Dictionaries: Warming hearts, year after year.

It's almost that time of year again: The time when we flip over the December page of the calendar, realize that there were only 12 pages, and then chuck that calendar in the garbage until we get around to buying a new one mid-March. That, in case you were wondering, is the reason calendar makers always pick the shittiest pictures for January and February. Because nobody is going to see those. I'm not making this up. Or I am. Whichever.

All of this blubbering is neither here nor there. What I'm getting at is this: New year, fresh start. Which means it's time to chuck out our overused insults along with those calendars and start overusing a whole new batch. (Evidently, I like to do this every other year. Keep my VAST amount of readers ((sarcasm intended)) on their toes.)

Allow me to introduce some new words for you to get accustomed to using on your loved ones:

"duffer"

A plodding, clumsy, incompetent person. A person inept or inexperienced at a specific sport, such as golf. In the Northern United States, a duffer is an old man, especially and specifically a dull or indecisive one. The slang usage of "duffer" describes anything in the realm of being inferior, counterfeit, or useless. Clearly, there is nothing "duffer" about the word "duffer." It's exceedingly useful, and I anticipate an alarming increase in its usage in the upcoming year. Mostly by me.

"clodpate"

A blockhead; a dolt. The part of this word that excites me the most is the "clod" because it reminds me of a clod of dirt. Essentially, when I hear this word, I envision a person with a clod of dirt for a head. This insult is perfect to use on those people who choose to make less practical use of their brains than I could get out of mud.

"ninnyhammer"

A fool or simpleton. Basically, "ninnyhammer" is single-handedly revolutionizing the "ninny" experience by attaching a basic yet underutilized, underestimated, and under-appreciated handheld tool to the end of it. Hammers are powerful. This should be obvious based on the fact that they can assist in building things OR deconstructing them. Have you ever seen a hammerhead shark? If you think I'm trying to say that ninnyhammers are cool, you're confused. What I'm saying is that if someone is a "ninnyhammer", not only are they a ninny, but they're a ninny in a smashing, pulverizing way. Congratulations, ninnyhammers. You disgust me.

That's all for now. I've got things to do, people. (No, I don't.) I would like to thank dictionary.com for being so damned convenient. And for having excellent words of the day, almost every day. 

Feel free to leave any useful insults in the comments section. I enjoy a good insult, whether it be directed at me or otherwise.

Marry Poppins: Sweet, loving nanny or blood thirsty she-demon?

Mary Poppins was one of my favorite movies as a child though I'm not certain why. I watched it for the first time in probably a decade not long ago and it was not as charming as I had remembered.
For those of you who have not seen the movie, or haven't in quite some time, let me give you a brief summary. (Spoiler alert?)

IMDB's one-line synopsis is: "A magic nanny comes to work for a cold banker's unhappy family." That's putting it nicely, I suppose.

A synopsis that I think is far more accurate: "A heinous witch comes to terrorize a cold banker's innocent and unsuspecting brood of victims." And let me tell you why.
 

Basically, this family hires a nanny that first falls from the sky and then falls in love with the family's chimney sweep who is almost always covered in soot. Being that this chimney sweep's hygiene is less than superb, it is safe to assume that Mary Poppins actually put him under a love spell in order to gain leverage with the family. She then uses her powers to get the chimney sweep to help her kidnap the children and force them to jump into chalk drawings on the sidewalk that operate as rabbit holes to an alternate dimension. An evil alternate dimension, no doubt. Furthermore, she not only condones the children's drug use, but actually participates in this act of debauchery WITH them and attempts to brainwash them with euphemisms such as "spoonful of sugar". Later, she encourages them to pester a poor homeless woman, probably motivated by the drugs in attempts to acquire MORE drugs, though that part of the plot is never fully realized by the average viewer. What's more, she has conversations with her umbrella. And it talks back.

