Well, at the request of some people that I write "everyday", I'm back. I'm certain that my throngs of adoring fans are beside themselves with glee.
When I got to middle school, I met a whole new group of people that I hadn't known previously. I moved to Texas in 5th grade, and I ended up at Curtsinger Elementary (holla!). It was the newer, cooler elementary school, you know, back when Frisco only had two elementary schools. But, we all combined at Staley Middle School, back when Frisco only had one middle school. (Crazy how far we've come, eh?) Anyway, Curtsinger and Rogers combined into one happy 6th grade class. And we got lockers. It came down to me and this one kid for a top locker, and our teacher said whoever was taller would get it. Well, at this time, I was about 5'2", which was tall for an 11 year old. But, this kid was giving me a run for my money so I decided to poof my hair taller with a clip (Snooki style for you Jersey Shore fans) in an effort to appear taller. It worked, and I got the top locker, with Shorty Jorts McGee glaring at me everyday thereafter. (6th graders don't easily forget disastrous events like top-locker snubs).
In 6th grade I met Leah, a friend with whom I'd have many adventures. But our first real adventure didn't come until the next year. It was an event that I'll call, in an effort to be remotely PC, the "Window Incident." Our moms both worked together at another school, as special education teachers. When we weren't busy being volleyball all-stars, we would often ride the bus to that school so our moms could drive us home. We did this one day, and upon arriving at the school realized that it had been quite an active day in the special education wing. There had been a mild uprising with screaming and things flung places, etc. We went into the classroom and noticed that the window was open at an odd angle. I asked my mom, whereupon she informed me that one of the students had attempted to escape from school and run away. The police had to be called, and apparently there was somewhat of a chase to recover this kid who decided that he wanted to go on a jog in the form of running into the forest for no reason. My mom then left the room, leaving Leah and I alone while we waited to go home. After a few minutes of chatting, we had an idea that at the time seemed genius, but now, upon further review, realize it probably wasn't. We decided we wanted to see if WE could escape out the same window. We didn't know what we were going to do once we got out. Maybe go for a jog like Houdini? Who knows. Anyway, we dropped our bags and walked over to the window, and discussed the physics of getting out the window while not letting it open anymore than it was. We thought this was a fun little game. The adults didn't agree.
When one of us was halfway through the window (I can't remember if it was me or Leah), our moms walked in. At first they just stared, and I remember freezing mid-movement, as if my sudden stillness would either make me invisible or transport me back to the desk where it would look like I was being responsible. It did neither.
"What are you doing?! "
"Um, going out the window?"
"You do know the police left it like that so they could investigate!"
"Actually, no, we didn't. We just wanted to see if we could fit out the window too."
They weren't pleased. We got lectured about respecting other people's property, and acting like ladies, not out-of-control teenagers. After that, when we came to the school to be taken home, we were only allowed to sit in one part of a certain room.
Lesson of the day: Don't try to use a "crime scene" for your own personal enjoyment. It's usually frowned upon.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Mad Math
Today, we go back in time.
When I was growing up, I was pretty well-aware of the fact that for the most part, I was smarter than almost all my friends. (I also learned modesty at a young age). I learned quickly, and I was usually further ahead in development than most people around me. For example, when I was fairly young, I learned to tell time. This necessitated my parents changing the clocks in the house when they wanted me to go to bed, because I knew that 6pm wasn't 7pm, and my bedtime was 7. On a related note, I feel like they probably took advantage of their ability to move the hands of time, because I'm pretty sure I went to bed in the afternoon some days, when they were just tired of dealing with me. I have neither confirmed nor disproved this theory, but it sounds like something they would do. I do remember them trying to skip pages in the books they'd read to me at bedtime, but being the astute word memorizing 3-year-old I was, I corrected their mistakes, forcing them to go back to the pages they'd skipped and read them. Long story short, I was kind of an asshole.
