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.

Acute Viral Rhinopharyngitis Stinks.

It's about time I got back to this. I would hate to be counted amongst the slackers currently littering the web with their shamefully unupdated excuses for blogs. (you know who you are.)

Right now, I'm as sick as a....I can't seem to conjure up a simile that accurately portrays exactly how horrible I feel, and look, for that matter. (I am coming to your monitor today from the computer lab at Cerritos College...unfortunately for me, 'tis a very public area.) Well, just use your imagination and envisage an image of such hideous proportions as would frighten a small child. Got it? That would be me. Now, multiply that by a googleplex. That's how I feel. You can thank me for the charming mental (to give you an idea of how sick I am, I originally spelled that mentle) pictures I've had you contrive at your earliest convenience. :)

Boy, do I ever hate being sick. You can't think, you can't work, you can't play, you can't exercise...and you can hardly eat. It's a state of being that is neither life nor death. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Today alone I have consumed 3500% of my daily allotted vitamin C, and 1 ounce of Swedish Bitter. (A devilish concoction of Vodka and bitter herbs renowned for its healing properties.) Yesterday, I chewed and swallowed 4 cloves of raw, organic garlic. (WAY more potent than your average supermarket stuff.) Needless to say, any person unfortunate enough to be in my immediate vicinity was in danger of being knocked clear into next week. Amy, dear, as a fellow Sickie, I feel your pain.

On the bright side, the 3 out of my 5 professors for this semester that I have met are super sweet and very funny.

English 100 Professor: "You should have received an e-mail from me last week explaining the purpose and length of this orientation. Did any of you receive this e-mail?"
Several hands go up.
"If you did not receive this e-mail, you either are not enrolled in this class, or the e-mail from me is currently in your junk folder... please go home and tell your computer that I am not junk."

-Stephen Clifford

I already "buzzed" about my biology professor. You can pull up a new tab if you'd like to see her quote. I've heard it takes quite a bit of effort, but, you know, I have faith you can muscle your way through this arduous task.

I do have something else to share from biology. Last night I used a microscope for the first time in my life. It. Was. AWESOME! I examined the leaf of an aquatic plant, my finger, the letter 'e', and brine shrimp. BTW, your hands are much filthier than you think they are. In order for the human eye to perceive an object, in must be at least 0.1 mm in size. There's a heap of stuff on your finger that you can't even see. It's pretty gross, and really neat to observe. Mom was right, though, don't eat with your fingers.

My Spanish teacher is hilarious. She is the smallest woman I have ever seen, and she speaks 5 languages. She looks like an older version of Disney's Jane from "Tarzan". The same up swept bun, and the same facial features. She also has really cute spectacles. She pronounced my last name with astonishing accuracy and informed me it was French. I was none too pleased with that piece of news, so I informed her that it was, in fact, Romanian...and she had pronounced it in a rather Frenchy way. She slowly raised her spectacles. Thus began a lecture which concluded with me conceding that perhaps I had been a wee bit hasty and that my last name was borrowed from the Frenchies. Oh well. You win some, you lose some.

SO, I'm pretty happy and thankful for my classes and professors thus far. :)

These past few weeks preceding the start of the Fall Semester have been a total blast! Why? Because Laura Brown and Kayla Updike have graced us with their superawesomefunnycharmingbeautiful selves. We went shopping, did a photo shoot, had our make up done,(although not to the extent that SOME people did theirs. I seriously doubt Ally reads my blog, and so, this inside joke is completely wasted), and we had pedicures to boot! Not to mention all the totes amazing laughs we shared. I have two things to say to you girls...never, EVER Facebook stalk anyone, AND, when in doubt, belt it!

All the rest of you less privileged beings(less privileged in that you could not understand the above paragraph) welcome back to my blog post. Oh, you've left? Oh. Well, ok then. Have a great week. ...Toodles.

***~*~*~**~*~*~**~*~*~***~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~*~*~**~*~***

It's only my second day back on campus, and already I'm getting a bit peeved, albeit, on only one issue...for now.

1) Um Question. Girls, if you positively have to dye your hair, why must you be so indecisive? What's with all the blue and purple streaked blondes? Why the neon highlighted dread locks? WHY? It's visually disconcerting and emotionally disturbing. I would like to be one of the first to protest this brutal form of ocular harassment. Thank you.

In Which Lois Survives Her First Semester

Hey, it's me again. Don't look so disappointed, this is MY BLOG, as I've reiterated countless times on numerous occasions. I expect you've come for some entertainment, a word or two of advice, pearls of wisdom, perhaps even a cookie? Well, you've come to the right place!

(If you'd like a cookie, just drop me a comment and I'll send you one, right away.)

