A Day in which I do Horrible Things Like Stay Home From School and Eat Frozen Yogurt

I have allergies.

Hah! You thought I was excuse-less didn't you! An excuse for staying home and reading books and eating yogurt.

This yogurt.
It is clinically proven that Ono Yo's frozen yogurt destroys the allergy cells, which causes your throat itch pretty bad, which causes you to stay home from school.

Just joking. But it is good for your soul.

Despite what you may think I did do something that qualifies me for staying home. At 11:00 my mom and I made our way to the doctor's office where I sat on a doctor-office-green chair reading the Smithsonian while giving extremely strong mind messages to whoever would be treating me to not give me a shot. And, when the nurse came and brought us into the wall-papered doctor's private office, I gave extremely strong mind messages there. My temperature was taken, I aaaawwwweeeed for the wooden stick holding my tongue down, and then it came. 

"Did we already check for mono last time?"

I assured the nurse that yes, yes we did. 

"I think we better do it again. Sorry about that."

Do not ever believe the books that tell you that mind messages work. Those things are liars. 

If the doctor's office was not associated with gleaming sharp things going in my skin and medicine being diagnosed that tasted like the pink color it was I think I would like it. There's always faint music escaping from under the door of the- I don't know what to call it, the place doctors and nurses go when they're not treating patients place. This time it was swing music with trumpets hooting and saxophones yawning. As I contemplated the fact that soon a needle would be in my skin one of the nurses sang to the music,

"Why, why, why, whyyyy?" 

Do you think the doctor's office believes in irony? 

Also, the most important reason I like it are the people. Most of them I've known my whole life. They've always been wonderful to me. When I was little they littered me with multi-colored stickers. Now they ask what grade I'm in, do I like my classes, and laugh with me. They also gave me my stitches from the time I had to get a mole removed and they heard it was the first stitches in our family. What I'm trying to say is they're fantastic people.

The good news was that testing for mono does not mean prolonged blood draws like I was envisioning.

The bad news is it does mean finger pricking. 

The good news is that, apparently I'm not nearly as bad as I used to be taking shots. 

The bad news is that this simply means that I do not cry or shout at the top of my lungs anymore. 

The good news is that I don't have mono, I don't have strep, and I don't even have cancer. 

The bad news is that I seem to be allergic to dust.

After this my mom and I went to get yogurt.

What? You feel like I can't stop talking about frozen yogurt? Why in the world would you ever come to that conclusion? Let me know when you come up with an answer.

As I was saying, after this my mom and I went to get yogurt. Which happens to be right across from my school. Which made me feel slightly guilty. I felt like I was betraying my classmates by dipping my purple spoon in that raspberry frozen yogurt. Somehow I was able to forget most of my guilt as I licked the spoon. Because school was almost out I didn't go to my last period even though I didn't have strep, or mono, or cancer. I did go to writer's club. And no, classmates that saw me walking through town after I didn't go to school I was not skipping. I was just staying home from school doing horrible things like reading books and eating frozen yogurt. 

Clinically proven frozen yogurt, mind you.

Poeticness

            I apoligize in advance. I am feeling poetic. If you are confused by this term let me clarify. I'll ramble about the skies color for a few unchecked sentences and then, feeling satisfied with my proper dramafication of the cosmos, tell you about my very uneventful and unpoetic day (the sky by the way is a timid blue with deep, set clouds).
Or maybe I won't. After all, I'm feeling poetic I might do anything.
Or I might, just maybe, go against my standards and actually stick to the subject which I put next to the demanding Title and angry semi-colon. I make no promises.

I once decided that I'd like to learn a poem for every moment. A poem for when I looked at the cloud whispering mountains outside of our kitchen window, a poem for sunny days, a poem for stormy nights. I have memorized a few poems amongst them this poem by Jack Prelutsky.

Never, never disagree
with a shark,
beneath the sea,
lest you feel a sudden crunch,
and discover you are lunch.