Anyway, my brains usually landed me near the head of the class, and I breezed through my early schooling. Then came third grade. And my arch-nemesis Mrs. Adamo. She and I didn't get along from the get-go. The third day of school, I wasn't feeling well, and asked her if I could get some water. She refused, saying I could go when I finished my assignment. I told her I wasn't feeling well and she still refused. About 20 seconds after her last refusal, I unleashed projectile vomit all over my table, and a few of the people sitting around me. To add to this disastrous start, for some reason I had decided that third grade would be the year I was going to up the ante on being an asshole. In reality, Mrs. Adamo is probably a great teacher, but because she made me puke all over people on day 3, and she was standing in the way of my desire to be an eff-up, I don't remember her fondly. Perhaps my biggest play came when our class embarked upon Mad Math. I know you all remember those. They're more commonly known as multiplication tables. We'd all put away our workbooks and Mrs. Adamo would hand out the quiz for whatever number we were on. We all started at one (1x1 all the way up to 1x12), and if we got a perfect score we'd move up to two, and so on. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say we all passed 'one' on the first try, even the kid in the class who ate his own hair. Once we got to two, were it wasn't simply writing down the number after the 'x', the class started to break up into groups. The hair eaters, the averages, and then the geniuses. Of course, the genius group included myself. I got a perfect score each week, and was in the running with one or two other classmates to finish first (the last Mad Math test being 12s). When we got to about nine or ten, I decided that I needed to do something to ensure that I won. The winner got a prize. The prize was probably a Lisa Frank eraser and pencil set (or Hotwheels for dudes), but I freaking wanted it to go with my Lisa Frank dolphin trapper keeper. There was another girl right in the running with me, and I HAD to beat her.
We got to the 12s a few days later. I don't know if you remember, but when you're 8, 12x1 all the way to 12x12 in a minute or less can be very difficult math (at this stage in life I've lost pretty much all ability to do math in my head, so I'd probably lose to an 8-year-old). That's when I developed my brilliant plan. I would write down ALL the answers on a small piece of paper, place the paper in my pencil box, and then open my pencil box right as Mrs. Adamo said "begin." My brilliant plan, as you've probably all gathered, was to cheat. I knew it was probably a bad idea, but I was desperate to win the Lisa Frank shit. I told my friend Lindsey about my brilliant plan, and she decided she want to do it too. She was on the 8s, so I wasn't worried about her beating me. Test time approached. We both placed our pencil boxes neatly at the edge of our desks. Mrs. Adamo told us to begin, and with a quick knowing smile at one another, Lindsey and I opened our pencil boxes and started. I completed the quiz quickly, because writing down numbers doesn't take much time. When Mrs. Adamo called "time", I confidently strode up to her desk with my completed quiz, prepared to triumphantly claim my pencil and eraser set. Then it all went to hell.
Mrs. Adamo got up from her desk to make a cursory sweep of the room. She walked right by my desk, where I, the IDIOT, had forgotten to close my pencil box. So the evidence of my cheating was sitting right there in front of everyone. She passed by it and I breathed a sigh of relief. She adjusted the curtain in the back of the room, and then started to walk back. Without even a second look, she bee-lined straight for my desk and picked up the paper out of my pencil box. Shit. Busted. She asked to see me in the hallway, and when she presented the incriminating evidence to me, at first I said nothing. 5th Amendment rights and all that. Then she asked again, and I broke down sobbing, admitting my heinous crime against her, and math (like I offended the science by cheating on a multiplication quiz). She told me to go sit at my desk, and she would deal with me after she graded everyone else's quizzes. I sat back down, trying to ignore the stares and whispers from everyone that knew I was in trouble (either by sheer guess, or because they had heard me wailing in the hallway). I saw Lindsey get her quiz back, and the smile on her face let me know she had passed. Um, no. Not going to happen. For reasons I'm still not quite sure I understand, I got up from my desk, marched to Mrs. Adamo, and announced in front of her and the 7-8 other people still waiting in line: "Lindsey cheated too!" Now not only was I a cheater, I was a huge bitch too.
Lindsey's parents pretty much barred us from hanging out after that because I was such a "terrible influence." They treated me like I was a one-legged cannibal covered in warts- both repulsive to look at and a moral leper. Oh well, I ended up pretty alright without her. I also had to start my Mad Math quizzes back at one, and thanks to my stellar attempt to beat the system, Mrs. Adamo instituted a class-wide policy of "nothing on the desks during quizzes." She probably secretly called it the Nikki policy. I zoomed through the quizzes even without cheating, and I still finished 3rd overall, even after having to start over. I think by the time I finished the second time, hair eater was still on 9s. I'm not sure if it was because he just didn't know math, or because he was too busy eating his own hair to be bothered by actual classwork.
Either way, I learned two things that day that are pretty good life mottos: 1) Don't cheat, and 2) don't be a huge bitch. I always follow number one, but sometimes 2 gets me when people are annoying. So, there's the lesson o' the day.
