Vive México

I am, without exception, the biggest wimp on planet earth. As much as I've enjoyed myself the past several days, I miss everyone back home something terrible. This Sunday was especially difficult. If all those chubby cheeks, pudgy knees, button noses, and huge brown-black eyes weren't vying for my attention, I would have been a complete and utter basketcase. Kids don't usually like me, so this was a welcome change. :-)

Narcis Dragomir, 1/6 of the missionary family I'm staying with, came to pick me up from home on Wednesday. We arrived at their home at around 7ish in the evening. They are located about 25 miles south of Tijuana, in Rosarito. I was greeted by four little blonde people. Actually, "greeted" isn't quite the word to use. Mercilessly interrogated is more like it. Even after two hours, the novelty of having a new playmate had not ceased to excite them...a word from their mother, Sarah, sent them all trooping defeatedly up the stairs, shoulders hunched, to bed.

I'm in charge of Ruthie, their oldest, who is going to turn 9 on the 30th. She's a bright girl with blue eyes and waist length blonde hair. She's incredibly smart, but, she tries to get out of doing her schoolwork at the slightest hint of an interruption. Understandably so. Doing school when there are so many visitors dropping by every day is more than a little distasteful. She's a sneaky little thing, but, as she soon found out, the tricks that worked on Mom didn't so much as dent my resolve. Been there, tried that...most of the tricks in that book were written by me anyway. (Other first-born ENTP's might have contributed a thing or two. :P) It was quite a shock to her, as she thought that she had found a friend and confidante in me, not an unyielding dictator. By the end of the second day of school, it was clear that I was the victor of the battle of wills. We're very good friends now, and we understand eachother, being the oldest in a family where boys outnumber the girls. We're both hoping she gets a sister. :-)

The little boys are really sweet. Nathaniel, 3, is still in diapers, and they've pretty much abandoned all hope of civilizing him. I help out with the housework, and babysit, and just do whatever needs to be done. On Sunday we (the youth group and I) helped move a bunch of boulders from the backyard of the house across the street. One of the guys spoke english, so I wasn't completely clueless as to what was being said. We had a lot of fun...everyone here acts like they are family. Oh, and the food is out of this world. We had tacos for lunch on Sunday. To coint a phrase...BEAST tacos. Homemade flour tortillas, served with cheesy beans, fresh guacamole, homemade salsa, and sizzling carne asada served hot off the grill. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

On Saturday we were invited for dinner at a friend's house. Oh, my word. I have two words for you. Chiles Rellenos. They'll change your life. "Hyberbole!" you shout. "Prove it!" you demand. It's a fire roasted chilli pepper with cheese stuffed into the middle that has been dipped in flour and whipped eggs... and then fried. I'd cheerfully die of a heart attack before I ever give those up....now that I've discovered them.

By now it's become painfully obvious that I've only taken one semester of Spanish. The amount of Spanish I understand is directly proportional to the rate at which a person speaks. I can string the bits and pieces I pick up together, to get a general gist of the conversation. It takes a lot of concentration, but I get by. That's what I was trying to do after dinner on Saturday. Everyone was laughing and having a lot of fun. Every once in a while, Sarah would clue me in on what was being said. At one point during the conversation, I must have looked particularly puzzled because Narcis paused the discussion to ask me whether I understood what they were saying. Me (dubiously): "Are you guys talking about putting the kids through the car wash? " This remark, after being translated into spanish for the benefit of everyone else at the table caused a gale of laughter to erupt that took a full minute to subside. Personally, I didn't think it was that funny. They'd actually been talking about bathtime at a certain orphanage. The kids were washed using assembly line technology. All of them stand in a long line, waiting to be rinsed, scrubbed, and then rinsed again by various volunteers. C'mon, it does kinda sound like a carwash. :P People, myself included, have been getting quite a kick out of the language barrier.

On Sunday, Sarah had me help Hermana (Sister) Ruth with the four year olds. Finally, people I don't confuse! I know a few simple sentences, and the little people think I'm just great. Gabby, a chatty 4 year old, has kind of taken me under her wing. She's quite the little spit fire. And she's got a voice on her...loud enough to wake the dead. But I love her. She and the younger Dragomir kids, Joshua (5), and Nathaniel (3) get along quite well...20% of the time.

Today, we had a funeral. For Ginger...one of the family dogs. Someone ran her over. (If you think drivers in California are awful, you need to come to Mexico. They're even worse here than in Romania...and that's saying something.) It was pretty hard on the kids, especially Ruthie. It put her in a sour mood for the rest of the day. They're planning on getting a new dog by the end of the month.

That's about all the update I have time for right now...I wanted to write at least this much down before I forget. Tonight I'm babysitting the Dragomir kids and Gabby. I'm already hearing some questionable crashing and banging upstairs. No earsplitting screams though, so they must all still be alive. (I'm going to make a wonderful mother. :P) I don't really have anytime to proof read this post, so excuse any spelling errors, boring sentences, and stuff that just doesn't make any sense. Do as I do and try to catch the general gist of things. I'm missing everyone back home, and praying for everyone scattered across the States.

