Hello Reader(s)!
Welcome to the fabulously entertaining, tremendously witty, marvelously informative, stupendously productive corner of the the world wide web that is my blog. You'll pardon my conceit. Yes, you will.
I've been up to quite a few things lately, so this will be a rather long post. Ah, ah, ah!...you're here, and here you'll stay until the remainder of this obnoxiously long entry comes to a close. Good manners and fine breeding prevents you from exiting this page without first fulfilling your obligatory duty. Now, now, we've been through this before. Chin up, wipe your eyes. There's a stout-hearted chap/chapess. And so, I begin.
Several weeks ago, the Ouatu Family graciously took me, and two other girls and a guy on a ski trip to Big Bear. Being my typically pestiferous self, I brought along my snowboard, the only person in the entire group who went snowboarding. It was a total blast getting to know the girls. The snowboarding was AWESOME! As an added bonus, it snowed the whole day we were up there! Naturally, I have no pictures. It was a wonderful time, full of fun and fellowship. Thank you Ouatu Family! The night before, I had gone to get my bindings adjusted. Now, I had received my board from my uncle around the age of 13. He's never been very particular, so I doubt the board was new when he bought it. Luckily, he had average size feet, so with three or four thick wool socks my feet fit quite nicely into the boots. Plus, I didn't have to spend a cent on new bindings. Bottom line, my board is an antique.
Anyway, I come in to the shop, greet the guy behind the counter, and unzip my case to pull out my board. He took a look at it, raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He asked me what was wrong, and I told him I'd like my stance to be wider, and would he please angle my ramp/disk thingie more to the right. As he's adjusting my board, some guy from behind him reaches over to grab something and spots my snowboard.
"DUDE, that board is like, ten years old man!" (To a snowboarder who spends his yearly salary on new gear, this amount of time is unfathomable.) He looks at me in amazement before leaving. Just then two other guys walk in; they also see my board.
"Hey! You guys are still renting step-in bindings, or is that a personal board?" The guy behind the counter dropped my board like a hot coal.
"Oh n-no," he stammered, "it's her personal board." The friend of the guy who asked the question gave me a little smile.
"That board is ANCIENT! Really, really old. You should try *insert the name of some ridiculously expensive brand name bindings, the cost of which could feed a small country, or Jimmy, for a week here*; these guys hooked me up last year." The man had a Spanish accent, because HE WAS FROM CHILE! Like, by what authority do people from Chile give advice on snowboards and bindings to Californians? Do they even HAVE snow in Chile?? Yeah, I was steamed, because they made fun of my totally awesome board, that I knew they were all secretly jealous of anyway. Only not. Whatever.
While we were going up the lift, Johnny and Andrew entertained me by relating the plot of a film they had seen. A mild horror movie about three men who go up the mountain on the lift just before the park closes...leaving them stranded near the top. They all freeze to death, and movie concludes with the image of a frozen hand, eerily rising from the fog. Charming. Precisely the sort of story one wants to hear as one embarks on the very first run of the day. Nothing like some twisted fiction to put a spring in your step. Consequently, they let me know that the probability of something like that ever happening is very low, and of course it could never happen in real life. Alas, the damage was done. We had a great time skiing/snowboarding together. (At least I did, I don't know about them, they were stuck with me.) Without exception,(except me) all snowboarders are arrogant, selfish, boisterous creatures. Imagine, if you can, the presumption, the nerve, the amount of pride it must take to plop oneself in the middle of the slope, without regard for anyone else. Next time I see one of those punks I'm going to let loose what I've restrained for 10 years: "Hey you! Yeah, I'm talking to the walking Burton advertisement! Get out of my way before I run you and your precious beanie over!" Ooh, that'll feel good. I can hardly wait for next year.
A few days after I came back, I went snowboarding with Florin at Mountain High. (If you don't know who he is, he's the man renting a room from us, and I've known him for 16 years.) Somehow, Florin and I got separated. It was getting close to ten 'o clock, the time the park closes, when I decided to take one last run down the mountain. I got into the lift, meant for 4 people, by myself. That's always fun. When the attendants aren't looking, I turn sideways and prop my board up against the back of the chair so that I'm lying down. It's a ridiculously comfortable position. The attendants will yell, scream, and generally make pests of themselves if you do that when they're looking. Try it when you're out of their sight range. Speaking of which, visibility was 30 feet, max. Less than that at the top. The fog was so thick you could cut it. The scene: I'm merrily enjoying my ride up the mountain, when suddenly, the lift stops. Ah, no big deal, it's stopped before. But it doesn't start up again! Two minutes go by...nothing. Four minutes...nothing. Six minutes in, and I hear a faint shout: a rude variation of "Hey! What's going on?" after that, nothing. Eight minutes in, I've switched out of my cozy lounge and into the much more appropriate sitting-on-a-lift fetal position. I began calculating the distance from the lift to the ground, when sheer terror overwhelmed me. All I could think about was a frozen hand! THANKS FOR NOTHING ANDREW AND JOHNNY!
*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~***
And now, I suppose I must explain the title of this blog post, before you die of curiosity. It's a rather boring tale, so keep your hopes down where they belong. I wear almost exactly the same clothes for every single volleyball class. My outfit includes a hideous pair of stretchy purple bell bottoms, and an over sized purple t-shirt. Bell bottoms used to be quite popular with hippies, though they at least had the good sense to make use of denim. Somehow a crazed lunatic got ahold of some stretchy cotton, made a pair of bell bottoms, and forced my mother, at gunpoint, to buy them. Waste not want not, so I'm wearing them. First day of Volleyball class. This skinny, Hispanic boy wanted to get my attention. The ball was flying towards me, and I had no idea. Brilliance has a way of striking people at opportune moments.
"Hey! Purple Girl!" he shouted. That got my attention, I assumed the position I vaguely remembered Jonathan teaching me, and sent the ball flying across the net. Victory!
Moving right along, my friend and I had a test for CIS(Computer Information Science). I scored 54/55, and she 51/55. The statistics show that in a class of 30 people, the first 3 people who stand up will receive D's. Numbers 4-11 receive A's. And all the rest get C's, with a few scattered F's. As everyone knows, all the information garnered from sources like the Internet, and statistics, is infallible. Does your humble self care to contest this fact? Smart cookie. :)
Unfortunately, dear reader, the randomness has petered out and our time has drawn to a close. Halt. Mind you be polite and let me finish before you run out of the room in a frenzy of delight. Ha ha. You are now my prisoner. I will finish with a quote I found very amusing, to celebrate the joyous occasion commemorating the completion of my Algebra 2 class. Which, by the way, I'm very confident I'll get an A in.