I'm so glad that I have a poem for that type of situation.
My favorite poet is Pablo Neruda, although I do love Jack Prelutsky and his whimsical rhymes. But with Pablo Neruda I feel like words are delicacies to be spoken in a rich whisper of a voice. This poem, In the Wave Strike Over Unquiet Stones, makes my heart soar. And for a dramatic affect listen to this as you read:

In the wave-strike over unquiet stones the brightness bursts and bears the rose and the ring of water contracts to a cluster to one drop of azure brine that falls. O magnolia radiance breaking in spume, magnetic voyager whose death flowers and returns, eternal, to being and nothingness: shattered brine, dazzling leap of the ocean. Merged, you and I, my love, seal the silence while the sea destroys its continual forms, collapses its turrets of wildness and whiteness, because in the weft of those unseen garments of headlong water, and perpetual sand, we bear the sole, relentless tenderness Poetry is beauty scattered among syllables. And cellos.

Of Robin Hood and Burnt Pizza

NOTE: The following happened two days ago.

           It is my parent’s anniversary today. I went off to school with the knowledge that when I would turn into our driveway and hop off my bike looking like a sweaty Tomato… with brown hair they would be on a date. However, when I did hop off my bike after a very normal day of school our unwashed white car was still in the driveway. They were deciding on which restaurant to go to. They decided on Le Bistro (this was decided immediately after my mom heard rustic used as an adjective). With a frozen pepperoni sausage pizza in the freezer and Netflix a comfortable click away they left. I ended up watching Mao’s Last Dancer. And yes, I did trot around the house doing “ballet” (which means swirling in crooked circles and attempting to point my toes while opening the fridge for an apple). Although I loved oooohhhhing at the ballet shown I was rather disappointed in the movie itself. I had high expectations that were not exactly gratified. Halfway between the movie my sister called and as I talked and laughed with her as I put the Pizza in the oven. Some things the world should know about Dean and I are:

We are both obsessed with Doctor Who.

We are both made fun of our obsession with Doctor Who by my dad.

We are five years a part.

We both have inside jokes with our friends having to do with bubbles.

She once convinced me that when I was little I had a shark tooth.

We both love singing and constantly did it while washing the dishes.

We are best friends.

We talked for about thirty minutes before she had to do yoga and I had to go make a discovery: I had left the pizza in for thirty minutes. Throughout our conversation the thought had occurred to me that it was a long twelve minutes (I had set the timer for this time) but I assured myself that the timer was set and the buzzer would ring any second. Well I had set the timer, but for twelve hours. My pizza was a little burnt. Correction, my pizza was a lot burnt. Something everyone should know about me:

I’m really good at burning things.

Still, the pizza was OK. The Pepperoni was not black and the cheese not charred. So I ate it while I skimmed through the last bit of Mao’s Last Dancer and ate some more while I started BBC’s version of Robin Hood. I actually kind of like it. I actually very much like Much. He and his multi-colored sweater crack me up every five minutes. Anyway, that’s it for now.

China

You must know this post is actually an excuse to show some wonderful photos my dad took in China. He truly is an amazing photographer. 

I went to China in 2006 just after 2nd grade with another family and a group of college students. Culture shock. Major culture shock. I love flipping to that bouquet of memories; listening to the world soccer tournaments with the children of the other family,  eating at the Jin Mao Tower (which my sister has decided she will own someday), staring at the timer pronouncing the days, hours, and minutes until the Olympics. Remembering the gray-haired man who opened the gate to the Fudan Da Shwei dorms we stayed at. Getting off that plane definitely changed how I saw a lot of things. What a blessing it was have that experience

This is my sister at the Great Wall. I can't tell you how it was because....

.....(sniff, sniff) unfortunately (sniff once again) my mom and I were blowing our nose in a Beijing motel... it was a miserable place to be sick.With the help of a nature show we somehow survived. 

Of course like all tourists seem to be required to, we went to the Forbidden City. And no, I am not attempting to swing dance.  As a seven year old I could not resist (alright I admit it, I probably still would not be able to resist) getting a picture of me "running for my life" in the forbidden city. We  have one of me pretending to shield my face of a sword but I spared you the sight.

I am still very proud that I took this picture of my dad. I wasn't feeling very well that particular day and, as our tour guide explained to us, I needed to take it easy because I might have a deadly disease that was going around China. With that said my dad and I broke off from the group and mosied around the city at our own pace. It was wonderful. 

Throughout the whole trip we were asked to take pictures. At the time I wasn't too fond of the whole take pictures with strangers thing but now as I see the pictures I'm glad we had the opportunity to get them... despite the awkwardness.

