Happy Thanksgiving.

This has to be the worst Thanksgiving I have ever been through. It started out fine and everything: I got to sleep in, stay up late last night, work on my homework on my own time, read what I wanted to when I wanted to, ect. But then the time came to get ready for the annual Thanksgiving dinner at my grents' house. I wasn't overly excited about it, because I knew that my grandmother would be in the next room over, not eating, not partying it up like the rest of us, and not participating in anything really, other than a few breaths every now and then. She's been quite sick for awhile, and really just not doing anything. It's been weird for the whole family. Not weird, as in unnatural, but weird as in sort of uncomfortable. No one really wants to see her like this, and I [unashamedly] have been avoiding her for some time. In reality it sounds grotesque of me to do that, because she's never been anything but nice to me, but I don't want to remember her this way. She has also mentally deteriorated, so I'm not even sure if she knows who I am anymore. She talks a lot about my older siblings though, probably because they were her first grandkids. There's no shame in that, and I don't feel left out.

I started to get ready at about 3:00 p.m., because dinner was [supposed to be] at 4:00 p.m. When I started doing my makeup I was listening to music, so at first I thought their voices were in jest. As I went to start my drying hair, I noticed that they were the epitome of jesting voices, and really they were furious. Contention of any sort on a special day is disconcerting, but when it results in a major blow out that you can literally hear from outside our house, it's even more so. Consequently, my dad didn't end up going to his own family's dinner. Me going there felt phony as hell, because my [offended] brother was there as well, yet we all just acted like nothing happened, when really my mom was in tears the entire time. I won't say that this happens every holiday, but more often than naught something similar occurs. And then people ask me why I'm a complete Scrooge about holidays. Of course you can't really share that with people though, can you?

I'm not going to say "I told you so," or intentionally rub it in, but for quite some time it's been obvious to me that 1. anything my family talks about can be groups into three categories [a. guns b.religion or c. politics], and 2. my family shouldn't talk about politics, because we were blessed with easily offended personalities and short tempers, as made obvious by this evening's episodes. Sometimes I just wish people would take me a little more seriously, and realize that just because I'm a stereotypically stupid teenage girl doesn't mean that I don't know what I see and what I'm talking about sometimes.

Happily, my two cousins and I were able to discreetly leave shortly after dinner, to go view Twilight, which was a much better alternative. This time however, the theater was pretty much empty. Not really a surprise there.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is don't think I'm weird because I don't like holidays or family gatherings as much as I should. Don't get me wrong. I love my family. But I also wish we didn't fight as much as we do.

Red Glittery Nail Polish. That's It.

Note: This is a rant blog.

SERIOUSLY! WHEN EVERY THING WAS GOING SO WELL TODAY! [Lie.]

Let's start at 8:30 this morning. Yes. That's what I said. Who in Hell's carnation starts their Sunday at 8 freaking and a half 'o' in the morning?! My mom, when she comes in and wakes me up.

Fifteen minutes ago, I did the most detrimental thing I could have possibly done today. I left my flask of glittery red nail polish unscrewed on my desk. No biggie. I was using it for hell's sake! So I pick it up by the lid [which if you'll kindly remember is unscrewed] and it spills all over my hands, my shirt, and my pants. Again, if you'll kindly remember I'm wearing a red cardigan, a light blue sequiney tank top, and my newest favorite pair of brand new pants. NOW ASK IF NAIL POLISH IS REMOVABLE FROM CLOTHING!

Yes. I'm completely, irrationally furious. Back off now or I'll bite your head off.

Flying Mule Kicks, ID Badgers, and Twlight

Sometimes I think I have an anxiety disorder. Other times I think I have OCD. Most of the time I like to think that I'm completely normal. Then stuff like this happens, and I realize that I'm nowhere near "normal," as defined by the DSM-IV-Classification guide.

