I write this as I am emerging from a food coma, so forgive me if I am not completely coherent.
My mom's birthday was yesterday, so today she and I celebrated at Red Lobster with my grandparents - the wealthy and civilized grandparents (yes, they did arrive in the now infamous "Tinker-Bell").
Eating out with these people, as they heatedly "discuss" politics, has never been my favorite thing to do. Yet, eating at Red Lobster provides me with a rather strange ... pastime. I devour crab legs. I don't quite know what it is about this that amuses me so. Perhaps it is because I make the whole thing into a wild game, as I savagely rip the crab's remains to shreds with my bare hands...at a comparatively fancy restaurant. To my relatives, it is almost "dinner and a show", a slightly barbaric show, but a show nonetheless.
My mom ordered the same dinner, but didn't have quite the same luck. By the time I was done, she had barely finished a fourth of it.
Her Theory (and I quote): The more "elegantly" you eat these, the less efficient you are.
I am not entirely sure what she was insinuating by this (perhaps that I eat crab legs like a caveman on a deserted island). I ranted once about how my mother feels the need to constantly compensate for her daughter's and husband's weirdness ... in this case, my crab-leg-eating style. I personally do not see anything wrong with it. As Kyouya from Ouran High School Host Club would rationalize (pardon the reference), such food is meant to be eaten that way.
My Theory: The more fun you have with this, the more rewarding the experience. Not only do I get to eat food, but I get to work for it along the way, leaving an odd sense of accomplishment.
Yeah, I pretty much just turn the whole thing into a game. I suppose this could give the impression that I have the mentality of a three-year-old. Now that I think about it, it is more or less a "grown-up" variant of playing with my food.... Oh my, everything seems to be coming together and I feel a little moronic...
Anyway, my mom clearly saw this in a different light. To her, this was "manual labor" - and on her birthday too!
Later on, the conversation inevitably shifted to what I should major in. I was too busy musing over the wonderful crab meat and muttered that tearing apart crabs is regrettably one of my only skills. Of course, I was not being totally serious when I said this. Yet, the next thing I know, my grandfather feels that it is necessary to bring this mater to our waitress - the poor woman. Just as they brag about my A's in school and my idea for naming their car "Tinker-Bell" amongst their friends, they brag about my crab-cracking talent to innocent waitresses. I felt like beating my head on the table then and there. Although, I am not gonna lie, I do have mad skills when I comes to mutilating the limbs of the dead creature.
Clearly wondering why she was being paid for this, she went on about how I could become a waitress. Adding that I would have to be at least 19 to apply, as she looked at my face and tried to judge my age. Then my grandfather added that it would be at least a year until then. (Even my own grandfather can't remember that I will be 19 in about 3 months. The agony!)
So, I guess at the end of the day, I at least get to write of one of the things in life that I abundantly enjoy - eating.
Clannad...And a Toilet Seat Cover
Yesterday morning I spontaneously decided to watch the Clannad series over again. Despite the fact that it is absolutely heartbreaking, I can't help but love it. Yet, every time I watch it, I feel compelled to balance it out with something overly masculine. (Today, Death Note: L Change the World and Gintama are doing the job nicely.)
Even stranger to me is that this series seems to have a male fan base as well. I earned such knowledge from my online friends...who just so happened to be guys who loved Clannad. What a reliable source, huh?
Even my anime oblivious cousins like it, and firmly believe that everyone should have in-laws as awesome as Tomoya's are.
I didn't have anything better today, so, I made a compilation of silly Clannad scenes. Think of it as a gift of melodrama from me to you.
Thank you so much for tolerating my insane rantings for so long.
You are so cool...and a toilet seat cover.
For Okaa-san and Mon Amour
My friends Ashley (Okaa-san) and Kelsy (Mon Amour) have turned 18 today. YAAAAAAY!
Like me, among other things, they can take part in the joy of being able to legally buy dry ice!
Like me, among other things, they can take part in the joy of being able to legally buy dry ice!
My State of "Starvation"
(Today is a happy day - I have exceeded 10 posts in one month. It is rather astounding to me. Can I get a round of applause?)
I stand before you today as a malnourished soul. I know, it is sadness. :(
Yes, it is certainly strange that despite the fact that my family does apparently pay the electricity bills, I have no food. If you are wondering why, I shall elaborate.
Within the past year, our ancient refrigerator got tired of suffering from my mom's abuse, (as she continued to spill sticky substances, leave food spoil, and extend her clutter to the far reaches of it's capacity).
Thus, for eight long and painful months, we had little means of refrigeration. We could only keep things in a small picnic cooler. Such began my ice-cream deprivation; I was in a black hole of misery.
Times have changed since then, as we were finally able to purchase a new refrigerator relatively recently. I celebrated with a large bowl of magically delicious Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey.
But alas, my fun was cut short. I came to the horrible realization that my mom was no longer accustomed the the operations of a refrigerator. Either that, or opening the door, putting the food away, and closing the door could now be considered a hard form of manual labor.
(Don't get me wrong, I love my mom dearly. Bashing her in this post isn't really my intent. But, this is the way things are. Forgive me if anything I type seems to come out wrong.)
Anyway, two days ago, I felt the need for lunch. Given the circumstances, it is not readily available! You see, in addition to my refrigerator woes, my mom has an emergency storage of a mass amount of canned food. Mind you, this is in case to supermarket somehow collapses soon, so I am not actually allowed to eat any of it. And I have a theory that she numbers them and counts them off every morning, noon, and night. MY definition of an emergency is "there is no non-contaminated food in the refrigerator and nothing that hasn't gone bad in the pantry...oh my, only canned food remains!" Unfortunately, this is an "unacceptable" excuse most of the time.
It gets worse. Basically, there is a lot of food but nothing to eat. Allow me to quote from that wonderful movie entitled "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory". It speaks such words of wisdom. -
You see, just because something can be physically eaten does not mean it should be physically eaten. This is especially true of things that lurk in our poor refrigeration system.
