To those who were on the edge of their chairs, wanting to know about the paper due Friday that I was supposedly working on in my last post, I turned it in and it is good.
'Cause I know everyone was waiting to hear how that turned out.
Anyway, to business. I could talk about my crush on [that one dude] or [that other dude], or I could talk about [censored due to top secret content], but I NO! I must fulfill the quest that my dear friend Chilly has given me.
Okay, so it's not a quest. It's a little game. I have to grab a nearby book (great, I'm in my bedroom and surrounded by books) and turn to page 123, then write down the fifth sentence. Then I have to tag five people.
But it's not fun to do only one, so I think I'll do a few. Though I will limit myself to books I can reach without getting up.
Hmm. I can reach fewer than I thought.
Seven Daughters and Seven Sons by Barbara Cohen
"But what could he have to tell me?"
Triss by Brian Jacques
"He tried it, put the bowl down and bent double, making loud gasping noises."
A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett
"I never answer when I can help it."
Taggerung by Brian Jacques
"Young Broggle dug into his his apron pocket and produced a neatly wrapped package, tied with a fancy bow of chamomile stalk."
Beauty by Robin McKinley
"And then I remembered, and I opened my eyes, and I recognized the feel of fine linen under my cheek and fingers; and as memory returned, I realized what it was that had awakened me: the delicious, insidious smells of hot chocolate and buttered toast."
Mossflower by Brian Jacques
"What's next?"
Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett
"People think it's a fortune, but they don't reckon on, well, it's not pensionable, there's all the medical expenses, you've got to buy and maintain your own gear-"
Rakkety Tam by Brian Jaques
"Tears dewed in his eyes for the unknown dangers she might be facing."
Okay, okay, I'll stop. You don't have to get so snippy about it! Sheesh.
Yellow
Uffish Thought
Optimistic.
Goober
ahem.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Of Course I'm Working On That Big Paper Due Friday!
So, i've noticed something interesting, which is that how outgoing I am in a given class depends on how well I know the people around me. (So what if that sounds obvious? I just noticed it!)
In my Spanish class, where I have a friend who sits near me and I am willing to talk to several other students, I am my most outgoing. I will answer questions without feeling mortified, easily participate in class, and I'm not even afraid to make the occasional snarky comment.
In my choir class, I sit next to a friend I don't know very well. We actually met this semester through a mutual friend, who is also in that class. I don't really talk to her outside of class. This means that I might raise my hand to make a comment, or mutter just loudly enough for those around me to hear, but won't shout anything out. Also, I only raise my hand if comments are asked for. I don't point out mistakes I'm hearing, as I did in my high school choir classes.
In my religion class, I have been assigned a group to work with every day. I know all their names, I sit by them, they welcome me, and occasionally we talk a bit about something other than the material in class. In this class I talk when I need to in my group, and occasionally speak up, but I am usually more comfortable staying entirely quiet when it's not my specific time to talk.
My English class is the worst. I don't really know anyone. I have talked aloud only a few times; to introduce myself to the class, to say "I don't have anything" when called on about something that I hadn't had time to think about because I hadn't been paying attention, to say one thing when the two others in my group had spent five minutes acting as if there were only the two of them, to talk to my TA Monday, and, in a burst of boldness, to make an unsolicited comment in class, also on Monday. I discovered, after that burst of boldness, that I was absolutely mortified by the fact that I had just said something in class. I spent the rest of the class half paying attention while continuing to be embarrassed by my comment and flinching away from my TA (who was sitting next to me and who, I discovered, I am rather frightened of/intimidated by).
I'm going into this because, while I do understand myself, I still think I'm insane. Why should I allow how much I know others to control how much I participate? I'm a smart girl, and I'm sure I could contribute a lot if I'd just get over the fact that I don't know anyone. I'm sure I'd know some of these people by now if I were more outgoing. And I can be outgoing; I've been proving it, to the great delight of MP, over the past week or so. So why do I feel like a mouse when in my English class?
