Apology To All

So, as I am sure all of you trillions of faithful followers have noticed, I have been of late ignoring this wonderful little blog. I happen to be a single minded creature, who, when engaged in other activities, often forgets that I own such a nice little thing.  Whenever I remember, I am filled with pride over my wonderfulness, and vow to update it!  Sadly, the only time I remember is when I meet fans who tell me that I need to update it more.  And at those times I don't have my computer with me. So I remember for about twelve seconds, until something else claims my attention. But fear not, I may recommit, and keep you thrilled with accounts of my adventures! But on the other hand, I may not. You never know.

Left and Right

 Ahem.

I have a confession.

I have never been able to tell my left and right apart.

"Gasp!" you may say. That is fine, I do not mind. Gasp all you want, I believe in freedom, but gasping will do nothing to change or fix the truth, so I suggest that you use your time and energy for a more constructive and helpful purpose.

Now, if you are like the vast majority of the people that I have told about my problem you will now look wise and condescending and will suggest that I hold up my hands with the thumb sticking out and the pointer finger pointing up and see which one looks like a letter "L". "And that one is the left hand" you say, smiling.  This does not work. In my brain there happens to be some strange quirk, and this quirk makes it so that I can read backwards as well as forwards, so to me they are BOTH letter Ls. Sorry to not use your wise suggestion, but it is simply unsuited for what a unique individual I am.

I have gotten in trouble many times because of my problem, particularly in drivers ed, where I learned that they consider this information very important. My time in drivers ed was riddled with such quotes as: "Your OTHER Left, Bleep you!!!" and "Somebody your age should really not come here to waste our time unless you know your left and right." and "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!! You bleeping bleep of a bleep!" when I turned into oncoming traffic.

I finally started putting a bracelet on my left arm, so when they said "Turn Left" I could look down, turn toward the arm with the bracelet, and seem smart. This fooled them for a while.

Then came the day of my one great triumph! I had forgotten to put on my bracelet that morning, and I was worried as we hopped into the car. Scarcely had I started driving, when there came the dread command "Turn right!" Taking my best guess, I swung the car in that direction. 

"I said turn right!" Exploded my drivers ed teacher. I said nothing, being not at all sure what direction I had turned. He continued ranting for a few seconds, then stopped abruptly. I glanced over at him, wondering what had stopped the tirade. He was sitting in deep thought, then he said slowly "Girl, that WAS right. You DID turn right. I was wrong."

Haha! I had been right! I had humbled the teacher, and redeemed myself. A good days work, if you ask me.

Now I always wear a bracelet on my left arm,  a very useful tool

Phenomenal Things

Throughout my life, though I admit it is short and insignificant, I have observed many unique and phenomenal things.  Some of these things, though I say so myself, have probably been seen by nobody else. Let me give you a list:

Phenomenal thing #1:
One of my little brothers happens to not appreciate pain a whole lot, so when he experiences the unwelcome sensation he makes it known to the world in no uncertain terms.
One time he fell and banged his nose. After he had wailed and gnashed his teeth for a period of time he arose, and, I kid you not, he LIMPED with his NOSE! Do not ask how it is possible, but I say to you that it was something that I am glad to have seen in my life, providing me with the new and refreshing feeling of sharp sympathy mixed with excessive mirth. Limping with his nose. A phenomenal thing indeed!


Phenomenal thing # 2.
Once Ace was sitting on the couch. Me and my little sister were sitting beside him. He happened to be showing us his six pack, when my little sister suddenly said "Ace! your belly button blinked at me!" I had seen it too! His belly button had blinked. Few have seen such a rare occurrence.


Phenomenal thing # 3:
Once somebody thought that I had done something wrong. Ha! The fact that somebody could be so entirely disillusioned ranks as a phenomenal thing in my book. Something wrong, Ha ha!

Now that I think about it, none of those things are incredibly phenomenal. Darn, and there are only three. So I will need to look harder.

Talent # 2

Ah-ha! I have a new talent that I have discovered, and this one is also so unique and special that I feel vain to be recounting it to you. 

I had just washed off our table so nice and shiny, when suddenly I spied a big fat house fly sitting in the center of the newly washed surface with a malicious grin on his face. He was happy to be sitting there spreading filth and corruption! How rude! I was filled with wrath, and I looked down at my hands and saw the wet dish cloth that I had just used to wash the table. Having no other weapon handy, I twisted the dish rag into a whip.

Taking into consideration the atmospheric conditions, the density of the air, gravity, the new slight shift in the earth's tilt given the earthquake in Japan, and the force of trajectory, I snapped the dishrag at the fly.

Time slowed as the tip of the rag sped toward the fly.  The fly took off flying, but I had also taken that into consideration, so the end of the rag snapped the fly with stunning force. I watched with awe as the fly flew and slammed into the wall, bringing down a small shower of plaster on top of it.

I leapt forward and stared at the fly. He didn't even twitch. The Lord had called him home.

 Then the next day, after I had washed the counter top, the same thing happened! A fly alighted on the clean and shiny surface, openly sneering at me.

This time, feeling the workings of fate, I didn't even try to plan. I just snapped the dishrag. It worked again. This time the fly hit the wall even harder, and it actually splatted on the wall! I averted my eyes from the bloody mess, feeling a little bad for the fly. But it had brought it upon its self. But I was still in awe at myself.

So after both of those experiences, I have arrived at the conclusion that I have a talent, let others call it what they may.

Good Cooking!

So… (Drum roll, cheering, and many fireworks) I just cooked my first successful dish of food, a feat that took no small amount of work and patience.  Let me recount to you the events that surrounded this monumental occasion.

It was the fourth of July, and it was planned to have many friends and family over to celebrate with us.  On behalf of this mother set to work preparing many dishes of good food, eating being what Americans do to mark special occasions (and all other occasions for that matter.) 

I relaxed and sat back, unconcerned with the frenzied preparing of food that surrounded me, knowing that mom had long since given up on me helping cook things. So that was why I was so shocked when I heard the command come my way of “Go forth, and make a relish plate!” 

I looked around for whoever she was talking to, being convinced that she wouldn’t be talking to me because of all the tragic things that had happened when I tried cooking before. Observing no other people in the vicinity I realized that she was, indeed, addressing me. Realizing that she must be confused, I told her “Mom, this is Aliysa.” She said that she knew this, and once again commanded me to go make a relish plate.

In order to make a point, I raised my eyebrow. Mom didn’t look impressed, so I continued raising it higher and higher, but the effect was ruined because mom looked away just before it left the top of my head.

The only thing left to do was to throw a fit, but it didn’t seem to be the best thing to do in this situation because mom was already frazzled to a crisp (that’s what comes of cooking.)  So I set to work.

You may say, “in order to be cooking you must cook something.”  This my friends, is not the case. Cooking is anything that is involved with preparing food that is filled with stress, boredom, anger, and tears. So therefore, making a relish plate IS cooking.

Mom pointed to the vegetables that she had already put out on the counter, and issued instructions. “Open the cans of olives, put them in there, put the carrot sticks in there, wash the celery and put them there, wash, cut up, and peel the cucumbers and put them in there, and make the ranch dip with this sour cream and this ranch seasoning and put it in this bowl.”

I stared at her. “You want me to do all that?” I questioned weakly.