Anyone who cannot cope with mathematics is not fully human. At best he is a tolerable subhuman who has learned to wear shoes, bathe, and not make messes in the house. ~Robert Heinlein, Time Enough for Love
Apparently, I am a tolerable subhuman who still makes messes in the house. :)
Friday, March 19, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Of College and Test Results
Hello my dear, sweet, lovely, beautiful readers! Welcome to you too, you handsome, rugged...thing...you... (One of the perks of coming on my blog: you come away feeling absolutely fantastic; in much the same way you would if you were to visit a nursing home on a sunny Sunday afternoon.) By the way, if you don't do that too often, make it a priority. So, I took a test last Monday.
I hate tests.
I went in, fully prepared, or so I thought. I figured, I've got 90% of my score already, for the other 10% I'll just have to smile and look pretty. Fat chance. I took one look at my test and passed out. Correction: I took one look at the second page of my test and nearly passed out. It was as if I had studied for an English exam and the professor handed the test to me in Greek. Not all of the problems were hard, but there were a couple of head-spinners in the bunch. So I was ambling along, doing the best I could, and stressing because the minutes were flying by way faster than they had any right to. I snuck a glance in Jimmy's direction; the small plume of smoke and the acrid smell of burning paper emanating from his corner of the room irritated my sensitive nasal cavity. I sighed, returned to my stubborn math problem, which still hadn't solved itself, drew a little arrow pointing to the question, and moved on.
One hour and twenty minutes into the test, this scrawny kid with curly black hair left wild(not brushed, and most probably unwashed) strolled up to the desk nonchalantly. He hitched up his pants with one finger from each hand after handing in his test. "You're finished?" asked Miss Mariani, with an incredulous look on her face. By " an incredulous look", I mean a look that clearly implied: "Kid, based on your behavior in class so far you're really not smart enough to complete this test in a half hour, so I suggest you grow a brain and review your answers before you fail this class with a 'W'." Really, I felt insulted at that moment. In a weird way, I felt insulted that he didn't care enough about this class to put in more effort than a paltry 40 minutes.
Do you know HOW I know this kid was lazy beyond comprehension? Because Jimmy wasn't done yet, and Jimmy is a genius. Not to brag about how smart and awesome my brother is (fail) but Einstein doesn't hold a candle to him. Seriously. Forget the fact that I'm his sister, Jimmy is lighting fast. Then this kid has the audacity, after being one of the most ill-behaved kids in the class, (when you're not paying attention, how can you possibly learn?) to hand in his test early!?? His test results will not be high, which goes to prove all kinds of points.
I was practically the only student who got up to clarify a problem and ask a few questions. Hey, I don't care if I look dumb, if I score a little higher, then its worth it. So, I'm getting to the end of my test, with a couple of problems left, and Miss Mariani announces that we have 5 minutes left. Then and there I made a decision. I really didn't care that the test was timed, Miss Mariani would have to pry that test from my cold dead fingers to get it back, because I wasn't turning it in until I was good and ready. That's how I had the honor of being the last person to turn in my test. After an agonizing week-long wait....we received our results. Jimmy scored 99.5% and I scored a respectable 89%, missing an 'A' by two points. I'm still thankful though, because I've gotten 100% on everything else she's given us, so I'm fairly confident that I'll end the semester with an 'A'. Jimmy had the nerve to voice his disappointment that he didn't score 100%. hah. Half the class shot him dirty looks.
**~**~**~ TOP TEN WORST THINGS ABOUT COLLEGE~**~**~**
* Guys who think they look incredible, strumming away at their guitars while humming soulfully off-key in the amphitheater, need to think again.
* Every day I witness the merciless slaughter of the English language.
* If I close my eyes, I can smell a Fohawk-wearing guy 300 ft. away, his hair has more product in it than a girls'. (Easy on the Pantene for Men Spray Gel, guys. Specifically, easy on the Fohawks.)
* Please explain to me how blond dreadlocks became legal.
*If you are girl, you shouldn't wear skinny jeans...if you are a bigger girl you should ABSOLUTELY never wear skinny jeans...it takes a staggering amount of self-discipline NOT to throw up on a GUY wearing skinny jeans.
* If I have to run after another bus yelling and screaming like a crazy person only to miss it by 20 feet, I cannot take responsibility for my actions.
* I sit next to a guy, and my nails aren't painted, but his are. *_*
* There's enough bass in the Techno R&B they play live on campus to bounce me from class to class.
*I get the feeling that if I pull someone's earbud out, their ear will come off with it. That's what happens when you never remove an object, the body adopts it.
* My backpack is so heavy, I'm going to have shoulders bigger than Shaq's by the end of the semester.
~**~**~**~**~**~
Our teacher Miss Mariani immigrated from Crete. If Italians are from Italy, Romanians are from Romania, and Indians are from India...shouldn't it follow that Cretins come from Crete?
Sorry, bad joke. I really like her, but she gives us too much homework.
I hate tests.
I went in, fully prepared, or so I thought. I figured, I've got 90% of my score already, for the other 10% I'll just have to smile and look pretty. Fat chance. I took one look at my test and passed out. Correction: I took one look at the second page of my test and nearly passed out. It was as if I had studied for an English exam and the professor handed the test to me in Greek. Not all of the problems were hard, but there were a couple of head-spinners in the bunch. So I was ambling along, doing the best I could, and stressing because the minutes were flying by way faster than they had any right to. I snuck a glance in Jimmy's direction; the small plume of smoke and the acrid smell of burning paper emanating from his corner of the room irritated my sensitive nasal cavity. I sighed, returned to my stubborn math problem, which still hadn't solved itself, drew a little arrow pointing to the question, and moved on.
One hour and twenty minutes into the test, this scrawny kid with curly black hair left wild(not brushed, and most probably unwashed) strolled up to the desk nonchalantly. He hitched up his pants with one finger from each hand after handing in his test. "You're finished?" asked Miss Mariani, with an incredulous look on her face. By " an incredulous look", I mean a look that clearly implied: "Kid, based on your behavior in class so far you're really not smart enough to complete this test in a half hour, so I suggest you grow a brain and review your answers before you fail this class with a 'W'." Really, I felt insulted at that moment. In a weird way, I felt insulted that he didn't care enough about this class to put in more effort than a paltry 40 minutes.
Do you know HOW I know this kid was lazy beyond comprehension? Because Jimmy wasn't done yet, and Jimmy is a genius. Not to brag about how smart and awesome my brother is (fail) but Einstein doesn't hold a candle to him. Seriously. Forget the fact that I'm his sister, Jimmy is lighting fast. Then this kid has the audacity, after being one of the most ill-behaved kids in the class, (when you're not paying attention, how can you possibly learn?) to hand in his test early!?? His test results will not be high, which goes to prove all kinds of points.
