . . What did other people think? I can fit two responses. I don't have an opinion but I want to see the results.

So I choose one result, which is usually pretty close to what I THINK I think but once I see the other answers my opinion immediately changes. Then I freak out and imagine inconsequential events that could stem from this. What if everyone else has this problem and all the data we have in world is wrong? What if all the decisions people make based on online polls are falsely supported?

. . . and that is how you make an online poll into (possibly) the end of the world. Thank you. Thank you very much.

Shredded Apple. . . or not. . . .

After all this ado about breakfast, I decided to try something I had been wondering about for a while: an apple smoothie.

This was about five minutes ago. I recall it vividly.

I was really excited. I peeled the apple and cut it up with three different knives. I put it in the blender and excitedly flipped the switch.

Mysteriously, nothing much happened. I remembered an earlier blenderizing experience where a bit of liquid had been the trick. So I added some orange juice.

After a series of me flipping the switch, nothing happening, and scraping down the sides, I realized something:

I was making applesauce.

I added some lemon juice and cinnamon and a touch of sugar and poured it into a bowl. I have to eat it now. It's not delicious, but it's pretty good.

What I really want is shredded apple. When inspiration next strikes, I am shredding an apple for all its worth and seeing if it is drinkable.

It must be interesting to not have the constant urge to make yummy breakfasts.

lowercaps

today was one of those days when it felt like everyone was talking in all caps.

it was kind of exhausting.

it may have sucked all my energy away. i apologize.

in my apology, i gave you this nice clean blog page: double-spaced and lowercase.

regular posting might resume tomorrow.

Oatmeal, REVISITED

I like the word revisited. It seems like the kind of word one would find in lowercase cursive on a vintage tag in Anthropologie that some color blogger (oh, how I wish) would incorporate into some sort of green, orange, and navy color scheme that would probably include suitcases and trunks and inevitable a meadow.

I digress.

I must confess that I have been lazy about my oatmeal. School started, and even though I wake up an hour and a half before I have to, I still have problems being on time. Well, not exactly that--I always leave on time. Let's say time management, shall we? I have had such problems taking dreaded showers in a hopefully short amount of time that the most I think about my oatmeal is Bleah, this is kind of gross and weird-tasting. And then I should put that thought out of my head because of a lack of options.

Then I got a magazine in the mail (hurrah) and it had this whole article on snacks which I quite enjoyed. Cottage cheese and apricots, crystallized pineapple and pistachios, yogurt with pear or apple slices, pita bread and hummus. . . and oatmeal with maple syrup. So of course I simply had to try it.

Usually I have oatmeal with fruit, depending on what's in season--right now I'm still coasting on blueberries. I used to have raisins, but we don't have some currently and sometimes I do not like them. I also have been cruising with my year-old vanilla sugar, which I made.

Since maple syrup costs $22 I opted, as I usually do, for my mother's pseudo-syrup which is still good. And I must tell you that oatmeal and syrup is delicious. I highly recommend it.

Fruit fruit fruit. I like fruit. It is yummy. Nom nom nom.

I'm afraid I'm rather hungry. I cannot wait until green grape season so I can freeze them! }:D
 

I'm still alive (and sucking ice, because it's hot inside)

I'm going to continue weekending.

So I invite you to check out my updated links bar.

And perhaps suck on ice.

It's really cold.

A Redirection to a Redirection

Go here.

My Sincere Apathy for Showering

I do not like showering. This is not logical. I like being alone, and I like being clean. I do not like showering. I wish that there was a way to be efficient while showering, because showering is like a vacuum of time.

I suppose at the root of this is that I have to comb my hair in the shower, which is a dreadful task and makes my showers twenty minutes long. So not only do I have to inflict pain upon myself, I am cold and probably am going to be hated by every eco-friendly person in the world.

It is a terrible thing to be me, my friends.

WHY I AM NOT AN AFTERNOON PERSON

I am trying to be efficient.

School is starting soon. I need to do stuff, and clean stuff, and organize stuff, and write blog posts.

In the mornings I do crosswords.

So I try to write blog posts in the afternoon.

Unfortunately, I have absolutely no energy in the afternoon. (This is a bigger problem when I am in school and have homework.) Anything you ask me to do in the afternoon may not be up to my usual standards.

Also there is a train going by my house. Every time I start to do something productive, the train goes by my house.

productivethoughtsproductivethoughtsproductivethoughtsproductivethoughtsproductivethoughts
WHHHHHHHEEEEERproductivethoughtsproductivethoughtsBRANNNNHHHHHgahproductive
thoughttrainnoisetrainnoisetrainnoisetrainnoisetrainnoisetrainnoisetrainnoisetrainnoiseWHHEEER

The resulting headache enables me to write such sentences of pure genius as the one above.

I had oatmeal for breakfast.