Another clear indication of witchcraft: Mary Poppins is able to tote around seemingly impossible amounts of personal belongings and produce them from out of that creepy bag whenever she feels so inclined. Oh, and she can levitate at will. That's always a sure sign. By the end of the movie, she even has succeeded in getting the once sensible banker father to participate in her black magic through reciting spells that give him an instant high. The following is an excerpt directly from the screenplay: "Supercallifragilisticexpialidocious! Mary Poppins was right, it's extraordinary! It *does* make you feel better! Hee hee hee hee!" Unbelievable.

It's one thing to be an evil witch set out to destroy lives and confuse children. It's another thing altogether to be an ARROGANT evil witch. This "woman" clearly thinks she's the greatest thing since sliced bread. In one scene, she refers to herself as "Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way." Practically atrocious in every way, Mary. Get a hold of yourself. And leave the children alone.

The bottom line is that this movie is inappropriate, terrifying, and quite frankly, a threat to the innocence of everyone everywhere. But don't take my word for it. Watch this trailer for the horror film that is Mary Poppins:

I rest my case.

Soul Surfer

I'm a coward. Always have been. Probably always will be. Let me tell you why.

I try to do one thing everyday that scares me. I could cheat and say that I succeed in this because I drive everyday, and driving scares the shivers out of me! But since it is such a routine and necessary task, I pretend it doesn't scare me as much as it does, so I don't count it since it is a (mostly) repressed fear.

But that's neither here nor there. The point is, I'm a coward because today, I failed to do anything that scared me. Yesterday, I saw the new Twilight movie, but before that? I can't remember the last thing I did that scared me. It certainly wasn't recent. Living in a foreign country scared me every day for four months, but that was a year and half ago. Skydiving was moderately nerve wracking too, but again, not recent enough to negate my feelings of cowardice.

So I started thinking about what I could do to shake this adrenal complacency. And then I remembered the single most frightening activity I have ever engaged in.

Surfing.

Now, the term "surfing", as it is used here, should be understood as more of an attempt than the actual act of surfing as it is known to most people. Flailing around in the ocean with a piece of fiberglass is a more accurate description of what I was doing, but for all intents and purposes, and for a more streamlined blogging experience, I shall refer to it henceforth as merely "surfing". Thank you for your cooperation.

So you may be asking, what's so scary about surfing? Well. What's NOT scary about surfing? Being in the ocean, drifting on a barely buoyant man made object, with no knowledge of what is lurking below you...(I have an idea: see photo at right.) Could there be anything as petrifying? Well, yes. Namely, the thought of the weight of a deadly wave engulfing your helpless body and then entangling you within itself only for you to be turbulently whipped around underwater (where, if I may remind you, people can't breathe), from whence you MIGHT resurface unscathed but you MIGHT drown or suffocate or get hit on the head with your board, your unconscious body lost amidst the bleakness of the sea only to be discovered years later by a pirate or a mermaid or a disgruntled native after having washed up on a deserted island miles from where you started.

Two of the top five scariest things to me: sharks and waves. Even the waves in my hair can't compete with the inherent terrifying nature of ocean waves. I used to have a collage of wave pictures that I made as my computer desktop just to remind me of the crushing powerful reality of the ocean. Sharks + waves = surfing. Needless to say, this water sport is, by nature, a recipe for a torturous demise. You could quite literally die at any moment. While this is naturally true of ANYone at ANY given moment, when you're in the ocean, you could quite literally die a very painful death at any given moment. And nothing is scarier to me than that. Nothing. Though driving does come in at a close second. If driving took place in the sea, I'm sure I'd hate it even more. (Now that I think of it, I guess there is such a thing as water driving. I'm pretty sure normal people refer to it as "boating". I shall promptly add this to my list of things to do when I'm sick of feeling like a coward.)

So, I drive to serve the practical purpose of getting from Point A to Point B. More often than not, it is to get to work, which I need to do to survive. But surfing is much different because it is purely a choice! And an unnecessary one at that! In fact, it's entirely designed for entertainment purposes! How strange and wonderful.

