Monday, May 31, 2010

My Birthday Wish List

So this morning, my mom handed me a pen and some paper and told me, "Write down what you want for your birthday." Of course, I am the kind of person who wants a lot of things, but needs very little. I am extremely impulsive, and arguably quite greedy. The things that I want change almost daily, and so it is quite difficult to pick things I want over a long term.

Sure, my wish list started off pretty good...
30 Rock/Glee on DVD, Target Gift Card, Super Smash Brothers Brawl, Wii Points
But unfortunately, my desires are often easily changed and influenced, and I start to worry about the cost, and after a while, my list starts to look like this:
Perry the Platypus plush toy, Pokémon cards, clicky erasers, Batteries, and one of those Glade air fresheners that releases fragrance every time you walk past it
In my defense, those air fresheners ARE awesome. Right?

In short, I'm very easy to please, but nearly impossible to satisfy. It's one of my greatest weaknesses. I'm the kind of person who will make a huge deal and be all happy about getting some colored pencils, but at the end of the day I'll still think, "Well, I never did get that movie I wanted." It's not that I'm ungrateful-- it's just that I want a lot of things.

When I was little, my parents would buy me a lot of little things, and my brother always got one or two big things. That way, the joy of opening things was prolonged for me, and the surprises never seemed to end. I always thought my brother foolish-- there he was, all finished opening things on Christmas morning, and I was still opening yet another package of little plastic animals or another book. Couldn't he see how much bigger my pile of unwrapped gifts was? While I marveled at the sheer number of all the accessories that came with my Barbie's new horse stable, my brother was contently playing his new Game Boy Color game, or waiting for nightfall to use his new telescope. What good was something without lots of fun parts, or something you had to wait to use? It all seemed very plain to me that I had the better deal.

But a week after Christmas, my brother was still playing his game, and what was I doing? I was realizing that my horse stable didn't come with all the pieces advertised on the box, and that I had lost a few of the ones that had come with it. So I've come to realize that quality is always more important than quantity.

Unfortunately, I still have an aversion to getting practical things for holidays. I hate it when I get clothes for Christmas, and when my brother's girlfriend offered to take me shopping for a real bag, like a Vera Lang one, I just thought, "But I already have a bag. Why do I need another one?" I fail as a girl, obviously. But I've never been one for wanting to buy clothes. Sure, if I'm in a clothing store, I'll ooh and ahh over all the cute stuff, but I'll hardly ever dole out the cash for them. I just figure that if I make myself cute enough, I won't need cute clothes to look cute. Or something like that.

So I end up asking for stupid stuff like batteries or air fresheners. And then remembering a day later that I really wanted some fine-tipped outlining pens.

It's a good thing my family and friends know me so well: they know exactly what sorts of small delights I flip for, so I know I will always spend my holidays smiling. Some of the coolest gifts I've ever gotten were things I never would have thought to ask for: A home-made book about My First Wii, a 365-day calendar with pictures of dragons, a deck of Fairy Oracle cards... My friends get me things I didn't even know I wanted. And that is why they are awesome.

So I'm not quite sure what I want for my birthday. But I know that I'll get a bunch of awesome things anyway.

And if you want to get me an air freshener, I really like tropical scents. Just saying.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

When a Dog Gets Too Friendly With Moving Vehicles

Okay, so I didn't update yesterday, but I was a little busy doing nothing. I get really caught up in nothing, you know.

First of all, this is my dog.

Cute, right? Too bad she has a disturbing fascination with all moving things. Like the cat. After 3 years of living with the cat, you'd think the novelty would wear off.

Yesterday, I was letting my dog back in the house after she was out on her dog run. It's like this zip-line thing with a leash attached to it so she can run around like a fool chasing birds and stuff. When she reaches the end of the line, sometimes she chokes herself. My family and I like to say it sounds a little something like "bada-bada-bada-bada-PING!"
Anyway, I was letting her in, and she usually runs into the house after I unhook the run from her collar. But today (yesterday) she just stopped in her tracks and ran the other direction before I could even react. I had just woken up because she was barking so much, so naturally I was a little annoyed.
"Fine, you stupid dog!" I said. "I was trying to be nice and let you in, but fine! You can get hit by a car for all I care!"

A little while later, we got a phone call. It was a neighbor calling to tell us that Lily was hit by a car.

And then my dad walked in, my panting dog in tow. According to our neighbor, she was hit by the car, was bowled over a few feet, then tore off towards my dad, who brought her home. The car wasn't going very fast, but our neighbor said it made a pretty loud thump, and after she saw it happen, our neighbor said she just went inside and cried (our neighbor is a very sweet old woman and I feel terrible for having in any way contributed to her shedding tears).