On that fateful day, I opened the refrigerator to see if there was anything that I could consume for lunch. Nothing. Well, nothing substantial or non-spoiled anyway. So, I moved on to the freezer at the bottom. I figured it would be more promising considering that, in the past, all that my mom ever brought home from the supermarket was a plethora of T.V. dinners. Yet, due to her prolonged lack of experience in managing cumbersome equipment like a refrigerator, such things were no where to be found. Instead, I was left staring at a side dish of frozen mashed potatoes (which looked rather crunchy) and rotting shrimp (dumped us by grandmother-the crazy one). I determined that the crunchy mashed potatoes would be my safest option.
Since that was not nearly enough to satisfy my unwavering hunger, I mustered up all my courage to brave the pantry. At first, I found nothing but my mom's high blood pressure medication, cold medicine, and paper plates. Then I finally came across other foods that were not in the emergency food storage. It included canned cooked ham, canned tuna, and "manwich", all presumably from the very late 1900's! Hence why they were not in the emergency food storage; eating them would cause an emergency!
When I began to grow weary from my quest, I discovered ramen (the kind you make on the stove). My doctor would be appalled at these two starches in my hand. Still, it was the best my dismal kitchen had to offer. Yet, bad karma befell me again as I approached the stove. Little did I know, a startling surprise awaited me. I had to clear the stove of a bag of moldy bread, but that was nothing compared to the real shocker. An entire bag of grapes had been left to ferment atop the burner. What lay before me was a bag of half-grape and half-liquid substance, swarming with gnats, flies, and other bugs. Deductive reasoning led me to believe that this was not a fail attempt to make "wine", as my mother does not drink. Besides, I am pretty sure that only a slobbering drunkard would find this scene slightly appealing. So, I left it up to my mom to clean up her mess and threw the crunchy potatoes and the ramen (now soaking in a bowl of water) into the microwave.
If you never hear from me again, please assume that I have died of food poisoning.
I stand before you today as a malnourished soul. I know, it is sadness. :(
Yes, it is certainly strange that despite the fact that my family does apparently pay the electricity bills, I have no food. If you are wondering why, I shall elaborate.
Within the past year, our ancient refrigerator got tired of suffering from my mom's abuse, (as she continued to spill sticky substances, leave food spoil, and extend her clutter to the far reaches of it's capacity).
Thus, for eight long and painful months, we had little means of refrigeration. We could only keep things in a small picnic cooler. Such began my ice-cream deprivation; I was in a black hole of misery.
Times have changed since then, as we were finally able to purchase a new refrigerator relatively recently. I celebrated with a large bowl of magically delicious Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey.
But alas, my fun was cut short. I came to the horrible realization that my mom was no longer accustomed the the operations of a refrigerator. Either that, or opening the door, putting the food away, and closing the door could now be considered a hard form of manual labor.
(Don't get me wrong, I love my mom dearly. Bashing her in this post isn't really my intent. But, this is the way things are. Forgive me if anything I type seems to come out wrong.)
Anyway, two days ago, I felt the need for lunch. Given the circumstances, it is not readily available! You see, in addition to my refrigerator woes, my mom has an emergency storage of a mass amount of canned food. Mind you, this is in case to supermarket somehow collapses soon, so I am not actually allowed to eat any of it. And I have a theory that she numbers them and counts them off every morning, noon, and night. MY definition of an emergency is "there is no non-contaminated food in the refrigerator and nothing that hasn't gone bad in the pantry...oh my, only canned food remains!" Unfortunately, this is an "unacceptable" excuse most of the time.
It gets worse. Basically, there is a lot of food but nothing to eat. Allow me to quote from that wonderful movie entitled "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory". It speaks such words of wisdom. -
Everything in this room is eatable. Even I'm eatable. But that is called cannibalism, my dear children, and is in fact frowned upon in most societies. ~Johnny Deep (as Willy Wonka)
You see, just because something can be physically eaten does not mean it should be physically eaten. This is especially true of things that lurk in our poor refrigeration system.
On that fateful day, I opened the refrigerator to see if there was anything that I could consume for lunch. Nothing. Well, nothing substantial or non-spoiled anyway. So, I moved on to the freezer at the bottom. I figured it would be more promising considering that, in the past, all that my mom ever brought home from the supermarket was a plethora of T.V. dinners. Yet, due to her prolonged lack of experience in managing cumbersome equipment like a refrigerator, such things were no where to be found. Instead, I was left staring at a side dish of frozen mashed potatoes (which looked rather crunchy) and rotting shrimp (dumped us by grandmother-the crazy one). I determined that the crunchy mashed potatoes would be my safest option.
Since that was not nearly enough to satisfy my unwavering hunger, I mustered up all my courage to brave the pantry. At first, I found nothing but my mom's high blood pressure medication, cold medicine, and paper plates. Then I finally came across other foods that were not in the emergency food storage. It included canned cooked ham, canned tuna, and "manwich", all presumably from the very late 1900's! Hence why they were not in the emergency food storage; eating them would cause an emergency!
When I began to grow weary from my quest, I discovered ramen (the kind you make on the stove). My doctor would be appalled at these two starches in my hand. Still, it was the best my dismal kitchen had to offer. Yet, bad karma befell me again as I approached the stove. Little did I know, a startling surprise awaited me. I had to clear the stove of a bag of moldy bread, but that was nothing compared to the real shocker. An entire bag of grapes had been left to ferment atop the burner. What lay before me was a bag of half-grape and half-liquid substance, swarming with gnats, flies, and other bugs. Deductive reasoning led me to believe that this was not a fail attempt to make "wine", as my mother does not drink. Besides, I am pretty sure that only a slobbering drunkard would find this scene slightly appealing. So, I left it up to my mom to clean up her mess and threw the crunchy potatoes and the ramen (now soaking in a bowl of water) into the microwave.
If you never hear from me again, please assume that I have died of food poisoning.
