“Erin, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“In the two towers, does Gandalf say, “look to my coming, at dawn, on the third day”? or is it the forth day?”
This may be a slightly normal question, or at least normal for our room, at any time during the day. But this was at 11 pm last night. And both of us were lying in bed. With the lights out. Trying to sleep.
Weird, say you? Not if you consider the fact that before I fall asleep I normally try to spell out ridiculously hard words, like psycholinguistics. Last night I was merely.. testing my LOTR knowledge.
So, after debating last night for about ten minutes, we came to the conclusion that he actually said “At dawn on the fifth day…”
So, this morning, after a restless night of wondering and insecurity of my Dorkage, we got out the Two Towers, and yes, he does say fifth day.
Phew. Nerdyness restored.
But that wasn’t enough. So now I’m watching the second disk (yes, the second disk of the Two Towers, meaning I have the extended edition within my grasp), and I came upon my favorite scene.
This scene is the best. For many reasons. Which, for your convenience, I have listed in order of appearance (not Epic-ness, or else we would all know what comes first).
1. Gimli is so cute
2. Legolas is so intense with his stance and little glare.
3. Théoden is so awesome. If he were real, I would love to have him for my uncle. Once Sauroman gets out of him, that is. I love to watch the transition between possessed to normal Théoden. I love it how his hair goes back into his skull. Like, that defies all logic. But apparently, grey, messy hair can do whatever it wants.
4. Eowyn is all like, “I can fight!” cause she’s an epic woman of epic proportions and everyone needs to be more like her.
5. Then Aragorn is all like, look at me do my dramatic turn and be all lovedy-dovedy even though I’m betrothed to an Elvin Princess.
6. Then Legolas is like,” im gonna shoot some Wargs and DO AN EPIC JUMP which defies gravity onto the back of a horse!”
*A Note: The jump is from the back of the horse to the ground, then it was rewound to look legit, but there’s not much you can do when your cape feels like obeying basic laws of physics*
* if this jump was possible, I would probably dedicate my life to mastering it.*
7. “Bring your pretty face to my axe”--- Dear Gimli… will you marry me? I’ll grow a beard and everything. I like how he purposely falls off the horse and does a Link roll.
8. At 2:26, the Warg is SO CUTE. SO CUTE SO CUTE SO CUTE. I want a Warg SO BAD. I mean, its just an oversized kitty-boar-bear-yak-pug mix. And he’s so cuddly looking… I mean, you could ride it, you could sleep with it and it would keep you warm, it would protect you with its gnarly teeth… can you picture a baby Warg? SO CUTE.
I’ve always thought that Wargs look a bit like the Alot from Hyperbole and a Half, a favorite blog of mine.
9. And then Aragorn falls off the cliff. But at least the Ork saved the star from Arwen.
10. Finally, Théoden tells them to leave, so Legolas is like, I'M GONNA LAZER BEAM YOU WITH MY EYES.
Alright, so now I'm going to *hypothetically* stop being so dorky and actually do some work.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Awkward Encounters with Boys. Part 2.
When I was a junior in high school, I was pretty much the same dorky person I am now. Except back then, boys kind of liked that. Or, at least one did.
It seemed as if things were moving so quickly when I finally realized that the boy I was totally crushing on didn’t return the favor anymore.
I brought cupcakes in for my friend’s birthday, cause I used to be sweet and people were nice enough not to grimace when the tasted my cooking. I looked up, and there he was, stealing my friend’s birthday cupcakes in psychology class.
“Hey, jerk. Stop. Who are you?”
He smiled his just-charming-enough smile. “I’m Daniel*.”
“Okay, well, paws of my friends cupcakes, because he’s awesome and these cupcakes are for his birthday.”
Of course, Christian is an angel, so he gives Daniel a cupcake anyway. I disapproved.
So I stole half the cupcake from his desk when he wasn’t watching.
Saturday was Valentine’s Day. And I was alone. And there was a party. And I needed a date.
I was at church with my mom. Of course, it was a Saturday, 7:30 at night, and there, standing in the pew across the aisle, was he. And it was, as I had just stated, Valentines day. And he was at church. With his mom.
So, of course, I swallow my pride.
Cupcake stealer or not, I needed to take a date to this party, especially since my crush was going to be there, and, as my teenage brain reasoned, showing him that I moved on would probably make him interested in me again.
So, after church, I told mom I’d be a moment, and I ran to corner him.
“You. Daniel.”
“Hey!”
He seemed overly excited to see me. Apparently, my disapproving glare from the other day hadn’t totally turned him off.
“Can you come to a party with me tonight?”
*Cue the raised eyebrows*
“As FRIENDS.”
As alluring as I must have been in my church clothes, he turned me down, saying he had another party to go to. I’m pretty sure that was a lie.