I was practically the only student who got up to clarify a problem and ask a few questions. Hey, I don't care if I look dumb, if I score a little higher, then its worth it. So, I'm getting to the end of my test, with a couple of problems left, and Miss Mariani announces that we have 5 minutes left. Then and there I made a decision. I really didn't care that the test was timed, Miss Mariani would have to pry that test from my cold dead fingers to get it back, because I wasn't turning it in until I was good and ready. That's how I had the honor of being the last person to turn in my test. After an agonizing week-long wait....we received our results. Jimmy scored 99.5% and I scored a respectable 89%, missing an 'A' by two points. I'm still thankful though, because I've gotten 100% on everything else she's given us, so I'm fairly confident that I'll end the semester with an 'A'. Jimmy had the nerve to voice his disappointment that he didn't score 100%. hah. Half the class shot him dirty looks.
**~**~**~ TOP TEN WORST THINGS ABOUT COLLEGE~**~**~**
* Guys who think they look incredible, strumming away at their guitars while humming soulfully off-key in the amphitheater, need to think again.
* Every day I witness the merciless slaughter of the English language.
* If I close my eyes, I can smell a Fohawk-wearing guy 300 ft. away, his hair has more product in it than a girls'. (Easy on the Pantene for Men Spray Gel, guys. Specifically, easy on the Fohawks.)
* Please explain to me how blond dreadlocks became legal.
*If you are girl, you shouldn't wear skinny jeans...if you are a bigger girl you should ABSOLUTELY never wear skinny jeans...it takes a staggering amount of self-discipline NOT to throw up on a GUY wearing skinny jeans.
* If I have to run after another bus yelling and screaming like a crazy person only to miss it by 20 feet, I cannot take responsibility for my actions.
* I sit next to a guy, and my nails aren't painted, but his are. *_*
* There's enough bass in the Techno R&B they play live on campus to bounce me from class to class.
*I get the feeling that if I pull someone's earbud out, their ear will come off with it. That's what happens when you never remove an object, the body adopts it.
* My backpack is so heavy, I'm going to have shoulders bigger than Shaq's by the end of the semester.
~**~**~**~**~**~
Our teacher Miss Mariani immigrated from Crete. If Italians are from Italy, Romanians are from Romania, and Indians are from India...shouldn't it follow that Cretins come from Crete?
Sorry, bad joke. I really like her, but she gives us too much homework.
Friday, January 22, 2010
An update? Can it be?
First off, HELP! I'm drowning in skads of homework...which I should be doing, but don't judge me. Seven hours of math is quite enough, thank you very much. A few people I once thought to be quite wise advised me not to worry because college only gets easier. Yeah, NOT WHEN YOU'RE TAKING A HYBRID COURSE! It's 18 weeks of math squished into 9. Chew on that for a while, especially if you're not a math person. So, why am I sitting here typing when I have literally a mountain of math on my desk? Yeah, I'll get back to you on that. ( Or not.) If you're just going to sit there and judge me though, then you can go ahead and click the little "x" button on the top right-hand corner of your screen. I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself.
Oh, who am I kidding? No one even reads my blog anymore...(excepting, of course, of my three saintly friends Emily, Laura, and Sarah) AS EVIDENCED BY THE THREE MEASLY COMMENTS THAT I RECEIVED WHEN I PRACTICALLY POURED MY HEART OUT TO YOU IN MY LAST POST. IF IT LOOKS LIKE I'M YELLING AT YOU IN PRINT IT'S BECAUSE I AM. Did you catch the hint? I all but threw it at you. Honestly, not commenting on peoples' blogs is insensitive, irritating, and displays an almost imponderable lack of social refinement! One puts so much time and effort into achieving that perfect blend of witticism and satire known as a blog post, only to discover that the symphony of words and phrases that distinguishes ones' art from mediocrity isn't good enough for some people! In fact, it's beneath the audience to even LEAVE A COMMENT. You trample some poor, honest souls' self-esteem into the dust, and spit on it for good measure every time you refuse him/her the courtesy of a comment. If you are one of these people, go crawl under the rock from whence you came.
Seriously though, I'd have to be a complete hermit, or pathetically sensitive, for your comments (or lack thereof) to affect me so deeply. Oh wait...
(watch me waste my words on your heart of stone and receive no comments for this post.)
*~**~**8~**~**L~**~**8~**~**~*
Anyway, school has been going great. I can't wait to start my last class, accounting, in February. Fun stuff. :) One thing, though, really bothers me while I'm on campus. I just feel like addressing the issue. On some days it's bad, and on others it's worse. The language. I haven't really interacted with strangers on a daily basis before, so I was shocked. This is how people "in the world" communicate with each other? What happened to actual talking, as opposed to swearing at one another? Not that I stick around long, just the bits and snatches of conversation I pick up while going to and from class. It's still enough to burn my ears off. I realize that most of you don't have to deal with all of these sordid details, but since I don't have a journal anymore, bear with me. It grates on my nerves. Not every day, because like I mentioned I don't stay, but sometimes it's overwhelming. I just feel so sorry for those kids! There they are, at college and studying hard, presumably to get a decent job, and using such awful language. Who's going to hire somebody who can't form a complete sentence without using dirty expletives? Nobody. To say nothing of how skewed their moral compass must be. It's sad and depressing that you can't have a decent discussion with people anymore. Of course, not everybody is like that...I've met, so far, seven nice, decent people. I'm thanking the Lord that I've made a few friends there. :) Sometimes I wonder if it's okay to just go up to people and tell them to clean up their mouth. The urge to do that is slowly becoming uncontrollable. One of these days I'm going to get so offended its going to pop out. *sighs*
~**^**~**^**~**^**~
At last count I have 31 pairs of shoes. It's gotten to the point where even I realize it is a teeny, tiny bit over the top, so I'm going to try and find time to revamp(read: throw out the contents) of half my closet. Most likely, it'll be a very emotional, painful process that I'm going to medicate with Andrea Bocelli and a whole lotta chocolate. In other news, I passed by Life guarding Final! All I have to do is show up on Tuesday and get my card. Boy, am I ever thankful and thrilled. I'm also qualified to give emergency oxygen. So, if you ever feel the need to pass out and stop breathing, do it in front of me. I figure if I need to practice, it might as well be on you. ;) How does that rate on your comfort scale? Pretty high? Yeah, didn't think so.
That's all the news I have for this post. Thanks for stopping by!
Now go do something productive, you've wasted enough time as it is.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
I'm a Cerritos Falcon....and I've a good mind to buy a cheesy sweatshirt displaying it.