Hippopotamus are WHAT?!
Apples to Apples is one of my favorite games ... ever. Why? Because it does not require much speed or coordination, which are two important aspects of most card games, which are also two elements that I lack.
(The exception to this is spoons, and I think this should be a professional sport.)
So last night, Lindsey invited me and a some other friends of ours to hang out and watch the recently finished movie we made for Ignition Project.
(We made it in June, remember? And even after all those hours of filming, they used the one clip where I wasn't paying attention! Murphy strikes again, just Jen's luck.)
While we were playing Apples to Apples, I noticed that I was one card away from winning. This round, the judge was none other than Midea. She is one of those serious judges. She is the only one who never picks my card...because I could never beguile her into doing so. And to my horror, none of my cards fit the adjective on the green card before me. One by one, everyone handed in their red cards with a look of confidence on their faces, while I nervously went through to see how I would talk Midea into this one. Finally, I just picked a random card and threw it out there. The scenario went like this -
Midea: ...Hippopotamus, Jen?
I smiled and tried to sound as scientific as possible.
Me: Yes
Midea: *skeptical* Hippopotamus are silky?
Me: Indeed they are.
Midea: No they're not!
Me: *clears throat* Did you ever pet a hippo before?
Midea: No.
Me: Then how would you know?
Midea: But-
(The exception to this is spoons, and I think this should be a professional sport.)
So last night, Lindsey invited me and a some other friends of ours to hang out and watch the recently finished movie we made for Ignition Project.
(We made it in June, remember? And even after all those hours of filming, they used the one clip where I wasn't paying attention! Murphy strikes again, just Jen's luck.)
While we were playing Apples to Apples, I noticed that I was one card away from winning. This round, the judge was none other than Midea. She is one of those serious judges. She is the only one who never picks my card...because I could never beguile her into doing so. And to my horror, none of my cards fit the adjective on the green card before me. One by one, everyone handed in their red cards with a look of confidence on their faces, while I nervously went through to see how I would talk Midea into this one. Finally, I just picked a random card and threw it out there. The scenario went like this -
Midea: ...Hippopotamus, Jen?
I smiled and tried to sound as scientific as possible.
Me: Yes
Midea: *skeptical* Hippopotamus are silky?
Me: Indeed they are.
Midea: No they're not!
Me: *clears throat* Did you ever pet a hippo before?
Midea: No.
Me: Then how would you know?
Midea: But-
Then I interrupted, in my most convincing whisper.
Me: They are luxuriously silky.
And yes, that won me the game, as even my most composed friend lost her composure.
Me: They are luxuriously silky.
And yes, that won me the game, as even my most composed friend lost her composure.
On the Topic of No Topics
Since our youth group tends to have great conversations when sticking to the topic of no topics, and since I have no main idea for what I am going to write about today (I know, real shocker there), I am going to stick to that same theme. In the words of Dora, I talk about nothing in a very wordy way...
(In this post, I will cover everything from special Sharpies and cookies to alternate dimensions and fail hamburger slices.)
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Yesterday, I bought limited edition Sharpies. Yes, not just Sharpies, limited edition ones. Somehow, I feel as if I have accomplished something very spectacular, when compared to the rest of my mundane week. They apparently include "Caribbean colors". How they are significantly different from regular sharpies, I do not know. But, for some odd reason it is just fun to say that something, even as simplistic as a permanent marker, is limited edition.
Along with the markers, I bought a backpack. So now, I can get my backpack signed by all my friends. My mom had the day off yesterday, we figured that we would go shopping for the things at Office Max.
While my mom musing at the fact that I was musing about regular v.s. limited edition Sharpies, one of the employees came to "help" me. In my opinion, their brand of "help" is more along the lines of pester. I was just looking at Sharpies for goodness sake! Why on earth did such acts have to demand so much attention?
When the obnoxious employee realized that I did not need assistance with my Sharpie browsing, she moved on to helping my mother. And my mother was just in shock that I felt the need to buy the limited edition sharpies.
Employee: Oh, it is just a thing little girls do
I twitched slightly at that comment, but said nothing as I moved to pay for the items at the register.
Employee: What grade are you in, sweetie?
It was very evident that this woman thought that I could be no older than a freshmen in high school; I speak from experience. So, I corrected her, seeing no gain in letting her believe otherwise. I am indeed a freshmen, in college that is!
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I had another instance this week where someone confused my age. Only this one was far more rewarding.
My friend's mom picked me up from a college class to take me to their house. We figured that we would stop to get pizza on the way.
Employee: Would you like some cookies sweetie?
I looked at my friends mom, for dramatic effect, with a wondering look in my eye. And yes, I have perfected this to an art.
Friend's Mom: *smiles and noods* Oh, yes please!
So, part two of my act was to walk up to the counter with a greedy/anticipating smile on my face. It works well, too. I got three packages of cookies.
Employee: Here you go, honey. And have a nice day.
I thanked her and left, with my mass amount of cookies.
(But, considering we also bought the new Recess Chips Ahoy cookies, the ones from the pizza place looked kinda "meh". Still, cookies are cookies.)
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And yesterday I also went to Black-Kun's house where we spent most of the day cooking dinner, watching Tim Hawkins' videos, and playing that game on the Wii with Link's crossbow.
After calling the oven a "window" a few times, we have made and inside joke that there is an alternate dimension in Black-Kun's oven. And I have also discovered something that I should have figured out all along; if I am left alone to cook, cataclysmic events could shortly follow.
We made hamburger meat because we decided we needed some protein. While flipping them, we ended up ripping them apart into something that no longer looked like a hamburger slice. But that was okay; we didn't have any hamburger buns to put them in anyway, nor toppings for that matter. So, we proceeded to eat the meat plain. Feeling like barbaric cavemen, we grabbed a hot-dog bun that we found wrapped up on the counter and stuffed the meat into it. I was lucky enough to find ketchup. So, I smothered the liquid on the meat until it seemed somewhere on the borderline of being yummy again and too ketchup...y the next moment.
