Rambling

It’s the week before finals at long last.  That means I’m going online to do homework but really looking at blogs/facebook/pictures of dogs wearing hats.  Whatever I’m doing, I’m glad I’m not outside.  It’s cold outside!  People always ask me (like, every day.  It’s kinda weird) if I prefer being too hot or too cold.  When I say too cold they always point out that when it’s cold you can always wear a heavier jacket so it’s better to have it too cold.  Bullfeathers. 

Cold is the worst.  Heat just drools on you and makes you way too sleepy, but cold is downright mean.  Every time I go outside in the cold it sticks needles in my eyes and gnaws on my bones like a dog worrying a stick.  The amount of jacket doesn’t matter because the cold here can invade through the slightest kinks making your skin dry and flaky and turning your guts into knife-like shards of ice.  Blech.

This afternoon I wrote a paper for one of my classes (due today) and started another one (due tomorrow), but I was distracted by looking at pictures of me from high school.  They typically range from this:

To this:

To this:

Although thanks to my photographer friend, I do have a few like this:

And now I am continuing to avoid homework by writing this rambling blog post.  I suppose I’d better get started on my paper, which of course is code for “watch a Jimmy Stewart movie on youtube.”

The Pansy Princess and the Action-Flick Chick

I have several different one-dimensional personalities.  They range from “Sara the rapping gangsta” (she’s small, but she’s there) to “Sara the dweeb interested in the etymology of words like ‘phony’.”  These many different personalities often pair up to fight over the decisions I make on a day-to-day basis.  It is a bit like having a legion of shoulder angels.  Two of these personalities have risen to dominate the others on most issues, and they dictate the ways I emotionally respond to all of my problems.  I call them the Pansy Princess and Action-Flick Chick.

Pansy Princess is special.  She was meant for great things, and she knows it.  She just needs someone to go ahead bring her purpose in life to her because she is much too busy napping to find it herself.  Her favorite game is “playing the martyr” wherein she accepts every discomfort as due punishment for something bad she has done.  She spends most of her time in an ivory tower wallowing in self-pity.  Her first solution to most problems is to cry.  Her second is to complain that the tower is drafty and the stairs look a bit too dodgy for climbing down. She is happiest eating Cheese Nips and watching “Arrested Development,” and hates nothing more than getting out of bed.

Action-Flick Chick, unlike Pansy Princess, gets things done, and usually gets them done with grenades.  And machine guns.  And steel-spiked cleats.  She never sleeps and lives only on Dr. Pepper and Fear.  She isn’t around much because she’s too busy starring in hard-core action movies and beating up emo kids, but when she’s here she plays to win.  Her barbaric cry frightens gorillas and her fists know no mercy.   

Action-Flick Chick and Pansy Princess have very different ways of dealing with problems.  For instance:

Problem:  I completely forgot to write my paper that is due today.

Pansy Princess:  If only I had worked on it sooner!  If only I hadn’t spent last night eating Cheese Nips until I passed out!  Woe, woe is me!  I dream of the grave…

Action-Flick Chick:  Whatever.  It’s just a paper.  I bet if I chug some Dr. Pepper I could write that paper in ten minutes with my eyes closed. 

Problem:  A needle went through my foot.

Pansy Princess:  MY FOOT!  It’s practically been cut off!  I’ll probably get gangrene and die!  I- I- I think I’m going to… (Faints)

Action-Flick Chick:  Stupid needle.  Is that the best puncture wound you can inflict?  (Stabs own foot with spear)  See this? This is a REAL puncture wound.  Don’t mess with me, needle.

Problem:  Stuck in a boring movie.

Pansy Princess:  I am a terrible, horrible person and deserve to watch this movie.  It serves me right for accidentally shutting Stacy’s hand into a locker in seventh grade.

Action-Flick Chick:  I wonder how many popcorn kernels I can stick in the hair of the girl in front of me before she notices.  (Answer: all of them, because I am a ninja)

Action-Flick Chick was away for a bit making a movie about an octopus with swords instead of arms, but she came back, tied and gagged Pansy Princess, and drank a six pack of Dr. Pepper and a liter of Coke.  She is currently wrapping Pansy Princess in yard upon yard of cellophane to muffle her sporadic moaning.  I’d better go give her a hand.    