Shoutout to my brother from Mom: Jimmy, Mom has tried calling you and e-mailing...but it doesn't seem like you're home. She's on the verge of getting herself a Facebook account. Be a good son and e-mail her your address in TN. Thank you. :-D

Lois Grows Up

I'd very happily forgotten all about my duty to this corner of the blogosphere, but it's been a particularly uneventful Tuesday, and days like this have the tendency to jog my memory. So, guess what. I'm sick...again. I am developing some killer abdominal muscles from these great, hacking coughs, though. So that's a plus. If I ramble, seem a bit cantankerous, fail to captivate your interest, or attempt all three simultaneously...that's why.

Can someone please explain to me where the phrase "get well soon" originated? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the sentiment of all the friends who have spoken these exact words to me this week, but I find the phrase itself insipid, confusing, and full of extraneous content. For instance, why is the word "soon" just tacked on the end there? Have you ever met anyone who wanted to "get well later"? As for the getting well part...it's physically impossible for most people to control the pace at which their body fights off pathogens and regains health. Unless, of course, you're a believer in the power of positive thinking, in which case I'll leave you to tie knots and blow spit bubbles in a corner.

Marky always makes life interesting for me, because he's awesome like that. Don't you wish you had a cute 'lil brother like mine? If wishes were horses, peasants would ride. Nevertheless, I'll share this snippet of life with Marky with you. :)


Mom had the CD player on in the kitchen, and there was a lady speaking. (She had returned from a women's retreat, and was re-listening to a particularly convicting message.) Marky just happened to bounce by, and assumed the worst.

"Mom, women shouldn't preach."

"Yes, I know, they really shouldn't--"
"Men should preach, and women should sit like chickens and listen."

Mom, laughing so hard she can barely get the words out: "Chickens? How
about something a little more...refined."



"Ok, bald eagles."

Mom loses it.

By way of explanation, Marky offered this pearl of wisdom: "Well, I
figure women are like chickens because chickens just sit on their eggs
all day." :D

I'm going to be so sad when he grows up.

In other news, I want to direct your attention to the fact that I'm maturing, if only slightly, as a human being. Tonight, most of my friends are going ice skating, and because I'm sick I've decided not to go. For most people, this practical application of common sense is neither remarkable or laudable, however, I (rather tragically) am not "most people." One small step for Lois, one giant leap for parents of juvenile children. I do believe this is the first time I've ever prevented myself from having fun. Evidently, I haven't matured enough to let someone else sing my praises...one step at a time. :)

Well, can't think of anything else to post about for now, hopefully I'll get around to something more edge-of-your-seat thrilling, and meaningful, before too long.

BTW, I've already started to regret being mature...

WWIII

Despite the fact that my deltoid is numb, my subscapularis is sore, my infraspinatus barely functions, and I may never regain feeling in my left pinky again, I have decided to suffer for your sake, dear reader, and post about my trip to Big Bear. It was epic. Prepare to be amazed.

Wednesday:

Remember the Stevens family, the one you should be especially nice to lest they use their obscenely large collection of embarrassing photographs against you? I drove up with them. Them being Rach, Becca, Drew, and Mrs. Stevens. We met up with Kyle, Phillip, Timmy, Paul and Justin (the guy who appreciates a good argument) at our resort. We played Apples to Apples (possibly the worst game I've ever had the misfortune of playing, second only to Missionary Conquest.) and just enjoyed each other's company. We took a trip down to the lake to test the integrity of the snow. It was more than satisfactory. It was poofy, powdery, white, fluffy awesomeness. Rach and I tried to climb some trees, but we were...*ahem* rudely interrupted at every turn. It's hard to defend yourself against snowballs when you can't budge a square inch because you don't know from which direction they're coming from. The lake was gorgeous! The scenery, breathtaking! I'm sure Rach and Em will post pictures, so make sure you check out their blogs...not now! Finish reading mine first. *cough* Please.

After dinner, Justin and Kyle corrupted us young innocents by teaching us how to play different versions of poker. Don't worry, we used trains as chips. Plastic trains. Teeny ones. By this time, the Oautus had arrived. (When you read Andrew, I mean Andrew Oautu. When you read Drew, I mean Andrew Stevens. It takes too long to type Stevens and Oautu.) At one point, Andrew asked Kyle, who had folded, for advice on how to play his hand. Kyle, after thinking for a few seconds: "You should do this...because, I know things. "

According to Johnny, who unofficially kept track, this was the first memorable quote of the entire trip. Cristeen had the most hilarious luck during those games. If Cristeen went all in, in a real game, we'd have folded. Emily, Ricky, and Stephen showed up at around 11 p.m., miraculously intact. (Stephen's not exactly famous for his cautious driving.) It was a fun time of fellowship, but we all turned in fairly early. (One's definition of "early" is relative.)

