Rude Awakenings

I woke up this morning to an unholy screeching coming from the hallway outside me door.

What on earth is that sound? I wondered.

Is that...is that the fire alarm?  At two in the morning?  

And it was, indeed, the fire alarm, clamoring it's little heart out at 2:14 this morning.

Oh, HECK no, I thought to myself, this is just cruel.  This is a terrible time for a fire drill.

Which, you know, it's great to know that if the fire alarm goes off in the middle of the night, I'm just going to assume that it's a fire drill and not actually a fire or any sort of threat to my safety.

I have half a mind to just stay in bed right now out of spite. (Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.  I'm glad to know that if my dorm actually catches on fire in the middle of the night, I would rather burn alive in my bed than get up.)  It will probably stop ringing after a while.

But it didn't.  It just kept ringing and ringing, mocking my suffering and my futile attempts to thwart it's noisy powers.

So, eventually, I got up.  For some reason, I had the presence of mind to take my headphones out of my ears, but not to take off my bite splint, which, if we are being honest with each other, should really never ever be worn where other people can see you.

Anyway, I got up, put on my flip flops, and grabbed my keys, because it has been ingrained in my memory that you should always have your keys with you if you leave the dorm.

Now, granted, they've also drilled into our heads that we should always have our I.D.s with us, too, but I keep forgetting that one.

So, I put on my flippy floppies in the dark, grabbed my keys out of my purse, and braced to open the door.

It was like I had opened the gates of Hell itself.

There was just light, like, everywhere.  Seriously, just all up in my grill.  Oh, and the noise, the noise.  It was so loud.  I covered my ears with my hands like a wuss.  That's how loud it was.

And then, I was so disoriented, I almost forgot that there was a fire escape route, like, right outside my door, and I almost tried to go out the front door, and then I'm like "no, this isn't right" and then I remembered the fire escape route, and so I went down the stares and out the fire door, directly beneath the screechy siren.

It was so loud, you guys, you have no idea.

And then I trudged up the hill outside like a zombie to go stand where some of my friends were, just feeling so glamorous in my old t-shirt and flannel pajama pants (yes, I was wearing flannel in September.  Yes, I'm very well aware that it is still too hot for flannel.  If I had any shorts, I would have worn those to bed, but I don't, so quit judging me.)

And then we all just stood around there, waiting for someone to shut the alarm off, and then there's just some random group of dudes across the street from us, and I'm just like, why are you even here?

Anyway, eventually, they got the alarm shut off, and we all got to go back to bed, but I could not fall back asleep for another hour and a half, for some reason.  I spent most of that hour and a half thinking about how there should be stronger penalties and higher fees for setting off the alarm at night as opposed to setting it off during the day.

I still don't know how it got set off.  I don't think I ever will.  The one thing I do know, though, is that fire alarms hate sleep, and I'm more than willing to burn to death if my dorm catches fire in the middle of the night.

I Think That I Need to Take a Break from the Internet for a While

I think it's turning me into a mean person.

Seriously.  Just now, I wanted to get into a full-out, completely heated word-battle with some complete strangers over which version of a song was better, which is kind of ridiculous of me because both of the versions have their own pros and cons and whatnot, and they are equally soulful in each respect, and the fact that I grew up listening to Johnny Cash does not automatically make him a greater musician, okay, self?

(BUT YOU CAN JUST HEAR HIS PAIN AND-)

Shut up, self.  You are being a jerk.  Just shut up.

Does spending half an hour stalking my own blog make me conceited, or just sad?

Because that's what I just did.

I have a serious internet problem.

I need to go to bed.

I'm leaving now.

Goodbye.

All I Want is an Immortal, Evil, Ghost Uncle Who Can Grow Cheese Plants. Is That so Much to Ask?

Today, I suffered a loss.

You see, for a long time, I have been obsessed with the Sims (seriously, it's unhealthy how much I like that game.)  A few months ago, we got the Sims 3, and my life immediately went out the window because, hello, Sims 3.  

Anyway, I have spent more hours than I care to admit playing this game.  Getting my sims jobs, having them get married and have children and all that jazz.  Recently, I created a new family, one that was sort of like a crime family only not really and I'm pretty sure that no one really cares anyway but I have to tell you because you need to know.  

You need to know about Uncle Paulie.

When I started playing this family, Uncle Paulie was just Paolo Dinardo, a poor, misunderstood teenager.  It seemed like he couldn't do anything right.  He was constantly being upstaged by his goody-two-shoes sister, Gianna.  How could anyone possibly love or understand him?  Who could possibly see through his evil exterior to the sweet young man within?  It seemed that Paolo would be doomed to a life of loneliness.

But then, Amanda moved to town.

Amanda and Paolo were similar in every way that you could possibly think of so, naturally, they quickly fell in love and got married (although, not quickly enough apparently because perfect little miss Gianna was already married at this point, and had also already had her first child Arianna.)

The love of his wife and his niece melted Paulo's cold heart, revealing the lovable Uncle Paulie within.  Uncle Paulie lived a very healthy lifestyle, but, unfortunately, was taken from the sim world far too early.