I so should not be posting right now....I should be in bed, sleeping, or doing homework. But you all know me, so of course, I'm not doing any of those things. Plus, as it's the first week, I don't have much homework. Homework. I'm a college girl! It's pretty exciting. I was surprised, to say the least, by my first couple of days on campus. I've talked to some people about college, and about their experiences...so I came expecting the worst. I loaded down my backpack in self-defense, just in case Jimmy, at 6 foot and barely 15, wouldn't do the trick.(My backpack is now lethal. Be afraid, be very afraid.) I steeled myself to meet the druggies and thieves I knew would be lurking around every corner; fully expecting the campus to be crawling with creepy, bug-eyed creatures complete with horns and tails.
Boy, was I ever dissapointed! These people were normal! And nice! Well, some of them were, the ones who'd learned to mind their manners and their language. What a relief to discover that a shred of moral decency still existed within the hearts and minds of these young people! No monsters OR aliens. (If you don't count a certain someone in a black hooded sweatshirt with some questionable items on his person.) Anyway, I was pleased.
My algebra professor is really great. She's a plump lady in her late thirties, the mother hen type, and she knows her stuff. This is going to sound awful, but it's great fun for us when she yells at students for being late. Jimmy and I sit at our desks puffing out our chests with pride, because we're never late. (At least, we haven't been the last two times.) She hates tardy kids. "If you're tardy twice, I will drop you. If you're absent once, I will drop you. If you're extremely tardy, I will count that as an absense and drop you." This one kid showed up today right after everyone had sat down. Like, right after. She had barely begun talking when she saw him and stopped. "If you're late like this one more time *insert whatshisface name's here*, I will drop you. Go find a seat." I like her. :)We're going to get along great, I can feel it.
Volleyball. Me loves it! The first day of class was interesting. Jonathan Stevens had suggested I enroll in the Intermediate/Advanced class as opposed to the Begginer class. From what he saw, the begginers were pretty awful. He thought I would probably do better in something more advanced. From now on I'm going to take Jonathan's good advice with a grain (or 5) of salt. These kids were good. Scary good. A couple of the guys even played as well as Jonathan. (I'll stop saying your name now, Jonathan. Ok, done.) I mean, I was confused. "Janette, pass!" The ball swoops through the air in a perfect arc. "Andy, set! You got it man!" He sends the ball high, but not too high, the perfect distance from the net. "It's all yours, Chad! Spiiiiike!" POW! We score. I was like, Woah! I'm slightly out of my league here. I learned real quick not to ask too many dumb questions, either.(What do you use to spike the ball, your whole hand, or just your palm?) Our volleyball coach was quick to inform me that this here was not picnic volleyball, and basically told me that little girls should go to the begginers sandbox to learn how to play. I wasn't having any of it.
"Look, ma'am, I'd like to try and stay in this class. If I try and I'm not good enough, then please, by all means kick me out." She gave me a whole little spiel about not wanting to kick anybody off the team, but I still felt a little discouraged. Anyway, I went back to playing, and in the end I had a lot of fun. (Even when I messed up, which was often, my team mates didn't get mad. I've never received so many high-fives in one day.) So I talked to her afterwards, and she saw I was sweating, and I told her that even though I hadn't actually "played" before, I thought I could do well. She just looked at me. "All right kid, it looks like you've worked hard, so I'll give you a shot. Good hustle." I got a pat on the back and a spot in the class for my efforts. Someone cue that "Remember the Titans" theme song. I guess you-know-who was right after all. In any case, playing real volleyball is a lot more fun than tossing the ball around in a circle on the kiddie side of the fence. :-)
I'm starting to like this whole college thing. I'd appreciate your prayers for me, that I would be a godly example to the people who get to know me, and a diligent, responsible student. Starting right now, as I'm going to go hit the sack. Thank you everyone for your support!
"Oh give thanks unto the God of heaven, for His mercy endures forever."
~Psalm 136:26
Boy, was I ever dissapointed! These people were normal! And nice! Well, some of them were, the ones who'd learned to mind their manners and their language. What a relief to discover that a shred of moral decency still existed within the hearts and minds of these young people! No monsters OR aliens. (If you don't count a certain someone in a black hooded sweatshirt with some questionable items on his person.) Anyway, I was pleased.
My algebra professor is really great. She's a plump lady in her late thirties, the mother hen type, and she knows her stuff. This is going to sound awful, but it's great fun for us when she yells at students for being late. Jimmy and I sit at our desks puffing out our chests with pride, because we're never late. (At least, we haven't been the last two times.) She hates tardy kids. "If you're tardy twice, I will drop you. If you're absent once, I will drop you. If you're extremely tardy, I will count that as an absense and drop you." This one kid showed up today right after everyone had sat down. Like, right after. She had barely begun talking when she saw him and stopped. "If you're late like this one more time *insert whatshisface name's here*, I will drop you. Go find a seat." I like her. :)We're going to get along great, I can feel it.
Volleyball. Me loves it! The first day of class was interesting. Jonathan Stevens had suggested I enroll in the Intermediate/Advanced class as opposed to the Begginer class. From what he saw, the begginers were pretty awful. He thought I would probably do better in something more advanced. From now on I'm going to take Jonathan's good advice with a grain (or 5) of salt. These kids were good. Scary good. A couple of the guys even played as well as Jonathan. (I'll stop saying your name now, Jonathan. Ok, done.) I mean, I was confused. "Janette, pass!" The ball swoops through the air in a perfect arc. "Andy, set! You got it man!" He sends the ball high, but not too high, the perfect distance from the net. "It's all yours, Chad! Spiiiiike!" POW! We score. I was like, Woah! I'm slightly out of my league here. I learned real quick not to ask too many dumb questions, either.(What do you use to spike the ball, your whole hand, or just your palm?) Our volleyball coach was quick to inform me that this here was not picnic volleyball, and basically told me that little girls should go to the begginers sandbox to learn how to play. I wasn't having any of it.
"Look, ma'am, I'd like to try and stay in this class. If I try and I'm not good enough, then please, by all means kick me out." She gave me a whole little spiel about not wanting to kick anybody off the team, but I still felt a little discouraged. Anyway, I went back to playing, and in the end I had a lot of fun. (Even when I messed up, which was often, my team mates didn't get mad. I've never received so many high-fives in one day.) So I talked to her afterwards, and she saw I was sweating, and I told her that even though I hadn't actually "played" before, I thought I could do well. She just looked at me. "All right kid, it looks like you've worked hard, so I'll give you a shot. Good hustle." I got a pat on the back and a spot in the class for my efforts. Someone cue that "Remember the Titans" theme song. I guess you-know-who was right after all. In any case, playing real volleyball is a lot more fun than tossing the ball around in a circle on the kiddie side of the fence. :-)
I'm starting to like this whole college thing. I'd appreciate your prayers for me, that I would be a godly example to the people who get to know me, and a diligent, responsible student. Starting right now, as I'm going to go hit the sack. Thank you everyone for your support!