Naturally, we were all a bit concerned for our dimwitted furry friend. She had always been unafraid of cars-- whenever I'm out on a walk with her, I have to tighten my hold on the leash whenever a car comes by, because she moves like she wants to walk up to it and play with it, like she thinks they are very large, metal dogs. Capable of killing you. But Lily doesn't judge.
She sure doesn't judge me.We felt her hip (where she was struck) and found that it was swollen. However, Lily wasn't walking any differently and she wasn't even reacting when we pressed on the hip. We called the vet, just to be safe, but of course it was after noon and nobody was in. What a stupid system. Animals get sick after noon too, you know. We even tried holding an ice pack on it to bring down the swelling, but she just kind of looked at it like, "What are you doing? Now my leg is cold. I question the nature of your actions. May I please lick that cold thing?" so that didn't last long.

But I felt terrible. I kissed her head, and played with her velvety ears, and I told her I was so, so sorry, because it was all my fault. I had told her that she could get hit by a car for all I care, and then she had. And I cared.

Of course, Lily looked confused about all the affection. So I assumed she forgave me.

Lily's doing fine now, and running around like nothing happened, just like after she was hit. But I really hope she learned a lesson about those big metal dogs. If my mom were here as I was writing this, she would tell me not to forget to add that I learned a lesson too, about being careful what I wish for.
I forget what she's eating there.I think that goes without saying, though, and I hate it when people are preachy. Except preachers. Preachers can be as preachy as they want, because it's kind of in the job description.

Also, I need to not let my dog in right after I get up. My reaction time sucks.

This is what I felt like that morning.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Dixie Cups and Other Good Mousetraps

Well, I'm not planning on going on any adventures like yesterday, and I don't feel like typing up my boring journal entries (at least not until I find one that's amusing). So I am going to talk about random things like this blog was intended for.

My first topic will be these pest-control things we have all over our house. My mom bought these things that plug into the wall, and every 5 seconds or so they flash a little red light and make a clicking noise that is really annoying but eventually you get used to it and forget it's there until it gets really quiet and you're forced to notice it again. Supposedly the noise is supposed to deter mice and spiders.

I apologize for the image lighting and quality. I took this snapshot with my webcam.
See that little dot? It lights up with an evil red glare of death every 5 seconds, accompanied by a menacing click.

Has anybody else ever seen these things? Because I hadn't. I don't even know why Mom thought we'd need them. We didn't have mice when she bought them.
And then we got mice.
Don't worry; they're gone now and everything is clean.
But anyway, my brother and I totally think that these evil monstrosities drew them. Because they were hanging out right near them, no lie. It would also help if my dad would actually patch up the holes in our insulation in the basement, but whatever.

My mom is deathly afraid of mice. She absolutely freaks out. Once, I was minding my own business upstairs and I heard all this frantic shouting and shrieking from downstairs, accompanied by violent thumps. Naturally, I was a bit curious and concerned, so I went downstairs to find out what was the matter.
"There's a mouse in here," my mother told me. I looked around our kitchen. Random things from our pantry were strewn all over in evidence of my mom's attempts to kill the little critter. "The cat saw it, and she just walked away," she said. She sounded very affronted about this.
"What was all that screaming?" I asked.
"I was chasing the mouse," came the reply, as if it were completely natural to upturn things and shout while chasing a mouse, like a character in a Warner Brothers cartoon. I wondered if she had jumped on a chair at any point.
"Well, don't stomp around. You'll scare the poor little thing," I said sympathetically. I don't care for what mice do to living spaces, but mice themselves? I think they are endearing.
"I don't want to hear any more about the 'poor little thing'," my mother told me.

For a couple days, every time it got very quiet at night, and my brother and I were downstairs watching Metal Gear Solid videos, one of us would hear a faint scuffly noise. All activity and movement would stop. "Did you hear that?" one of us would whisper, and the other would nod fervently, eyes wide. A finger would be held up, silencing whatever comment might be offered. Then, we would creep to wherever the noise emanated (usually the pantry). My brother would swing open the door all of a sudden, and we would scan the interior with our eyes, as if our determination gave us super-vision.
Only once did we actually see a mouse in there. I almost caught it with paper cups (I was going to take it to the cornfield out back and release it). But then it scurried under the door and we never saw it again. So on that particular night, we began an hour-long mouse-hunt in the basement. We would creep around, listening for any scuffling, real or imagined, me holding my Dixie cups aloft like the flimsiest weapon ever. As you might have guessed, the search was fruitless. We tried trapping the cat down there, but after 7 minutes she was meowing piteously to come out, and we let her out. She shook herself, regaining her dignity, and went outside, slacking off on her job once again. Then we put boxes in front of the basement door, but we figured it probably wouldn't fly if mice chewed the boxes of my mom's romance novels, so we moved them again.

