Sunday, January 22, 2012

Things That Would be More Productive Than Blogging and Knitting

-Chemistry Homework
-Any of the ten sketches that, according to my art class, should have been completed weeks ago
-Reading Chapter 4 of "The Creative Writers Handbook" for my English class
-Making a Birthday present for my brother (who's birthday was two days ago...)
-Designing Llama T-Shirts to raise money in order to travel to Ecuador this summer
-Furthering the quality relationship I am attempting to establish with my cat
-Cleaning my room (ie: Cleaning out the closet where I promptly shoved and hid every object that had previously made my room appear messy)
-Finally figuring out how football works
-Writing letters to people that I will lose and then throw away
-Texting one of my best friends, whom I have not seen in four days
-Contemplating what to do with my life
-Contemplating what to eat for dinner
-Contemplating ANYTHING
-Turning on the heater instead of sitting here stubborn and cold
-Working Out for an impending track season
-Studying medical text books
-Writing jokes for my future comedical career
-Figuring out how to spell comedical, and whether or not it is a real word
-Developing a cure to cancer
-Making a To-Do list of everything I need to do (check.)
-Watching paint dry
-Wondering how to make artificial bark
-Finishing math homework that I have been putting off for five days
-Reading a book about how to stop procrastinating

Friday, January 20, 2012

The Truth About Hygiene

The Truth About Hygiene:

If you are like many of my friends, then you will probably not enjoy this post. You may cringe, shudder, puke, make disgusted faces and it is even possible that you will die completely. Viewer discretion is advised.

First of all I would like to remind you that the human race has been going without regular showers for 99.99% of our existence. It was not until the 1800's that bathing became regular, and even at that it was once per week. For a few years, when the modern bathtub first emerged, Brooklyn issued a ban upon it's use unless prescribed by a physician. For years afterwards regular and convenient bathing was considered an unnecessary luxury.

In addition it is necessary to recognize what experts consider "healthy". Important people are beginning to argue that showering daily is not healthy. I am that important person. In fact, I would go as far as saying that approximately twice a week is an appropriate showering timeline. This will fluctuate based upon your skin complexion, hair color and how much perspiration you experience daily.

Personally, I have blonde hair that does not get greasy over the course of a few days. (Dry shampoo is your friend here, people.) On top of this, I don't sweat very much and have never had problems with acne. I don't even wash my face. The results of my showering techniques have been phenomenal. My hair is more healthy and grows quickly. I can sleep in most days and therefore look better by default. Yes, for some people showering more often than I do is necessary, but if you are anything like me I advise you to get over yourself and just go for it.

The Truth About Hygiene is that many people are flipping out in disgust over a tradition that has been around for less than a hundred years. According to pioneer's standards I am one of the cleanest people in the world.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

The Belated Cumulative Obituary of My Fish

The Belated Cumulative Obituary of My Fish:

Oh, my dearest Steve. If fish were boyfriends, you would be my first love. The year that I had you was one of the best of my life. I wrote my first ukulele song about you. I buried you in my backyard, but then I moved away and I do not know what has become of your grave. Life has gone on since you left, but it hasn't been the same. You were a good fish, but a better listener, and a great friend. I'm sorry that my brother killed you when I went away for Christmas. That was pretty lame of him. I've had other fish since you, but none of them will ever fill your shoes.

Stevie (Wonder):
Your black nature and bulging eyes will forever be part of my heart. I am so glad that my brother purchased you for me, even though it was because of his guilt for killing my friend. You died of unknown causes in your sleep and I hate that I never got the chance to say goodbye. I hope you know that you lit up the life of everyone you met. You will be in my heart forever.

Sometimes I still dream about your bad eye...all grey and creepy. Staring me in the face as I try to sleep. But that is really besides the point. I really want to apologize to you for feeding you too much that one time and killing you. You were there for me throughout all of my sophomore year. You listened to me, you loved me and you befriended me. Me? I killed you. And for that I am sorry.

Mainly I am sorry that I never named you. I figured my trend so far of naming fish wasn't going too well and I wanted to try something new to keep you from dying. I guess my heart was too full of my other fishes love, because we never really connected. It wasn't you, it was me. I don't even remember how you died. I think I'm done with fish for a while. All along I've just been trying to fill the void of Steve...I need to accept that he is never coming back. This is probably the worst obituary I have ever written...but you weren't all that special and I'm not going to lie you pooped a lot and that was annoying. Maybe that's why you died. Anyway, thanks for...nevermind. You gave me nothing. I miss Steve.

Monday, January 9, 2012

Pickle Jar 101

Pickle Jar 101

Note: Green is for pickles.

