A Stay

Sorry about the delay, peoples. I was staying away at my Grandmas. To make it up to you, I'll tell you all about it.

            Grandma picked us up at about 3 on Friday, staying long enough to complain about traffic and marvel at how long I kept my room clean. (two weeks styless! YES!!!!!!) We got to her house, which is amazingly clean. I mean as in this is the level of cleanness hospitals strive for. So clean you can actually spot the singular specks of dust in there, just because it is so out of the ordinary. Anyway, as soon as we get there, Grandma instantly starts catering. This I have never been used to, as I very much live in a self-serve house. I'm so used to making my own chilli-zatarans concoctions when I'm hungry that it startles me when I mention I'm hungry one minute, and the next I have a gourmet sandwich (not just a samich, but an actual SANDWICH!) sitting on a plate with parsley and capers smack dab in front of me! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I get my stuff down stairs, and then find out what is on the agenda today. I found their sinister plans to get me a haircut. (dun-dun-DUN!) After they dragged me out from under the car, I was strapped down and taken to my old nemesis: Perfectlook! Making matters worse was this was the same Perfectlook that gave me a cut so bad that they had to call my Aunt PZ over to fix it. I had to remember that I was a cat: they're going to do this anyway, let you keep your dignity. I go in, and this nice Asian lady does my cut. I gave as good a description as I could, and somehow winded up with a crewcut. Huh?

            Day two came, and I awoke to a bacon-onion scramble. We talked about what we were doing today, and decided on going to the Saturday market. I had Heather Alexander's "Wild Seeds" playing in my head the entire drive over. After much confusion, we got there to find it deserted. The music abruptly changed to Peter Gabriel's "Excuse Me", as we were outraged. (sound of cussing and throwing computers) After our minute of silence, we decided to see the town center. This wound up being a three hour search for parking, followed by four hours of escaping parking. Not a good replacement.

            Then today came, when we waited to leave, finding an online slang dictionary to pass the time. We found 30 definitions for Emo alone! We even found out what the difference was between Emo and Goth:

            Emos hate themselves. Goths hate everybody.

            Emos want to kill themselves. Goths want to kill everybody.

Pretty damn simple, huh? They even had "dagnabit" and "mao"! After much bemusement and mirth, our parents came and took us home. And now I'm here, writing to my friend, the World. (accept for criminals, hypocrits, PETA, and the Neo-Nazis. For all you such people, GO TO #$%$ING HELL!)

Roz

Today is the visiting day of one of the family friends: Roz. Roz is an artist an intellectual with a great sense of humor. And she always brings something cool and interesting.

            She got here at around noon, which is when I start to get up. I missed most of the beginning because I was rushing to get somewhat awake and clean. I come upstairs, where I find that Roz had brought over her Christmas gifts and they were waiting on me to open them. She got the Smart One a good book, me lots of fancy art stuff, and Mom a book called Fantasy Worlds and some shiny new dishes. We got Roz the New York Times Book of Essential Knowledge. She really liked it.

            This was followed by a conversation where we found out that she never saw Stardust, so of course we had to watch it. We talked through the movie, with particular focus on how the mouse thing that Triston was turned into was so cute it could take over the world. (because it has big beady eyes, apparently)

            Around foodish time, Roz and Mom went to get Julianos pizza, because it is that good. I then went downstairs and sat down here, under my bed, to tell you peoples about Roz.

Happy Kitty: a Philosophy

I believe in and see the world's people as a bunch of cats, each one unique and interested in only their own problems.  But each cat does have one mood that they always come back to:  their nature.  Mine is the goofy happy kitty, while my sister's is the grumpy pissy kitty.  Here is the difference:

      Happy kitty:

• is happy and optimistic
• interacts with people and enjoys their company
• is active
• says, "How can I help?" "HI!!!!!" "Sounds good!" and, "I don't think so, but maybe this..."