So then, a couple days later, my mom and I went to Wal-Mart and bought every kind of mouse trap known to man. We used to have Have-a-Heart traps, which look like little gray rectangular boxes with a tiny ramp leading inside. When the mouse steps inside, the door closes and the mouse is trapped. Sure, it doesn't kill the mouse, but if you forget to check the traps for a day, the mouse will have suffocated. Years ago, we used them, and only one mouse survived them. My mom let it go, and even her vermin-fearing heart bled for the little emaciated, overheated thing. Anyway, I've gotten off-topic.

Have-a-Heart traps, circular Decon traps, modern snappy-traps, and the traditional neck-snapper traps (which I hate)--you name it, we bought it. My mom took back the Decon ones, because they were $5 and probably would suffocate the mice, but she ordered something called Earth-kind Botanical Freshcab Mouse Repellent- Active ingredient: Balsam fir oil.

It arrived a few days later. Supposedly, it was developed by a "farm-wife". It was very expensive and it looks like a little pouch of dried aromatherapy stuff. It smells unbelievably potent, and like the forest just smacked you in the face. Everyone in my house loves it except me, who thinks it smells just a little too strong. But ever since we got it, we haven't seen a mouse, so I guess it is working. It would keep me away, too.

So anyway, we are mouse-free now and that is the only reason I am allowed to tell you about this, because my mom hates it when I tell people we have had mice. She thinks it automatically means we are dirty slobs who live in a pigsty. I try to tell her that normal people get mice all the time, and we are normal people. My brother absolutely hates them, so he thinks our house is dirty and all, and maybe that is what is making my mom nervous about it, but me? Everyone gets mice at some point.

But not everyone gets smacked in the face with the forest. So I guess we should feel lucky.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Swingsets Are Fun...But Not For Pants

So I went to the swingset by the ruritan today.

I put on another tank top, some pants that come down to my calves, and some white socks with hiking shoes (my fashion sense is awesome like that all the time). I slathered on some of our ancient sunscreen that definitely lost its effectiveness about five years ago. I was going to walk to that swingset and it was going to be flipping awesome.

I walked down my street, and at the end of it, my brother's girlfriend's car pulled in, and she and my brother asked where I was going. "To the playground by the ruritan," I announced, looking extremely dorky in my white Washington College hat, sports bra straps sticking out, carrying a water bottle in a plastic bag. My brother's girlfriend told me to hop in and she'd drive me. I wasn't going to refuse in this heat. Before she dropped me off, she wrote down her cell number and said to call her if I needed a ride back. I thanked her and was on my way. I wasn't going to need a ride back! I was going to get exercise in the most fun way possible, and then walk all the way back with a feeling of contentment that would make the Buddha jealous. I practically skipped to those swings. It didn't bother me that some were wrapped around the top bar, much higher up than the rest, or that one was sideways. These swings just needed a little love.

Even though it was hot as hell (meaning the place this time, not as a curse) and my Chapstick kept flying out of my pocket, it was great fun. Every time I swung up, I touched the branches of the tree in front of me with my toes. And this was a pretty big tree. It was great because I was in the shade for half of every swing. While I was swinging, this school bus, the big yellow kind, pulled up to the fire station across the street. I waved at the kids in the windows. Then a bunch of people who were way too tall to be kids got out, and I felt awkward.

I thought about being in elementary school, because that's where these swings used to be before they tore down all my childhood memories and moved the school. It was very nostalgic. I remembered having egg hunts, getting in trouble for swinging upside-down, those long conversations I had with my friends while we just swung and swung away. All the nostalgia almost took my mind off how much it hurt to grip the chains. I only looked at my watch every two minutes, which is pretty good for me. One time I even went four minutes without checking.

When I had swung for half an hour (because swinging really is strenuous, no joke), I slowed down and jumped off when I was still swinging pretty high (because that's what I always used to do when I was little. It made me feel cool and dangerous, like swinging upside down). It was then that I realized something....


You think I'm exaggerating, don't you? Okay. Well.

These are my pants from the front. They resemble how the back of my pants used to look.

Nice pants, aren't they? A nice color and all that.
Well, these are my pants after spending half an hour on the swing.

Check that out.

WHAT THE HECK DID THE SWINGS HAVE AGAINST ME?? I just didn't understand. I thought what we had was special, and then the swings had betrayed me. Feeling very hurt and disillusioned, I wondered what I should do. I could call my brother's girlfriend, but I didn't want to give up on getting that extra 2-or-so miles' worth of walking back. And I didn't want to get whatever that was all over her car.

So I trudged the whole way back with my blackened pants. I wonder if those people in the fire department garage thought I fell in a tar pit or something. There were lots of cars that went by as I walked, and I really hoped they did not notice me. Also, I saw two squashed birds. I thought birds always escaped being squashed, but I guess I was wrong about two things today.