And as I type this I get a bit annoyed by my keyboard. It isn't because of my typing dyslexia or anything, I am just never in the right place. My screen is too tall. So, the built in webcam only gets my unflattering forehead while I am on skype. I have to compensate by raising the chair. But then my arms are not in the right place for typing. Ah, decisions decisions.
Sadly, that is all I have to say. I guess this is what happens when I am on the topic of No Topics. It was a lovely experiment nonetheless.
(In this post, I will cover everything from special Sharpies and cookies to alternate dimensions and fail hamburger slices.)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Yesterday, I bought limited edition Sharpies. Yes, not just Sharpies, limited edition ones. Somehow, I feel as if I have accomplished something very spectacular, when compared to the rest of my mundane week. They apparently include "Caribbean colors". How they are significantly different from regular sharpies, I do not know. But, for some odd reason it is just fun to say that something, even as simplistic as a permanent marker, is limited edition.
Along with the markers, I bought a backpack. So now, I can get my backpack signed by all my friends. My mom had the day off yesterday, we figured that we would go shopping for the things at Office Max.
While my mom musing at the fact that I was musing about regular v.s. limited edition Sharpies, one of the employees came to "help" me. In my opinion, their brand of "help" is more along the lines of pester. I was just looking at Sharpies for goodness sake! Why on earth did such acts have to demand so much attention?
When the obnoxious employee realized that I did not need assistance with my Sharpie browsing, she moved on to helping my mother. And my mother was just in shock that I felt the need to buy the limited edition sharpies.
Employee: Oh, it is just a thing little girls do
I twitched slightly at that comment, but said nothing as I moved to pay for the items at the register.
Employee: What grade are you in, sweetie?
It was very evident that this woman thought that I could be no older than a freshmen in high school; I speak from experience. So, I corrected her, seeing no gain in letting her believe otherwise. I am indeed a freshmen, in college that is!
-----------------------------------------------------------------
I had another instance this week where someone confused my age. Only this one was far more rewarding.
My friend's mom picked me up from a college class to take me to their house. We figured that we would stop to get pizza on the way.
Employee: Would you like some cookies sweetie?
I looked at my friends mom, for dramatic effect, with a wondering look in my eye. And yes, I have perfected this to an art.
Friend's Mom: *smiles and noods* Oh, yes please!
So, part two of my act was to walk up to the counter with a greedy/anticipating smile on my face. It works well, too. I got three packages of cookies.
Employee: Here you go, honey. And have a nice day.
I thanked her and left, with my mass amount of cookies.
(But, considering we also bought the new Recess Chips Ahoy cookies, the ones from the pizza place looked kinda "meh". Still, cookies are cookies.)
------------------------------------------------------------------
And yesterday I also went to Black-Kun's house where we spent most of the day cooking dinner, watching Tim Hawkins' videos, and playing that game on the Wii with Link's crossbow.
After calling the oven a "window" a few times, we have made and inside joke that there is an alternate dimension in Black-Kun's oven. And I have also discovered something that I should have figured out all along; if I am left alone to cook, cataclysmic events could shortly follow.
We made hamburger meat because we decided we needed some protein. While flipping them, we ended up ripping them apart into something that no longer looked like a hamburger slice. But that was okay; we didn't have any hamburger buns to put them in anyway, nor toppings for that matter. So, we proceeded to eat the meat plain. Feeling like barbaric cavemen, we grabbed a hot-dog bun that we found wrapped up on the counter and stuffed the meat into it. I was lucky enough to find ketchup. So, I smothered the liquid on the meat until it seemed somewhere on the borderline of being yummy again and too ketchup...y the next moment.
And as I type this I get a bit annoyed by my keyboard. It isn't because of my typing dyslexia or anything, I am just never in the right place. My screen is too tall. So, the built in webcam only gets my unflattering forehead while I am on skype. I have to compensate by raising the chair. But then my arms are not in the right place for typing. Ah, decisions decisions.
Sadly, that is all I have to say. I guess this is what happens when I am on the topic of No Topics. It was a lovely experiment nonetheless.
Death Encounter #2
Here is a guilty confession of mine: I like naming inanimate objects.
But that got me in trouble today. So, now I get to write about an embarrassing moment that resulted from such antics.
My brand of "luck" inhales profusely. My grandparents gave me their old beat up car. This in itself is pretty good; after all, it does get one from Point A to Point B. So, apparently, all I have to do is personalize strawberry-scented air freshener and a "Caesar-Man" doll that I received from the opening of a new Little Caesar's pizza place and I will learn to love it. Right?
Well, here is why I have sucky luck. They replaced the car they gave me with the Ford Focus. A lime green one. As you can see, it really is a "Jenny" car.
But that got me in trouble today. So, now I get to write about an embarrassing moment that resulted from such antics.
My brand of "luck" inhales profusely. My grandparents gave me their old beat up car. This in itself is pretty good; after all, it does get one from Point A to Point B. So, apparently, all I have to do is personalize strawberry-scented air freshener and a "Caesar-Man" doll that I received from the opening of a new Little Caesar's pizza place and I will learn to love it. Right?
Well, here is why I have sucky luck. They replaced the car they gave me with the Ford Focus. A lime green one. As you can see, it really is a "Jenny" car.
Hence, I named their car of my dreams "Tinker-Bell".
And unfortunately....it stuck.
So now my grandparents are bragging to everyone that their granddaughter is getting good grades in college - and naming things after Disney fairies....
They just so happened to pick me up from school today.
So, I kept my eye out for the little lime on wheels. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. But it did not stop for me, and I bolted after it. You can see where I am going with this huh?
When I had the opportunity to open the door, sit down, buckle myself in, exclaim "Hey, Tinker-Bell", and close the door - I noticed that this was indeed a different Ford Focus. The driver, to my horror, looked like this...only meaner:
...If my "luck" continues at this rate, my demise will come very soon. (And again, why must I attract creepers?!)