So I went to the party alone.
And *the crush* wasn’t even there. So, no harm done in rejecting me, Daniel. No harm. Yet.
So, the weekend slowly passes and I feel sorry for myself because another Valentine’s day had passed and I was alone and I guessed that at seventeen years old I should have been with my soul mate eating peeled grapes on the back of a dapple grey pony in the middle of a wheat field. Or something. (No, that is not my idea of romance. I don’t daydream about this is my spare time. Don’t be ridiculous.)
But Monday rolls around the corner, and with it comes Psychology class, and the obnoxious grin that said hah-I-rejected-you-I-am-such-a-pimp from Daniel.
“Sorry about the other day.”
I looked shocked, or I tried to, cause I was with Christian and Jacob and I wanted to seem cool because I used to care about that.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry about not going with you to the party. Want to let me make it up to you and go to the movies or something?”
And, because I still had that bizarre thought that *the crush* would be jealous, and I knew that Jacob would text him and tell him as soon as the word left my lips, I said yes.
That Friday, I am standing by the door, waiting for him to come and pick me up.
Mom and Dad are seated awkwardly on the sofa. Nothing escapes them, and they wanted to see this boy who was taking me out.
He rings the doorbell, I do short introductions, and then I run out the door. Mom and Dad retreat, and so I am in the car, backing out of the driveway, when…
**SMASH**
Daniel and I looked at each other. I get out of the car.
And in Daniels bumper is the side of my car. Nicely dented. Paint chipped.
I look at Daniel. He’s looking at his car like he’s looking at an man-eating-squid. Then he looks at me.
“Well then, shall we go?”
Long story short, the first date left much to be desired. Mom and Dad weren’t impressed, his belonging-to-our-church points were diminished, and my brother was laughing at me cause my “boyfriend” had wrecked the car on our first date.
And so, we broke up. Once we got our check to repair the car, that is.
It seemed as if things were moving so quickly when I finally realized that the boy I was totally crushing on didn’t return the favor anymore.
I brought cupcakes in for my friend’s birthday, cause I used to be sweet and people were nice enough not to grimace when the tasted my cooking. I looked up, and there he was, stealing my friend’s birthday cupcakes in psychology class.
“Hey, jerk. Stop. Who are you?”
He smiled his just-charming-enough smile. “I’m Daniel*.”
“Okay, well, paws of my friends cupcakes, because he’s awesome and these cupcakes are for his birthday.”
Of course, Christian is an angel, so he gives Daniel a cupcake anyway. I disapproved.
So I stole half the cupcake from his desk when he wasn’t watching.
Saturday was Valentine’s Day. And I was alone. And there was a party. And I needed a date.
I was at church with my mom. Of course, it was a Saturday, 7:30 at night, and there, standing in the pew across the aisle, was he. And it was, as I had just stated, Valentines day. And he was at church. With his mom.
So, of course, I swallow my pride.
Cupcake stealer or not, I needed to take a date to this party, especially since my crush was going to be there, and, as my teenage brain reasoned, showing him that I moved on would probably make him interested in me again.
So, after church, I told mom I’d be a moment, and I ran to corner him.
“You. Daniel.”
“Hey!”
He seemed overly excited to see me. Apparently, my disapproving glare from the other day hadn’t totally turned him off.
“Can you come to a party with me tonight?”
*Cue the raised eyebrows*
“As FRIENDS.”
As alluring as I must have been in my church clothes, he turned me down, saying he had another party to go to. I’m pretty sure that was a lie.
So I went to the party alone.
And *the crush* wasn’t even there. So, no harm done in rejecting me, Daniel. No harm. Yet.
So, the weekend slowly passes and I feel sorry for myself because another Valentine’s day had passed and I was alone and I guessed that at seventeen years old I should have been with my soul mate eating peeled grapes on the back of a dapple grey pony in the middle of a wheat field. Or something. (No, that is not my idea of romance. I don’t daydream about this is my spare time. Don’t be ridiculous.)
But Monday rolls around the corner, and with it comes Psychology class, and the obnoxious grin that said hah-I-rejected-you-I-am-such-a-pimp from Daniel.
“Sorry about the other day.”
I looked shocked, or I tried to, cause I was with Christian and Jacob and I wanted to seem cool because I used to care about that.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m sorry about not going with you to the party. Want to let me make it up to you and go to the movies or something?”
And, because I still had that bizarre thought that *the crush* would be jealous, and I knew that Jacob would text him and tell him as soon as the word left my lips, I said yes.
That Friday, I am standing by the door, waiting for him to come and pick me up.
Mom and Dad are seated awkwardly on the sofa. Nothing escapes them, and they wanted to see this boy who was taking me out.