When I was growing up, I was pretty well-aware of the fact that for the most part, I was smarter than almost all my friends. (I also learned modesty at a young age). I learned quickly, and I was usually further ahead in development than most people around me. For example, when I was fairly young, I learned to tell time. This necessitated my parents changing the clocks in the house when they wanted me to go to bed, because I knew that 6pm wasn't 7pm, and my bedtime was 7. On a related note, I feel like they probably took advantage of their ability to move the hands of time, because I'm pretty sure I went to bed in the afternoon some days, when they were just tired of dealing with me. I have neither confirmed nor disproved this theory, but it sounds like something they would do. I do remember them trying to skip pages in the books they'd read to me at bedtime, but being the astute word memorizing 3-year-old I was, I corrected their mistakes, forcing them to go back to the pages they'd skipped and read them. Long story short, I was kind of an asshole.
Anyway, my brains usually landed me near the head of the class, and I breezed through my early schooling. Then came third grade. And my arch-nemesis Mrs. Adamo. She and I didn't get along from the get-go. The third day of school, I wasn't feeling well, and asked her if I could get some water. She refused, saying I could go when I finished my assignment. I told her I wasn't feeling well and she still refused. About 20 seconds after her last refusal, I unleashed projectile vomit all over my table, and a few of the people sitting around me. To add to this disastrous start, for some reason I had decided that third grade would be the year I was going to up the ante on being an asshole. In reality, Mrs. Adamo is probably a great teacher, but because she made me puke all over people on day 3, and she was standing in the way of my desire to be an eff-up, I don't remember her fondly. Perhaps my biggest play came when our class embarked upon Mad Math. I know you all remember those. They're more commonly known as multiplication tables. We'd all put away our workbooks and Mrs. Adamo would hand out the quiz for whatever number we were on. We all started at one (1x1 all the way up to 1x12), and if we got a perfect score we'd move up to two, and so on. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say we all passed 'one' on the first try, even the kid in the class who ate his own hair. Once we got to two, were it wasn't simply writing down the number after the 'x', the class started to break up into groups. The hair eaters, the averages, and then the geniuses. Of course, the genius group included myself. I got a perfect score each week, and was in the running with one or two other classmates to finish first (the last Mad Math test being 12s). When we got to about nine or ten, I decided that I needed to do something to ensure that I won. The winner got a prize. The prize was probably a Lisa Frank eraser and pencil set (or Hotwheels for dudes), but I freaking wanted it to go with my Lisa Frank dolphin trapper keeper. There was another girl right in the running with me, and I HAD to beat her.
We got to the 12s a few days later. I don't know if you remember, but when you're 8, 12x1 all the way to 12x12 in a minute or less can be very difficult math (at this stage in life I've lost pretty much all ability to do math in my head, so I'd probably lose to an 8-year-old). That's when I developed my brilliant plan. I would write down ALL the answers on a small piece of paper, place the paper in my pencil box, and then open my pencil box right as Mrs. Adamo said "begin." My brilliant plan, as you've probably all gathered, was to cheat. I knew it was probably a bad idea, but I was desperate to win the Lisa Frank shit. I told my friend Lindsey about my brilliant plan, and she decided she want to do it too. She was on the 8s, so I wasn't worried about her beating me. Test time approached. We both placed our pencil boxes neatly at the edge of our desks. Mrs. Adamo told us to begin, and with a quick knowing smile at one another, Lindsey and I opened our pencil boxes and started. I completed the quiz quickly, because writing down numbers doesn't take much time. When Mrs. Adamo called "time", I confidently strode up to her desk with my completed quiz, prepared to triumphantly claim my pencil and eraser set. Then it all went to hell.
Mrs. Adamo got up from her desk to make a cursory sweep of the room. She walked right by my desk, where I, the IDIOT, had forgotten to close my pencil box. So the evidence of my cheating was sitting right there in front of everyone. She passed by it and I breathed a sigh of relief. She adjusted the curtain in the back of the room, and then started to walk back. Without even a second look, she bee-lined straight for my desk and picked up the paper out of my pencil box. Shit. Busted. She asked to see me in the hallway, and when she presented the incriminating evidence to me, at first I said nothing. 5th Amendment rights and all that. Then she asked again, and I broke down sobbing, admitting my heinous crime against her, and math (like I offended the science by cheating on a multiplication quiz). She told me to go sit at my desk, and she would deal with me after she graded everyone else's quizzes. I sat back down, trying to ignore the stares and whispers from everyone that knew I was in trouble (either by sheer guess, or because they had heard me wailing in the hallway). I saw Lindsey get her quiz back, and the smile on her face let me know she had passed. Um, no. Not going to happen. For reasons I'm still not quite sure I understand, I got up from my desk, marched to Mrs. Adamo, and announced in front of her and the 7-8 other people still waiting in line: "Lindsey cheated too!" Now not only was I a cheater, I was a huge bitch too.