Thursday Morning:

We met up at the Oautu's apartment for breakfast and gathered around for a discussion time. Mr. Oautu shared from Joshua 14. I was encouraged by the reminder that God is bigger than the "giants" we face in life.

Thursday Afternoonish:

We were all eager to get to the snow, but it took us a teensy bit longer than we had expected to get there. Once we found a good spot, (good meaning free of charge) the guys did what they do best and started pelting us girls with massive snowballs. The odds, 5 to 11, were slightly in their favor. Thus began WWIII. (Warner War. Clever, no? Meh. For the sake of argument, we'll assume that there have been at least two snowball fights involving Warnerites.) I attempted to strategize and make use of the terrain, but all my efforts produced were five good (big) snowballs in the face from Kyle, before Becca got to him, and too many to count from Stephen, Drew, Ricky, and all the rest. I wisely beat a hasty retreat.

We didn't think the area we were in was a good place for sledding, so we hiked around looking for greener pastures before ending up in the exact same spot. By the time we circled around the place, we had gained a deep sense of appreciation for our original spot, which, as it turns out, was PERFECT for sledding! :-) Funny how perspective changes things.

We girls displayed such poise and beauty. Models of grace! Paradigms of elegance! Poetry in motion! Not once did our step falter, causing us to faceplant in the snow. For $100 an hour, you too can learn to ride a sled with refinement. It goes like this: WHOOSH! *kersplat* ..."I'm ok!"

It was great fun, and we were all ravenous by the time we got back to our apartment.

After A Very Late Lunch:

Drew, Stephen, Andrew, and I ditched everyone else to play Rummikub. We didn't feel like playing Dutch Blitz. I had never played it the "American" way, which quickly became obvious. Drew beat out Stephen by a narrow margin. Mr. Oautu taught us how to play the "Romanian" way, for some variety. That was hilarious. It was fun in part because I won, but mostly because of Drew's facial expressions as he picked up tile after worthless, unhelpful tile every single turn. Priceless. He had won the first game, though, so we weren't feeling too sorry for him. We joined the others to play my favoritist game in the whole entire world...Apples to Apples. One learns a few disconcerting things whilst playing that game. Namely that oil changes are serene, afros are more bizarre than the Bermuda Triangle, and that Jack Frost is harder and faster than a wrecking ball. It wouldn't have been so bad if we'd had the party edition. My travel edition was sorely lacking in interesting cards; once we'd been through the deck five times, it got old. Thankfully, we only went around the room once before Kyle won. We watched a documentary about Oswald Chambers that wouldn't have been half bad if someone had thought to edit it first. Every kernel of trivia-esque information, such as the seminary he attended, was followed by a sort of music video in which the artist acted out the lyrics in a painfully obvious way. "The chill of winter..."**The lady singing puts her hands in her pockets and shivers while gazing longingly at....a tree ** One particularly disturbing scene focused entirely on the singer's lips, nose, and eyelashes. No thank you. Plus, the weird camera angles made everyone look obese. The parts that were good, I really enjoyed, but I would have liked to hear more about his life and trials. Ah well, at least it got me interested in the book Abandoned to God, so it served it's original purpose. :-)

After Dinner:

We discussed all the bizarre foods we'd ever heard of. I think Kyle's "food" won: fermented seal guts. That's pretty sick. In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best topic we could have chosen to settle our dinner. I made a comment about lobsters that I would like to correct. It was one of the many unfortunate "blonde moments" I'm perpetually experiencing. I claimed that lobsters scream if boiled. Frankly, it's just not possible.

a) They don't have vocal chords.

b) If there is any noise at all when the lobster hits the pot, it might be air coming out of its stomach through its mouth parts. Plus, invertebrates have such a primitive nervous system that they supposedly feel no pain.

I do apologize if any of you found this tidbit of false information interesting and have therefore wasted no time in telling everyone you know about it.

Next time you have lobster for dinner, feel free to be as cruel and inhumane as possible, apparently it don't make no difference to the critter. (Gotta love Google.)

Friday Morning:

We had breakfast burritos! They were so delicious I'm including them in this post. A symphony for your palate! Are you a fan of delicious flavor? It was the first time I tried something like that...they were goood. After breakfast, Justin read Proverbs for the day, and Mr. Oautu discussed some of the verses with us. I was reminded to practice serving cheerfully at home, where perhaps I'm not praised and appreciated as often as I'd like.

Friday Afternoon:

By the time everything was packed up, it was fairly late. We drove down to the lake and parked next to a gift shop/tourist trap. A brilliant idea struck me. Thankfully it didn't hurt. With yesterday's embarrassing failure still fresh in my memory, I conferred with my Lieutenant (Becca) and rallied the forces (Em, Cristeen, and Rach). The enemy had infiltrated our ranks, planting a spy (Timmy) in our midst. My Lieutenant and I rescheduled our plan of attack so that we would maintain the element of surprise. Our first victim never knew what hit him. Kyle was smothered under a white avalanche as 10 snowballs successively exploded against his chest. As we won victory after glorious victory, their casualties grew. Cristeen was our weapon of mass destruction. They never suspect the cute one. Stephen, Ricky, Justin, Andrew, Paul, Drew, Timmy all died magnificently. We were hungry after such a masterful display of genius, so we ate lunch. Well, we all did...even the casualties.