Just in case you're currently experiencing a brain spasm, and therefore wondering what I'm wearing as I sit here and type this, I'll tell you. Pajamas. Yes. It should be an inalienable right; a nationally, no globally, embraced holiday. One should set aside one day each week to parade around in their pajamas.

"Scientific" research has concluded that health and longevity correlate proportionally to how much time one spends in their pajamas. Allow me to pause and demonstrate how one should properly celebrate GWYPD.(Global Wear Your Pajamas Day)

*Enter Pause*

Lois proceeds to jump on the bed, climb a tree, jump on the trampoline, jump on Jimmy, run from Jimmy, and do a happy dance as she manages to escape Jimmy's clutches by locking the door to her room; all while wearing her pajamas.

*End Pause*

This is how things should be done. It must be mentioned, however, that Jimmy strongly objects to any person weighing in excess of 200 lbs. jumping on him. Unfortunately, this means that people who weigh more than 200 lbs. are discouraged from participating in GWYPD. In fact, they are prohibited from celebrating GWYPD altogether; which brings me to the reason I am writing this post in the first place.
I MADE THE PRESIDENT'S LIST!!!

Oh, how I enjoy giving people mental whiplash. Naturally, the above paragraphs are not even triflingly related to the former sentence. That's the beauty of experiencing mental whiplash, you don't even know what hit you until I explain it.

Speaking of explaining things, I'm sure you're wondering at the monstrously deplorable state of disrepair our school system suffers from, considering the fact that I made the President's List. Contrary to what you're thinking, I did not hire an expertly skilled ninja to threaten my College President with assassination should he fail to add my name to his list. I'd looked into it, of course, but it's far too expensive...and, at a stretch, morally questionable. No, I earned my A's by working hard, praying, and studying; which apparently is the second most recommended way to make the President's List.

A is for Accounting...

Without a doubt, this class was the hardest I took this semester. Accounting is organized, precise, and logical. It spits on creativity. Basically, Accounting is a free-spirit's worst nightmare. If you step a single toe out of line, mess up one teensy number, incorrectly label an account...you've failed. Miserably. In this situation, you, the miserable failure, will have to go back through all the work you've done, retrace all the information you have, and cross-examine every single account until the total number of debits equals the total number of credits. If you've done this, good for you, nobody cares. You're only possibly correct, if not entirely wrong. Just because you've managed to come up with the right sum for both columns, doesn't mean that you've correctly debited and/or credited the correct account. So you go back and look everything over, making sure that the total of each respective account has been properly recorded. Again. By this time, your eyes will be popping out of your head, and your brain should feel like mush. If you've reached this stage, rejoice! You're nearly done! Total the columns and pray that your calculator is working properly. If the sums match, you're done. And that's only a tiny, basic part of Accounting. I mean, we haven't even gone into evaluating accounts based on market fluctuation. A word to those who think Accounting is easy: you disturb me.

The Lord gave me the grace to work hard and study, enough to barely make it out of the class with an A. Hopefully, that's the last I'll ever have to see of Accounting.


Computer Information Science...

Or, Computer Information Systems, but this is what my Professor called it. My Professor for this class was a sweet old man who hadn't the minutest clue what he was doing in a class of 20 teenagers. Honestly. The confused, slightly perplexed look he wore perpetually testified to this fact. He didn't teach us...he gave us a PowerPoint presentation of our CIS book, which we had purchased for an absurd amount of money, and read from it in class. For 2 1/2 hours. Interspersed throughout the fascinating monotony of this lecture were comments on how different computers were 20 years ago, and his amazement at the speed with which CD's had replaced floppy disks. Seriously, during the third week of class, as soon as he began talking, for 2 1/2 hours all I heard was a buzzing sound in my ears. This would have been problematic, had not all my tests been open book. And my assignments idiot-proof. In order to fail an assignment, you'd have to not do it. In order to fail a test, you'd have to be illiterate. A disturbing fact was that some people were, indeed, failing the class. Over achieving show-offs. They worked much harder than us 'A' students. Since I had aced all of my tests, my Professor informed me that it was unnecessary for me to complete my two remaining assignments or take my final. So, with great shame, and a healthy amount of guilt, I accepted my 'A' in his class.

Volleyball...

The difficulty of this class nearly drove me insane. I literally had to roll out of bed at 7 in the morning, pull on some loose clothing, eat, and go to school. THEN, I actually had to show up for class! Can you imagine? For all of this hard work and dedication, my reward was a measly 'A'. Will horrors never cease!

Mathematics...
Boy, am I glad this class was over with 10 weeks ago.

So, really, the only A's I'm proud of achieving this semester are the ones from Accounting and Mathematics. The ones I actually worked for.

