Well. I got into Western, which is nice. It's such a relief to have gotten that first acceptance letter, and I really loved Western when I visited. Plus, my dad's making CHOCOLATE CHIP PANCAKES in celebration. So. There is obviously a definite upside to this whole "college" business. ;]
I hope everyone's weekends are going well, and that the Friday half-day was a chance for everybody to take a deep breath. I spent it at Camille's house, watching Charlie Bartlett, watching it again (this time with commentary), and baking a chocolate roll which ended up being a...chocolate loaf. But. You know. It was still chocolate.
In conclusion: so far, the theme of my weekends is tasty baked goods. :]
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
In which there is cat pee, Commoner, and things which might be potatoes.
Story time! Hush, quit whining, you know you're secretly super excited.
So, most people who know me probably think I'm destined to be a crazy cat lady just by virtue of the way I talk about my kitten. You have to understand: I chose Mabel, and I love her to pieces, the end, no questions asked, quit looking at me like that she's my cat, okay?
All that being said:
I got up this morning, stumbled out of my door and into the loft area, and very nearly ran into the futon, which had been unfolded into a bed at some point while I slept. There were two figures lying on the futon. I'm a tad slow in the mornings, but eventually my brain was kind enough to label the "mom" and "dad." My parents blinked blearily up at me and I down at them, and then my dad was kind enough to explain to me that the kitten had peed on their bed at some ungodly hour of the night. They had, luckily enough, been awake for it, and managed a swift evacuation.
We've actually been to the vet in the past about Mabel's-- ready? I'm about to toss around some medical terms here, stay on your toes-- "inappropriate urination." Yeah. I'll leave you dwelling on that. That should be fun.
Before I go ("go?" where am I going exactly? you know what, choosing verbs whilst typing a blog is a real pain, people):
The Commoner is coming out tomorrow, but I'm holding a copy of it in my greedy little hands this very minute, and it's incredible. I feel like the more time I spend with the ed board, the less I acknowledge how much work you guys do, just because it becomes "normal." Well whatever. Forget that-- I think you're all wonderfully abnormal, and this issue of the paper is amazing, and the work you put in was nuts, and very impressive. And, of course, how could I forget my fellow lowly reporters (strength in numbers guys, we could definitely pull of a coup-- keep this in mind)? Who should know, should they be reading this, that I think they are also phenomenal.
I'm just saying. :]
And, to wrap up:
If I was going to make a highlight reel of my day, it would be made almost entirely of moments from Early Human (though I think a few conversational tidbits from Bio wouldn't go amiss either). The Random Acts of Kindness (these things have taken on almost mythical proportions at this point, and certainly deserve italics), the scores of people who thought Colin's pears might be potatoes, the announcement that said might-be-potatoes tasted like dirt and, of course, Colin wearing the empathy belly, all added up to a truly impressive fourth period. Someday I'm going to chronicle today's 4th period, and it will be the next Iliad. Or Odyssey. Whichever one was more sweeping and overwhelming. Take your pick.
Alright, I've definitely talked enough for one night, right? And anyway, I'm really, really tired for some reason. I'm half-afraid this whole blog is going to make zero sense. Or, I don't know, less sense then this blog usually does, which is kind of a matter of personal opinion in the first place.
So, most people who know me probably think I'm destined to be a crazy cat lady just by virtue of the way I talk about my kitten. You have to understand: I chose Mabel, and I love her to pieces, the end, no questions asked, quit looking at me like that she's my cat, okay?
All that being said:
I got up this morning, stumbled out of my door and into the loft area, and very nearly ran into the futon, which had been unfolded into a bed at some point while I slept. There were two figures lying on the futon. I'm a tad slow in the mornings, but eventually my brain was kind enough to label the "mom" and "dad." My parents blinked blearily up at me and I down at them, and then my dad was kind enough to explain to me that the kitten had peed on their bed at some ungodly hour of the night. They had, luckily enough, been awake for it, and managed a swift evacuation.
We've actually been to the vet in the past about Mabel's-- ready? I'm about to toss around some medical terms here, stay on your toes-- "inappropriate urination." Yeah. I'll leave you dwelling on that. That should be fun.
Before I go ("go?" where am I going exactly? you know what, choosing verbs whilst typing a blog is a real pain, people):
The Commoner is coming out tomorrow, but I'm holding a copy of it in my greedy little hands this very minute, and it's incredible. I feel like the more time I spend with the ed board, the less I acknowledge how much work you guys do, just because it becomes "normal." Well whatever. Forget that-- I think you're all wonderfully abnormal, and this issue of the paper is amazing, and the work you put in was nuts, and very impressive. And, of course, how could I forget my fellow lowly reporters (strength in numbers guys, we could definitely pull of a coup-- keep this in mind)? Who should know, should they be reading this, that I think they are also phenomenal.
I'm just saying. :]
And, to wrap up:
If I was going to make a highlight reel of my day, it would be made almost entirely of moments from Early Human (though I think a few conversational tidbits from Bio wouldn't go amiss either). The Random Acts of Kindness (these things have taken on almost mythical proportions at this point, and certainly deserve italics), the scores of people who thought Colin's pears might be potatoes, the announcement that said might-be-potatoes tasted like dirt and, of course, Colin wearing the empathy belly, all added up to a truly impressive fourth period. Someday I'm going to chronicle today's 4th period, and it will be the next Iliad. Or Odyssey. Whichever one was more sweeping and overwhelming. Take your pick.
Alright, I've definitely talked enough for one night, right? And anyway, I'm really, really tired for some reason. I'm half-afraid this whole blog is going to make zero sense. Or, I don't know, less sense then this blog usually does, which is kind of a matter of personal opinion in the first place.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
In which I profess to hate things, offend Celine Dion fans, and have a blister.
Things I Have, At One Point or Another, Professed (in conversation!) to Hate:
1. Celine Dion (I really do; I'll apologize now to any Celine fans reading this, but it's an ingrained hatred, passed on from my mother).
2. Dressing up (okay, so I announced this this morning, while I was dressed up in order to snag some leadership points; does being dressed up make me a leader? if only I'd always known it was that easy).
3. Homework (everybody's said it, but I know a poem about it-- see below).
4. That feeling you get in your stomach when you're halfway down the final drop of Splash Mountain and you'd like it to be over, because the swooping sensation has hit what is, for your wimpy self, optimal scariness, but you open your eyes and you're halfway down the stupid chute.
Things I Have, Over the Course of Typing This Post, Realized That I Love:
1. Parentheses.
2. The concept of a singular form of the word "parentheses" (when would you use it?).
3. The Beatles (who are fantastic, with the added advantage of not being Celine Dion).
4. The fact that Friday is semester and that, come what may, that's it, thank you very much, close the door, lights out, curtain comes down, the end. NO MORE. Until, obviously next semester starts. What's my point? My point is secretly that I love weekends.
This post brought to you by: the blister on my right foot (courtesy of those darn heels, which are comfy, but which I apparently pushed to their limits), the homework I'm avoiding right this very minute, and my every-present Disneyland thoughts.
And now, the promised poetry.
Homework! Oh, Homework! by Jack Prelutsky (the amount I loved this poem, even as a small child, suggests that I simply KNEW WHAT WAS TO COME).
Homework! Oh, Homework!
I hate you! You stink!
I wish I could wash you away in the sink,
if only a bomb
would explode you to bits.
Homework! Oh, homework!
You're giving me fits.
I'd rather take baths
with a man-eating shark,
or wrestle a lion
alone in the dark,
eat spinach and liver,
pet ten porcupines,
than tackle the homework,
my teacher assigns.
