untitled

an epic post is coming...

Finding meaning in the mainstream

I am always analyzing songs.
I don't know if it would be considered a hobby, but I'm doing it constantly. If you see me staring off into the distance, my mind is by no means blank. I'm thinking about a few different things. If I were to elaborate, you might think them unconnected or "random".
I could lead you down a logic trail, and you'd totally understand. I am not random.

Anywho, this lyrics thing in my head is like... is like... it's like a background application that constantly runs on your computer and occasionally pops up with an update at annoying times.

I think that this could be a viable career path for me. I'll importantize and over-analyze lyrics and make them have deep meaning.

So today, I was thinking about the arrogance of Michael Buble's "Haven't Met You Yet"
How can it be arrogant??

"I'm not surprised, not everything lasts

I've broken my heart so many times, I stopped keeping track

Talk myself in, I talk myself out

I get all worked up, then I let myself down

I tried so very hard not to lose it

I came up with a million excuses

I thought, I thought of every possibility

I might have to wait, I'll never give up

I guess it's half timing, and the other half's luck

Wherever you are, whenever it's right

You'll come out of nowhere and into my life...

...And I know someday that it'll all turn out

You'll make me work, so we can work to work it out

And I promise you, kid, that I give so much more than I get

I just haven't met you yet"

Also, his music video for this song was TERRIBLE.

Well, among other things, by singing this song, he's basically disregarding all of the girls he has already met.
Maybe he has gone through and determined that among all of his acquaintances, they aren't "the ones to meet".

I highly doubt it.

How cheeky of him.

Wouldn't it be terrible for him to find out that the "one to meet" has already been met? Just like in the rom-coms, the girl-next-door who has had the eternal crush on him is "the one".

Humble Pie, anyone?

It may be unlikely, but still. How embarrassing for him.
 NEVER say never.

On one hand, the song could be seen as sweet, on the other, well...

I do like the sweet side of it.

I suggest that he should have changed his phrasing from "
I Just Haven't Met You Yet"

to:

"I Just Am Not Totally Aware of You or of the Impact that You'll Have on My Future Happiness Yet"


...something along those lines.
But that doesn't sell as well. It's not as catchy.

I can hear you telling me that it's just a song.
I need to get a life, right?
Sorry, I'm educating the masses about song lyric errors.

Feel free to comment with your thoughts... *smile*

Parades & Postponed Posting

SO.
I'm thankful. I have much to be thankful for. I'll post an exhaustive list sometime. It will require a lot of scrolling on your part. Be prepared.

But what I am thankful for now is the fact that I exaggerated a bit when I said I had mono. I was wrong.

I don't have it.
It feels like I'm in a never-ending cycle of sickness. It is sickness that won't go away, but it isn't mono. Turns out, the symptoms of mono line up with the symptoms of other viruses to a certain degree...


I'm on the dramatic side of things, just in case you didn't notice.

So, I just have a never-ending cold that is turning into a sinus infection.
I know everyone reading this is rejoicing with me.


I'll try not to be so hyperbolic in the future.



SO YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT ME. That's why you're here. To read about the inane happenings in my life, right?

Right.


The classic country song by Toby Keith is coming to mind.

(I'm getting back into that kind of twangy music. I thought I very muchly disliked it. I was wrong. It's a love/hate thing. Right now, I *heart* Brad Paisley. Tomorrow, who knows?)

You know that song, "I Wanna Talk About Me"?
(Everyone knows that one. If not, look it up. You need to know it for those times when you feel self-centered.)

Well, actually, talking about me is boring to me. I already know this stuff. But I want to record these happenings for posterity. SOMEDAY, I'll look back at my old posts and...I have no idea what will happen.

An update on my life:

Saturday, I went to the local Christmas PARADE!
I didn't think I was big on parades. I was wrong {again}. I'd better not make a habit of being wrong.

Here's what I thought Saturday night. (I didn't post, because I didn't get to finish my thoughts. I fell asleep)

Saturday night aprox 9:30:

"I'm feeling like a glazed doughnut. I mean this literally.  

Sugar and wheat with a glazed expression.

Because, after a day like today, I am so wiped out.

Want to know why?

Because I can, I'll elaborate.

My mom, dad, Amy and Mrs. Sharon and I took a group of 8 kids from the nearby apartments (the same place we do homework help) to the downtown Christmas parade. None of the kids had ever been to a parade before.