“Yes” she said. “And you only have three hours”

Three hours?!?! That was all the time I had to complete all of that? How would I accomplish it?

I stared distastefully at the vegetables.  The celery stared balefully back, but the cucumbers winked!!! It scared me. “Mom!” I cried “Those cucumbers winked at me, that means they have something evil planned!” Mom informed me that vegetables don’t wink, and that made me feel a bit better. But the question remains. How, if vegetables don’t wink, did the cucumbers wink?

I poured the carrots into the place on the relish plate where they went, that being the easiest thing to do on the list, and admired my handiwork. So far so good, but there was still many things to do.

The next thing I decided to do was to open the cans of olives, that being fairly easy. I grabbed our hand powered can opener, our electrical one having just died on us. I put it on the can and started turning the crank. It sounded like it was opening, but as I turned it and looked at the top I didn’t see it opening at all. How strange! I continued trying, but it didn’t open. I flew into a frenzy of cranking and cranked it around and around the top of the can, to no avail. I stopped, panting, and informed mom that I would have to give up this project, because it wouldn’t open. She smiled and showed me that it was one of those evil ones that open the cans on the side, not the top, so I had been trying to open it for five minutes and it had been open all the time. Blasted olives!  I rinsed them and put them in their place on the relish plate

I avoided the cucumbers, on account of the unexplained winking, and focused on the celery. I could tell that the celery didn’t like me, but I didn’t show fear, having heard that celery could sense fear. I washed it hurriedly in the sink,  then welded the knife and chopped into it.  It screamed, and I felt bad, but it was over quickly. I cut it up and put it in its place on the relish plate. I realized that is was very ugly celery, and in made the relish plate look worse, but I didn’t want to worry about it any more.

By this time I was thoroughly sick of cooking, so I tried running away. But mom caught me by my hair and brought me back. So I continued with the relish plate.

Next, I would do the dip. I grabbed the shaker of ranch seasoning to look at the directions. There were no directions! I flew into a panic and rushed over to mom, crying for help. She couldn’t find any either! Oh no!  Mom said just to put two cups of sour cream in a bowl and keep dumping seasoning in until it tasted right. Gingerly I put the sour cream into a bowl, and dumped in a miniscule amount of seasoning. I stirred it us and took it to mom to taste. She said there wasn’t near enough seasoning in it, so I threw caution to the winds and poured in a mountain of seasoning. Uneasily I wondered if it was okay to have equal parts seasoning and sour cream. After mixing I decided that that was not okay. I had to add much more sour cream. But eventually, once I had about three fourths of a gallon it tasted close enough to how it was supposed to, so I put it in a giant bowl. That was done.

Last, but definitely not least I had the feeling, were the cucumbers. Quickly I snatched one up, then washed it, and peeled in all in one motion and flung in onto the cutting board before it had time to do anything. I tried that same approach with the second one, but it had seen me do that to its friend and it bit me on the thumb. Then it tried to squirm down the drain! I snatched it before it was completely down and peeled it and put it on the cutting board. In the  meantime the one that I had already peeled had rolled away! I was filled with wrath, and seizing the knife, I went in pursuit. I leaped hither and thither thorough the kitchen, searching in any place a cucumber could hide. Mom looked at me in alarm. I told her what had happened, and she inquired how anybody could lose their cucumber while washing another. I ignored the snide comment and concentrated on finding the fugitive.  Finally I found out that it had eloped with my little brother, or so it seemed, because he was holding it behind his back snickering. I took it away from him and chopped it up before his eyes. He didn’t seem bothered though.

Finally, it was done! The relish plate was finished! My first successful cooking venture.  I got many compliments on it, such as “My, what ugly celery!” and “Who cut these cucumbers? they look awful.” I was very proud. Next time I may try cutting up some fruit, maybe it will be a sweeter experience.

Long Time No See

People, after a long and tortuous absence, I have returned! I may write some updates, and I may not, depending on if I have more important things to do. Not that this blog isn't important, just that I may have to build a spaceship with NASA, or give my opinion to the president on some new major law, or go be a hero and save someone, or go eat some ice cream. If I don't have to do any of those things, then I may do some updates sometime.

Life

If life gives you lemons, make lemonade.


If life give you spoiled fruit, make wine.


If life does not give you anything, you will die.


If life gives you magnets, put them on a fridge.


If life gives you brains, then use them, dash it.


If life puts you in a situation where you can go push a button and make a person fall into a tub of water, push it.


If life gives you eggs, throw them at someone.

Pierced

When I was younger and dumber I thought I wanted my ears pierced. I wanted them pierced so badly that it was consuming my life. All my begging and pleading was to no avail, my parents hearts were hard and they maintained that I had to be twelve in order to pierce them. 

I wasted months trying to make a time machine before I realized that if others who were smarter than I had failed in this aspect I probably would fare no better. So I gave up the time machine. But not the idea of earrings.


If my parents didn’t change their minds then it would be a good three years before I could have the opportunity to bore a hole in my ears and stick sharp metal things in them. I didn’t want to wait that long to participate in such a desirable activity, so there were two options left. One, to perish of sadness and deprivation, or two, to take this thing into my own hands. Not being the type to perish, I chose number two. And plus, its easier to ask forgiveness than permission.


I waited until one night when I had been sent to bed, then sneaked out into my bathroom and shut the door. One of my friends had given me some studs, which had only added fuel to the fire, and now I brought these forth. I sat on the counter, and closing my eyes and screwing up my face, I stabbed a thick metal stud deep into my earlobe! I had thought that I had enough momentum to drive it all the way through, but it only went about halfway. So it took another couple of minutes of pushing and stabbing at my bloody ear to make a good hole. I washed off the blood and put the earring in, admiring myself for the brave, ingenious girl I was. Yes, I was gorgeous with that earring. But there was still another one to go.


About ten minutes later I poked my head out the bathroom, my glamorous ears glittering in the dim light. Now came the hard part. Breaking the news to my parents. I rehearsed a small speech to myself that I had planned for this occasion, filled with little tidbits about “this is my own life” and “these are my own ears” and “these are my own earrings” and “you didn’t want me to run away did you?”.


I walked in and sat on mom's bed next to her, with my hair tucked brazenly behind my ears. She didn’t notice. I fiddled with my ears. She didn’t notice. I finally grabbed the ends of my ears and thrust them toward her. She noticed.


Amid much wailing and gnashing of teeth I was hauled into dad for inspection. He laughed his head off, having more of an understanding of impulsiveness than Mom. Mom said he wasn’t much help. My earrings were taken forcibly from me, a feat accomplished by using rope, pliers, levers, and a lawnmower engine. I wasn’t going to give them up without a fight.


Finally I was sent back to bed, my ears cleaned and bandaged, and instructions to think about what I did wrong (I forget what it was.)


My ears healed right back up, and sadly, I don’t even have a scar to prove it.

Talent

I was born, lucky me, possessing a strange but useful talent. Actually, that is a lie, because I was not born with it, and didn’t even discover it until my baby teeth fell out and I got my new front teeth.


What, you may ask, is this talent? I will tell you. I am able to shoot a stream of water between my two front teeth by putting water behind my teeth and pushing with my tongue. I have deadly accuracy and a weird sense of timing, which work together to inspire dread in the souls of all I choose to employ this talent upon.