Congratulate yourself. You've just finished reading the brief synopsis of all my classes for this semester. Did I mention I made the President's List? Funny thing about the President's List. For the first time in my life, I've one-upped Jimmy on something, albeit by default. As a student, you have to take at least 12 units worth of classes in order to make the President's List. Jimmy's piano class counted for 1.5 units, causing him to miss making the President's List by .5 units! Haha! I'm deliriously happy. Uh-oh.

*Lois runs to her room and locks the door*

No, actually, Jimmy deserved to make the President's List this semester, and I'm disappointed for him. There's always next semester.

I want to leave you all with this thought. It's Mom's thought, actually. I was borrowing her MacArthur's Study Bible this morning, and a little note fell out of it that completely made my day.

' "For when we were still without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly. - Romans 5:6"
Without strength to train, to live right...Christ died for my ungodly moments, hours, days, years!'

Thank You, Lord, for a great first semester at Cerritos!

**~L~**-**~L~** Top Ten Things I Love About College **~L~**-**~L~**

1. Sitting in the amphitheater and eating dinner with Jimmy, while he stares intently at random passerby trying to get them to glance in his direction by using his formidable brain power.

2. Laughing at Jimmy's antics until I choke on my food.

3. Opening Gatorade bottles for girls who are too skinny to do it themselves.

4. That point of despair before receiving your results when you know you've failed your test and will fail every other test you take for all eternity, until the realization that it's all in Lord's hands hits you like a ton of bricks.

5. The determination and drive that overcomes you when you do fail your test, and the commitment you make to yourself to study harder, and ace the next one.

6. Not having to work out for a full 18 weeks because you're rushing from class to class like a frenzied rabbit and skipping breakfast and lunch.

7. Just touching the ball so that it barely tips over the net and watching 5 people dive for it simultaneously.

8. Never letting my schooling interfere with my education.

9. Pretending to fall asleep in the library, while in reality eavesdropping on a debate about social science.

10. Making the President's List.

Sobering Thoughts

"He who is slothful in his work
Is a brother to him who is a great destroyer."
Proverbs 18:9

So, this week was finals week. I studied fairly hard, to pass a class I had no interest in taking in the first place, to learn a subject I have no aptitude for. Such is life. I came across this verse today, from Proverbs chapter 18. Now, I have read Proverbs at least a hundred times; but perhaps the fact that this week was finals week prompted me to do a study on it.

Who do we think of as Destroyers? Right off the bat, most of us would say Hitler, Castro, Mao Zedong, Ceauşescu, and Stalin. Dictators and Murderers, destroyers of lives and freedom. Could I take it a step further? Who is the ultimate Destroyer? Satan, of course. Right about here, my train of thought screeched to a halt and I experienced mental whiplash. 'Woah, God, wait a second. You can't possibly put being slothful in near the same category as being like Hitler, or Satan, can You?' The thought horrified me. I mean, I nearly lost it just thinking about the many times I've been slothful in my work. I pulled out the dictionary to do a little research.

Destroyer: 2. a person or thing that destroys (I don't think the military definition applies.)
Synonyms- arsonist, brute, demolisher, savage, terrorist, wrecker, vandal, wild man.

Slothful: disinclined to work or exertion; "faineant kings under whose rule the country languished"; "an indolent hanger-on"; "too lazy to wash the dishes"; "shiftless idle youth".
Synonyms- ambling, apathetic, bone-lazy, cadging, do-nothing, faltering, flagging, foot-dragging, good-for-nothing, idle, inactive, indifferent, indolent, inert, lackadaisical, languorous, lax, lazy, leisurely, lethargic, shiftless.

I went to Mom for some wisdom and asked to hear her thoughts on this. She asked me where being slothful lead to. Let's take slothfulness of mind, for example. If a person is slothful in guarding their hearts and minds from immoral influences, they will become immoral, wicked beings. After all, Hitler was once a child. He was once a person whose mind was not poisoned against all that is good and pure. If not for the grace of God, we could all be Hitler. Here's one that hits too close to home with me. Being slothful with my time. A person who wastes their time is a person who is wasting their life. If the only things worth doing are the ones that count for eternity, we should avoid wasting time like the plague. It's enough to cure you of several lifetimes of addictions to Buzz. And a whole lot more.

Anyway, that's my sobering thought for the day. Summer is practically here, and I'm done with school. I'm praying that I won't waste the free time I now have by lazing around being slothful and doing nothing for the Lord. I pray that you also will be actively engaged in living for Him. I can hardly wait to read Proverbs 19 tomorrow. Read proverbs, friends, a sobering thought per day helps keep temptation at bay.