We had another decisive battle next to the lake, but a truce was called since we couldn't feel our fingers anymore. Friends for the moment, we took a hike. We were trekking merrily around the lake when I very astutely noticed that the surrounding area looked familiar. Enter: memorable quote number 2.

Me: "Hey! We're next to that boat place thingie!"

Drew: "The dock?!"

Whatever. Boat place thingie makes way more sense. Unfortunately, I think that has earned an infamous spot on Johnny's memorable quotes list.

Around 4 p.m. the truce was called off and we headed back to the woods next to the parking lot to find the perfect place for our last stand. A word of advice. Don't ever get into a fight with Stephen Weston. He aims to kill. It doesn't matter who you are, where you live, or how old you are...he will mop the floor with you. Literally. (Considering the fact we had a snowball fight.) Snowballs. Wet. Mop. Get it? Get it? Never mind. Quite simply, you mess with Stephen, you die.

Personally, I think he was still bitter about the events preceding lunch and wanted to exact some revenge. He did. They all did. We were laughing hysterically pretty much the entire time. Tragically, I managed to duck right into one of Andrew's missiles. Rachel was bravely launching snowball after snowball across from where Emily and I were holding down the fort. Becca and Cristeen were blurs of motion. Anyone caught in the middle of the field got bombarded with a barrage of snowballs from every angle. Drew found himself in that situation once too often. Every time he'd get up after a bad hit, he'd pack a snowball and yell "Who's laughing?!" I'm sorry to report that although we girls won a battle, the guys won WWIII. (I did manage to plonk Stephen, Kyle, Justin, Paul, and Drew pretty good before they clobbered me. ) We girls came out of it looking...well, looking like something the cat wouldn't bother dragging in. It was the most fun I've had in a while. I vote to make it a yearly excursion. Any takers?

On our way down the mountain, we (the fun car) played 20 Questions. Well, Becca, Drew, Em, Rach, and I started off playing 20 questions, but ended up just playing Questions, especially when Drew chose a word. It took us about half and hour to guess light bulb, while Drew had a blast at our expense.

"Is it electric?" Yes.

"Do people use it often?" ...Yes.

"Does it give off light?" Yes.

"A lamp?" No.

"A night light?" No.

"Ceiling lights?" No.

"A computer?" No.

"The little red light that flashes on smoke detectors?" ...No.

"Is it electric?" **snickers**

~The End~

I was so incredibly blessed by everyone on this trip! You girls were such an especially incredible encouragement! I so appreciated the sweet time of fellowship we shared together. This trip is a memory I'm going to treasure. Thank you Lord for your love, and for the wonderful, safe time You gave us all! :-)

Nothing. Really, this is a nothing post.

You know that feeling you get when someone asks you a question and your brain, which up till then had been put-put-puttering along its merry way, suddenly screeches to an abrupt halt? Like when Mom catches you opening the refrigerator to put in a pan of lasagna and asks you what you're doing and you look down only to discover that you are, in fact, holding a box of pencils. (Come now, I know some of you have been in this position at least once, if not twice.) Anyway, the point is that your mind goes blank and you begin to mutter something incoherent about broccoli and its significance to string theory. Well, this post is going to bear an eerie resemblance to blank nothingness because I really have nothing to write about. Most people who find themselves in my situation have sense enough to leave things well alone and not litter the blogosphere with useless rambling. I, however, have no such qualms. Besides, I haven't posted since November, and that's simply inexcusable.

Tidbit 1: I've finished this semester. Did I do well? Define well. Academically, I lowered my overall GPA by several points thanks to some pesky math and biology classes. To my chagrin, the problem wasn't that I lacked the ability, but that I simply did not apply myself as I should have... something I intend to rectify during the Spring semester by acing all of my classes. Anyway, I'm glad it's over with and I can take a few deep breaths before the madness begins again.

How I Spend A Rainy Day: If you're ever bored, grab some of your little siblings, and have them play Monopoly. It's one of the most entertaining things to do on cold days when it's been raining incessantly. You could also bake something, but baking usually ends in disaster. After a tray or two of whatever you've made you start feeling fat, obese really. Of course, because of the aforementioned precipitation, you can't jog off the cookies. Well, you can, but you will get sick because it's cold outside. Then you'll be all wet and your nose will run.... Just trust me, going down this road of cookie baking on a rainy day will lead to a nightmare of hideous proportions. Take my word for it. Plus, you may never find your nose again. Where was I? Ah yes...Monopoly. So, grab some siblings, get the game started, pop some popcorn, fluff some pillows for your chair, and sit down and enjoy the show. If your siblings are Marky and Katie, the scenario will play out like this:

Marky, as the oldest, will think up as much of a strategy as can be thunked up for a game in which the outcome is almost entirely based on luck. Katie will roll the dice and move her little golden piece. Marky's goal is to trump Katie by any means necessary. Katie's goal is to amass a large amount of money while not spending a bit of cash, and avoid anything that will prevent her from gaining 200 extra dollars for passing"go". Several hours will elapse during which time you will have finished your popcorn, Marky will have built hotels on the prestigious Boardwalk Boulevard, and Katie will have acquired, by accident, the odd railroad here and there as well as Baltic Avenue. Now, the fun begins. (Which is a crying shame seeing as you're out of popcorn...)