Anyway, last night at dinner my little six year old brother kept reaching across the table to get the food, instead of asking for it to be passed to him. This annoyed me, especially after he had been told to stop and continued. I decided to take the law into my own hands.


I waited until he did it again, looked to make sure that my parents were not watching, and shot a stream of water across the table at him. There was only one problem. He was at the end of the table, the furthest person away from me, so to make the water reach him I had to shoot it in an arc so it would clear the other people and only sprinkle him. In order to do this I had to shoot it high, and unfortunately it went through our low hanging light fixture and a light bulb exploded. There was a popping sound, a surge of flame, and shards of glass showered down upon the seated family. Our delicious stroganoff was filled with glass, it got in food on people’s plates, in their water, in the butter, and on the floor. 

The family sat in stunned silence. I was more silent then the rest. They began speculating as to why the light bulb would explode, but they didn’t know why, because I had spit the water so stealthily that nobody noticed. Except one person. My little brother that I had shot the water at. He soon pointed me out, and I was reprimanded severely (well, told never to do that again).


What I learned from this experience was the sad fact that, in addition to possessing appalling table manners, my little brother is a tattle tale. I must devise a new way of training him, as  this one has now been banned.

Can't

Throughout my life I have found very few things that I am unable to do. I am sure that all of you are under the impression that I am quite perfect, unable to do wrong. You are very close to right, but there are a couple items that have been discovered that show that I am still human, just like everyone else. I was shocked the first time I couldn’t do something, and brooded over it for weeks, so that I got frown lines at the side of my mouth. Then I realized that the reason I couldn’t do it was because I was doing it wrong. That explained it! So I hurried and did it right and I realized this important lesson:


IF YOU CANT DO SOMETHING IT IS BECAUSE YOU ARE DOING IT WRONG. WHEN YOU DO IT RIGHT YOU WILL BE DOING IT RIGHT.


Remember that everybody. It will help you out in your life.


But I have also realized that there are some things that people really CAN’T do because of the way that their body or mind is built. Most of the things that I really can’t do have to do with my mind.


One of the things that I discovered recently is that I can’t clean the house and listen to a radio theater production at the same time. Actually I didn’t realize this, it was my mom that did. I thought that I was cleaning, but apparently I was staring into space with my mouth hanging open. She pointed this out, I saw that she was right, so I began cleaning again. Two seconds later her voice again penetrated the happy fog that surrounded my mind, telling me that I was stopped. I looked. She was right. How silly. I wouldn’t stop this time.
Two seconds later it happened again. And again. And again. Once the radio theater production was over I could clean just fine. This bugs me.


Another thing I apparently can’t do is act normally when washing dishes. Mom looked at me when I was recently washing dishes, and my face had an incredibly delighted look upon it, as if washing the dishes was the best thing that had ever happened to me, which it is not. She burst into laughter, and as she did, I guess my face switched from incredibly delighted to deepest anger with a rapidity that was startling. She laughed for a straight half hour without stopping. As she was subsiding she looked at me again. I thought that I was singing silently, but she said that I was sticking out my tongue in all directions and making grotesque faces. This caused another burst of mirth on her part, which I feel was quite uncalled for. Silly mom. It wasn’t THAT funny.

Neutral

Here are circumstances that I would wisely remain neutral throughout.


1. A war between Hungary and Madagascar. I see no reason to interfere if this were ever to happen, because neither my life, liberty, happiness, nor chocolate will be affected by the outcome.

2. A fight between the Loch Ness Monster and Bigfoot. I would remain neutral throughout this because if I interfered I would be tampering with powers unknown to my experience and I may be cursed.

3. Two evil treasure hunters racing to beat each other in robbing a newly discovered tomb in Egypt. In this case I would side with neither party, instead I would hasten to the tomb, neutrally mind you, and acquire the treasure myself before the evil treasure hunters arrived, and spend my life in wealth and happiness.

4. A game of pin the tail on the donkey between my two grandpas. Because I like BOTH my grandpas and don’t wish to cause family separation and un-bondingness because I cheered for one or the other. And I don’t want to be pinned instead of the donkey.

5. A fight between two wine bibbers who are arguing over the qualities of different wines. I would stay neutral because I don’t even care for wine.

6. A sing-off between two country music singers. Because I hate country music. I may solve the problem by shooting them both to make them be quiet, but I would cheer for neither one nor the other. So there.

Plaque

Once I saw a fat little boy of about three years old wriggling his tubby body into a hole in the ground. I thought nothing of it, little boys being inclined to go into holes.
Then as I walked past I saw that the hole was a manhole whose cover was off by about a foot, and the fat child was trying to squeeze his body inside. If the cover had been any lighter, or the kid any skinnier, he would have fallen into the manhole whose bottom was filled with water (the manhole, not the little boy).  He was almost in! I leapt forward in an amazing display of grace and agility and snatched the boy as he slipped farther inside and pulled him out. He scowled at me and ran away, without even a thank you for the momentous act of amazing bravery. True story.


I thought about it later and realized that I was a HERO. I had saved somebody’s life! If I told people about it I would, without a doubt, become immensely popular and revered as a true hero. I began to plan what I would tell the reporters when they flocked to me begging me to acknowledge them with even a glance.


Tentative interview:


Reporter: “Thank you for allowing me the great honor of speaking to you!!! I am truly grateful for this amazing opportunity to…”


Me (I break in graciously): You are welcome, I try to make time for all the little people who need my time.


Reporter: So do you, after your amazing act of courage and selfless indifference to your own safety, consider your self a hero?


Me: Of course not. No true heroes recognize how they have changed the course of the world.” People in the background mutter “She is really a true hero!” (Reference Brian Regan)


Reporter: “Wow! What a great story! We have here a giant metal to hang around your neck and a huge trophy of solid gold taller than you are to put in your new mansion we have built you. So who was your inspiration to save this child’s life?”


Me (getting teary eyed like people have to do if it’s a really great interview.): I couldn’t have done it without my parents (sniff) good influence in my life. I am certain they would have done the same thing in my situation.”


Reporter: “Well there you go folks! An amazing girl with an amazing story! (Here the camera points to me and I smile with just the right mixture of confidence, zeal, and humility that defines a hero’s smile. Reporter continues: “Make sure you all go see her on Oprah this weekend…” et cetera.


For a while this vision sparkled in the back of my mind, but when I actually began telling people they were a good deal less impressed than I thought that they would be. They started telling stories of when they were cool and did neat things too and disregarded my incredibleness, although my act was far neater and heroic than theirs.


Then one day I heard about a person who had saved another person’s life and was awarded with a plaque. A plaque?!?! Who would want a plaque? I brush the stuff of my teeth every day, and its not something I would want to be awarded with. Maybe the people who awarded the plaque were worried about overpopulation and wished to discourage any further attempts to save anyone in danger. So I quit wishing to be awarded with anything and stopped telling people about my lifesaving act. Who wants some old plaque anyway?

Ouch, that hurts?

“You have fat teeth”
This was told to me by a fat little girl that I was playing with on the playground with me when I was little. We were having an insult contest, and because this was the worst thing that she could think of to say I think that I won. I hope I have grown into them by now though.

“You have not had that much dancing experience, have you?”
Two different boys asked me this at the same dance after I stepped on their feet, leaving me with this conclusion: I don’t have that much dancing experience.