Behold one of the reasons for choosing the name Quiet Mischief: yeah, I can be fun and all that, but sometimes you have to get me out of my shell before you have any idea how smart/interesting/funny/loud I can be.
In my Spanish class, where I have a friend who sits near me and I am willing to talk to several other students, I am my most outgoing. I will answer questions without feeling mortified, easily participate in class, and I'm not even afraid to make the occasional snarky comment.
In my choir class, I sit next to a friend I don't know very well. We actually met this semester through a mutual friend, who is also in that class. I don't really talk to her outside of class. This means that I might raise my hand to make a comment, or mutter just loudly enough for those around me to hear, but won't shout anything out. Also, I only raise my hand if comments are asked for. I don't point out mistakes I'm hearing, as I did in my high school choir classes.
In my religion class, I have been assigned a group to work with every day. I know all their names, I sit by them, they welcome me, and occasionally we talk a bit about something other than the material in class. In this class I talk when I need to in my group, and occasionally speak up, but I am usually more comfortable staying entirely quiet when it's not my specific time to talk.
My English class is the worst. I don't really know anyone. I have talked aloud only a few times; to introduce myself to the class, to say "I don't have anything" when called on about something that I hadn't had time to think about because I hadn't been paying attention, to say one thing when the two others in my group had spent five minutes acting as if there were only the two of them, to talk to my TA Monday, and, in a burst of boldness, to make an unsolicited comment in class, also on Monday. I discovered, after that burst of boldness, that I was absolutely mortified by the fact that I had just said something in class. I spent the rest of the class half paying attention while continuing to be embarrassed by my comment and flinching away from my TA (who was sitting next to me and who, I discovered, I am rather frightened of/intimidated by).
I'm going into this because, while I do understand myself, I still think I'm insane. Why should I allow how much I know others to control how much I participate? I'm a smart girl, and I'm sure I could contribute a lot if I'd just get over the fact that I don't know anyone. I'm sure I'd know some of these people by now if I were more outgoing. And I can be outgoing; I've been proving it, to the great delight of MP, over the past week or so. So why do I feel like a mouse when in my English class?
Behold one of the reasons for choosing the name Quiet Mischief: yeah, I can be fun and all that, but sometimes you have to get me out of my shell before you have any idea how smart/interesting/funny/loud I can be.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
I See Storm Clouds on the Horizon
Dear Darling Mother is going to be upset.
The new car seat law for Utah goes into effect May 4th.
Dear Darling Mother is going to be very upset.
Oh, yes, we do want our children safe and la-di-da. But the car seat law? It's a good thing Shanna is nine, and therefore exempt, or I'm sure Dear Darling Mother would have the state congress and the governor tell the skinny, short, highly ADHD girl that she now had to sit in a booster seat. We'd sit back with popcorn and watch the fun.
I'm glad all of us except Siri and Caiti are too old, or we all would have been in boosters until we were eight. I got teased enough in elementary school without having the added humiliation of being in a booster up until I was baptized.
It's not only the fact that my mother's children are all small and therefore would be subject to the law if not so old that I have a problem with. It's the fact that now we're going to need more car seats. We already need a new car - our biggest car has only nine seats, and the arrival of Caiti next month will put us up to ten people - so do we need to buy more seats as well? I mean, in the recent circumstances, twenty bucks can be the difference between my dad eating a real lunch as opposed to an apple and maybe some carrots every day. We almost had to go on a rice and potato diet for the next two weeks, and now we need to start saving up for the several car seats Siri and Caiti will need.
Couldn't we start small with this whole law thing? Like, say, actually enforcing the law already in effect? I was very angry several times at an old job because mothers would drive away with five- and six-year-olds playing around unbuckled in the front seat. If people aren't obeying the old laws, what makes you think they'll obey the new one? It only creates more annoyance, frustration, and possible money troubles for those of us who do care enough about our children to have them safely buckled anyway.
I guess that's what Siri will be getting for Christmas: a booster seat. When I'm giving my parents money so they can buy a few presents for my siblings, it's obvious that we can't get luxuries such as toys when we have new car seat laws to obey.
