Tired Complaints

Gedit doesn't work with this version of OS X. Spaces—pretty much my favorite feature of my desktop—doesn't work with this version of OS X. If my sister's computer didn't come with an install disk, I'm going to attempt to get this baby to revert back to whatever the four-year-old version of OS X is called, because this is infuriating. I don't fucking care about intuitive operating systems—my laptop is not an iphone. I do not want my laptop to be an iphone, I want my laptop to be a laptop. I like some of the funcitonality—being able to do all those multitouch gestures with the trackpad is nice—but from what I've seen so far, even getting ubuntu to run on this machine is going to be a trial.

Shelby's being annoying again. She lost her ipod ages ago, refuses to pay to get a new one, and is bugging me to use mine. Well, would be bugging me—I gave her a very curt “no”, and she fortunately decided not to pursue the subject, so I get to continue to be angry here.

Greg's probably going to text me immediately telling me to switch to Windows. I'm going to install it—just need to decide how big to make the partition. I have 750 GB to work with, just need to figure out the proper allocations. This is going to turn into a triple booted machine, I think. This fucking Lion thing is just annoying me too much. Although maybe I'll cave and pay the $20 for the downgraded version...all I know is that I want more customization than exists here. I want to be able to pull up an easily navigable display of all my windows with a key stroke, not the godawful application stacks I'm currently getting. I also want Spaces back. If I use four virtual desktops on my computer at home—which is at least twice the size of this one—than I bloody well need that many on a screen that is a quarter of the size. Currently, all my windows are piling up, and I've only even got four open.

I'm used to being able to have full control over my computer. Maybe that's just the familiarity with an operating system that I've gained over four years of use—maybe given sufficient time, I'd become familiar with Lion, and be able to do all those fancy schmancy tricks for desktop utilization. But right now, I don't have the internet access to search (fucking planes, charging for internet...although this one actually doesn't have wifi. Shelby keeps going on about how I'm “sooooo attached” to my laptop, but that's not accurate. I'm attached to the internet...one of these days I'm going to have to buy a droid, just to complete the image).

Ridiculous, isn't it. I decide to buy the Macbook Pro because I'm so sick of Windows that I want OS X (summerbook editing can do that to a girl), then I get OS X and decide it's not to my liking, so I'm likely going to end up on Linux anyways. Ah, well. I like linux quite a bit, and I'm going to like being able to have something a little more malleable to work with. Plus the macbook is still shiny, and the keyboard is backlit and the touchpad is a bit nicer (I think) than I would have gotten with the toshiba. Not to mention the warranty and whatnot, though I'm not sure how helpful that is if I start messing around with my operating system.

It is what it is, I guess. Not much to be done about it, not really, not much can be done beyond complaining. I love the feel of the Mac, I just really, really dislike the new operating system. I really need to get my hands on the previous one, or I need to find someone who knows how to make this one act like the previous one...or I'll install some linux distro that behaves like the previous one. That's probably the most likely.

I'll just go on complaining, though. It's not like anyone really minds. Well, if anyone really does mind, it's not like I'm forcing them to read...seriously, I kept writing this baby even when I thought no one was reading it, and then I have four people tell me they have been. If that doesn't make a girl feel loved, I really don't know what would.

Zippadeedooda

We flew from Maui to the big island (The Big Island?) today, which was a flight only slightly longer than the one I took from LA to Santa Barbara a week ago. There's a lot of volcanic rock here. At least, I think that's what it is. I can't imagine what else could cover everything the eye can see (except the ocean) in crumbling darkness.

Shelby's in the shower, but we're supposed to go to dinner at 6:45. This is inconvenient, especially considering I just exercised (be impressed) and am vaguely sweaty (okay, maybe I could have done with a little bit more on the exercise front, but at least it's better than nothing).

I can't get over how easy this keyboard types. I mean, in theory, the keyboard on my desktop should be the same, but this just feels so much smoother. Maybe I just got too used to the keyboards in the Athena clusters--but I'll be back in those soon enough, so I suppose it all works out.

I really need to figure out how to get ahold of the next Wheel of Time book while I'm still here, because I really don't want to think about getting through the six hour plane ride to San Francisco without one. We're stuck in some far-off corner of resortyness, though, and I'm not sure what the major booksellers are our here anyways. I'm going to have to come up with some more creative googling. Just because there's not Barnes and Nobles doesn't mean there's no anything...right?

Another Banal Update

Dad's pronunciation of all the hawaiian words is atrocious. He gets the first letter---sometimes even the first syllable---correct, and the last vowel, typically, but then all the letters in between turn into some sort of monkeyish jabbering. It's hilarious, and it drives Genie beserkers.

We drove the Hana (Hanna? Hannah?) Highway today, which meant that we went all the way around Maui in our rented minivan. We visited a lot of waterfalls, spent a lot of time in the car, swam in some pools and drove down the twistiest, most beautiful road I've ever seen while singing whatever songs my sisters and I could remember the words to. It was wonderful.