Let's start with the flying mule kicks. No politics involved. The scenario was such that I was sitting in my sixth hour AP English class [seriously one of my favorite classes ever], during a class reading of some article [I forget which], taking notes and not really paying attention to the surrounding activities of the class. A few minutes into the reading, I start to relax, kick my feet up onto the stool in front of me, and take life easy. Apparently, that wasn't to be. About 0.0000009 seconds later, my teacher [the amiable Mr. Bevis] dropped his tomahawk [more like a broken leg from a desk he ripped apart with his bear hands] onto his podium, directly in front of the stool I was chilling out on. The weapon yielded a blood curdling noise which triggered a response in me, implying my anxiety disorder. My reaction was one of pure terror. What did I do? I slid as much under my desk as quickly as I could, and in the process kicked the stool straight into the podium with such force that it pretty much dented it. Well.... Not really, but it was a serious kick!

Of course the class had been neutral, until my reaction set off a chain reaction of terror within the classroom. Again, not really, but the class's reaction was just about equivalent to mine, in that their's was in jest, while mine was pure defense. I won't say that I didn't blush.

Also in English, we were preparing for the DWA [Laman's terms: the direct writing assessment, which doesn't really assess, due to asinine prompts and the like], by doing a practice DWA. In this case, our prompt was something to the effect of "Write a persuasive essay about your opinion on whether students should be required to wear ID badges at all times on school property." Really now. Who in Hell would write to a prompt like that unless forced to? I have better things to write about! Of course our teacher thought it was an idiotic prompt as well, and decided that if he were to be forced to write on this topic, he would shift it into a malapropism and make it be ID badgers, versus ID badges. If I were to have been grading his paper, I would have given it the highest grade possible, for a few reasons, one being a sense of voice and humor in writing.

On the retched bus ride home yesterday, my abusive gay boyfriend gave me a black eye. In public no less! ?Just kidding, on so many levels, the first being that he's not my boyfriend. But he really did give me a black eye. It was awesome! I couldn't have planned it better myself. You see what happened, was he [being my very good friend] had been kicked out of his seat by some punk who doesn't appreciate him, so he came and sat by my seat buddy and me. I know, it totally went against the "two to a seat OR LESS!!!" rule, but how could I turn him away? That would be awful of me. As he was sitting by us [I was sammiched in the middle; how delightful...], he happened to hit my left eye area with his elbow, quite forcefully, but completely on accident. After a few tears and a little bit of swelling, I pretty much forgot about it. Until of course I saw my face in a mirror and about went to his house and smacked him for it. How DARE he give me a black eye on the one night I'm going out on the town?! What? Was he trying to make me look like a victim of domestic violence? Was I supposed to be the newest poster child for the Respect campaign encouraging the teaching of respect to men and young boys? Geeze....

So about going out on the town.... Luckily my shiner didn't fully develop, and it was more clandestine than I could have wished for. As we all know, Twilight came out yesterday, and it was pretty much sold out all day, until 10:30 p.m., which is when my friends and I attended it. The theater was packed, even for being the sixth or seventh showing that day. Happily, the audience was well educated [or at least faked it well], and was responsive and respectful to the film. It was really great, because you didn't have idiots that were yelling in the wrong parts, or cry in the wrong parts, ect. The movie itself was flawed, and some of the characters had hideous teeth [it doesn't matter how white they are; if they're not straight and even it's worthless.], but there were considerable hotties with lovely bodies in it. Not to sound cliche but a hottie with a body makes up for a hottie without a lovely body. Yes. I'm vain and shallow in that sense, but only to a certain extent. I mean really, if you're going to a flick, and you're introduced to the image of a person and not the person them self, then why not be completely shallow about it your conception of them? If you were to meet them in reality first, then the same wouldn't apply.

Seeing as this has gone on for way too long, I'll be done by saying that I'm excited that there are only two and a half days of school this week, but not very excited that I have a history test on Monday. Cheers. :D

Donuts, Enigmas and Three Bucks

By nature, I am in no way a health nut. By choice, I am in a way a health nut. The reason being that I'm rather conscious of appearance and future career as a physique model. That's my goal anyway. Because of this consciousness, I've been avoiding excess food and sugary crap that isn't healthy. As a result, my figure has changed entirely for the better, but my sweet teeth [all of my denta are sweet] have been killing me. Supposedly once you've made it a habit to avoid excess sugars, they get out of your system. I testify that that is a complete out and out lie. For the past few months, I've been dieing [more or less] from not being able to eat as much sugar and food as I want to. I mean, I could if I really wanted to, but then I'd have to work extra to get it off, and I'm lazy enough to just not eat the extra. However, yesterday was a stressful day [I did find three pairs of pants that fit like a dream; with the exception that I'm about 4" too short for my favorite pair. Apparently, I only have a 25" inseam. Seriously? Yes. But I'm not really that short! I just have severely short legs. If I were to be broken down, I think I would have the legs of a person that was 4' 8", and the torso of a person who was 5' 9". Yes. I'm a little bit of a freak.], and so I didn't get my usual cardio in. A little disappointing, I will admit.

