Monthly Archives: November 2011

We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Blogging…

…To announce that finals start soon! Aaaahhhhhh!

You can’t see, but I’m running around in circles with my arms over my head. And still managing to type. Yep.

Ok, things aren’t actually that bad. In truth, I’m not that worried about finals. I’m pretty prepared, assuming I study a reasonable amount. Unfortunately, a side effect of finals starting soon is that everything in the world is due. Or maybe it’s just several things.

The bottom line is, I’m getting positively slammed with homework, meaning that I may need to slow down a bit on the blogging for the next couple of weeks. I know you’re sad.

But look! Click here, here, or possibly here to read an article I wrote for Sparknotes a while ago explaining a survival strategy for just such a situation (and you thought I had contained my lunacy to this blog… well THINK AGAIN). So that basically makes me an authority on doing large amounts of homework, right? Right.

Anyway, it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m just busy.

I’ll see you soon, Internet. Possibly not on Wednesday. But soon.


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Pictionary Will Be the Death of Me

Internet, I’m visiting my family. Perhaps just saying that is enough, but I’ll go on anyway.

I’ve got a baby sister (think of this, but cuter), a little brother (same deal), and a 13 year-old sister (if you know what I mean). So my 13 year-old sister, commonly referred to on this blog as “Abidail“, thought it would be a good idea if she, my mom, my dad, and I played Pictionary together. I was under the impression that it is usually the parents who try to cause family bonding, but I guess Abidail likes to break the mold. Or perhaps she is just fond of Pictionary.

As it turns out, Pictionary with my family is less like a peaceful board games and more like an all-out war, complete with appropriate emotions. Abidail and I were a team for the first game, which ended in an agonizing defeat at the hands of our parents. It wouldn’t have been so bad if, after lagging behind the majority of the game, Abidail and I hadn’t pulled ahead near the end, only to be crushed by a last minute resurgence on the part of our parents.

Emotionally drained, I went and got a soda, which I chugged bitterly. My mom brought me some brownies she had made earlier. (One of the many perks of coming home- they have food here. It’s crazy.) We switched up teams, leaving me paired with my mom. “Can I have a brownie?” asked Abidail. “No!” I said “This is all we had left.” And then I shoved a giant brownie in my mouth. It was not one of my prouder moments.

In retrospect, shame on me. Perhaps if you’d played Pictionary with my family you’d understand.

A second game followed, during which emotions ran high. Poor drawing skills were exercised. Ridiculous guesses were made. (Here’s an example from another game of Pictionary, during which my dad and I were on a team. He drew a strange rectangle that looked like the Ten Commandments, or possibly some tribal relic. Then he drew a triangular woman next to it and started drawing make-up on her. “Measure of beauty?” I guessed. Turns out it was supposed to be Barbie. The strange rectangle was a ruler. Anyone who knows me can attest to the likelihood of this occurring.)

Long story short, I lost again. It was all very dramatic.

Gee, it’s a good thing I can build up all these positive memories with my family before going back to college. Of course, I’ll be home for Christmas. Hopefully the fires will have died down by then.


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Happy Thanksgiving!

Hey, Internet. Well, it’s Thanksgiving tomorrow, and I’m home from college for the first time since Fall Break. And I didn’t even get lost on the way home this time. Hurray!

Anyway, I’m kind of sick blah blah blah excuses. This is a really short post. I drew you a turkey.

Happy Thanksgiving, Internet. I’ll be back Friday with all sorts of nonsense, I’m sure.


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A Card for my Turkey

Hey Internet! As we all know (or I don’t know, do you?) Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday, is fast approaching. With this in mind, I made this horribly sadistic card. I would tell you to place it on the grave of your turkey, but you’re going to eat them, so that doesn’t really work.

Here’s the front:

And here’s the inside:

Tasteful, huh? Maybe it will ward off the turkey’s angry spirit. Or it may just exacerbate matters.

Credit for the picture of the turkey:

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In a Shocking Turn of Events, I am Now Even Nerdier

Hey there Internet. Before I start in on all the reasons I am a nerd, let me first address the issues of ads. It has recently come to my attention that there are ads on my blog. (I can’t see them when I’m logged in, which is why it only recently came to my attention.) Let me tell you that I hate these ads and all they stand for, and am not making a cent off of them being there. However, it appears that the only way for me to get rid of them is to feed $99 to the WordPress monster, which is not happening. I’m a poor college student.

So, on that front, it seems we have reached an impasse.

Anyway, if it wasn’t already abundantly clear, I am quite nerdy. I like Star Wars, I read the Lord of the Rings Books, and I will fight you to the death if you say anything bad about Harry Potter. Online communities? I haz them. Try nerdfighters and sparklers on for size. Also, I can name the six types of quarks. I can’t do math, but I find particle physics fascinating. (To clarify, I’m not a creepy nerd who sits in their room all day and fashions tiny elf figurines. I have friends.) (Not that I have anything against you if you fashion tiny elf figurines.) Oh, and did I mention Doctor Who? I could go on.

In light of all this, it should come as no surprise to you that I recently found myself in a restaurant that sells fried chicken, playing 3 man chess. In my defense, the game is not mine.