“You are the problem in this family!!!”
MY OWN MOTHER told me this. I don’t remember what I was doing, but surely it was nothing to deserve this mean thing to be said at me.

“You have the worst poker face ever.” Okay, this is a just accusation. I don’t have a poker face. I always lose those glaring contests that people have with each other. My goal is to get a better poker face.

“You are silly.”
This is true

After such a merciless onslaught of insults I have only one thing to say.  Ouch, that hurts?

Biking

These are some things that I don’t want to happen to me while I am riding downhill, on a bike, so fast that I can’t stop:


Accidentally hitting into the President of the United States.
I am sure that you bright people can surmise why I wish never to confronted with this situation.  Although, depending on who the president at the time is, this might not be an entirely bad thing.


Accidentally riding through a nudist colony.
I feel that this would be slightly embarrassing to both parties involved, and while I feel that I may gain some useful insights about human anatomy, and they might be slightly entertained by my frantic efforts to get the bicycle under control with my eyes shut, I feel that it would be best to avoid the situation.


Trying to ride through too small a space between Chuck Norris’ and Jackie Chan’s limos and putting a gigantic scrape down the side of each while they are at a stop light that is taking too long to change.
I think it would be unhealthy.

Multiplicities

So I was wondering what the plurals of different things were called, and because I was too lazy to look them up, and because I feel my mind is as sharp as the next, I took my best guess. Here they are. First I will list the singular, then what I think the multiplicity ought to be called:


Genius = Genei (i.e. Nine Genei can think better than one Genius)
Moose = Meese (Deductive reasoning based off of studying the Goose, Geese, relationship)
Flour = Flouers (i.e. “Now add six thousand flouers to the batter”)
Troll = Trolls (What else would you call them?)
Sushi = Sushies (i.e. “I will eat lots and lots of Sushies!!!” (I hate words that have no difference between the singular and the multiple, so we can at least add an “S” to the end of those ones.))
Chick = Chickies (i.e. “I just saw some hot Chickies walk past” If boys are going to talk about “Chicks” at least have them say “Chickies” so they sound absurd.)
Dish = A half hour of misery and unhappiness (i.e. “Now that we are finished eating go and do the half hour of misery and unhappiness!)
Monopoly = Monopoli (i.e. “Look how many more Monopoli I have accumulated than you!”)

Cooking #2

One day I was making blueberry muffins.  On the front of the package it showed a picture of what they were supposed to look like when they were done, all buttery, golden, crumbly, with delicious plump blueberries placed strategically throughout.
To make them all I had to do was put the mix in a bowl, open the can of blueberries included in the package, add water, and mix them up and pour in muffin tins.  Simple.
I did it all perfect, I swear, but something went wrong.  First it got lumpy and gooey.  Then my beautiful project turned GRAY!  I don't know how or why or when, but somehow in the process of mixing blueberries, mix, and water, the batter turned a sickly blueish gray!  Oh sadness!  My goal of impressing everyone with my amazing culinary skills evaporated and I was left looking at my shattered dream, gray and lumpy in the bottom of a bowl.  I sadly poured the mess into tins and stuck it in the oven.
Of course my bad luck couldn't end there.  I of course forgot about them, so that the tops of them burned, and the batter was so thick that the insides were still gooey, and I forgot to grease the tins so that the only part of the muffins that came out of the tin was the gooey insides and the burned tops.  All gray and filled with lumps.  I am going to hire a cook when I get older.

Pick up lines

So here are some cheesy Mormon pick up lines. They are really quite clever. Here they are:

“Are you the iron rod? Because I want to hold fast to you forever.”

“Even with the liahona I get lost in your eyes.”

(While looking at the person you like.) “What is your favorite temple? I am looking at mine.”

Ask a cute person what their name is. When they tell you say “Oh! I’ve heard that name in my patriarchal blessing!”

If you are a boy you can ask a girl “Would you like to hold the priesthood?” Then give her a hug.  Ha ha.

Driving

So my supervised driving period is over and I can get my license. Actually my parents are slightly unwilling to let me make that step for four reasons.


Reason # 1
I was backing our van out of the garage and I started turning too early before I was quite out of the garage and put a big ugly scrape all down the side of our gorgeous van.


Reason # 2
I let my attention stray when I was driving up to go into the garage and looked at mom, therefore I did not pay attention to the small fact that I was rolling and the garage door was not all of the way open yet. I bent the garage door so badly that it couldn’t open and cracked the front bumper of the car. We went inside the garage and kicked the door until it could open, but it still has a nice scar.


Reason # 3
I was going around an icy corner way too fast (about one million miles an hour) and fishtailed. I pushed what I thought was the break pedal, but it turned out that it was really the gas pedal. Heh heh. Anyway, I spun in a circle and shot off the road into our dear nice neighbors mailbox. I bent the mailbox, put a dent the size of two soccer balls in the side of the car, broke the tail light, and got whiplash.


Reason # 4
I was backing up and hit a tree.


Anyway, I am not going to get my license for a while because of these and a few other close calls. I resolve to be a better driver :)

The Bus

Each year my mom’s friend sets up a group to go to a theater in a nearby state to watch a play, then have a tour of the theater after. It is always fun.

Usually we just drive down ourselves and meet at the theater, but this year she hired a “Tour bus” (Ha ha!) to take us down.

We all met in a church parking lot to board the bus. It wasn’t there yet so we hung out for a little while in our cars. 

Finally, (there should have been a drum roll) up came the BUS! It was a majestic old school bus, (emphasis on old) painted black around the sides, with the words “Old Faithful Christian Ranch” painted on the sides. The windows were decorated beautifully with window paint, showing phrases such as “Go Jesus!”, “I love you Jesus!” And “Got God?” The crowning touch though, was the back window. Inscribed in giant colorful letters was the phrase “HONK IF YOU LOVE JESUS!!!”  We stared at it for a while, not daring to be the first to enter. “You have got to be kidding me.” muttered someone. 

Finally we all scuttled inside, hunching down in our seats so nobody could recognize us. The motor roared to life, and we were off!

My brother and I and some of our friends slunk to the back and sat there.

It is amazing how fast your embarrassment will wear off when you are on a long bus ride.  Within ten minutes we were peering out the windows at the scenery to relieve the boredom that was encroaching from all sides. A few minutes later we were playing paper games. A few minutes later we were singing. A few minutes later we tried to get some cars to honk. And so it went. You get the idea. It started to get fun.

We finally arrived at the theater. At the same time as lots of normal school buses. The shame returned to some of the members of the party. They threw their hoods over their faces and scuttled inside the theater as fast as their legs could carry them, which gave the impression that they were masked blurs.

I, on the other hand, was PROUD of Jesus. I put a swing into my walk and lifted up my head as I passed through the sinners that had come on other busses. Let them scoff and scorn. They would pay in heck.

The play was amazing, the tour after wards was neat. I will not elaborate on that part, as that is not what the story is about. The play was done. Time to head back out to the infamous bus.
The ride back was even better that the one there. One of my friends had brought a huge four pound bag of Reeses Pieces, some of us had giant root beer floats, and there was candy everywhere. We responded naturally and were all hyper. Heh heh.

We decided that all jeeps were driven by aliens who could hear us. So whenever we saw a jeep we needed to alert the rest of the people in the bus without letting the aliens hear us. So if we saw a jeep we would yell “SEAGULL!!!” and duck, screaming, behind benches.