"Oh give thanks unto the God of heaven, for His mercy endures forever."
~Psalm 136:26
Monday, November 30, 2009
TAG...
I'm it!!!
Soooo, I got tagged, by Kayla...to do this.
Seven Things You Might Not Know About Me
1. I like shoes. Heh heh...Psych! No, really, this is hard. There's not a lot people don't know about me. *think* *think* I absolutely love climbing trees. It's embarrassing how much I like it. The harder the tree is to climb, the more I enjoy it.
2. I've always dreamed about opening up a restaurant..or a cafe...next to a local highschool or college. Most likely it'll never happen, but it'd be so much fun if that would work out. I love cooking and baking. :D
3. I'm not nearly as clever as I look.
4. If given the opportunity, I would seriously go skydiving, or bunjee jumping, or something really extreme.
5. When I was younger, my heart's desire was to have curly blonde hair and big blue eyes. I hated my name, and was forever bemoaning the fact that my parents didn't call me something like Emma, or Hannah, or Madison. Aren't you glad that wishes don't always come true?
6. My record for journaling is 1 week straight, if that. I have a journal graveyard in one of my cubbyholes. It's hilarious. Almost every single one of my entries begins with me apoligizing to "Betsy" or "Anne" about not writing sooner. (My Aunt taught me to name my journals...)
7. I have a teeny, tiny mole (junctional nevus) on the outside corner of my left eye.
Part II of Tag Duties
1. Have you ever ridden an elephant? Well, shockingly, we don't have many elephants wandering the streets of SoCal. That would be a no.
2. Have you ever eaten squid? Yeah, it's great. Once you get past the tentacles and the rubbery texture, it has a surprisingly robust flavor.
3. What is something crazy you have done with your friend? Ha ha...just ONE? Well, this girl I didn't like very much and her boyfriend were walking down the street...being all lovebirdy. My friends and I were at the church playground when they sat down right next to the fence that separated the playground from the sidewalk. The nerve! I couldn't take it anymore...especially when they started whispering and giggling together like...like...two people giggling and whispering to each other. (Creativity sometimes reaches an impasse.) Anyway, I suggested we all start throwing sand at them. So we did, and it worked very well. I wouldn't reccomend it, but in case of a dire emergency, it's a useful trick to have up your sleeve. Do yourself a favor and don't use this if your sister is courting. (Jimmy, Johnny, Marky...you have been warned.)
4. Have you ever held an alligator? What do you think?
5. Have you ever let a snake slither through your fingers? Ehm, WHY would I do that?? Why? Gross. No.
6. What is your first and foremost dream in life? Well, in death I don't want to regret my life. That's one of my biggest fears.
When I die, I don't want to meet my Savior face to face, and tell Him that I've accomplished nothing with the life He gave me.
7. What is your dream vacation? Going horseback riding in New Zealand. I'd throw dirt clods at all the sheep around there while the farmers yell at me in their funny accents. Hey, it ain't called a "dream" vacation for nuthin'.
8. What is the funniest movie you have ever seen? It's a toss up between The Philadelphia Story and My Favorite Wife.
9. What is your favorite song? "Short people...ain't got no reason to live."
10. If you could change the world in just one way, what would you do? I'd make sugary food good for you. (I'm feeling guilty, because I just had a huge piece of leftover pie...so much for my diet.)
(Do this if you like, if not...'so 'kay.)
Soooo, I got tagged, by Kayla...to do this.
Seven Things You Might Not Know About Me
1. I like shoes. Heh heh...Psych! No, really, this is hard. There's not a lot people don't know about me. *think* *think* I absolutely love climbing trees. It's embarrassing how much I like it. The harder the tree is to climb, the more I enjoy it.
2. I've always dreamed about opening up a restaurant..or a cafe...next to a local highschool or college. Most likely it'll never happen, but it'd be so much fun if that would work out. I love cooking and baking. :D
3. I'm not nearly as clever as I look.
4. If given the opportunity, I would seriously go skydiving, or bunjee jumping, or something really extreme.
5. When I was younger, my heart's desire was to have curly blonde hair and big blue eyes. I hated my name, and was forever bemoaning the fact that my parents didn't call me something like Emma, or Hannah, or Madison. Aren't you glad that wishes don't always come true?
6. My record for journaling is 1 week straight, if that. I have a journal graveyard in one of my cubbyholes. It's hilarious. Almost every single one of my entries begins with me apoligizing to "Betsy" or "Anne" about not writing sooner. (My Aunt taught me to name my journals...)
7. I have a teeny, tiny mole (junctional nevus) on the outside corner of my left eye.
Part II of Tag Duties
1. Have you ever ridden an elephant? Well, shockingly, we don't have many elephants wandering the streets of SoCal. That would be a no.
2. Have you ever eaten squid? Yeah, it's great. Once you get past the tentacles and the rubbery texture, it has a surprisingly robust flavor.
3. What is something crazy you have done with your friend? Ha ha...just ONE? Well, this girl I didn't like very much and her boyfriend were walking down the street...being all lovebirdy. My friends and I were at the church playground when they sat down right next to the fence that separated the playground from the sidewalk. The nerve! I couldn't take it anymore...especially when they started whispering and giggling together like...like...two people giggling and whispering to each other. (Creativity sometimes reaches an impasse.) Anyway, I suggested we all start throwing sand at them. So we did, and it worked very well. I wouldn't reccomend it, but in case of a dire emergency, it's a useful trick to have up your sleeve. Do yourself a favor and don't use this if your sister is courting. (Jimmy, Johnny, Marky...you have been warned.)
4. Have you ever held an alligator? What do you think?
5. Have you ever let a snake slither through your fingers? Ehm, WHY would I do that?? Why? Gross. No.
6. What is your first and foremost dream in life? Well, in death I don't want to regret my life. That's one of my biggest fears.
When I die, I don't want to meet my Savior face to face, and tell Him that I've accomplished nothing with the life He gave me.
7. What is your dream vacation? Going horseback riding in New Zealand. I'd throw dirt clods at all the sheep around there while the farmers yell at me in their funny accents. Hey, it ain't called a "dream" vacation for nuthin'.