Marky: "I'm the most successful person in the universe....look at how much money I have!" He picks up a stack of hundred dollar bills, and throws them in the air. Inevitably, Katie lands into one of his numerous traps, and has to forfeit her hard earned dollars. The second time Katie reluctantly enjoys the luxury of Pacific Avenue, Marky "forgives" Katie's debt, leaving her with one dollar. At this point, Katie just doesn't care anymore, so she rolls without fear. And, miraculously, makes it around the board twice, none the poorer, leaving Marky sputtering in disbelief. The third time she lands on community chest in between Tennessee Avenue and St. James Place, she receives a bank error in her favor(would that that could happen in real life) and gains $200.

Marky: "I take it back! This is ridiculous. You're winning. I don't forgive you anymore."

Katie: "What? You're cheating!"

Marky: "Lois!!!"

Katie: "Lois!!!"

Marky: "LOIS!!!"

If you're an older sibling, you'll know what happens next. If you're the youngest, think back to why none of those games of monopoly finished in a civil manner. Great, now you know too.

Tidbit 2: My uncle came up from his adorable house in Texas with his adorable wife and their three adorable children, who all have tiny feet. The youngest, Elise, doesn't even reach up to Jimmy's knee. Needless to say she's....well, adorable. Their kids are like cuter versions of me when I was a baby (as impossible as it sounds, its true) . Naturally, you have no point of reference so you'll just have to take my word for it. I'd show you pictures, but the adorability factor would shatter your monitor. I know some of you have access to a good lawyer, but I'm just not in the mood to talk circles around people in suits in a court setting. Ahh...they're SO CUTE!!!

Tidbit 3: They all left yesterday morning to spend Christmas up north with everyone else who doesn't have a house in Murrieta that needs to be remodeled.... :( I mean, it's great that Mom and Dad found a house. But, as thrilled as I am to be privileged enough to work on it, I'd rather be up north in Oroville with my insanely darling cousins.

Tidbit 4: Every day I realize more and more how incredibly undeserving I am of God's love and forgiveness. There's a lot that I take for granted, and it just amazes me that I can keep coming back to Him and He welcomes me with open arms. I just wish it wouldn't take me so long to get to that point. In Jimmy's words: "It's a pride thing." How true that is. It's just so awesome to know that as long as I keep coming to Him, He will still forgive me.

Tidbit 5: Jimmy and I do dumb things when we can't play outside and we have free time. Like make up weird word games. Adding " 'Tis true 'tis true, and pity 'tis 'tis true" at the end of every sentence gives the sentence that certain je ne sais qua. And, adding "of doom", said with a deep, and preferably masculine voice, makes every noun sound ten times cooler than it really is. Try it. 10 brownie points to whoever guesses which little phrase is mine and which one is Jimmy's. Told ya it was dumb. ;P

Tidbit 6: If you've noticed, I took a personality test (view sidebar)...just to see if I'm really an ENTP. Buster Keaton was an ENFP. The first time I took it, I turned out to be one too, which I thought was the most hilarious thing ever. I took it again and ended up being an ENTP. Maybe if I take it a third time I'll turn out to be an INTJ, wouldn't that be amazing. Blech....I take it back....I TAKE IT BACK. Susan B. Anthony was an INTJ. ENTP's are great. :) Bugs Bunny is an ENTP.

Tidbit 7: I'm out of tidbits. Actually, I was out of tidbits when I started this post on nothing, because, this is merely to let everyone who cares know that I'm still alive and kicking...as if my ceaselessly constant presence on Google Buzz wasn't a dead giveaway. (Thank you, Timmy S. for bringing this to my attention.)

If you're tired of reading nothing, I don't blame you. Try writing nothing...it's even more challenging. Alas, I have succeeded...I'm that good. 'Tis true 'tis true and pity 'tis 'tis true. Post. Of doom.

In Which We Get Yelled At By Old People...

The following people should not read this post:

• Those who are "special" or may become "special"
• Those who still drool and doodle simultaneously
• Those with serious back problems
• Those subject to sickness after excessive cumin consumption
• Those that might cause others to be more vulnerable to injury
• 
  
• 
  

** Please keep your hands and feet close to your body at all times, and hold on to your chair. Enjoy your ride on Loisicuta: The Blog!!!**

Welcome to the excessive thrill ride that is the blog that chronicles my life. Not. But don't you think my introduction was rather sparkling with creativity?