I DID have oatmeal for breakfast. Because it is the best breakfast you can have, according to three magazines and the internet. When I have oatmeal, I get lots of nutrition and fiber while getting very little fat. When I add fruit, which provides Vitamin C, I receive short-term energy.

So I can walk away from my breakfast feeling light and happy.

Except that it's rather depressing to eat oatmeal. I have to force myself to eat it, through a combination of willpower, lots of peaches, and sheer force. Because as nutritious as it is, oatmeal is not a big happiness-inducer. I like mocha-chips muffins much better and they are probably not as nutritious.

I am going to issue a challenge for myself (and y'all too, if you feel so inclined).

I am going to see how many --GAH! I cannot finish my sentence because my father is reading a newspaper article aloud to my brother about animals escaping from the Central Park Zoo.

*closes eyes, makes that hand motion people do when they're meditating (ya know, when they put the tips of their fingers together), breathes* Okay. I want to see how many different way I can make oatmeal so that it's still healthy AND exciting.

I'm going to go look for some cheese.

Have! Lots! Of! Fun! In! Paris!

I would apologize for the lack of posts but it is summer, so I am going to presume you have better things to do with your life, like, for example, vacationing in exotic places without internet connection.

If you've just been sitting at home I have no pity for you, as we're obviously the ones having the most fun. My life is so exciting. I have a very busy schedule--move arm at 10:20, get another pillow at eighteen till eleven, close eyes at 11:02, sigh at 11:03. . . the list goes on. I am like a party of gummy bears. That is how much fun I am having.

You don't believe me? Well, I have brownies. What now.

I haven't been posting not because of a natural disaster or anything not under my control, I've just been lazy. (It occurs to me that that last sentence is not a particularly flattering one, perhaps not even one I want to put on my blog. . . oh well, it's going there anyway, because I'm too exhausted from sitting in an actual upright position to think of a better reason.)

Also I have been doing crosswords.

I think I'm going to end this post before I fall completely asle787888888888888888888888uuyuhjyyyyyyyyyyyyy777eee34htngt n m ;

That was a tortuous assignment until. . .

Instead of brushing up on my athletic knowledge (is there really any difference between an umpire and a referee?!?!?) for my science project a long long while ago, I decided to stick with the Victorian activity of croquet. (I would have done badminton, except all the pictures were of tennis moms and that was most unbecoming.)

It was really quite fun once I decided upon my sport, and I then I got to write the whole thing in Victorian speech, which inspired awe, and then I got to use Victorian pictures, which really were fantastic. I highly recommend searching "Victorian croquet" images and looking at all the pretty pictures I used. :)

I am probably the nicest human being ever.

I would like it to be said that my petit brother's birthday is hereabouts. Unfortunately, as you all know, I am not going to be there.

So, I bought and gave him his present early.

Not to brag or anything, (don't you know what's coming now) but I got him the best birthday present ever. It may have been a bit expensive, but really, in the big scheme of things, surely that doesn't matter. Anyway, it truly was the best birthday present. Thoughtful and long-lasting and delicious. . . .

Yeah, I got him two packs of Trident-Layers gum.

I'm an awesome sister.

Cousin Arnold!

Okay, I don't have a real Cousin Arnold. My Sims do.

Since the objective of my game is essentially to achieve stuff, and Laura likes to stretch the limits of her game (How many neighbors can I trap in my kitchen? Will my grandmother pinch the cheeks of her step-son's half-sister's child's best friend? What if I spend all my money putting playground equipment on the roof?) we have to test the negative stuff (mid-life crisis, pranks, skipping school, copying homework, not doing homework, becoming enemies with everyone in town, traps that will potentially kill my Sim, ugly houses) and we accomplish this with Cousin Arnold.

Cousin Arnold wears an orange-and-grey-blotched undershirt with a simoleon necklace-bling and pants with drooping suspenders. He goes barefoot, befriends everyone, and sports a mullet and a mohawk. Cousin Arnold is Evil, Insane, Friendly, Mean-Spirited, and (sometimes) a Kelptomaniac. He lives in the gym when he has no friends. He doesn't often get the chance to take showers. . . .

Cousin Arnold also tests stuff that Laura and I think are vulgar, like retro-car rooms and ugly clothes. He's flunked everything there is to flunk and would probably be Best Friends with a similar character, Grandma Moush.

It's nice to know that the Cousin Arnolds of the world are safely contained in my computer.

So I meant to write a blog post. . . .

I've been attempting to write something for the past thirty minutes now but I keep being sidetracked by the royal family and Canada's government, so I'm going to send you to this frightening video instead.

(Okay, when I mean frightening, I really mean alarming. I am never being a NYC pedestrian ever again.)

Now I'm off to go try to understand the Britishness of Canada. Wish me luck--I'll probably need it. (Sadly. . . .)

Daisy is 3!