      Grumpy kitty:

• is sad and pessimistic
• hides from people
• is inactive
• says, "What do you want?"  "Go away."  "Leave me alone" "NO!  PISS OFF!!!!!" "Stop being a pest, shut the @$%^ up, and leave me alone!"
• does nothing
• waits for things

As you can see, there is almost no way we can get along.  The quotes are really used, too.  Frequently.  Everyday.  Without fail.  I tried to convert the Smart One to Happy Kitty-ism today.  Books flung at me as soon as I got within 10 feet of the door warned me that the project was doomed to failure.  A snowball with a rock into the groin later said "no shit, dumbass!"

In Trouble With Guns

I got a fun new toy for Christmas: NEW AIRSOFT GUNS!!!!!!!!!!! It was a pump action shotgun and side arm complete with holster and a neat quick loader thingy. I already had cock n' fire sniper-ish rifle, but this is still kewl! Not just cool, either, but KEWL!!!

            This really is the first time I had more then one AS gun to play with, so of course me and Dad had to get in trouble. First Dad comes in and starts asking technical questions about how they load and stuff. That should have tipped me off. He then tells me, "Woo-hoo! Lets go then!" and leaves with the sniper, fully loaded. I thought he was joking until a volley of shots go through my doorway. I scramble to shut and lock the door and load up. I filled the mags up, strap on holster and fingerless gloves, and put on a trench coat, sunglasses, and my stupid hat. (not any of my good ones, my stupid one) I then go out, just to find Dad had set up an ambush that got me from behind. I charge up the stairs to turn this into a fight where I had cover. This goes on until my shotgun went dry, forcing me to my side arm. Dad heard me struggling to get it out and to the advantage to charge. This turned it into a running firefight all across the upstairs, which ended when I ran back down into my room and locked the door. (wouldn't you if you ran out of ammo?)

This ended the fun as we checked the damage. Dad had no true pains, though he claims most my hits were on his trigger hand. Dad managed to make my face and thumb bleed and should have blinded me, but otherwise nothing was felt under the all-mighty trench coat. However, Mom is mad because Dad didn't wear eye protection and we shot her computer. It still works, although one of the icons on the screen is now replaced with a blast mark.

The REAL Christmas

Christmas Eve is more like Christmas then Christmas for my family.

            Grandma throws a large Christmas Eve dinner party every year that my entire mothers side of the family attends. (when they don't live in the Czech Republic, that is) We get there as Grandma enters her last minute preparation panic, and help out with the distress. We then sit down and wait for Grandma to stop fussing about everything, like "do we have everything?" and "where do we all sit?" I don't blame her, as it is a huge feast! You could successfully hide an elephant in there. We eat until we explode, and then sit around and catch up on what's happened all year. I hear and share many interesting stories and a few dull ones. (we had a conversation and argument about BREAD!!!!!!!!! freakin' BREAD!!!!!!!) After the Smart One has been sufficiently annoyed by the lack of present opening, we finally do get to distribute and open gifts. We get all sorts of cool things. Like this year I got the Blair Witch Project and a coffee mug full of chocolate! We get amused by funny gifts and are in awe of good ones.

            After all this fun and excitement, we all go home, with Grandma making sure we take bits of left over feast with us. This time, all we took was stuffing and Christmas bread.

Been a While, Hasn't It?

Sorry about the delay, peoples. A lot has happened over the last few days, and because I slept 'til 4 in the afternoon and nothing had a chance to happen today, I will tell you all what was missed.

            Starting four days ago, I had to field strip and clean my room to put in the new bed. This meant spending an entire day, the 19^th, carrying out all the things I wanted to keep. This meant unplugging every thing, including the computer. This blog should have been on the Internet weeks ago, but Mom has been slow and pissy about projects lately, so I still lack publicity as of now. I also had to sort treasures from crap, which is difficult for me, as I am a pack rat. It turned out I had an entire shelf of nothing but rocks and metal welds smuggled from a shop class I had three years ago.