My Keyboard was Probably Lost or Something

I always feel conflicted about my font.  Does Calibri draw people in?  Is Times New Roman dismissed as cliché?  Is Ariel too stand-offish?  I think I need my own personal font.  I’ll have to call the font-designer hotline (I understand they’re like superheroes only much cooler and with better facial hair). 

I’m pretty sure my font is the only reason I slack off with writing and has nothing to do with my laziness or my love of youtube movies (I found two more to watch today).  Maybe I could design my own font:

I feel more professional already!  Now I just need black shoe polish and a monkey and the world will finally see me as a true professional.  Monkeys aren’t usually professional but this one would be because it would be a highly intelligent monkey-servant.  It would be trained to make beds and deep-fried Twinkies.  I could use me one of those right now…  In fact, I really think it’s necessary to my health and well-being.  There are some dark, scary caves of laziness that only a warm, plump Twinkie could tempt me out of.  I’ll have to go in search of one immediately.  There’s bound to be a state fair in driving distance.  I’ll try the state of Verdad first.*

*I should note that Verdad is not a real state but one that I made up.  It exists somewhere between Nevada and my house, and it is always having a state fair.

The Power of Friendship

Anyone who’s seen Charlie, Where the Red Fern Grows, or Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants understands that friendship is a valuable thing.  I learned this lesson anew on a trip I took this summer.  In the terminal, I had the good fortune of sitting near a trio of friends who were taking a vacation together.  I listened in on their conversation and was inspired. 

Actual conversation overheard at airport (names have been changed)

Voldy: Hey, Clover, would you mind watching our stuff while Watson and I go grab some food or something?

Clover: Yeah, that’s fine.  Go ahead.

Voldy: You sure you won’t mind?  We shouldn’t be long.

Clover: It’s fine.  Really.

Watson:  Okay, back in a jiff.

Watson and Voldy leave.  Clover’s phone rings.

Clover: Yeah, I’m at the airport.  No, it’s fine.  I can talk now.  Really, it’s fine.  Yeah, the flight should be on time.  It’s lame, though, because I’m really hungry, but Voldy and Watson left me with all their suitcases.  Yeah, they just left me.  I can’t go anywhere.  I’m just sitting here, bored out of my mind, surrounded by piles and piles of suitcases.  Yeah, they can really be jerks sometimes.  Uh huh.  Uh huh.  Ooh, gotta go; they’re coming back.

Watson:  Thanks, Clover.  Who was that on the phone?

Clover:  My brother.  He just called me, like, out of nowhere.  It’s not like I have better things to do, you know.  He can really be a jerk sometimes.  Is that sandwich for me?

Voldy: Actually, it’s for me.  I usually eat two sandwiches.  But we can watch your things while you get something. 

Clover:  I don’t know… You’re really going to eat both of those sandwiches?

Voldy:  Yeah, I get hungry.

Clover: Okay, yeah, I’ll go get something.

Clover leaves.

Voldy:  Wow.  Did you see that?

Watson:  Yeah, man.  It’s like she couldn’t wait to leave.

Voldy:  She can be a real jerk sometimes.

It's not Swearing if You're using it Correctly

I recently re-watched The Hunchback of Notre Dame, a family-friendly Disney movie about a perverted priest who is obsessed with a sexy gypsy.  Some fantastic writers read the Victor Hugo classic and thought, “Hey, this would make a great movie for kids!”  The carnal themes are carefully hidden and the movie is a delight for both young and old, with the added benefit of introducing some fascinating topics for the budding pre-pubescent to discuss with loving parents. 

Looking back, I’m not sure how the less-than-honorable intentions of the priest completely eluded me.  I just thought he loved Esmeralda a lot.  I can’t help but wonder how I interpreted some of the phrases in the movie.  I have a few guesses:

Original line:  Why I see her dancing there, why her smold'ring eyes still scorch my soul

My interpretation:  She is a nice, pretty girl.  He likes her lots.