Yes, yes, thank you, I'm very proud. *clinks sparkling healthy organic fruit beverage* It's been a long journey. . . .And I must admit *coughs, embarrassed* that there were some times----some times that we just didn't know what we were doing.Some of the time we asked ourselves why we let Daisy ransack our lives.Was it because of her beautiful personality?Her charisma?

Her prestige?

Her ability to squeeze herself into small spaces?Maybe, making some of our past queries null and void, it was her extreme cleanliness.Then, we realized. . . .
She was really really cute and fluffy. We love you, Daisy

June 11,2011--and thanks to Laura for taking a creepy/adorable amount of pictures of Daisy.

ONE HUNDRED POSTS!!!

If I was professional, I would have all sorts of cool stuff to give you all. Like, um. . . giveaways and statistics, maybe? (See. I have no idea what I am talking about. I am a disgrace.)

Unfortunately, I am not a professional blogger. (So. . . yeah, no personalized phone covers. Sorry.)

Therefore, I am going to look at my tenth, twentieth, thirtieth, etc. posts and choose my favorite sentences.

Try to tell me that this is not the best non-kitten picture EVER. I call it a "crack" because it sounded just like those rice cake things your mom gives you when you're a toddler to occupy you in the grocery store, as opposed to stealing samples. My little brother still pertains to his opinion that I need a favorite dinosaur. [. . . ]we should have a big USING UP SUMMER FOOD! party. IMPROV EVERYWHERE I'm off to look through the window, the wonderful window by the door. But until then, we shall wait (and drink tea and eat cookies and read magazines!) Off to buy sunglasses for mah kitties and me to hide our fame. [. . . ]my little sister and mother rented a video called "Kitten Party" which was just kittens running around being cute for 75 minutes.

A summary of my blog in nine sentences. Thanks to all of you for reading, commenting, and pestering me to post when I am (embarrassingly) trying to hide in my hovel, isolated from all mankind including my wonderful friends.

How to Take a Tourist Photograph

I know you all are probably planning some FASCINATINGLY fascinating summer trips around the world. I support this. Even though you don't invite me, I support this. *ahem* Again, even though you don't invite me. . . [:)]

I have decided, then, that I should be a good person and give you a hint as to how to take vacation photographs.

STEP THE FIRST: Find a monument, landmark, or even something totally unimportant--but you need to have skill to pull the last one off.

STEP THE SECOND: Find some people to take the photo or be in it with you. For the reason of convenience, this will usually be a friend or family member. However, if you want to really get into the tourism spirit, I suggest pulling in a random person. Or six.

STEP THE THIRD: Find a pose! The two basic poses here are PERKY and FATIGUED.

• Fatigued: I suggest slumping, putting your head back, yawning, closing your eyes, falling over, etc.
• Perky: I suggest opening your mouth to a grotesque extent and then widening it, so that is may vaguely be fathomable as a smile. You may also pull up the fatigued person, preferably so that their feet dangle in the air, but basically in an enthusiastic manner. You must then decide upon a sign. I suggest either the peace sign or the Justin Bieber hand heart. You will then, preferably, repeat it in all your other pictures. In case you haven't already guessed, it will be advised that you open your eyes as far as they can. Spilling a cup of coffee is optional.
  
• Astonished: Anyone can adapt this, but if you haven't master it you will end up looking like a lazy perky person. This is an ideal expression for the other tourists that you pull into your photograph. It appears often in that it is sadly realistic.

STEP THE FOURTH: Prop time! Although you may bring in inanimate objects, like food, they are not nearly as fun as REAL LIVE PEOPLE!!! (see above) (NOTE: For food, I suggest lightheaded bliss or staggering appall.) Now that you have your other people with you, the fatigued people can slump on them, the perky people can point to them while mouthing unnecessary phrases, and the astonished people can stagger back at the sight of others of their kind.

STEP THE FIFTH: Now you're all set for traveling, except for one important point: what if you are the one taking the photograph?

• Perky: Shake the camera (in excitement!) or take at least seven photos.
• Fatigued: Focus on something to the far left of the photo scene and tilt the camera.
• Astonished: Take several pictures off-target just a bit--not as much as a fatigued person. You know, cut off the landmark or the people's heads.

I trust that you will now have much fun on your summer vacations.

Even though I am not coming with you. *sniff*

The Best Sunscreen Ever

At our local épicerie, my mother and I were browsing the suncreen aisle (you know, because of the whole aaahhh, sun, ultra-violet waves, aahhhh, skin cancer, roll on the ground, shrivel into a shell thing) and we found the best sunscreen EVER.

This sunscreen is THE best sunscreen ever. (I think my lack of eloquence shows how much you can trust me) It is not slimy; it is grainy (but not in a bad way, in a stick-on-your-skin-and-block-UV-rays-way) and it is skin colored, so you do not have white streaks all over yourself. It is vegan and organic.

So, as a Victorian spinster, I give this suncreen a tap of my parasol for those of you who actually go outside in the summertime.