"Tinker-Bell?" the dude growled.
Logic dictates....that, if I have any sense of self-preservation, I must scatter. So, I leaped out of the car and ran.
Lesson of the day: Gangsters do NOT like nick-names derived from little fairies in Disney.
(Oddly this death encounter is about gang members too! I must be a delinquent. So, it appears that my new delinquent behavior is car-jacking.)
My proclivity of naming objects is a trait passed down from my dad. When I was in an art class, I purchased one of those wooden...people on a stick...to get my proportions down better. It met a tragic fate when a 6th grader pulled off its leg. All that was left of his "leg" was a wooden sphere that was glued to his wooden "torso".
My dad wanted to keep him and dubbed him "Stumpy".
Perhaps that is why, without the aid of my "Stumpy", that my art final (which I choose to do in crayon ^^) ended up looking like humanoid black blobs...they resembled heartless actually.
(Another guilty confession, I have always found heartless to be...cute. I died a lot because I would hesitate to kill them...and then get mad at them when I was about to die. What a viscous cycle it was.)
Vanilla Twilight
There is a song by Owl City called Vanilla Twilight, and it is about a guy who hasn't slept for days because all he can think about is (presumably) a girl. Strangely, every time I think of this song, I am reminded of my dog. She spends her nights alone outside and misses everyone, barking and whining at all hours to prove it. But maybe it is just the lyrics in that song that talk about sitting on the front porch all night that remind me of my dog waiting in the backyard.
So, last night I was falling asleep to this song, as it is easy to do so despite that fact that the guy apparently suffers from separation anxiety-induced insomnia, of all things. Oh the irony.
But I should also add that there was a huge storm at my house last night, and the dog was inside. So just as I was falling asleep to the lightning and the lyrics "I'll watch the night turn light blue..." , some presence bolted through my door. It was my scardy-cat dog (pardon the expression).
Now, I have a loft bed, so my room's setup kinda looks like this (yes, you must click the link). My dog was at the bottom of the ladder, wondering where the heck I had gone (I usually sleep in the loft). She would not stop whining because the storm scared her so much. Although part of me wanted to throw a pillow down below in desperation to get her to shut up, the girl in me could not ignore how cute this was. Hence I felt compelled to get out of bed, climb down the ladder, and sleep on the bottom bed (which is a chore I usually take on only when my alarm clock goes off in the morning).
But that wasn't enough for her. As I was falling asleep to the lyrics "'cause I'll doze off safe and soundly..." another lightning bolt struck somewhere far away and Lorie believed this gave her the right to leap into bed with me. And she did just that. Again, I actually found this scene too cute to kick her out of bed. I just let it be...
Until hours later when she got jealous of my plushie.
So, once again, I could not help but give in to her cute charms (even though she was pushing my defenseless plushie out of the way).
When the storm worsened, this still did not satisfy her. I was forced to sing her to sleep. I should also add that my dog is a rather narcissistic creature; hence she will not accept my musical talent unless the song explicitly has lyrics with her name in them at least twice per verse. (And lastly, I was being eaten alive by mosquitoes).
All of a sudden, the song I was listening to last night does not seem so serene anymore. Because it will now forever remind me of spending the night sharing my bed with (and babying) my fat and fluffy Australian Shepherd to some near-ungodly hour, and doing so in a room swarming with mosquitoes and smelling of hamsters (due to our terrible swamp cooler). I was indeed "drenched in vanilla twilight" when I was rudely awakened this morning to her slobbering on my face.
Vanilla Twilight now has a whole new meaning with the lyrics, "'but I swear I won't forget you".
So, once again, I could not help but give in to her cute charms (even though she was pushing my defenseless plushie out of the way).
When the storm worsened, this still did not satisfy her. I was forced to sing her to sleep. I should also add that my dog is a rather narcissistic creature; hence she will not accept my musical talent unless the song explicitly has lyrics with her name in them at least twice per verse. (And lastly, I was being eaten alive by mosquitoes).
All of a sudden, the song I was listening to last night does not seem so serene anymore. Because it will now forever remind me of spending the night sharing my bed with (and babying) my fat and fluffy Australian Shepherd to some near-ungodly hour, and doing so in a room swarming with mosquitoes and smelling of hamsters (due to our terrible swamp cooler). I was indeed "drenched in vanilla twilight" when I was rudely awakened this morning to her slobbering on my face.
Vanilla Twilight now has a whole new meaning with the lyrics, "'but I swear I won't forget you".
A Checklist of Odd Things to Complete Before I Die
The title says it all really. I have too much time on my hands and nothing to write; it results in contemplation. A friend enlighted me; apparently this is what they call a "Bucket List".
- Find a way to eat a durian without puncturing a lung (or any other body part for that matter)
- After mastering the art of eating said fruit, display mad durian eating skills in public
- Converse with a parrot
- Go someplace where it actually snows
- Attempt to sleep in a fort I built out of said snow
- If option #4 never happens, attempt #5 in a fort made out of shaved ice
- Kill and prepare an animal for being eaten
- Run a marathon....in a fancy dress or my kimono
- Master the art of poking my eye so I can get contacts
- Wear Sharingan contacts
- Get a chainsaw, cattle prod, and a stun gun - operate all of the above
- Spontaneously burst into my fantastic version of "The Wheels on the Bus" while riding on some public transportation system ; of course modifying the lyrics to fit the other passengers.
- Perfect a skill in making weapons of foam and ductape.
- Invest in a soccer ball so I will actually have a hobby
- Find a new hobby
- Hang-glide in Brazil
- Skydive...anywhere
- Design epic t-shits for my fan club
- Manage to actually write a good post on this site
- Remember to continue this some other time
A Day in the Life of Yamada-san (Part 2)
I am not dead!
Neither is Yamada-san, in case you were wondering.