Lindsey's parents pretty much barred us from hanging out after that because I was such a "terrible influence." They treated me like I was a one-legged cannibal covered in warts- both repulsive to look at and a moral leper. Oh well, I ended up pretty alright without her. I also had to start my Mad Math quizzes back at one, and thanks to my stellar attempt to beat the system, Mrs. Adamo instituted a class-wide policy of "nothing on the desks during quizzes." She probably secretly called it the Nikki policy. I zoomed through the quizzes even without cheating, and I still finished 3rd overall, even after having to start over. I think by the time I finished the second time, hair eater was still on 9s. I'm not sure if it was because he just didn't know math, or because he was too busy eating his own hair to be bothered by actual classwork.
Either way, I learned two things that day that are pretty good life mottos: 1) Don't cheat, and 2) don't be a huge bitch. I always follow number one, but sometimes 2 gets me when people are annoying. So, there's the lesson o' the day.
Monday, April 26, 2010
TIME MACHINE WATCH
I just watched Anchorman over the weekend, so the title to this entry is a tribute to "PANDA WATCH."
So, to expand upon my ridiculous new life plan, Kat and I decided to embark upon a search for a time machine. Well, first we thought of advertising in the "Wanted" section of an online marketplace. But that proved to be too much work, so instead we focused our efforts on someone who would be selling a time machine. Where does one find a time machine? I'm sure they're really complicated devices, with a variety of different scientific and technological features. So with that in mind, I started my search on Craigslist (where anyone goes to find high-quality, expensive machinery, and a casual encounter to boot).
I searched for "time machine", fully expecting nothing of value to come up. I was wrong.
Yes!
A 1985 Nissan 300ZX Time Machine?! Brilliant. Then I read the description. "I rarely go anywhere when someone does not comment on it." Probably because it's a real time machine. So, with finals looming and other real-world responsibilities calling, I decided instead to email this guy:
Hello,
I saw your ad on Craigslist, and I have a few questions. Some things have come up in life, and long story short, my good friend and I have developed a need for a time machine. I understand that the vehicle you are advertising isn't a standard, traditional time machine, but it might work. Some people don't believe in them, but I think you and I both know they're real! Anyway, my question for you is whether you think if we drive this car fast enough, it could send us back to France circa 1600AD? Please advise.
I didn't expect him to respond, but because my search for a time machine is filled with unexpected turns, he did:
Thank you for your inquiry. I do think, however, that there has been some confusion. I understand that I advertised a "time machine", but no where else in the advertisement does my car purport to be an actual time machine. While I respect your beliefs, I'm not sure I share them with you. This is simply a 1985 Nissan vehicle, not a time machine. I am sorry for the confusion, and I do wish you luck on your search to return to 1600's France (though I'll be honest I'm not sure why you would do that).
Look at this guy. He is clearly trying to be polite to an obvious loon. My reply:
Why would you advertise a time machine, when in reality it's just a regular car? I suppose it does catch the eye, and falsely lead me to your ad when I google "time machine." Furthermore, your claim that "I rarely go anywhere when someone does not comment on it" confuses me because I see no reason for someone to comment on that car unless it was really a time machine. Otherwise, it's just an old car. Anyway, foolish me for hoping I'd found the perfect car-masquerading-as-time-machine! Finally, who DOESN'T want to go back to France in the 1600s? Duh.
This morning I got this response:
Again, I apologize for any confusion. My comment about people taking notice of my car was merely meant to express that the condition of the car is so good for its age. It was not meant to suggest that the car had any ability to transport humans, or any other living or non-living creatures, back in time. I fear that this car will be of no help to you unless you just wish to drive a smooth running hatchback, but I do wish you luck in your attempt to "time travel." Just don't forget that with a little help, your imagination can take you anywhere, without the need for a time machine!
This guy clearly thinks I'm a nutjob. Using my imagination won't take me back in time, but his suggesting it was fantastic. He's so patient and almost friendly, that I feel like maybe he had a crazy relative, so he's used to talking to people that should probably be in institutions. His reply was akin to one of those NBC "The More you Know" ads..."use your imagination!" Ok Reading Rainbow.
