Today is the day.
Indeed it is THE day- the day I will finally defeat both Aunt Paula, Jesse, AND Raine in Age of Empires. My strategy is quite simple. Only, I don't have one. That's how simple it is. But, alas, I'm determined to beat them. So instead of being crushed by seige rams in the first five minutes of the game, I can proudly declare (holding my fist in the air, of course) "VICTORY IS MINE!!! I LAUGH IN YOUR FACE, AMATURE AOE OPPONENTS! HA! HA! HA!"
And then, of course, I'll drink coffee with an enigmatic smirk on my face. Ha.
VICTORY SHALL BE MINE!!! FINALLY!!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
A Girl's Job
(Please note. Some of my descriptions may be exaggerations of the truth in order to capture attention of the reader. To make that statement clearer- the guys bathroom in our house is not nearly as horrific as I made it sound. Please refrain from reading the following if you are young, elderly, or if you have just eaten.)
In the world of feminism, you have your girly-girls and your tomboys. I like to think that I'm somewhere in the gray- meaning I can play football with the guys but still be recognized as a semi-attractive female being. As of yesterday, I'm learning that I lack some of the skills that most girls have naturally. Let me elaborate.
2 p.m. I'm bored- and tired of my gross, chipped toenails. They were last painted at Shelby's house about a week ago and they were starting to look nasty. I really only wanted to remove the paint, that's all. It's certainly not rocket science- at least not to most. But there was one teeny issue- the polish remover was in the other house in the guys bathroom (it used to be the family bathroom and let's just say I haven't used polish remover in a lonnng time). No biggie- even though I wasn't particularly looking forward to trekking into the guys house. It scares me a little. I like to think that I'm not bothered by gross guy stench and mess, but it sounds about as appealing as hanging out in the woods with a bunch of those creepy red-cloaked monsters from 'The Village'. (Gee, thanks, M N Shamalan. You've ruined camping for me FOREVER!). So anyways, I put on my shoes and headed over. The other house was actually pretty clean-- but when I looked at the door to the bathroom I couldn't help but think of all those horror movies. What was lurking behind there? Sludge? Severed limbs? I expected the worse.
The light was dim and it reeked of body odor. The walls told tales of a recent crime scene- mysterious spatters of red in one spot or another. A thick layer of grime coated the sink. I inhaled deeply before entering- savoring my breath. Gingerly I moved around bottles and containers on the shelf. No polish remover. I opened the med cabinet and thoroughly searched it. Still nothing. But I did find red nail polish. A thought occurred to me. Why did I have to remove the old polish? Why not just paint over the old?
That is why ten minutes later I was safely back in my room, unscrewing the cap to the polish. Other girls made it look so easy (painting toenails, that is). But I found that as I tried to oh-so-carefully paint, the brush wouldn't agree with me. It got all over my big toe.
Cursing, I tried to wipe away the excess polish. Nothing was working. I was merely smearing it all over my foot and I was getting it on my hands too. By the time I was finally finished the toes on my left foot looked so awful that I wished I'd have never touched them.
Sigh. I guess I'm just more of a tomboy.
In the world of feminism, you have your girly-girls and your tomboys. I like to think that I'm somewhere in the gray- meaning I can play football with the guys but still be recognized as a semi-attractive female being. As of yesterday, I'm learning that I lack some of the skills that most girls have naturally. Let me elaborate.
2 p.m. I'm bored- and tired of my gross, chipped toenails. They were last painted at Shelby's house about a week ago and they were starting to look nasty. I really only wanted to remove the paint, that's all. It's certainly not rocket science- at least not to most. But there was one teeny issue- the polish remover was in the other house in the guys bathroom (it used to be the family bathroom and let's just say I haven't used polish remover in a lonnng time). No biggie- even though I wasn't particularly looking forward to trekking into the guys house. It scares me a little. I like to think that I'm not bothered by gross guy stench and mess, but it sounds about as appealing as hanging out in the woods with a bunch of those creepy red-cloaked monsters from 'The Village'. (Gee, thanks, M N Shamalan. You've ruined camping for me FOREVER!). So anyways, I put on my shoes and headed over. The other house was actually pretty clean-- but when I looked at the door to the bathroom I couldn't help but think of all those horror movies. What was lurking behind there? Sludge? Severed limbs? I expected the worse.
The light was dim and it reeked of body odor. The walls told tales of a recent crime scene- mysterious spatters of red in one spot or another. A thick layer of grime coated the sink. I inhaled deeply before entering- savoring my breath. Gingerly I moved around bottles and containers on the shelf. No polish remover. I opened the med cabinet and thoroughly searched it. Still nothing. But I did find red nail polish. A thought occurred to me. Why did I have to remove the old polish? Why not just paint over the old?
