Tuesday, January 30, 2007

iPod owners will nod their head if they read this: When your iPod gets a scratch, a little part of you dies inside.

My kangaroo pocket on my hoodie recently tore. I usually keep my iPod in that pocket. I had forgotten about the tear, and was running down the sidewalk when I heard something fall to the ground and skid.

It's not like some huge Edward Scissorhands gash across the screen- only the corners of the entire iPod are chipped. The color came off. I don't think I've ever gasped so loud in my life.

I wanted a case for it a long time ago. I went to Target, but they had pretty much none left.

I carry my iPod around everywhere I go, more than most people I know. I walk into each class with it on, take it off during lessons, and afterwards it's back on. People say I'm glued to it.

Stupid tear in hoodie. Stupid sidewalk. Stupid scratches.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

I am an easily frightened person. By that, I don't mean that I'm scared by monsters and whatnot... I'm just easily frightened by unexpected circumstances.

It's gotten worse over time, not better like I'd expect. A loud noise, someone suddenly entering a room, a telephone call- it can be anything. And I don't just jump a little bit, I scream. Loud.

My mom owns a candle shop. Sometimes I'll watch it while she's out. I'll be sitting at the computer or whatever, and someone can just open the door to browse around the store, and I'll scream my head off, simply because I didn't expect them to come through the door.

Last night my mom was picking me up, and as I went to open the front door of the car, she said "Get in the back". I screamed. I guess the only reason why I screamed is because I wasn't expecting her to say anything, or something.

I haven't actually had this problem a long time, maybe only a couple years. It is embarrassing when someone gives me that "What the heck is wrong with you?" look. And replying "It happens a lot" doesn't seem to make the matter any better.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

I like to draw. Actually, I like to doodle. I'm bad at drawing. Doodling is great because it's not meant to be life-changing art of any kind, and when people see your doodles they know that. If you draw a bad picture, some critical people *ahem* might say it's not good. But if someone sees your doodle, you don't get bad criticism.

I waste a lot of my notebook paper by doodling cartoons too much. I've got papers spilling out of my locker, full of pointless crap that is the result of sheer boredom. Sometimes they'll fall out of my binder and people will pick them up, view them, and say they're funny.

Natalie Dee is an influence on my art. Check out her cartoons are NatalieDee.com. Bill Watterson is also. He used to draw the Calvin and Hobbes comic strip.

Anyway, I make some of my cartoons on the computer. Here is my latest one.

I don't know where the idea of a girl talking to Jesus via telephone came from. But I like to jot down these ideas before they disappear forever.
I was pleasantly surprised this morning when I opened my e-mail, and saw that my good friend Courtney sent me this:

It's supposed to be me, of course. I love how my bow-shaped crimson lips bring out my lovely crap brown eyes.

Thanks Courtney!

Saturday, January 13, 2007

Let's get something straight, right now.

It's not spelled "definately". It's not spelled "defiantly". It's not spelled "defenitly".

If you are 12 or older and spell this word wrong, shame on you.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

When I watched my little cousins on New Year's Eve, it was not bad at all. We played a few games, then they watched some movies while I watched television in the other room.

One of the games we played was Dolls. They dragged me into the room and introduced me to all of the Barbies. As for "playing Dolls" goes, they knew what to do. Go to beach parties in the Barbie Jeep, and ride away on Sparkle the Magic Horse. They really wanted me to play with them, but I honestly had no idea what to do. I never played with dolls when I was their age. I wasn't a girly-girl, I was more of a stuffed animal kind of kid. So they kept telling me, "Play with us! Play with Necklace!" (Necklace was the name of the doll they gave me.) The only thing I knew to do was move the doll's hands around and say in a high-pitched voice, "Hey, what's your name?"

Later, they moved the dolls into the living room, where both girls started playing on their own. I sat on the couch and watched.

Grace, the older cousin by 2 years, did the stereotypical Barbie play: go to the ball, dress up, ride horses. I heard the dialouge, stuff like "Do you want to ride to the park in my Jeep?"; "Sure, I'd love to, but let's dance first."

Then I watched Emma, the littler cousin. When she played with the Barbies, her actions were a bit different. She made the Ken doll make out with Barbie, and she also had all of her Barbies devoured by a shark. I heard her say, "Look out, don't step on the blood on the ground!"

I can't help but think that if I did play with Barbies when I was little, I would have played the same way Emma did. It made me wonder if Emma will grow up to be a cynical wise ass like me. But, you never can tell. You can just hope for the best.