To make a long story short, it was fun.

I got caught up in the child-like excitement of the parade with them. I usually take such events for granted; today the parade felt like a whole new experience. 

To sum up, I was giddy.

Ben (who is 8) kept shouting [to the floats] "WELCOME TO THE CHRISTMAS PARADE!! WELCOME!"

...can you say cute?

When the high-school marching bands would go by, a few of the kids had a dance they performed {reminiscent of the charlie brown gang}

There were very few hiccups (getting them to the bathroom in the huge crush of people was a mess (a figurative mess, thankfully)).

We had two of the them come home with us (John, 6, and Ben, 8.) since their parents were out of town that day. 

I had so much fun. I relived a small part of my childhood.

The part of my childhood that was bursting with energy, always ready to play something new. The part that would laugh and tirelessly chase after soccer balls until I reached the point of collapsing on the grass.  

If you're feeling like such a "mature adult" (I have not, but I have been lately lamenting getting old), I suggest that you take on some rambunctious kids for a few hours. It's totally refreshing (and somewhat exhausting)

So when we got Ben and John, they were only slightly worn out from the parade. Their energy tanks were still very full.

Goal: exhaust the energy tank! 

I can say "goal accomplished". We ran around the park for a few hours playing until utter exhaustion set in. The boys collapsed first, complaining that their legs were "so tired", and "they never could walk again". 

John, lying on the grass, started dragging himself to the car by grabbing fistfuls of grass. 

It was humorous. But he refused to be carried. 

Finally he let me give him a piggy-back ride to the car.  Ben tried to be a tough guy, but he ended up falling over too. He kept telling us he could "beat us up in soccer", but we proved him wrong. 

We then grabbed some burgers and hotdogs (John was adamant about eating CHICKEN) with a healthy dose of ketchup. 

Those boys can use some ketchup! They ate the equivalent of seven packs each. I was amazed. They're both originally from the Congo; I don't know if ketchup is a staple sauce there, but those boys love it!

We went home and watched a few movies, played wii, checked out Miss Makenzie's computer...."

And that's where I stopped on Saturday; I never got around to posting. Chasing after kids all day is hard work.


On Sunday, I saw the boys again. Little John told me that he was going home with me. Awww! His mom, of course, wouldn't be so happy about that...



Also, John really liked the camera feature on my computer:

He is so cute. I am so wiped out. 

As an aside:
I like being called "Miss Makenzie" by the kids I work with in homework help, kid's club, and awana.
It doesn't feel so strange to me. I thought it would weird me out.
Every time I hear "Miss Makenzie!" it makes me smile (at least on the inside).
Maybe I smile because of the ridiculous thought that I'm actually at the age of being in charge and mature.
I'm good at being in charge and bossy, (as my younger sisters will attest) yet,


I don't feel that old.

KUDOS (no spell check...)

{NOTE: this post is much better when read aloud...translation in THIS POST...}

Awkward situashuns.

I've had mah share. Th' key thin' t'do is play them off like it's no trimenjus deal, ah reckon. Make it seem as un-awkward as postible.

Eff'n yo' kin does thet, yer golden, as enny fool kin plainly see. Eff'n yo' kin does thet, less be friends.

Once, it was obvious thet someone was hintin' fo' a compliment fum me. ah was oblivious.

{ah's not fine wif hints. Ask mah mom, dawgone it.}

Then it hit me (d'oh! Fry mah hide!): this hyar varmint be hankerin' me t'tell them "fine job! Fry mah hide!"

So ah did, cuss it all t' tarnation.

ah meant it, but it didn't feel th' same as an unsolicited compliment. Th' unsolicited ones is th' BEST. ah love them feelin'-boosters. They make me smile...

Whut in tarnation does yo' does when yo' does not reckon sumpin is not a "job fine done" o' deservin' of compliment?

Answer: Nevah miss a fine oppo'tunity t'be quiet.

But, eff'n th' varmint seems desperate fo' kudos, yo' kin allus find sumpinto sinsyarly compliment o' incourage (ah's all fo' incouragin' an' buildin' up others), even eff'n it does feel a tad awkward, cuss it all t' tarnation. This hyar is whar tack comes in han'y. 