Homework! Oh, homework!
you're last on my list,
I simple can't see
why you even exist,
if you just disappeared
it would tickle me pink.
Homework! Oh, homework!
I hate you! You stink!
Friday, January 23, 2009
In which my brother is accidentally true, there is grilled cheese, and italics are confusing.
Stuff that ought to be documented:
1. My mom just said to my brother, "You're probably true," instead of, "You're probably right." And sure, it was an accident. She probably has no idea why I was over here at the computer, giggling.
2. I had grilled cheese for dinner! Yaaaaay. :]
3. I've been listening to Into the Woods and Guys and Dolls. This? Also yaaaaaay. :]
4. I don't know whether or not you're supposed to italicize the names of musicals, but I am brave enough to soldier on, oblivious. Aren't you all just so impressed with me?
1. My mom just said to my brother, "You're probably true," instead of, "You're probably right." And sure, it was an accident. She probably has no idea why I was over here at the computer, giggling.
2. I had grilled cheese for dinner! Yaaaaay. :]
3. I've been listening to Into the Woods and Guys and Dolls. This? Also yaaaaaay. :]
4. I don't know whether or not you're supposed to italicize the names of musicals, but I am brave enough to soldier on, oblivious. Aren't you all just so impressed with me?
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
In which Barack Obama says a lot of very powerful things, and I listen.
I am so phenomenally pleased that we have a brand new president. One who, as Sam pointed out today in Biology, used the phrase "bitter swill" in his inauguration speech. Look, I may have been feeling sorry for Dubya lately, because no matter what he's done he's still a person, and to know that a nation pretty much hates you, that has to be hard-- I may have been feeling sorry for him, but I will unabashedly revel in the fact that President Obama (whee!) said "bitter swill," and you and I both know ol' shrubby wouldn't have done that.
Which leads me to:
I firmly maintain that my President ought to be smarter than me. He ought to be smarter, and kinder, more patient, more willing to compromise, more steadfast, more idealistic, more pragmatic (hey there, Mr. Iverson!); the guy we choose to lead the entire country should be exceptional. And while I don't object to, you know, myself, I am not presidential material. I want to elect someone to that office who is just plain better than me. I don't want someone "just like me," some "ordinary Joe Six Pack," negotiating with foreign nuclear powers, or responding to natural disasters, or dealing with the aftermath of 9/11. I don't think I could do that. I don't think an "ordinary" anyone could do that. Being president is a job which is terrifyingly demanding, and it belongs to someone who has the capacity to meet its demands.
I'm pretty sure we now officially have one of those someones leading the country. I certainly hope I'm right. And I guess now we get to wait and see. But for now, cheesy and idealistic as it is, I'm going to believe every single one of the promises our (brand, shiny, new!) president made this morning, thank you very much.
"As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals."
"[T]he stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works — whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified."
"We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people, and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we will work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet."
"We will restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost."
"[W]e will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age."
"[K]now that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more."
"Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America — they will be met."
I'm saying it right now, and I really, really hope I'll be able to say it without hesitation for the next eight years: if you say so, Mr. President, then what the heck. Let's give it a shot.
Which leads me to:
I firmly maintain that my President ought to be smarter than me. He ought to be smarter, and kinder, more patient, more willing to compromise, more steadfast, more idealistic, more pragmatic (hey there, Mr. Iverson!); the guy we choose to lead the entire country should be exceptional. And while I don't object to, you know, myself, I am not presidential material. I want to elect someone to that office who is just plain better than me. I don't want someone "just like me," some "ordinary Joe Six Pack," negotiating with foreign nuclear powers, or responding to natural disasters, or dealing with the aftermath of 9/11. I don't think I could do that. I don't think an "ordinary" anyone could do that. Being president is a job which is terrifyingly demanding, and it belongs to someone who has the capacity to meet its demands.
I'm pretty sure we now officially have one of those someones leading the country. I certainly hope I'm right. And I guess now we get to wait and see. But for now, cheesy and idealistic as it is, I'm going to believe every single one of the promises our (brand, shiny, new!) president made this morning, thank you very much.
"As for our common defense, we reject as false the choice between our safety and our ideals."
"[T]he stale political arguments that have consumed us for so long no longer apply. The question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works — whether it helps families find jobs at a decent wage, care they can afford, a retirement that is dignified."
"We will begin to responsibly leave Iraq to its people, and forge a hard-earned peace in Afghanistan. With old friends and former foes, we will work tirelessly to lessen the nuclear threat, and roll back the specter of a warming planet."
"We will restore science to its rightful place, and wield technology's wonders to raise health care's quality and lower its cost."
"[W]e will transform our schools and colleges and universities to meet the demands of a new age."
"[K]now that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more."
"Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many. They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America — they will be met."
I'm saying it right now, and I really, really hope I'll be able to say it without hesitation for the next eight years: if you say so, Mr. President, then what the heck. Let's give it a shot.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
In which I win at Risk, might well be a bit of a control freak, and eloquently employ the word, 'aaaaaaaah.'
Emily's Three Easy Steps to Winning Risk:
1. Strike up an unspoken (or, you know, semi-spoken) bargain with your mom before the game begins.
2. Let this sorta-spoken bargain be: You know what? I don't really want to play this game. How about once we're the only ones left, we just...stop playing? And how about, in order to hurry along toward that happy moment, we avoid attacking each other. Sound good? Good.
3. Abide by the mostly-spoken-at-this-point bargain.
Hey presto! You'll win in no time. ;]
So, my weekend so far-- I haven't really done much. I've been feeling kind of weird? Sort of sad, but mostly like things are just out of my hands, and I don't like that. I feel like June is rushing at me almost terrifyingly quickly, and I'm not ready yet, guys! Heeeeelp! I'm excited for college, sure, but come on. College? Is college. And, you know, college is kind of a scary prospect. I'm just saying. I don't really want to make all new friends! I only recently conquered my innate fear of talking to strangers! STRANGERS ARE SCARY. I like the friends I've got, I'm quite fond of them really, and I'd like to keep them for a couple more years at least.
So. There's your installment of me being (not so) secretly neurotic and sentimental. Aaaaaaaah, let's not lose touch when we go to college guys. Please? I will be ridiculously sad if that happens. I'm like that. I WILL EXPECT SOME FORM OF CORRESPONDENCE.
1. Strike up an unspoken (or, you know, semi-spoken) bargain with your mom before the game begins.
2. Let this sorta-spoken bargain be: You know what? I don't really want to play this game. How about once we're the only ones left, we just...stop playing? And how about, in order to hurry along toward that happy moment, we avoid attacking each other. Sound good? Good.
3. Abide by the mostly-spoken-at-this-point bargain.
Hey presto! You'll win in no time. ;]
So, my weekend so far-- I haven't really done much. I've been feeling kind of weird? Sort of sad, but mostly like things are just out of my hands, and I don't like that. I feel like June is rushing at me almost terrifyingly quickly, and I'm not ready yet, guys! Heeeeelp! I'm excited for college, sure, but come on. College? Is college. And, you know, college is kind of a scary prospect. I'm just saying. I don't really want to make all new friends! I only recently conquered my innate fear of talking to strangers! STRANGERS ARE SCARY. I like the friends I've got, I'm quite fond of them really, and I'd like to keep them for a couple more years at least.