This morning I woke up, and immediately decided to grab some breakfast. Bad idea for me. My self control snapped when I smelled the French Toast. There goes my not-diet. Then, I got the urging for a donut. Who actually eats those?! Dios mio, they're so disgusting! Apparently not disgusting enough for my desperate denta.

After attending a spectacular shopping event and picking up some great items including a new lavender man sweater, a red cardigan and a hot pink super soft long sleeve tee shirt, my mom unfortunately agreed to stop by Winco to grab a donut. Not like she really had that much of a choice anyway, seeing as I was driving. So we wander around Winco for a few hours, and finally meander over to the magazine isle. I say isle because it was pretty much a desert island, and if you were stuck there you'd be toast. A magazine with the cast of Twilight [the new coming flick] on the cover caught my eye. Naturally, being the vampire that I am, I pick it up to examine the damage they've brought to my people. It wasn't nearly as bad as the description in People magazine. Moving on [finally] to the donut section, I stare at the glass case in awe.

I had a hard time picking out the donut that I wanted, because really I wanted all of them. I finally decided [after much help and scowls from my mom] to get a maple bar, a chocolate bar, and another maple bar for my dad. You see, the plan was for my mom and I to split a maple and a chocolate, so we each had half of the other's. I thought it was a fabulous idea. You have to realize though, that I've never bought donuts in my entire life, so I was a bit confused at the whole concept of 1. get a plastic protector sheet 2. pick up a donut 3. put it in the bag 4. use the same plastic protector sheet to pick up another donut and 5. put it in the same bag as the others. It blew me away! The lady behind me was probably thinking "Oh.... My.... Gosh.... You have got to be kidding me!" After I had picked up the three stinking donuts and wasted six and a half minutes doing so, I said to her "I've never bought donuts before in my life." Do you know what she said? "Really." What a stupid thing to say. Anyway, so the lines for the checkout were three miles long each, and of course all the people in line had sixty million items, and there we were with four [toothpaste, donuts, olive oil mayo and ciabatta bread] in the backest line of them all! Long story short, the donuts ended up having this nasty squirting cream/custard/crap in them, and they totally weren't worth the effort it will take to get them off.

I hate supermarket lines.

So... I have sort of an addiction [or passion] for reading mysteries, but I've never understood why they're called mysteries. That's such a dumb name! It's so... predictable! Because you can totally always tell what happened and who dun it, so "mystery" is a pretty nondescript title. I think "enigma" would be much more suitable, because even then in the genre flavor you can't tell what it is, unless you already know what an enigma is, and then it's just no fun for you anyway so it doesn't really matter because you're probably not even reading mysteries at all because you're too smart for them. But really, it's rather annoying to figure the "mystery" out when you still have 170 pages left. Very lame.

I suppose after eating that crappy donut that I'm off to get it out of my system, the non-bulimic way. Yes. I can feel some hills for me today. -Groans- Yeah yeah, I'm gone. Cheers, and remember not to give into those stupid sweet teeth I know you have!

Dresses, Wind, and A Marilyn Or Two

I should preface with saying how ridiculous today really has been.

So... I was running late this morning, by about five minutes. Have I ever mentioned that I am NOT a morning person, in any sense of the word, other than my happy hours are between 10:00 p.m. and 4:00 a.m.? The five minutes that I lost were fine, because I still got to school on time. I just didn't have as amazing hair as I could have. As I was speedwalking to my locker to pick up my first and second class materials, I realize that I'm not carrying my Hello Kitty lunch tin, filled with the amazing lunch my mom always makes me. That would mean a very cranky Melanie by the end of the day, and a very undesirably outcome for the people I interact with. That was only the first straw on my camelish back.