Now I'm back at our condo, sleeping on the couch (well, I will be sleeping, once I get off of the computer and wash up and crawl into bed, which I expect won't be for a while since Shelby is currently in the shower). There's not really anyone online to talk to--the time difference takes care of that. I started A Crown of Swords today, which is wonderful but a bit depressing, since it's currently focusing on Perrin and Faile, and I keep thinking about the awful mess that they're going to end up embroiled in, which makes me sad, not to mention how many books it is before Rand's craziness issue is going to be improved upon. I'm not sure if the books get darker, or if it's just that the plot lines developing now hadn't been resolved at the point where I last stopped reading, but the darkness of the story is suddenly bothering me a lot more.

I need to decide whether to go back to frisbee club when I get home. On the one hand, I need the exercise, I've missed playing, I had a lot of fun with it this spring, and it will make it 100% clear to Peter that I'm not avoiding him without me having to actually spend any time sorting things out with just him. On the other hand, I really would prefer not to have to deal with seeing Peter, because I strongly suspect that however over it I am now, seeing him is going to destroy that resolve (I mean, seeing Dawson did that to a certain extent in April, and that was a smaller involvement and a greater time lag...but it's hard to say). I also feel like if he wants to see me, that should be up to him. I'm more or less letting my pride lead me at this point, which is probably not a good thing, as I'll more likely than not end up embarrassed (oh, the number of times I spelled that wrong while writing up things for the summerbook....) about something that wouldn't bother me otherwise. I just don't want to let on to him that I'm still affected--that I was ever affected at all--because he's the one who ended things. Frisbee isn't about seeking him out, but I'm worried it'll seem that way to him, and I don't want him to think that, so I'll end up embarrassed and awkward, and then it'll really seem like I'm seeking him out. If I avoid any place he might be, though, that could be a problem. That I won't do. I want to avoid him, but I won't, because that would be both obvious and rude.

This is ridiculous. I shouldn't care. I don't care, not really, but I still worry.

Fantabulosity

Today started with getting to sleep in, so it really seemed good from the beginning. Unfortunately, my beloved youngest sister got into a screaming fight with my mom at the time my alarm would have gone off anyways, so my attempts at rest were thwarted.

On the plus side, I then spent many hours lolling about the house and being generally unproductive (and by unproductive, I mean "covered two more mini-units of vector review," obviously). Then I drove all the way to somewhat-far-off-town, successfully using the car's built-in GPS to locate the photography studio. It was easily identified by the nerdy looking kid wearing khakis and a blue shirt, just as ordered.

I derived a surprising amount of enjoyment from the photo-taking. I realize that the people there are supposed to go on and on about how beautiful the photograph-ee looks, but that doesn't mean that a mountain of compliments isn't fun. Posing with Rodney was probably more fun on the whole, though. We got lumped together after the photographer+assistants asked if we knew each other---not if we liked each other, mind you, just if we knew each other. This meant that as they posed us in various relations to each other, we got to make jokes at their expense, which more or just meant calling them crazy and then laughing a lot (you'd laugh to, if you were uncomfortable). There are also some photos of us making James Bond poses that I'd love to get ahold of at some point in the future.

Also, I met this cute guy from Tennessee who rides Tennessee walking horses (or something like that) professionally and wants to be a large animal vet when he grows up. I kind of really wanted to attempt to set him up with Kathrya, but then I found out that he is only a junior. Well, that and I remembered that Kathrya has a boyfriend, but these are minor details.

Later this evening, I went to movie night. It was a painful decision between settling down with a new way of thinking about projection vectors and going to watch A Fish Named Wanda, but I think I made the right decision. The movie was hilarious. Also, I got to meet Timothy, at long last. He is every bit as adorably nerdy as expected. I already want to be his friend, and he totally fits right into the group, which is lovely on the whole. He and Julie are colossally cute (I actually said to Yuma "they're like you and Ginny. It's adorable!", so I'm now officially on record on finding Yuma and Ginny cute rather than nauseating).

The evening ended with eight of us sitting hunched over in the back of Josh's car, eating ice cream out of the carton and discussing internet browsers in great detail. It was amazing. Nerdiness to the point of perfection.

The best terrible pun I can remember (I love puns so, so much) was Josh saying that Julie was covered in mud and therefore "so dirty." So much pun. So much wonderful.

Nyx also said, at one point, "this is so much more fun than getting drunk."

"Agreed," I replied.

"I really wouldn't know," said Brian.

It was then realized that none of us actually knew, but we nonetheless agreed that this sort of activity is in every way superior.

I love my friends.

Minor Happenings

This evening, I went on an event that resembled a date with our (not so) dear friend Peter. It was boring and not really worth much of the worry that lead up to it. On the plus side, I've emerged with renewed confidence (I can do better!) as well as improved comfort in my independence (I'd have had more fun by myself or with a friend!). Great success!

In other news, we're beginning a new game of mafia. I can say no more without risking death by beheading from Frank, our beloved overlord, so that is all I can reveal with regards to that specific category.

Last night's girly sleepover was quite fun and extremely enjoyable. Organic soda is delicious. Air mattresses are comfy. The companionship of Julie, Cammie, and Gretchen is wonderful.

Why is it that a bad date makes me so happy? More importantly, is this analysis worth performing? Probably not.