            The next two days were spent literally shoveling garbage out of my room, dragging the old furniture out, and putting in the new stuff. Seriously, I had to go outside, get one of those square tipped shovels, and use it to get my garbage into a black trash bag. The Smart One still laughs every time I tell her about it, though that's only because she has the memory span of a goldfish. We then put together my bed, which is not too different from building an aqueduct with a wood hammer and a mechanical beaver. The damn had barely understandable instructions and all the pieces looked the same. Even the storage boxes we got for my shelf were hard to put together. The simplest thing I got to build was the shelf itself. It only had about five pieces and one kind of peg. After every thing was built I moved every thing back in. I got an office/library under my bed now, with a gun bin on the side.

            Yesterday was literally an all-night party. On Winter Equinox is the Pagan holy day of Yule. Long ago it was a celebration around a large fire waiting for the sun to come up. Now it is a celebration with an altar in the background waiting for the sun to come up. We watched movies, played games (in Apples to Apples it was decided that skinheads were more desperate then the Challenger explosion), and had really good food and drink. Me and my sister were the only ones who succeeded in staying up the entire night. We got to see the sunrise and everything.

A Farewell

Today may have just been the shittiest day in my life.

            It started out well enough. I woke up early (at around 9ish), got dressed, and met Grandma at Ikea to pick up my early Christmas present: new shelves and a loft bed, along with a few other things, like presents for frie

nds and candleholders.  We even ran into Greg there. We ate there. I had Swedish meatballs covered in the kind of gravy you'd want to take a bath in with a bucket of KFC. We then came home and took Mojo to the cat clinic for a second opinion. That is when today took a down turn.

            We got Mojo inside and let the receptionist know who we were. They cleaned up the cat, as he had shat in the carrier, and examined him, along with looking over his fax from our regular vet. They told us he had FIP, Feline Infectious Peritonitis. It was killing him, sl

owly, and he had a week of discomfort to look forward to. They let us decide whether to take him home or to have him put to sleep. We held him, comforted him, and decided on sleep, as we knew that it would be painless and there was nothing anyone could do. We 

waited and signed paper work as I let him sleep on my lap. I let tears roll off my face, and told him he was a good cat. Then, 30 minutes later, it was time to give him up. The vet tried to comfort us by saying that kitties had better be going to Heaven, or she is not going.

            "Good bye, Mojo," I told him, " I love you cat. See you in 60 years." We left there with an empty cat carrier.

            Once out in the rain, Mom and I stopped and cried. It was a good long time befo

re we could even get ourselves to the car. Even then, once in we sat and cried waiting for the car to unfog. The drive home was interrupted by a visit to the regular clinic to pay our debts and stop at Safeway to get some comfort food for dinner.

            Today has been sad and lonely. I write to tell you all my life story as it happens. Hopefully this will be the only sad chapter.

            Farewell, Mojo, for you were my greatest friend and joy.

Mojocity's Problem

Sorry I didn't blog yesterday. Yesterday was really traumatic and stressful, so I didn't feel the urge to write.

            Yesterday morning, I woke up to a panic as Mom and the Smart One were watching Mojo. He was blind and meowing in distress. We had to get him to the vet, NOW! I rushed to find something other then underwear alone to put on as Mom did something similar and the Smart One tried to find a clean towel to put in the cat carrier. As I was putting on my trench coat, the Smart One came up to me to ask where the carrier was.

            "It was the thing right smegging behind you five seconds ago," I told her, trying not to punch her in the face. She, of course, has to look in the office, even though she hadn't been there all morning. This is when I burst.

            "IT'S RIGHT THERE IN PLAIN @#$%ING SIGHT!!!!!! MY CAT IS IN TROUBLE!!!! I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR YOUR STUPIDITY RIGHT NOW!"

            Finally sinking in, she ran to the carrier and put in the towel as I picked up Mojo to calm him. The Smart One came in then with a cat carrier. "Mom's ready! Put the cat in!" she told me. I did as I was told and got him upstairs. I then waited awhile until Mom did show up, not at all ready. Mom then chewed me out for not comforting Mojo, not listening to me telling her what happened. I then took him out and petted him slowly, telling him he was okay. His yowling reduced to a low "murw", then Mom showed up and it was time to get him back in the carrier and drive off. Once in the car and moving, I took the cat back out again and went back to comforting him. He was almost calm. I told him the story about his first ay with us. He was silent, no longer a mewing mess.