{tact: considerashun in dealin' wif others an' avoidin' givin' offense -princeton website)

It takes some prackice t'git tack t'wawk fo' yo'. But once yo' git it, it is a mighty useful tool, ah reckon.

A wo'd of advice: when yo' does give a compliment, please do be sinsyar.

Fake compliments is dreadful fo' menny reasons. 

ah have experience. Trest me.

When someone gives me an insinsyar "great job! Fry mah hide!" (it's easy t'tell, at least in varmint) it makes me feel even wo'se than eff'n they were simply honest.

ah doesn't be hankerin' thet kind of pity.

False compliments kin backfire on th' givah. It's a messy business, let me tell yo'.

Fo' example:

This hyar is jest an example pitcher...
{an' free advahtisin'}

 Eff'n someone makes a chipotle blue cheese an' green pepper dip

(ah despise blue cheese, green pepper, an' chipotle flavo'ed thin's)

an' they is so kind as t'share some wif me, ah sh'd not EVER tell them thet ah find it scrumppious when in reality, ah do NOT. ah can say it is "interestin'" eff'n pressed t'give an opinion, an' leave it at thet.

Lyin' is bad, cuss it all t' tarnation. Mighty bad, cuss it all t' tarnation.

Yo' knows whut will happen eff'n ah tell them ah love th' dip?

They will make me a trimenjus batch of it fo' me t'take home fo' mah own eatin' pleasure. They will then brin' th' dip up when ah see them agin.

"Hey Kenzie! Is all of thet dip ah gave yo' gone? Will yo' be wantin' some mo'e? Yer one of th' fust varmints outside of mah fambly t'acshully like it. ah's so glad yo' does. I've told ev'ryone ah knows thet yo' love thet stuff...be speckin' it fo' yer birthday." 

 Mebbe ah can git mah fambly t'eat it, but ah will not be touchin' thet stuff.

So I've cuzd unnecessary wawk fo' th' kind sharer, I've lied, an' ah's likely a-gonna waste grub thet others might acshully eat.

{untrue sto'y, luckily}

T'other example of th' advahse effecks of fakin' it:

 Thar's someone who reckons themselves a talented reco'der player (when in reality they is not gif'ed at blowin' th' whistle). They feel purdy cornfident.

Figgers bein' th' operative wo'd, cuss it all t' tarnation.

Eff'n ah were t'give a false compliment, ah's purdy sho'nuff they'd be so nice as t'regale me wif a long varmintal corncert of so'ts.

Talk about majo' backfire.

Th' mo'al: be careful wif compliments. Be sinsyar.

Mean whut yo' say an' be willin' t'live wif the consequences....

BONUS! Fry mah hide!! Fry mah hide!

Th' oddness of th' English language (both is legal grammar-wise):

Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.

an' 

Thet thet is is thet thet is not is not is thet it it is

(there is a translation in the post below...)

KUDOS (a translation)

If you would like to read a more "american" "readable" version of the above post, click
see more

(don't) kiss me

Well, the irony is crazy.
This irony makes me laugh ...soundlessly.
Why soundlessly, you ask?

If I tell you, it will cause you to pity me, I'm sure. {At least I hope it will. DO pity me.}

To set the stage: I've been learning some new tunes on the guitar. Last week, my sister and I sang "Kiss Me" by Sixpence None the Richer. We sang it a few times in a row. We even went so far as to sing it for others to hear.

You reap what you sow.

I didn't plan on actually kissing anyone. You know this, right?

Strangely and sadly enough, I have the KISSING SICKNESS.

Ewwwwww.....
*Dun, Dun, Duuuuuuunnn*
How can this be?
All I did was sing about kissing.
Maybe I should go whisper-sing about NOT kissing. Would that help??

I've been sick quite a few times in the past few months off and on.
All of the viruses have had the same complications and symptoms.
Annnnnd, the symptoms match up with mono.
My voice is gone.
My head is throbbing.
My lymph nodes are swollen.
I'm not hungry.
I ache.
I also have a propensity to complain via blog. (the tell-tale symptom)

Sorry. I don't mean to take it out on you. But since I can't vocalize my feelings, typing about them helps.

...I read "Hard Times" by Charles Dickens today. I hadn't read it before. It was a good read, but sad and a bit depressing. Not the best "get well book"
It made me thankful to live now rather than in Victorian England. I'm blessed to not simply have facts.