It seemed that that would be the end of Uncle Paulie forever, and I was heartbroken, because Uncle Paulie was the shiz and didn't take no crap from nobody.  He was an adorable little old man who exercised regularly and grew a massive garden, and I loved him, dang it.

However, an opportunity appeared.  I could take Uncle Paulie's ashes to the science facility to bring him back from the dead.  How could this possibly go wrong?  So, I took Uncle Paulie to the science facility, but the process didn't work properly and he only came back as a ghost.  (At first, I didn't notice that he had come back as a ghost and I just thought that the science facility had heartlessly ash-napped the only part of Uncle Paulie that I had left, and I may or may not have freaked out a little.)

Uncle Paulie as a ghost may have been even more awesome than Uncle Paulie as a living sim.  Ghost Uncle Paulie did what he wanted.  If he wanted to go outside, he would glide through the dang wall.  If he wanted to scare you, he would (and did.  Uncle Paulie and Arianna's husband David did not get along very well.)  Ghost Uncle Paulie continued to grow his garden, and he also learned how to grow cheese and eggs because he effing could.  

Uncle Paulie was the shiz biscuit, and I was totally convinced that I could play this awesome sim forever and ever as long as I had someone alive to take his ashes to the science facility every time he died.

However, as I learned tonight, this was not the case.  While Uncle Paulie was innocently tending his garden, he was sucked down into the underworld, never to return.  

So now I'm kind of heartbroken a little bit and I kind of don't want to play the Sims any more even though Arianna's son's name is Flynn and I was totally going to have him marry a girl named Rapunzel.  I just feel like a Sims 3 without Uncle Paulie isn't really a Sims 3 at all.

And here is where I realize that you probably don't care about my dead sim, even if he was the coolest thing since absolute zero, and here is where I state that I don't care that you don't care because Uncle Paulie deserves a decent funeral, dang it.  You will remember him, because he was awesome, and you're awesome, so you both have something in common.

This may or may not have made any sense, since I'm really tired and kind of upset.  I don't really care any more.  I do what I want.

Just like Uncle Paulie did.

My Life has been Taken Over

By ponies.

Specifically, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

I believe that technically this may make me what is referred to on the Interwebs as a "brony."  However, I don't know if I'm entirely comfortable with that title, as I am not a bro.  I am a lady (like Rarity.)

You see, I have been sick all of this past week, so I have been staying home, in great need of something to comfort me (or perhaps to love and tolerate me.)  Enter ponies.

So.  Many.  Ponies.

 Once I started watching the first episode of season one, I was hooked.  I began watching episode after episode on YouTube, in an attempt to catch up to the current season.  I spent unhealthy amounts of time tying to decipher whom my friends most resembled.  (Sassafras Jones is so totally Twilight Sparkle it is not even funny.)

By the way, I'm a horrible person who just Googles things and isn't overly fond of proper citation.  I apologize.  Hold on for just one second.  Snajperpl on DeviantArt is responsible for this glorious display.  Feel free to stalk.

I have a serious problem.  I can't stop myself.  (In much the same way that Apple Bloom couldn't stop herself when she got Cutie Pox!)

Save me from myself.  Please.

(Or don't.  I secretly love my pony addiction.)

I Know You're all Probably Sick of Me Never Really Posting Anything Worthwhile any More, and With Good Reason, but I Have a Legitimate OOH KITTENS

Yeah, I don't actually really have a legitimate reason for not posting anything ever any more, except that maybe I'm about to go over psycho falls in the crazy canoe and I have a bizarre and all-consuming obsession with the Sims.

Oh look, kittens!

AND A PUPPY

And Scruffy!

Basically, what I'm doing here is trying to bribe you all with cute/hilarious animal pictures so you don't hate me any more.

Is it working?

No?  How about this?

I give up.

Predicting the Future with Friends

So, I was having a grand old time with my very good band friends on Friday, and we were discussing what college would be like.  Apparently, it's going to go like this:

I'm going to go off to far away lands and triple major at a private college, thereby making me a recluse and extremely poor.  After I triple major, I'm going to go to another college that's actually in my home state to get a master's degree in trombone.  Why?  So I can be in their marching band, of course.

Really.  That's the only reason.

The Destroyer/David Hasselhoff (You remember her.  We went swimming together.  She plays the trumpet) will go off to that in-state college and be in their marching band from the get-go.  At around week three, she will have a mental breakdown from the stress of homework combined with the stress of so many intensive band practices.  After three days of psychosis, she will stand up and declare the she is the Destroyer/David Hasselhoff and ain't nobody gon get her down nuh-uh.   After she has been at that college for three years, I will begin my master's degree in trombone, and join her in the marching band.  She will have predicted my arrival down to the last second, and when I arrive, she will be petting her trumpet, saying "I've been expecting you."  Only I will be a few seconds late.  She will ask if the elevator got stuck (at which point there is a flashback to me sawing at the elevator cable while the first-chair trombone player stands inside) "Yes," I will reply.  "On a totally unrelated note, though, I'm now the first-chair trombone player!"