Well, I am back now, and my face is returning to its normal shade as the fan tries heroically to cool me off. I have changed pants and I feel much better now. I am going to try to treat my poor wounded pants, which I should have known were bad luck since they are also the pants I broke my wrist in when I went to Europe (there is a small hole on the front left pocket from where a part of the bike tore it. If you don't know the story, I fell off a bike into a ditch while in the Netherlands on a 20-day trip visiting 6 West European countries, and it hurt a lot but we couldn't get it checked out because People to People couldn't stop for medical things, not that I hold that against them because they are great, and I told myself to suck it up because there was nothing wrong and I was just being a baby, and then 2 days after I returned home we got it x-rayed and SURPRISE my wrist was broken.). But if they survived that ordeal, hopefully they will survive this one.

But let my experience be a warning to you: Old swingsets may be fun, but not for light-colored pants.

Also, I tagged giraffes in this post because giraffes are awesome.

Entries From the Past: 4/7/10

Okay, so this was written on April 7th, while I was at college.

So today I was reading The Basic Eight (novel by Daniel Handler) and I realized that even mundane things can be interesting if written down in a clever manner. It then occurred to me that I was capable of writing in a clever manner. Subsequently came the thought of this journal, which has not been being used in the manner I originally intended. So I have decided that I will write clever things in this.

Will I write in it for more than 2 consecutive days? Of course not. As much as I would like to pretend otherwise, I am a person of inconsistencies.

Usually when I write in journals I do not write very much because either a) I get bored before I've made my point; b) I have no point and therefore nothing to write; c) I am stricken by how unattractive my handwriting is; or d) I get the feeling that what I have written is so clever that I must share it with someone, and thus I never write anything truly personal other than vague poems. But I've been going about it all wrong: Journal-writing is for me, like those endless Notepad documents on my laptop that, if read by an outsider, would make one question, "Why does she have all these cartoon show quotes, stupid laws, and horoscopes saved?"

But I suppose there really is no better form of introspection than simply writing out one's thoughts, except perhaps simply thinking those thoughts without writing them, which is often just as effective. However, for someone with a short attention span like me, it is frustrating when all your brilliant introspection cannot be recalled later when you really need your own advice.

So, self, what are you thinking as you read this? What has changed? What has made you laugh? What-- or who-- has made you cry? Are they the same thing, as they often are now?

Perhaps by simply prompting more introspection, as I have just done, I can still yet avoid talking of personal matters, like my grades or who I'd very much like to be dating (of course, one is infinitely more interesting than the other, but as they fall into the same category of 'Personal', I will not discuss either. At least not right now).

It is my brother's birthday today. He is 23. This is the first time I have not been home for his birthday, and I am very unhappy about it. I am also unhappy that I have no glorious present to give him. I always give him glorious presents-- for Christmas I gave him Legend of Zelda: Spirit Tracks and the Limited Edition hardcover strategy guide for it. As usual, they were the most expensive gifts I bought that year. I'm not sure why I feel the need to buy extravagant presents for him-- or anyone-- but it's almost as if buying these things will give us just a little more common ground-- something to connect over.

And now I have no common ground to give.

I will most likely end up simply making a home-made (dorm-made?) card, which is my way of saying, "I'm poor, but I swear I remembered and I still care!" But it is hard to think of things to draw for him: my usual cute-but-sassy white cat with green eyes who says a cute holiday pun/joke would not be appreciated in this instance, I think. Maybe drawing Zelda and Link would be cool, but it's like saying, "There wasn't a new game out, so here's the characters from the previous ones." Actually, it isn't like saying that at all, but anyway.

What, really, is the point of writing in a journal? Every time I read some book written in journal format I want to do it myself, but then, even as I write many pointless things about my arguably equally pointless life, 2 things occur to me.

1) The book is witty and clever because other people get to read it and see how witty and clever it is.
2) My journal will never be considered witty and clever because no one is supposed to see how witty and clever it is.

So really, what is the point of writing anything witty and clever if you are the only person who will see it? There isn't one. And yet here I am still writing, as if harboring a secret hope that one day this will be published and my musings will be considered witty and clever. Which I will never admit hoping.

But which brings back to mind: I cannot write anything truly personal because I will always want people to think I am clever or deep, and if the things written aren't even clever in the first place, there is no need to write anything at all.

And now I am rambling. To myself. So I suppose I should actually start saying meaningful things now (ha!).

Often I am stricken with the thought, "I should write this down." It could be a bit of snappy dialogue from a friend, a description of someone else's action which I've conjured in my head, or, more commonly, the night's Japanese homework assignment. But writing often feels tedious, and I abhor my atrocious handwriting, so I write very little. Which is rather tragic for an aspiring writer.

But anyway, I often compose little paragraphs in my head about what has just happened in my life, in book form. [here I insert an example, but it may be a little personal and embarrassing, so I'll leave it out.]