In order to redeem this post, that is to make it somewhat readable and a smidgen entertaining, I will tell you about a hobby of mine. [Prepare for major geekiness.]

I have a garden growing in my room.
It is a modest garden, but it adds a sense of homeyness and happy.
Okay, it's a collection of houseplants.
But they are so fun!

...I can see you rolling your eyes.
Stop.

If you were allergic to almost every animal, you'd love plants too.


In order to personify them, I have named them. Some of them even have baby plants now. aww...
There is my crazy colored plant that turned out to be two plants in one pot. Bonus! After separating them, I decided to call it "Duran" and "Duran". Good band and good plants.

Then there's my dappled aloe plant that goes by the name of Fitzgerald.
It has grown two aloe-ettes that have been transplanted.

There's two baby sunflowers that are growing rapidly. Who knew that you could grow sunflowers inside? Turns out, it's entirely feasible

...I hope.

Anywho, I missed homework help, due to my sickness. There was still sunshine and rainbows tonight, because Noella {who is an amazing girl} made me and my sister a picture.
Have I mentioned that I love art?

"Get well Miss Makenzie and Savennah." 

In other news, today, as Mom was slicing potatoes for potato soup, she found a hollow cavity that looks like a heart in one of the potatoes. Just in time for... 

Also my beautiful bed arrived today! It looks princessy, but it does NOT have a pea under the mattress  (I checked) 

I think I'll go make use of it. I'm so groggy. 

Might as well SING

Singing makes everything fun.
Until you get on someone's nerves. Luckily for me, that did not happen today (the getting on the nerves part)
I did get to sing. I belted out notes. FUN.

Strumming the guitar + singing = super fun.

I aim to be the next Dolly Parton.  I think "country" could be my niche.
{If you've heard me sing, you know this is all conjecture. Please let me have my delusions...}

I am SO good with the country persona. I just love poofy hair, and I've grown up with the music. I've got the singing patterns down, darlin.
I even
(wait for it)
have a cowgirl hat.

Though I try to deny it sometimes, I'm truly a southern girl.

If you know me, it's pretty blatant. *wink*

I favor charm and hospitality. Always be polite. If my momma has taught me anything, it's civility towards others EVEN if they so happen to cut me in line. {I smile and politely tell them off.}

After visiting other areas of the country, I've realized how kind southerners are in comparison to the rest of the nation. There is some sort of unsaid code of the South that everyone {for the most part} understands.
I think in the old days it was called "manners", "courtesy" or "civility". Somehow it's been lost.
I don't know what's happened, but I do know (and this is a trick of the trade) that you'll always catch more flies with honey.

[not that I want to attract flies per se. It's a metaphor...but you aren't a literalist like me, so you don't need that explained...]


I'm no redneck, but living in the south sure has shaped me.

A few of my good friends growing up were YANKEES, so that helped to nullify some of the southernness and made me a more "well-rounded" individual. I also picked up on their funny accent.

Know what? [Prepare for another factoid about me]

I used to DETEST the southern accent.

Such an odd thing. It's like I'm denying my heritage. For shame, I could blend right in if need be. I prefer not to use that special skill.

Hey, there's an idea for a dire circumstance.
If ever I'm running from the law, I'll find me a nice place out in the country {with a couple coon dogs thrown in}. I could work at wall-mark. I'd hand out stickers. {Not that there's anything wrong with that}
I know the culture, like it or not.

Even BETTER, I could be a translator for the southern-speakers. The everyday people of the south can talk to the everyday people of everywhere else.

 I found my job niche. I didn't even have to go to college!


I was talking with an older couple (obviously southern) in a rural Bojangles (best. southern fast food. ever.) and they asked if I was from up North. The older gentleman said that I talked fancy.
Me?!? Talk funny?!? Never.

AND THEN, someone else (at a different place and time) said that my southern accent must be fake, because it "didn't fit with my personality" or something like that.
LIBEL. He didn't know any better, bless his heart.

Ladies and Gentleman, my accent is FOR REAL. It comes naturally.
You'd better believe it. After spending a week in a more rural southern area, my accent comes out strong.

I have been speaking with more southern intonations lately. It's becoming a habit.
I think it's fun. I can randomly say phrases like, "bless your heart" or "now listen" into my everyday speaking.