If any part of me is going to die on my watch, it will be the cowardly part. Tomorrow, I'm signing up for another surfing class.

Now if I can just get myself back into the water...

Right meow.

My newest Night Time Thought:


"Everything has always been leading up to right now."


Awesome. Holy crap.

So...

Profound....


I don't know why I text myself in my sleep. I really don't.

U.S. GEOGRAPHY 101

A few days ago, my dentist was conversing with me, as dentists annoyingly do, while cleaning my teeth.

Dentist: So where are you from, again?

Me: Chja;ifjwslk.

Dentist: Sorry, what? [takes hands out of my mouth]

Me: Chicago.

----------------------------

That's not the problem.

This is the problem:



Dentist: Ohhh so does your family still live in Chicago?

Me: Yeah.

Dentist: Oh so are they okay after the earthquake?

 Me: *Face-palm*


Sadly, she is not the first person who has asked me this this week.

At what point did Chicago gravitate to the east coast? I've been asking myself this often over the past four years of living in California where apparently nobody has the slightest inklings about the most basic geographical facts about the United States. I  don't expect everyone to know the precise latitude and longitude of all fifty states. I really don't. But I feel like many Californians need to at least look at a map once every ten years or so to refresh their memory about the different regions in general.

What a normal citizen envisions when they think of a map of the United States of America:

What a Californian envisions when they think of a map of the United States of America:

 

This by no means is to say that Californians aren't great for a lot of other reasons. I love them! They're crazy! My friend's dad says California is like a granola bar- filled with fruits, flakes, and nuts. I happen to have a great affinity for granola bars. That is why I still live here. 

This ALSO isn't to say that I know everything in the WORLD! Of course I don't! Did I say that??? It's a free country, dammit. Maybe you should start a blog about everything about me that annoys you. Good luck with your readership.

Rush Week

My friend Sarah recently asked me for an update on Night Time Thoughts. I was devastated to report to her that I hadn't had any I could recall in at least half a year or so! Oddly enough, once my subconscious was aware that something needed to be done, I had a new Night Time Thought* a mere few days later. The next day, I woke up to a strange memo in my cell phone application aptly named "Memos":

"Sorority house during rush wk"

For those of you who haven't been following Night Time Thoughts, this means I had sleep-typed, if you will, this idea so as not to forget it in all of its profound wisdom come morning. Essentially, it's a short dream I have that for some reason I feel, at the time, is INCREDIBLY important to write down.

Now, upon my first contemplation of this Night Time Thought, I was befuddled and mentally exasperated. As I lay there, trying to wake up while simultaneously reeling through my hazy memory of the previous night's slumber, I felt all hope was lost. Whatever ingenious idea I had come up with regarding sorority houses would never be regained. The future of Rush Weeks everywhere was simply doomed.

And then I remembered. I had envisioned "Rush Week" to be personified as a rushing wave of college girls LITERALLY rushing into a sorority house as a creature all of its own, wave like and with the force of a hurricane. My mind took a turn for the worse when I realized that this wave of girls was literally drowning the already sworn in (Is that what sororities do? Swear people in?) sisters and other pledges, ultimately resulting in whoever was left alive as being able to become a member of that particular house. Survival of the fittest, most blood thirsty, girls.

Yeah...I don't know.

I hope to never set foot in a sorority house for fear of having flash backs to this nightmarish Night Time Thought. Okay so I never wanted to set foot in a sorority house ever. I shouldn't blame Night Time Thoughts for that.

BUT I FEEL IT IS PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE TO BLAME THE FOLLOWING VIDEO (If nothing else, you'd be doing yourself a favor to read the viewers' comments.)

Feel free to submit your own Night Time Thoughts to me via Email. carsten.tice@gmail.com

*Night Time Thoughts need not occur at night. On the contrary. They can occur whenever one is mostly asleep and only awake enough to scribble down a quick note. Come on, people. It's just a name. Does Taco Bell ONLY sell tacos? Does Burger King ONLY sell burgers? No. No, I didn't think so.