Now we wanted people to honk, so whenever we passed someone we would press our faces against the window and make fish faces and pump our arms up and down.
We made a band and sang songs really loud.
We hid under benches as we crossed the boarder so that we wouldn’t get arrested. (I don’t know why we would have gotten arrested, but we would have, I am sure.)
We told ghost stories.
We made lists.
We ate, and ate, and ate, Reeses Pieces.We did the wave up one side of the bus and down the other, and it actually looked really cool.
We did yoga.
We told jokes for about an hour.
You get the idea. We had fun!
When we finally got back to the church parking lot where we had met that morning it was ten at night. We loaded into our cars.

As we were leaving the parking lot I looked back at our Old Faithful Christian ranch bus.
It will always hold a special place in my heart, but may I never see it again.

Mustaches

Reasons that justify having a mustache:

1. If you have black hair and are a villain. In this case it becomes almost a must. The mustache accentuates the evilness of the individual, especially if it possesses a menacing downwards droop.

2. If you are British and always smile. It should be a thick handlebar mustache, curled up at the edges to show that the individual has a good temper.

Otherwise, I say don’t have one.

Mooses

Our family has had several run-ins with Mooses, (Meese?) because we live in a heavily wooded aria, but luckily they have all ended happily, for both us and the beast.


Run in # 1:
Some of my siblings were walking back to the house from our barn, and as they walked down the path they saw a moose. It was standing in the front yard, in a position that it could easily intercept and capture the unlucky children if it so chose before they got to the house. My sister told the little ones that there was a moose and that they should all stand still and not panic. They panicked. My little brother, who was about three at the time, dashed toward the house with as much speed as could be generated with his short legs, screaming that they were all going to die. The moose, being neither deaf, dumb, nor blind, noticed the screaming banshee dashing for the house and resolved to stop it. It charged. The siblings ran.
Luckily for them, mooses are quite clumsy and ungraceful. Their stroke of luck came in the form of the moose tripping. It went sprawling onto the ground amidst a flurry of legs, plowing a furrow in our yard. The kids were able to secure the shelter of the house before the enraged beast could collect all of its legs and come after them. It looked around, said “What was I doing again?” and left.


Run in # 2:
We were sitting in our dining room doing school, (yes we are all home schooled) when we looked up and saw two meese peering in at us. We jumped up and peered out the window at them. There was a big cow and a bull with giant antlers. They looked at us longingly, wishing they could stomp on us. They tried to convince us to go outside and be stomped on, but we would not be swayed by their honeyed words, so we took some pictures of them, and they left.


Run in # 3:
We have a pet goat that we tie out in different parts of our property to eat the weeds during the day, and then at night we put her in her stall in the barn.
One night I was sent out to retrieve the goat. It was pitch black, and I couldn’t see anything. We have a river out behind our house and the goat was tied on the bank. We have two dogs, and we have a electric wire under the ground that will shock our dogs through their collars if they pass it so they cant run away, and unfortunately it would not allow the dogs to come out to the river with me. So I proceeded alone.
I got close to the goat and saw that she was at the end of the rope, straining to get away from the river. I was a bit surprised, because she was a very un-scareable goat. I walked to the tree that she was tethered to and started to untie her. Then, right next to me, the water in the river started splashing. I looked up, and looked right into a big black eye, filled with evilness! It was seriously two inches away. I had a staring contest with it, having heard that eye contact would scare most animals away, but apparently this moose had not heard about that. Next plan: get away. Unfortunately, I couldn’t leave the goat, who was more scared then I. So I untied her with the moose breathing down my neck. Then we ran, with the moose chasing us, out to the barn, I tied up the goat, and then ran, with the moose chasing me, back to the house. I made it inside without getting stomped, and locked the door. I made a face at it. It hung out for a while, making evil threats, then left.

Not scared

Things I am NOT afraid of:

Snakes
Spiders
The dark
Being alone
Things coming up behind me
Boys
Things with long legs
Things under my bed or in my closet
Falling
Sushi
Deep water
Chickens

Suspicions

Things that I am suspicious of:


Uneaten food.
At our house, because of the large population, any food that is prepared is instantly devoured. If there is uneaten food sitting around I instantly am suspicious of it’s motives, taste, and relatives. Sadly, that uneaten food was usually prepared by me.


Walking bushes.
I am suspicious of walking bushes for one reason. Bushes don’t walk. That is all the reason that I need.


People who only have one eye in the middle of their head.
I am suspicious of these because they are called cyclops and they don’t exist. So if you see one you must be going insane.


People who are suspicious of me.
I am suspicious of these people because there is nothing about me to be suspicious about. So if they are suspicious about me they must have problems, therefore I am suspicious of them.

Ad

My dad was in an ad recently.  here is the link so that you can watch it!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qGedVVNKUM

Drivers Ed

I took drivers Ed a long time ago, but I thought that some of the things that happened were too entertaining to pass up writing about. So here some are.

Log book:

After we finish drivers Ed there is a period of time (six months) that we have to spend in supervised driving with a parent or other licensed driver in the seat next to us, put there to be certain that we experience the highest degree of stress possible. During these six months we have to get fifty hours of driving, including ten hours of night driving. They gave us a log book to record our driving time in. It was actually quite humorous. I used it a couple of times, but then made my own in a little notebook, because I would laugh too hard to focus on driving at the information we were supposed to include. Here is a sample drive recorded. The bold words are the stuff we were supposed to include.

Date:

March 8

Driving time:

20 min

Time of day:

1:30

Driving environment:

Driving environment?!?!?! They have to be kidding! Ummm…stressful and humid.

Skills practiced:

Driving. Duh.

Poster:

To end drivers Ed we were supposed to make a poster on anything related to driving. So I decided to do my poster on “The ten commandments of drivers ed.” Heh heh heh. Here they are.

Commandment # 1: Thou shalt know and do thy steps when turning. (Check, signal, check, fade, check, conform, check.)

Commandment # 2: Thou shalt know thy left from thy right.

Commandment # 3: Thou shalt never pop the clutch.

Commandment # 4: Thou shalt never stall nor kill the car.

Commandment # 5: Thou shalt never leave you keys in the car, lest your car get stolen.

Commandment # 6: Thou shalt never look frontward as you back up the car, lest you kill little
children.

Commandment # 7: Thou shalt never pull too far out in an intersection, lest you run over blind
pedestrians.

Commandment # 8: Thou shalt drive in the perfect position in the road, never wavering.

Commandment # 9: Thou shalt never act too happy in a drivers Ed car, thou shalt keep a look of slight depression on thy face and a feeling of gloom, lest you be told that this is not all fun and games, but life and death.

Commandment # 10: Thou shalt be an expert in every thing pertaining to driving, never make any mistakes, and be perfect.

If thou shalt follow all of these commandments thou shalt never get in trouble, get yelled at or be sworn at. But, if thou failest to follow any of the above, any number of terrible misfortunes may come upon you. Be careful. Amen.

Memorable quotes by drivers Ed teachers:

“I told you to “Bleeping” turn right!!!”

“I am not here to waste my time.” Then why are you teaching drivers Ed?

“Well are you just going to sit here until “Heck” freezes over?!?!?!”

“Can’t you do it right?” No. I can’t. Sorry.