He rings the doorbell, I do short introductions, and then I run out the door. Mom and Dad retreat, and so I am in the car, backing out of the driveway, when…
**SMASH**
Daniel and I looked at each other. I get out of the car.
And in Daniels bumper is the side of my car. Nicely dented. Paint chipped.
I look at Daniel. He’s looking at his car like he’s looking at an man-eating-squid. Then he looks at me.
“Well then, shall we go?”
Long story short, the first date left much to be desired. Mom and Dad weren’t impressed, his belonging-to-our-church points were diminished, and my brother was laughing at me cause my “boyfriend” had wrecked the car on our first date.
And so, we broke up. Once we got our check to repair the car, that is.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Pippin
I can’t believe I have gone this far without dedicating an entire post to the most beloved part of my life. My baby boy, Pippin.
He was in an animal shelter in Fairfax, only about thirty minutes away. I often dragged my brother, Christine, or Andrew to the shelter with me so I could coon over the kitties in their little pens, who would rub up against the bars, begging to be pet.
Pippin was no different. Only, he was four months old. And I don’t think he knew how not to be adored. The name given to him at the shelter was “Pilot,” which was appropriate seeing the way he jumps through the air as if flying. He was in a pen all by himself, which was unusual for kittens, who were normally placed with two or three kittens of the same litter.
Maybe he was lonely without the company of other small cuties, but it by no means detracted from his human audience. Every time I went to see him, which was around five times, his pen was the main attraction.
And he certainly was worthy of such attention.
For pippin, other than being adorable with his long grey tail and huge ears, had the tallest jump and the longest reach, so he could poke his little paws out of the holes and demand notice. Not only that, but his big, yellow eyes would stare at you, as if he was trying really hard to see into your heart and find out if he was going home with you. It would be serious and sad, if he didn’t have his goofy grin.
There was no doubt that he was to be our next cat. Hezzie, who we lovingly owned for fourteen years, had passed away right after Christmas, and while It was a painful to even think about another cat filling her paw prints, there was an empty hole in my heart, and the hearts of all the Randall family, that only another cat could fill.
The only problem was, there weren’t enough foster homes for kittens too young to adopt, so Pippin was put on the floor with a sign that read, “Not for Adoption” And though I inquired many, many times, all they could tell me about his release date was to check the website to see if he was listed as adoptable.
Many people may say they live on the internet, but I don’t think they know what it really means to live online. I lived on that website.
When I woke up, I would refresh the page and see if he was listed. Every day at school I would check, once at lunch and once at free period. And, if I got the chance to sneak it in, I would check in class too. At home, it would be up on my computer screen every second of the day, refreshed about once every ten minutes.
And I waited. And a week went by. And I grew more and more paranoid. I snuck out to see him on my own, just to make sure that I hadn’t somehow missed his name on the screen and someone else had gotten to him first.
I had good reason to worry.
When the name appeared on the screen, I screamed. I ran to mom and Dad and told them he was online, that we had to get him first thing in the morning, that he was ours, that we were to get a new addition to the family.
I was so excited, I couldn’t sleep. I had three alarms set for six a.m. I didn’t need any of them.
Mom and I were at the shelter two hours before it would open its doors. I sat in the cold passenger seat as my mom muttered to herself about the ridiculousness of the situation. To me, it was not ridiculous at all.
Another car pulled up. It was thirty minutes till opening time. And I had competition.
I ran to the locked doors. I stood there determinedly, to mark my place as first in line, no matter who wanted him too.
And then, out of the car, came a little old lady. She was in a wheelchair. She had a blanket thrown over her legs, and an anxious look on her face.
“Are you here for a cat or a dog?” I asked her, trying not to shiver in the cold. It was ridiculously cold, and in my rush I hadn’t thought to bundle up.
‘I’m here for a cat. My Persian died about three months ago. She was a sweetie, but we had to put her to sleep.”
I nodded, for I knew the story well.
“I was hoping to get a kitten here so that I could have some life around the house again.”
I nodded, less sympathetic. My heart pounded.
“Any kitten, or..”
“No, a kitten we saw the other day. Named Pilot.”
I gritted my teeth.
This was the true test of my kindness. If God was watching me, I’m sure that was his moment of temptation that he threw at me to see what I would say. It was the judgment day between whether I would go to Heaven or Hell.
“I’m here for Pilot too.”
Here I come, Hell.
After the initial shock that I had just stood in-between a little old lady and her future happiness, I was glad to finally be let into the shelter. I told the people at the desk I wanted to adopt him, I gave them my completed papers, and smiled expectantly.
“Don’t you want to see him first?”
I glanced around. Apparently, I wasn’t the only person they had told to check the website, for, two minutes after opening the shelter, there were families lined up to adopt my baby boy.