In honor of our finals on Thursday, I have once again decided to rant about the Japanese Class of Many Wonders.
1.) Believe it or not, in our class it is possible for breakfast to eat something.
2.) According to our teacher, our class is very sad. Why? Because no one has a husband or wife...and few have other significant others.
3.) The Japanese word for "vegetable" is often used as an adjective that calls something "cheap".
4.) According to my teacher...I am ugly. We were practicing conjugating certain types of adjectives. Initially, I had been called upon to say that a certain stick figure was not pretty.
The following conversation is in Japanese -
Sugawara-san: *insert stick figure name here* is pretty, right?
Me: No, he is not pretty.
Sugawara-san: And Jennifer-san?
Me: Yes...?
Sugawara-san: *realizes context* Never mind...
Now, if I were feeling incredibly narcissistic, I would have said something. But I felt that doing so would be digging my own grave.
5.) My friend has mad skills and can eat two bottles of beer! Pretty impressive for a minor.
6.) The weather feels good. No, not in the sense that the weather feels nice to people. Actually the weather is happy because he/she/it/whatever is having a good day.
7.) This one is the most shocking of all:
Tomorrow, Yamada-san is a lively person (despite all else) and is even playing tennis.
Neither is Yamada-san, in case you were wondering.
In honor of our finals on Thursday, I have once again decided to rant about the Japanese Class of Many Wonders.
1.) Believe it or not, in our class it is possible for breakfast to eat something.
2.) According to our teacher, our class is very sad. Why? Because no one has a husband or wife...and few have other significant others.
3.) The Japanese word for "vegetable" is often used as an adjective that calls something "cheap".
4.) According to my teacher...I am ugly. We were practicing conjugating certain types of adjectives. Initially, I had been called upon to say that a certain stick figure was not pretty.
The following conversation is in Japanese -
Sugawara-san: *insert stick figure name here* is pretty, right?
Me: No, he is not pretty.
Sugawara-san: And Jennifer-san?
Me: Yes...?
Sugawara-san: *realizes context* Never mind...
Now, if I were feeling incredibly narcissistic, I would have said something. But I felt that doing so would be digging my own grave.
5.) My friend has mad skills and can eat two bottles of beer! Pretty impressive for a minor.
6.) The weather feels good. No, not in the sense that the weather feels nice to people. Actually the weather is happy because he/she/it/whatever is having a good day.
7.) This one is the most shocking of all:
Tomorrow, Yamada-san is a lively person (despite all else) and is even playing tennis.
Of African Safaris and Wieners
My friend had ACL surgery a while back. Ever since I have marveled at the fact that I have never been injured in such a way that required hardcore pain medication. Which is just as well because I have seen its effects.
Vicodin in particular can turn brains into mush. When I first witnessed it, I was enlightened.
My friend sprained her ankle badly once.
The conversation went something like this-
Mother (to Lindsey): Lindsey, would you rather go to Disneyland with a weiner or to Sea World with a weiner???? Either way you are with a wiener.
Vicodin in particular can turn brains into mush. When I first witnessed it, I was enlightened.
My friend sprained her ankle badly once.
The conversation went something like this-
My Friend (name not given for obvious reasons): *sitting there waving her hand up and down rapidly*
Me: uh...what are you doing?
Friend: I am on an African safari! I am petting ZEEEEBRAAAAZ! Are you here too?
Me: ??? : /
The second time I witnessed this phenomena, I was on a road trip with my friend Lindsey and her family. Her mom was on vicodin for back problems. I had thought that I had seen the worst. I was mistaken.
Friend's Mother (to her husband): You're a wiener.
Everyone Else: . . . ?Mother (to Lindsey): Lindsey, would you rather go to Disneyland with a weiner or to Sea World with a weiner???? Either way you are with a wiener.
I feel as though I lost IQ points typing this....
Inside Our Mother-Ship
I have been banished to my room to finally eat my overcooked T.V. dinner at 10:00 PM tonight.
My mom has been trying to have "family nights" once in awhile. But the following scenario is how things usually go down.
I bring my food into the living room and here is what happens:
Mom: * disgusted* Jennifer - leave! this is an awful movie.
Me: *being the inquisitive soul that I am* Then why are you watching it?
Mom: *pouts on the couch, giving no answer*
Dad: Wow! This is a GREAT movie.
Like Dora, the people in our house are even weirder than the things inside of it (for example my octopus in a jar). I think my dad and I like it better that way. My mom however, wishes to keep every shred of normalcy she has left, a very limited quantity mind you.
Sometimes my mother does not like to be seen in public with me or my father. I think she went into shock the year my parents took my friends and I to Disneyland. Why? Because my dad decided to wear a bright pink hat with bright pink flamingos on it to alert us kids (and everyone else for that matter) of his presence. He also armed everyone with walkie-talkies so we could communicate with each other during our "missions". He loved hearing himself making weird noises through the thing just as much as he loved drawing attention to himself.
Mom rarely wants to go out to eat with us. Well, at least not when she gets take-out (at least once a week). Because my father is also one of those people who NEVER gives his real name for the cashier to call out. The next thing Mom knows, Dad dramatically walks up to the counter as the name "Fabio" is blasted over the intercom.
Mom is also the one in my family who tries to make up for everyone's...weirdness. I, however, prefer to think of them as intricacies.
My mom has been trying to have "family nights" once in awhile. But the following scenario is how things usually go down.
I bring my food into the living room and here is what happens:
Mom: * disgusted* Jennifer - leave! this is an awful movie.
Me: *being the inquisitive soul that I am* Then why are you watching it?
Mom: *pouts on the couch, giving no answer*
Dad: Wow! This is a GREAT movie.
Like Dora, the people in our house are even weirder than the things inside of it (for example my octopus in a jar). I think my dad and I like it better that way. My mom however, wishes to keep every shred of normalcy she has left, a very limited quantity mind you.