I also have a fiction assignment due Tuesday. I have to fictionalize the following memoir and hand it in:

Last summer, on August 2^nd, Annie died. She was six years old. She was the child of my father’s stepsister, but I’d known her for all of her six years. I could remember, way back when, visiting her family after she’d just been born, looking at this teeny tiny baby and marveling at how any human being could be that small.

She’d died of a brain hemorrhage. It was bizarre, completely uncontrollable, completely incapable of being healed. There was nothing we could do, though, and I’d never seen death before, never been to a funeral. I hadn’t reached the place where I am now—I suppose it takes a second death for that.

But, regardless, my family had splurged on airline tickets to Colorado months before, flying away for the first time in two nearly two years.

We didn’t want Shelby to have to go to the funeral—Shelby, my baby sister, who already thinks that she’s psychic and is about as emotionally overwhelmed as it’s possible to be already. So my parents stayed for the funeral, and they sent my sisters and I jetting off across the country. The three of us spent a week in a house by ourselves, learning independence, messing up the cooking, wandering off, looking for our own sources of closure. Sometimes, the funeral doesn’t help.

Musings on Nothing

I am cold. For some reason, the temperature of the air when I'm walking outside in the sun doesn't translate well to the inside of my room.

I am hungry. Apparently the cupcakes I devoured during lunch were not sufficient to hold me over. The dry rice crispies that my tutor-ee and I ate while I was teaching her to classify triangles was also not enough...Shelby just came in to call me to dinner. More later.

It is now later. Dinner was chicken parmesan, and it was delicious. I wish that I was capable of spelling delicious without the assistance of spellcheck, I really do. I'm now trying to think of what happened today in an attempt to come up with something halfway worth reading. The squabbles in the truck on the way to school with Genie and Shelby, for example, do not qualify as interesting. Nor does the fact that our household ran out of 2% milk.

I keep wanting to add \ to the front of the percent. LaTeX is slowly doing me in.

I have been be-ticketed for prom. I let Peter pay for my ticket--I'm not sure that I should have, but he said that he was in a brook-no-arguments sort of tone that really ought to have bothered me but didn't. Dad advised me, when I was worrying over it later, that his mother was probably paying for it, and she'd given me at least eighty dollars of grief over the years, so I really shouldn't worry. Ginny and Yuma have also both be-ticketed themselves--I'm not totally clear on whether her parents are aware that she's going with Yuma, though I don't know how much they'd care at this current point in time anyways.

I hope Ginny starts blogging again when she gets to college, because I'd like to have some way to keep up with her life. Hopefully I will have more to write about than just psets, and this will be a decent medium for keeping up with my life.

The second half of my physics final was uneventful. At least, I think it was uneventful--first period isn't usually clear enough in my memory for trustworthy recollections. My free periods in the caf dragged on for far too long. Facebook ate a bunch of notifications. I should probably play the piano but lack the motivation.

I've continued reading Woolf's The Voyage Out. Her characters are remarkably realistic. I feel like I know them, and they're tangible, and yet they're far too complex for me to predict their behaviors. It's a big departure from Sanderson's characters--his women in particular seem to all be somewhat similar, a complaint that's frequently been made of Jordan's work, which is interesting. But, then again, Woolf is on a whole different playing field.

I'm going to go back to my reading.

Another Month Begins

February. It's almost Shelby's birthday (I have bought her nothing). Nyx's has already passed. Mine is coming up. I'll be 18. Old. Very old. But only two years after I started this blog.

It feels like longer. But then, so does the time since I've been in high school, the weeks since I got into college, the months since this summer. My perception of time is horribly skewed.

Part of that, though, is that I don't do anything with it. My computer and I are very well acquainted, but there's not much aside from that. Especially given that the current weather is keeping me from getting out of the house.

Stupid snow, pretty though it is.

Extended Weekend of Awesome Awesomeness

This can also be referred to "the time that Tea decided not to study for her midterms, and instead elected to enjoy her spontaneously week-long school vacation."

No, I am not kidding about the week bit. Wednesday was a snowday, Thursday had a delayed opening, Friday was staff development, Monday was Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and Tuesday was another snow day. Yes, this is a lot of no-school, so, of course, I did a lot with it.

Thursday afternoon--ran science bowl practice. I made a list of all this stuff to look up, then didn't look it up. In my defense, my teammates said they were unwilling to start learning it before midterms anyway. Drove Julie home from ScienceBowl Practice. Well, not quite home--I started the weekend off with a bang by getting into my first ever car crash. Yup. Good stuff. Julie was giving me directions while talking about her sexy boyfriend (not that I'd know if he was sexy because I STILL HAVEN'T MET HIM!!!), she broke off midsentence to say "you should have turned there." I then totally misjudged the truck's ability to break (I blame it on the fact that the entire bed was full of snow, but I didn't think of this until the next day, so it's not a very good excuse), turned anyways, and whipped straight into an oncoming car. The driver of that car was really, really really really pissed, but I stayed relatively calm, even after she (totally unnecessarily, I might add) called the police. Then I called my dad, who untangled the vehicles, both of which are still totally drivable. Cosmetic damages, people. I drove the truck home, explained everything to my mother, then panicked about how much money I was going to lose.