I grabbed my junk, scurried downstairs for my class, and got to about the third stair from the bottom when I totally biffed it. It would have been ok, had I been able to recover quickly. However, that wasn't to be the case. This biff was one of those biff's where you move your feet really quickly to try to get back on course, so you're sort of running, head down; the perfect charge stance. Anywho, so as I realized that I wasn't going to be able to stop very quickly, I emitted a slightly manlike growl that quickly turned into a yodel, that quickly evolved into a gargling mess of a scream. I felt like I was screaming with a mouth full of mouthwash. Try it, it's not that easy. I still hadn't stopped yet, and I was about six feet from the middle of the hallway. At that point, I finally flipped, managed to land on my head [in the same stupid place I got a concussion from ice skating a few months ago dangitt], fling off my dress shoes, and scatter my books from Hell to the china cabinet. In the course of these events, my dress flipped up above my head. Luckily, when I was just chilling on the floor for a bit, I noticed that it was back down.

Happily [or unhappily?] some people walked by a few minutes later that helped me out, gathered my contents, and shooed me off to class. Ironically, I was .000000000000000000000001 seconds late for my first class. My teacher just looked at me with the "Seriously?" look on his face, and then I quickly explained I'd just fallen down the stairs. He seemed to buy it.

The second event was inspired by the wind, and it's uncanny ability to make me feel uncomfortable, in so many ways. I.E. As I was walking in from my off campus class, a perverted gust of wind caught the back of my dress, pulled it up, and showed off my fishnet stockings for me. I suppose it would have been more humorous had there not been a flock of people behind me. Why couldn't it have been that they buffered the wind against my vulnerable backside? Oh well. I will say that I felt very Monroe-esque, and there definitely was NOT an era of good feelings before, during, or after my escapade as Marilyn.

Thankfully, during second period I got a note from the office saying that my mom had dropped off my lunch for me. A Happy turn in the day's events.

I won't say that I went through the day completely unscathed. In fact, I'll venture to say that I even got beat up a little. But as we're reading in my English class, teens and children these days need a little more roughing up in order to be better adults, so I suppose I'm on the road to success. Cheers. :]

Logs, Hair, and Ducks

Hey, hey, what does a quantum duck say?

Quark, quark, quark.

That's the joke I was so excited to share with my dry humored family, when my mother chimes in with "quark." Of course she was right, and of course I was outraged. That was a joke I had to finagle out of my geekiest friend that morning! Well... It was more like he willingly bounded up to me in math that morning and gushed out with before I even had a chance to pick my nose. And trust me, that's pretty fast.

I must admit that my hair is not naturally straight. I've determined there are very few people who actually have straight hair. However, my hair isn't exactly what you'd call curly either. It's more of a wavy chill, that sometimes works nicely, and sometimes doesn't. I've also determined that [uncannily] if I go to bed with wet hair it ends up looking better than if I let it frizz out naturally. Because of this, for the past few days I have had excellently curly hair. It's literally beautiful. The only thing I've had to do is add a few legitimate curls with a flatiron.

I'm a grade ahead in math, and probably shouldn't be, based on my understanding level and learning rate. Anywho, we barely got a new seating chart [don't you love high school?], and I was moved from my happy seat in the back to the front and center of the room. I can't say that I'm opposed, because I tend to learn better when I'm not the shortest person in my row, at the very back, and have the tallest people in the class all sitting in front of me. My gosh that was a stupid situation. So the chapter we're working on is Logs and their functions and crap that I don't care about and really will likely never use again in my entire life. The ironic situation is that I actually understand for the most part what we're talking about, material and all that jazz. Why is it that the crap I don't need to know to be a Neurosurgeon/physique model I understand? That will never make sense to me. Let's hope neurology and medicine come as easily as they have in the past. :D

Well.... I've started a book called The Historian. It's really a fabulous book. Seeing as how amazing it is, I'm off to have some good quality reading time with my newest party novel. Cheers! :D

Black Ribbons, Tradition, and The Holiday Season

So... Last night as I was picking out my outfit for church today, I noticed that one of the ribbons on my black shrug had been half mauled by [I assume] my dryer. It was highly disappointing, because as it was, it was exactly the length I needed in order for it to be able to tie not only in the front, but also to wrap around to the back and still be long enough to tie. Because of the awful knotted chewed up mess in the ribbon, I sadly had to chop it off and tie a knot in the strand. To be non discriminate, I also did that to the other one. Now they're only able to be tied in the front. No biggie. It will all work out I suppose.