            We got to the vet and checked in, and went through the check out routine. Between vets coming in and out I voiced my fears, and cried. I couldn't give an accurate repetition of the doctors analysis, but I can sum it up: problems in his liver are causing problems in his brain, and he may die. On the return trip, I asked a lot of what-ifs: what if I chose a different cat, what if we realized his eyes changing color was a bad sign sooner, and those kind of questions. We got him home, and set up a little kitty area by the fire. He eventually found the basket to be a comfortable spot and slept there almost all day. I nearly did an all night vigil to make sure he would be okay.

            For any of my readers who are panicking right now, I can tell you all that he is much better today, and is probably going to live another ten years, at the least.

A Home Addition Rule

I am a gamer. I love RPGs of all kinds, though many of the ones in my personal collection are from the 70s. Still, one of my hobbies is writing new rules and replacing bad ones. (who says there should no longer be intoxication rules in D&D?) So here I have for my fellow nerds some home brewed fumble charts!

            First, you have the unfortunate player reroll, then consult the charts:

Melee Weapon:

            Crit: becomes a normal miss

            Would've hit +5: weapon flies out of hand

            Would've hit: Attack an adjacent square, roll as missed grenade-like weapon

            Would've missed: Hits himself for half damage

            Would've missed -5: deals 1d12 damage to his weapon

            Another fumble: weapon breaks

Bow/Crossbow

Crit: becomes a normal miss

            Would've hit +5: amo doesn't launch at all

            Would've hit: Attack an adjacent square, roll as missed grenade-like weapon

            Would've missed: Hits himself for half damage

            Would've missed -5: string breaks

            Another fumble: whole darn thing breaks

Thrown Weapons

            Crit: becomes a normal miss

            Would've hit +5: target can catch it

            Would've hit: lands 2d6 squares behind him, what ever is there is hit

            Would've missed: lands directly behind him, what ever is there is hit

            Would've missed -5: lands in his square, he gets no save if it's a grenade or is hit if it's only a knife or something

            Another fumble: weapon breaks or is a dud if it's a grenade

Firearms

            Crit: becomes a normal miss

            Would've hit +5: Attack an adjacent square, roll as missed grenade-like weapon

            Would've hit: shoots himself

            Would've missed: Jams, needs a new pack of amo, the current pack is useless

            Would've missed -5: Jams and permanently ruins weapon

            Another fumble: weapon explodes, dealing its maximum damage to all in a 2 square radius. The user doesn't get a save, but others may roll DC 15 Reflex for half damage.

            Have fun now!

Christmas/Yule Shopping: Round 1

Today we went on a hopping spree looking for gifts for all our friends. It was fun and insane as we wracked our brains trying to figure out what to get people. We know to always get Aunt Moose moose stuff, but otherwise it is nearly impossible.

            Again we go to Bi-Mart, because Mom works there and gets an employee discount, and head to the appliance department for some reason. After finding nothing, we then troop off and run into these throw pillows and baskets. I immediately start looking for and find a moose throw blanket for my aunt. We ended up getting throw blankets and sheets for all the small children we know. We then walk past a bunch of games and I find a Nerf gun that is also a pen. It made us laugh so hard, we had to get it. Then it was off to the toy department, where we found the perfect present for Dad.

            After a while, Mom sent the "Smart One" out to wait for us while we chose a present for her. After I found something, Mom sent me out. When I got to the car, I found that the Smart One, in her paranoia and insecurity, had locked all the doors. I asked her, nicely, to let me in. She simply gave me an evil smile that said, "I am not going to do the nice thing, because I hate you." I asked again. She smiled wider. This continued for 15 minutes before Mom came to my rescue and let me in.

Mojo the Pest

My cat is proving to be quite the annoying idiot. He gets into trouble frequently, can't figure out "no", and will kill himself some day.

