I was reading Adam’s livejournal and I found this little quiz-like thing. I don’t usually put these kinds of things on my blog, as most of them are pretty pointless, but I like them when they have to do with being a little kid. Those are fun. Memories….
April 2004
When good days go bad….
So, yesterday started like a pretty good day, even though I wasn’t really feeling well. I went to school, had a study hall and lunch to finish all my homework, went home…. My sister, her friend, my sister’s friend’s friend, and I played capture the flag. -That was fun, we kept making up rules, “if you’re tagged, you have to stand still for 10- no 20- seconds!”, “oh- and you are allowed to hide the flag off this block!” It was later when the real trouble started happening. I don’t feel like going into much detail, so I’ll make a list. *Sob.*
1) At dinner, we had spaghetti. I failed to realize that there were two bowls of sauce on the table and I accidently took the one with the meat in it. I’m a vegetarian. As soon as I found out, I immediately spit out the parts of it that were still in my mouth and then rinsed my mouth with water.
2) We went to Target to get some things to help me sleep better, because since I moved into my new room, I’ve been having trouble sleeping. What with the bright streetlight outside the windows and the ticking of the alarm clock, I was popping pain killers into my mouth like candy. I had to get some new sleep things. So, at target, we bought a “shapeable” pillow, a sleep mask, and an alarm clock (pictured above left). I also bought a really pretty lamp, but nothing was wrong with that.
After I got home and unwrapped and ripped apart the packaging of the products we bought, making them basically unable to return, I found some seriously horrible things about them. The alarm clock, though it looked cool, had no light, no lighted numbers, and was transparent so it was basically impossible to see. The sleep mask was translucent. The pillow was so firm and inflated, it felt like sleeping on a beach ball. Therapeutic my butt. So I went from popping pain killers into my mouth like candy to drinking pain killers like water– I’m exaggerating a little….
I fixed the alarm clock a little bit by placing a piece of paper over the glass to make it less transparent (left). Now at least you can see the numbers on it, but it doesn’t really help at night. I tried to find the manual to the alarm clock, but I couldn’t find it! I e-mailed the company about the light issue, but I don’t know when they’ll get back to me. I felt really guilty about spending all that money on stuff that just makes the situation worse.
Kill Bills
About a week and a half ago, I rented Kill Bill Volume 1. A few days after that, I bought it. For me, it wasn’t exactly the kind of move that I see and immediately like. To really appreciate and understand it, you must watch it more than once. At first, the violence, blood, and gore is a bit much, even if it’s trying to be humorous. After a little bit, though, after one gets used to the whole insanity of the film, one sort of gets used to it and starts to like it.
In the first film, there really isn’t all that much that happens. When the movie ends with it’s very surprising twist of an ending, you’re like, “that’s it?” Even though the movie seems pretty short, much of it is filled with extremely bloody violence, so over the top that it makes you laugh at times. -That’s another thing that people have to understand when watching this movie- a lot of it is dark humor. If you don’t get that, it’s basically seems just sick and grotesque.
So, after watching the first volume, I decided I wanted to see the second one. I saw it just last Friday, and WOW. It was absolutely amazing. It was much less violent than the first one, and was a bit slow at times, but, wooow, this is what going to the movies is all about. I’ve heard that scenes from the Kill Bill movies are copied directly from other films, which is probably why they work so well, despite them being almost pointless. There are a few new things that you learn in the second volume of Kill Bill including the name of The Bride (Uma Thurman) and why the whole wedding massacre took place.
Everything about the movie was amazing. It had great opening and ending credits, it had hilarious humor, more suspense, and -like the first volume- great music.
See these movies! :)
Colorblind Night
{This is the poem that I’m expected to read at the event mentioned here. I wrote this poem in the eighth grade.}
It’s a colorblind night out
the kind where you can’t find
a star in the sky
the kind where you can’t see the blurry trees
as you’re passing by.
hear the spring breeze brushing
against the car
listen to the water
lapping against the shore.
suddenly lost.
which way do we go?
down a winding road?
mud in the path makes the tires slow
winding, winding
down, down, down
a green light
water….
a lake!
turn around.
up, up, up,
backwards through the dark
the headlights make the only mark
in the colorblind night.
Poetry sucks.
This whole poetry thing started over Easter break. Like the first Tuesday or Wednesday of break, the phone rang, and it rang, and then it rang some more…. Neither my father or I (my mother and sister were in New York City) picked up the phone. On the called ID, it said the name of my eighth grade English teacher. It was freaky.
Why would my English teacher from eighth grade be calling me? I found out later that day, or the next day. Either I called my father about something, or my father called me, but during out conversation, my father told me that [some sort of book organization] had chosen one of my poems to be read -by me- in front of a live audience. The details were pretty sketchy, but I straight out refused. That’s right, I REFUSED.
As soon as my father told me this information, I broke into a sweat, my heart started pounding, and I had a huge adrenaline rush. I hate, that’s HATE, public speaking. On my list of worst fears, it’s probably third. That’s two down from death.
My father certainly seemed to have gotten the wrong information about the event, or just wanted to glorify me being chosen, because he not only got the event’s date wrong, he also told me that I was the only one doing it. I repeatedly told my father that I would not do it, and he said that he’d meet with the members of [some sort of book organization] and tell them that I didn’t want to attend. Well, he did so, and just to make sure it didn’t seem like I was being completely rude (which, by the way, I really could care less about), he told them that I would meet with them on the day of the dress rehearsal just to thank them for choosing me.