Jesus Made Me Do It

At work today, I was reading an injury report filled out by one of our truck drivers. These consist of a series of questions relating to the driver's injury and the surrounding incidents. As I was perusing the report, I was befuddled by this particular driver's answers to some of the questions:

Question: Who was the injury reported to?

Answer: First to Jesus, then to [our company.]


Okay... I can understand if that may have been his answer. However, I'm not sure if I would have written it out on the official injury report...


Continuing on, I came to another interesting answer.


Question: How could this incident have been avoided?

Answer: It could have been avoided if I did not pull from the handle. (Note: I was instructed by Jesus to pull from the handle.)

Okay. At this point I was feeling like this was getting  a bit ridiculous. I understand there are many people in the world who are very in tune with their religious beliefs. But, really? This seemed like a pretty odd variant of "the devil made me do it." I don't feel like this would hold up in any kind of worker's compensation claim.

As my neighboring coworkers had already gone home for the evening, I sat there, wondering aloud to myself and being generally distraught and quite confused about this report for a good long while.

Then, as if it fell from Heaven, I was struck by a very important detail that I had been overlooking the entire time:


I live and work in Southern California where there are many, many Hispanic males named "Jesus."


Thank you, Christian college.

Truth Hurts

I was talking to a bartender a while back about how pretty much everybody who lives in LA is working on doing something other than what they're currently doing. Supposing she didn't intend on tending bar for the rest of her life, I asked her which path she thought she might go down.

She excitedly responded that she aspired to be "an insulting greeting card designer." Obviously intrigued, I asked her for an example.

"My best idea is a card for a baby shower," she said. "On the front it says, 'Congratulations' and on the inside it says, 'WHORE!'"

I spent a significant amount of time trying to decide whether I would be offended by such a card or find it wildly amusing.

I spent an equal amount of time genuinely hoping she has some backup ideas.

Sometimes life sucks. But SOMETIMES you see Full House stars at hick bars.

You know how on Full House, Uncle Jesse is in that band "Jesse and the Rippers"? Of course you do. Well, a few months back, I went with some people to this old fogey bar called Cowboy Country over in Long Beach. We're standing in line outside and hear a bunch of the people walking out talking about John Stamos. "Odd topic of conversation for so many people to coincidentally have chosen at this random location," I mull silently to myself. And then we walk inside where, low and behold, John Stamos is playing the drums. Ahh... so that's why...

 

John Stamos

                                  The Neil Morrow Band









Since I was practically raised in that health-and-fire-code-breaking full house alongside those Tanners, this definitely goes down as one of the top 8 greatest moments of my life.

<-----Thanks to that night, Jesse Katsopolis and I are like this.


Highlights of the evening include:

-The lead vocalist/keyboardist breaking out into the Full House theme song as well as "Jesse's Girl" (much to Stamos' chagrin).

-The fact that the rest of my group had to point out to one of our friends which one John Stamos was. (WHAT?!)

-The fact that one of us had the knowledge and insight to realize that it would be a grave mistake to exit the bar without having gotten a photograph with Mr. Stamos. Though this did require a bold and daring dash onstage during the set, it did result in the photograph that he himself POSED for whilst drumming along. It also resulted in security escorting us out of the building... but that was to be expected.

Elise (the brilliant stage-bombing mastermind), Stamos, and myself. We're the three best friends that anybody could have. Obvi. (Do you love how I had to blow the picture up to EXTRA large size for you to even remotely identify him? Haters gonna hate.)

So the next day, I told one of my roommates about this little escapade. She laughed... and then went on to tell me that, several weeks earlier, she had been sitting in an airport in Europe next to Mr. T, kindly offering him her Tide-To-Go pen when he spilled his beverage all over himself.

She wins...

...for now.

How To Not Pick Up Chicks

You may or may not but probably definitely maybe sorta do remember my post about a clever way to pick up chicks. This post is nothing like that.