The new car seat law for Utah goes into effect May 4th.
Dear Darling Mother is going to be very upset.
Oh, yes, we do want our children safe and la-di-da. But the car seat law? It's a good thing Shanna is nine, and therefore exempt, or I'm sure Dear Darling Mother would have the state congress and the governor tell the skinny, short, highly ADHD girl that she now had to sit in a booster seat. We'd sit back with popcorn and watch the fun.
I'm glad all of us except Siri and Caiti are too old, or we all would have been in boosters until we were eight. I got teased enough in elementary school without having the added humiliation of being in a booster up until I was baptized.
It's not only the fact that my mother's children are all small and therefore would be subject to the law if not so old that I have a problem with. It's the fact that now we're going to need more car seats. We already need a new car - our biggest car has only nine seats, and the arrival of Caiti next month will put us up to ten people - so do we need to buy more seats as well? I mean, in the recent circumstances, twenty bucks can be the difference between my dad eating a real lunch as opposed to an apple and maybe some carrots every day. We almost had to go on a rice and potato diet for the next two weeks, and now we need to start saving up for the several car seats Siri and Caiti will need.
Couldn't we start small with this whole law thing? Like, say, actually enforcing the law already in effect? I was very angry several times at an old job because mothers would drive away with five- and six-year-olds playing around unbuckled in the front seat. If people aren't obeying the old laws, what makes you think they'll obey the new one? It only creates more annoyance, frustration, and possible money troubles for those of us who do care enough about our children to have them safely buckled anyway.
I guess that's what Siri will be getting for Christmas: a booster seat. When I'm giving my parents money so they can buy a few presents for my siblings, it's obvious that we can't get luxuries such as toys when we have new car seat laws to obey.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Pi Day!
In between a big test that I didn't study for until the day of and working about 18 hours during Dancesport, I was unable to get my Pi Day post up by Pi Day. But here it is now!
On a scale of 1-9, 1 being I don't like it, 9 being I love it, and 5 being I'm more or less neutral:
3 - Participating in dancing
. - Not a number, but a frequently abused punctuation mark over at Pottersues
1 - Twilight (the series)
4 - Where bellydancers get sunburned (hilarious, but disturbing)
1 - Hearing people sing the national anthem like a pop song
5 - Harry Potter books
9 - The 100 Hour Board (and The Board Message Board)
2 - Mary Sues
6 - Meeting new people (a terrifying but beneficial experience)
5 - West Side Story
3 - Twilight (the book)
5 - Eggs
8 - Redwall
9 - Divine Comedy
7 - International Dialects of English Archive
9 - Celtic jewelry and music
3 - Singers who scoop
2 - Singing hymns like they're funeral marches
3 - Phantom of the Opera
8 - NaNoWriMo
4 - Having food allergies
6 - "We made out in a tree and this old guy sat and watched us."
2 - Singers with excessive vibrato
6 - Sour Patch Watermelons
4 - People whispering in sacrament meeting, movies, plays, etc.
3 - My Antonia
3 - Bad grammar
8 - St. Patrick's Day
3 - Writer's block
2 - Having a cold
7 - Terry Pratchett
9 - The Pirates of Penzance and The Scarlet Pimpernel
5 - Charles Dickens
0 - Eragon
2 - People who drive stupidly
On a scale of 1-9, 1 being I don't like it, 9 being I love it, and 5 being I'm more or less neutral:
3 - Participating in dancing
. - Not a number, but a frequently abused punctuation mark over at Pottersues
1 - Twilight (the series)
4 - Where bellydancers get sunburned (hilarious, but disturbing)
1 - Hearing people sing the national anthem like a pop song
5 - Harry Potter books
9 - The 100 Hour Board (and The Board Message Board)
2 - Mary Sues
6 - Meeting new people (a terrifying but beneficial experience)
5 - West Side Story
3 - Twilight (the book)
5 - Eggs
8 - Redwall
9 - Divine Comedy
7 - International Dialects of English Archive
9 - Celtic jewelry and music
3 - Singers who scoop
2 - Singing hymns like they're funeral marches
3 - Phantom of the Opera
8 - NaNoWriMo
4 - Having food allergies
6 - "We made out in a tree and this old guy sat and watched us."