So. There's your installment of me being (not so) secretly neurotic and sentimental. Aaaaaaaah, let's not lose touch when we go to college guys. Please? I will be ridiculously sad if that happens. I'm like that. I WILL EXPECT SOME FORM OF CORRESPONDENCE.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
In which there are two Glenns, I achieve victory, and my kitten gets her nails done.
Because a bunch of people I know made phone calls on behalf of the school district last night, and had their fair share of horror stories to tell, I thought I'd share my mom's own phone calling horror story with the internet at large.
My mom went to the University of Puget Sound, and for a while she worked in the admissions office, making phone calls to people who had expressed interest in transferring to UPS to confirm that they were, in fact, transferring (or, you know, not transferring). Apparently, one day, she made a phone call that went like this:
"Hi, I'm calling from the University of Puget Sound. Can I speak to Glenn?"
"Big Glenn, or Little Glenn?"
"Um. I'm calling from the University of Puget Sound?"
"You must want Little Glenn then."
My mom, tragically, cannot remember whether or not Little Glenn actually attended UPS. If you happen to know, please, do share the information with me. I'm sure my mom is frantically searching for closure.
Other then that, I just applied to American University and UW (which I always forget I'm applying to in the first place). Ha! And again, ha! VICTORY IS MINE, PEOPLE. That only leaves Whittier, which I guess requires hard copies of letters of rec? Anywho, the point is: victory? Definitely mine.
One last thing that I am absolutely sure anyone and everyone reading this was dying to know: my dad is, this very minute, in the process of trying to clip my kitten's claws. Her growls are getting almost musical in nature, but I'm guessing any crescendos are going to involve flailing paws, and nasty sharp teeth sinking into the exposed skin of, well, my dad. So let's hope she calms down. Um. Anyone want to take bets on exactly how likely that is?
My mom went to the University of Puget Sound, and for a while she worked in the admissions office, making phone calls to people who had expressed interest in transferring to UPS to confirm that they were, in fact, transferring (or, you know, not transferring). Apparently, one day, she made a phone call that went like this:
"Hi, I'm calling from the University of Puget Sound. Can I speak to Glenn?"
"Big Glenn, or Little Glenn?"
"Um. I'm calling from the University of Puget Sound?"
"You must want Little Glenn then."
My mom, tragically, cannot remember whether or not Little Glenn actually attended UPS. If you happen to know, please, do share the information with me. I'm sure my mom is frantically searching for closure.
Other then that, I just applied to American University and UW (which I always forget I'm applying to in the first place). Ha! And again, ha! VICTORY IS MINE, PEOPLE. That only leaves Whittier, which I guess requires hard copies of letters of rec? Anywho, the point is: victory? Definitely mine.
One last thing that I am absolutely sure anyone and everyone reading this was dying to know: my dad is, this very minute, in the process of trying to clip my kitten's claws. Her growls are getting almost musical in nature, but I'm guessing any crescendos are going to involve flailing paws, and nasty sharp teeth sinking into the exposed skin of, well, my dad. So let's hope she calms down. Um. Anyone want to take bets on exactly how likely that is?
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
In which Rita Mae Brown has fantastic things to say, and Sam and I quote the Rolling Stones. Sort of.
"Education is a wonderful thing. If you couldn't sign your name you'd have to pay cash."
"I became a lesbian out of devout Christian charity. All those women out there are praying for a man and I gave them my share."
"The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they are okay, then it's you."
"Why can't peace be a single overriding common purpose: why do we wait for a crisis to pull us together? Let's pull together for peace."
"One of the keys to happiness is a bad memory."
"Love is the wild card of existence."
"Instead of giving money to found colleges to promote learning, why don't they pass a constitutional amendment prohibiting anybody from learning anything? If it works as good as the Prohibition one did, why, in five years we would have the smartest race of people on earth."
"Language is the road map of a culture. It tells you where its people come from and where they are going."
"No government has the right to tell its citizens when or whom to love. The only queer people are those who don't love anybody."
Rita Mae Brown. She's amazing. Just throwing that out there.
Quoting myself, while talking to Sam:
"You can't always get what you want. But you can always quote Mick Jagger."
This was followed by the profound suggestion that maybe, if you tried sometimes, you could get what you needed.
What will we think of next?
"I became a lesbian out of devout Christian charity. All those women out there are praying for a man and I gave them my share."
"The statistics on sanity are that one out of every four Americans is suffering from some form of mental illness. Think of your three best friends. If they are okay, then it's you."
"Why can't peace be a single overriding common purpose: why do we wait for a crisis to pull us together? Let's pull together for peace."
"One of the keys to happiness is a bad memory."
"Love is the wild card of existence."
"Instead of giving money to found colleges to promote learning, why don't they pass a constitutional amendment prohibiting anybody from learning anything? If it works as good as the Prohibition one did, why, in five years we would have the smartest race of people on earth."
"Language is the road map of a culture. It tells you where its people come from and where they are going."
"No government has the right to tell its citizens when or whom to love. The only queer people are those who don't love anybody."
Rita Mae Brown. She's amazing. Just throwing that out there.
Quoting myself, while talking to Sam:
"You can't always get what you want. But you can always quote Mick Jagger."
This was followed by the profound suggestion that maybe, if you tried sometimes, you could get what you needed.
What will we think of next?
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
In which I make lists, combat the Tuesday Blues, and use the word 'ickiness.'
Today was...bizarre. Has anyone else noticed that there are these days, every once in a while, when the entire student body is exhausted? Even if no one's sick, there's no big assignment due, and people got reasonable amounts of sleep?
Hannah suggested that it might be the Tuesday Blues. I'm inclined to agree, I suppose. Stupid Tuesdays. Stupid blues.
As a result of today's general ickiness (yeah, I said ickiness-- and I'm only a little bit ashamed), I feel the need to make a List of Good Stuff From Today, By Class.
Gov: Um. I finished reading Federalist 51 and got to take a nap? I feel like there wasn't too much happening in Gov today.
Lit: The "Birthday Party" write was less intimidating then it might have been, and RRs weren't due.
Bio: Hee! When is this class not good? We all got to compare little kid activities, among them, hip-hop and ballet. Losing it with laughter for possibly five solid minutes is never a bad thing.
Early Human: Fulfillful baklava. Thanks Jenna, and thanks, random presenting girl, for providing me with amazing food and a new vocabulary word, respectively.
Stats: Mr. Beni is really fantastic and offered to help me with everything I don't understand, pretty much whenever I can make it in.
Commoner: Apples to Apples is always good. Regardless of any and all trouble we got into for it. Also, the source of the incredibly shrill humming noise being Heather's recorder? I was just...guys, there are times when you just have to accept that RIDICULOUSLY HAPPY is all you can be.
After School (yes, yes, I know this isn't a class, hush): My kitten. My mom. Booooooks. :]
My Top Five Favorite Words to Say Out Loud:
5. guacamole
4. serendipitous
3. surreptitious
2. wombat
1. chihuahua
Hannah suggested that it might be the Tuesday Blues. I'm inclined to agree, I suppose. Stupid Tuesdays. Stupid blues.
As a result of today's general ickiness (yeah, I said ickiness-- and I'm only a little bit ashamed), I feel the need to make a List of Good Stuff From Today, By Class.
Gov: Um. I finished reading Federalist 51 and got to take a nap? I feel like there wasn't too much happening in Gov today.
Lit: The "Birthday Party" write was less intimidating then it might have been, and RRs weren't due.
Bio: Hee! When is this class not good? We all got to compare little kid activities, among them, hip-hop and ballet. Losing it with laughter for possibly five solid minutes is never a bad thing.