Sometimes my mother does not like to be seen in public with me or my father. I think she went into shock the year my parents took my friends and I to Disneyland. Why? Because my dad decided to wear a bright pink hat with bright pink flamingos on it to alert us kids (and everyone else for that matter) of his presence. He also armed everyone with walkie-talkies so we could communicate with each other during our "missions". He loved hearing himself making weird noises through the thing just as much as he loved drawing attention to himself.
Mom rarely wants to go out to eat with us. Well, at least not when she gets take-out (at least once a week). Because my father is also one of those people who NEVER gives his real name for the cashier to call out. The next thing Mom knows, Dad dramatically walks up to the counter as the name "Fabio" is blasted over the intercom.
Mom is also the one in my family who tries to make up for everyone's...weirdness. I, however, prefer to think of them as intricacies.
Me: *walks into friends' sliding glass door*
Family Friends: *laughing hysterically*
Mom: * embarrassed* Now Jennifer...we've...talked about this.
I can assure everyone that my mother and I have NEVER had lectures about walking into sliding glass doors - of all things. I have yet to meet a family that does discuss this. So, please enlighten me if I am wrong for thinking that that was just a bad choice of words. If anything, it re-enforced the idea that we DO have a beam within the walls of our "house" that takes us to our mother-ship.
A Day in the Life of Yamada-san
Today, I shall wish to introduce you to a special individual; he is known by all in my Japanese class. Sadly, he leads a very tragic life, as he is a mere stick figure, drawn on the Smart Board. His name is Yamada-san.
But, our hero is often over-looked. His friend Tanaka-san, another stick figure, is very famous. Everyone in class says so, in Japanese, of course.
Little is known about the little life that he leads. But he does go to Tanaka-san's parties with another figure named Nakayama-san. Nakayama is even more ambiguous; the only known fact about him is that he parties...every evening... at the parties that Tanaka-san throws...every evening.
Yamada-san must live in a constant state of fear because there are different words used for the existence of living things and inanimate objects. In other words, one slip of the tongue could make his house a living thing, or turn him into a non-living object.
To make matters worse, due a comedy of grammatical errors, Yamada-san is eaten by none other than Tanaka-san. Apparently he disappeared because he does not exist anywhere. No one goes to his parties. Perhaps it is because his house is empty, but another theory is that he died on the morning that he was eaten by Tanaka-san. We used to cheer him up while practicing class room expressions, but now we are far to busy learning new types of foods, means transportation, or places of existence to remember.
But, our hero is often over-looked. His friend Tanaka-san, another stick figure, is very famous. Everyone in class says so, in Japanese, of course.
Tanaka-san has big house (which is usually in close proximity to a liquor store).
He eats delicious things, only delicious things, during the course of the day.
His house is filled with a plethora of strange objects (including magical books), and he plays tennis with his wife in the yard next to their home.
Yamada-san, on the other hand, lives a very dismal life.
Yamada-san, on the other hand, lives a very dismal life.
Rumor has it that he is an ugly and depressing geek.
His house is empty, he doesn't go anywhere, he rarely eats breakfast, and when he is lucky enough to eat pizza for luch (which tastes terrible, like all the other meals he seldom eats) it costs him over fifty dollars.
Little is known about the little life that he leads. But he does go to Tanaka-san's parties with another figure named Nakayama-san. Nakayama is even more ambiguous; the only known fact about him is that he parties...every evening... at the parties that Tanaka-san throws...every evening.
Yamada-san must live in a constant state of fear because there are different words used for the existence of living things and inanimate objects. In other words, one slip of the tongue could make his house a living thing, or turn him into a non-living object.
Hence why Tanaka-san owns magical books.
To make matters worse, due a comedy of grammatical errors, Yamada-san is eaten by none other than Tanaka-san. Apparently he disappeared because he does not exist anywhere. No one goes to his parties. Perhaps it is because his house is empty, but another theory is that he died on the morning that he was eaten by Tanaka-san. We used to cheer him up while practicing class room expressions, but now we are far to busy learning new types of foods, means transportation, or places of existence to remember.
We frequently forget that for Tanaka-san, every day is a bad day. The only thing he has going for him now is that we usually remember to attach the honorific - "san".
So, as we fall asleep tonight, let us wish Yamada-san the best. We can only hope that he will not be eaten by Tanaka-san once more, disappear into nothingness, or have his nasty pizza come to life.
So, as we fall asleep tonight, let us wish Yamada-san the best. We can only hope that he will not be eaten by Tanaka-san once more, disappear into nothingness, or have his nasty pizza come to life.
Sweetness in a Jar
There is a legend about my house. My friend's father believed that it really wasn't a house at all, only walls. I suppose by this he is insinuating that my mother and father, and even my dog are proof that there are alien races. Anyway supposedly once stepping across the threshold of the building, a beam would take one up to the mother-ship.
Well, it is a fact that the house is a major disaster area; no one has walked inside of it as the mess is practically crawling up the walls. I will alert all my followers when that day comes when we are featured on Hoarders: Buried Alice.
We constantly find things that we never knew we had. Now, thanks to Dora and her family, a new theory for this phenomena exists. It is the work of a fairy who blesses the home with random things.
In her family's case, the diverse fairy brings Violin duets and L-Squares.
At least her fairy is detail oriented and well...just more mature than the fairy of our's.
The fairy in our house embodies that of a small destructive child.
1.) While I was cleaning my room the day I found those glow in the dark stars that are now plastered to my popcorn ceiling, I came across a most intriguing small jar. It contains the tentacle of an octopus...it appears. It is floating (more or less) in some dark yellow liquid which is what I believe to be (and hope is) octopus juice.
I have no recollection of buying this.
Initially, I figured it belonged to my dad, as he is quirky enough to spend money on such a thing. Yet, neither of my parents recognize the floating body part. My mom had no desire to keep it and my dad couldn't care less. So the odd treasure is now on my desk with an assortment of shiny objects and my old Pokemon figures.