Then we will go on to kick butt, only we'll be really poor.  We won't have enough money to drive back home, so we'll go over to our high school band teacher's house because she only lives on campus.  There we will tell her horror stories about how we cut off all our hair and sold it for drugs, then how we sold the drugs for food money.

And that's as far as we got.  I really don't know why I write this stuff down.

I Have Claimed a Nemesis

He's my nemesis because I called dibs, and the King/Archbishop of Marching Band already has a nemesis, also, because I have seniority (a booyah.)

I don't know where that last part came from (the part that secretly loves Kim Possible and thinks Ron is actually kind of cute.

You know you love him too.

Also, on an unrelated note, this was kind of awesome:

That is all.)

That's great, subconscious, can I have my blog post back now?

(yes.)

Thank you.

(I'm not making any guarantees, though)

*Sigh*  Fair enough.

Anyway.

Today I claimed a nemesis.  Why?  Because I need a good nemesis to spice up my last year in Quiz Bowl, and the King/Archbishop of Marching Band has always had a nemesis, and, frankly, I've been feeling slightly jealous.  There.  I said it.  ARE YOU HAPPY?

(Pay no heed to the caps lock.  She's a little unstable lately.)

I HEARD THAT!

(Heard what?  I didn't hear anything.  Except maybe the nice little chit-chat I was having with this lovely reader of yours.)

*Snake eyes*  I'm watching you.

(Alright then.)

Exactly.

Back to Nemesis.

Nemesis is on the Quiz Bowl team that was totally crazy good last year when they had this one really awesome guy, but now he's graduated, and so we actually sort of stand a chance against them.

Enter Nemesis.

Scout's honor, the boy answered most of the questions asked in that match.  AND EVERY TIME HE BUZZED IN, I KNEW THE ANSWER.  And if he would've just gotten the answer wrong, then I would have been able to get the point, but NOOOOOO.  He's got to go and get all the answers RIGHT like a JERKFACE.

(He's not really a jerkface.)

Fine.  I suppose he's not really a jerkface, but from now on, we shall never be friends. 

I will make sure of that

Mwahaha...ahahaha....AHAHAHAHA....AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Ahem.

I apologize.  I haven't been sleeping well.

Nemesis shall be conquered, or I will...do...something.

(It will be poorly-thought out and even more poorly executed, if it ever happens at all.)

Why do you have to be so mean?

(Because you're off your rocker right now, and you need someone to help you back on.)

So you're going to shove me back onto my rocker with verbal abuse?

(It's really more of a forceful guiding...of love.)

Oh, because THAT makes sense.

(It does.)

Screw You Guys, I Hate High School

Me: I really wish I wasn't so stressed.  What I need is a school day without much going on where I can stay home sick and not go insane.

High School:  Oh, yeah, I can do that.  Here:  You have practices Monday and Tuesday, a calc test on Wednesday, a world history test on Thursday and an anatomy test on Friday.

Me:  Are you completely insane?  That's not what I wanted at all.

High School:  Sure it is!  I know that you said that you don't want to be stressed, and you don't want to go insane, but deep down, I know that that's really a cry for more stress and insanity-inducing schoolwork.

Me:  Is this a joke?  Am I on Punked?  Where's Ashton?  Was I not important enough to get Ashton?  Or maybe this is Candid Camera come back from the dead, because there is absolutely no way that anyone is so stupid to think that when I say I don't want to lose my marbles, I really mean that I desperately want someone to smack my marbles out of my hands and scatter them to the ends of the Earth.

High School:  So I guess that means that that's going to be a "no" on the concessions stand working on Thursday?

Me:  I can't even look at you right now.

That is why I have not posted for many many weeks.  I know that I have let you all down (because you all definitely sit around on the computer, waiting with bated breath for the moment I next post) but I have good reason.  My entire life has been like this ever since school started.  Scratch that:  my lack of a life has been like this ever since school started.  And now I'm going insane.  Case in point:  last week.

Me:  Ah!  It's homecoming week!  As a member of Student Council, I have duties that I must fulfill, as well as dealing with any problems with the parade and/or dance that may arise as a result of crappy weather/wrath of the cosmos.  And, as if that weren't enough, I have to write an essay on a topic I don't understand, which is due on the night of the dance, and I still have to find a dress for the dance!  Could my life get any worse?

Life:  Yes I can.

Me:  Oh, please, don't.

Life:  Oh, fo shizzle, I'm about to throw wrenches all up in this heezy.  Brb, I'm gonna go get my posse.

Biology:  Activate:  Hormonal imbalance!

Me:  Ah!  *Lose 10 Patience*

Nature: FRICK YEAH, ALLERGENS!!

Me:  NOOOOO!! *coughcoughhackcoughcoughsneeze*

High School:  Who's ready for quizzes and busy work all up in this biscuit??  I AM!!

Me:  Please...no...have mercy...