Composing little paragraphs in my head makes mundane moments of my rather unexciting life into happenstances full of meaning and intrigue. I find myself describing even the awkwardest moments to myself, and then I tell myself to stop, because there's no point in thinking in book form if the book will never come to be.

I also narrate things aloud sometimes. My friends must find it an odd quirk, that after someone says, "I got a C," and someone else says, "So it could have gone better?" that I mutter quietly (and wittily), "...she asked unnecessarily."

I could think of endless examples of this if I tried hard enough, but as I have said, I often forget my previous internal introspection (she said redundantly) and so it would take forever to think of the wittier narrations. But if any good ones come up from now on (or from now til whenever I stop writing in this journal), I will certainly share them with you, self. And then the boring moments in your life will finally be the exciting and meaningful novel you've always craved.

It occurs to me that the above sentence would have been an excellent closing sentence to the entry, but I am not writing a novel in journal form: I am writing an honest-to-goodness journal. For only me.

What a waste.

Soon I have to go to Japanese lab, but first there's dinner. I wonder if I will end up bringing this journal and jotting down things as I wait for my invariably late friends? Most likely. I took my medicine not so long ago, so I am not hungry, but if I don't eat I will regret it later when I realize I've eaten a 3rd cup of Goldfish and am still hungry.

The timer has just alerted me that I have 5 minutes, and yet here I still am, lounging on my bed and writing pointless things (albeit slightly faster and with the air of an impatient person). So I suppose I should put on my shoes and go to dinner.

Where's an excellent closing sentence when I need one?

5:04 PM
The lemonade, proclaims the little sign on the soda machine, is still "Out of Stock."

I have brought this journal to dinner, which means I will end up trying to read it to my invariably late friends, who will most likely show up at a time which would only permit me to read the first paragraph before I began a mad dash to Lab. But I suppose it's good to have someone to talk to, even if someone is myself.

Tay has just showed up and is talking about the 3 sentences she has written for her big paper, so I guess I will write more later.

5:26 PM
Random thought before Lab: Maybe someday I'll have written so much in this that I'll curl up with it on a long summer afternoon and sigh to myself, "Ahh, yes, May 5th: my favorite part."

11:47 PM
Well, here I am again.

I auditioned for Women on the Chester, a new Women's Acapella group. I sang an excerpt of Suo Gan rather beautifully.

I got in. (Sarah too! :D)

So basically, I got a package today, I got into a choral group, I started keeping a journal, and I actually had fun in Japanese. Oh, and I got a smoothie. The only way this Wednesday could get better would be if I received a sudden declaration of love from "the one I adore" (only 10 minutes left). But this is My Life, not a Fairy Tale, and as much as I wish the two terms were synonymous, they probably never will be. Still working on having Rapunzel hair anyway though.

The only part of today that wasn't cool was-- well, there were two parts really. One was following around Edith the Lit House Cat, to make sure she didn't cross the street, for the entirety of my two-hour work shift.

See, this is why I don't write about stuff that happens during the day in my journals.

Anyway, the other un-awesome part was discovering that I still do not have a) a title, b) a topic, or c) the slightest clue about the subject matter for the big upcoming English paper.

The title and topic are due in class tomorrow. The slightest idea part, I worked on with my friend SparkNotes. Very useful indeed.

"Monster and Maya: The Significance of Nicknames." Does that sound stupid?

Yup, I am pretty sure it does. But then, everything sounds stupid at 11:59 at night. On the plus side, though, everything sounds great at 2:00 in the morning, so maybe if I stick it out for a couple hours it will get better.

It's midnight. Sorry, bro, it's not your birthday anymore. Happy Thursday to me, even though it still only feels like Tuesday.

I really must go and get cereal tomorrow. Just thought I'd mention that.

I suppose this also means no declarations of love. Perhaps someday there will be a Wednesday that far surpasses the one I have just had, but I guess, for now, yesterday wasn't quite so bad. At least there was chorus and SparkNotes.

I don't get hungry as often as I used to. I don't know if this is because I am healthier, because it is hot outside, or because I am so busy that I can't just sit in front of my computer and eat, but whatever it is, I wish it would please continue.

Whenever I go without eating a while, I feel a sort of pride: I don't need food. Food is for fat people.

And then, like right now, my stomach rumbles. Treacherous body.

In high school, I can remember going a full day eating only an apple. There was another time I ate nothing at all for a whole day. I loved the feeling-- it was all up to me how good I looked, and I was doing a great job.

I wish I could be that person again.

But I have nothing to keep me occupied 24/7 anymore like the musicals/plays/new boyfriends/broken heart did. Eating has become a way to break routine. "Today," I think as I trudge back from the bathroom, "I will have a Fruit Snack for breakfast." Of course, this was only because I had run out of cereal, but it felt like doing something new for a change, so I went with it.

At the same time, food is a constant, steadfast companion. No matter what's going on or what's stressing me out, Goldfish will always have the same wonderful, sweet, cheesy and salty taste.