            For example, he pissed on my bed two days ago. This naturally leaves me disinclined to grant his request to sleep in the bed last night.

            "No," I tell him, "you can't get back down from my bed and you'll just pee up here again."

            "That's not my problem!" shrieks Mojo, "My problem is you won't let me up in your bed. Do my bidding, slave!"

            "No, now shut up you stupid cat!"

            "If you let me up I will stop meowing."

            "I'd rather have a shrieking kitten then a pissed bed."

            "You know that I'll just keep you up all night until you give in."

            "We shall see, Mojocity."

            This ended negotiations and signaled the beginning of the Battle of the Bed. Mojo started by getting on the windowsill and jumping on, shouting "Let me in, slave!" the entire time. At first I defected this invasion by picking him up and putting him back on the windowsill. After deflection 137, I decided that this wasn't working, and switched to wrapping him in a sheet and lowering him down to his basket at the bottom of the bed. This, too, proved futile, so I found two tacks in my ceiling and tacked up a sheet wall between the windowsill and the bed.

            At first, all Mojo could do was cling to the sheet and scream "YOU SUUUUUCCCKKKK!" as he slid down. Then, after about 23 rounds of this, Mojo found a gap that let him enter. To this, I responded with the familiar pattern of putting Mojo back in his basket. Finally, at about 2 in the morning, we came to a truce. Thus the Bed Treaty was agreed upon. These were the terms:

 

            I will keep a chair by my bed at night where I have to land every morning, and give Mojo free access to the bed, on the grounds he doesn't relieve himself in it, or other wise make it unsleepable.

 

            This is only taste of the pest that is Mojo. Just today he got singed by sleeping to close to the fire, got chased off by our dogs for trying to steal their food while they were eating it, and annoyed Dad all day.

            He is a pest, but he is a lovable pest.

Rush Night

Tomorrow is a White Elephant Christmas party in Advanced Acting. This is a potluck present party where everyone takes turns either taking a new gift or steals someone else's. A lack of working transportation all week has made today the day to buy a bunch of useless knickknacks and wrap them all in a one-hour time span.

            I get home from school. I spend several hours doing homework, chores, keeping the fires going, and generally trying to entertain myself 'til Mom gets home. She comes home with dinner, so of course I have to eat. This takes another half hour. This also leaves about an hour to get to Bi-Mart before it closes. We get there with fifteen minutes left, which was exactly how long it takes me to run through the useless holiday crap and toy departments, find a large bag of munchies to hand out to my other friends, run into and chat with Glasses, and pay for every thing. Mom and I then pile into the truck and come home with just enough time to wrap every thing in a duct tape/ wrapping paper abomination, then sit down here, at 11 pm, to tell all you people about Rush Night.

            The moral of the story: Mom doesn't like the evil, friend-of-Chucky looking nutcracker ornament.

Monologues: A Review

Today was the day I performed that monologue I was panicking about since Monday. It was Street Talk, a short, independent monologue by Kristen Dabrowski, an actress who apparently was tired of not being able to find any good audition pieces and wrote the Ultimate Audition Book for Teens series because of it. I recommend it to all thespians at high school level, because castors above that level of performance want to see the monologues from actual plays.

            In this bit, I play the character Hawk, a sad soul who was abused by his uncle, called a liar and thrown out when he tells his parents, and has been homeless for a year or two. I've worked the character as a sarcastic person with a drinking problem and a "been there, done that, stole the t-shirt" attitude. The background I gave this monologue was Hawk bums down next to a freshly kicked out teen-ager who asks about how Hawk ended up like this.

            When actually performed, I did well minus an empty bottle. Apparently, from all the mandatory feedback I got, almost every complaint could be drawn back to my decision to use this empty Vault bottle I had been carrying around as a prop. The only two complaints that weren't of bottlish origin were my change in tone from agitation to serious and my end beat when I put my arm around the "newbie" to tell him, "Just stick with me. You'll be okay."

            A special thanks to Advanced Acting/ Panther Players. May Chris Cringle get a hernia hauling the large amounts of goodies for you all.