Mom:  HAVE YOU PICKED OUT YOUR SENIOR PICTURES YET HAVE YOU STARTED APPLYING TO COLLEGES YET HAVE YOU LOOKED AT SCHOLARSHIPS YET WHY DON'T YOU HAVE  A NOBEL PRIZE I EXPECTED MORE FROM YOU YOU SHOULD BE ABLE TO ACCOMPLISH MORE THAN THIS BLAH BLAH BLAH NAG

Me:  *cowers beneath table in an attempt to discourage Mom*

Weather:  Oh, I'm looking ominous, aren't I?  Whatcha gonna do?  WHATCHA GONNA DO?  Oh!  What if I decide to rain?  What then?  OH MY GOSH CHECK OUT THIS WIND I JUST COOKED UP, THIS IS LEGIT, SON.  Yeah, you're definitely going to have to skip your anatomy class and totally change the whole judging setup.  WOOHOO!  LOOK AT ME GO!!!


Me:  Why is this happening to me?

Homework:  Oh my gosh, guess what?  I just got married!  TO INSOMNIA!!!  We're so happy!  You're going to be seeing a lot of us, especially this week.

Me:  *whimpers pathetically*

Calculus:  Wsdlkfjaoisdaga d; vfas;d fva;lkdsjf vaoidfvasdkf v;laksd a;sdlk jfaoiw ccfe;kajs d;fklja ;sldk fca;kjsa;lk jdfva;lksjd f;lkaj ;sdlk f;akj vs;dlkjfac ;lj ds;lfjv as;ldk vfa;lksj dflkjad ﾁﾄｼﾊﾘﾉﾁﾏﾄｼﾊﾘﾉﾏﾁﾄ ﾊﾘﾁﾉ ﾄﾏｼ ﾊﾁﾚﾄﾘﾉｼﾏﾊ ﾋﾁﾚﾘﾉﾄｼﾏﾊ ｺﾋﾁﾉﾏｸﾁﾏﾆﾓｲﾓﾁﾄｸﾆｶｲﾀﾗﾃｲﾆｽﾅﾉﾐﾋﾓﾐﾂﾈｻﾓｿﾊﾉﾁｸｼﾄﾘﾆｽﾅﾁﾃｸﾝﾘﾆﾅｽｸﾋ ﾁﾉﾏﾄｼﾊｸ ﾘﾋﾉﾁﾏﾄｸｼ ﾋﾁﾏﾄｼｸ ﾘﾉﾊﾁﾏ ﾄｸﾋｼﾘﾉ ｸ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me:  Was that even English?  Or Japanese, for that matter?

Calculus:  a;dljf;oqwie rlkjfnb alsier hiwehr gvajks cfaishjf vawhrelbiuayh eivlkrh,cjkzhslidh calkjiwegh rvailuwhe fjalvks hfdavlks hdfljvkasd; fvja;sld fv;alsjdf voiwe rkljas bdhlfa

Me:  I'm going to die.  That is all there is to it.

And that is why I hate high school.

**Note:  In the above conversation, the portrayal of my Mom is a bit of a dramatization.  She doesn't really act like that.  Normally.

The End is Nigh--A Doomsday Prophecy

Lo, the end is coming when all shall fall to the ground and quake in fear.

The end shall come upon you on a soft breeze, one that you may not even notice at first.  Some, however, will see the signs and begin to speak warnings, though they will go largely unheeded.

And then, lo!  Descending upon you from the sky like a storm shall come your doom!  It shall first be far away, and you, being a fool, will not prepare yourself.  Then, without warning, it will strike from the heavens, sending you crashing to the ground in fear and trembling.

There will be screams, and shouts of disbelief, and those who, even though they are in the midst of these things, will deny that darkness has come.

Lo, it will strike at your head while you cower in fear!  The beast shall rule your life, and you will not try to stop it, for out of fear you will be paralyzed, sayeth I.

Then, out of the shadows shall arise mighty warriors who will vanquish the darkness.  At first, their efforts will seem unfruitful, and many will not have faith in the heroes, but, lo, their time will come, and when it does, they will snatch the beast from the sky and destroy it with crude tools, for the beast is not unconquerable.

And then shall darkness be vanquished, and all who had cowered in fear return to the light and rejoice, for the terror shall be vanquished, and darkness rule no more.

So sayeth Fanny, on the subject of dragonflies in the library.  (That thing was darned scary.)

Realized:

Kanji, when in text form, looks a lot like Ouija, which may or may not explain why Kanji is so evil.

Fanny Potter and the Deathly Shallows

One particularly cold morning in early September, a young lady named Fanny woke up in her room.

"We're probably going to go to the beach today," she said.

"I don't want to go to the beach."

"Perhaps they will let me stay home."

She got dressed and went into the kitchen, where it immediately became apparent that she would have no such luck, for preparations for the beach trip were already underway.

"Drat," she thought.

Not too long after that, Fanny and her siblings were herded into the car and braced themselves for the very long journey that faced them.

They drove through towns, on side roads, on bridges, and on highways until, finally, they came to the beach.

It was very cold and windy at the beach, and the waves were much too high for swimming, but Fanny's day was not entirely ruined, for she had brought a book with her, so that she might read on the beach.