Early Human: Fulfillful baklava. Thanks Jenna, and thanks, random presenting girl, for providing me with amazing food and a new vocabulary word, respectively.
Stats: Mr. Beni is really fantastic and offered to help me with everything I don't understand, pretty much whenever I can make it in.
Commoner: Apples to Apples is always good. Regardless of any and all trouble we got into for it. Also, the source of the incredibly shrill humming noise being Heather's recorder? I was just...guys, there are times when you just have to accept that RIDICULOUSLY HAPPY is all you can be.
After School (yes, yes, I know this isn't a class, hush): My kitten. My mom. Booooooks. :]
My Top Five Favorite Words to Say Out Loud:
5. guacamole
4. serendipitous
3. surreptitious
2. wombat
1. chihuahua
Monday, January 12, 2009
In which I am a sappity-sap-sap, love my parents, and use the word 'dorkwad.'
Because it has been brought to my attention that I often make my parents look quite bad when I talk about them in public (i.e., while sharing stories with my Lit class, while admitting that I applied to nine colleges), I feel the need to make this post. Guys, allow me to explain my parents to you. Also, you will I hope excuse my total and complete sappiness. I do actually, you know, love my parents. So. Um. Indulge me?
My Dad
My dad is quite possibly one of the best, most ridiculous people I have ever known. Seriously. He has a love affair with bad puns, passed on to him from his father. He makes not just bad puns, but also bad jokes in general, jokes he knows are bad and immediately apologizes for, while already making the next one. He put up with me screaming at him over math homework for a good five years solid (third grade through eighth grade) and was always patient with me until I'd yelled and cried myself out, and then actually helped me with the stupid homework. He's incredibly intelligent. He's a lawyer, and he just knows things, things that have nothing to do with law. He encourages my dorkiness super enthusiastically and I love him for it.
Whenever I fight with my dad, he's always the one that takes a step back at the end of things and makes the first apologies. He's always willing to own up to the parts of things he thinks were his fault.
He's said that he sometimes expects more from me than is reasonable, and that he sometimes still treats me like his little girl. That's neither here nor there-- I want him to expect big things from me, and I want to be his little girl (at least, about half the time-- the other time I just want to grow up already, which is usually when we fight, and hey, it's usually my fault).
He takes this total delight in everything his kids do-- me singing, Caleb drumming, both of us reading and writing and generally throwing ourselves at school. He's fantastically supportive, honest to God. I know he sounds like this ideal, perfect parent, and he's not, but he is amazing as far as taking care of and encouraging his kids. I've never doubted that my dad's enthusiasm for the things I do is genuine.
He's incredibly, expansively loving and if I take one thing away from home and out with me into the world, I swear that's what I want it to be.
Whenever I fight with my dad, he's always the one that takes a step back at the end of things and makes the first apologies. He's always willing to own up to the parts of things he thinks were his fault.
He's said that he sometimes expects more from me than is reasonable, and that he sometimes still treats me like his little girl. That's neither here nor there-- I want him to expect big things from me, and I want to be his little girl (at least, about half the time-- the other time I just want to grow up already, which is usually when we fight, and hey, it's usually my fault).
He takes this total delight in everything his kids do-- me singing, Caleb drumming, both of us reading and writing and generally throwing ourselves at school. He's fantastically supportive, honest to God. I know he sounds like this ideal, perfect parent, and he's not, but he is amazing as far as taking care of and encouraging his kids. I've never doubted that my dad's enthusiasm for the things I do is genuine.
He's incredibly, expansively loving and if I take one thing away from home and out with me into the world, I swear that's what I want it to be.
My Mom
My mom is like some sort of exact blueprint for me, except more artistic, more intelligent, and generally better at quite a few things. She always gets me into new TV shows, she faithfully read the Harry Potter books (so did my dad, no fear guys), and she makes fun of me in internet speak. Lolz, anyone?
We have constant, snarky conversations, and through all the years when I wasn't sure who my friends at school were, or how to figure it out, my mom was there, always. We have incredible conversations, sometimes about nothing at all, that I'm always itching to write down just so I won't forget them. We watch HGTV together and make fun of the people making over their homes, especially when everything is worse afterwards than it was before.
My mom is also the person in my family who keeps me firmly rooted in the real world-- the fact that yes, I will need to be able to do dishes, do laundry, check my oil, cook dinners. For years and years she's been slowly but surely preparing me to actually live (horror of horrors) on my own.
My mom and I are so similiar that we often end up fighting, but our fights usually just sort of...disappear, because soon enough we have something we just have to talk to each other about (oh my gosh mom, did you hear Joe the Plumber wrote a book?!).
Besides being me, but better, my mom is also incredible with arts, crafts, and general arts and crafty things. Ask me who helped make Colin's magnets. I cannot take sole credit for those puppies.
She's sweet, and sarcastic, and completely incredible. She hates it when her kids fake cry (it actually gets to her, makes her sad, which in turn makes her shout at you to stop, and my brother and I find it hilarious), she's fantastically intelligent, and she spends lovely amounts of time with a family I love, telling stories I can't get enough of.
My mom's not afraid to take the serious things seriously even while snarking away about Britney Spears (hey, you have to be informed about celebrities to make fun of celebrities), and I think I have basically been surviving college applications on the strength of conversations with her.
P.S.: In order to dispel any notion, after reading this post, that I'm some sort of nice, or remotely cool, person, let me tell you what I just shouted at my little brother: Learning is fun, dorkwad!
We have constant, snarky conversations, and through all the years when I wasn't sure who my friends at school were, or how to figure it out, my mom was there, always. We have incredible conversations, sometimes about nothing at all, that I'm always itching to write down just so I won't forget them. We watch HGTV together and make fun of the people making over their homes, especially when everything is worse afterwards than it was before.
My mom is also the person in my family who keeps me firmly rooted in the real world-- the fact that yes, I will need to be able to do dishes, do laundry, check my oil, cook dinners. For years and years she's been slowly but surely preparing me to actually live (horror of horrors) on my own.
My mom and I are so similiar that we often end up fighting, but our fights usually just sort of...disappear, because soon enough we have something we just have to talk to each other about (oh my gosh mom, did you hear Joe the Plumber wrote a book?!).
Besides being me, but better, my mom is also incredible with arts, crafts, and general arts and crafty things. Ask me who helped make Colin's magnets. I cannot take sole credit for those puppies.
She's sweet, and sarcastic, and completely incredible. She hates it when her kids fake cry (it actually gets to her, makes her sad, which in turn makes her shout at you to stop, and my brother and I find it hilarious), she's fantastically intelligent, and she spends lovely amounts of time with a family I love, telling stories I can't get enough of.
My mom's not afraid to take the serious things seriously even while snarking away about Britney Spears (hey, you have to be informed about celebrities to make fun of celebrities), and I think I have basically been surviving college applications on the strength of conversations with her.
Together
Together my parents are a semi-ridiculous entity that I absolutely adore. I take so many of the things that I like best about me and that, more than likely, other people actually like about me, from them. My sense of humor, my interest in politics, my plain old intelligence. Honest to God, I love them, and if I've given them some kind of bad reputation with the Rogers student body, I swear that was a mistake.
I don't think they read this, but if they do, a message for them:
Mom, Dad, I wrote this sappy mess thinking you'd never read it, so I demand you not hold the unconditional love in the above post over my head. That would just be wrong guys. Really, really wrong. So hold your tongues.
I don't think they read this, but if they do, a message for them:
Mom, Dad, I wrote this sappy mess thinking you'd never read it, so I demand you not hold the unconditional love in the above post over my head. That would just be wrong guys. Really, really wrong. So hold your tongues.