Truthfully, I haven't been to church in a few months. Don't judge me or try to talk to me about it, because I don't want to hear it. There aren't any specific reasons for it, so don't even think about it, because it's irrelevant. The point being, the only reason I went today is because I had been asked to play a musical number in Sacrament meeting. I didn't really want to, but you can't really say no when some lady calls and flatters you into playing. I was pretty unpsyched to play, but I was relatively indifferent about it all the same. I must admit that I have a minimal anxiety problem when it comes to playing for the church congregation, regardless of size. Once theology is thrown into a performance, my world is rocked and it's difficult for me to preform. The same goes with church music. I won't say that I dislike it, because I don't. However, it happens to be the hardest genre of music for me to sightread, practice, and perform. Throw that in with the odd shakes I get when performing in church, and what you get is a completely slaughtered rendition of a piece or hymn that should have been beautiful, but wasn't. Luckily, with training, I've learned to refrain from making faces when I screw up. That gives the congregation a little less of a hint as to why the music sounds so awful. Finally, when it was over, I walked quickly back to my seat by my mother. I was lucky that we sat where we did, because had we sat any farther back, the tears welling up in my brain would have spewed out uncontrollably. I know. Why tears? It's always been a tradition of mine to cry after a performance, regardless of quality. That's not to say that there won't be other reasons for crying, but it's inevitable that after I play something I cry. In this case, there was more than just tradition to cry about. The fact that I'd botched one of the world's favorite hymns was definitely something to tear up about. Not only that, but anyone who told me how well I did made me feel even worse, because I knew how well I could have done, and how I'd cheated them out of a great piece. Because of that, I cried even more. The lady sitting next to us didn't make me feel any better either. In essence what she said was "...Even though you made a few clunkers nobody knew..." Well, obviously they did, or else they wouldn't have said so. Gosh people say stupid stuff when it's least helpful.

In reference to the disagreements about California's Prop. 8 and the election of our new president, I think it would be helpful if our family stopped talking about it, because obviously it's just a venue leading to argument and ill-feelings. I personally feel that obesity is as much a situation as homosexuality and abortion. Until you have control of your own lives, I don't think that it's right to degrade others', especially when your situations may not be ideal either. Obesity and gluttony are on the same ethical level in my opinion as homosexuality and killing babies. Consider your words and actions as well as situations before you demean someone else and their's. PLEASE!

With the coming of November, there has been a dramatic increase in holiday cheer and spirit. There's nothing wrong with that, unless you're a Scrooge like me. Then it's absolutely asinine and annoying. The entire season. Whatever. People can celebrate their holidays however they want to. I'm done with ranting about how stupid they are, and how stupid the holidays are. Cheers.

Saturdays, Tesla, and Strawberry Fields Not Forever

One of the few perks of November is the beauty of the leaves changing colors. However, with this beauty comes the inevitable release of ethylene gas, and the "fall" portion of autumn. Unhappily, this means the smell of rotting or incinerating leaves if they're not taken care of in a timely fashion, and it rains, such as it has here. Rotting foliage is definitely an effluvium. I must admit though, it's definitely a pretty sight to see green grass and hills carpeted skillfully with the bright earthy tones of reds, browns, greens, and oranges.

Against the gray cloudy sky the flaming bushes and trees absolutely make their mark in the world, whereas in the spring and summer they simply blend in with the rest of the scenery. That's the beauty of November, if of course you're able to ignore the seething cold that seeps in between your gloves and your fingers, chilling your wrists and fingers mercilessly.

One of my favorite brothers recently lent me his biography of Nikolai Tesla, one that I've been bugging him to let me borrow for months. I feel slightly guilty, because he hasn't entirely finished it yet, but he was still gracious enough to lend it to me. That was several months ago, say about six or so. After reading the first fascinating chapter, I'm ashamed to admit that I haven't picked it back up again, but he hasn't asked for it back either, so I suppose it's all neutral ground. :D

Yesterday happened to produce one of the most notable creations in my culinary experience. I started to make bread, normal, bland, white bread, when I conceived the notion to add some flavor to it, and make it a bit more exciting. So... I added some yogurt... and some jam... and some other flavors... and boom chief! The result was strawberry flavored sweetbread, with a crust that was more amazing than any nasty Pillsbury concoction could have produced. The batch made two somewhat gigantic loaves, both of which were consumed in a timely fashion. Don't get me wrong, I have no problems with that. But I strongly feel as though the Beatles continuously lie to me as they hum "strawberry fields forever..." because that strawberry field lasted little more than a day and a half. No hard feelings though.