I work in the compliance department of a company that hires and manages truck drivers. Drivers have to pass drug tests in order to get hired. A few weeks ago, a Girl I work with got a particularly interesting call from a driver saying he didn't know what to do because he was told to leave the drug testing clinic before he could find it in his heart or bladder to urinate.

While she was on the phone, Girl realized that the rest of us in the office had tuned into this chat and were getting severe hits of joy from it. So she started repeating the stuff the driver was saying solely for our benefit. You know, like how they do in the movies when you can only hear one side of the conversation and it sounds super unrealistic because nobody would ever talk that way? Yeah. Like that. Like this!:

"What do you mean you left the clinic before they gave you your drug test?"

[Driver talking]

"I don't care if you waited 45 minutes and couldn't pee! Department of Transportation regulations clearly specify that the clinic isn't allowed to let you leave until you have waited three full hours. As a clinic, they should know that, and as a driver, you should know that too."

[Driver talking]

"Okay, sir... well, if this doesn't get cleared up it will qualify as a refusal to test, which is just as bad as having a positive result. Who exactly told you to leave? Did you get a name?"

[Driver talking]

"You don't know her name... but she looked like Snooki from Jersey Shore... Oooookay...................."

Girl calls clinic.

"Hi, my name's Girl and I'm calling from Company and I'm wondering if you by chance have a receptionist that looks like Snooki from Jersey Shore?"

[Clinic talking]

"Oh you do? Great! Because I have driver who's telling me about how........[she explains situation]"

Apparently, what ended up happening was the driver had a "shy bladder" and spent his 45 minutes at the clinic pacing around the waiting room, drinking heaps of water and ogling Snooki. Ogling turned into approaching and approaching turned into maybe possibly definitely stepping behind the desk and telling her she was beautiful which turned into "Hey, you wanna go down the street and grab a few beers with me? Maybe that would help me pee." ODDLY enough, Snooki wasn't down with that suggestion, and had security kindly escort him out of the building despite the fact that his three hours hadn't passed yet. They told him if he came back, the cops would be called immediately.

Girl called the driver back. She gave him the lip he deserved about having conveniently left out the part of the story where he sexually harassed a Snook-a-like, trying to woo her with promises of alcohol and an all around grand adventure of a time. She continued to explain to him for the next twenty minutes how this incident had rendered him ineligible for the position of driver within our company. I guess that was a concept he couldn't really grasp.

There are several morals to this story. I suppose one might benefit from printing them out and carrying them in one's wallet. Think about it.

Moral 1
If you are waiting to take a drug test for a new job, it is advisable to not pass the time waiting for your bladder to be ready by trying to take the poor tanorexic girl who does her make up in the dark out for beers WHILE SHE'S AT WORK.

Moral 2
If you've already made the mistake of ignoring the suggestion offered in Moral 1, do not attempt to lie about it to your future employer. It probably will not work and you will look like a fool.


Moral 3
You shouldn't allow trashy television to influence the standards you set for your potential mates.


Moral 4
If you've already made the mistake of ignoring the suggestion offered in Moral 3, at least go for someone who looks like JWOWW.

Late night. Come home. Work sucks. I know.

"Sometimes you just have to suck it up."

^ The sentiment I often have to remind myself of, though I'm growing exceedingly bad at disguising my disdain for my current job.

"JUST THINK HAPPY THOUGHTS."

^ The idea I usually end up meditating on. I'd love to say I don't need to do this until a few hours in, or even near the end of my shift. But, unfortunately, this struggle begins almost immediately upon walking through the door.

All that aside, I recently had a fond memory of someone who inspired me to make the best of things at a job you don't enjoy.

SURFER'S PARADISE, QUEENSLAND

INT. HOTEL ELEVATOR- DAY

CARSTY enters the ELEVATOR to find MAINTENANCE MAN with a large cart filled with tools and supplies. At the next floor, a group consisting of several quite intoxicated couples joins them. They ride down in silence for a few floors. Upon noticing a tennis ball included on MAINTENANCE MAN'S cart of tools, CARSTY decides to break the awkward barrier and try to get a laugh out of the DRUNKIES.

