- everyone had their favourite toys growing up, right? most of you probably had your easy bake ovens and your task-doing dolls and your goo-spurting zombie things. i got all my sisters' hand-me-down toys. these included, but were not limited to, a speak 'n' spell, a lite brite, a couple marker covered cabbage patch kids, and a surprisingly large amount of defective balls and yoyos and frisbees.
- so imagine my wonder and delight when i discovered that this site exists. that's right, folks, an "e-lite brite," if you will.
- i am so not doing my homework.
Monday, March 29, 2004
- i have told you before of my V8 Splash fetish, but i think it might have gone a little too far this time.
- you see, i had soccer try outs. and they were tiring. and then richgirl's mom brought us ice cream bars. they did not help the dehydration factor.
- so i got home, and all i wanted to do was to sit down, but i was also in desperate need of something to drink. desperate. so i looked in the fridge, and there was this giant bottle of V8 Splash, staring me in the face. sixty four fluid ounces, it said.
- by this time, it was one of those devil on the left shoulder, angel on the right shoulder deals. but i'm deaf in my right ear**, so instead of taking sooo much time and effort to take the bottle out, take a cup out, unscrew the lid, tip the bottle... well, you get the idea. i just grabbed the bottle and had a seat in my loving computer chair. and that's where we are now.
- sixty four fluid ounces. i'm going to need to pee like a racehorse in the middle of the night.
**this is a lie. i put it in for dramatic fun.
- you see, i had soccer try outs. and they were tiring. and then richgirl's mom brought us ice cream bars. they did not help the dehydration factor.
- so i got home, and all i wanted to do was to sit down, but i was also in desperate need of something to drink. desperate. so i looked in the fridge, and there was this giant bottle of V8 Splash, staring me in the face. sixty four fluid ounces, it said.
- by this time, it was one of those devil on the left shoulder, angel on the right shoulder deals. but i'm deaf in my right ear**, so instead of taking sooo much time and effort to take the bottle out, take a cup out, unscrew the lid, tip the bottle... well, you get the idea. i just grabbed the bottle and had a seat in my loving computer chair. and that's where we are now.
- sixty four fluid ounces. i'm going to need to pee like a racehorse in the middle of the night.
**this is a lie. i put it in for dramatic fun.
Sunday, March 28, 2004
- i stole this idea from wastelandletters.
- take a band/singer and fill in the blanks with their song titles.
- i chose our lady peace:
i love ALL MY FRIENDS.
i hate LYING AWAKE.
i feel INNOCENT.
i see myself as NOT ENOUGH.
i see my past as CLUMSY.
my future looks like SHAKING.
i think SOMEWHERE OUT THERE is attractive.
my slogan should be IN REPAIR.
don't ever SELL MY SOUL.
i consider HOPE to be LIFE.
- take a band/singer and fill in the blanks with their song titles.
- i chose our lady peace:
i love ALL MY FRIENDS.
i hate LYING AWAKE.
i feel INNOCENT.
i see myself as NOT ENOUGH.
i see my past as CLUMSY.
my future looks like SHAKING.
i think SOMEWHERE OUT THERE is attractive.
my slogan should be IN REPAIR.
don't ever SELL MY SOUL.
i consider HOPE to be LIFE.
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
- i've noticed that the "granny" style is so far gone on the loop of coolness that it is looping back to cool. i blame it mostly on the outburst of those tannish plaid pants a couple years ago. since then, there's been no going back.
- i happened to look around my english class today [what an odd, odd thing to do], and i noticed that most, if not all of the "cool" girls were wearing something "formerly known as" granny. mostly it was knitted sweaters. in the day, they might have been called "cardigans" or "granny sweaters". but now, they're cool.
- i don't get it, but i hope this means that the girlies who wear the short pants with the thongs will stop having the attack of the crack and start wearing granny panties.
- if i shoot baskets and bowl granny style, am i cool? double cool, even?
- i happened to look around my english class today [what an odd, odd thing to do], and i noticed that most, if not all of the "cool" girls were wearing something "formerly known as" granny. mostly it was knitted sweaters. in the day, they might have been called "cardigans" or "granny sweaters". but now, they're cool.
- i don't get it, but i hope this means that the girlies who wear the short pants with the thongs will stop having the attack of the crack and start wearing granny panties.
- if i shoot baskets and bowl granny style, am i cool? double cool, even?
Monday, March 22, 2004
- the time has come. you need to learn about my experiences with llamas.
- in my town, there is a petting zoo, or an "animal farm," as it prefers to be called. my dad used to take me every sunday, no matter the weather conditions. until i was about 11 or so, there were your typical animals to be petted: goats, sheep, pigs, cows, donkeys, geese, ducks, rabbits, etc. - and then came the llamas.
- they were really cool at first, especially when i knew their names (i think the brown one was sir jeffery and the white one was isabelle. or i might have just made that up right now. i'm not sure). so since they were so cool, i asked one of the petting zoo ladies (animal farming ladies, sorry) what they especially liked to eat, so that i could single handedly make them happy. oats, she replied.
- oats indeed. i made my parents go out and buy some for the next sunday. and the next sunday, i was all prepared with my oats and my 11 year old braveness. i walked up to the brown llama (sir jeffery, in my mind, anyway) with my arms outstretched, offering him the world. and he accepted.