8. What is the funniest movie you have ever seen? It's a toss up between The Philadelphia Story and My Favorite Wife.
9. What is your favorite song? "Short people...ain't got no reason to live."
10. If you could change the world in just one way, what would you do? I'd make sugary food good for you. (I'm feeling guilty, because I just had a huge piece of leftover pie...so much for my diet.)
(Do this if you like, if not...'so 'kay.)
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Of Straightjackets and Lifeguarding
Well, here I am again, and this post is going to be all about me...because the others usually aren't. ...Wow, that was fast.
Ah, there you are.
You do realize that when you enter my blog, you're going to read my posts, which, unfortunately for you, are about me. And hasn't your mother ever taught you that it's rude and inconsiderate to leave someone abruptly at the start of a conversation? Shocking. As I was saying...
...The dreaded CHSPE. Have you ever been so nervous you've felt like you've swallowed a brick? Welcome to my world. A lot is banking on my passing the CHSPE; so much so, that my sweet mother has threatened to disinherit me if my results are less than satisfactory. (i.e. I fail.) Some days, I go to bed absolutely knowing that I've failed. And other days, I wake up with a song, a skip, and a spring in my step with the intuition that I've passed. Yesterday, I felt like someone had rammed a brick down my throat, and added a bowling ball for good measure. It was nearly 5:00. If you're a seasoned CHSPE veteran, like myself, you'd know that a month after one takes the CHSPE, his or her results are posted online. Yesterday's results could either free me from my mental anguish, or propel me over the cliff of uncertainty into the depths of despair. And, just as I hit "enter" my computer crashed.
Haha....just kidding. You should have seen the look on your face. But I digress...
I've a good mind to sue the government, for gross procrastination concerning this matter, and/or whoever is in charge of, or responsible for, correcting the CHSPE and distributing the results. I'm charging the defendant with causing prolonged emotional distress, mental pain and anguish, and intentionally inflicting cruel and unusual punishment on a minor.
Really, the test in and of itself is not that difficult. If you study hard and do your level best, I'd say you've got an excellent chance of passing it. So, you make a few mistakes here and there...not bad, you'll still make it. Or so you think!!!
A week after the test.
You've developed a curious habit of biting your nails and sneaking covert looks over your shoulder. Surely you'd remembered the formula for quadratic equations. It's got a negative 'b' in there somewhere. You're positive...sort of.
3 weeks after the test.
You've chewed your nails down to the nail bed and have taken to shouting random equations at innocent pedestrians. Sleep is a thing of the past as every night you analyze every math problem you'd taken, and curse the fact that you didn't study more analytic geometry. You've lost about ten or fifteen pounds because you refuse to eat anything, claiming you feel like you've swallowed a brick.
2 days before your online results are available.
Your parents find you under a blanket in the fetal position blubbering and shaking uncontrollably in the early morning hours. You've finally fallen into a restless sleep as you mumble over and over "two plus two is..." They try and shake you awake, to no avail. At around six o'clock in the morning you jump out of bed and run around the neighborhood screaming "Two plus two is THREE!" at the top of your lungs. Your eyes are bloodshot. At this point, you could have passed your CHSPE with flying colors and received a letter from the governor commending your superior academic prowess and it wouldn't have mattered. Some lovely people driving a white van come up and put a white sweater on you. They nod and speak calmly and soothingly to you as they sew you up. You have gone stark, raving mad.
It's the waiting period afterwards that really gets to you. But, hey, guess what...I'm home free. I passed. :) Good luck to the rest of you taking the test in 2010. Heh, heh... "Two plus two is THREEE!"
~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~
SCUBA diving is super fun. We've come to the part of the program where they teach us how to swim...properly. There are three programs we can choose from. In Community Water Safety, they teach you basic strokes. Or, if you are a fairly good swimmer, you can take the Swimming Instructor course. (To become a swimming instructor, duh.) Jimmy, Dad, and I are doing Lifeguarding. Well, Jimmy and I are. We've at least got a shot at it. :-P The only reason Dad is still in the class is because Scott(one of our instructors...he's awesome) is a nice guy and wanted to keep the family together.
On Monday Scott tested our stamina, and our swimming strokes, neither of which were much to boast of. We did 500 yards of the freestyle, backstroke, butterfly, breaststroke, and the sidestroke. We're all in such horrible shape, that it took us (20 students) about an hour to swim 500 yards. And we were real proud of ourselves, too. Of course, Scott had to burst our bubble. He told us that competitive swimmers swim 5000 (FIVE-THOUSAND)yards every single morning. That's nearly 3 MILES!!! And then, they DO IT AGAIN!!! At night. Another 5000 yards....nearly 6 miles every single day. Wow. We've got a lot of work ahead of us.
The funnest(I've taken the liberty of adding this word to the dictionary) part about Monday night was watching everyone swim. More specifically, watching everyone swim the butterfly. There are few things more entertaining than watching people who have never swam the butterfly flounder around pathetically in the water nearly drowning themselves trying to execute it perfectly. It's hysterical. Just when you think you're about to pass out from laughing....it's your turn. Scott gave me a big, fat 'E' for Effort. He was being generous. Judges invented the butterfly because it got boring sitting in a chair for hours on end, and they needed some entertainment.
There was this one girl, though, Ashley. My word, she was a machine. She swam competitively, and played water polo. Not only did she do every stroke perfectly, but during the entire 500 yards, she didn't touch the wall. She treaded water for an hour and a half. This was after her three hour practice earlier that day. *cough* *cough* She was so good, we were like, "Scott, please, no, don't look this way...no, not the Butterfly!" He finally put us out of our misery, telling us that in his entire life he had never seen such a nauseating, abominable excuse for a butterfly stroke, and that if we had any pity for him at all, we would just stop trying. Overall, it was a blast, even though I drowned my brick. In one exercise you have to swim to the end of the pool, dive down, pick up a 10 pound brick, and swim back using only your legs and keeping the brick above the water. So, yeah...I was kinda tired and I drowned my brick. R.I.P. Bricky.
Anyhow, that's all for now, faithful reader(s) :) Have a wonderful day, and remember to be a blessing!
Ah, there you are.
You do realize that when you enter my blog, you're going to read my posts, which, unfortunately for you, are about me. And hasn't your mother ever taught you that it's rude and inconsiderate to leave someone abruptly at the start of a conversation? Shocking. As I was saying...