CARSTY

(with extreme enthusiasm, animatedly gesturing towards cart)

One of these things doesn't belong!

Drunkies stare blankly. Crickets can be heard from off screen.

MAINTENANCE MAN

(melancholy)

Yeah, sometimes this job can get really boring...

(beat)

And I also have these!

He pulls several bouncy balls out of his pocket.

CARSTY and DRUNKIES laugh.

  

And that's how the game is played, my friends. Even middle aged hotel maintenance men don't take life too seriously. Blogging at work has become my bouncy ball. And you may have noticed that I've been bouncing that ball a lot lately...


Six. More. Weeks.

Axl Rose. A True Story.

It's that time again. Time for yet another installment of the chronicles of the exceedingly irrelevant and absolutely insignificant coincidences of my life.


A few years ago, I was over at a friend's house. He, being a classic rock lover, and I, being a classic fool, had a conversation that went something like this:




Friend: Blah, blah, blah, blah, guitars, blah blah blahhhhh, music, blah blah BLhaaHAhaHAHa, Axl Rose, blah blah bliggity blah blah blah.


Carsten: Who's Axl Rose, again?


Friend: WHAT? You don't know who AXL ROSE is? GUNS N' ROSES?.... I DATED YOU??? [Slew of expletives.]


Carsten: I'm... Sorry?



The next day, I was hangin' out with my Pops, watchin' TV and eatin' food and what not. OUR conversation went something like this:




Pops: Carst, I had the strangest dream last night!


Carsten: Oh  yeah, Pops? What about?


Pops: I dreamt that you didn't know who Axl Rose was.... weird!


Carsten: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......






My friend and my father do not communicate and I had not told anyone about the conversation from the previous night. To my knowledge, nobody had seen any documentaries on Guns N' Roses in the recent past, and my friend lives far enough away from my parents' house as to render eavesdropping from across the expanse physically impossible.


So.... basically, my dad can read minds. Just like my sister. It's the only feasible explanation.


All that to say, I now know exactly this many more things about Axl Rose than I did before: One. (He is from Guns N' Roses).

Verdict: Leprechauns are not real.

I know St. Patrick's Day was a minute ago, but I watched the Boondock Saints last week so, that got me thinking about all things Irish. One of those things being my elementary school art teacher, Ms. Morgan. Something especially Irishy about her remains burned in my brain. I was five, a wee kindergartner, with a malleable mind, waiting to be lied to. That year, Ms. Morgan, decided it would be an excellent idea to tell all us kiddos that leprechauns were real. Now, mind you, at that time in my life, my only references to leprechauns were

THIS:

and

THIS:

So when she told us that leprechauns were alive and among us, I pictured them as some combination of these two creatures. To help you get a taste, I helped makemebabies.com be the most useful it's ever been. 

BAM. 

Now that that's settled, I urge you to mentally insert that petrifying image into my retelling of a gross lie. LIES, rather. I shall now list the LIES that were told to SMALL CHILDREN about MYTHICAL CREATURES. (One of my biggest pet peeves.... Don't even get me started on Santa. I've blogged about him already.)

We were informed that:

1. Ms. Morgan was half leprechaun and possessed magical leprechaun powers.

2. Her brother was FULL leprechaun, and thus, miniature, and was running around the school, in need of being TRAPPED.

3. Leprechauns COULD be trapped by a device consisting ONLY of a toilet paper roll, some pipe cleaners, and a string! She had each of us make a trap and take it home to try it out on our own pesky leprechaun populations. (I can't, for the life of me, remember how this trap functioned, but I do remember that we used chocolate gold coins as bait.) You can be certain I set up my trap on the daily and did not once catch a single thing.

4. Anybody who had gold rings around their pupils had leprechaun blood. I, having such eyes, felt far superior to those of my classmates who lacked gold rings.