“Yes. But I defiantly want him. So, don’t let anyone else have him.”
They looked at me like I was alien, like I surely wasn’t that protective of a kitten when there were a dozen others waiting to be adopted.
Little kids stood around his pen, their disgruntled parents glaring at me. No doubt the kids had dragged them from their slumber to get this kitty, but right now I didn’t really care about anyone else. It was all about my baby.
Out of the dozens of people wanting to take him home, ours was the home that he was introduced to, a week later. He had just been neutered, and after instructions to keep him calm and not to let him jump around, he was put in my room. A temporary cat station was made at the end of my bed, with a litter box, food bowl and water bowl. He had toys, bits of string, and plenty of mice to play with. As if he would need something to keep him busy.
He was curious from the start. And rebellious.
He would not obey any of the doctor’s orders. It seemed he was part kangaroo with the way he jumped. I was sleeping on the floor, because he wasn’t allowed to jump up to the height of the bed quite yet. When I woke up in the morning, I found my mouth full of carpet and pippin sleeping peacefully on my pillow.
It seemed like the only time he would sleep. I begged mom and dad to let me skip school and play with him, but of course parents don’t realize the pointlessness of going to school as a second semester senior
.
So all day at school, I thought of pippin, tumbling about on my bed, getting him in nooks where he finds himself stuck about the middle, or fumbling around with my slippers, which had pom-poms he designated as his play toys.
He was also rebellious in the fact that he was supposed to stay in one room, mine, until he was healed and introduced slowly to the rest of the house. This was supposed to be a weeklong progress.
The next day, he was sniffing around corners and deciding that the corner of the couch was a grand place to sharpen his claws. He also discovered that by taking a running leap, he could clear the couch and simplify the process of walking around the furniture.
He also discovered that he had us in his pocket from day one. In my eyes, he could do no wrong.
He could do no wrong when he attacked my feet under the covers as I tried to sleep, he could do no wrong when he pounced on my back and started thumping his legs like a rabbit. When I got home from school, he was there, waiting to pounce on me and crawl into my backpack to crumple all my papers, to make a huge mess so I would vacuum more in one day than I had ever done in my life, and to meow so obnoxiously loud that he could not be ignored.
He is the joy of my life.
And, consequently, it’s been one year since he came home.
So, happy homecoming, baby boy!
-------------------- A Note -------------------
Pippin is not primarily named after Pippin Took from the Lord of the Rings series. His name has been in my head for years, before I cared whether the Ring was destroyed or if the fate of Middle Earth was even in danger. (This was a dark, dark time in my life).
Pippin’s namesake is from the movie Jaws. There’s a scene in the first part of the movie where a young man is running on the beach, yelling for his black lab that was playing fetch in the ocean. I’m serious. I didn’t watch much else of the movie, I was scared, but that part stuck with me.
Poor Pippin. Named after shark bait…
He was in an animal shelter in Fairfax, only about thirty minutes away. I often dragged my brother, Christine, or Andrew to the shelter with me so I could coon over the kitties in their little pens, who would rub up against the bars, begging to be pet.
Pippin was no different. Only, he was four months old. And I don’t think he knew how not to be adored. The name given to him at the shelter was “Pilot,” which was appropriate seeing the way he jumps through the air as if flying. He was in a pen all by himself, which was unusual for kittens, who were normally placed with two or three kittens of the same litter.
Maybe he was lonely without the company of other small cuties, but it by no means detracted from his human audience. Every time I went to see him, which was around five times, his pen was the main attraction.
And he certainly was worthy of such attention.
For pippin, other than being adorable with his long grey tail and huge ears, had the tallest jump and the longest reach, so he could poke his little paws out of the holes and demand notice. Not only that, but his big, yellow eyes would stare at you, as if he was trying really hard to see into your heart and find out if he was going home with you. It would be serious and sad, if he didn’t have his goofy grin.
There was no doubt that he was to be our next cat. Hezzie, who we lovingly owned for fourteen years, had passed away right after Christmas, and while It was a painful to even think about another cat filling her paw prints, there was an empty hole in my heart, and the hearts of all the Randall family, that only another cat could fill.
The only problem was, there weren’t enough foster homes for kittens too young to adopt, so Pippin was put on the floor with a sign that read, “Not for Adoption” And though I inquired many, many times, all they could tell me about his release date was to check the website to see if he was listed as adoptable.
Many people may say they live on the internet, but I don’t think they know what it really means to live online. I lived on that website.
When I woke up, I would refresh the page and see if he was listed. Every day at school I would check, once at lunch and once at free period. And, if I got the chance to sneak it in, I would check in class too. At home, it would be up on my computer screen every second of the day, refreshed about once every ten minutes.
