Quelle surprise! C'est mode!

IT'S THE ONE-MONTH ANNIVERSARY OF THIS BLOG!!!

If no one comments I'm going to start writing my blog posts in French. Seriously. I don't mind.

I also REALLY want your feedback on the new history order.

So, comment, commenter, en anglais ou en francais!

Told ya I didn't mind. I guess, though, perhaps you all aren't commenting people, although my past posts beg to differ. I must assume, then, that ALL of you have decided to go on vacation without a computer. I am happy as long as you are following, but I know that you are reading it when I see your comments, yes? And don't forget, INVITE AND FOLLOW!

Like divide and conquer, kinda, the same tone, but whatevs.

What I had intended to write about today was fashion, so the French fits in nicely. The thing is, I don't understand it. I'd love to say I do, but I don't. Somewhere in the world, some fancy-smancy "genius" designer (who is probably actually a maniac with an inheritance to whom, as a toddler, some stranger said "My, what a clever imagination. You could be a fashion designer," and then laughed, ruffled his hair, and departed from the front of a very "in" store.) is parading innocent people around in hideous shoes, Lady GaGa hairstyles, and outfits that may very well be old blankets like the one he was sucking on in front of that store that fateful day (see above) and then some fashion critic (who probably only became one because his sister said to him, after he criticized her outfit, "Well perhaps you should be a fashion critic, then, and make money while being mean." and walked away in a huff.) says to the people sitting around him, "This is fashion."

Now we go to Suburbia, where people wear tight shirts, jeans, and the skirts with the band and labeled clothes. It does not resemble Mr. Inheritance's line one bit. So what is he doing? I don't know. Do people buy his clothes? I should hope not. Where does he get his income? We probably don't want to know,

And why are tight shirts "in?" The person buys it from the store because they like it/it is "fashionable, the store buys it from the designers for the same reason. . . and why do the designers make it? Does that mean that, if I was a designer, I could make a whole line of sheep-printed skirts? And if the aforementioned critic liked them, everyone would wear them?

I need to go eat breakfast.

This post contains 4% of your daily hodgepodge!

On Saturday we rode a truck to the library and made lovely rubber marks on the road. I got more murder mysteries! On Sunday, I finished all the murder mysteries and went to church AND my cousin's second birthday part, where he devoured the face of a 3-D bear cake.

As it turns out, my favorite piece of classical music is Franz Schubert's Symphony No. 6 in C, D. 589.

Also, my earphones have broken. Snickerdoodle. You will notice my weird capitalization in the title. I don't know why I capitalize my titles oddly. And, I posted a cloud of the labels, so you can read every post about Daisy if you want to.

Mintal Hygiene

Ever since my teeth were enslaved by these "braces," I have been ordered to brush my teeth in a certain way. A certain EXTENSIVE way. First, you use the pine-tree brush to clear out the spaces between the metal brackets. Then you floss your teeth, which is complicated because you have to go under the archwires. We clock this at four to five minutes. Then you brush your teeth with water for two minutes. If it's morning or night, you swish with extra-strength mouthwash for one minute. Then you brush with toothpaste for two more minutes. Behold, another five minutes.

IT TAKES SOOO LONG.

Also, because I am me and thus slightly addle-headed, every single dental hygiene thing that I have is either extreme extreme extreme mint or green, to match. The resulting breath is so minty I could probably wilt flowers, especially if I used the mouthwash. I could wilt people's brains.

Off for the first time-consuming ordeal. Sigh.

(Remember the "shellac" story? Well, guess what: shellac is made by bugs. They ooze it onto trees. :) Made you learn!)

(I added something new to the sidebar. --> And I have a whole bar of links for you! I am also trying out a new format for the history. Do you like it?)

{Please note: I have discovered that I cannot invite my friends to follow my blog unless I am following it, which I do not desire to do. If y'all could invite some of your/my friends for me, that would be great and I would REALLY appreciate it!}

Reciprocation. . . erm. . . .

Remember the days of preschool when you would regularly go over to someone you barely knew's house? I'll let you wince while you remember those hectic days of glitter glue and sprinklers. Eek. And remember how you would reciprocate? Key word, that is. Reciprocate. You know, returning the invitation(s).

Well, in my days of why-are-you-so-surprised-that-I-stay-peopled-out-for-three-weeks and I'm-still-friends-with-you-I-just-need-a-break, I have forgotten the art of reciprocation. This only occurred to me in the middle of July, of course. I've been to a couple of people's houses and haven't reciprocated once, and I did not have a birthday party.

Of course, this is just because I found out that I don't like seeing people all the time, but it is a bit embarrassing.

Organizing is nice until SOMEONE messes it up

I am sure that you all already know that I like to organize. Not necessarily my room, but it's a work in progress.

However, my email is so organized that it scares people. I have filters and folders sorted into patterns sorted into colors sorted into labs. It is like the FBI of emails. You know, secret documents in big rooms. All sorted perfectly. Emphasis on PERFECT. But then the hoity-toity Gmail team has to RE-ORGANIZE IT. Well, they redid the layout. Very annoying.

I am an introvert, as I have already expressed many times, and one of the big info-rules is that introverts do not like people messing with their organization. This is why I freak out is someone erases with the wrong side of the eraser or presses down too hard when using my pen.

So now I must live with my ugly email. Sigh.

Oh, the life of the insecure.

Calendaro Ordero

I mapped out everything I want to do so that it will happen. Much easier than manipulating. And it works 99.9% of the time! So, today, for example, we are going to a store in the mall that carries parasols. Very exciting, yes?

The other good thing about my calendar is that I can color-code it. Usually I keep everything in my head. This has lead me to a theory of why I spout out random facts: all the other things that I remember shove them out. I don't mind it, though; I still remember everything. Take that, brain.

In other notes, yesterday my siblings and I had a great deal of fun doing electric stuff. We made a fan, doorbell, etc.

Sorry for all the shortness of late, but I've not been in my best moods.

Hodgepodge and MURDER MYSTERIES *shriek*

I do not remember what I did Saturday. This saddens me.

*mulls*

I went to the library and have since been reading. . . MURDER MYSTERIES!!! Just a tip: it's usually the guy or his wife. Or the guy pretending to be his wife. That was a weird story.

I also found shampoo with trivia on it! So happy! My family has just accepted it as "another of those weird things Emma does." Sigh. Oh well, still happy. :D

Am also wishing that I had an extra $48 lying around. Make that $70. . .no, $93. . . I might need a lot more. Must. . . close. . . tab. . . .

As I am feeling rather hyper and have thus zoomed through my hodgepodge subjects, I shall get a quote from Peter.

"Velociraptor means "swift thief."

There, y'all learned something. And now for Laura's quote:

"Paper towel."

Have fun with your new knowledge.