P.S.: In order to dispel any notion, after reading this post, that I'm some sort of nice, or remotely cool, person, let me tell you what I just shouted at my little brother: Learning is fun, dorkwad!
Sunday, January 11, 2009
In which I am a little freakish, love Disneyland a lot, and somehow end up talking about walruses.
Instead of doing anything remotely useful or productive, I'm going to ramble about Disneyland in this space. Because, you know. I cannot resist the allure of Disneyland, nor the allure of...rambling about Disneyland. Or how much I want to be there.
(This post brought to you by: Taylor's potential vacation, a visit to my Disney-loving grandmother's house, and my constant and almost freakish need to be in Disneyland.)
Guys, I just plain adore Disneyland. And I've tried to explain that adoration to people before, and it inevitably ends badly, mostly because I'm horrible at putting this particular obsession into words. I can explain my love for the Mariners, or politics, or musicals (if pushed, but it's tough, because mostly that explanation consists of: songs! dances! the necessity of overacting! did I mention the songs? songs!), but for some reason I have a hard time making myself clear about Disneyland. So here's what I'll do: I'll list common reasons most people love Disneyland that aren't my reasons. And we'll see what we can see. Okay? Okay. :]
1. I definitely do not love Disneyland because of the rides. It must be something else. I know this because when I was eight and visited Disneyland for the first time, I loved it. But I was terrified of rollercoasters, I hated half the dark rides, and I had little to no patience for waiting in line. I found maybe two rides I loved: Peter Pan (still love it, by the way) and the teacups (which have been slowed down and made harder to spin, which I hate-- someone, somewhere, decided to regulate the teacups, and, in the process, crushed some small part of my very soul).
2. My Disneyland love does not spring from a generalized Disney love. It's actually the other way around. Sure, I enjoy a good Disney movie as much as the next person (mostly I love them for the music, so the ones from the 90s have a special place in my Alan Menken-admiring heart), but the vague Disney fanaticism I sometimes display is because I love Disneyland. As in, I visited Disneyland for the first time and then had the sudden urge to consume all things Disney, Disney-related, and Disney-endorsed.
3. It's not California. I love California, but again, that's because Disneyland is in it. Southern California, actually is, objectively, a little frightening. Some of those people are a little crazy, and the weather is wa-a-ay too hot for my tastes. Northern California is cool-- it's got mountains! and vineyards!-- but I don't like it as much for the simple reason that it hasn't got Disneyland in it.
4. It's not the people. Ohhhh, it's definitely not the people. The people are brash, loud, pushy, and self-entitled (the locals), or sunburned, tired, lost, and well, pushy (the tourists), and by in large they are not the sort of people I would want to know outside of Disneyland. There are exceptions, of course, there always are, but honestly I would not want to be friends with most of the people I see at Disneyland on any given trip. But that doesn't matter, because while I'm in Disneyland, those people are my people, and I like them. I give them directions to Splash Mountain, I let them shove in front of me in line, I even find their screeching children cute. Yeah. Cute. Take that, All Other Places Which Are Not Disneyland.
I think it may just have something to do with that indefinable Disneyland aura. And yes, this is the part where I get into trouble with people, usually for one of three reasons: a) I get all incoherent and start throwing around parts of sentences in my attempt to explain, b) people are bored at this point and just stop paying attention, or c) people think I'm a freak because I used the word "aura."
But! Back to Disneyland, and its aura, and away from "Reasons People Don't Want to Listen to Me Ramble."
Somehow, the atmosphere of Disneyland-- its unnatural cleanliness, its cheesy themed restaurants and giftshops, its slogan which it seems to naively and earnestly believe in (Happiest Place on Earth-- it is the truth) creates this place where it is impossible for me to be sad. I actually had a meltdown on my last trip to Disneyland (not the Commoner trip, but my last family trip) because I had buckets of homework (yes, I carry my homework around in buckets) and I thought my mom hated me. But honestly, that didn't really matter. Because five minutes later I was screaming for fun on Big Thunder Mountain, and then rushing across the park to get to Peter Pan before the line was too long, neatly dodging small children and dropped cotton candy along the way, feeling perfectly at home and deliriously happy. Disneyland makes me want to do cartwheels. Something you should understand: I cannot actually do cartwheels. This has been a source of some trauma in my life. Yet in Disneyland, the thought of cartwheels brings me no pain, because in Disneyland, that is just the way things work.
(A note: I have a ridiculous amount of paranthesis in the first part of that paragraph. See what I mean about getting incoherent?)
Or at least, that is just the way things work for me. I have been made aware that Disneyland does not do this to everyone. Some people find it hot, and sticky, and unpleasant, and they do not think the small, squalling children are endearing in the slightest. To these people I say: jeez, I hope you find your Disneyland somewhere. Everyone should have that place. Even if it's, like, a goat farm in the Appalachians, or some sort of biannual regional ping-pong tournament. Not that I have anything against either of those places. If you like it there, find an excuse to be there. As often as possible. No exceptions.
In conclusion, have some Utterly Unrelated Facts:
1. I'm glad Christine Gregoire won the governor's race, because I definitely don't want Dino Rossi as my governor, but as I explained to Sam, Camille, Phil, and Colin the other day, she always looks angry! She looks up at my from newspapers like she hates my soul.
2. My mom made cinnamon rolls on the rain day. Mmm. :]
3. Some days, I feel like it's possible the world is a little overfull of hate, and I get sort of depressed about all kinds of craptastic things that, really, should not be happening. And then I think, yeah, but there's: play-do, walruses, the Muppets, Douglas Adams' books, fudge-oat bars, and Aretha Franklin. I'm sorry, but any world with walruses and fudge-oat bars in it is not a world I'm going to give up on yet.
4. I'm really fond of italics.
(This post brought to you by: Taylor's potential vacation, a visit to my Disney-loving grandmother's house, and my constant and almost freakish need to be in Disneyland.)
Guys, I just plain adore Disneyland. And I've tried to explain that adoration to people before, and it inevitably ends badly, mostly because I'm horrible at putting this particular obsession into words. I can explain my love for the Mariners, or politics, or musicals (if pushed, but it's tough, because mostly that explanation consists of: songs! dances! the necessity of overacting! did I mention the songs? songs!), but for some reason I have a hard time making myself clear about Disneyland. So here's what I'll do: I'll list common reasons most people love Disneyland that aren't my reasons. And we'll see what we can see. Okay? Okay. :]
1. I definitely do not love Disneyland because of the rides. It must be something else. I know this because when I was eight and visited Disneyland for the first time, I loved it. But I was terrified of rollercoasters, I hated half the dark rides, and I had little to no patience for waiting in line. I found maybe two rides I loved: Peter Pan (still love it, by the way) and the teacups (which have been slowed down and made harder to spin, which I hate-- someone, somewhere, decided to regulate the teacups, and, in the process, crushed some small part of my very soul).
2. My Disneyland love does not spring from a generalized Disney love. It's actually the other way around. Sure, I enjoy a good Disney movie as much as the next person (mostly I love them for the music, so the ones from the 90s have a special place in my Alan Menken-admiring heart), but the vague Disney fanaticism I sometimes display is because I love Disneyland. As in, I visited Disneyland for the first time and then had the sudden urge to consume all things Disney, Disney-related, and Disney-endorsed.