And I waited. And a week went by. And I grew more and more paranoid. I snuck out to see him on my own, just to make sure that I hadn’t somehow missed his name on the screen and someone else had gotten to him first.
I had good reason to worry.
When the name appeared on the screen, I screamed. I ran to mom and Dad and told them he was online, that we had to get him first thing in the morning, that he was ours, that we were to get a new addition to the family.
I was so excited, I couldn’t sleep. I had three alarms set for six a.m. I didn’t need any of them.
Mom and I were at the shelter two hours before it would open its doors. I sat in the cold passenger seat as my mom muttered to herself about the ridiculousness of the situation. To me, it was not ridiculous at all.
Another car pulled up. It was thirty minutes till opening time. And I had competition.
I ran to the locked doors. I stood there determinedly, to mark my place as first in line, no matter who wanted him too.
And then, out of the car, came a little old lady. She was in a wheelchair. She had a blanket thrown over her legs, and an anxious look on her face.
“Are you here for a cat or a dog?” I asked her, trying not to shiver in the cold. It was ridiculously cold, and in my rush I hadn’t thought to bundle up.
‘I’m here for a cat. My Persian died about three months ago. She was a sweetie, but we had to put her to sleep.”
I nodded, for I knew the story well.
“I was hoping to get a kitten here so that I could have some life around the house again.”
I nodded, less sympathetic. My heart pounded.
“Any kitten, or..”
“No, a kitten we saw the other day. Named Pilot.”
I gritted my teeth.
This was the true test of my kindness. If God was watching me, I’m sure that was his moment of temptation that he threw at me to see what I would say. It was the judgment day between whether I would go to Heaven or Hell.
“I’m here for Pilot too.”
Here I come, Hell.
After the initial shock that I had just stood in-between a little old lady and her future happiness, I was glad to finally be let into the shelter. I told the people at the desk I wanted to adopt him, I gave them my completed papers, and smiled expectantly.
“Don’t you want to see him first?”
I glanced around. Apparently, I wasn’t the only person they had told to check the website, for, two minutes after opening the shelter, there were families lined up to adopt my baby boy.
“Yes. But I defiantly want him. So, don’t let anyone else have him.”
They looked at me like I was alien, like I surely wasn’t that protective of a kitten when there were a dozen others waiting to be adopted.
Little kids stood around his pen, their disgruntled parents glaring at me. No doubt the kids had dragged them from their slumber to get this kitty, but right now I didn’t really care about anyone else. It was all about my baby.
Out of the dozens of people wanting to take him home, ours was the home that he was introduced to, a week later. He had just been neutered, and after instructions to keep him calm and not to let him jump around, he was put in my room. A temporary cat station was made at the end of my bed, with a litter box, food bowl and water bowl. He had toys, bits of string, and plenty of mice to play with. As if he would need something to keep him busy.
He was curious from the start. And rebellious.
He would not obey any of the doctor’s orders. It seemed he was part kangaroo with the way he jumped. I was sleeping on the floor, because he wasn’t allowed to jump up to the height of the bed quite yet. When I woke up in the morning, I found my mouth full of carpet and pippin sleeping peacefully on my pillow.
It seemed like the only time he would sleep. I begged mom and dad to let me skip school and play with him, but of course parents don’t realize the pointlessness of going to school as a second semester senior
.
So all day at school, I thought of pippin, tumbling about on my bed, getting him in nooks where he finds himself stuck about the middle, or fumbling around with my slippers, which had pom-poms he designated as his play toys.
He was also rebellious in the fact that he was supposed to stay in one room, mine, until he was healed and introduced slowly to the rest of the house. This was supposed to be a weeklong progress.
The next day, he was sniffing around corners and deciding that the corner of the couch was a grand place to sharpen his claws. He also discovered that by taking a running leap, he could clear the couch and simplify the process of walking around the furniture.
He also discovered that he had us in his pocket from day one. In my eyes, he could do no wrong.
He could do no wrong when he attacked my feet under the covers as I tried to sleep, he could do no wrong when he pounced on my back and started thumping his legs like a rabbit. When I got home from school, he was there, waiting to pounce on me and crawl into my backpack to crumple all my papers, to make a huge mess so I would vacuum more in one day than I had ever done in my life, and to meow so obnoxiously loud that he could not be ignored.
He is the joy of my life.
And, consequently, it’s been one year since he came home.
So, happy homecoming, baby boy!
-------------------- A Note -------------------
Pippin is not primarily named after Pippin Took from the Lord of the Rings series. His name has been in my head for years, before I cared whether the Ring was destroyed or if the fate of Middle Earth was even in danger. (This was a dark, dark time in my life).
Pippin’s namesake is from the movie Jaws. There’s a scene in the first part of the movie where a young man is running on the beach, yelling for his black lab that was playing fetch in the ocean. I’m serious. I didn’t watch much else of the movie, I was scared, but that part stuck with me.