After about an hour or so of reading, it was time for dinner.  Fanny walked to the picnic table with the rest of her family.  All seemed perfectly calm.

Then, who should fly out of the clouds but the evil Lord Seagullmort!

They were all immediately plunged into terror, for the evil Lord Seagullmort would surely eat all of their chips and hot dog buns and would almost definitely make screechy noises at them.

They expected the worst from Lord Seagullmort.

But no one expected what happened next.

Fanny Potter was sitting innocently at the picnic table, eating her dinner when, from above, the evil Lord Seagullmort swooped down and pooped on her head.

Yes.  Pooped on her head.

No one had ever suspected such treachery from Lord Seagullmort.  They had always known him to be capable of great evil, but never expected that he would stoop that low.

However, Fanny Potter was not defeated.

No, she finished her dinner, and then went to put on her wizard's robes (*cough*redsnuggie*cough*).

Lord Seagullmort fled in terror, vowing that he would one day return to destroy her.

Fanny Potter, knowing full well that Lord Seagullmort would eventually make good on his promise, nonetheless continued with her day at the beach.

A day which would soon get even more dangerous, for Fanny Potter and her family were headed toward the pier, where massive waves crashed against the sides, their white fingers grasping at unsure feet, waiting to pull someone into the briny deep.

Fanny Potter was very nearly defeated that day, and would have been lost to the world forever had her powerful wizard's robes not saved her from going over.

By the time Fanny Potter had defeated the evil Lord Seagullmort and vanquished the carnivorous waves, the sun was setting on her beach day.

And so, it was with a heavy heart that she boarded the car to leave the beach and return home.  But she held on to a sliver of hope, for her adventures were surely not over yet.  No, there would surely be more heroic antics lying in wait for Fanny Potter, all she had to do was find them.

Hi, There. How Are You?

Because I'm unstable.

I seem to have been suffering from insomnia and/or some sort of hormonal imbalance for the past few days, and you know what I've discovered?  It turns me into someone I don't like.

Namely, a crazy person.

I've been losing my temper, I've been irrational, and I've been a host of other things that I can't remember because I'm tired but I can't sleep.

I feel crazy.  I'm pretty sure I might be crazy.  Why, not even ten minutes ago, I thought that I heard a serial killer in the basement not twenty feet from me, and, instead of freaking out, as I normally would, I looked at the glass mug on the desk in front of me and had a brief fantasy which I will now record for you in the third person because I'm tired and I can only really write fiction stories in the third person when I'm tired.

She stood, slowly, and faced the oncoming threat.  The ominous man in black said nothing, and moved not an inch as she grabbed the glass mug sitting on the desk beside her.  "You wanna tango?" she asked as, gripping the mug tightly, she smashed it against the wall.  Thousands of shards of glass danced in the moonlight as the fell to the floor around her.  Brandishing the jagged piece she held in her hand, her only weapon, she said "let's tango."

Oh, dear.  I do believe that that might be worse than the stuff that I normally write.  

Sleep.  I need sleep.

But I can't sleep.

Well, it's not that I can't sleep at all, it's that I can't stay asleep.  I fall asleep, and then I wake up a few hours later, then I fall asleep again, and  wake up again, and then fall asleep, then wake up in a never-ending cycle of doom and sadness.

I want to kill my brain.  It is being stupid.  I hate this game.

Bah.  I'm going to leave now, before you all catch my crazy.

I'd say something that I think is witty here, but I'm too tired (HA!  Like a bike.  I'm too tired!  Get it?  Too tired, two-tired?  Oh, that is just awful.)

I am Here to Plague You With Songs You Won't be Able to Get out of Your Head

This isn't really a post.  This is just a series of videos of songs that are bound to get stuck in your head at some point. 

This song has been stuck in my head since last night.  That doesn't sound like a long time, but when the only part of the song that you know is a 5-second snippet of the chorus, it gets a little annoying.  Nevertheless, I still kind of like this song just a little.

Come on, Eileen by Dexy's Midnight Runners

I don't really have much to say for this one, except that the only reason that it is now stuck in my head is because it showed in the recommended videos on YouTube for the last one.

99 Luftballons by Nena

And you're all going to hate me for this one.

Barbie Girl by Aqua

Holy flying frick, y'all.  It's in German.  Just kidding.  It's actually Dutch.

But that whole "Dutch" thing just reminded me of this video.

I'm not sure if it's German, or Dutch, or Belgian, or whatever.  All I know is that there is a freaking pig fartin' up a storm.

I Feel Your Pain, Quasimodo, I Feel Your Pain.

I was at band camp for most of this week.  There was much use of sunblock and bug spray, and much yelling of "winning" and "courage" and much singing of The Cha Cha Slide.  We also talked about doing the can-can, which led us to compose sentences like this one:  I can can can-can. (Do you want to delete the repeated word?  NO.)

There was also a whole lot of talk about cannibalism, naked people falling out of hot air balloons, and dead people in cabins, but that's beside the point.

Thursday was the last day of band camp (my last band camp ever, forever, which actually made me a little sad) and I wanted to do something with all of my friends as a way of celebrating, so we decided to go swimming.