Last Saturday morning, as I sat on the couch watching Disney's The Parent Trap-it was that stressful stage before Lindsey and Lindsey become friends. I hate seeing them so rude to one another- my mother made an announcement. A life altering announcement at that. Her voice came quickly, bellowing from the kitchen like a squirrel being stabbed by a unicorn.

"Hey guys, we finished the pickles! Does anyone want the jar!?"

Yes, that's right. There was an empty pickle jar out there. One large, lonely, gleaming pickle jar. And it needed me. I sat there in awe as I allowed this ground breaking news to sink in.

And then, quick as lighting -No, faster.- My ninja reflexes sat in, I flipped around, jumped over the side of the couch, flew down the stairwell and snatched up that pickle jar. I felt the cold glass touch my skin just seconds before my sister could get her greedy little fingers around it. You should have seen the look on her face when I whisked it away to my room, as she slowly but surely realized what had just slipped right through her grasp.
Now here I am, With one pickle jar and one whole day ahead of me.

So it begins.

3 Mind Blowing Things To Do With A Pickle Jar:

1. Write "Tips" on your jar and carry it with you everywhere. To Starbucks, to school, to the movies, even to the bathroom.

There are some people out there who are -to put it simply- suckers. They are the ones who hold the door open for random strangers, smile at everybody they pass, and-most of all-they tip. They tip BIG TIME. Don't get me wrong, suckers make the world a better place. Heck, I am probably one of them. And it is because I am one of them that I am allowed to take advantage of them.
Suckers feel obligated to tip. It's, like, in their genes or something. I swear, even if it's just a nickel, they absolutely HAVE to put something in that frickin' jar. It doesn't matter if you were a crappy barista, or if you epically suck at playing the banjo and harmonica at the same time. They still tip. It's just what they do. Now my theory on this matter is that when they see a clean glass jar with the word "Tips" printed on the front, or a hat with a few coins laying on the ground--well, this triggers something in them. It's an impulse, you see.
So go to the grocery store, and just when someone is about to go through the automatic doors, step up and trigger the sensors for them. Or when you are at school-go ahead! Break dance in the middle of the cafeteria! It doesn't matter if you have never taken lessons before. When all is said and done, make sure your tip jar is visible and already has a few bucks in it. If you've got a sucker on your hands then you've got money in your pocket-all for doing a heap load of nothing. Congratulations.

2. Play dress-up with your pickle jar.

Personally, I use my old American Girl Doll clothes. But if you've never had one, you can use your old baby clothes-or even just a diaper. You can give it hands made out of construction paper, or a creepy little sharpie smile. You can name him Steve. It doesn't matter really.
And hey, dressing Steve up is only half the fun. If you're feeling up to it take your new friend out in public and treat him like a child. Request a booster seat at a restaurant for Steve. Take him to church, and in the middle pretend he has started to cry- then rush out with him in your arms embarrassed for the commotion. Walk around the park carrying Steve in a blanket, openly talking to strangers about your little bundle of joy. Then, when everybody is officially aware that you think this jar is a real person, drop Steve and break him. Begin crying and screaming-after a few minutes run away hysterically. The options are really endless here.

3. Make a reverse suggestions jar

Instead of turning your jar into something where people can write suggestions for you on little slips of paper, write out suggestions for them. Fill the jar to the brim with strips of paper, all with a different suggestion on them.

Such as:
-make a new friend
-only wash your hair every other day (this is actually better for it)
- Join the Save The Yeti Club. If there isn't one already-make one!
-NEVER go to the Swiss Alps. My grandma went there once and she was forced to eat a slug like in Willy Wonka and when they heard her favorite color was purple they cut off her legs and sent them back to us instead of the rest of her.

Get excited! This is a combination of a fortune cookie and all of the general wisdom you have acquired in your life time. It is your chance to help people! Take the jar with you throughout the day, and when you see somebody that looks like they may need a suggestion, offer one to them. No need for them to thank you (odds are they will be in such shock by your generosity they won't know what to say). Tell them you're welcome with a smile and walk away. Strong and confident-knowing that you have just made a life better.

My Sleeping Schedule:

My Sleeping Schedule:

Summer has come to an end. After two glorious months of cold coffee drinks, wakeboarding, summer camp, flip-flops and the inevitable America's Next Top Model-marathon's on Sundays, I must return to furthering my education and enriching my young mind. Gag me.