Friday: I discover that the deductible on the insurance is a mere $500, so I'm only down between 500 and 627 dollars (those gosh-darned police gave me a ticket for driving on the wrong side of the road, which I'm likely going to argue because I wasn't driving on the wrong side of the road, I swerved into the wrong side of the road due to an inability to judge the breaking ability of my father's pickup truck...but I digress). This was immensely comforting. I also rediscovered the buckyballs I got for Christmas and proceeded to spend most of the day attempting to build a 6x6x6 cube (for the record, I did eventually succeed). I also took my younger sisters shopping at Delias, where I bought a gray sweater, new boot-cut jeans (note that I've stopped referring to the clothing that now fits me as fat pants), and a $20 jacket that I am head over heels in love with. Shelby spend a lot of money in exchanges and gift cards and is still pretty excited about it. I'm just glad that I have pants that fit that I can wear with boots, because given the current snow situation, boots are a must.

Saturday: I spent all of the daylight hours milling around and feeling like I ought to be doing something. I probably started in on my final project for Mideast. I finished reading the entire archive of Ben Jones's blog at MIT, then read the entirety of Laura's. I went to a yoga class, where I failed miserably at giving off the appearance of having any idea what I was doing. The fact that my calves are so tight that I can't do a proper downward dog (apparently a very important portion of vinyasa), and my arms are so weak I can't do this weird lying down thingy we had to do a kazillion times, and the my blood pressure is still so low I felt like I was going to black out by the time we reached the 10,000th forward bend--where was I going with this?--oh, right, did nothing to diminish my enjoyment of the class. It was not quite as successful as the first class was--I spend a good three days after that one feeling sexy (no, I do not know why, but it probably was some sort of hormonal thing meant to reward me for finally getting my ass off my swivel chair)--but still nice. Then I came home, inhaled my dinner, and spent three hours ice skating. The ice skates made circular bruises around my ankles for reasons as-yet unknown. I felt so active on Saturday night, you have no idea.

Sunday I don't really remember, which means it was probably boring. I think I got the oil changed on the cars, but that might have been Thursday. Or Friday. I think it was Friday, actually, now that you mention it. And I've just remembered that Sunday wasn't boring! Kathrya came over, ostensibly to do homework (we didn't). We skyped with Bart! Saudi-Arabia-dwelling Bart! Kathrya was so excited I'm kind of surprised she didn't implode. I enjoyed the opportunity to actually put my computer's built-in webcam to use (also, talking to Bart was fun).

Monday I did stuff. What did I do? Again, I'm rambling because I don't remember. Stuff probably happened, most likely. I slept pretty late. I went to Borders and exchanged one book my parents got me for Christmas for a host of other books, including 2 Eloisa James romance novels (I read one, but the second one isn't really working for me, since the protagonist is like 20, very much unrelatable, and is pretty definitely going to end up with a 43 year old. Laaaame). I also got Ned Vizzini's autobiographical essays written at age 19. I am in love with teenage Ned Vizzini. It is unfortunate, but it is true. If he was my age, he'd probably have a blog. I should probably find blogs of random teenage guys to read, so that I develop weird writing crushes on people my own age, instead of the historical version of older people. I'll work on it later--for now: Hot Guys Reading Books!

Tuesday I set my alarm for 6:10, called the snow line with my eyes closed, then slept for another three hours. I read books. I played the piano. I hid in my room while my sisters cooked both dessert and dinner (I'm really going to need to get over my irrational fear of cooking). I played with buckyballs some more. I ignored messages from Rube and Bart while I was reading, didn't manage to respond to Bart until he wasn't there anymore, never responded to Rube, talked briefly to Greg before he had to go to lab (but not before Olive stole his computer and started typing to me). Then I started reading Yan's blog over on MIT admissions, got about halfway through her freshman year posts, then saw that she got a UROP at Sadoway Group. Then I had an absurd jealous breakdown, followed by a decision to actually read some of the papers by the group to make certain that my minor obsession was founded on fact and not some imaginary "OH MY GOSH FLOW BATTERIES" thing, since they work on other stuff (that said OH MY GOSH FLOW BATTERIES AND HE WAS REFERENCED IN THE CANON THE DAY AFTER I WENT BY HIS LAB AND MET WITH RANDOM GRAD STUDENTS OH EM GEEEEE. Plus he teaches intro chem and is apparently really awesome. And the lab appears to be doing cool stuff). Pardon the all-caps, but I have limited self control. I started reading one of the papers (well, I saw that layer-by-layer is abbreviated LbL, giggled madly, then went to the living room to collect my laundry). I decided to write this post instead of reading the paper, took note of my current more-intellectual reading (it's about the fact that gender bias and subconscious-driven gender discrimination is damaging our nation's school children, and it's particularly awesome in that it's addressing the fact that gender bias is harmful to both girls and boys (something that a lot of boys with high feminist-potentials seem turned off by is the whole "only girls are being damaged" thing)), then came back to my room, where I proceeded to while away the hours until I was tired enough to go to sleep.

Rude

I should probably sign something announcing that I will never again call something "Part 1" unless I have already written "Part 2." Because my languishing party post is unlikely to ever get finished, and it's a bit rude of the title to suggest that it would.