Where did we go swimming, you ask?  Why, at Sassafras Jones's grandparents' pond, that's where.

Everything started out just fine.  Everyone got to the pond safely, and all looked to be going well, until it actually came time to get into the water.

You see, something you may or may not know about me is that I am extremely afraid of the water.  I used to cry at every swimming lesson that my mom made me go to, and I even threw up at one.  Eventually, I did learn to swim a little bit, but I haven't actually gone swimming in a couple of years, so I'm more than a little rusty.

Anyway, everyone, the King/Archbishop of Marching Band, Sassafras Jones, the Drummer Boy, and the Destroyer, a lovely red-headed girl who plays the trumpet and is actually extremely hilarious, was in the deep water over by the diving board and such.  I did not want to jump into the water, so I decided that I was just going to swim out to where everyone was and hope for the best.

Only, there was a problem.

That problem was called "fish."

Now, it has been noted on this blog that I am not overly-enthusiastic about wildlife being overly close to me, so the fact that I literally saw a fish in the shallows swimming away from me freaked me out quite a bit. 

At that point, I realized that I was going to have to jump in, or at least use the ladder by the diving board, which, according to the Destroyer, had a big ol' spider on it.  Neither of this options were particularly pleasing to me.

Eventually, my blue noodle and I made it into the water with everyone else.  Everything was going fine, the Destroyer even went out and got a boogie board thing, then ran around the pond toward where the diving board was, earning her the title of David Hasselhoff.  For that short period of time, everything was going swimmingly (horrible pun intended.)

However, it didn't take long for things to take a turn for the worse.

It soon became apparent that I was not the only one who was not bestest buddies with the water.  In fact, the Drummer Boy was the only one amongst us who could actually swim, though Sassafras Jones was entirely capable of holding her own in the water.  Basically, what I'm getting at is that there were a lot of near-death experiences that night.

The Destroyer/David Hasselhoff also shared my fear of the fishies.  The following is a direct quote from her, after she though that a fish touched her leg.

"My hands are out of the water, my toes are out of the water, and I'm gonna die in this God-forsaken lake."

At which point I very nearly peed myself and/or drowned. 

I ended up sharing my noodle with the King/Archbishop of Marching Band, who almost drowned, then he got his own noodle, then I had to give my noodle to the Destroyer/David Hasselhoff, who was totally not living up to her namesake by also almost drowning.  At that point, I was in deep water without a floatation device and very little swimming ability, how could I survive?  Who could have given me the tools necessary to stay afloat when years of swimming lessons had failed me?  Only one woman:  Tyra Banks.

You see, I used to watch a lot of America's Next Top Model, and, at one point, on of the photo shoots that they did had the models floating on the surface of the pool.  I remembered Tyra teaching the girls how to float by arching their backs, and so that was what I did, and, darn it, it worked.  The only drawback was that, if I had actually drowned, I would have been in much the same position as if I was just floating.

After informing my friends of the one drawback of my nearly flawless plan and asking that they check that I was still alive every so often, they went and got me another noodle, only this one was a wimpy pink noodle that did not live up to my floatation device standards.

And, to top all this off, there were horseflies, and they were attacking us.

At one point, horseflies dive-bombed my head, causing my to seek refuge underwater.  However, when I did this, there arose in my already taxed calves a mighty pain.  An effing leg cramp.  The pain was so bad it caused me to exclaim: "son of a b****, this hurts" in a very loud voice so that everyone, including Sassafras Jones's dad, who was sitting by the campfire, could hear.

But I had no time to worry about Sassy's dad's opinion of me, for I was going to die.  The wimpy noodle was not enough to keep me afloat now that I had pretty much lost all use of my legs.  I was able to keep my head above water long enough to demand that someone get me a decent noodle, which they did, at which point I was perfectly fine, except for the whole "searing pain" thing.

I was totally fine, but the Drummer Boy had decided that I was some sort of danger to myself and incapable of safely remaining in the water, so he towed me back to shore, at which point I discovered that I couldn't really put any sort of pressure on my left leg.  So I just kind of chilled out in the shallows, hoping that no fish would touch me and getting grossed out by seaweed until my leg regained enough strength to be able to manage a hobble-type movement that would allow me to make my way to the campfire, where there was a picnic table that I could sit on.

We ate hobo pies and hot dogs and things.  At one point, Sassafras Jones's dad asked if their were any hot dogs left, but did it in a roundabout way.

Sassy's Dad:  Are there any more processed cow parts left?
Me:  *Questioning look*
Sassy's Dad:  Hot dogs.  They're just cow lips and udders
The Drummer Boy: Mmm, udders
The Destroyer/David Hasselhoff: They're udderly delicious.

Anyway, after we had finished discussing processed cow parts and such, we started focusing more on the mosquitoes.  One of them landed on the King/Archbishop of Marching Band, and the Destroyer/David Hasselhoff had some advice for him.

The Destroyer/David Hasselhoff: Tense up your leg; it'll explode.
Me:  You know this from experience?
The Destroyer/David Hasselhoff: Yes.