I haven’t played chess in years, though I did have a brief stint on a chess club when I was about 7. However, I did remember how to play. You know how people spend years mastering chess, and honing their strategies, and all that? Well with 3 man chess all those skills are o’erthrown. Also, a whole new element of mistrust is thrown in with the possibility that players can form alliances. It was actually pretty fun, although we didn’t have time to finish the game.

Anyway, I’ll leave you to ruminate on this new information about me. See you Monday, Internet.

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My Journey to the Land of Coffee

Well hello there Internet. I hope you’re doing well. I’m ok. I’ve been trying to become accustomed to the taste of coffee. This is probably not a very good idea in the grand scheme of things, but I figure before college is over I’m bound to have pulled an all-nighter (or ten) and when that time comes I want to have something to keep me awake. Energy drinks scare me and sodas don’t work.

Unfortunately, I hate the taste of coffee. It’s bitter and weird, and I’m pretty sure bitterness is an indicator of poison. Of course, I don’t know what’s good for me, so I’ve been getting a variety of flavored coffee-type drinks in the hope that large amounts of cream and various sugary syrups will drown the taste. It’s worked… sort of. They’re getting more bearable, at any rate. Of course I can’t stand to swallow more than a molecule at a time, which leads to even very small drinks getting cold halfway through.

This afternoon, I purchased a caramel latte from a place in the Student Union (thank goodness for meal plans). I took it with me to the library, where I’ve been studying lately as it is far easier to get work done here than in my dorm room. The drink itself was only about 8 ounces, but I only managed to down half of it before it went cold. Of course, the fact that for some reason they are STILL RUNNING THE AIR CONDITIONING up here didn’t help matters. It’s sitting next to my computer at the moment, staring at me. It’s not my fault, caramel latte! You should have been more delicious!

I mean, it was ok. But it’s no hot chocolate.

Eventually, I hope to be able to drink my coffee black, like some sort of serious writer-type, or embittered businesswoman/divorcée . I don’t see that happening in the near future, though. Especially as I currently have a headache, which I’ve chosen to irrationally attribute to my latte. That’s not helping matters.


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A Novel Post

Hello, Internet. I am currently buried in NaNoWriMoing (as in, trying to catch up on my word count), not to mention homework, so instead of a normal post I thought I’d let you read the first little snippet of my novel. Keep in mind, it’s completely unedited and therefore very rough. Hopefully you’ll enjoy it anyway- any feedback would be appreciated.

Anyway, here you go:

The first time I met Jenny, I was sitting on a rock by the little streamlet in the woods behind my house, staring at the little fish that had somehow managed to make that 8 inches of slow moving water their home. It was high noon the summer I was 12, and I was grateful for the shade provided on the tree-lined bank.

As if to match the stream, which was barely large enough for the fish, the rock was barely large enough for me to sit on. I was just starting to hit my growth spurt, and my legs, finally starting to lose some of the chubbiness of my childhood, were folded beneath me. I rested my head on my hands and my elbows on my scraped knees (I had gotten a skateboard for my birthday, and my level of fearlessness on it was unfortunately inverse to my level of skill.). Even with the shade, the day was unreasonably hot, and the stillness that comes only with a lack of wind and an excess of boredom hung in the air. I was starting to regret coming out here, but this was the first summer that my mom had given me free reign of the wood, and I was determined to make the most of it even it meant spending all afternoon sitting on a rock and staring at fish.

However, the minutes passed and my boredom steadily grew. Finally, I decided that a 12 year old could only take so much and I would return to the house for a bit of fruit punch. As I began to rise, however, a veritable cacophony broke into my little world, originating from further down the creek and rapidly approaching. The fish took fright and scurried away into whatever secret holes scared little fish retreat to. As for myself, I was quite alarmed and in the brief second between hearing the noise and realizing what it was, my imagination went through every explanation from a forest monster to a very angry Rumplestiltskin. However, I stood my ground, because what had started as merely a commotion was developing into words.

“He was a one-eyed, one-horned, flying purple people-eater…”

Clearly it was a person, and not, as I had feared, a forest monster.

“WE WEAR SHORT SHORTS! Flyin’ purple people-eater…”

And they were singing. Not very well, either. Each word was separated by what sounded like a fairly large stick being whacked against various trees. As I stood, transfixed by the noise, its source came through the trees toward me. It was a girl- she looked to be about my age, but that was where any similarity in our appearances ended. I was a brunette; she had a head of fiery red. I was dressed cleanly if not very stylishly in jean shorts and a t-shirt with a shark on it; she wore a wild looking but very interesting collection of clothes in various sizes, giving her the appearance of a gypsy come straight out of one of the old stories that I loved so much. And where my figure was soft in a way that was just beginning to suggest the curves I was soon to develop, every inch of Jenny was sharply defined in a way that gave her a carved and almost noble appearance despite her mismatched clothes.

Of course, I did not take much of this in at the moment. I was more worried about why a girl I had never seen before was singing about purple people-eaters and scaring all my fish away. (I thought of them as my fish, seeing as they had no proper owner.) For her part, Jenny walked right up to me, dramatically concluded her song, and flung her stick into the creek. Then she looked me in the face and said “Hi, my name’s Jenny. Nice to meet you.” She stuck her hand out for me to shake, smiling eagerly.


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