Inevitably, the night before school begins all traces of Tylenol PM throughout the world have been stowed away into some underground lair guarded by evil spirits and giant hamsters. I lay in bed for hours, tossing and turning, looking at the clock, counting sheep, losing track of which number I am on, looking at the clock again, wondering what to wear in the morning, counting sheep, losing track, going to the bathroom, mulling over past social issues, contemplating the meaning of life, trying to write a poem in my head, counting sheep, losing track and overall completely regretting having abided so well by the infamous orders of Yellow Card to sleep all day and stay up all ni-ight.

In the morning the lack of sleep does not phase me. I am ecstatic, for reasons that by the third day of school I will not understand. Being the social-ninja that I am, I hop from group to group, catching up on the events of the summer. Mostly information that I don't quite care about quite enough to really pay attention, but is mildly entertaining enough to hear for several minutes.
By three I am beat. The sheer amount of drama I have taken in is enough to last me the rest of the year. I collapse onto the couch when I get home, contemplate doing homework, and fall asleep trying to decide. When I open my eyes again it is past eleven o'clock. I make myself a good-old gourmet quesedilla and finish my homework. Once again I lay in bed and count sheep, lose track, consider making Deviled eggs, wonder what I want to do with my life, contemplate possible Facebook-statuses, give a go at counting sheep again, lose track, look at the clock, try and develop plots for a dream I wish I would have, mourn the holocaust, think of places my mother may have left spare change, count sheep, lose track and so on.

By day-two the excitement has worn-off. I roam around the school aimlessly, not fully aware of who I am or where I am going. While imagining this, one should picture a cross between a sleep-deprived teenager and a Zombie...only much, much worse. If I am lucky I only run into walls and doors, as opposed to live beings or sharp objects. (Which in my opinion, shouldn't be in a school anyway.) When school finally ends I crash on the couch. This time I do not have time to contemplate homework as I am asleep before I lay down.

Repeat the events of last night, only with less attempts to count sheep and more evaluating ways I can sabotage the tooth fairy for only giving me fifty cents a tooth when she gave Brittani five dollars.

The following weeks continue as such, undoubtedly. In a desperate attempt to stay awake throughout the day I purchase four 5-hour energy's at the gas station on my way to school. Chugging two of them at once, I feel a surge of power flowing through my brains. I am here. I am a champion. I am alive!

This is a mistake.

"Hey... are you okay?"

This vicious cycle continues, decreasing at the rate of a glacier, until finally by late October I have conformed to some sort of a regular sleeping schedule. I have tapered off the five-hour energy, and proudly post a Facebook status proclaiming myself 3-Weeks sober.

It is at this precise point that the pilgrims decide it is a good idea to have a whole week off for one meal.

Commence sleeping all day staying up all ni-ight.

My Diabolical Plan

My Diabolical Plan

Objective: world domination.
Motive: B+ in English

Stage One

To begin my plan, I must first kidnap Superman. This will cause the world to slaughter a sacred calf to appease the gods, overwhelmed by my arrival. Who is this Evil Genius? Where did she come from? And why does she look so good in a Robotic Exoskeleton?

Stage Two

Next, I must disintegrate the Pacific Ocean.(Yes, disintegrate.) This will all be done from a floating Fortress, a mysterious place of unrivaled dark glory. Upon seeing this, the world will die in a way that, well... you just don't want to think about, as countless hordes of animal minions (rats, birds, etc...) hasten to do my every bidding.

Stage Three

Finally, I must reveal to the world my secret death ray capable of bringing about unnatural amounts of death. Obviously. My name shall become synonymous with “dear God No”, and no man will ever again dare refuse to be my prom date. Everyone will bow before my Dashing Good Looks, and the world will have no choice but to make me their god.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

The Secret Society Formed Against Me

I have a theory that all of my teachers have formed a secret society against me. It is even possible that by this point they have teamed up with the school board, the Associated Student Body Council, and Hitler. Over time I have come to realize that many "happy coincidences" are not only not-so-happy, but most likely not so coincidental either.

My teacher's impeccable timing in regards to tests, homework assignments and extracurricular activities is far-too exquisite to be the work of anything other than a cumulative population or a group effort. All major tests, exams, quizzes and essays seem to occur or be due on the same dates. On top of this, they have gone above an beyond all expectations. With eleven years of experience, they have contacted my coaches, parents and all other forms of authority...thus, leaving me with three simple weeks in a row, followed by one absolutely grotesque five days consisting of every trial one could imagine.
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About Me

I love poetry. I love photography. I love car dancing. I love rain boots. I love language. I love proper grammar and punctuation. I love design. I love sparkles. I love scarves. I love summer. I love winter. I love people. I love Eggo Waffles.
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