Really all the ramblings of today come down to is loneliness. Books are great company and all, but sometimes non-fictional people are more interesting and enthralling than fictional characters. In the past when my parents have come home to all of the lights lit, with the stereos playing, and the tv's on noisily, they're astonished at my behavior. Of course it's just so I feel like there are other people there, but they don't exactly understand that yet.

Anywho, I suppose I'll be off to copy down some belated history notes for the worst class in the history of horrible classes. Wish me luck that The American Pageant doesn't eat me. Cheers!

Nephews, November, and Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis

Seeing as it's already half way through November [or at least it FEELS like it...], I figured it's about time for a day off from school. Wish granted, there was no school today. It's not even Thanksgiving holiday either! Supposedly the teachers needed yet another debriefing on how to deal with us, so we got the day off. I was absolutely ecstatic, seeing as how the past week has been so incredibly stressful. You wouldn't even believe how much junk a teacher can pile on you, and expect you to spend at least two hours per day on their subject alone. Try managing that with six subjects. Not that it can't be done.

November happens to be my least favorite month of the entire year in Idaho, simply because it's so blasted cold outside. Also, there are very few things interested enough that happen in November to even keep my attention, one of which is the annual Tran-Siberian Orchestra concert, which for the past four years I have faithfully missed. Don't ask me why, because every year as it advertises through the city of Boise I fully intend to purchase tickets before they're completely sold out. Sadly however, I forget to purchase in time, and the show sells out before my very eyes. Tragic. I know.

Luckily, my sister, niece, and three week old nephew stopped by today while I was working on my homework. That brightened my day considerably. I can't even express how jubilant I was to open the door after the doorbell had been activated six million times to have to look down to the three foot level and see my niece in a pink sweater with pigtails in her hair, with her mom and little brother following closely behind. Also to my great delight, they brought the newest in the Horseland adventures. Of course they are insulting to the intelligence, but they contain a multitude of memorable quotes in excess. Ones such as one rich snob saying to the other "Just because we're both rich doesn't mean you know what I'm going through," another being "...So the I was totally afraid that I'd have to take my limo to school, and the other kids would think I was a snob...." Simply delightful.

It's been rumored that the English language is difficult to learn because of all of it's stupid idioms and word antics and such. I concur, mainly because it's the only language I've been required to learn thus far in life. Supposedly the spoken portion isn't enough, and we're required to learn to actually write well in it, which I suppose has merit, but is unbelievably boring, when you're forced to sit in a class filled to the brim with oodles of kids stuck in the same situation. It's not that we don't write well [some of us], it's that the state feels the need to require at least 12 years of English [and study of literature] in order to prepare us for the real world. But really, unless we're going into a Language career, is there really a need to be able to interpret Shakespeare to the proper extent, or to be able to find the meaning of a clandestine piece of poetry? It may sound like ignorance, but in all reality, I find no need to have more than a medium level of knowledge in a subject, unless it's a] pf interest to me, or b] if I plan on having a career in that area. Vocabulary is an entirely different flavor of education though. I firmly believe that all people should be educated and have a firm foundation of vocabulary, so we can have intelligent conversations, in something that the average nomenclature. However, there are some words that are absolutely useless, unless applicable to a situation or field of study. One such word would be pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, which happens to be not only the longest word in the English language, but also simply a ridiculous way of saying the diagnosis of a lung disease cause by the inhalation of silica dust [as told by http://dictionary.reference.com/]. Although vernacular is a blessing, it can also be a curse, if no one around you has the same vernacular, so you either have to dumb down yours, or just not talk to them. Both disadvantages. However, seeing as company with incredible vocabularies have arrived, I suppose I'll be off to have a deep philosophical conversation, or two. :D Cheers!