My room, the stage….
I finally took some pictures of my new room. It’s not very private. It has no front wall, it’s basically an opening in the hallway. We made a curtain that looks sort of like a theater curtain to form a sort of wall. It looks pretty nice. {To see the rest of the album, continue reading the post, click the images to see them bigger.} {To see an extended slideshow of the album, click here.}
All chances of a future vacation are surely dead.
My mother has constantly told our family that we will never go on another family vacation ever again, but we still do. Split up, our family is quite functional on vacation, but for some reason, when put together, we are extremely dysfunctional. Usually I’m the overly fussy one that has the whole family mad at them. This time, on our little trip to Toronto, it was my sister.
It was really strange when we went to bed in the hotel room. My sister started mumbling. I couldn’t understand what she was saying, and I asked my mother if she was talking in her sleep. My mother told me she was and to ignore it. Then my sister started making strange noises that sounded like a mix between blowing your nose and saying “kuh.” It was creepy. Later, my sister told me that she was awake, and singing “Rain drops on roses” and she was actually trying to creep us out.
The real horror began this morning, at around seven. It was dark and stormy. The weather outside was thundering, as was my sister’s mood. -Wow, look at me trying to write!- Our parents were up bright and early, but my sister and I were trying to sleep. My mother turns on a light. “Turn that off!” shouts my sister.
For breakfast, we went to this place that basically only served crepes. My sister and I both ordered the plain egg crepe and cranberry juice.
Somewhere in the conversation, the movie Kill Bill comes up. I tell my sister how Lucy Liu’s character dies by getting the top of her head cut off, exposing her brain. My sister then says she is too grossed out to eat. “Now I’m picturing my vagina being ripped off!” she shouts. She also refused to drink her cranberry juice because it supposedly looked like blood.
It’s interesting that something like that could gross out a person who brings up subjects such as lesbian sex at the dinner table. Perhaps she was making a scene just so she could get out of eating the crepe. She did shout rather loudly once and it might have disturbed the other people in the restaurant.
The rest of the afternoon continued like that when we went to IKEA. I wasn’t feeling well, and my parents seemed to be in slightly bad moods. It didn’t help that my sister was being very angry, jerkily shoving the cart, and shouting when it took me too long to find a comforter cover.
I wonder when all hope of another family vacation will really be lost.
Duck Quiz
I don’t often post quizzes on my blog, but the lack of posts on my blog is getting a little annoying to me. I don’t think these quiz things really get me. The first time I took the duck quiz, this was the result:
I didn’t think that really described me at all, so I changed one of my answers slightly and got this:
I still don’t think it describes me very well, but it’s closer.
A literally sleepless night.
And I didn’t even want to stay up. I was trying to sleep. Last night was one of those weird nights where I don’t sleep at all, I just have awake-dreams that are just plain weird. I kept tossing and turning in bed, trying to make myself comfortable. I just couldn’t get comfortable. I even tried sleeping on the floor. I kept closing my eyes, but it was like there was a brick wall in front of me every time I tried to get to sleep.
I finally got to somewhat sleep at around five thirty in the morning when I realized that part of my comfort problem was because there wasn’t enough weight on me. I got a heavy sheet and a comforter cover and laid them on top of my blanket. So now I’ve had about three and a half hours of sleep and I have to babysit in like less than an hour. I look like something that…. well, just rolled out of bed. My eyes are baggy…. My hair was messy, and now looks freaky after I tried to pat it down with more gel. Insomnia stinks.
I may never be able to take the bus again….
So, today seemed like it would be a good day. My sister had one of her friends sleep over, my room was clean, and we were going to see a movie! Hooray– or so I thought. (Dum-dum-dum!)
As my father was dropping us off at the movie theater, it began to rain. I told my sister and her friend this, and how it might be bad for our plan to take the bus back, but I don’t think they were really listening. We waited in line, laughed a little about how my sister’s friend thought “matinee” was “manatee,” and then bought three tickets to Ella Enchanted. The movie had times where it was moderately good, some parts were slightly moving, but for the most part, it was so bizarre and corny that it made you think that you were on some sort of strange drug. I mean, I only read the first few pages of the book, but those pages were butchered.
So, the movie wasn’t too great, and when we got outside, it was pouring. We waited at the bus stop for about half an hour before the bus came. By that time, most of my clothes were sopping wet and we were very, very cold.
Once I got on the bus, I decided very quickly that I would have rather walked in the pouring rain. The bus smelled of rotten egg salad mixed with fart. It was full of stale, hot air that was being pushed out by the heaters and eating all the oxygen on the bus, and it was one of those horrible ad busses that are basically a billboard on wheels. With the windows being covered in a giant car dealership ad, the bus felt like a prison. A cramped, smelly, dirty, nasty, overpopulated, moving prison.
On top of the bus being horrible, the driver seemed to be extremely slow. Was it just the nastiness of the bus getting to me, or was he waiting five minutes at every light?!
I was so desperate to get off the bus that I mistook a street corner for our bus stop and started pushing on the door to get out. Then somebody told me that the bus stop was across from that corner.
Then, when we got off the bus and began running back home, I realized that I hadn’t brought the keys to the house. My sister and her friend made me run to my father’s office to get the keys. Horrible, horrible.
I got home and took a shower.