- for a few moments, anyway. he munched the oats for probably five seconds, then kind of snorted, looked at me, and spat on me... with the oats in his mouth.
- needless to say, it was gross. so llamas aren't exactly in my good books, as it were.
- not only that, but they had the audacity to tack an extra letter in front of their name. no offense to anyone named lloyd (well really, i do mean offense to people named lloyd, and anyone else who was a double consonant to start their name), but who does that? would i be better off if my name was hheather? no! it's just stupid.
- just for fun... since we're on the topic of llamas, go here.
- in my town, there is a petting zoo, or an "animal farm," as it prefers to be called. my dad used to take me every sunday, no matter the weather conditions. until i was about 11 or so, there were your typical animals to be petted: goats, sheep, pigs, cows, donkeys, geese, ducks, rabbits, etc. - and then came the llamas.
- they were really cool at first, especially when i knew their names (i think the brown one was sir jeffery and the white one was isabelle. or i might have just made that up right now. i'm not sure). so since they were so cool, i asked one of the petting zoo ladies (animal farming ladies, sorry) what they especially liked to eat, so that i could single handedly make them happy. oats, she replied.
- oats indeed. i made my parents go out and buy some for the next sunday. and the next sunday, i was all prepared with my oats and my 11 year old braveness. i walked up to the brown llama (sir jeffery, in my mind, anyway) with my arms outstretched, offering him the world. and he accepted.
- for a few moments, anyway. he munched the oats for probably five seconds, then kind of snorted, looked at me, and spat on me... with the oats in his mouth.
- needless to say, it was gross. so llamas aren't exactly in my good books, as it were.
- not only that, but they had the audacity to tack an extra letter in front of their name. no offense to anyone named lloyd (well really, i do mean offense to people named lloyd, and anyone else who was a double consonant to start their name), but who does that? would i be better off if my name was hheather? no! it's just stupid.
- just for fun... since we're on the topic of llamas, go here.
Sunday, March 21, 2004
- i love hot pockets. not those pastry rolls stuffed with all kinds of processed goodness**, but the warm spots you make in your bed because of your massive amount of fat. here, let me explain:
- they feel secure and safe. if i've been scared about something (for example, evil aliens following me around to capture me and harvest me, as was my fear after viewing signs), and then i crawl (or leap, as the case so often is) into bed, i suddenly feel better. the world is a less threatening place in the hot pockets.
- not only that, but it's always quiet and empty in the hot pockets. this leaves lots of time open for making loud armpit farts to fill the void pondering the meaning of the occurrences of that day. i get a lot of things figured out (and new things messed up) lying in my hot pocket.
- most of all, they're plain ol' comfortable. there's something about your own body heat that puts you at ease - kind of like your mother's cooking. no matter how nice someone else's is (or someone else's mother's is), you still like your own better. i'm not one to nap easily, but you could give me five minutes in my bed to make a hot pocket, and you better believe i'd be asleep.
- so.. yeah. power to the hot pockets.
**not that i have anything against those pastry rolls stuffed with all kinds of processed goodness. cause i don't.
- they feel secure and safe. if i've been scared about something (for example, evil aliens following me around to capture me and harvest me, as was my fear after viewing signs), and then i crawl (or leap, as the case so often is) into bed, i suddenly feel better. the world is a less threatening place in the hot pockets.
- not only that, but it's always quiet and empty in the hot pockets. this leaves lots of time open for making loud armpit farts to fill the void pondering the meaning of the occurrences of that day. i get a lot of things figured out (and new things messed up) lying in my hot pocket.
- most of all, they're plain ol' comfortable. there's something about your own body heat that puts you at ease - kind of like your mother's cooking. no matter how nice someone else's is (or someone else's mother's is), you still like your own better. i'm not one to nap easily, but you could give me five minutes in my bed to make a hot pocket, and you better believe i'd be asleep.
- so.. yeah. power to the hot pockets.
**not that i have anything against those pastry rolls stuffed with all kinds of processed goodness. cause i don't.
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
- it starts raining when you want to do stuff and it never stops
- the devil said to me, "put down your pen, dear, your pen. go get yourself a friend, love, a friend. you can hurt yourself again, dear, again. just put down your pen."
- anna sings softly in the night her words taste like candy corn and milkshakes but no one's listening
- the piano man plays his song; look at his fingers moving. he cares about his song; look at his fingers moving.
- the lights are too bright to see what truly lies beneath the surface but i can see the shadow of deceit swimming inside of you
- it's raining and i can't keep my mind on anything but the patter patter of drops running down my window the way tears would do on a cheek robbed of innocence
- the devil said to me, "put down your pen, dear, your pen. go get yourself a friend, love, a friend. you can hurt yourself again, dear, again. just put down your pen."
- anna sings softly in the night her words taste like candy corn and milkshakes but no one's listening
- the piano man plays his song; look at his fingers moving. he cares about his song; look at his fingers moving.
- the lights are too bright to see what truly lies beneath the surface but i can see the shadow of deceit swimming inside of you
- it's raining and i can't keep my mind on anything but the patter patter of drops running down my window the way tears would do on a cheek robbed of innocence
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