Poor Pippin. Named after shark bait…
Monday, January 17, 2011
Why Everyone Should Be Jealous of Me
Over Winter break, I got the chance to go to O'ahu with my family. It was so much fun!
Favorite Things:
1. Feeding birds
2. Snorkeling
3. The 80 degree weather
4. The beautiful scenery
5. Spending time with my Family
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
The Age of the Washcloth is ending. Arwen's time is ending. Let her go.
Long live the loofah.
Can you even think of one bad thing about a loofah? (Well, I can, and that’s piercings, it’s a pain the butt to get it stuck on them), but other than that, loofahs are pretty much the greatest things ever invented.
Microsoft Word doesn’t realize loofah as a word yet. Their suggestions are “loafers, locals and hookahs.” Get with it Word, this is the best thing EVER. It demands to be on hot/not lists EVERY YEAR. Right next to The Beatles and Chocolate.
Hot/Not lists are seriously one of the best things about the New Year. Not because I like to follow fashion (this is my idea of fashion), but because I like to see who immediately changes themselves to fit in with the criteria set by some no-one with zero business telling everyone whether or not they can wear a certain style of pants. (I would be like Miranda if this was my job.)
Most of those lists are invented so that people will shop for new clothes and therefore keep clothing in business. That’s why fat and skinny heels change popularity every year. That's right, person who made this list, we're onto you and your selling-out-to-the-man-ness.
This is part of the HOT section from a list created by Kink.fm.
Fashion and Beauty
-- Patriotism (Americana Western and military style)
-- Eco-chic
-- Cropped jeans
-- '70s-inspired looks (and vintage YSL)
-- Color and prints
-- Embellished stockings
-- Kitten heels
-- Infinity scarves
-- The ballerina look (à la Black Swan)
-- Messenger bags (more free hands to hold things)
-- Red shoes (could be Converse, pumps, flats; shows a little edginess)
-- Indie Carine Roitfeld
-- Jewel tones
-- Dressing up
-- Pixie haircuts
-- Brazilian hair-straightening
-- Redheads
-- Clean-shaven
General Culture
-- Muppets (Jason Segel's upcoming movie)
-- Pies (the new cupcakes)
-- Road trips (a new way to avoid a patdown)
-- Vacations with purpose
-- Intimate wedding ceremonies
-- Sending handwritten letters/postcards
-- Vespas/scooters (saving the environment one bike at a time)
-- A cappella groups (thanks, "Glee"!)
-- Outdoor markets
-- Technology-free resorts and vacations
-- Random acts of kindness
-- Junk-food-free homes
-- Noodle bars
-- Westerns
-- Fast-food fries with sea salt
-- Anti-energy drinks
-- "The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills"
-- About.me
-- Hipster flea markets
-- Renting
-- Home and rooftop gardens
-- Honeysuckle (Pantone predicted this as the color for 2011)
-- Mom-and-pop shops
-- Baking
-- Bowling
-- Pepsi
-- Bourbon
-- Reading the classics
And the NOT section:
-- Silly Bandz
-- Skinny jeans
-- The raw-food-diet wardrobe (we're looking at you, Lady Gaga)
-- Sky-high platforms
-- Designer Uggs (studded, sequined or metallic, these boots are out)
-- Harem pants
-- Suspenders (out with the King; Larry, that is)
-- Small, impractical clutches
-- Lingerie as outerwear
-- Clogs
-- '60s hippie fashion (but '60s ladylike is in)
-- Somber palette of black and grey
-- Shag haircuts
General Culture
-- Cupcakes
-- Cheap beer
-- Vuvuzelas (still have that annoying ringing in your ear?)
-- Facebook/Twitter updates of what you ate for lunch
-- The toddler who smokes 40 cigarettes a day
-- Bedbugs
-- Celebrity stalkers
-- Buying
-- Tuna
-- Blue
-- Brunettes
-- Beards
-- Karaoke
-- Coke
-- Vodka
-- Reading the tabloids
-- Spray tans
Yeah, that's right. Bedbugs are SO last year. As are giving your toddler ciggs... Darn.
Well, I'm not going to give up my Miley Cyrus Jeggings that quickly, my dear KINK.fm hot/not list. You'll have to try harder than that!
Now, I'm off to dye my hair red and drink some Pepsi. Tootles.
*Oh, and if you are willing to play SPOT IT with me using the title of this blog post, please tell me which MOVIE the quote is from (substituting Elves with Loofahs), Who said it, and to Whom it was said. Good Luck!*
Can you even think of one bad thing about a loofah? (Well, I can, and that’s piercings, it’s a pain the butt to get it stuck on them), but other than that, loofahs are pretty much the greatest things ever invented.