I've recently realized that "rude" is the worst insult in my arsenal. I realize that this sounds patently ridiculous, but after some careful analysis (that I haven't performed yet but will perform right now), I've decided that this is true. I'm also debating whether using cuss-words in a vaguely academic context is allowable, and I think that it is, so be forewarned, rude language awaits ye who read onwards (see what I did there? Geddit?). Rude isn't ridiculous enough that it doesn't get taken seriously (or is overused by rappers...wait, there's that Rihanna song, isn't there? Shoot.) For example, I do not call someone a ho-bag really mean it. I don't like slut because I think it's a fundamentally sexist piece of the English language, and because I consider people's sex lives their own business, and I think it's rude of others to insult someone for something that's really a matter of personal preference.

Notice that I just used rude again. It's so multi-purpose. It's rude for people to call people names when they shouldn't be call names. It's rude to use bad manners when eating. It's rude to play really loud music while others are trying to do homework (speaking of which, I just went and yelled at Shelby to shut up. She called Genie and I "poops." It was very creative of her, but not really that bad of a word--for instance, it was actually enough to make Angry Genie start laughing). It's rude to steal, it's rude to do a lot of things--but, to me, it encompasses any action performed without thought to the effect it will have on others. I'm not sure how I gave it that broad of a definition--I'm fairly certain it's a lot broader than it should be--but, in my book, to be rude is as bad as it can get.

The Degree of Neglect

That you have been experiencing is pathetically large. Much of it stems from the fact that I got rather ill on the 11th (the day we're pretending it is right now), and the rest stems from a lot of interesting occasions related to the opposite gender that I will not transcribe here because my RSI blogs are not precisely anonymous.

Regardless, I apologize, and I will try to make it up to you as soon as I can.

On July 11th, I slept until noon. I was up late as well, and I suppose I could relate that in my account, but there wasn't much to relate, aside from the fact that Rube and two of his friends had visited the evening before to play frisbee, and that they'd wanted more people than just me, so I'd called Dawson, who was with Gabriel, and we spent like ten minutes about a hundred yards apart, waving at each other without the other one seeing, on the phone going "I'm doing jumping jacks." "I can't see you" "Seriously, I'm right here!" while Rube and friends looked confused.

We eventually rounded up a larger group of people, but then those PROMYS jerks proceeded to kick our butts, which was somewhat bad. Apparently Rube's whole long distance running and good hand-eye coordination thing makes him good at frisbee. How very frustrating.

Anyways, back to the 11th. I got up at noon, and then my wonderful family came to visit about an hour later. My sisters (Shelby in particular) were very appreciative of the ball pit, which is understandable, considering that it is completely and utterly awesome. Eventually the family left, and I went to W20 with a backpack full of papers and settled down to read.

About a half an hour later, I felt like complete crap, so I walked back to Simmons to recuperate. I was so hot after the walk that I lay down on the couch on the first floor and refused to move. My tylenol, however, was upstairs. It was an extremely unfortunate situation.

At some point, Teresa came over and asked if I wanted her to buy me some medicine. I said that I had some upstairs, I just hurt too much to move, so I gave her my key and she went up to get them.

However, Teresa is an international student, and she didn't know the names of pills, so she brought down my entire bag. Unfortunately, the entire bag consisted of a giant pink plastic Victoria's Secret monstrosity, because it was the only thing my mother could find in the house that was opaque and large enough to put food in as well. Larry, who was on the couch opposite me, took one look at the bag and began to laugh. Teresa left, I rolled over and ignored Larry, and then I thought about how to get the bag upstairs without either moving or letting too many people see it.

A few minutes later, someone shoved their hands over my eyes. They felt squishy, warm, and biggish, and there is a limited number of people who would do such a thing to me, so I growled "Nicholas" in an angry voice. The hands immediately went away.

It wasn't Nicholas.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else," said the boy, who was, I think, one of the MITES.

"Yeah, I figured."

"Sorry."

I shrugged.

"This is really awkward."

"Yeah."

"Like, really awkward."

"Yeah." Suddenly, I had an idea. "Hey, do you want to redeem your awkwardness?"

"Depends what I have to do."

"Can you bring this bag to my room for me?"

"Okay."

So, I gave him the bag and my key, and away he went.

Larry rolled over to look at me. "Did you seriously just give him your room key?"

"Yes?"

"You trust him?"

I shrugged. "I guess so."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"You don't know him!"

"I dunno, I just trust people. Maybe it's stupid, but I do."

"Oh."

Larry and I looked at each other, then turned to look at the elevator, then we both began to laugh somewhat hysterically.

We were still laughing when, fifteen minutes later, the boy returned, my key in his hand, apologizing for how long the elevator took.

I continued to lie on the couch and moan for quite some time. At some point, I called Dawson to beg for food, who called Ululani and got him to bring me a bagel. I got first Nell, then Bing to sit on my legs and keep them warm, and when Dawson showed up I got use of his towel as a blanket, and Maxwell brought my my ipod, and the moral of the story is that if one moans about how crappy they feel for long enough, people will do nice things.

Yay!

Electonic-Related Disasters

My bedroom appears to have eaten my sister's camera's download wire. She came in looking for it, so I started to dig around, looking from suspicious suspects.