...The dreaded CHSPE. Have you ever been so nervous you've felt like you've swallowed a brick? Welcome to my world. A lot is banking on my passing the CHSPE; so much so, that my sweet mother has threatened to disinherit me if my results are less than satisfactory. (i.e. I fail.) Some days, I go to bed absolutely knowing that I've failed. And other days, I wake up with a song, a skip, and a spring in my step with the intuition that I've passed. Yesterday, I felt like someone had rammed a brick down my throat, and added a bowling ball for good measure. It was nearly 5:00. If you're a seasoned CHSPE veteran, like myself, you'd know that a month after one takes the CHSPE, his or her results are posted online. Yesterday's results could either free me from my mental anguish, or propel me over the cliff of uncertainty into the depths of despair. And, just as I hit "enter" my computer crashed.
Haha....just kidding. You should have seen the look on your face. But I digress...
I've a good mind to sue the government, for gross procrastination concerning this matter, and/or whoever is in charge of, or responsible for, correcting the CHSPE and distributing the results. I'm charging the defendant with causing prolonged emotional distress, mental pain and anguish, and intentionally inflicting cruel and unusual punishment on a minor.
Really, the test in and of itself is not that difficult. If you study hard and do your level best, I'd say you've got an excellent chance of passing it. So, you make a few mistakes here and there...not bad, you'll still make it. Or so you think!!!
A week after the test.
You've developed a curious habit of biting your nails and sneaking covert looks over your shoulder. Surely you'd remembered the formula for quadratic equations. It's got a negative 'b' in there somewhere. You're positive...sort of.
3 weeks after the test.
You've chewed your nails down to the nail bed and have taken to shouting random equations at innocent pedestrians. Sleep is a thing of the past as every night you analyze every math problem you'd taken, and curse the fact that you didn't study more analytic geometry. You've lost about ten or fifteen pounds because you refuse to eat anything, claiming you feel like you've swallowed a brick.
2 days before your online results are available.
Your parents find you under a blanket in the fetal position blubbering and shaking uncontrollably in the early morning hours. You've finally fallen into a restless sleep as you mumble over and over "two plus two is..." They try and shake you awake, to no avail. At around six o'clock in the morning you jump out of bed and run around the neighborhood screaming "Two plus two is THREE!" at the top of your lungs. Your eyes are bloodshot. At this point, you could have passed your CHSPE with flying colors and received a letter from the governor commending your superior academic prowess and it wouldn't have mattered. Some lovely people driving a white van come up and put a white sweater on you. They nod and speak calmly and soothingly to you as they sew you up. You have gone stark, raving mad.
It's the waiting period afterwards that really gets to you. But, hey, guess what...I'm home free. I passed. :) Good luck to the rest of you taking the test in 2010. Heh, heh... "Two plus two is THREEE!"
~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~
SCUBA diving is super fun. We've come to the part of the program where they teach us how to swim...properly. There are three programs we can choose from. In Community Water Safety, they teach you basic strokes. Or, if you are a fairly good swimmer, you can take the Swimming Instructor course. (To become a swimming instructor, duh.) Jimmy, Dad, and I are doing Lifeguarding. Well, Jimmy and I are. We've at least got a shot at it. :-P The only reason Dad is still in the class is because Scott(one of our instructors...he's awesome) is a nice guy and wanted to keep the family together.
On Monday Scott tested our stamina, and our swimming strokes, neither of which were much to boast of. We did 500 yards of the freestyle, backstroke, butterfly, breaststroke, and the sidestroke. We're all in such horrible shape, that it took us (20 students) about an hour to swim 500 yards. And we were real proud of ourselves, too. Of course, Scott had to burst our bubble. He told us that competitive swimmers swim 5000 (FIVE-THOUSAND)yards every single morning. That's nearly 3 MILES!!! And then, they DO IT AGAIN!!! At night. Another 5000 yards....nearly 6 miles every single day. Wow. We've got a lot of work ahead of us.
The funnest(I've taken the liberty of adding this word to the dictionary) part about Monday night was watching everyone swim. More specifically, watching everyone swim the butterfly. There are few things more entertaining than watching people who have never swam the butterfly flounder around pathetically in the water nearly drowning themselves trying to execute it perfectly. It's hysterical. Just when you think you're about to pass out from laughing....it's your turn. Scott gave me a big, fat 'E' for Effort. He was being generous. Judges invented the butterfly because it got boring sitting in a chair for hours on end, and they needed some entertainment.
There was this one girl, though, Ashley. My word, she was a machine. She swam competitively, and played water polo. Not only did she do every stroke perfectly, but during the entire 500 yards, she didn't touch the wall. She treaded water for an hour and a half. This was after her three hour practice earlier that day. *cough* *cough* She was so good, we were like, "Scott, please, no, don't look this way...no, not the Butterfly!" He finally put us out of our misery, telling us that in his entire life he had never seen such a nauseating, abominable excuse for a butterfly stroke, and that if we had any pity for him at all, we would just stop trying. Overall, it was a blast, even though I drowned my brick. In one exercise you have to swim to the end of the pool, dive down, pick up a 10 pound brick, and swim back using only your legs and keeping the brick above the water. So, yeah...I was kinda tired and I drowned my brick. R.I.P. Bricky.
Anyhow, that's all for now, faithful reader(s) :) Have a wonderful day, and remember to be a blessing!
Thursday, October 15, 2009
I'm still alive....barely.
**sobs hysterically**
Life is so terribly cruel and unfair! Oh, why me?! I'm in the depths of despair. "I shall never love again..."(no, wait, that doesn't apply.) Dad and Jimmy are leaving tonight for San Francisco, where they will visit our good friends the Frone family, play volleyball, go ice skating, and enjoy all manner of wholesome entertainment....and I'm not coming! *sniffles* It's all because I still have to pass my CHSPE...the math section. Ugh. Between the hours of 9:00 p.m. tonight until 7:00 a.m. Saturday morning, I will be throwing myself a pity party. Please come, as I would appreciate your support through this very difficult time.
In other not-so-tragic news...
Em and I spent the day together last Saturday, and we got a little bored. What better way to pass the time than to take some romantic, victorianesque portraits? I'm no good behind the camera, but Em seemed to think that I had some potential in front of it. WARNING: If you are not particularly partial to romantic, victorianesque portrait pictures... don't keep reading. It's for your own good. :) I shan't be held responsible for convulsions, acute upper airway obstruction, headaches, nausea, or any other unpleasentries that might occur when some people view sappy, girly pictures without first mentally preparing themselves for the trauma ahead.
Now that I've gotten rid of most of the gentlemen readers, if not all, ladies you may proceed. Thanks, Em, for all of these lovely shots.
I love the lighting, it was gorgeous. Look at me go! I managed to look pensive.
Em told me to play with my hair...so I did. I like it. :) (Not my hair, silly, the picture.)
Yes, I'm TOTALLY thinking about something with chocolate. Or cheesecake. Or both.