Microsoft Word doesn’t realize loofah as a word yet. Their suggestions are “loafers, locals and hookahs.” Get with it Word, this is the best thing EVER. It demands to be on hot/not lists EVERY YEAR. Right next to The Beatles and Chocolate.
Hot/Not lists are seriously one of the best things about the New Year. Not because I like to follow fashion (this is my idea of fashion), but because I like to see who immediately changes themselves to fit in with the criteria set by some no-one with zero business telling everyone whether or not they can wear a certain style of pants. (I would be like Miranda if this was my job.)
Most of those lists are invented so that people will shop for new clothes and therefore keep clothing in business. That’s why fat and skinny heels change popularity every year. That's right, person who made this list, we're onto you and your selling-out-to-the-man-ness.
This is part of the HOT section from a list created by Kink.fm.
Fashion and Beauty
-- Patriotism (Americana Western and military style)
-- Eco-chic
-- Cropped jeans
-- '70s-inspired looks (and vintage YSL)
-- Color and prints
-- Embellished stockings
-- Kitten heels
-- Infinity scarves
-- The ballerina look (à la Black Swan)
-- Messenger bags (more free hands to hold things)
-- Red shoes (could be Converse, pumps, flats; shows a little edginess)
-- Indie Carine Roitfeld
-- Jewel tones
-- Dressing up
-- Pixie haircuts
-- Brazilian hair-straightening
-- Redheads
-- Clean-shaven
General Culture
-- Muppets (Jason Segel's upcoming movie)
-- Pies (the new cupcakes)
-- Road trips (a new way to avoid a patdown)
-- Vacations with purpose
-- Intimate wedding ceremonies
-- Sending handwritten letters/postcards
-- Vespas/scooters (saving the environment one bike at a time)
-- A cappella groups (thanks, "Glee"!)
-- Outdoor markets
-- Technology-free resorts and vacations
-- Random acts of kindness
-- Junk-food-free homes
-- Noodle bars
-- Westerns
-- Fast-food fries with sea salt
-- Anti-energy drinks
-- "The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills"
-- About.me
-- Hipster flea markets
-- Renting
-- Home and rooftop gardens
-- Honeysuckle (Pantone predicted this as the color for 2011)
-- Mom-and-pop shops
-- Baking
-- Bowling
-- Pepsi
-- Bourbon
-- Reading the classics
And the NOT section:
-- Silly Bandz
-- Skinny jeans
-- The raw-food-diet wardrobe (we're looking at you, Lady Gaga)
-- Sky-high platforms
-- Designer Uggs (studded, sequined or metallic, these boots are out)
-- Harem pants
-- Suspenders (out with the King; Larry, that is)
-- Small, impractical clutches
-- Lingerie as outerwear
-- Clogs
-- '60s hippie fashion (but '60s ladylike is in)
-- Somber palette of black and grey
-- Shag haircuts
General Culture
-- Cupcakes
-- Cheap beer
-- Vuvuzelas (still have that annoying ringing in your ear?)
-- Facebook/Twitter updates of what you ate for lunch
-- The toddler who smokes 40 cigarettes a day
-- Bedbugs
-- Celebrity stalkers
-- Buying
-- Tuna
-- Blue
-- Brunettes
-- Beards
-- Karaoke
-- Coke
-- Vodka
-- Reading the tabloids
-- Spray tans
Yeah, that's right. Bedbugs are SO last year. As are giving your toddler ciggs... Darn.
Well, I'm not going to give up my Miley Cyrus Jeggings that quickly, my dear KINK.fm hot/not list. You'll have to try harder than that!
Now, I'm off to dye my hair red and drink some Pepsi. Tootles.
*Oh, and if you are willing to play SPOT IT with me using the title of this blog post, please tell me which MOVIE the quote is from (substituting Elves with Loofahs), Who said it, and to Whom it was said. Good Luck!*
Monday, January 10, 2011
Happy New Year!
Now, I know I’m 10 days late, but… Happy New Year!
I’ve always been one of those people who doesn’t care about New Years because the start of the new school year always felt so much more like the beginning of school than January 1st. Well, this year, being my first year in college, I can kinda appreciate New Years because I have all new classes.
My classes:
1. Math Modeling.
No, its not making sculptures of numbers, although that would be the ultimate math class. It’s using math to find answers to environmental stuff. Brilliant.
2. Geology.
3. English 295 Introduction of Literary Studies
This is the gateway class for all the other English classes, so I have to take it. We’re reading Othello, which I’m looking forward to.
4. English British Romantic Literature
5. Linguistics
All over, I’m pretty excited. I’m finished for today, having gone to my math and geology classes. That’s right; tomorrow I have three English classes. Yay! Death!