This past week was indeed, awesome. Mom and Dad finally went off to Costa Rica on their long anticipated "second honeymoon" trip. Do you remember ever contemplating, as a child, how gloriously liberating and incredibly fun it would be for your parents and everyone else to go away, just for a little bit? To be able to do whatever you wanted, no restrictions, make as much noise as you pleased, read as many books as you cared to, completely ignore chores and responsibility ...No? Ok, you're lying. This past week, I've experienced, in reality, that secret longing. And, I'm happy to say that I've made a life-changing discovery. Small children have a severely underdeveloped intellect, and are therefore incapable of having perspective. I have to admit, the novelty of the first day was fun, I enjoyed it. By the second day, though, I was worried. How were the kidders doing while I was at school. What was Grandma feeding them for lunch. Did Katie forget to pack clean underwear and church shoes. Plus, I had a veritable mountain of homework to deal with. I've diagnosed myself as having a chronic disease...it's called aging. I was surprised, nay, shocked. I thought I was incapable of growing up. They should come up with a drug to fix this...Peter Panicillin. But, I digress, and you're probably half-asleep from reading my rambling.

Mom and Dad had left on Tuesday, and by Thursday, my siblings were dispersed amongst various family members.

The first night they were gone, Jimmy and I were sitting on the couch talking, when it struck us. The noise of....silence. It was quite an experience. We sat there in awe for a good ten minutes, appreciating the uniqueness.

Tuesday, I had sent Rachie an e-mail, all but begging (actually, I might have done a wee bit of begging...ok, a lot) the Stevens family to have Jimmy and I over. It worked so well, I'm thinking about becoming a homeless person, part time. They agreed to have us spend the night on Saturday, and take us to Church on Sunday. Tragically, Jimmy found himself drowning in a flood of school work, so he was unable to come. Saturday morning, bright and early at one 'o clock, Rach and Drew arrived to pick me up.

Very shortly after being welcomed into their home, I was made aware of a disturbing, and dangerous fact. The Stevens Family has amassed a frighteningly large collection of pictures. Abominable, atrocious, highly unflattering pictures of a great many people, the most appalling of which featured me. As a guest in their home, I had a difficult time disguising my horror. Can you imagine the behemothic amount of sheer blackmailing potential contained within a single hardrive? It was positively mind-boggling! I was duly impressed. A word to the wise: Don't be fooled by their warm, hospitable, generally lovable exterior. You can all thank me for exposing this potential threat at your earliest convenience. An unpretentious amount of monetary compensation bestowed in gratefulness would be appropriate, in this situation, considering what a dreadful fate I've saved you from. If you fail to comply with my request, I shall be tempted to join the Stevens in their unsavory blackmailing endeavors.

Speaking of temptation, I fell into it a good deal too frequently while at their house. I shamefully admit to gossiping about my co-workers, and various church members. Rachel, on the other hand, was an exemplary pillar of Christianity. She consistently read her Bible with an alacrity that would have astonished Jonathan Edwards. Andrew and Timmy demonstrated an unsettling inclination towards get-rich-quick schemes, most of which failed magnificently. Paul and Kyle distinguished themselves by being marginally productive. Kyle, near the very end, just managed to edge out the competition. While Becca, the perpetual recipient of monetary contributions, ministered to the Asiatic people, on account of their having especially adorable babies. Yes, yes, you're completely right. We played Missionary Conquest. And, as usual, Becca won.

The game itself was simple, and similar to Monopoly, a ratio of 7 parts luck to 1 part skill. (Sorry, Becks, I have to agree with Drew here. ) Most of the enjoyment comes from being as irritating as you possibly can to the other players, while you are stuck in "Bad Stewardship." The guys have perfected this to the point where it's become an art. Kyle and Drew, especially, are true masters.

We played "Pit", for a while, but soon decided it wasn't loud enough.

Then, I taught everyone how to play Kemps. It's a very competitive card game that involves a good deal more strategy than luck. The point of the game is to collect 4 cards of the same kind, and then flash "the sign" to your partner. "The sign" can be absolutely anything. When the sign gets flashed to a team member, he/she yells out "Kemps!" But, if you've been paying close attention to your opponents, you can steal their point by yelling "Contra-Kemps!" I've played it so often, and in so many different ways, that I horribly botched up the rules, but it was still tons of fun.

I tried to divide the teams up fairly evenly, but in the end, my competitive streak got the best of me, and I paired myself up with Rach, giving us a subtle advantage. At first, it wasn't nearly as subtle as I had hoped. I'd underestimated our natural talent, because we were absolutely puréeing the opposing teams. Oh, it was a thing of beauty! Kyle and Timmy conspired with Andrew and Becca; they compensated for their losses admirably by rigging the game a few times while Rach and I were out making up a new sign. The guys had WAY too much fun with one of the rules. Or rather, non-rule. In Kemps, it's perfectly legal to cheat, by peeking over at your opponent's cards. Kyle made good use of this by appointing Timmy as his designated cheater. For a while, Timmy's utmost priority was to peek over at everyone's cards and get points by cheating. Now, I consider myself a fairly decent human being. On principle, I wasn't about to peek at little Timmy's cards, and therefore had no idea that he pretty much knew every card in my hand! But, since everyone else was piteously far behind, Rachel and I won the first game.