My interaction with this man served its purpose. I had a good laugh and I was able to somewhat avoid my real-world responsibilities, like finals, or housework, or the general being a productive member of society.
But, never you fear, I went to the post office this morning. So I was productive today. Now, the rest of the day I can lay on the couch and eat. (Or sit in the library all day to study. Lame).
So, to expand upon my ridiculous new life plan, Kat and I decided to embark upon a search for a time machine. Well, first we thought of advertising in the "Wanted" section of an online marketplace. But that proved to be too much work, so instead we focused our efforts on someone who would be selling a time machine. Where does one find a time machine? I'm sure they're really complicated devices, with a variety of different scientific and technological features. So with that in mind, I started my search on Craigslist (where anyone goes to find high-quality, expensive machinery, and a casual encounter to boot).
I searched for "time machine", fully expecting nothing of value to come up. I was wrong.
Yes!
A 1985 Nissan 300ZX Time Machine?! Brilliant. Then I read the description. "I rarely go anywhere when someone does not comment on it." Probably because it's a real time machine. So, with finals looming and other real-world responsibilities calling, I decided instead to email this guy:
Hello,
I saw your ad on Craigslist, and I have a few questions. Some things have come up in life, and long story short, my good friend and I have developed a need for a time machine. I understand that the vehicle you are advertising isn't a standard, traditional time machine, but it might work. Some people don't believe in them, but I think you and I both know they're real! Anyway, my question for you is whether you think if we drive this car fast enough, it could send us back to France circa 1600AD? Please advise.
I didn't expect him to respond, but because my search for a time machine is filled with unexpected turns, he did:
Thank you for your inquiry. I do think, however, that there has been some confusion. I understand that I advertised a "time machine", but no where else in the advertisement does my car purport to be an actual time machine. While I respect your beliefs, I'm not sure I share them with you. This is simply a 1985 Nissan vehicle, not a time machine. I am sorry for the confusion, and I do wish you luck on your search to return to 1600's France (though I'll be honest I'm not sure why you would do that).
Look at this guy. He is clearly trying to be polite to an obvious loon. My reply:
Why would you advertise a time machine, when in reality it's just a regular car? I suppose it does catch the eye, and falsely lead me to your ad when I google "time machine." Furthermore, your claim that "I rarely go anywhere when someone does not comment on it" confuses me because I see no reason for someone to comment on that car unless it was really a time machine. Otherwise, it's just an old car. Anyway, foolish me for hoping I'd found the perfect car-masquerading-as-time-machine! Finally, who DOESN'T want to go back to France in the 1600s? Duh.
This morning I got this response:
Again, I apologize for any confusion. My comment about people taking notice of my car was merely meant to express that the condition of the car is so good for its age. It was not meant to suggest that the car had any ability to transport humans, or any other living or non-living creatures, back in time. I fear that this car will be of no help to you unless you just wish to drive a smooth running hatchback, but I do wish you luck in your attempt to "time travel." Just don't forget that with a little help, your imagination can take you anywhere, without the need for a time machine!
This guy clearly thinks I'm a nutjob. Using my imagination won't take me back in time, but his suggesting it was fantastic. He's so patient and almost friendly, that I feel like maybe he had a crazy relative, so he's used to talking to people that should probably be in institutions. His reply was akin to one of those NBC "The More you Know" ads..."use your imagination!" Ok Reading Rainbow.
My interaction with this man served its purpose. I had a good laugh and I was able to somewhat avoid my real-world responsibilities, like finals, or housework, or the general being a productive member of society.
But, never you fear, I went to the post office this morning. So I was productive today. Now, the rest of the day I can lay on the couch and eat. (Or sit in the library all day to study. Lame).
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Machine in the Room!
I'm usually not one to have such vivid dreams that I wake up still believing that I'm in the dream. I'm pretty sure that it's only happened a few other times in life, and never have I convinced myself that a physical object in my dream was in my bedroom. Until a few nights ago.
I had fallen asleep around 11:30-midnight, and at some point I had started to have a bizarre dream. I honestly don't remember what it was about or what I was even doing, but what I do know is that I woke up at 3 in the morning on top of a sleeping and snoring Scott convinced that there was an old school lawnmower machine like thing in the corner of the room.
It was like this, but imagine the cutting parts being in your face! Attacking you! Swirl, swirl, KILL!
I had fallen asleep around 11:30-midnight, and at some point I had started to have a bizarre dream. I honestly don't remember what it was about or what I was even doing, but what I do know is that I woke up at 3 in the morning on top of a sleeping and snoring Scott convinced that there was an old school lawnmower machine like thing in the corner of the room.