Original line:  Like fire, hellfire, this fire in my skin.  This burning desire is turning me to sin.

My interpretation:  Wow, that fireplace he’s standing next to is probably really hot.  Did he say it’s burning his skin?

Original line:  And let her taste the fires of hell, or else let her be mine and mine alone.

My interpretation:  Something about tasting… he probably wants her to eat some dinner with him because he loves her.

Original line:  Now gypsy, it's your turn.  Choose me or your pyre.

My interpretation:  What’s a pyre?  It’s probably a French word for “papa” or something.  He probably wants her to marry him, which means she’ll have to choose between him and her dad. 

Original line:  I’ll find her.  I’ll find her if I have to burn down all of Paris.

My interpretation:  I can fit ten macaroni noodles in my nose!  What did he say about Paris?

I can still fit ten macaroni noodles in my nose, by the way. 

Nothing says it Like Gift Basket

For lack of a better topic, I’m posting a conversation I had with my sister via texting today.

Sister:  I gots the bus pass.

Me:  I love you.  I just kissed my phone because I love you so-o-o much!

Sister:  Um……………..

Me:  Now I’m licking it.  It’s pleasantly tingly.

Sister:  I’mma cut my pass in half, grossie

Me:  It’s my pass, baby, as soon as I cough up the forty smackaroos I owe you.  I’m gonna take that pass, I’m gonna own that pass, and then I’m gonna lick that pass. 

Sister:  You’re yucky

Me:  I don’t think I can pick my nose with the pass but I’ll give it my best shot.

I’ve never much liked texting.  If I must do it I tend to follow the basic rules of grammar, which can sometimes be taken the wrong way.  I suppose it’s the equivalent of going on a first date and addressing the other person as “thou” as in, “Art thou not famished, sir?  Forsooth the waiter is so wretchedly slow, I fear we shall never attain our sustenance.  Do not leave him a tip unless thou happens’t to have some bat droppings on thee.” 

It is so easy for texting to be confusing or boring.  If you ever wish to text me, here are some rules that might keep either of those from happening:

1.  No sarcasm, unless you indicate it with the sarcasm icon, which I am inventing (I’m thinking a tiny rhinoceros).

2.  No playing 20 questions or truth or dare.

3.  Easy on the emoticons.

4.  Keep exclamation points to a minimum.

But none of these rules will do any good if a texting conversation drags on like a small boy dragging a dog carcass to his elementary school.  Certain boundaries must be set by someone clever and possessing an amazing nose.  I am that person (obviously) and here they are:

1-2 texts = Succinct and to the point.  You can’t go wrong here.

3-6 texts = Pushing it a bit, but still likely to be reasonably interesting.

7-10 texts = Hard to keep it interesting at this stage.

11-18 texts = Only comedians and the Professionally Interesting should venture into this territory.

19-27 texts = Unless you are instantly shedding a pound every time you send a text, you have no excuse to be here.  Trespassers will be shot.

28 and up = If you ever make it this high, please send me your address.  I want to thank you with a special gift basket, which I have named “hatchet.”

Or was it the other way around?

Homework? What Homework?

School has begun again, which of course means I have a new bag of chocolate to eat (antidepressants, don’t ‘cha know) and a whole slew of homework to avoid.  I have also taken to staying up later.  I’m reasonably certain that this will not affect me to badly because I have cut fifteen minutes off of my morning routine, and fifteen extra minutes of sleep in the morning is worth at least two extra hours in the evening.

You’re confused.  You shouldn’t be.  It is a well-known mathematical principle:

(time in the morning) = (time in the evening)^5

(time in the morning) = (time in the evening)^500

(time in the morning) = (time in the evening)x10^23

I haven’t blogged for a while.  It’s harder than I remember, especially when I do it while comparing James McAvoy to Patrick Stewart as Doctor X and the Mr. Knightlys in three different versions of Emma.  I wasn’t meant for multi-tasking, which is why I’ve never tried to be a knife-juggling comedian.

But now Emma’s at the part where Mr. Knightly starts yelling.  I need to concentrate.