it's been a while

Currently Listening Time Well Wasted By Brad Paisley see related

Ugh.

Me make noise like Indian stereotype. Me laugh muchum.

Ha ha.

Ugh.

Me muchum tired. Me go to class yesterday, no go home, me go to friend house. Then me go to dance class, stay there all late afternoon evening. Me dance three hours! Me go home. Me watch Loony Tunes muchum late into night. Me sleep little. Me wake up! Me drive muchum long distance. Me dance three more hours!

Me muchum tired.

Ugh. Now I'm 'ughing' in the disgusted sense, not in the Indian-stereotype sense, because I have honestly no idea where that came from.

Anyway, I don't have much else to say. I was on campus most of yesterday and then at a friend's house and then dancing three hours, and I did stay up late-ish watching Loony Tunes cartoons, and then I did not sleep much and I did go someplace far-ish away this morning and dance for three hours and I am now home and very much tired.

Um. Yeah, I did just completely repeat myself. Can you tell this post isn't headed anywhere brilliant or profound?

Oh. I did get facebook fairly recently, so if you're one of those people who kept pestering me about it, I have it and...yeah.

Goodbye.

dentist visits are to me as emptying the dishwasher is to my little sister

Ladies and gents, I have my first cavity! Be full of tender, affectionate, friendly pride. Er, it's not that much of an achievement. I mean, the only reason I have the stupid thing is because my stupid "30 tooth" (a molar waaaay in the back, and I know it's 30 because I read my whole chart when the hygienist was gone. I was bored. And it looked remotely interesting.) was born (tooths are born! and they should be called tooths!) with a teeny hole in it, thereby forming a "cavity". Yes. So now I have to get all the regular cavity uproar - with no fun (lack of brushing, overindulgence on sugar, etc) whatsoever! My only comfort is that somehow my younger sister (not the same one who hates emptying the dishwasher) has the same problem with the same cause, so we can endure the same suffering with the same lack of fun at the same time.

But there is good news. I finally have school supplies, so I can go to classes tomorrow a better, smarter student. It isn't a matter of actual brain cells, but the knowledge that I have just the right binder for my algebra homework and just the right notebook for my notes. Yes, stuff is certainly boosting to the ego. Curse human nature.

Ehhh... I did have something else to say. I really did. It slips my mind, but there was something there--there was!

Meh. Couldn't have been that important.

...and that, ladies and gents, was a pitiful attempt on my part to cover my own failed memory. See, in disclaiming the importance of whatever it was I forgot, I attempt to make myself look better because obviously I only forget the useless, unimportant things. Thus my brain cells, which never seem to produce much friction, can save some energy (no point in trying to remember something if everyone thinks it's useless) and I can save some face.

...adieu.... =)

Behold the beautiful punctuation, semi-correct grammar, and capitalization! Behold, the only smiley on the page is composed of text! Behold, my normal nature is restored! Huzzah!

randomishly

 my sister left. yesterday. and the bedroom, despite still having four girls, is very empty. 

 looking at the title: well...let's just say there are only so many ways to say "this post has no point whatsoever," and i'm running out of them.

 dance has started again - three-hour class times, yahoo!

 college algebra class is easy so far. and my dad is trying to convince me to become an engineer.  not happening any time soon....

 ancient literature class started too. it's going to be a-m-a-z-i-n-g. indeedy.

 did i mention my college stuff started today? ...well, it did. and it was a good day.

 all my homework is done. yaay.

 we're going to the dentist tomorrow.

 this is a really, really stupid post. behold my abilities to use minimal content, maximum smileys, and absolutely no capitalization. yes, i do have those. bwaha. it's called boredom with a side of exhaustion.

 it's late, and that face is supposed to be a yawn, not a shock/surprise thing.

 g'night.

Currently Listening Not Too Late By Norah Jones see related

Once Upon A Time...

...there was a girl.

Her name varied with the website - sometimes she was Pervinca, sometimes Elvellon, sometimes Tlepolemus, but mostly Vinca.

She loved chronicling her rather random and sometimes scarily bizarre thoughts in blog entries and posting them for all the world to see, or at least the web-viewing faction.

That all ended one day.

No one knew why.

There were rumors - rumors about "busy" and "TFY summer program" and "more gruelling dance class" and "less computer time" - but no one could give an exact account for her disappearance.

Then, one day...

...cue thunder and the image of a dramatic figure dressed in a flowing black cape whipping about in the wind set against a sky full of flashing lightning...

...she returned!

There was too much to say about what she'd done and where she'd been, so she didn't talk much online. However, life settled to its normal pace and became writable once more. In a manner of speaking.

Most notably, a tragedy occurred of late. We mourn the lives of dozens of small, innocent, ripe, delicious apples (from the usually wormy and unproductive tree residing in the author's backyard). These were torn from their gentle branches (branches so can be gentle!) and tossed brutally into buckets and from buckets into jumbo sized rubbermaid tubs. They were scrubbed raw in a sink, jostling together about in the frigid water. Then they were sent to the torture device, the APCS (Apple Peeler/Corer/Slicer), which was wielded skillfully by two grinning lads with sticky hands and crooked teeth. Once they were peeled, cored, and sliced, they were doused with various juices and dumped unceremoniously into a mixture of flour, sugar, and cinnamon. Without any care or consideration they were stirred viciously by a rather nasty girl with smudged glasses and even stickier fingers (moi), and then spooned haplessly into a Ziploc bag and thrown into a large white chest out in the garage where it was always winter, always winter and never Christmas.

(What the pie-filling-ified apples don't know is that Christmas will come to them--but I doubt they'll enjoy being cooked very much.)

As it is, I cannot stand the sight or taste of an apple. And there's still a rubbermaid tub-full to go through!

Bleah.

-Rambling Blur