3. It's not California. I love California, but again, that's because Disneyland is in it. Southern California, actually is, objectively, a little frightening. Some of those people are a little crazy, and the weather is wa-a-ay too hot for my tastes. Northern California is cool-- it's got mountains! and vineyards!-- but I don't like it as much for the simple reason that it hasn't got Disneyland in it.
4. It's not the people. Ohhhh, it's definitely not the people. The people are brash, loud, pushy, and self-entitled (the locals), or sunburned, tired, lost, and well, pushy (the tourists), and by in large they are not the sort of people I would want to know outside of Disneyland. There are exceptions, of course, there always are, but honestly I would not want to be friends with most of the people I see at Disneyland on any given trip. But that doesn't matter, because while I'm in Disneyland, those people are my people, and I like them. I give them directions to Splash Mountain, I let them shove in front of me in line, I even find their screeching children cute. Yeah. Cute. Take that, All Other Places Which Are Not Disneyland.
I think it may just have something to do with that indefinable Disneyland aura. And yes, this is the part where I get into trouble with people, usually for one of three reasons: a) I get all incoherent and start throwing around parts of sentences in my attempt to explain, b) people are bored at this point and just stop paying attention, or c) people think I'm a freak because I used the word "aura."
But! Back to Disneyland, and its aura, and away from "Reasons People Don't Want to Listen to Me Ramble."
Somehow, the atmosphere of Disneyland-- its unnatural cleanliness, its cheesy themed restaurants and giftshops, its slogan which it seems to naively and earnestly believe in (Happiest Place on Earth-- it is the truth) creates this place where it is impossible for me to be sad. I actually had a meltdown on my last trip to Disneyland (not the Commoner trip, but my last family trip) because I had buckets of homework (yes, I carry my homework around in buckets) and I thought my mom hated me. But honestly, that didn't really matter. Because five minutes later I was screaming for fun on Big Thunder Mountain, and then rushing across the park to get to Peter Pan before the line was too long, neatly dodging small children and dropped cotton candy along the way, feeling perfectly at home and deliriously happy. Disneyland makes me want to do cartwheels. Something you should understand: I cannot actually do cartwheels. This has been a source of some trauma in my life. Yet in Disneyland, the thought of cartwheels brings me no pain, because in Disneyland, that is just the way things work.
(A note: I have a ridiculous amount of paranthesis in the first part of that paragraph. See what I mean about getting incoherent?)
Or at least, that is just the way things work for me. I have been made aware that Disneyland does not do this to everyone. Some people find it hot, and sticky, and unpleasant, and they do not think the small, squalling children are endearing in the slightest. To these people I say: jeez, I hope you find your Disneyland somewhere. Everyone should have that place. Even if it's, like, a goat farm in the Appalachians, or some sort of biannual regional ping-pong tournament. Not that I have anything against either of those places. If you like it there, find an excuse to be there. As often as possible. No exceptions.
In conclusion, have some Utterly Unrelated Facts:
1. I'm glad Christine Gregoire won the governor's race, because I definitely don't want Dino Rossi as my governor, but as I explained to Sam, Camille, Phil, and Colin the other day, she always looks angry! She looks up at my from newspapers like she hates my soul.
2. My mom made cinnamon rolls on the rain day. Mmm. :]
3. Some days, I feel like it's possible the world is a little overfull of hate, and I get sort of depressed about all kinds of craptastic things that, really, should not be happening. And then I think, yeah, but there's: play-do, walruses, the Muppets, Douglas Adams' books, fudge-oat bars, and Aretha Franklin. I'm sorry, but any world with walruses and fudge-oat bars in it is not a world I'm going to give up on yet.
4. I'm really fond of italics.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
In which Starbucks is a pleasant surprise, I have fantastic friends, and I make rat-related assumptions.
So. Starbucks. I spent quite a bit of time there today, in the name of, you know, journalism and stuff.
To be fair, I did not spend as much time in that Starbucks as Laurel, Megan, and Caty spent at Rogers (I'm jealous, guys, really, Sam and I spent a not-small portion of the drive to my house wishing we were...still at school), but 15 hours is a respectable amount of time, in my humble opinion.
First of all, I spent quite a bit of time there with Brent would have been a more accurate way to phrase that, er (please hold, I'm counting), third sentence, so credit where credit is due, I would have been first bored out of my mind and then, later, asleep without his company. Thanks Brent. :]
Second: Starbucks! I don't actually spend a lot of time there on a regular basis because...I'm not a huge fan of coffee. And by that I mean, "I don't drink coffee." But I had a surprisingly enjoyable time. Everyone was polite, the baristas were sweet, the food was good, and the company was fantastic: Sam and Camille came to visit, Hannah and Nicole showed up in a completely serendipitous fashion (serendipitous=my fourth favorite word to say; I'll make a list for you guys sometime, huh?) and of course like I said, Brent was there for twelve hours, which is a long time any way you slice it.
There were, of course, endless Starbucks adventures (okay, okay, Starbucks doesn't lend itself to adventures, but I think I've definitely got something to write about) which I will not be sharing here because one, I'm reeeeeeeally tired, and two, hey, I have to have something to put in the article folks. However, you guys should remind me to show you my notes from today. They are, in places, pretty sleep-deprived and hilarious. :]
I hope everyone had a good Saturday! Laurel, Megan, Caty, I'm thrilled to hear you weren't devoured by rats. Everyone else, I'm just going to assume you weren't either. If you were, let me know, alright? Because that's the kind of thing I need to be kept appraised of.
To be fair, I did not spend as much time in that Starbucks as Laurel, Megan, and Caty spent at Rogers (I'm jealous, guys, really, Sam and I spent a not-small portion of the drive to my house wishing we were...still at school), but 15 hours is a respectable amount of time, in my humble opinion.
First of all, I spent quite a bit of time there with Brent would have been a more accurate way to phrase that, er (please hold, I'm counting), third sentence, so credit where credit is due, I would have been first bored out of my mind and then, later, asleep without his company. Thanks Brent. :]
Second: Starbucks! I don't actually spend a lot of time there on a regular basis because...I'm not a huge fan of coffee. And by that I mean, "I don't drink coffee." But I had a surprisingly enjoyable time. Everyone was polite, the baristas were sweet, the food was good, and the company was fantastic: Sam and Camille came to visit, Hannah and Nicole showed up in a completely serendipitous fashion (serendipitous=my fourth favorite word to say; I'll make a list for you guys sometime, huh?) and of course like I said, Brent was there for twelve hours, which is a long time any way you slice it.
There were, of course, endless Starbucks adventures (okay, okay, Starbucks doesn't lend itself to adventures, but I think I've definitely got something to write about) which I will not be sharing here because one, I'm reeeeeeeally tired, and two, hey, I have to have something to put in the article folks. However, you guys should remind me to show you my notes from today. They are, in places, pretty sleep-deprived and hilarious. :]
I hope everyone had a good Saturday! Laurel, Megan, Caty, I'm thrilled to hear you weren't devoured by rats. Everyone else, I'm just going to assume you weren't either. If you were, let me know, alright? Because that's the kind of thing I need to be kept appraised of.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
In which I pine for the University of Chicago, share a bulk foods epiphany, and pity WinCo customer service.
"How do you feel about Wednesday?"
That's a University of Chicago essay prompt from a couple of years ago, and I'm just throwing it out there as an example of why everyone should want to go there.
(Also! "Have you ever walked through the aisles of a warehouse store like Costco or Sam’s Club and wondered who would buy a jar of mustard a foot and a half tall? We’ve bought it, but it didn’t stop us from wondering about other things, like absurd eating contests, impulse buys, excess, unimagined uses for mustard, storage, preservatives, notions of bigness . . . and dozens of other ideas both silly and serious. Write an essay somehow inspired by super-huge mustard.")