It was like this, but imagine the cutting parts being in your face! Attacking you! Swirl, swirl, KILL!
I tried to explain it to him, and he just stared at me and then asked what the fuck I was talking about. In my heightened state of paranoia and fear of my impending doom at the hands of the swirling blades of the lawnmower machine, I think it came out something like "machine...in the corner...swirling at me." Scott tried to point out that the only thing in the corner of the room was the tower fan. I didn't believe him, instead clinging to him trying to convince him that my preposterous imagined killing device was real. After a few minutes of this back and forth, I finally calmed down, and allowed myself to roll back over. At this point Scott asked me if I wanted him to get up and check the whole room for imaginary creatures or machines. I realized then how ridiculous the whole situation was.
Have any of YOU ever dreamed up a situation so bizarre? Scott has made fun of me ever since. I don't think I'll be living that down any time soon.
In other news, recent conversations with my dear law school bff Kitty have led to us formulating a new life plan. It's going to sound weird, but keep with me. We're both convinced that in our previous lives we were some sort of royalty or nobility, because of our shared love of doing absolutely nothing. We both could sit all day and night doing whatever we want, whenever. Now I know you're thinking "well everyone would want to to whatever they want", and while that's true, I think our enjoyment of it spans more than the average desire. So here's our plan. Based on the failure of our previous life plan (law school followed by a lucrative and rewarding career), we are now going to drop out of law school, and go back in time to become royal princesses, thereby fulfilling our new life goal of doing absolutely whatever we want, or absolutely nothing at all. Now before you start asking about how we'll do this, and where we'll get the time machine (the obvious concern), I don't know all the details yet. Our plan is still in its preliminary stages. But, we will need a time machine, so if anyone knows of one, direct this knowledge my way. I feel pretty confident that our advisers at school will not only understand, but whole-heartedly support our decision to withdraw from law school 2 weeks before graduation. Plus, "Her Highness the Royal Princess" will look great on any resume.
With my new life ironed out, I leave you with the picture of the day (or entry, since I don't post everyday).
It's Truman!
Have any of YOU ever dreamed up a situation so bizarre? Scott has made fun of me ever since. I don't think I'll be living that down any time soon.
In other news, recent conversations with my dear law school bff Kitty have led to us formulating a new life plan. It's going to sound weird, but keep with me. We're both convinced that in our previous lives we were some sort of royalty or nobility, because of our shared love of doing absolutely nothing. We both could sit all day and night doing whatever we want, whenever. Now I know you're thinking "well everyone would want to to whatever they want", and while that's true, I think our enjoyment of it spans more than the average desire. So here's our plan. Based on the failure of our previous life plan (law school followed by a lucrative and rewarding career), we are now going to drop out of law school, and go back in time to become royal princesses, thereby fulfilling our new life goal of doing absolutely whatever we want, or absolutely nothing at all. Now before you start asking about how we'll do this, and where we'll get the time machine (the obvious concern), I don't know all the details yet. Our plan is still in its preliminary stages. But, we will need a time machine, so if anyone knows of one, direct this knowledge my way. I feel pretty confident that our advisers at school will not only understand, but whole-heartedly support our decision to withdraw from law school 2 weeks before graduation. Plus, "Her Highness the Royal Princess" will look great on any resume.
With my new life ironed out, I leave you with the picture of the day (or entry, since I don't post everyday).
It's Truman! Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Muster
AGGIE MUSTER DAY
We gather here to mark the day Aggies proudly stand.
To honor those who've gone before to the promised land.
Each name is called upon the roll, comrades answer "Here".
Trumpets sound their sad good-bye to those we held so dear.
All heads are bowed in silent pledge never to forget.
While rifles fire their last salute echoes answer yet.
To their mem'ry we'll be true; we will take their place.
One for all and all for one ever in Thy grace.
We'll meet again another day, reunion while we pray,
To ask Thy blessing on each one on this Aggie Muster Day.
IN MEMORIAM
We stood a little taller,
and a little prouder then
When we heard the call of Muster
and the Roll Call just begin.
We stood there all together
and wiped away the tears
When our names were called out softly
and answered with a “Here!”
... and so we’ve joined together
with our brothers of the past
To make our final resting place at
Aggieland our last.
We take a toast to our brotherhood
wherever they may roam,
For us the trek is over
Aggieland we’re coming home.