By the second round, everyone had familiarized themselves with the game, and the "cheating" was down to a science. Their strategy was genius in it's simplicity. It became Rach and I contra universum mundum. (The Latin was to make sure you were awake.) They ALL ganged up on us! It was actually hilariously entertaining. Kyle would randomly say something nonsensical like "I like green bananas!" or "I love purple pumpkins!" That would really throw us off. Just when we thought he'd really lost it by saying something genuinely absurd, Timmy would urgently yell out "Kemps!", and they'd win the point. (Remember, anything can be a sign) It quickly became ridiculous, so Drew and Becca joined in. Interjections like, "Penguins fly south!" and "Pears!" or "Apples!" were not out of place. At one point, there was a lull in the game, and Drew yelled "Moose!" And, for some reason, I FELL for it. Hook, line, and STINKER! It was terrible. That really sent everyone into hysterics. In all the confusion, Drew and Becca, miraculously, won.

Kemps was becoming a tad too competitive. At times we were swapping cards in complete silence, eyeing each other suspiciously while desperately clutching at our cards, paranoid that someone was "cheating." We made a half-hearted attempt at playing Spoons. (Personally, I have yet to appreciate Spoons as a game that people could enjoy wasting time playing...)

So, we moved on to Round Robin. That was highly entertaining. Since most of the guys are too good, no one really presents any recognizable competition. Rachie, Becca and I fixed that by making them play left-handed. That was marginally better. Rach and I had something to prove. Last year, Kyle and Drew had beaten us soundly (left-handed!) when we played Racquetball. So, naturally, I took this opportunity to exact some semblance of revenge. I did end up winning, once or twice.

Since it was just about dinner time, Rach, Becca, and I ditched the game and went inside to help with the cooking. Mrs. Stevens asked me to make some oven-roasted broccoli. Lamentably, I added an excessive amount of cumin, instead of paprika, which made for some severely over-spiced Broccoli. It wasn't terrible, as much as it was fascinatingly overpowering. Hopefully no one hates cumin because of me. I didn't give anyone indigestion, on account of the fact that cumin is good for the digestive system...supposedly.

After dinner, we played "Silent Tag" at the park. The person who was "it" would appear from out of nowhere, and since it was dark, I got spooked for no reason quite often. Mostly what happens is that Kyle and Drew take turns tagging each other so that they can chase Becca around. It's the funniest thing. The hardest part is commandeering a good vantage point, to enjoy the show. Becca's pretty fast, and when they do eventually catch up to her, they're usually laughing too hard to do anything except tap her and yell "No tagbacks!"

Too soon it was time to go, and we ran home. Well, one-quarter of the way home. There were a few people up late, and they saw us. I can only imagine how weird it must have been for them. What do you do when all of the sudden, while you're relaxing and enjoying the evening in front of your house, a large group of young people comes tearing out of nowhere across the street from you? Ordinarily, you yell at them. I forget what it was they said, exactly. Everyone heard something else. The general consensus was that it sounded like "You can do it!"

We had some apple pie, when we came home, and then we went to bed, because it was getting pretty late.

HA! Like Becca, Rach and I would actually waste a perfectly good evening sleeping. How absurd. I can't believe you fell for that. In reality, we stayed up until....hmm, something tells me this should be filed under "classified information". Since the following day was Sunday, we decided to exercise a modicum of restraint because no one wanted to look like a partially electrocuted raccoon in the morning.

Sunday was an encouraging day, as always. It was especially fun because a lot of people played volleyball. That, for me, made it the perfect ending to an already incredibly fun weekend. Thank you, Stevens family, for putting up with me! (Oh, and Becks, would you mind giving me back the jar of vitamin C powder I left at your house? ) :-)

All Stevens Who Read This Post Are Required By Law To Leave A Comment.

"Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: "What! You too? I thought I was the only one."
— C.S. Lewis

Acute Viral Rhinopharyngitis (Take 2)

So, apparently I have to post again...because SOME people think my previous post left a little to be desired. Frankly, I think all of my posts leave something to be desired...but, here I am....ever the obliging, sweet, entertaining, funny, articulate, humble one. (I decided to quit while I was ahead, before running out of appropriate adjectives.)

Just this past week, I've had the privilege of experiencing the blissfully joyous feeling of a head cold; courtesy of my dear brother, Jimmy, who caught the bug from school. I first heard the term "head cold", when Rachel mentioned, a while ago, that some of her siblings were suffering from it. At first, I thought it meant that they simply thought they were sick, but were in fact, healthy. As in, their symptoms were purely psychological. **cough** Apparently, that's not the correct definition of a head cold... aaand, since everyone ELSE knows what it is, I shan't bother giving you a definition.