My stomach has rumbled again. I am diligently ignoring it. It is my policy to never eat after brushing my teeth, and anyway my retainer is in.

I really would like to continue writing, but temporarily I have run out of things to write.

Oh, earlier, when I was in the bathroom, there was a bird outside that sounded as if it was dying. I'm not sure why, but at the time I thought it was amusing and mentally told myself to include that in this journal. So there you have it, self: Birds with throat problems apparently amuse you.

Holy crap that was long. I'll write the actual entry for today later. Until then!

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Entries From the Past: Introduction

Okay, so, a lot has happened since 2008.
Let's see. That guy I was always obsessing over? We got back together. Then he dumped me again for a cute, pink-haired friend of mine. But don't get me wrong; she's great.
ANYWAY it is not my intention to talk about that.
I finished high school (no really?). I was the understudy for Dolly in Annie Get Your Gun (my best friend was my overstudy. Overstudy is not a word, but I used it anyway). It was awesome.
Also was understudy for Hero in Much Ado About Nothing, which we set in the 50s. Was a bit awkward because He played Claudio, but whatever.
Had an uneventful summer.
Went to college. OHMYGOSHWHAT
And here I am in my first summer as a college student.
Anyway, I began keeping a journal in April, because I became randomly inspired to do so. So I'll be posting entries from that journal on here. At least, the entries that aren't too awfully personal. So yeah. Expect posts about stuff that happened from April to May to ensue in the coming days, nonexistent audience. Love you, incidentally.

Wow, This Thing Still Exists?

I just rediscovered this thing. So I might post in it sporadically. First I think I'll post what I wrote today. Then I might post stuff I wrote in my journal over the past couple months. CHRONOLOGY FTW. Anyway this post came from Facebook, which came from a Notepad document.

Well, I'm putting two posts in one for this. I've been inspired by blogs and decided I really should just write stuff for the hell of it sometimes. So forgive me if it doesn't make sense at first. I just have to share my pointless ramblings with the world sometimes. Maybe it'll help me be a better writer or some crap like that. If you want something quick and amusing, read the part about my walk. If you want my usual ADHD craziness (does anyone really want that?), read the first part as well. Also, I think people tag people in notes just so they'll read them, but I think that's rude. People don't want to read something unless it's about them or they're in it. I would never do anything so inconsiderate. Hi, Taylor, Erin, Sarah, and Alex!
Anyway, now to begin my note, which began as an attempt to just write something in Notepad.

Hello, Notepad Document.
I don't know why, but whenever I come across something awesome, I feel the need to open you up and make a file with you. I don't know why I don't use something like Word or OpenOffice. I guess it is because you are just so much more accessible and friendly, and as someone with a mastery of the English language, I don't need superfluous things like SpellCheck (see what I did there? Who else would use the word 'superfluous'?). Sure, I have to press Enter more often than the average person would because the Notepad window is tiny and I dislike horizontal scroll bars. Sure, I have to stick to one font, which I am more often than not too lazy to change, and so it usually looks like a computer wrote it. And sure, I can't put any pictures in here to break up the insurmountable wall of text. But you are always right there, Notepad--I can open you whenever I need to type up something quickly, which is usually.

Now that I am done writing to Notepad, I will start actually talking.
Why is it that we say we are typing something up, but we say we write something down? Are all these directional details really necessary? I suppose it's because we look down at paper, and up at a screen, but what if I were to write while laying on my back and holding the paper above me? Or lay on a couch and put my laptop on the floor and type while stretching my arms down to reach the keys?
Don't try that last thing. It hurts after a couple minutes.

Anyway. My mind changes subjects quicker than something very quick (see, I got bored before I could come up with an amusing analogy), so I'm going to talk about something else. I am sitting here on my couch, feeling at once restless and eager to go somewhere, and reluctant to leave the comfort of my home, because it is really hot out there and I hate sweating. I have not had any sort of physical activity in the past 3 days. I tell myself it is because my muscles still hurt from pushing children on swingsets and merry-go-rounds and swinging for hours at the park on Sunday (I am not making this up; also, hi, Gwen, Eva, and Dorothy!), but eventually that becomes a weak excuse. Even if I do have an enormous, hideous bruise on my thigh that I am sure came from the merry-go-round hitting me at some point. I would like to walk down to where my old Elementary school (I'm not sure why I capitalized elementary, but oh well) used to be and see if their old playground is still there.

I forgot how much I loved swinging. Swinging is freaking amazing. For a split second, at the apex of your journey, it feels like you are flying, weightless (which is rather pleasant for someone who always feels too weighty). And then, with a playful 'bump,' you are brought back to your mobile seat, and the delightful process begins all over again. I mean, sure, your hands smell unpleasantly like metal after you are finished, your arms hurt like hell because you forgot how much strain it puts on them at the elbow, and people are looking at you funny because there should definitely not be an 18-year-old girl swinging at an abandoned playground and laughing like an 8-year-old, but swinging is great. It makes you feel like nothing matters but having fun. And everyone longs for that feeling at some point, right?