2 - Singers with excessive vibrato
6 - Sour Patch Watermelons
4 - People whispering in sacrament meeting, movies, plays, etc.
3 - My Antonia
3 - Bad grammar
8 - St. Patrick's Day
3 - Writer's block
2 - Having a cold
7 - Terry Pratchett
9 - The Pirates of Penzance and The Scarlet Pimpernel
5 - Charles Dickens
0 - Eragon
2 - People who drive stupidly
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
*shifty eyes*
It seems to me that the phrase "I'll be in touch" is inherently sinister.
"Now, remember, you have three days to come up with the money. I'll be in touch."
"Don't make a false move, or your wife gets it. I'll be in touch."
"Try to be inconspicuous, mmkay? I'll be in touch."
"I'll show you being in touch." (Bam! Smack! Other fighting noises that remind me of Batman!)
Also, there's something about a cell phone. Someone speaking into one, that is. Someone leaning casually against the wall, or strolling around the sidewalk or a public building, talking on werf's cell phone.
"Are you sure?"
"I can sort of see it that way, but..."
"No, I'm afraid I have to stand by what I said before. That's quite convincing, though."
"Hmm... no, that doesn't quite cut it either."
"All right. I'll be in touch."
And somehow, the better dressed they are, the more ominous the situation seems. This conversation, on a cell phone, said by a girl with a high-pitched voice that has a tendency to break into giggles and a fashion sense that allows her out of the house wearing Uggs and bug-eyed sunglasses is probably her being coy with a guy she likes. However, if you exchange that girl for one that has a lower, steady voice, and is wearing sensible shoes and a professional shirt/skirt ensemble or something, then I might be worried.
Hmm. This could be fun. I should try writing a short story.
"Now, remember, you have three days to come up with the money. I'll be in touch."
"Don't make a false move, or your wife gets it. I'll be in touch."
"Try to be inconspicuous, mmkay? I'll be in touch."
"I'll show you being in touch." (Bam! Smack! Other fighting noises that remind me of Batman!)
Also, there's something about a cell phone. Someone speaking into one, that is. Someone leaning casually against the wall, or strolling around the sidewalk or a public building, talking on werf's cell phone.
"Are you sure?"
"I can sort of see it that way, but..."
"No, I'm afraid I have to stand by what I said before. That's quite convincing, though."
"Hmm... no, that doesn't quite cut it either."
"All right. I'll be in touch."
And somehow, the better dressed they are, the more ominous the situation seems. This conversation, on a cell phone, said by a girl with a high-pitched voice that has a tendency to break into giggles and a fashion sense that allows her out of the house wearing Uggs and bug-eyed sunglasses is probably her being coy with a guy she likes. However, if you exchange that girl for one that has a lower, steady voice, and is wearing sensible shoes and a professional shirt/skirt ensemble or something, then I might be worried.
Hmm. This could be fun. I should try writing a short story.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
"I got better."
Forgive me for dying abruptly in the middle of a sentence last post. I'm better now.
I'm not just better. I'm great.
Know why?
I CAN SING AGAIN!!!!!!!!
No, really, this is so important. Normally, I am the kind of person who bursts into song whenever a song pops into my head, often employing various parts of my three-octave range. When I get a cold, not only am I sick for at least a week, I also lose most of my range. I feel so... caged... when I can't burst into song, sing properly in choir, or volunteer to sing Emily Dickenson poems to the tune of The Yellow Rose of Texas.
But now I can sing again, so the world is once again in balance. Runny nose, cough, headache... who cares about those things when I can sing?
Oh, and my hair is curly today. It's really pretty.
Everything is just going right.
Maybe next post I'll get all philosophical/angry about something of interest to more than me and my close friends.
I'm not just better. I'm great.
Know why?
I CAN SING AGAIN!!!!!!!!