Then we walked around Sassafras Jones's grandparents' property and house and things and play songs on their grand piano, after which we went back outside to put all of the pooly things away and I got bit on the eyelid by a mosquito.  THE EYELID.  I didn't even know mosquitoes did that kind of thing.  I mean, I guess I knew, somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind, that they had the capability of biting people's eyelids, but I think I just assumed that they would have the decency not to do it.  Apparently, though, I was wrong, because my eyelid was swelling up nicely, which, coupled with the limp caused by my wonky leg, made me look like Quasimodo, or every evil henchmen in every old movie ever.  I proceeded to refer to myself as "Igor" for the rest of the night.

Then, we all went home, and I'm just now remembering that I may have left caramel syrup in the back of my car and that I should maybe go and look for that.

I'm Sure I Could Control the World if I Weren't so Darned...Tired. What Was I Saying?

Today was the first day of band camp.

I would tell you more, but I am about to dissolve into a large puddle of ick.  It was very hot, and I am very tired, seeing as how I have not had a decent night's sleep in over a week (remember the raccoons?  Yeah.  That's their fault.)

However, I will share with you all a video that I probably posted before, but I'm going to again, and then a little story.  Or the other way around.  Yes, the other way around.

Anyway, I got to drive an actual car today, which is really exciting, even though I've legally been able to drive by myself for over a year now (I don't have my own car, and my dad works a lot, so driving a real live automobile is a real treat, let me tell you.)  So, since I got to drive an actual car to band camp, that meant that I had a car that I could drive home from band camp.  This also meant that I could give Sassafras Jones a ride home, so I did. 

On the way there, I, being the picture of class and grace, was taking large swigs of water out of a glass bottle that I have always felt would be perfect for holding moonshine.  I finished all the water in that bottle, but I was still thirsty, so I tried to reach into the back seat where my other water bottle was.  Alas, it was too far away, prompting me to say "Damn.  It's too far away."  However, I don't remember saying this because my  brain has shut down all unnecessary functions.  Sassafras Jones did hear me say this, though, and proceeded to start reciting lines from this YouTube video.  Enjoy.

Oh boy.  It's naptime.

My Name is Buzz Killigan and I'm Not Particularly Fond of Camping

I just got back from a week-long family camping trip.  It wasn't so bad, considering that it was only my nuclear family, and my dad's a pretty good sport about letting me sit in the camper and read my books all the time.

Anyway, I thought that I'd treat you all to a brand-spanking-new post, but don't get used to it, because I'm going away to band camp next week, so I shall fall silent once more, but then I'll come back and probably have hilarious stories to tell you about marching incidents and canoe trips.

What was I saying?

Oh, right.  Camping.  Yeah, camping isn't exactly my thing, but do you know what is my thing?  Staying up late at night reading.  This did not work out so well for one reason, and one reason alone.  Do you want to know what that reason is?  Well, I'll tell you.

Raccoons.

I didn't think that it was possible for me to fear more things than I already fear, but, when confronted with the knowledge that a possibly rabid beast was foraging through my food fewer than ten feet away from my sleepy little head, I was forced to admit that raccoons are scary as frick.

Here are some things that I wrote down on those scary nights when I heard the raccoons.

There is a raccoon outside right freaking now, y'all.  Fo reals.

If raccoons get into the camper, I will be the first to die.  The door isn't latching properly.  I'm going to be attacked by a raccoon and die of rabies.

The raccoons are effing fighting each other, y'all.  This is starting to freak me out.

For the record, the sound of raccoons fighting each other is fricking scary and I wouldn't want anyone to have to live through that.

I spent most of that night wrapped up in a blanket, even though I wasn't cold, because I was convinced that raccoons would be too stupid to recognize me as a human if I was wrapped in fabric.

I fricking hate raccoons.

Oh.  I should probably explain some more things about my camping trip, or else you all might get a little confused about it.

The title of this post says that my name is Buzz Killigan, because it is, apparently.  You see, the whole week I was, I am told, being a "buzz kill."  However, I would like to point out that if educating the ignorant when they make an erroneous statement makes me a buzz kill, then I will gladly be called a buzz kill.

Another thing that went on during the week of camping was the excessive wandering of my mind.  I think it might have had something to do with the fact that I was staying up as late as I normally do, but waking up much earlier.  Anyway, here are some non-raccoon-related things I wrote down over the week:

"Ain't be havin' none of this"--no need to conjugate (look, ma! No conjugation!)

It's true.  I ain't be havin' none of this, you ain't be havin' none of this, he, she, we ain't be havin' none of this...

There are not nearly enough situation is life in which an impression of a T-Rex is called for.

This, tragically, is only too true.  I keep having to invent situations in which a T-Rex impersonation is appropriate.

Pet monkey stories=blogging gold.  Also, more effing raccoons.  They are surrounding this biz-nitch.  It is freaking me out.