One of the greatest traditions at a school I'm proud to call my own.
To honor those who've gone before to the promised land.
Each name is called upon the roll, comrades answer "Here".
Trumpets sound their sad good-bye to those we held so dear.
All heads are bowed in silent pledge never to forget.
While rifles fire their last salute echoes answer yet.
To their mem'ry we'll be true; we will take their place.
One for all and all for one ever in Thy grace.
We'll meet again another day, reunion while we pray,
To ask Thy blessing on each one on this Aggie Muster Day.
IN MEMORIAM
We stood a little taller,
and a little prouder then
When we heard the call of Muster
and the Roll Call just begin.
We stood there all together
and wiped away the tears
When our names were called out softly
and answered with a “Here!”
... and so we’ve joined together
with our brothers of the past
To make our final resting place at
Aggieland our last.
We take a toast to our brotherhood
wherever they may roam,
For us the trek is over
Aggieland we’re coming home.
One of the greatest traditions at a school I'm proud to call my own.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Random Anecdotes
So, I'm in the bowels of the library (I hate when people use this phrase because it immediately makes me think of poop, but then I laugh because the word poop always garners a chuckle from me). I should be studying, but instead I'm surfing the interwebs.
I went to Wal-Mart a few weeks ago for some random errands, and with the exception of my purse, I'm pretty sure I looked like I belonged at Wal-Mart. For an idea of who "belongs" at Wal-Mart, check out peopleofwalmart.com. Maybe you'll even find me in there on one of my better days.
Anyway, so I'm driving through the parking lot and I stop at one set of doors to allow a woman and her gaggle of children that she can't control cross the street. One of them picked up a rock from the cement and started to eat it before Mom of the Year stopped, in the middle of the street while the rest of her gaggle kept going, to stick her finger in the kid's mouth, take out the rock, and throw it perilously close to the front of my car. She then waved with an exasperated flair of her wrist, as if I'm in on this parenthood joke with her. Well, I'm not. And even when I am, I won't be popping 5+ kids out of my vagina in a 2 year span.
When she's finally out of the way I start to go only to slam on the brakes again when this old man comes flying out of the store without even looking. He sort of looks like an older Nick Nolte:
Imagine someone similar to this, but replace the Hawaiian shirt with a shirt about bass fishing, and add about 15-20 years.
When he's already halfway in the street, he sees me and stops. I go around him with a hit of the gas pedal that lets him know it's NOT okay to come flying out of stores without looking both ways. In fact, it's pretty rude and I'm fairly certain we all learned that when we were in preschool. So I go down the next aisle and park, and when I'm walking back into the store I see ax murderer/rude walker man coming right at me. This is when things get interesting. He stops me to tell me that "we drive courteous (yes, he didn't use the adverb) and don't speed in parking lots here in Missouri" (I guess referencing that I don't have Missouri plates on my car). I could have been polite, or ignored him, but this asshole was pissing me off. Lecturing ME on how to drive when you don't even know how to walk? No sir. Not happening. So I reply "well you should probably take your own advice because it's not very courteous to come flying out of stores, making me slam on my brakes so I don't flatten you." He didn't really like this, so he starts following me and lecturing me about respecting my elders and blah blah blah, I end up telling him to go the fuck away. I'm quite certain that my reaction to him did nothing to diffuse the situation, but I was pissed. Don't be a fuckup and then yell at ME.
Anyway, so I wander through the store grabbing various items. This was yet another instance where I went to the store for one or two things and left with an entire basket full of random shit. When I leave about 20 minutes later, imagine my surprise when he's SITTING BY MY CAR. At this point I'm thinking this guy really is an ax murderer, and I'm hoping that the security cameras in the parking lot really work, so as to lead them to the culprit of my untimely demise. When he sees me he starts yelling at me more about respect and how I didn't act appropriately, and how I was a terrible example of today's youth. I'm definitely not about to back down now. So I reply "it's pretty much heinously inappropriate to stalk down a 25 year old and yell at her about stupid shit. You're a terrible example of someone who demands respect without earning it." Now I'm pretty sure his eyes are going to bulge out of his head with all the pressure on his brain at being confronted by someone who has a full set of teeth and a fully functioning brain. He continues to babble, and while I was amused at first, now I'm just bored. So I pull out my ultimate trump card. "If you don't get the fuck away from me I'm going to call the police." With that, he backed off, and I got in my car, and as I put it in drive, I floored it for a second so I would squeal the tires, just as a final "fuck you" to my ax murderer friend.