Anyway, I'd love to go and investigate whether or not there are swings within walking distance, but whenever I leave my house for a walk, I always feel obligated to bring my dog. She doesn't get joy from a lot of other things, after all. I can do cool human things like reading and playing video games and watching movies and writing pointless things about swinging, but my dog is just stuck laying next to me with her head hanging off the couch, making a dissatisfied noise every so often. I wonder if dogs get bored? Or if they think, "I wonder why my master hasn't gotten dressed today?" No, that's just silly.

Anyway (I have a propensity for beginning paragraphs with "Anyway"), my point is that I don't walk my dog past my neighborhood, which is the equivalent of 3 miles if you walk all of it (and I usually do). But it is really freaking hot out today, and the last time I took my dog walking when it was this hot, she and I were both overheated and miserable and terribly thirsty by the time we returned (only one of us was panting with her tongue hanging out though. Guess which one. Hint: It was my dog). So I don't want to overheat her. Because it is really heartbreaking when your dog is panting as hard as her Gentle Leader head-collar is allowing her to, her tongue flapping desperately at the side of her mouth, sounding like a small, hyperventilating person, with heat-absorbing black fur on her back--and you just keep right on walking, thinking hopefully to yourself, "Well, if I'm okay, she's okay, right? I mean, dogs have endured worse than this before. If I'm not dehydrated by now, she probably isn't either, right?" By the way, did you know dogs sweat through their paw-pads? It's true. Also, they pant to circulate air through their airways, cooling the lungs and expelling hot air. Yes, I really did know all that. I'm kind of a know-it-all when it comes to animals, especially domesticated ones. Did you know horses can't throw up?

Well, now that I've given you a lovely image of a vomiting pony, I think I'll change the subject. I really do want to get up and go for a walk. It'd be good for my dog and for me (especially me, whose goal it is to lose 30 pounds over the summer. Then I'll weigh as much as I did before I went to college). But I really hate being overheated and sweaty, almost as much as I hate being fat. So I am in a difficult position here. I suppose the first step in actually doing something is to get dressed like you are actually going to do something. Maybe then the rest will just come to you.

-Get dressed in tank top and knee-length pants. Realize that tank top does not cover sports bra straps. Fret a little, then stop caring.

-Put on ankle-length socks that may or may not belong to another member of the family.

-Let dog out and tell her to go potty. Reward her when she goes pee, even though you really wanted her to go number two so you don't have to clean it up on the walk.

-Put hair back in ridiculously high ponytail. Attempt to put hair in bun, then realize it looks ridiculous and you never really could pull off a proper bun. Keep the ridiculously high ponytail. Pull bangs back in clips, even though it makes your forehead look enormous.

-Remember how much you wanted water last time you went for a walk at this temperature. Decide to bring a pack of some sort with water, a water dish for the dog, and treats (for the dog, not you). Search around frantically for a fanny pack or lightweight backpack. Fail to find anything suitable. Find a heavier, but still small pack, which is unfortunately red and heat-absorb-y black. Sigh and decide that's as good as you're going to find. Pack your items, including a frozen water bottle from the freezer.

-Put on the dog's head collar, which she hates and which she always acts all mopey about once it's on. Feel a little bad, as always, but reward her with a treat for not complaining verbally.

-Remember how you had to go to the bathroom throughout the whole walk last time, and decide to drop the dog's leash right in front of the door to go to the bathroom. Leave the dog standing in front of the door in her head collar and leash, wondering what the hell you're doing.

-Hear your dad's voice on the answering machine as you step out of the bathroom. Rush to pick up. Leave the dog still standing by the door as you tell him everything's fine and you were just going to go for a walk.

-Finally rejoin the dog. Praise her for standing there without complaining. She looks confused.

-Realize that straps of pack cover up sports bra straps. Feel a little better about wearing it.

-Step outside. Get hit with wall of heat. Step bravely into it.

-Realize within the first minute that the ankle-length socks are definitely not yours and are extremely uncomfortable.

-Sneeze. Realize you did not take your allergy medication.

-Run back to the house and change socks. Let dog come upstairs with you so she's not standing bewildered by the door again. Decide to put hair in bun, even if it looks ridiculous.

-Leave once again.

-Walk for a while. Realize that there's no way you're doing three miles in this heat. Wish you could pant like your dog instead of doing gross things like sweating.

-Pull dog along as she wipes her muzzle on the ground in an unsuccessful attempt to remove head collar.

-Curse yourself for deciding to bring a stupid pack, which seems to suck in heat like a black hole for heat. Or a heat vacuum. Realize you are too hot to think of a good analogy.