“You didn’t get up to the “Dang” light before it turned red!” I can see that, oh wise one.

“Why did you kill the car???!!!” If only I knew....

“I hope you’re having fun, because I’m not.” Oh yes, I am! There is nothing I enjoy more!

Eyesight

Throughout my life I have had good eyesight, for which I was exceedingly grateful, although I didn’t realize that I was. I went about in happy oblivion as to the pain of bad eyesight, thinking that people who wore glasses wanted to wear them, wore them for fashionable accessories, or possibly were born wearing them.

Then when I was about fourteen I realized that things that were far away were fading slowly into nothingness. It scared me a bit when I realized that, but I was able to make myself think that it had always had been that way and dismissed the fact from my mind. I was able to ignore the fact for a long time, pretending that the fuzziness that was slowly creeping closer and closer had been here always and was nothing to fear. Then I arrived at the age when drivers Ed was to be undertaken.

I knew that you needed to have an eyesight test to get your license, but I didn’t know at what point in the proceedings it was done.

There was a summer drivers ed class that was about to start and my mom wanted me to take that one because it was only one month long, as opposed to the three months that it usually took during the school year. I needed to go to the sheriff’s office to get my permit before I took the
class, but they wouldn’t give it to me until the class was completed.

Mom took me to the sheriff’s office on the last day possible to get my permit before class started. Mom told me that she hadn’t had to take her eyesight test until she was getting her license, so they most likely wouldn’t make me do it for my permit. Under that false assumption I followed mom into the office, going like a lamb to the slaughter. We were greeted by a sour faced lady who made it seem like because we had come in it had ruined her day. She glared at me and shot several questions at me. What was my name? Weight? Age? Birth date? Why did I think that I could drive?

After she had written those down she looked up. We were almost done, she said. Only one more thing. She raised her hand and slowly, dramatically, pointed at a fiendish looking device that rested on the counter. It was a stout black box with a raised lens protruding from the top. It could only be one thing. Instantly I was struck dumb, and I was unable to do anything but stand there with shaking knees, open mouth, and an expression of horror on my face. It was time for my eye test.

I glanced at mom, who gave me an encouraging smile and a little push toward the miniature humiliation chamber. I took small steps, but the distance between me and the desk was gone
much too soon. There was but one thing to do.

I leaned forward to look in, and then pretended to trip. My efforts made the black box fall off the desk. I was bending my knees so as to get momentum with which to click my heels, but the lady leaned forward and caught the box with a wildly impossible grab, so I used the momentum that I was going to utilize in celebration to make it look as if I was trying to catch the box too by leaping over the desk. I landed beside the lady, who glared at me. “I know that trick.” She said. “Don’t try it on me. Now get back to your side of the desk.” I went with my tail between my legs, so to speak. She placed the humiliation console back on the desk, keeping a hand on the side to prevent me from having any more “accidents”. I crunched up my face and placed my eye against the lens.

My first impression of looking in was “my, what nice little blurs”. Then I had a bad thought. What if the blurs were the letters that I was supposed to identify?
“Um, are the letters here?” I asked.
“Yes.” Snapped the woman that I had come to think of as the grinch. “Tell me what you see.”
“Are you sure that these are letters?”
“Of course I am sure. Well, there are some numbers in the mix too. Now tell me what you see.”
I cleared my throat. “All the letters that I can see are… lets see what those are. Okay. I-m-p-o-s-s-i-b-l-e.”
There was silence. I looked from the grinch to mom, trading every few seconds so that neither of them could hit me from behind. The grinch coughed. “I am sorry to say that I can not grant your request for a permit.” She didn’t look at all sorry, judging from her sly smile. “You have to pass the eye test in order to get a permit.”
Mom sprang into action. “Can you save the info you have?” She asked. “I am going to go get her some glasses.”
“We are closing in two hours.” Said the grinch. “You have until then.”

We left the office at one million miles an hour. Mom had me stuffed into the car and was halfway to the nearest Wall-mart before I realized what was happening. I let lose with a wail. “I can’t get glasses!” I cried. “Glasses are for sissies!”
Mom looked at me out of the corner of her glasses and didn't say anything.

I went into the store willingly enough, but when I saw the eye testing center I lost my nerve. “Hey mom. How about you just go in and buy a likely looking pair of glasses and we hope they work? I don’t want to be seen in there.” She didn’t respond. “Can I go inside myself then?” I asked, preparing an escape route in my mind. She didn’t respond. So I changed to different tactics. I tried the squirm, but mom’s hand was clamped on my wrist too tight for that to work. I could see that she was not in a mood to let me off the hook. Desperate situations call for desperate measures. I combined two of the best getting away moves, the flop and the scream. I pretended that I was a raggedy Anne doll, and acted accordingly, falling in a heap on the floor, and let loose with an anguished wail at the same time. Mom was shocked, but not enough to let go of my arm. “Get up!” She commanded. I was still pretending that I was the raggedy Anne doll, and raggedy Anne dolls can’t hear, so I ignored her. She prodded me in the ribs with her toe, and being incredibly ticklish I squirmed away from her, still on the floor. She continued poking me in the ribs so I squirmed in a circle around her, because she still had my hand, and she kept poking. Finally I could stand it no longer. Therefore I let to my feet and dashed away at top speed, but mom made a lucky grab and snared handfuls of my hair. Thus was I dragged shamefully into the pit of despair, or the eye testing center. At the last moment I grabbed a red marker off of a nearby shelf and scribbled all over my face, thereby preventing anybody from recognizing me.
When we got inside mom pushed me up to the desk. “She needs glasses.” She explained briefly. A blond lady who was smiling too big handed me a clip board. “If you could fill out this information please, then we can start.” She said, looking at my scribbled on face weirdly.
I took the clip board and scanned it over, noting that the questions were the same ones that the grinch had asked me earlier. I filled it out with shaking hands and handed it back.
The blonde lady took my hand and hurried me over to a line painted on the floor. She instructed me to stand with my toes on the line and cover one eye at a time with a device that looked like a magnifying glass without the glass, and red plastic instead. I did so. Then I looked at one of those eyesight charts to see what I could see.
While my eyesight wasn’t up to par, it still wasn’t awful. I could see up to the fourth line of letters with both eyes and the fifth with one. Smiley took notes the whole time.
When I was finished I was ushered into a small, dark, room. Smiley sat me down on a wooden bench then sat down herself, opposite me. She told me too look in a black box with a lens that looked like the one earlier that day, only bigger. I placed my eye on the eyepeice, expecting to see the blurs that were supposed to be letters, but was pleasantly surprised to see a picture of a happy little farm, with fields of wheat and a red barn. I opened my eye wider to see all, and right at that moment a sharp puff of air proofed into my eye! I jerked my head back and looked at smiley, who was smiling. “Sorry,” she said. “Put your next eye up to it.” I did so, but with less trust than I had the first time. I squinted at the farm instead of gaping.
“Can you open your eye as wide as possible?” Asked smiley. “I need you to, otherwise it won’t work”
I wasn’t sure what wouldn’t work, but I opened my eye wider. The air proofed into my other eye! I jerked my head back again, this time with more force than before. Smiley giggled, but got herself under control quickly. Clearly she enjoyed this part of her job. Or maybe it was the fact that I had red marker all over my face. Then she looked at some part of her machine and looked puzzled. “Hmm,” she muttered. “The readings are supposed to match.” So we had to do it again. And again. Ha!
Then I entered a room with a creepy little eye doctor. He hopped around the room, holding glass things up to my eyes, firing questions at me, peering into my eyes, and telling me the reason that I had bad eyesight was that I never blinked. So THAT was the reason! Silly me, I should have known that!
After I emgerged with the clipboard smily took it from me. Then she told me to go learn to put in my contacts. The man that taught me looked just like Smily, exept that he was a boy. He beamed at me, handed me a package of contacts, taught me how to put them in, (Which only took a half hour, bleh) and sent me on my way with a smile. Then I picked out my glasses, mom filled out the bill, (I was kind of amazed that they could fit that large of an amount on one piece of paper) and we walked out into the sunshine. I kissed the sweet ground, which embarrassed mom, seeing that we were in a wall-mart parking lot, and we got in the car.
Back at the Sheriffs office the Grinch wasn’t too happy to see us, but I took the eye test. Miricle of miricles, I could see! The blurs had shapes, and nice crisp outlines! I passed with ease, got my picture taken, and skipped outside.
I spent the whole way home wondering if the liability of having glasses was offset by the fact that soon I could drive. I couldn’t decide.