New Year Resolutions:
1. Cut back on my coffee drinking. This is going to be difficult.
2. Never drink Amp again.
3. Smile more.
4. Give up my stupid grudges against people.
I will update about my fanciful trip to Hawaii some other day, right now I need to go textbook shopping and catch a nap.
I’ve always been one of those people who doesn’t care about New Years because the start of the new school year always felt so much more like the beginning of school than January 1st. Well, this year, being my first year in college, I can kinda appreciate New Years because I have all new classes.
My classes:
1. Math Modeling.
No, its not making sculptures of numbers, although that would be the ultimate math class. It’s using math to find answers to environmental stuff. Brilliant.
2. Geology.
3. English 295 Introduction of Literary Studies
This is the gateway class for all the other English classes, so I have to take it. We’re reading Othello, which I’m looking forward to.
4. English British Romantic Literature
5. Linguistics
All over, I’m pretty excited. I’m finished for today, having gone to my math and geology classes. That’s right; tomorrow I have three English classes. Yay! Death!
New Year Resolutions:
1. Cut back on my coffee drinking. This is going to be difficult.
2. Never drink Amp again.
3. Smile more.
4. Give up my stupid grudges against people.
I will update about my fanciful trip to Hawaii some other day, right now I need to go textbook shopping and catch a nap.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
"Its the Little Things."
I met Aniene Porter as a Freshman in High school.
It was my first day at work, and I’ll admit, I was tentative about starting out in a real job with absolutely zero experience. So much pressure was on my shoulders to meet the high standards my brother ser as a star employee at Once Upon A Time.
My first day, I walked into the store and she was there. She smiled at me and called me over to her.
“Let me tell you a story…”
Over the years she told me not only a story, but a lifetime of tales that always managed to make coming into the work the highlight of my high school years. I couldn’t wait to come in and have her smile at me like she did the very first time I met her.
Aniene grew to be more than a boss, more than a coworker. She became one of my closet friends. I would visit her at her home in Vienna to bring her soup, to work on a sewing project, to wrap Christmas presents for her daughter, or to mow her lawn. I shoveled her driveway clear of snow during the three blizzards of 2010. I cleaned out her car, her dishes, even her basement. In fact there wasn’t a whole lot I wouldn’t do for her.
I loved Aniene.
She was a role model, one of the most influential people of my life. She taught me how to bind a quilt, make toffee, even speak a few words in Japanese. She let me eat entire cartons of Ben and Jerry's, and always opened the door, delighted to see me, whether invited or not.
She taught me to take life as it comes, to appreciate the life I have, and to live in peace. She taught me to see past appearance and dig deeper into the hearts of people. She taught me that love was the most powerful thing in the world, and that life is an adventure worth having. More than anything, she taught me to appreciate the little things- The little gestures, the small acts of kindness, the importance in expressing feelings of love.
I cannot think of anyone who taught me so much in such short a time.
Aniene, you will be missed.
But through all the little things- a ladybug, a flip flop, Diet Coke, Cherry Garcia, Jade earrings, the very essence of Once Upon a Time- you will always be remembered.
It was my first day at work, and I’ll admit, I was tentative about starting out in a real job with absolutely zero experience. So much pressure was on my shoulders to meet the high standards my brother ser as a star employee at Once Upon A Time.
My first day, I walked into the store and she was there. She smiled at me and called me over to her.
“Let me tell you a story…”
Over the years she told me not only a story, but a lifetime of tales that always managed to make coming into the work the highlight of my high school years. I couldn’t wait to come in and have her smile at me like she did the very first time I met her.
Aniene grew to be more than a boss, more than a coworker. She became one of my closet friends. I would visit her at her home in Vienna to bring her soup, to work on a sewing project, to wrap Christmas presents for her daughter, or to mow her lawn. I shoveled her driveway clear of snow during the three blizzards of 2010. I cleaned out her car, her dishes, even her basement. In fact there wasn’t a whole lot I wouldn’t do for her.
I loved Aniene.
She was a role model, one of the most influential people of my life. She taught me how to bind a quilt, make toffee, even speak a few words in Japanese. She let me eat entire cartons of Ben and Jerry's, and always opened the door, delighted to see me, whether invited or not.
She taught me to take life as it comes, to appreciate the life I have, and to live in peace. She taught me to see past appearance and dig deeper into the hearts of people. She taught me that love was the most powerful thing in the world, and that life is an adventure worth having. More than anything, she taught me to appreciate the little things- The little gestures, the small acts of kindness, the importance in expressing feelings of love.
I cannot think of anyone who taught me so much in such short a time.
Aniene, you will be missed.
But through all the little things- a ladybug, a flip flop, Diet Coke, Cherry Garcia, Jade earrings, the very essence of Once Upon a Time- you will always be remembered.
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