Sometimes I throw in some British. Not in with the Southern though. Ewww.

(The British Accent Collection is a work in progress. I was happy to get some feedback from real live people actually from the UK. It was exciting.)

Naturally, I speak with pretty much a broad "accentless" accent. The one that comes with living in an urban area...

One of my life goals is becoming a master of seeming indigenous.
Not to become a wall-flower or to be weird, but just to be fun.
It's like a personal sociology project or something...

I love studying people and their mannerisms to create characters for sketches or entertainment.

That's not weird is it?

clutterbug

So apparently I have issues when it comes to collecting things. 

As I have been reorganizing my stuff while I redo my room, I’m realizing that I am in fact a collector of the following: 

• rocks from interesting places (the tops of mountains, creeks, beaches...)
• Coins from around the world 
• Bells (I inherited the collection) 
• Sharpies (It’s a disorder, I’m sure) 
• old letters (can I get an aww? That letter box can be so neat to look through...) 
• Post Cards (it makes for a cool collage on my bulletin board...) 
• Pencils (a useful collection, don’t you agree?) 
• mother of pearl shells and a jar of seashells (One summer at the beach, I couldn’t stop picking them up. They were so shiny and pretty...it's a habit) 
• Posters. (Very cool band tour posters from the “old days” [a.k.a. the 1980’s.])
• [As I've said before] old records for my turntable

There’s also a conglomerate of various knick-knacks. Their only function is to look nice. 

I’m thinking about sorting through them, and culling out some old ones... but they all have happy memories attached! You don't want me to lose my memories, do you?!? 

My sisters make fun of me for being so sentimental. 
Okay, I admit I am a smidgen too sentimental about some things. 


But they aren't junky things; they're nice and well kept. I think that’s a good sign. If I cared nothing for my gifts, you’d think me terrible or at least cold and unfeeling. ...and if you thought I didn't care, you probably wouldn't give me anything for my birthday. AHEM.
(it is in 56 days, just so you're prepared. I'll be OLD! Oh the HORROR. I do NOT want to be old and adultish. I have a hard enough time now...I've decided I'm not growing up... backontopic)


I appreciate gifts and see them as an expression of love and thoughtfulness. 

I do admit, it is time for me to pass the love on with some things. 

But you know what's mildly infuriating?? 
As soon as I’ve found a new home for something and it is long gone, I’ll find a good use for it. Arrgh. 
***
I also have a massive collection of books for someone of my age. (Must I bring up age again?!?) 

I know I need to weed and cull, but some of the books are SO GOOD, and I know that someday my sisters will need to read them. Shakespeare, Doyle, Dickens, Austen, Twain, Tolkien, Lewis...

You should be proud, though. I have about 50 that are going to edward mckay (wonderful bookstore). 

There’s even *gasp* my many hardback yellow NANCY DREW books in the box destined to be gone. 
I don’t find much pleasure in re-reading those mystery stories.
I figured out the patterns Carolyn Keene used. They were good books, but the stories lacked depth and the mysteries were slightly repetitive. ..which is why they are aimed at 8-12 year olds.

My sisters never found them fascinating like I did. When I was 6, Nancy Drew was the bee’s knees.  

When I was 12, I discovered Sherlock Holmes. 
His story had the gripping power that Nancy’s lacked. 

So now the works of Doyle have replaced the works of Keene. 

Right now, I have my books stacked on the floor for organizing. I'm staring at them. 
(It's tempting to start rereading some of them. I’m a sucker for a good fairytale...) 

Instead of actually organizing them, I’m allowing my mind to drift and my fingers to type. 


Books... 

Sometimes your view of life can be changed for the better. Books can help you to understand others. You gain knowledge and stimulate the growth of gray matter in the noggin. 
Not all books are like this, but I appreciate the ones that are.

The "escapist" literature in my collection has been weeded out {for the most part. Like I said, I'm a sucker for a good fairy tale.}

okay, okay...the thought that my room will straighten itself is a fairy tale. One that I wish would come true, but sadly, will not. 


Where are you Mary Poppins?? 

The Hazards that Hinder Homework Help

As you may have read, homework help was last night.

It happens at a nearby apartment complex where many of the residents don't speak English as their first language. It's a great multi-cultural experience... Swahili, Spanish, French, Nepali...