Day Meditations

Today is a Tuesday, but it felt like a Monday. Reflecting upon this has revealed to me the subconscious feelings and attitudes we associate with things, like days of the week.

            To me, Mondays are groggy, tired days where everyone seems agitated, over bearing, or simply acts like a complete poopy head. I'm sure most will agree with me, for who hasn't felt under appreciated and put upon on Mondays?

            Tuesdays find me in a very relaxed, "come what may" attitude toward life. I think this is because nothing bad or good happens to me on Tuesdays, so my inner being selected this as my chilling day. So if you see me on a Tuesday, be ready for a "shit happens" reaction.

            I love Wednesdays. I don't know why. I just feel energized and optimistic on these days. Wednesdays are when I do the most stuff, whether it's athletic, artistic, creative, or plain old work. Maybe it has something to do with the Norse god that Wednesday was named after. (for people who don't know, each day in the week was named after a Norse deity. The only exceptions are Monday named after the Moon, and the Sun for Sunday) Guess that is something to Google.

            Thursday is my chance day. If there is anything that depends on luck that needs to be done, I try to put it off to the nearest Thursday. However, Karma seems to lean heavily on me Thursday, especially in December. (Santa's watching, kids!) I try to keep my Karma good for this reason.

            Friday is crow phase. This is when I'm most excited by having the option to buy. I'm poor, so this usually becomes an "oooo, that would be nice" day. Expect much mooching on these days.

            Saturday is my tired, "rest in comfort" day. This is when I like to relax and lounge about the house. The exception is when a friend suggests something fun, which is almost never anyway, so I might as well have stuck to the above description. Still, on those ever-rare Saturdays I tend to adopt my Tuesday attitude.

            Sunday is my spaztastic fun day. This is when I try to actively seek out friends to have fun with. This drives my sister, the "Smart-one", nuts, because she hates fun in every shape and form. Her idea of fun is sitting alone in a dark room listening to Christmas music or watching shows on the tele that she is apparently ashamed of. I know she's ashamed because when ever I come around when she's watching her first reaction is to turn the T.V. off and ask grumpily, "what do you want?!"

            Looking back over these, I wonder what had gone so wrong to make today feel so bad. I have no clue.

Word Pictures

Today I discovered a fun new art form where you draw cartoons using only words. Here's an example:
yay yay yay yay yay yay ya
                                       a
                                       a
                                       a
                                       a
                                       A
                                       A
                                       A
                                       A
                                       A
                                       A
                                  SPLAT!
See? Lots of fun and easy to do! So far I've done a Jaws scene, a guy feeding pigeons, a sword fight, a WWII aircraft being shot down, a hawk carrying away whatever says, "Hiyo!", and this one (see if you can guess it):
taco MUNCH mmmmmm... Gak!
                                                    thud
Have fun with these!

On the Matter of Paganism

Today I finally finished the list of spell components in my Book of Shadows, which is a personal ritual, spell, and holy book for Pagans. Before anyone starts screaming, "WITCH! WITCH!" and burns me at the stake, I should probably explain what Paganism is and isn't.

            First, and most important, PAGANISM IS NOT DEVIL WORSHIP!!!!!!!!!! That is rumor that was started by Christian soldiers in the early B.C.'s so they would have an excuse to commit mass genocide on Celts, Germans, Saxons, and Norse. This was based on the fact that the Celtic God had goat legs. So our God is a satyr, so what? You don't see Texans bombing India because they won't eat steak. Different beliefs can only add to a culture, not threaten it. Now, I won't lie, there are a few devil worshipers who claim to be Pagan. If you are one of those people, hear this: no, you are not a Pagan. Paganism is an entirely separate system of beliefs.

            Which brings me to my second point: Paganism is not truly a religion in the strictest sense of the word. If anything, Paganism is a catchall phrase to describe various forms of nature and spirit worship. I have found 10 general types of pagans:

            Nordic Revivalist

            Greek Revivalist

            Egyptian Revivalist

            Meso-American Revivalist

            Gypsies

            True Celts

            Hippies

            Native-American Animism

            Wizard Wannabes

            Neo-Pagans

            My beliefs fall between Gypsy and True Celt, with a tinge of Greek Revivalism.