I called my dad then and relayed this whole ridiculous story, and in his infinite Dad awareness told me to make sure he wasn't following me, and he made me sit in my car right inside my neighborhood for like 10 minutes to make sure he didn't know where I lived. He, of course, didn't, most likely because the extent of his ability to function in some coherent manner was taken up by our altercation. Most likely he went back to his mobile home, or deer lease, and spent the rest of the day watching fishing shows or playing with his wall-mountable big mouth bass that sings when you press the red button.
So, that adventure behind me, I leave you with a video of Cherry swimming at the park, and Truman watching. I love them!
I went to Wal-Mart a few weeks ago for some random errands, and with the exception of my purse, I'm pretty sure I looked like I belonged at Wal-Mart. For an idea of who "belongs" at Wal-Mart, check out peopleofwalmart.com. Maybe you'll even find me in there on one of my better days.
Anyway, so I'm driving through the parking lot and I stop at one set of doors to allow a woman and her gaggle of children that she can't control cross the street. One of them picked up a rock from the cement and started to eat it before Mom of the Year stopped, in the middle of the street while the rest of her gaggle kept going, to stick her finger in the kid's mouth, take out the rock, and throw it perilously close to the front of my car. She then waved with an exasperated flair of her wrist, as if I'm in on this parenthood joke with her. Well, I'm not. And even when I am, I won't be popping 5+ kids out of my vagina in a 2 year span.
When she's finally out of the way I start to go only to slam on the brakes again when this old man comes flying out of the store without even looking. He sort of looks like an older Nick Nolte:
Imagine someone similar to this, but replace the Hawaiian shirt with a shirt about bass fishing, and add about 15-20 years.
When he's already halfway in the street, he sees me and stops. I go around him with a hit of the gas pedal that lets him know it's NOT okay to come flying out of stores without looking both ways. In fact, it's pretty rude and I'm fairly certain we all learned that when we were in preschool. So I go down the next aisle and park, and when I'm walking back into the store I see ax murderer/rude walker man coming right at me. This is when things get interesting. He stops me to tell me that "we drive courteous (yes, he didn't use the adverb) and don't speed in parking lots here in Missouri" (I guess referencing that I don't have Missouri plates on my car). I could have been polite, or ignored him, but this asshole was pissing me off. Lecturing ME on how to drive when you don't even know how to walk? No sir. Not happening. So I reply "well you should probably take your own advice because it's not very courteous to come flying out of stores, making me slam on my brakes so I don't flatten you." He didn't really like this, so he starts following me and lecturing me about respecting my elders and blah blah blah, I end up telling him to go the fuck away. I'm quite certain that my reaction to him did nothing to diffuse the situation, but I was pissed. Don't be a fuckup and then yell at ME.
Anyway, so I wander through the store grabbing various items. This was yet another instance where I went to the store for one or two things and left with an entire basket full of random shit. When I leave about 20 minutes later, imagine my surprise when he's SITTING BY MY CAR. At this point I'm thinking this guy really is an ax murderer, and I'm hoping that the security cameras in the parking lot really work, so as to lead them to the culprit of my untimely demise. When he sees me he starts yelling at me more about respect and how I didn't act appropriately, and how I was a terrible example of today's youth. I'm definitely not about to back down now. So I reply "it's pretty much heinously inappropriate to stalk down a 25 year old and yell at her about stupid shit. You're a terrible example of someone who demands respect without earning it." Now I'm pretty sure his eyes are going to bulge out of his head with all the pressure on his brain at being confronted by someone who has a full set of teeth and a fully functioning brain. He continues to babble, and while I was amused at first, now I'm just bored. So I pull out my ultimate trump card. "If you don't get the fuck away from me I'm going to call the police." With that, he backed off, and I got in my car, and as I put it in drive, I floored it for a second so I would squeal the tires, just as a final "fuck you" to my ax murderer friend.
I called my dad then and relayed this whole ridiculous story, and in his infinite Dad awareness told me to make sure he wasn't following me, and he made me sit in my car right inside my neighborhood for like 10 minutes to make sure he didn't know where I lived. He, of course, didn't, most likely because the extent of his ability to function in some coherent manner was taken up by our altercation. Most likely he went back to his mobile home, or deer lease, and spent the rest of the day watching fishing shows or playing with his wall-mountable big mouth bass that sings when you press the red button.
So, that adventure behind me, I leave you with a video of Cherry swimming at the park, and Truman watching. I love them!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)