I can't believe I'm sick again!

**please allow five minutes for Lois to throw a hissy fit over the injustice of life**

My immune system wasn't always in this piteous condition. Like I've said before, I hate being sick, but it's even worse when you have to go to school. You can't imagine how wonderful it feels to ask for help in math from the scrawny, Indian tutor that's on duty, when you're visibly afflicted with a contagious ailment.

I wave him over. He brings with him a piece of paper, which, upon studying me closely, he cautiously sets down on the farthest corner of the table, taking care to avoid coming near me. I show him my problem, and ask him for advice. Gripping a pencil delicately by its eraser, he proceeds to scratch out some symbols on the piece of paper. Apparently my vision isn't what it used to be, because I can't make out anything besides chicken scrawl and ancient runes. That paper is awfully far away. So, I move on to plan B; I ask him for a verbal explanation, something he has not given me thus far, because it could damage his effort to avoid contamination. With much trepidation, he creeps slowly into the kill zone I've created with my great, hacking coughs, all the while eyeing me suspiciously. Before taking the last step, he inhales a huge lungful of air, and closes the gap between us.

He tries to expel as little air as possible in his explanation, making up for the lack of oxygen by talking rapidly and incoherently in a language I'm not sure is English. He soon runs out of air, which abruptly halts his speech. He looks at me, (at this point, I'm getting scared, because I can feel another coughing session coming on) but refuses to take a step back for more oxygen, knowing this would be rude and insensitive. (There's a fine line between surreptitiously avoiding disease, and avoiding it in an offensive manner.) Time is running out, and I'm still clueless as to the solution. His skin has started to turn an unhealthy shade of blue. Wait! His eyes have lit up... I sit, transfixed, as his lips migrate to the left side of his head... an incredible distance. He purses them, making a small "o", and sucks in a tiny stream of what he hopes is unpolluted air, before again turning to my assistance. Suddenly, I can't take it anymore.

I'm bent over double, coughing and sneezing for all I'm worth. I can literally feel my internal organs jumbling around, arguing over whose turn it is to be coughed up. The poor Indian guy took one look at the heaving, wheezing, snotty mass of humanity in front of him, and lost all of his social graces. He jerked back as if electrocuted, ran to the counter, and signed himself out of tutoring for the day.

Yep, being sick stinketh.

DISCLAIMER: I have in no way dramatized or exaggerated the event described above. Things happened exactly as I described them. Rully.

How Not to Clean a White Skirt

Ah yes...this wee neglected corner of the blogosphere belongs to me...
I haven't had much time for posting lately, because I'm striving to be a diligent student at college. Ah, who am I trying to kid. I haven't posted because nothing interesting has happened. (Notice how this sounds light-years better than "I was too lazy to post.")

During this past week, I've had the epitome of all blonde moments. So far, it's my second time going down this route, since a person can have multiple epitomical blonde moments. The first, was when I stated with confidence that the capitol of New York is New Jersey. I've since learned that New Jersey is, in fact, it's own separate state.

Last Saturday, I oxi-cleaned and bleached my favorite white skirt, actually, my only white skirt, until the fabric had nearly dissolved. With utmost care, I wrung out my spotlessly white garment, and hung it up to dry. On Sunday, I laid it out on my bed, and waited patiently for the iron to heat up. Gingerly, I began pressing my skirt. Then, I made a horrible, gut-wrenching mistake. Seeing that there was still a bit of water left in the iron, we have one of those new-fangled contraptions that allows one to unwrinkle a garment using indirect heat, I pressed the steam button. Apparently, the person who had last used the iron had forgotten to wipe away the excess moisture, in retrospect it was probably me, so the little holes that allow steam to escape had developed a bit of rust. Tragically, as I began to iron my skirt, the rust mingled with the escaping steam, causing a dribble of disgusting orange liquid to ooze out all over my pretty white skirt. Have you ever had the irrational urge to cause an inanimate object physical pain? Cue nervous break-down. Admittedly, it wasn't one of my finest moments.

I used up half a bottle of hydrogen peroxide on the offending stains, threw my skirt in the sink, and hoped for the best.

So, on Monday, I began the whole cleaning process...again, and left my skirt to soak in a basin full of water and detergent. I promptly forgot all about it, until Wednesday night. Wednesday! So, I ran out the door at around 10 p.m., dumped out the old water, rinsed my skirt, and filled up the basin with fresh H2O. When do you think I remembered it again? That's right...today. Friday. I found it floating amongst the decomposing carcasses of dead flies, mosquitoes, and other disagreeable insects. I'm going to take this as a sign that God doesn't want me to wear white skirts...

I'd like to direct your attention to the fact that you've just spent a whole two minutes of your time reading several paragraphs on: a white skirt. Heehee.