I found three black wires with one tiny end and one USB--I think they're called firewires--despite the fact that I don't have a camera that those wires could have come with. She tried all three; none fit.

So, we have three mysterious black wires, and a camera that can't download pictures.

In the words of Shelby, "greeeeaaaaat."

Another unfortunate electronic adventure: my cell phone has been completely nonfunctional for about a month, due to the fact that my charger vanished mysteriously from the floor next to my bed (and no, it's not under the bed). After three weeks of "it'll turn up eventually"s, I caved and ordered a new charger on Amazon. Actually, I ordered two new chargers, since my model of phone is so old that there are literally bazillions of charges lying around, unused, unplugged, powerless and ignored.

My new charger came on Thursday, so I plugged in and, on Friday, when I went shopping with Kathrya, I was fully plugged in. I checked the time obsessively, worried about it accidentally falling out of my pocket, and was pleased to discover that I had missed neither calls nor texts. While in one store, as I ignored the salesteen who had poked fun at me for tripping over a table and waited while Kathrya tried on pants, I sent Nia a "Happy Birthday" text and Rube a "is text message persuasion going to get you to come build sand castles tomorrow?"

I felt both sociable and accomplished, almost as accomplished as I felt after successfully flipped a fedora up my arm before putting it on (salesboy's response: "niiiiice." Weird-ass skaters...). Then Rube called and I completely ineffectively dropped the hat while attempting to juggle two bags, my phone, my wallet, my jacket, and my keys, trying to get outside of the store to somewhere where I could actually hear.

Unfortunately, it was actually louder outside, so I ended up leaning against a wall near the front of the store, curled around the phone as Rube said in a voice that was far too tired, "I can't hear you, we'll talk later."

That was the phone call with the highest effort to talk time ratio in the history of humanity.

Regardless, I used my phone, didn't worry about my parents being able to reach me, and generally had a grand old time. To continue my phone-using habits, I brought it to Castles in the Sand the next day, which was not a smart move. Somebody--I have no idea who, although it may have been me--spilled water all over the bag, and, despite the fact that there were three phones in said bag, only mine short circuited.

It has been sitting in my kitchen for over twenty four hours, innards removed, searching for sunlight, but thus far, no luck. My only hope is that merely the batteries are dead, and that I can utilize a replacement battery to access the contacts and whatnot. However, you may rest assured that I will not create a facebook group dedicated to my phone, because, really, that is just poor form.

Good morning, bloggites

I apologize for three postless days. I have been, unfortunately a bit under the weather. Well, that's kind of a lie- I'm not sick, just so stressed out about my research paper and tests and everything else that writing at all seems like just another drain on my energy. However, now that I'm at it again, I'm beginning to remember that it is, after all, rather fun.

Thursday was a very long time ago, and I can remember nothing that occurred then. I suppose it can't have been all that interesting, but it really is unfortunate just how wonky my memory is. I suppose it's the stress. Oh, wait, it's beginning to come back to me. I spent about an hour on the phone with Caroline helping her with the Utexas for physics. Shelby came over and started yelling at me to help with the dishes, and I went "No! Physics tutoring! Go away!" and, miraculously, she did.

Friday I saw The Princess and the Frog, which is now my favorite movie of all time. I couldn't stop smiling while I watched it. I even smiled while I was crying during a sad bit, but not the sad bit that you're supposed to cry at, so god knows what's up with that. The animations were gorgeous. I love that all of the surroundings look like gorgeous paintings, but the characters are still their classic hand drawn selves. I love the way the handful of little lines on their faces can do so much. The music was wonderful, to top it all off. Another bonus- prince Naveen is very hot. Animated characters have a remarkable tendency to make one swoon.

After going back to Nyx's house, I stayed out past driving curfew playing scrabble with Tybalt and Kathrya (and Nyx, who won, of course). My saving grace with my parents (who got home about ten minutes before I did and promptly flipped out, cause Shelby hadn't left out a note saying where I was) was that I stayed past eleven listening to Kiwi as she told us about how all of those kids our age who are partying and drinking all the time will drop out of college and become bums who hang out at bars in town and show up in the paper's police blotter.

I look forward to it immensely.

A Summary

I'm really enjoying these Christmas UPS deliveries. Yesterday: Staples the Office Supply Superstore. Today: a maple store in Vermont, and something totally unidentifiable for Shelby from Virginia (probably from Kat or May).

As far as my research paper goes, I've written a lot, but I can't figure out how to open it. Anecdotes are always recommended, but how can I utilize one? And besides, they just feel so endlessly cliched. There just doesn't seem to be any other opening conducive to a ridiculously long paper on the education of gifted children.

Speaking of English, a spider has taken up residence in the corner of my bathroom. I wonder how long it will live, and what its web will look like. As long as I remember that it's there, it shouldn't be an issue. Hopefully. After writing an entire paper on the spider in the bathroom in Annie Dillard's essay on Transfiguration, I can't bear to kill it. It seems like a good omen for my writing abilities. Either that or it's a precursor of workaholism (spellcheck approved word). Or a massive amount of religious symbolism is about to be dumped into my life. One of the three.