5. The "FOOTPRINTS" cut out of CONSTRUCTION PAPER that were found all over the school were from REAL LEPRECHAUNS.

Whatever. I'm bitter. I should get over it. I'm trying! This always helps:

Happy Belated St. Patrick's Day.

What lies were YOU told as a kid?

Acting as a Human

One dreary Sunday morning, I woke up to a text from a number with my same area code. I continued the conversation for much longer than I would have in normal circumstances once I got to work and was bored brainless. Enjoy.

----------

Mystery Texter: I realized I am a robot acting as a human but i keep on singing as a VOCALOID

Me: I'm sorry. Who are you?

Mystery Texter: Maria silly xD

Me: And who do you think I am?

"Maria": O isn't this skylar....?

Me: I wish.

"Maria": You wish...? So wait... who are you...? O.o

Me: I know nobody by the name skylar nor maria. I live in california and am not a robot.

"Maria": Ohh sorry... i texted the wrong number this is embarresing... eh....

Me: Its ok. Even robots make mistakes.

"Maria": Haha Im not a robot lets just clear that up now lol. I dont know why im still txtng u sheer bordem i suppose.

Me: What is a vocaloid?

"Maria": Its a robot. Its invented by the japanese they are robots that sing songs. There actually pretty popular. You can look them up on like youtube or whatever.

Me: Cool

"Maria": Ya i suppose so xD

Me: I hope you find skylar

"Maria": Lol thanksss.... Its just ur numbers only have 1 diff numb in it so ehh... ya sorry lol

Me: At least youre from chicago so that's cool

"Maria": Yepp. Its so cold here tho i really want to move after college lol. So cali? Thats nice.

Me: It is indeed. I moved here for college and am never moving back.

"Maria": Oh nice. What part do u live in? I have lots of fam in san diego.

Me: I live in a suburb of LA but go to san diego all the time. Lovely place.

"Maria": Oh thats cool.

[DAYS LATER]

"Maria": Ummm this is sebastian right?

Me: No, skylar

"Maria": Skylar? Thank god i been forgetting ur # and txting random creeps all week lolzz x.x. wassup love? XD


-------------


And here I was, thinking Maria and I had become best of friends. All the while there she was, thinking I was a creep. Despite the fact that the conversation began with her thinking she is not human. Hmmmmmmmm.

Anyways. I did search "vocaloid" on YouTube. I still don't get it.

Disneyland and Other Poisons

Today I want to talk about my aversions to a few things that bring many people joy.

1. Disneyland
I like to consider myself an open minded person, but good luck getting me to understand the significant difference between Disneyland and the DMV. I dare you to try. I'll even throw out my main arguments right now, so that you can cleverly craft your rebuttals. By all means, take all the time you need.

2. Christmas (at least insofar as it is celebrated in America)
Overrated. It's cold. Like my heart. You get gifts you don't want. You give other people gifts they don't want. Time must be spent with family. Depending on your family, this can suck or rock. For most people, I reckon it sucks. For me it would rock, but I haven't gotten to be with my family on Christmas in three years. Maybe I'm bitter. Or maybe Christmas is just lame.

3. Hugging (at least insofar as it is expected as a salutation)
I hate that this awkward activity has been so culturally ingrained and accepted much less EXPECTED. I don't enjoy it. I do it because you come at me with your arms outstretched. Somebody needs to think of a better thing to do to express affection. Oh wait! There are tons of things.




That's enough negativity for one day.


[End rant.]

Games

My first ever stab at a "free-writing" exercise. Five minutes of typing on one subject without stopping. No edits. GO.