Okay, first of all.  About the pet monkey:  My dad, when he was very little, for some reason or another, had a pet monkey.  I don't remember how he got it, and I don't really want to ask him right now, but maybe, someday, if I still like you all, I will tell you about my dad's pet monkey and some of its shenanigans.

Second of all, effing raccoons. I.  Hate.  Raccoons.  That is all.

I Want to Actually Post Things Today, But I'm too Busy Swooning

Josh freaking Groban, y'all.

Yeah.  If you don't swoon at the mere mention of his name, you aren't living.

Here, I'll help you.

(Just go ahead and skip to around 1:38 for the actual song.  Unless you want to listen to Celine Dion talk for a minute and a half, and if you do, hey, more power to you.)

And that was live people.  No auto-tune.  Yeah.

I just...I can't even say anything right now.  Oh, my poor little heart.

I am the Greatest Hypochondriac Who Has Ever Thought She Was Dying

It might be true.

As many people who have read this blog before will know, I can be a bit dramatic when it comes to everyday ailments, as is demonstrated by the end of this post, as well as this post, and just a wee bit in this post.

Anyway.

We all know that I'm kind of a hypochondriac, and also sort of a germ freak (maybe you didn't know that before, but you know it now.)  But, you do not know just how long I have been this way.  To tell you that, we must go far back, to the days of old, when stuffed animals were my friends, and the sandbox was my kingdom.

We must go back to kindergarten.

This is the story of the first, and last, time I ever faked sick to get out of going to school.

I'm pretty sure that I just didn't feel like getting up that morning.  I wanted to sleep, and the TV had told me, many times, of children faking illnesses to avoid being sent to the dreaded school.  So that's what I did.  I told my mom that I had a stomach ache, and she let me stay home from school.

My sick day started out simply enough.  I slept and watched TV, then slept some more.  My mom was a stay-at-home mom at the time, so I didn't throw any wild kindergarten parties, I was just kind of chilling out at my house, without a care in the world.

But I was determined not to be caught in my lie.

I did such a good job at trying to convince my mom that I was sick, that I managed to convince myself of it.  Soon, I actually became sick, with an actual stomach ache, and possibly also a fever.  But that is not the worst of it.

The worst part was the hallucinations.

To this day, I'm not entirely sure if all of this happened, but I have a distinct memory of looking out of one of the windows in my house and seeing the neighbor kids walking home from the bus stop, dressed up as milk cartons.

Milk cartons.

For real.

They were very convincing milk cartons, too.  All I remember thinking about this was that "Aw, I picked the wrong day to be sick.  Everybody got to dress up as milk cartons and I had to stay home."

And so, from that day forth, I never again faked sick, for fear of missing out on another "Dress Up Like a Milk Carton" day.

So yeah, tiny me had some mad mental skills.  Or mad mental issues.  You decide.

I Hate This Week

I really do.

First of all, a bunch of my friends are gone on vacations and whatnot, including Sassafras Jones who's out gallivanting around California.  What a poop.

Yes, I did just call my friend a poop.

Anyway.  Aside from having only the King/Archbishop of Marching Band and the Stellar Miss Moon to keep me from slowly going insane, I've had to schedule college visits.

Yes, college visits.

I should have done this last week, when I actually had time to, and when there would have been ample time for the people to process my application thing and get back to me, but NO.  I forgot about the internet, and I was under the impression that I had to actually call these people on the telephone and ask for a visit.  The prospect of using a telephone scared me so much that I put of the whole thing for a whole week, until last night, when I realized, hey, there's probably a way to register for these kinds of things online, so I went to the websites and, lo and behold, there it was!  Online visit applications!  The only problem is, I want to visit these colleges next week, and they're all saying that visits scheduled within two weeks are not guaranteed, which is making me anxious, and I don't like being anxious.

BAH.  I hate college already, and I haven't even graduated from high school yet.

Speaking of high school, I registered for my online French class last week (actually, speaking of French class reminded me of something else.  On all the applications, they asked what some of my interests are for majors and stuff, and I told all of them that Spanish was my secondary interest for a major, except that's not even really true because I kind of hate Spanish, but it would be in my best interests to learn Spanish, so really, I'm just whoring out my academic interests in order to be one step ahead on the job market.  This is also making me anxious.  Back to my French class.)  I'm pretty excited about it, since it should be pretty easy because I already know some French.  Also, my professor is supposedly hot, according to ratemyprofessor.com, only I don't know how that's supposed to be beneficial to my online learning experience.  It's always good to know, I guess.

What else do I hate about this week?  Hmm, I'm sure that there were more things.  Well, there was that fireworks display that I went to see with the Stellar Miss Moon and the King/Archbishop of Marching Band last night. They were pretty sub-par.  It made me sad.  The best part of the whole night was when, after the very first few fireworks went off, there was a pause, and then the King/Archbishop of Marching Band stood up, clapped, and yelled "Woo!  Let's do this again next year!"

So, yeah.  That was my week.  And it's only Tuesday.  Sassafras Jones isn't coming back home until Sunday, I don't know when the Drummer Boy (who is also on vacation) is coming home, and I want some chocolate cake, only I don't have any, and that's just making me angry.