            Finally, many believe Pagans to be only a counter culture, teen-age rebellion thing. Only if you're a teen when you're a 40 year old holding a job and owning a house and taking care of a family. Almost all the Pagans I knew as such were at least 30 and in all other ways normal people. And this is hardly new. Not only is Paganism the oldest religion in the world, but also the renewed interest started in the 60's, possibly earlier.

            My final word, freedom of religion means ANY RELIGION. Thank you.

Why the Inaccurate Ending?

I saw Blackbeard for the first time today, and was generally pleased with it until the ending killed it.

            It started out so accurately. How Edward Teach came to power, his conspiracy with the governor of New Provenance, his obsession with Captain Kidd, the Navy's attempt to infiltrate the crew, and all these other really neat details that so many producers miss. Then it got to the battle with the HMS Lynx. This when, in history, Teach takes 21 wounds, three being bullets, and dies when his head is chopped off and flies into the water. This knowledge has me keeping track of Teaches wounds. Two bullets and five sword wounds later, his head is cut off and lands ON THE GROUND behind him! SHAME! SHAME! SHAME! SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!

            I'm going to stop here now to take out my aggression by blasting the crap out of rocks and squirrels that throw explosive acorns. (computer games are really weird these days.)

A Spanish Game

To help us learn a foreign language, it has been deemed necessary for us to play various confusing games that allow near unlimited loopholes and no one ever plays as it was supposedly meant to play. Huh?

            For example, today's game was a combination bingo/scavenger hunt where he had to find fifteen different people who could conjugate verbs for us (hey! half my class does that already!) and in the magical right order that produces three lines of five. We were to not go to the same person more then three times, and could only speak Spanish.

            Some how this got translated into "find the five smart kids in here and have him scribble something that looks like Spanish on your paper!" This of course resulted in large, panicked mobs of yelling teenagers that swarmed around the Spanish immigrant and one other person I didn't know. I didn't feel like being ripped to pieces that day, so instead of joining the shrieking eel gallery, I wandered around the edges and, for fun, pulled someone out to test their non-existent Spanish skills. Then an epiphany came: the teacher forgot to make anyone off limits! So to test my sudden enlightenment, I asked the teacher for an answer to one. He gave me a, "huh, didn't think of this," look and gave an answer, to which I responded with a smug grin. Despite my cleverness, as soon as I found out that the prizes were cheap, terrible tasting, 25-cent candy canes, I quickly lost interest and sat at my desk, driving away mobs by responding to every attempt to get an answer out of me with the smart-ass remark, "yo no se."

Early in Da Morning

Nothing really happened in particular today, so I must write about my every day life. I think the morning is a good place to start, don't you?

            I quite literally start the day with a giant leap. This is because my bed is about five feet off the ground. And my Grandmother dropped the hint that she was getting me an even taller bed for Christmas. (shudders) Any way, I manage not to splat, gather up some clothes, and head toward the bathroom. This is where I spend thirty minutes each morning. This time is spent turning on the water, taking a huge crap while waiting for the water to get warmish, taking a shower, brushing my teeth, getting dressed, and looking for nail-clippers that don't exist. After all this, I go back to my room and get all my stuff together for school.

            Now comes the greatest challenge of the day: BREAKFAST! (dun-dun-DUN!) This is so terrible because of the apparent lack of good breakfast munchies during breakfast. Sure, they're around AFTER I come home, but in the MORNING? Noooooooooooo, that would be too logical! I usually make a quick samich for breakfast then run out the door to freeze my ass off waiting for a large Twinkie on wheels to show up and take me to some place I never really did want to go to. Make perfect sense, doesn't it?

