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.