The jar says to "refrigerate after opening". But I like it where it is, and am fairly certain that I would be sent to an early grave if my mom had coronary when finding it lurking among our left over T.V. dinners.
2.) I have friends who are younger than me who wish to use my old textbooks. The are in a stack by the front door because that is the place I placed them on the last day of school. And it compliments the surrounding piles. (There is an art to making an extremely cluttered home aesthetically appealing.)
A few days ago, while my family was going through them to find the ones we were passing down, we made a new discovery. Right next to the pile of books sat, not one, but two fire extinguishers . My parents looked at each other trying to figure out where they came from and why they were next to my school books.
I certainly couldn't reason through it either. I had enough to drag to school every morning and there is no way I would find the energy to haul an additional two fire extinguishers. My family let the matter drop as there was no evidence that I tried to set fire to my chemistry homework.
3.) One day, my dad found a dead frog in the hallway. I bet I could type that sentence alone and you could infer the rest. The dog was outside the whole day and this did not appear to be her doing. Being the role-model figure that he is...my father just placed it in a box, on the kitchen floor.
After my amusement at the fact that I could see for myself that fact truly is yellow-orange in color, and my mom's initial shock, it now resides in the front yard. The tragic corpse spends its days rotting away and occasionally blowing into the rocks with the wind.
4.) I can't say that this is terribly surprising, just puzzling. Not only does my mother decorate our entire living space with piles of clutter, she accents these piles by hanging things. Now, I hang things in my room. But my drive to do so is limited to my assortment of anime wall scrolls. I would call it modest in comparison, and far cry from my mother's near compulsive behavior. Floor space is clearly lacking. So, she decides to utilize wall space as well, but it extends beyond that. She goes so far as to hang miscellaneous items from the miscellaneous piles of miscellaneous clutter, in the middle of the room. She has done everything just short of defying the laws of gravity.
One of these hanging items is...part of a pinata. The leg of a unicorn to be specific. And my mother decided to hang it from a bookshelf in the corner on the hallway. I think I am the only one of my friends that can say "I was waking though my house and got kicked in the face by a unicorn".
5.) Another random discovery is what appears to be blood spatter on the wall. No one knows how it got there as it randomly appeared one day; no one was injured. Now everyone just thinks of it as part of the other things that crawl up the walls. I myself find it rather artistic, and sometimes I can't help but smile as I pass by.
But just like Dora's fairy, ours does not bring chocolate bars, much to my dismay.
Well, it is a fact that the house is a major disaster area; no one has walked inside of it as the mess is practically crawling up the walls. I will alert all my followers when that day comes when we are featured on Hoarders: Buried Alice.
We constantly find things that we never knew we had. Now, thanks to Dora and her family, a new theory for this phenomena exists. It is the work of a fairy who blesses the home with random things.
In her family's case, the diverse fairy brings Violin duets and L-Squares.
At least her fairy is detail oriented and well...just more mature than the fairy of our's.
The fairy in our house embodies that of a small destructive child.
1.) While I was cleaning my room the day I found those glow in the dark stars that are now plastered to my popcorn ceiling, I came across a most intriguing small jar. It contains the tentacle of an octopus...it appears. It is floating (more or less) in some dark yellow liquid which is what I believe to be (and hope is) octopus juice.
I have no recollection of buying this.
Initially, I figured it belonged to my dad, as he is quirky enough to spend money on such a thing. Yet, neither of my parents recognize the floating body part. My mom had no desire to keep it and my dad couldn't care less. So the odd treasure is now on my desk with an assortment of shiny objects and my old Pokemon figures.
The jar says to "refrigerate after opening". But I like it where it is, and am fairly certain that I would be sent to an early grave if my mom had coronary when finding it lurking among our left over T.V. dinners.
2.) I have friends who are younger than me who wish to use my old textbooks. The are in a stack by the front door because that is the place I placed them on the last day of school. And it compliments the surrounding piles. (There is an art to making an extremely cluttered home aesthetically appealing.)
A few days ago, while my family was going through them to find the ones we were passing down, we made a new discovery. Right next to the pile of books sat, not one, but two fire extinguishers . My parents looked at each other trying to figure out where they came from and why they were next to my school books.
I certainly couldn't reason through it either. I had enough to drag to school every morning and there is no way I would find the energy to haul an additional two fire extinguishers. My family let the matter drop as there was no evidence that I tried to set fire to my chemistry homework.
3.) One day, my dad found a dead frog in the hallway. I bet I could type that sentence alone and you could infer the rest. The dog was outside the whole day and this did not appear to be her doing. Being the role-model figure that he is...my father just placed it in a box, on the kitchen floor.
After my amusement at the fact that I could see for myself that fact truly is yellow-orange in color, and my mom's initial shock, it now resides in the front yard. The tragic corpse spends its days rotting away and occasionally blowing into the rocks with the wind.
4.) I can't say that this is terribly surprising, just puzzling. Not only does my mother decorate our entire living space with piles of clutter, she accents these piles by hanging things. Now, I hang things in my room. But my drive to do so is limited to my assortment of anime wall scrolls. I would call it modest in comparison, and far cry from my mother's near compulsive behavior. Floor space is clearly lacking. So, she decides to utilize wall space as well, but it extends beyond that. She goes so far as to hang miscellaneous items from the miscellaneous piles of miscellaneous clutter, in the middle of the room. She has done everything just short of defying the laws of gravity.
One of these hanging items is...part of a pinata. The leg of a unicorn to be specific. And my mother decided to hang it from a bookshelf in the corner on the hallway. I think I am the only one of my friends that can say "I was waking though my house and got kicked in the face by a unicorn".
5.) Another random discovery is what appears to be blood spatter on the wall. No one knows how it got there as it randomly appeared one day; no one was injured. Now everyone just thinks of it as part of the other things that crawl up the walls. I myself find it rather artistic, and sometimes I can't help but smile as I pass by.
But just like Dora's fairy, ours does not bring chocolate bars, much to my dismay.
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