Oh, Christmas Tree

My family went today to pick out our tree. We drove a good distance upstate, spent well over an hour hiking around and dithering. I preferred the one with the soft needles, since it wouldn't hurt my hands when I hung ornaments. Mom preferred the one with the sharper needles because it was more symmetrical and would look better in the house. Genovia liked the symmetrical one because it was a better shade of green. Shelby agreed with me. Dad didn't care. He elected Mom to decide, who said that it should be a democracy, so my sisters and I should vote, but Shelby and I elected to abstain from said vote, so Genie had to pick, but she couldn't choose under pressure, and besides, Mom always makes the final decision, so we ended up with the prickly needled one.

We stood around and waited while Dad chopped the tree, complaining about how long he was taking and about how heavy the damn tree was going to be. Mom suggested that next year we needed to bring along a boyfriend to do the heavy lifting and sawing. Shelby looked at me and waggled her eyebrows. I ignored them both and Dad yelled from under the tree, "what's this about a boyfriend?"

"Keep cutting!" we yelled back. I chuckled to myself about the morbid connotations that would have if Dad was an emo teenager.

After it successfully fell, we carried it, using two large sheets of bubble wrap as supports, up the hill (which felt like a small mountain) to the pickup station. Then we marched merrily down to the parking lot, singing Christmas carols. We made it all the way through "The Twelve Days Of Christmas," albeit so badly that the small child walking in front of us had her hands over her ears by the end.

After we collected the tree, we bought cider donuts and drank those free mulled cider samples. It was exceedingly delicious.

Then Gretchen came over, and we talked for so long that my voice is now tired.

Speaking of holidays, does anyone know when Hanukkah starts?

The Phone Rings

I am simultaneously working on my Social Security paper and an English poster about the color green, so I ignore it.

Shelby answers, then comes over to my room.

"Tea, phone."

"Okay, who is it?"

"I dunno." Her eyes slide shiftily back and forth. "It sounds like a guy."

I roll my eyes and accept the phone, expecting it to be an overtired female whose voice she didn't recognize.

"Hello?" I say.

"Uhhh, hi," says the voice on the phone. Shockingly enough, it actually sounds male.

"Who is this?" I ask.

"Stanley," he replies. Stanley was in Gretchie's and my spanish class in eighth grade. He sat in front of me, and he left his gym shirt on under his t-shirt so you could see the writing through the back, and he smelled as if he didn't use deodorant. I haven't noticed a stench this year, but I had told him we were working on the same topic, and I'd gone through his outline with him after Mrs. Hirten gave him some horrific score to explain what he'd been doing wrong.

The call lasts about thirty seconds, in which I say, yes, writing a paragraph about the changing life expectancy since 1935 is absofreakinglutely fine and he says okay then, I'll see you in school on Monday.

I hope he doesn't make a habit of it.

Freewrite

A piece of narrative writing with an implicit theme.

My sister Genie and I were squished together in the tiny changing room. “Where’d my tank go?” she asked.

“I think it’s under the dress,” I said, unclipping a pair of capris from their hanger. It was August, and we were doing our back-to-school shopping for the year. I slid into the pants. “What do you think?”

“They’d look better on me.”

I laughed. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

“No problem.”

I pulled a face at her, and she grinned before pulling her shirt over her head. I watched as she fit her arms into the sleeves of the embroidered red tank top. She jiggled a bit, and I reached out and poked a bit of fat above her hip. I was about to make some comment, but I remembered everything I’d read about how a single comment about weight could destroy someone’s self-confidence and said nothing.

She paused and looked at me, confused.

I smiled vacantly. “Hip bone,” I said, by way of explanation.

“What?”

“Hip bone.” I poked her again, this time deliberately aiming for the little bony ridge.

This time, she laughed and poked me back. “Hip bone.”

“Hip bone.” I poked her again.

“Hip bone.”

“Hip bone.”

We dissolved into giggles, continuing to poke each other until we were laughing so hard that I overturned the rickety chair that took up what little free space in the dressing room.

The next week, we were in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. I washed, Genie dried, and our younger sister Shelby cleared. When I reached over to pick up the fancy metal platter Mom had used to serve hamburgers, my shirt rode up my side. Genie paused in her drying and leaned over to poke my hip.

“Hey,” I recoiled, annoyed, but she just grinned at me.

“Hip bone.”

I began to laugh as well and poked her back. “Hip bone.”

“Hip bone.”

“Hip-” I gave enough of hiccup-y laugh that my words were cut off, but she caught my meaning and poked me again.

When Shelby brought her next small stack of plates over, she found us laughing so hard we were near tears. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” I shook my head, still giggling.

“Tell me!”

I chuckled again. “It’s an inside joke, you wouldn’t get it.”

“Yes I would, just tell me!”

“It doesn’t matter anyways,” said Genie. “Did you wipe the table yet?”

“You never tell me anything,” Shelby whined.

“Of course I do. Go wipe the table.”

“No, you don’t!”

“It’s not our fault you spill secrets,” I said, joining the argument.

“I don’t know any secrets to spill because you don’t talk to me.”

“Maybe if you’d actually help with the dishes I’d talk to you.”

“Yeah,” said Genie. “Go wipe the table!”