Just sitting. It was such a beautiful windy day. :)
Em managed to get me looking kind of melancholic. I normally don't suffer from melancholy...hyperactivity, yes...but not melancholy.
Don't mess with me. ..." I'll do you in, I'll do your family in, I'll do your whole lineage in...your whole race! Wait, no, scratch that...that's too many people. " lol. I forget where that's from.
Ah yes. And here we come to...the pout. You've no idea how many spankings I've gotten myself out of, and into, with this face. Dad's an old softie...but Mom's tough as nails. :P
It took forever to get my hair out of my face. "Quick! Take a picture! The wind's not blowing it all over my lip gloss!!!"
This picture is hysterical... Em probably told me to do something dramatic...
Life is so terribly cruel and unfair! Oh, why me?! I'm in the depths of despair. "I shall never love again..."(no, wait, that doesn't apply.) Dad and Jimmy are leaving tonight for San Francisco, where they will visit our good friends the Frone family, play volleyball, go ice skating, and enjoy all manner of wholesome entertainment....and I'm not coming! *sniffles* It's all because I still have to pass my CHSPE...the math section. Ugh. Between the hours of 9:00 p.m. tonight until 7:00 a.m. Saturday morning, I will be throwing myself a pity party. Please come, as I would appreciate your support through this very difficult time.
In other not-so-tragic news...
Em and I spent the day together last Saturday, and we got a little bored. What better way to pass the time than to take some romantic, victorianesque portraits? I'm no good behind the camera, but Em seemed to think that I had some potential in front of it. WARNING: If you are not particularly partial to romantic, victorianesque portrait pictures... don't keep reading. It's for your own good. :) I shan't be held responsible for convulsions, acute upper airway obstruction, headaches, nausea, or any other unpleasentries that might occur when some people view sappy, girly pictures without first mentally preparing themselves for the trauma ahead.
Now that I've gotten rid of most of the gentlemen readers, if not all, ladies you may proceed. Thanks, Em, for all of these lovely shots.
I love the lighting, it was gorgeous. Look at me go! I managed to look pensive.
Em told me to play with my hair...so I did. I like it. :) (Not my hair, silly, the picture.)
Yes, I'm TOTALLY thinking about something with chocolate. Or cheesecake. Or both.
Just sitting. It was such a beautiful windy day. :)
Em managed to get me looking kind of melancholic. I normally don't suffer from melancholy...hyperactivity, yes...but not melancholy.
Don't mess with me. ..." I'll do you in, I'll do your family in, I'll do your whole lineage in...your whole race! Wait, no, scratch that...that's too many people. " lol. I forget where that's from.
Ah yes. And here we come to...the pout. You've no idea how many spankings I've gotten myself out of, and into, with this face. Dad's an old softie...but Mom's tough as nails. :P
It took forever to get my hair out of my face. "Quick! Take a picture! The wind's not blowing it all over my lip gloss!!!"
This picture is hysterical... Em probably told me to do something dramatic...
Me: "What? No way!" And, before I could arrange my features into something less dorky, she snapped this picture.
This is all the posing I can do...plop my chin into my palm. For the life of me I can't understand those pictures where the girl is smelling a rose and getting that faraway look in her eyes, as if the mists of time have suddenly parted; the fragrance helping her remember someone long forgotten. PUH-LEASE! There's a reason those photos aren't popular anymore. Even girls started feeling nauseous...to say nothing of all the guys in the ICU. All that sap is quite unnecessary. Penny for my thoughts.
My pout...again. I'm telling you I've been working on perfecting this for years. *cough* Needs more work.
And this is a picture of...wait...Jimmy and RICKY?! How did th-- Oh, yes...Ricky and Jimmy had nothing better to do, so they came around to our little corner of the park, and proceeded to become insufferably annoying versions of their exceedingly annoying selves. Photographic art does not thrive under the scrutiny of two..eh..."punks" who can't appreciate it.
Heehee...I'm such a dork. :)
Ahh....the wind blowing through my hair, the sun shining...how incredibly egotistic of me to post all these great pictures of me on my blog.
I had to do a couple of silly ones...there's only so much emotion a girl can muster up before having a nervous breakdown. The reason I don't have my glasses on, is because they transition. Apparently, Victorian dresses and sunglasses don't go together all that well.
I asked Em a question....and she answered with some funny response that I didn't quite believe...and then I made the above "real" face. I have trouble smiling genuinely in pictures. Normally, I look like I'm suffering from severe indigestion. Em's great. Hire her...she can make anyone look good. ~My ever loving brother voices his opinion~ "But Lo, you DO look like you have indigestion!" *He giggle-snorts out of the room*
Ooh....dramatic. I like that angle...notice how it looks like I don't have a double chin? Em's a genius.
This is all the posing I can do...plop my chin into my palm. For the life of me I can't understand those pictures where the girl is smelling a rose and getting that faraway look in her eyes, as if the mists of time have suddenly parted; the fragrance helping her remember someone long forgotten. PUH-LEASE! There's a reason those photos aren't popular anymore. Even girls started feeling nauseous...to say nothing of all the guys in the ICU. All that sap is quite unnecessary. Penny for my thoughts.
My pout...again. I'm telling you I've been working on perfecting this for years. *cough* Needs more work.
And this is a picture of...wait...Jimmy and RICKY?! How did th-- Oh, yes...Ricky and Jimmy had nothing better to do, so they came around to our little corner of the park, and proceeded to become insufferably annoying versions of their exceedingly annoying selves. Photographic art does not thrive under the scrutiny of two..eh..."punks" who can't appreciate it.
Heehee...I'm such a dork. :)
Ahh....the wind blowing through my hair, the sun shining...how incredibly egotistic of me to post all these great pictures of me on my blog.
I had to do a couple of silly ones...there's only so much emotion a girl can muster up before having a nervous breakdown. The reason I don't have my glasses on, is because they transition. Apparently, Victorian dresses and sunglasses don't go together all that well.
I asked Em a question....and she answered with some funny response that I didn't quite believe...and then I made the above "real" face. I have trouble smiling genuinely in pictures. Normally, I look like I'm suffering from severe indigestion. Em's great. Hire her...she can make anyone look good. ~My ever loving brother voices his opinion~ "But Lo, you DO look like you have indigestion!" *He giggle-snorts out of the room*
Ooh....dramatic. I like that angle...notice how it looks like I don't have a double chin? Em's a genius. So that was Saturday...and I've run out of things to say. And, of course, I'm still devastated over the fact that can't go see my friends.
~a pause of about 5 minutes ensues as Lois throws a hissy fit over the injustice of it all~
*blows nose hard*
I'll get over it...maybe. Just *sniffs* come to my party.
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