And sure, I realize that if I do happen to get into UChicago, I will be thoroughly incapable of paying for it, but a girl can dream. ;]
Speaking of strange things you can buy in grocery stores, guys, let's talk about WinCo. WinCo the, yes, grocery store. What a clever segue I pulled off there. Let's all admire it for a moment.
...Alright, done with that now. So, during break, my dad picked me up from a friend's house around 10:30 and said we had to stop at WinCo on the way home. We proceeded to spend almost an hour collecting ingredients for chili, cookies, and lasagna (...yep), and let me tell you people, the late-night WinCo crowd is downright intriguing. But before we get to the stellar company, let's talk about the bulk foods.
I think I had some kind of bizarre epiphany in the bulk foods about the tyranny of materialism and the crimes of a society hypnotized by the notion of extreme convenience (okay, so that's a lie-- fine, you caught me).
You see, sitting there in the bulk foods was a huge bin of cookies, large cookies, all of them individually wrapped. And what I want to know is, how silly would you feel grabbing a scoop and pouring a bunch of cookies, each packaged in their own little plastic bags into...a bigger plastic bag? The correct answer here is "super silly," and if you got it right, you get 22.5 Emily points, redeemable for absolutely nothing, effective immediately.
Other things that were in huge bins in the bulk foods section: tea bags, Sweet 'n' Low, instant refried beans, and a sort of orange, clumpy, clay-like substance that purported to be useful in breading chicken. I personally thought it might be dirt from Mars when I first saw it, and was seriously disappointed when I got close enough to read the label.
Alright, remember wa-a-a-ay back, before you started reading that, er, series of observations-- which I'm now officially titling "Meditations on Bulk Foods and Space Dirt: The Kind of Stuff You Don't Really Want to Read About,"-- I promised to tell you about the late-night WinCo crowd? Well I'm about to make good on that promise. Prepare yourselves.
When my dad and I were ready to check out, we saw that there were only two cashiers working (keep in mind that it's maybe midnight at this point). We picked the one on the left, since someone was already checking out with the one on the right. As our cashier was scanning our cornmeal (yep, we bought cornmeal-- in the bulk foods, incidentally), the other cashier said to our cashier, "Hey, can this lady return stuff here, or does she have to go through customer service?" Our cashier glanced over at the people checking out on the right and answered, "Well, what's she trying to return?"
"Chapstick," the other cashier said, perfectly serious.
"It is not moisturizing my lips like, at all," the customer interjected at this point, one hand on her hip.
Please, if you will, humor me and imagine a long (and long-suffering) pause in which my brain struggles to understand what has just happened, finds that the contortions required to do so are putting it in extreme pain, gives up, retires, and moves to Florida.
"She's gonna have to go through customer service," our cashier said.
Have a good night guys, and please remember tonight's moral: if it's touched your lips, well, it's touched your lips.
That's a University of Chicago essay prompt from a couple of years ago, and I'm just throwing it out there as an example of why everyone should want to go there.
(Also! "Have you ever walked through the aisles of a warehouse store like Costco or Sam’s Club and wondered who would buy a jar of mustard a foot and a half tall? We’ve bought it, but it didn’t stop us from wondering about other things, like absurd eating contests, impulse buys, excess, unimagined uses for mustard, storage, preservatives, notions of bigness . . . and dozens of other ideas both silly and serious. Write an essay somehow inspired by super-huge mustard.")
And sure, I realize that if I do happen to get into UChicago, I will be thoroughly incapable of paying for it, but a girl can dream. ;]
Speaking of strange things you can buy in grocery stores, guys, let's talk about WinCo. WinCo the, yes, grocery store. What a clever segue I pulled off there. Let's all admire it for a moment.
...Alright, done with that now. So, during break, my dad picked me up from a friend's house around 10:30 and said we had to stop at WinCo on the way home. We proceeded to spend almost an hour collecting ingredients for chili, cookies, and lasagna (...yep), and let me tell you people, the late-night WinCo crowd is downright intriguing. But before we get to the stellar company, let's talk about the bulk foods.
I think I had some kind of bizarre epiphany in the bulk foods about the tyranny of materialism and the crimes of a society hypnotized by the notion of extreme convenience (okay, so that's a lie-- fine, you caught me).
You see, sitting there in the bulk foods was a huge bin of cookies, large cookies, all of them individually wrapped. And what I want to know is, how silly would you feel grabbing a scoop and pouring a bunch of cookies, each packaged in their own little plastic bags into...a bigger plastic bag? The correct answer here is "super silly," and if you got it right, you get 22.5 Emily points, redeemable for absolutely nothing, effective immediately.
Other things that were in huge bins in the bulk foods section: tea bags, Sweet 'n' Low, instant refried beans, and a sort of orange, clumpy, clay-like substance that purported to be useful in breading chicken. I personally thought it might be dirt from Mars when I first saw it, and was seriously disappointed when I got close enough to read the label.
Alright, remember wa-a-a-ay back, before you started reading that, er, series of observations-- which I'm now officially titling "Meditations on Bulk Foods and Space Dirt: The Kind of Stuff You Don't Really Want to Read About,"-- I promised to tell you about the late-night WinCo crowd? Well I'm about to make good on that promise. Prepare yourselves.
When my dad and I were ready to check out, we saw that there were only two cashiers working (keep in mind that it's maybe midnight at this point). We picked the one on the left, since someone was already checking out with the one on the right. As our cashier was scanning our cornmeal (yep, we bought cornmeal-- in the bulk foods, incidentally), the other cashier said to our cashier, "Hey, can this lady return stuff here, or does she have to go through customer service?" Our cashier glanced over at the people checking out on the right and answered, "Well, what's she trying to return?"
"Chapstick," the other cashier said, perfectly serious.
"It is not moisturizing my lips like, at all," the customer interjected at this point, one hand on her hip.
Please, if you will, humor me and imagine a long (and long-suffering) pause in which my brain struggles to understand what has just happened, finds that the contortions required to do so are putting it in extreme pain, gives up, retires, and moves to Florida.
"She's gonna have to go through customer service," our cashier said.
Have a good night guys, and please remember tonight's moral: if it's touched your lips, well, it's touched your lips.
Monday, January 5, 2009
In which I am filled with ridiculous amounts of happiness, really like moose, and dare global warming to even TRY and make me sad today.
So! As I found out today at the end of Commoner, Steffi was my secret pal. And Steffi, I doubt you will wander across this blog, so I'll thank you properly in class tomorrow but! You guys, you guys, you guys--
My last present? Was an adorable stuffed moose.
And since I have a love of moose deeply ingrained in my very soul (I am perfectly serious, stay with me here), I could not be more ecstatic about this. I may or may not have made incredibly undignified but undoubtedly thrilled squeaky noises when I pulled that moose out of the bag. It is fuzzy, and has little Christmas lights in its antlers, and it, like, sings songs when you press this button in its chest, but the pertinent facts to take away from this are: a) adorable, b) moose, c) STEFFI, YOU ARE THE BEST, and of course d) all of the above.
And yes, there are horrible things in the world. Like war, and poverty, and famine, and disease, and bad things happening to good people, and toddlers accidentally learning that there is no Santa Claus, and car accidents, and caramel getting stuck in people's teeth, and global warming, and, and, and, and, and...
BUT THANK YOU, ADORABLE STUFFED MOOSE GODS, I WILL CARRY THIS THING WITH ME FOREVER AND EVER AMEN.