Turns out, it's more perilous than I had originally thought.
...
Never trust a girl with scissors.
NEVER.
ESPECIALLY one who desperately wants your attention.

Would you like me to elaborate? I shall.

Homework help starts at 7.
Ben and John were there early. They asked me to help them with their math.  It took some concentration on my part to get both of them to focus...every few minutes John or Ben would start talking about something random or try to run around the small room like maniacs.

John and Ben are both on the "Hey! Look! A shiny object!" side of things.

So I was helping Ben with subtraction. John was practicing counting up to 20. I didn't really have any more attention to give.

Dekyria came in late. She asked me to help her, but I really couldn't.
There were others who were more than happy to help this 6 year old with her "homework". (She had a word search.)


Needless to say, Dekyria ended up going to someone else for word search advice.

Unaware of things happening around me, I focused in on helping the two boys finish their worksheets.

(NOTE TO SELF: remain conscious of surroundings AT ALL TIMES) 

This isn't sounding good.

A few minutes later, as I was explaining subtraction to Ben, he pointed behind me and said "Miss Makenzie! Your hair!"
Oblivious, I turned around to see what he was pointing at.

Dekyria was standing right behind me.
She brandished a pair of scissors...

...and had a clump of my red hair in her fist.

I was in shock. She should know better than to cut other people's hair, right?
WRONG,
          wrong,
               wrong,
                    WRONG.

This girl had never learned the important fact of personal space/NOT CHOPPING off other people's hair.

Incredulous, I asked, "Dekyria, why did you do that?"

She grinned, "'Cause I want something to remember you by next time I go on a cruise."

...mmmkay....these kids don't have many luxuries. A cruise?!? Really?

Still in shock, I told her, "You should not cut other people's hair without asking first."

She didn't seem to get it.


So, Amy [who is better at handling such matters; she is a schoolteacher] called her over and discussed the incident.

I think it finally sunk in for Dekyria. Crying, Dekyria told me she was sorry. Of course I forgave her.
But, I put my hair up in a bun...just to be safe.

She's a piece of work. She CRAVES attention. When she gets it, it's never enough. I love her, but sometimes it's tough. Especially last night.
Please pray for her (and me).

Really, PLEASE do...I like my hair on my head.

When I got home, I inspected the spot that had been cut.
Luckily, I have layers, so it isn't blatantly noticeable.

Sadly, it takes my hair a very long time to grow.

I've learned a priceless lesson.
You should too: always know if there are scissors nearby.

Leche and Leeches

Mom made monster cookies the other day.

Pure yumminess with oatmeal, chocolate chips, peanut butter, m&m's... mmmm

She made them for her BSF ladies group and for us to have a special treat. I took advantage. I'm not going to say a number, but I consumed a lot of cookies. 

I OD-ed on the cookies. 

This was me (in blue cookie monster form): 

Sugar does some crazy stuff to you. For most of the day, I was hyped up.
Borderline ADHD. 

Then came the mighty crash. 

This crash was terrible and happened a few hours before bed. 

Extreme sleepiness, increased irritability, and there was still utter lack of attention for anything. 

Totally zoned out. 

When I fell asleep, I had crazy dreams that made no sense. (flying monkeys as beauticians anyone?) 

When I woke up, I was groggy, felt moody, and wanted to sleep for the rest of my life. 

I'm not making this stuff up. I had a legit hangover from the cookies. I have researched the sugar crash, and it is a very real medical phenomenon. (Wikipedia calls it "a supposed sense of fatigue after consuming a large quantity of carbohydrates.", but what do they know? Other medical sites actually back it up. So there.) 

If you could have seen me, you would not have known me. It took a long time to get over the symptoms. 

Thankfully, I had blood drawn today, and it was amazing how much it helped my overdose. I think those doctors in the dark ages were on to something with the bloodletting.

No, now, I didn't let my own blood or get hurt; 

I had some taken from me for testing. 

You know earlier when I was talking about SUPERPOWERS? (<- see for link to blog post)

Well, there's been some interesting occurrences, and the medical community wants to check it out...I'm not supposed to say too much... You'll keep it on the down-low, right? I know I can trust blog readers.

Anywho, after 8 vials of blood were taken from me, I felt better, albeit a bit weirded out to see my own blood in such a context. Eight vials looks like a large quantity when you have a tube running out of your arm. 