Journal

I, the most inconsistent journal keeper in existence (though unofficially), have just started my sixteenth journal in two years. You may be puzzled as to why this is, because if I am the most inconsistent journal writer in existence, how can I be on my sixteenth journal? This is because I have developed my inconsistency to the point that it borders on art. It takes talent and strategy to space your journal writings so far apart that by the time you feel the rare compulsion come upon you to pick up a pen and scribble down your innermost feelings your previous journal is lost, destroyed, stolen, or perhaps no longer as cute as you thought it was at first. Or perhaps you wrote down your feelings, because of the lack of readily available writing material, in an ugly spiral bound notebook, and who wants their journal to be an ugly little notebook? So you start over. That is the way my journal writing has gone for several years.

So I decided to type my journal. By typing my journal instead of writing I hope to decrease these dangers. It is harder to lose or destroy a computer than a normal journal, if it gets un-cute I can change the wallpaper, and although thieves would be more tempted to steal a computer than a journal, few thieves come prowling through my home. Few that I have apprehended anyway.

Occasionally I will come upon a journal that I have written one or two entries in, and I will sit reading for a few moments, vaguely reminiscing upon those bygone events. Then I will toss the pages in the trash, hoping to use the journal for more intelligent writing, although that never happens

Because I use the computer more than a pen, hopefully I will get around to recording things more often. Every three weeks or so. Then I might put it on my blog. But there is no promise.

Biology

Last year my brother jace and I were doing biology with a few friends, and we both received a dissection kit which we were free to use to increase our knowledge of animals, not to eat. Included in the dissection kit was a case of dangerous looking tools to be used to cut open the unfortunate victims in the kit.

The case held, among other things, two sharp looking knives. Upon seeing them, dad and I immediately tried to shave our legs with them. They proved unsuccessful at this, so I assumed the following: if it won’t cut hair, it won’t cut anything. I would have used that as the moral of this story, except it won’t work, as I have found out differently.

At our first science class that we dissected something at, we pulled out our dissection kits and took out our tool case. I pulled out one of the knives and informed everybody that they wouldn’t cut anything. My friends protested that they were indeed sharp, and would easily cut our specimen. Eager to display my knowledge and their ignorance, I whipped out my knife and sliced my palm very quickly three times, whereupon I discovered, that the knives could indeed, cut. That was the moment that I scrapped the “if it won’t cut hair it won’t cut anything” theme. I closed my hand quickly, before they saw the blood, and said “see I told you, it won’t cut anything.” I knew that if I was to show them my wounds then it would be to admit that I was wrong and they were right, something that I only admitted in extreme situations, and I didn’t think that bleeding to death qualified as an extreme situation.

We started dissecting, (A frog, who looked at me funny). I had to excuse myself several times to wash off the blood that was pooling in my palm and had to hold a wad of toilet paper in my hand so that it wouldn’t drip. It was hard to dissect with only one hand, but I was able to do it by using lots of pins to keep the victim from moving. I thought (Disturbed person that I am) about letting some blood drip on the frog then start screaming that it was bleeding, but I didn’t.

I had the scabs on my palm for weeks after, and I thought that I would have scars, but sadly they healed without a trace.

Library

Here is a post from guest writer, Mom.   I just read it on her blog, and decided it was amazing enough to be included on my blog.  Here it is!

Mom:  I'll have to tell about my experience of trying to get a library card and the "librarian from the dark abyss" (That's a nice name for her) some other time...or maybe I'll try to forgive and forget...

No, I'll just quickly give a synopsis. 
"The 100 billion steps to attempt to get a library card:

Drive to Idaho Falls Library.
Be told that since you live in Rigby, it would be cheaper to get a Ririe Library card ($30 vs. $60), which would allow you to also check out books from I.F. Library.
Wait a few months...to the despair of your children.
Finally go to the Ririe library - a room of books smaller than your family room.
Spend $30 on a Ririe library card with the belief that although you never want to return to Ririe library, you can now to go I.F. library.
Wait a month
Go back to the Idaho Falls Library...after a long day of gymnastics...with 9 children, and yes, you forgot the stroller.
Check out lots and lots of books.
Stand in line with excited children
Be told that the policy has just changed (Nov. 1st), and if you have a Ririe Library card, you can only check out 2 books.  TWO!
(No, it does not matter that you were told that you could use a Ririe Library card)
Decide (with persuasion from your children) to purchase a $60 I.F. library card.
Go upstairs to the other desk. 
Meet the librarian from the dark abyss...(she crawled out for a moment to wait on you, lucky!)
Be told that you need not only your driver's license, you also need mail addressed to you.
Go out to the car and look for mail.  Find registration and vehicle insurance with your address on it.
Take it to...her.
Be told that the "board" will only allow utility bills. Or unopened mail with postmarks.
Ask her if she can hold the books for you. 
Be told that policy has just changed, and the "board" will only allow you to put your books on hold for...1 hour....
(Luckily she is so strict...so I wasn't able to pull of my crime of going state-to-state to use a false identity to check out books...with my 9 children along.  She saw through the ruse.)
Ask what time they close.  Be told that they close at 6:00. 
Tell librarians that you will try to get back before they close.
Wheel the books back down to the children's library, and ask them to hold them...but only for an hour!
Drive home quickly, with a good discussion with your children about why government-run entities do not have to have customer service.  Discuss the benefit of competition in the private sector. 
Feed the baby. Tell the kids to make & eat dinner. 
Meet husband coming home. Drive quickly back to IF with him.
Get to the library with 2 minutes to spare.
Wait at ....her... desk for over 7 minutes.
Greet her cheerfully as she climbs out of the abyss again.
Be told that "the library closed at 6pm." 
Assure her you were there, waiting for her, before 6pm.
Watch as she narrows her eyes and tells you that...she doesn't give out library cards after 5:45.
Politely remind her that she didn't tell you that an hour ago.
Be told that "she can't remember to tell you everything, ma'am!"
(She will not be swayed...she knows a library card thief when she sees one, and she trusts no one!!!!!)
Feel like punching her.  Control yourself. 
Leave without a library card.
Drive home, thinking of all the things you wish you would have said. 