Seriously. Life is evidently not as bad as it sometimes seems.
My last present? Was an adorable stuffed moose.
And since I have a love of moose deeply ingrained in my very soul (I am perfectly serious, stay with me here), I could not be more ecstatic about this. I may or may not have made incredibly undignified but undoubtedly thrilled squeaky noises when I pulled that moose out of the bag. It is fuzzy, and has little Christmas lights in its antlers, and it, like, sings songs when you press this button in its chest, but the pertinent facts to take away from this are: a) adorable, b) moose, c) STEFFI, YOU ARE THE BEST, and of course d) all of the above.
And yes, there are horrible things in the world. Like war, and poverty, and famine, and disease, and bad things happening to good people, and toddlers accidentally learning that there is no Santa Claus, and car accidents, and caramel getting stuck in people's teeth, and global warming, and, and, and, and, and...
BUT THANK YOU, ADORABLE STUFFED MOOSE GODS, I WILL CARRY THIS THING WITH ME FOREVER AND EVER AMEN.
Seriously. Life is evidently not as bad as it sometimes seems.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
In which I object to New Years Resolutions, make New Years Resolutions, and am something of a sap.
I'm not a huge fan of New Years Resolutions. I mean, I don't object to it when other people make them-- more power to you, guys!-- but I'm terrible at making them and worse at keeping them. I always sit down and say to myself, "Surely I can come up with a few good resolutions this year," but five minutes later I'm distracted by a book, a movie, or something shiny. Perhaps, you are all saying to yourselves, perhaps this girl's New Years Resolution should be to learn to focus.
That's entirely possible. But I'm not going to make that resolution either.
I don't know why, but I have some kind of weird, ingrained dislike of creating resolutions for myself. I like the idea of a new year and a fresh start, but apparently I'm not wild about planning it.
Still! I've decided that there's nothing wrong with the following two resolutions:
1. Get as many people as possible to watch a) Bringing Up Baby, b) The Philadelphia Story, or (preferably) c) both.
2. Bake a lot of cookies. Give away a lot of cookies.
I refuse to improve myself! Shut up!
I guess the thing is, I'm just going to try and keep doing what I'm always trying to do: read good books. Be there for my friends. Do battle with our failing computer and emerge victorious. Bake and give away lots of cookies (...maybe that doesn't need to be #2). I'm not wildly interesting, but I'm pretty happy, and I'd kind of like to keep things that way.
That's entirely possible. But I'm not going to make that resolution either.
I don't know why, but I have some kind of weird, ingrained dislike of creating resolutions for myself. I like the idea of a new year and a fresh start, but apparently I'm not wild about planning it.
Still! I've decided that there's nothing wrong with the following two resolutions:
1. Get as many people as possible to watch a) Bringing Up Baby, b) The Philadelphia Story, or (preferably) c) both.
2. Bake a lot of cookies. Give away a lot of cookies.
I refuse to improve myself! Shut up!
I guess the thing is, I'm just going to try and keep doing what I'm always trying to do: read good books. Be there for my friends. Do battle with our failing computer and emerge victorious. Bake and give away lots of cookies (...maybe that doesn't need to be #2). I'm not wildly interesting, but I'm pretty happy, and I'd kind of like to keep things that way.
Friday, January 2, 2009
In which I have just caved and gotten a blog already, crave rice, and really like Canada.
So. It would appear that I, too, have caved and just gotten a blog already. It was, I think the combination of Taylor's encouragement ("emily, get a blog. you need to.") and Megan's ("YES! write about it! write about your non-sparkley vampire love interest") that made me do it. That, and I would very much like to avoid doing my homework.
So here I am, building my internet presence. It's obviously very, very important that when I google my name, more than a soccer tournament from when I was thirteen shows up. Without at least a few more google hits, my sense of self will just vanish entirely. I won't even know who I am.
Things about me, so that I don't feel this post is entirely lacking substance (who am I kidding? this post is entirely lacking substance):
1. It's my mom's birthday today! Hooray for National Kristin Day.
2. I really want some rice. I mean, right now. Out of nowhere, I have been hit by the need to eat some rice.
3. There is some rice in my fridge. I am quite pleased about this.
4. I enjoy heartwarming Christmas carols, like The Kinks "Father Christmas." Allow me to quote at you: Father Christmas, give us some money, don't mess around with your silly toys. We'll beat you up, if you don't hand it over...Give all the toys, to the little rich boys.
5. I actually really like Bing Crosby Christmas carols too. I'm just a fan of a more eclectic range of seasonal music than some.
6. It's going to bother me if this list doesn't end on number ten. That just seems like a nice, even number on which to end.
7. I am not sure if I have ever had to reel of ten random facts about myself at once...ever. This could present a bit of a challenge.
8. It is possible that my greatest ambition in life is to actually hug a tree. Or maybe several trees. It seems like if my greatest ambition in life was to hug ONE tree, I'd fulfill my greatest ambition in life pretty early on. Then where would I be?
9. I enjoy school. Honest. Well, most of the time. The point is, once I've dragged myself out of bed and woken up, I am in fact one of those dorks who sort of goes, "Ooh! Learning! Sounds good. I'm there."
10. Number ten! I feel accomplished.
(11. That number ten felt like cheating, so: I have abnormally flat feet, am extremely fond of Canada, and actually have the songs "Why Can't We Be Friends" and "What's So Funny Bout [Peace, Love, and Understanding]" on my iPod.)
Anyone who knows what movie, "Where's my wandering parakeet" is from gets extra points. Don't cheat and google it either. Cheating? Is wrong.
So here I am, building my internet presence. It's obviously very, very important that when I google my name, more than a soccer tournament from when I was thirteen shows up. Without at least a few more google hits, my sense of self will just vanish entirely. I won't even know who I am.
Things about me, so that I don't feel this post is entirely lacking substance (who am I kidding? this post is entirely lacking substance):
1. It's my mom's birthday today! Hooray for National Kristin Day.
2. I really want some rice. I mean, right now. Out of nowhere, I have been hit by the need to eat some rice.
3. There is some rice in my fridge. I am quite pleased about this.
4. I enjoy heartwarming Christmas carols, like The Kinks "Father Christmas." Allow me to quote at you: Father Christmas, give us some money, don't mess around with your silly toys. We'll beat you up, if you don't hand it over...Give all the toys, to the little rich boys.
5. I actually really like Bing Crosby Christmas carols too. I'm just a fan of a more eclectic range of seasonal music than some.
6. It's going to bother me if this list doesn't end on number ten. That just seems like a nice, even number on which to end.
7. I am not sure if I have ever had to reel of ten random facts about myself at once...ever. This could present a bit of a challenge.
8. It is possible that my greatest ambition in life is to actually hug a tree. Or maybe several trees. It seems like if my greatest ambition in life was to hug ONE tree, I'd fulfill my greatest ambition in life pretty early on. Then where would I be?
9. I enjoy school. Honest. Well, most of the time. The point is, once I've dragged myself out of bed and woken up, I am in fact one of those dorks who sort of goes, "Ooh! Learning! Sounds good. I'm there."
10. Number ten! I feel accomplished.
(11. That number ten felt like cheating, so: I have abnormally flat feet, am extremely fond of Canada, and actually have the songs "Why Can't We Be Friends" and "What's So Funny Bout [Peace, Love, and Understanding]" on my iPod.)
Anyone who knows what movie, "Where's my wandering parakeet" is from gets extra points. Don't cheat and google it either. Cheating? Is wrong.
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