My theory is that enough sugar concentrate was removed from my bloodstream for my body to perk up rapidly. 

Tonight is homework help! 

I love it. Except for when it's homework that the kid wants me to do for them...nope, not happening. I instruct and guide. I'm not an enabler. NOT. 

...

My sister and I are learning some neat harmonies. It takes a LOT of practice to train your voice to sing different notes than the melody. The end result will be great, hopefully. 

Now, I'm going to go revel in the fact that I am no longer under the spell of the sugar.

...maybe I'll eat a cookie to celebrate.

baby talk

oh the agony.
It's like teething all over again.
Where's the numbing gel?

On top of it, I have a cold. bleh.

The orthodontist reapplied some of my brackets today {using a ray gun no less...my super ability will come...sometime.}

My teeth/mouth/head hurts. I do NOT want to talk. I was fine earlier this evening, but the bad feeling is progressing.

I'm SUCH a baby. I've taken pain medicine, but it hasn't kicked in and the wires are keeping me awake.

Why yes, I would like some cheese to complement my whine. 
Thanks a lot. Sadly, I CAN'T CHEW IT. 


Sucking it up now. No pain, no gain. I will grin (grimace is a better word) and bear it.

I'm going to think about something else.

So I have a new wig from my bestie, Clearance. Clearance is such a good friend. We're tight. If ever I see her in a store, I make a veritable beeline.

The wig is crazy. I'd talk about it more, but it will be a prop in an upcoming skit (if my teeth ever stop hurting. sorrybacktotopic), and I want it to be utterly shocking in the best way. I shan't be recognized. It will be fun.
I need to brainstorm.

Also, I love your comments.
Even the anonymous ones. 

Compliments (and *sigh* I guess criticism too): always welcome.
Compliments are *especially* welcome when I feel like this...


Mark Twain said something like:

"I can live for two months on a good compliment. "

I think this is true for many people...I also think I blog too much. But this is fun and it's taking my mind off of...
OH SNAP
...I just remembered.
owwww

New LP and a stroll through my memory...

I LOVE SHOPPING. What girl doesn't?!?

Resale shops are my favorite. It's like an awesome adventure. You never know what neat stuff you'll discover (at a discount, no less).

The Mall is life-sucking an okay place to shop. Every few months I'll go there to remind myself of commercialism, materialism, salesmanship, and the inherent dangers of credit cards ("Would you like to apply for our super-fun, high-interest rate credit-card? You'll save 10% and the card is sparkly...")

Today we went to the mall. After wandering about for a few hours, I was happy to leave the death trap the mall.

Although I did get some cute winter stuff (ON SALE)...and a caribou coffee.

The mall does have its place.

But what I am really pumped about is my new vinyl from Ed McKay (a simply wonderful bookstore).

UB40.
Reggae is fun stuff.

This picture is crazy, but it captures the moment of "reggae realization"

I'm currently listening to it. It's a nice change from my ipod.
Playing music from a record is an experience. You actually have to set the needle and flip the LP after three songs. Skipping songs takes some precision...shuffle is unheard of. You actually have to pick music out. The machine won't choose for you. Woah. This is radical.

The album I bought is called "Little Baggariddim"


hahahaha. Try saying that out loud. Little Baggariddim.
I dare you not to smile.

If you didn't smile, try saying it with a Creole accent.

Still not smiling?

Wow, you're a tough cookie.


My new purchase has started me on a resurge of listening to my LP's.
I have quite a collection. It ranges from the beatles to blondie to the beach boys... There's even some classical music in there (boston pops orchestra, anyone?).

Just another random fact about yours truly.
.....

Another random fact:

For about two years, I was a Chick-fil-a employee. I learned the ropes, and knew the regulars pretty well. Not so much by name, but by orders. 

Humans are creatures of habit.

"A #1 with provolone cheese and a large diet lemonade?" 

I knew what the customer was going to order. There was one gentleman who only ordered a 6-piece kids meal with a side salad, honey mustard dressing, one barbecue, one ranch and one cfa sauce. 

He would get an adult sweet tea "with a splash of lemonade and not too much ice." 

He was very specific about it. He'd peek around the counter to make sure everything was just so. I found him amusing. He'd always double-check the bag, even after I'd assured him it was all there. 

There were countless others who had their "signature meal". I had them all memorized. 