I go stalking

Around my last birthday, four of my friends and I decided to go bowling to celebrate this very important event. There is this place close to our house that has a pretty decent bowling alley, so we made the decision to go there. Woe unto any boys who would be there.

We got there close to nightfall, ordered a pizza and drinks, and began bowling. We didn’t want to have a boring time, so on each of the rounds we did something exciting to make it more fun. For example, hiking it between our legs, spinning around three times before we threw it, and that sort of stuff.

Soon a family arrived at the lane next to us. They had a couple of pretty good looking teenage boys with them, so we cranked up our antics to the next gear. Soon the family caught on and they started doing similar things. They must not have had as much imagination as us, because they seemed to be copying us with new twists thrown in. The thing that bugged us was that they had more people, about ten, while we only had five, so they could do some pretty awesome things.

We started doing even cooler things than we were at first. They answered the challenge.  Soon we were in a frenzy of action thinking up and trying new ways to make the game exciting and stay ahead of the family next to us. Both of our groups were laughing pretty hard.

We all stood in a line with our legs apart and threw the ball between our legs so that it rolled under us before it went and made a strike. We made pyramids out of ourselves and had to throw the ball so it weaved through our arms and legs. We picked up one of the girls in our group and laid her on our arms and swung her back and fourth while she threw from four feet in the air. We stood in a line with our feet together and jumped over the ball when it came. Then we did that one backwards so that we had to listen for the ball coming up behind us and jump over it without getting hit. We laid on the ground and did push ups when the ball came so that it went under our bodies. Then we did some really cool ones.

All too soon, to our despair, we saw that the family was about to leave. We had had a really fun time with them even though we didn’t know them so we decided to write the boys a note. We sat down and hurriedly composed one. It went something along the lines of this:

“To the boys,
Thanks for playing with us; it was a ton of fun! You have some pretty sick moves! Look us up on facebook so next time you go bowling you can invite us.” (That was only a subtle suggestion). Then we signed our names and went up to one of the ladies in the group and told her to give it to the boys. Then we fled outside.

We stood by the doors and grinned evilly at the boys as they walked by with their family. They looked kind of embarrassed, but flattered to be getting this kind of attention from five hot girls. They hopped into their cars and started driving away. Then someone inside one of the cars, we couldn’t tell who, shouted our names and yelled bye. Heh heh!

Our ride wasn’t there yet so we started walking. We went by this excellent ice cream place and I remembered that I had a fifteen dollar gift card for the place, so we went up to the doors. They were glass, and just as I was opening the door one of my friends grabbed my arm and stopped me. With a panicked face she pointed inside. There, sitting at a table eating ice cream, were our "friends" from the bowling alley.

We backed away from the door, but one of the boys dads looked up and saw us. He pointed at us, and we ran to a table outside of the door where they couldn’t see us, and laughed our crazy heads off. We were laughing so hard that we couldn’t stop, and every time that we looked at each other we burst out again.

Then we decided we wouldn’t let the boys inside stop us from getting ice cream. Me and the other girl who couldn’t stop laughing stayed outside to watch for our ride. The other three went inside. We waited for a little while, and then the door opened. We thought that it was them, but it was one of the boy’s dads! Augghhh! He laughed at us and told us that the ice cream place was big enough for all of us, so we got up and went in.

The boys pretended to ignore us, but they were grinning really huge. We were blessed to have poker faces, and we did not burst into laughter. We stood, looking cool calm and collected as we got our ice cream and went to our table. Our family finished their ice cream and got up to leave. The dads gave us thumbs up, and as they walked out the door the boys turned and waved at us. We waved back and so ended our night.

We decided that we like stalking people, even if it is accidental, and plan to do it more often.

Cooking

Cooking is probably the only thing in my life that is so overrated that it is next to unachievable for me… in this life anyway. I hang to the belief that after I pass from this life, (I guess you could call it graduating to the next class, unless you go to live with the devil, then we could safely guess that you flunked) I will turn out to be a master chef, and all the angels will sing praises to my crème bru`lee, because of which I will live in peace and prosperity, loved by all.
But this is not to convince you that I shall delight you in the next life with the delicacies that I shall prepare, in fact it is written to the end that I may pour out all my woes concerning the cooking pot in this life. The cooking pot was designed by the cavewoman to prepare the small dead animals that they dined on in those days.
The cavewoman’s idea to create a pot to cook things in came after a conversation with her husband. I am sure that the exchange went something like this:
Caveman: “I hungry”
Cavewoman: “I cook dead animal”
Caveman: “What you cook dead animal in?”
Cavewoman: “Uhhhhhh…”
Okay, I am not quite sure about the exact words. But, after the exchange she set to work and made a pot. Her husband died meanwhile from hunger, it took so long. But that is beside the point. The point is that she set upon a marvelous invention, one that many generations have learned to master. Cavewoman, Einstein, George Washington, all learned the art of the cooking pot, all the way up to me.
But I shall disappoint the generations and stick exclusively to cooking ice and toast. (I still need someone else to butter it.) I am a pro at making ice and will gladly start a class to teach those poor people who haven’t progressed as far as me in their cooking as I, how to learn the delicate art of making ice. It can be used in smoothies.
The other day I was asked to perform the impossible and cook dinner for the family. I chose to do pasta and tomato sauce, because it seemed easy, not because I am fond of it, because I am quite the opposite, actually. I figured that if it didn’t turn out the way it was pictured in my mind, the parents and I could eat toast, and my siblings, who will eat anything, could eat the pasta. Anyway, I put the pasta in a pot and covered it with water, then stuck the tomato sauce into a sauce pan. You may notice that I used the word “stuck” in speaking about the tomato sauce. That was for a reason. But that is later in the story. Mom came in just when the water was starting to boil in the pot with the pasta. It was then I learned that I am not supposed to put the pasta in the pot until the water is boiling. (Make a note of that, everyone. Otherwise your pasta will turn out like mine did one big piece of pasta. It was just like a big, squishy cake. Sheash!)
Meanwhile, while I was trying to cure the pasta, (It didn’t work, plus I burned all my fingers) the tomato sauce took the opportunity to do its “sticking” part. Smoke billowed around the kitchen, and I forgot the pasta, hasted across the kitchen, and placed my face directly above the pan. A mistake. The cries of anguish that filled the house were unbearable. But they didn’t proceed from my mouth, they emanated from my mom, and the reason for her making them was the state of my face. The sauce (the part that wasn’t stuck) had been boiling, preparatory to sticking, and had popped upward onto my face. It looked like I had suddenly became a pizza face, my face was all covered in little, painful burns. (I guess that you could rightly call me a pizza face, because I was covered in tomato sauce.) Thus comes the sad end to my cooking career.
“Waste not want not” is my family’s motto when it comes to the consuming of my cooking, and you can rightly say “eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.” Well, you might not be merry, but you will die. They abandoned the “waste not want not” and adopted “a wasting a day keeps the doctor away”.
But the story does have a happy ending, because of which I am, well, happy. I placed the pasta cake on a platter and put the sauce crisp on the top. It looked pretty good and I carried it into the dining room, to the awaiting family.
We had a delicious dinner of toast and ice, and the chickens waxed fat on the pasta. A few died, but mom cooked them, and they turned out very nice.
Thus ends this story.