-Feel resistance on leash and look back to discover that dog is pooping in someone's front yard. Realize with dismay that you brought all necessities except a plastic bag. Wonder if homeowner has a dog. Hope desperately that poop will be blamed on homeowner's dog. If homeowner has no dog, hope desperately that poop will be blamed on world's largest rabbit.

-Keep walking. Sneeze again. Realize that you had an opportunity to take allergy meds when you changed socks and didn't. Curse your bad memory.

-Walk until your dog stops in her tracks and refuses to go any further. Look back at her. Ask her, "Do you want to go back?" Feel somewhat relieved when she turns around without a word and begins to walk back.

-Realize how pale your arms are. Wonder if the sun is making your hair even more blond.

-Briefly stop as dog pees unnecessarily in someone else's front yard.

-Finally return home. Take off dog's head collar and watch as she wipes her muzzle all over the carpet in an attempt to get the fur to lay the proper way again. Open up pack and pour some of the melted water into dog's dish, and drink some yourself from bottle as dog laps noisily, speckling the floor with flecks of water.

-Douse beet-red face with cold water from sink.

-Plop down on couch and listen to dog panting wildly from floor.

-Become curious about fan spinning lazily above you and pull cord, discovering that it can go faster. Be very satisfied with your discovery.

-Promise yourself you'll try walking again later when it's cooler out.

-Sit down with laptop, dog laying beside you, her nose twitching with the scents drifting in from the open windows.

-Feel content.

Oh and by the way, people I tagged, I love you and I miss you. <3

Anyway, then I wrote this:

I am going to attempt to write down all the random things I
think this afternoon.

You know what I hate? People who write "your" when they mean
"you're," or, more rarely, vice-versa. I mean, it's not that
difficult to grasp. You're has an apostrophe in it because it's
a contraction. It's joining two words by removing a letter, which
would be 'a' in this case. Is that really that difficult? When
you say "Your stupid," I think, "My stupid WHAT?" And when you
say, "You're dog," I think, "No, I am not. I am girl."
It frustrates me to NO END!! PLEASE, people! For the sake of the tenuous thread
that is my sanity, PLEASE use "you're" and "your" correctly!!
You will make me cry!!
I mean, I see ADULTS get this wrong! Adults I KNOW! I feel so
embarrassed for them! I mean, really, that's the kind of mistake
an elementary school student makes! And it makes me feel awkward--
should I say anything, or would that just make it even more
Someone has finished the New York Extra Sharp Cheddar Cheese.
It is my favorite, and you can tell it is awesome because it has
a very long name. I really want some cheese.
I am eating my 5th freezy-pop. I sure am glad they're only 20
It's unfair that I get the munchies so often. I'm not even a
drug addict.
I love taking forever to eat string cheese. It makes me feel like
I'm eating a lot but it's not unhealthy, and that I'm being good
by eating my food slowly. Also, it's really fun.
As I sit here finishing my tub of frozen cool-whip, I think about
how much it bothers me that I can't be consistent with anything.
I start things all the time and never finish them. There are
unfinished drawings, abandoned forums and blogs, and even
sentences that I leave
I wish I had to wait to be fed like a dog. The monotony of the
same meal over and over might even make me lose my appetite
sometimes. Maybe I shouldn't eat unless someone brings me
something. But I don't think my mom would approve of that setup.
I'm not sure why my dog feels the need to sit and slurp at her
most secret regions. Although with my dog they're not that secret.
Seriously, this dog will lay on your lap, or right next to you,
or on the floor, and just slurp and slorp away. (Am I grossing you
out yet? Yes? Good, because it's gross.) And then, when I look
at her and say, "Could you please not do that? I'm trying to
complain about things to a nonexistent audience!" she just
looks at me with her startled-deer look, her ears flattened
against her head, making her look very much like the Whippet that
is definitely in her heritage somewhere, as if to say, "I'm
not sure why you are acting this way. I find it to be just a little
unreasonable." And so I say, "Well, you're the one sitting there
and slurping at yourself." And she gets up and goes beside the
couch, where I can't see her, and sighs, making that little groan
noise she makes so often. I swear she understands sometimes.
And then I realize that this is the same dog who runs away
terrified if you expel air through your lips to make a "phhbbt!"
My cat is strangely incapable of meowing right now. I let her in,
and she is making all these sad little strangled "aah-rrr" noises
that sort of resemble her usual meows, but not really. She sounds
like she needs to clear her throat or drink some water or something.
Naturally, I felt bad for her, so I fed her. My cat is a glutton.
She wanted to be fed at 2 o'clock last night. It was warm out,
so I just put her outside. She's a cat: if she's really hungry,
she can just kill something. And she does, most of the time.
Usually when we don't want her to.

And I am too lazy to alter it from Notepad formation. Hooray!