            When I finally do get to school, be all nice and hold the door open while everyone else goes in. I do this to get a head start on Karma. I then head in and hang out with Potato and Estudiosa. Sometimes Frisbee joins us, but usually not. After awhile, Twist, Kat, and the Canadian show up. This provokes either a poking war or a slap fight between Kat and Potato. I stick around until Presto, a friend in my B morning group, shows up. I then head over there and listen to Prestos Endless Immoral Jokes n' Puns. (never ask him about grandmas shrimp!) Eventually the bell rings and friends depart to first period.

            If you wait 'til the next uneventful day, you will hear about the dreaded U.S. HISTORY CLASS! (dun-dun-DUUUUN!)

Concessions Confessions

Today we had drama concessions, which means basically we hung out in a cramped kitchen at the high school and sold over-priced bits of junk food to wrestling fans.

            Despite being retail it is a lot of fun. We sit there, crack jokes, ("its called COKE! It's just asking to be smuggled!") eat munchies, and occasionally cheat some poor, starving fool of five dalla for two dalla worth of barely edible, poorly made nachos and pretzels.

            It all started at about 5:20, when I arrived ten minutes early (a usual for me when I'm not five minutes late), and sat around waiting for Greg to show up. Then Howdy (who claims to always be early) shows up five minutes later.

            "Hello", says I, with a wave that is somewhere between a peace sign and a salute.

            "Howdy!" said Howdy, who is casually walking toward me looking kinda bored.

            "You see Greg around?" I ask, 'cause no drama teacher, no concessions.

            "Nope", was Howdys simple answer, as we proceeded to wander around, talk to friends, and generally be bored.

            Finally, Greg and Blondie show up to let us in. After much gratitude and the jingling of keys, it was time to set things up. This consisted entirely of running around and asking where stuff was. We then opened up with the grinding, mechanical sound of the garage-like fire shield serving as our drum roll. Almost instantly we got customers. I was the candy and drinks person. This had me very busy winging Almond Joys and PowerAde's around. I did this task well. Then Greg added popcorn to my list of duties. This was when my performance went to hell. In addition to passing out Skittles and sliding down Fantas, I had to roast myself bagging popcorn with this weird cross between a dustpan and a funnel. This was too much for me to handle. Seeing this, the wise and benevolent Greg handed candy duty to Howdy. Poor lass, she had the hardest time with angry people who thought it ever so important to have EXACT counts of gummy worms. There was even one person who wanted exactly three sour worms, three original, and three things of liquorish. With all these people making demands, even Blondie, the people person, burnt out after two hours in this four hour Hells Kitchen scenario.

            But according to Greg, it was well worth it. We earned almost 200 dalla for the trip to the Oregon Theatre Festival and got to here all sorts of stories from Greg's youth, Howdy's cracks about Greg's age, and my bizarre statements about... just about everything.

Begin

What you are now reading is a story. NOT the story of a girl who cried a river and drowned the whole world, NOT a story of a time when mighty beings upon dragons ruled the Earth, but the story of your common, garden-variety spaz.

            These are the life and times of the incredibly average, yet strange, person now typing these words. My parents are super sensitive about security, so I will not use real names. For any friends reading this, the nicknames I come up with should come from real nicknames, but not always.

            A little about myself... ummmmmmmmmmmm... I was born in Oregon and moved to Washington. I like green, black, and silver (it's shiny!), I have an active and strange, some say violent, imagination, and I can talk to cats.

            Which brings up today's argument. I come home, make myself a turkey samich (not a SANDWICH, a SAMICH), and sit down next to Mojo, my cat. Mom, who felt bad about waking him up earlier today, told me to give him some turkey. "Right," I declared, "some cold turkey for the live one." (my mom calls the cat turkey) I'm an IDIOT! Sure my cat loves it, but now he wants more!

            "No! Goway!" I tell him.

            "But, I want your samich," he says.

            "No! It my samich!" I explain.

            "Please?" he asks. This goes on for another thirty minutes before I pick him off my lap and run away, my precious samich clenched in my fist.

            This happens to everyone who has food in my house. Not even the dog is safe from the ravenous ball of floof that stalks our house. Maybe one day he'll learn...

            Nah!