I have always thought that the main point of games was to get people involved with each other. To get them to have fun. To start conversations up, perhaps. Many people seem to think games exist purely for finding out who can win and who can lose. I don't think so. Sometimes, when I'm playing a game, it will spark an idea and I'll strike up a conversation with my teammates and/or opponents. Sometimes my teammates and/or opponents don't like that idea very much, and they get irritated because I have interrupted the game. But why don't they understand that the game is designed to spur conversation? I don't get what is so bad about that. I just wanted to have fun with you and the game was a good way to break the ice. Board games, sports, running games, hiding games, chasing games. My favorite board game growing up was always Monopoly. You have so much power. I love real estate also. Not sure why. I think it is because everyone needs shelter of some sort and it seems like a practical and respectable profession to get into; helping people find homes, that is. Perhaps homes will be my next topic but until next time, I should not find out whether that becomes true or not. I often miss Australia. I'm not sure why I brought that up. They play games in Australia. Perhaps that is why. I played Cranium while I was there with my Australian host family. They got angry when the game was interrupted just like Americans tend to do. Silly people. Silly world. Why can't we just have fun no matter what we are doing? Time is not wasted when the game is on hold. I also played Disney Trivial Pursuit with my host sister while I was in Australia. That was pretty fun, also. I do say, I have played a lot of games in my life. Online games are addictive but not as much fun because you usually cannot play them with others. Unless you can. In which case, great! I have always wanted to invent a game. I have tried many a time to invent a card game but I lack the patience that such a task probably requires. If I were to invent a game, I wonder if it would ever become played worldwide. In Australia even. Every country has games. Love games. Card games. Sports games. Name games. Games have been played for centuries all around the world, you see.


Ahh. Gotta love stream of consciousness. Babbling. What fun. Oh, the ramble that is life.

Oh, Brother.

Like many people, siblings are an extremely important ingredient of my family unit. I only have two but I have the best of both worlds: a brother and a sister. I couldn't have asked for more.

Recently I was reading through an old book a teacher had given me for my eighth birthday. It was called "My Writing Book"... or something. It's made up of writing prompts followed by blank space on each page. I noticed that a common theme in my writing was my feelings of disdain towards my siblings.

One prompt:

Sometimes people use metaphors to describe things. One example of this is "It's raining cats and dogs." If you could have any kind of weather, what would you choose?

My response:

I would like the wind to be strong enough to carry away littel [sic] brothers and sisters.

Another prompt:

However old you are you KNOW a lot of things! THINK about some of the things that you know, and WRITE about them.


My response: That brothers and sisters can be a pain in the neck, and that moms are good cooks but I never knew why. I know about some wired animals.


What was I THINKING? Childhood would have been so bland without other little people to share it with.

Siblings are the spice of life!



Here I am shoving my brother, Kai, down a hill.

My sister, Alexis, and I with similar hairs exchange icy glares.

"Sibling relationships - and 80 percent of Americans have at least one - outlast marriages, survive the death of parents, resurface after quarrels that would sink any friendship. They flourish in a thousand incarnations of closeness and distance, warmth, loyalty and distrust."

--Erica E. Goode, "The Secret World of Siblings," U.S. News & World Report, 10 January 1994

Child's Play

My sister recently discovered an old journal of hers from when she was in grade school. Some of the pages were guided with “would you rather” questions and “favorites” sections, etc. Here are some of the highlights, without edits:



“my favorite sandwich is liversausag because live and bread taste good together.”





“on vacation i played video games and watched my hamster die.”




“my favorite character is the cookie monster because i like cookies too.”





“no i would not like to be a dentist because if i break there gums, ill be in trouble!”





“i would rather be tigger than winnie the pooh because hes not as werd.”




“i would rather be an ocean because you can be foamy.”





“i like snowboarding on my snowboard. mostly i wipeout but who cares.”







I admire her honesty.

I can't think of a smaller or heavier word than "no." So much power is held between two letters. I feel like this word sounds like it should be short for something- something much harrier.

Perhaps it is used so regularly that it is good that it be short.                                                  

There is a house in my hometown that puts up a particularly elaborate display of Christmas decorations each year. One year they got stolen. The homeowners placed a sign in their yard that read, "Merry Christmas to those who stole our decorations." They were anonymously returned the next day.