"You’re so mean!” Shelby yelled.

“I’d be nicer if you helped!” said Genie.

“Could you two just stop fighting and get back to work,” I added, my voice low and angry.

“You don’t love me,” cried Shelby.

“It’s not a matter of loving you, it’s a matter of getting things done. I don’t want to be here all night, so could you please just clear the damn table?” I was yelling.

“I hate you!” screamed Shelby, and she slammed the plates down on the counter and ran out of the room.

I grunted and punched the edge of the sink. “Ow.” I shook my hand out.

Genie laughed.

Biographical Poem

We had to write these for health class. Our teacher, Ms. Martie, is a recent college graduate and she's trying to use 'fun' curriculum. However, I'm pretty sure the curriculum was designed for elementary school students. Not that I'm complaining- last class, all we did was draw giant flowers that had our similarities in the middle and our differences on the petals. I was labeled "Math geek," since other people in the group had my standard plays piano, plays guitar, likes art, loves science, hates sports, and rarely watches TV.

Tea, Tea is her name

Tall, unique, yet entirely the same,

Loves her sisters, Genie and Shelby,

Feels emotions, sad and happy,

Needs her food and gives birthday presents,

Shares the planet with foxes and pheasants,

Fears the bloodsucking violent mosquitoes,

Likes to see movies and concerts and shows...

The last two lines are about my town and last name, but I figured that I ought to take them out. I'm so fabulously creative, no?

Also, speaking of our town, as you may or may not know, we have our own magazine. Well, I can't find the article online, but Dino is on the cover (along with 9 other students, including his older brother). I may have to bring it in and show it around a bit. Were you aware that he's a rising star of Paperclip High School? And his academic record is such that we should already know of him?

Whoever was researching clearly didn't realize the sheer number of students at PHS with academic records just as good as Dino's.

Oolong Tea

乌龙

When I googled different types of tea, oolong was the first to come up. Isn't it an awesome word? Oolong. Ooooooolong. Oolong!

Boo-yah! Another search engine hit! This time, the query was "what is sneaking around in spanish?"

The answer was, of course, not present on my blog, but that's the searcher's problem.

Yesterday, Gretchen and I went to see The Time Traveler's Wife. It wasn't awful, but it certainly wasn't great either. It was good enough that I cried at the end (Gretchen didn't).

This morning, Genie, Shelby and Mom sorted through the bin of stuff Genie didn't want that she'd given to Shelby. Shelby barely liked any of the clothes (This shirt is so high cut!), so Mom eventually got annoyed. I managed to snag a new black skirt-perfect for the school concerts I no longer participate in. Eventually, they got mad at Genie for throwing too much junk in the bin (I don't want expired toothpaste!). I went outside to do my forced 45 minutes of weeding before the fighting could escalate.

Arguments

Genie, Shelby and I are standing in the bathroom, brushing our teeth.

"Hey," said Shelby. "That's funny. We're all wearing t-shirts and underwear."

I laughed and looked at my sisters. "Yeah, we are. Wait a second, Genie, that's my underwear!"

"No, it isn't!"

"Yes it is! It's spandex-y, and it has a black tag cut out in the back. Why are you wearing them?"

"They were in my laundry."

"They're still mine."

"Well, I thought they were mine."

"Well, they aren't. How did you not notice?"

"They'd been in my laundry for months-"

"They have not! I wore them a couple of weeks ago."

"No you didn't!"

"Yes, I did, and, anyways, you can't just claim underwear as yours because it comes in the laundry. I get your underwear in the laundry all the time, and you don't see me wearing it."

"Well, soooory!"

"You should be! That's my underwear, and you shouldn't be wearing it."

"I told you, it came in the laundry!"

"That doesn't make it yours!"

"Well, I thought it was!"

"It isn't!" I yelled. We'd migrated from the bathroom into the hallway, still yelling.

"Do you want me to take them off right now?"

"No! I want you to stop stealing my underwear!"

"Fine!"

"Good!" I stalked back into the bathroom and resumed brushing my teeth. "She shouldn't be taking my underwear," I informed Shelby. "This is the third time I've caught her, and I don't even see her in underwear that often. It's ridiculous!"

Shelby laughed.

"Shut up!" Genie yelled from her room.

All About Me

This is a powerpoint presentation I made in 4th grade.

1. My Family

-My dad is an architect. He loves to ski.

-My Mom takes care of my sisters and I.

-Genie is my sister who is in second grade.

-Shelby is my sister who is in kindergarten.

-Rufus is a friendly three year old dog.

-Flossie is a shy and sweet six year old dog.

2. My Favorite Special Is Art

-I enjoy painting.

-I like making things out of clay.

-It's not too tiring.

3. My favorite animals are dogs.

-I have 2

-They are really fun

-They are comforting

4. My Hobbies

-Skiing

-Reading

-Bike Riding

-Tubing

-Using the Computer

5. My favorite Book is Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

-I like fantasy a lot

-It really gets into the characters personalities

-It has a lot of funny bits

6. My Favorite Sport is Softball

-It's Fun

-I don't do too much running

-I can practice with my dad

7. Thank you for watching my show!

I hope you enjoyed it.