That is why ten minutes later I was safely back in my room, unscrewing the cap to the polish. Other girls made it look so easy (painting toenails, that is). But I found that as I tried to oh-so-carefully paint, the brush wouldn't agree with me. It got all over my big toe.
Cursing, I tried to wipe away the excess polish. Nothing was working. I was merely smearing it all over my foot and I was getting it on my hands too. By the time I was finally finished the toes on my left foot looked so awful that I wished I'd have never touched them.
Sigh. I guess I'm just more of a tomboy.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Looking Forward
Listening to 'King of Anything' by Sarah Barallies. It's songs like these that make me wonder how I could ever be sad. Every time I hear it, it makes me smile for some reason. Any bad mood? *poof!* gone! Did you know it takes more face muscles to frown than smile? I have made a personal resolve to continue to be happy and make others happy. Because being sad sucks!
Who cares if you disagree? You are not me. Who made you king of anything? :)
Who cares if you disagree? You are not me. Who made you king of anything? :)
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Dandruff Falling From the Sky
So. It's supposed to snow like a foot tonight. Supposed. To. But is it going to? I'm tired of bogus weather predictions. They're a major bummer. And I don't like bummers. They're like cold buckets of water on happy days. So, as nasty as my description of snow is (see title of this post) I DO hope it snows. I mean, how awesome would it be to make snowmen at the skate park down town. I'll tell you the answer to that question. VERY AWESOME.
Science fair is coming up again. I asked Carol if I could do the same project as last year (Does music affect your heart rate?). She said no. Big surprise there. The problem is, the only science fair projects I'm interested in doing involve music. So why not? I mean, I didn't even get to show my science project last year because I went to Seattle the same week they gave their presentation. It's majorly lame that I can't re-do a very fun project. I even asked Carol if her answer would change in the case that I wrote an essay providing sufficient reasons why I should be able to do said science fair project (in those fancy terms, too) and she STILL said no. Psh. Teachers.
So now I sit here, disappointed and defeated, and feeling fat from all those darn Saltine crackers I ate (with butter.) And I wonder what not-so-fun project I'll be stuck with. Anyway. I guess I'll blog more LATER. For now, I just simply say; BE GONE!
Science fair is coming up again. I asked Carol if I could do the same project as last year (Does music affect your heart rate?). She said no. Big surprise there. The problem is, the only science fair projects I'm interested in doing involve music. So why not? I mean, I didn't even get to show my science project last year because I went to Seattle the same week they gave their presentation. It's majorly lame that I can't re-do a very fun project. I even asked Carol if her answer would change in the case that I wrote an essay providing sufficient reasons why I should be able to do said science fair project (in those fancy terms, too) and she STILL said no. Psh. Teachers.
So now I sit here, disappointed and defeated, and feeling fat from all those darn Saltine crackers I ate (with butter.) And I wonder what not-so-fun project I'll be stuck with. Anyway. I guess I'll blog more LATER. For now, I just simply say; BE GONE!
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Excuuuse me for Being a Pessimest
Oh, Ma. Why do you always have to sound so optimistic in your blogs?? It makes all the REST of us seem like the grim reaper.
This will be a quick post, used to inform you that it is not me who has been lazily leaving my clothes all over my bedroom and failing to throw out my garbage once I'm finished with it. It is not me who has been carelessly shoving things into my drawer. Not me who hasn't made my bed, but, in fact, left it rumpled. Not me who hasn't swept, hasn't done laundry, hasn't washed my mirror, hasn't dusted. All of the aforementioned was done by my evil twin. Not Raine, but the other one. The one NO ONE knows about. And if you refuse to put the blame on her then fine, I'll take it all. At least my bookshelf is organized. So while you FORCIBLY ACCUSE ME OF HEINOUS ACTS OF SLOB-LIKE BEHAVIOR, I'll just kick my skateboard out of the way and try to make my way across the room. Eck, someone should really clean up after her.
This will be a quick post, used to inform you that it is not me who has been lazily leaving my clothes all over my bedroom and failing to throw out my garbage once I'm finished with it. It is not me who has been carelessly shoving things into my drawer. Not me who hasn't made my bed, but, in fact, left it rumpled. Not me who hasn't swept, hasn't done laundry, hasn't washed my mirror, hasn't dusted. All of the aforementioned was done by my evil twin. Not Raine, but the other one. The one NO ONE knows about. And if you refuse to put the blame on her then fine, I'll take it all. At least my bookshelf is organized. So while you FORCIBLY ACCUSE ME OF HEINOUS ACTS OF SLOB-LIKE BEHAVIOR, I'll just kick my skateboard out of the way and try to make my way across the room. Eck, someone should really clean up after her.
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