No, really, this is so important. Normally, I am the kind of person who bursts into song whenever a song pops into my head, often employing various parts of my three-octave range. When I get a cold, not only am I sick for at least a week, I also lose most of my range. I feel so... caged... when I can't burst into song, sing properly in choir, or volunteer to sing Emily Dickenson poems to the tune of The Yellow Rose of Texas.
But now I can sing again, so the world is once again in balance. Runny nose, cough, headache... who cares about those things when I can sing?
Oh, and my hair is curly today. It's really pretty.
Everything is just going right.
Maybe next post I'll get all philosophical/angry about something of interest to more than me and my close friends.
My Last Will and Testament
Since I am quite obviously dying of this cold, I am making out my will.
My books go to MP, except for the Redwall books, which go to Random.
My scooter goes to The Guy, though he may not ride it until after he gets his driver's license and proves he can afford the gas (yes, he is in the situation where $5 a week can break him. Get a flippin' job!).
My music books go to Random.
My bed goes to Siri. It's where she sleeps anyway.
My space heater goes to my sisters Siri, Boo, and Random.
My little writing projects go to MP. I'm sure she'll enjoy reading them, unlike some people I could name.
My laptop goes to Patsy McCoopington, as long as he shares it with Random during NaNoWriMo.
My DVD's go to Dear Darling Mom and Dear Dad. Except for Hairspray and Ice Princess, which go to Siri.
My cat goes to Random.
My savings account (such as it is) will be used for my funeral.
My pens, pencils, markers, colored pencils, crayons, scissors, paper, and stickers go to Random.
My (about) 20 foot scarf goes to Goober. I think she'll like it.
The posters on my walls go to Random and Boo.
My gluten-free baking things go to Amazing Cousin.
My travel guitar goes to Random. Oh, and Dear Dad.
I suppose that since The Guy is the next oldest, he may have my room.
My clothes can either be given to Random or be sold in a yard sale to raise money for my funeral.
Please throw out my paperbox.
All other items will either be sold or donated to DI.
Now please, my friends, remember me, but do it with happiness. Let there not be crying at my funeral, but rejoicing. Remember that I have gone on to a better place, a place that has no runny noses, or sneezes, or streaming eyes, or headaches, or hunger when you're too sick to eat, or cold medication that apparently doesn't work, or tissues with extra wood chips and bark, or blasted allergies that affect my flippin' immune system, or
My books go to MP, except for the Redwall books, which go to Random.
My scooter goes to The Guy, though he may not ride it until after he gets his driver's license and proves he can afford the gas (yes, he is in the situation where $5 a week can break him. Get a flippin' job!).
My music books go to Random.
My bed goes to Siri. It's where she sleeps anyway.
My space heater goes to my sisters Siri, Boo, and Random.
My little writing projects go to MP. I'm sure she'll enjoy reading them, unlike some people I could name.
My laptop goes to Patsy McCoopington, as long as he shares it with Random during NaNoWriMo.
My DVD's go to Dear Darling Mom and Dear Dad. Except for Hairspray and Ice Princess, which go to Siri.
My cat goes to Random.
My savings account (such as it is) will be used for my funeral.
My pens, pencils, markers, colored pencils, crayons, scissors, paper, and stickers go to Random.
My (about) 20 foot scarf goes to Goober. I think she'll like it.
The posters on my walls go to Random and Boo.
My gluten-free baking things go to Amazing Cousin.
My travel guitar goes to Random. Oh, and Dear Dad.
I suppose that since The Guy is the next oldest, he may have my room.
My clothes can either be given to Random or be sold in a yard sale to raise money for my funeral.
Please throw out my paperbox.
All other items will either be sold or donated to DI.
Now please, my friends, remember me, but do it with happiness. Let there not be crying at my funeral, but rejoicing. Remember that I have gone on to a better place, a place that has no runny noses, or sneezes, or streaming eyes, or headaches, or hunger when you're too sick to eat, or cold medication that apparently doesn't work, or tissues with extra wood chips and bark, or blasted allergies that affect my flippin' immune system, or
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