Weird, right?

I thought I had forgotten; it's been almost a year since I worked at CFA (I quit for school reasons... and the fact that I am allergic to peanut oil fumes...not fun), but strangely I still have these people and their orders INGRAINED IN MY BRAIN.

Talk about useless random trivia.

Today when I went shopping, I visited the same mall where I used to work. 

Guess what?

In almost every store I went in to, I saw a chick-fil-a regular working.

...I remembered their orders.

(They didn't recognize me, of course, since I didn't have my hair back in a ponytail, and I was not in the burgundy uniform with the silver nametag...) 

.

It was odd. I think I could have freaked some people out by randomly telling them what they order (or used to order) at Chick-fil-a. 

But I didn't, because I don't really enjoy creeping people out like that.

Peanut butter and apples

I started the day with apple and peanut butter.

It runs in the family. My Mimi converted me at an early age. One of her favorite breakfast foods is an apple and peanut butter sandwich.
It's good stuff.
...
It's raining outside.

I'm going to go be TOTALLY productive today.

...no long blog posts...

promise.

I've received a few drawings and crafts from some cute little kiddos in the past few weeks! That sort of thoughtfulness is fabulous. It's going in my scrapbook.

I'm such a sentimental person. I have a pretty pink box filled with letters and memorabilia...dating wayy back from when I was 7 or so. That's a lot of memories.

Okay, timetobeproductive.
Hold me accountable!
Goodbye internet world!

I just remembered that I'm getting my braces tightened tomorrow. I need to eat something crunchy while I can.
...I'm also going to further develop my super-powers. I haven't forgotten. These things do take time to show themselves.

the feel-good food of the season.

I am proud to say that I made potato soup.
I am also glad to say that my potato soup turned out nicely, and is currently warming my hands as I slurp it from my bowl.

It was terribly simple, but as is true with almost any soup, it takes a bit of time to make.

It's savory, but it doesn't overstimulate your taste buds.
The purpose of this kind of soup is to heal.

With the colds going around  [and my allergies], immunity boosters are most welcome. Drinking it immediately makes you feel like your immune system has been enhanced. It's one of the ultimate feel-better foods (in my opinion)

Okay, I'm no chef (although that was my life-plan when I was 15), but here is my version of potato soup:

Benadryl Zombie!!

Yep, that would describe me about now. I need brains. **gggglf glorpsh.**

I wrote a song about my condition. I'll have to see how it sounds after the side effects have worn off and my brain actually starts to reengage.

I don't remember this drug changing me SO very much last time I took it.
I am an utter airhead.
...
Yesterday night was our church's fall festival. I was the White Queen/Corpse Bride/Queen Elizabeth I.

It wasn't a super-defined character. It had the ambiguity I needed. I powdered my face and wore a wedding dress, pearls and a HUGE diamond ring. (I plan on my engagement ring being just as large *goofy grin*)

I would have powdered my hair, but I woke up 30 minutes before we were supposed to leave. For some reason, on Sunday I was tired. Utterly wiped out. What can I say? Sunday is, after all, the day of rest.

I went to a costume party last week, and I actually had time to do my hair and better accessorize:

Dressing up makes life much more fun. My beauteous sister (on the right) was the red queen. But as you can tell, I have the magic. Magic is much better than looks. Just like in Snow White. The evil queen could make herself beautiful/ugly/whatever...she had the power! {I'm ignoring her eventual downfall}

Okay, this feeling is madness. I DO NOT enjoy being high on allergy medication. My eyes will stay open no longer. I type with them closed.

I bid you goodnight.

It's in the air

...and it's making me sneeze. Whatever the trees/plants are putting off, my body is wrongly interpreting it as evil.
It's fighting this stuff to the death ...for no good reason.

Thank you, immune system.

Since this reaction is so dreadful, I must resort to the inevitable:

the litte pink pill known as benadryl.

This medicine is going to be popped.

It will affect me in crazy ways. Soon my head will be up in the clouds, my attention fogged, and there will be a dazed look on my face.

I'm only taking 1/2 a dose, mind you.

But the side effects sure beat this crazy allergy attack.

Such is the curse blessing of being a redhead...

**update** I am content with staring at the wall. My appendages are so heavy. There is something wrong, but I can't put my finger on it. Everything is fuzzy...I'm not sneezing though.