China is such a beautiful place. I think we were at an Emporer's summer garden when this was taken. I wish I had a summer garden.... and a rocket.

It seems as if this gate should have a sonnet dedicated to it's bricks and meaning. It's curve of magnificence and weeping willow splendor.

We ate. Oh, the spices and tickles of the tongue. Even my french fry loving self could recognize that I was partaking art.

If you are to go on you must know that I have an absurd fondness of taking pictures of feet. I know, it scares me too. 

There were many things that I wasn't used to in China. The taxi advertisements made it on the list (but then again I'm not used to taxis in general.) 

Apparently I was a little glad we ate. 

Guess who took this picture?


China has such a beautiful, vivid culture. That I was able to taste a little of its richness (both literally and vice versa) I will count my lucky stars on.... and planets for that matter.

Blogging 101

Please forgive the corny name... I couldn't think of anything else. Alrighty, so, I have decided, out of the kindness of my heart, to teach you how to become a successful blogger... because I so clearly am. Enjoy my ninja wisdom (Ninja Wisdom: Noun. Wisdom usually categorized as being TOTALLY COOL!!)

1. You must always come up with a strange, little nickname for your husband.

Don't ask me why. Unfortantely, I am lacking in this area as I have no husband. I should do something about this. Hmmmmm. Anyone seen the non-animated version of Hiccup around?

2. You must have a quirky/absurdly cute dog or cat.

I promise that I do but my computer is being mean and not allowing me to upload any pictures of them.

3. You must be or know someone who has mad skills in baking.

Check. My sister has skills that are beyond mad.

4. You must have hands.

What can I say guys. Seems kinda important.



If anyone wants to add to the list feel free. Until then good night, and good luck.

WARNING: The Heiress may brake heart and inflict severe damage on your brain. Watch with handkerchief and caution.

  It was one of those Saturdays that demanded TCM be turned on (if you don't know what TCM stands for I'm ashamed of you). So being obedient people we flipped to the wonderful channel. It was a Montgomery Clift marathon day. We should've known better than to watch any of his films, they're slightly depressing. Ok, they're really depressing. But how could I resist the beginning-of-an-old-movie music? And the roaring lion? I couldn't. Anyway I'll stop boring you and get on with the reasons you should never, ever watch The Heiress.

1. It has good acting-

Normally I count this as a good sign. But when the movie is horribly depressing it is a very bad, bad thing. 

2. They make you like the characters-

At the beginning she's a sweet woman who has absolutely no social understanding and an absurdley large amount of money. He is a man with an horrible hairdo and a charming personality-a fatal combination. Their meeting place is a crowded ball where she is set on impressing her father with her social skills. Of course, she butchers the whole thing and he's a sweet heart about it... even with his horrible hairdo. The point is you like both she and he. You want them to get together. And.... and you'll see.



3, They get engaged in the first 20 minutes of the show-
This is when I knew something was wrong. Very wrong. They're supposed to secretly (did you hear me movie writer's... SECRETLY.) like each other. Then some misunderstanding comes that seperates them and freezes their thriving relationship. Then they figure out what happened and forgive each other. Then they get engaged... at the end of the movie. Let me say that again; at the END of the movie.

4. He's a jerk-
Ok, so your secret suspicion has been right all along. He was courting her just for her money. Just for her money! When her father "disinherits" her because he doesn't approve of their relationship he abandons her. He is a jerk. I strongly dislike him.

5. She turns into a bitter, stiff, rich woman-
Her father dies. She refuses to go to his funeral. She is cold. She is cruel. She is nasty.

6. He comes back-
...with a mustache. He begs her forgiveness and gives a weak explanation for his leaving. He couldn't let her lose her inheritance. She informs him that it was actually a test. He proclaims he had know way of knowing... I strongly dislike him. Anyway, she eventually tells him that she can love him once again. They plan to get married that night and he skips away to pack... I strongly dislike him. As he leaves those fateful steps she locks the doors and draws the curtains. When he returns and finds that the door is locked he pounds on the door, screaming her name. She walks up the stairs ignoring the pitiful cries, taking a lantern with her that leaves him in darkness.

The end.

(Shudder)

Never, ever watch it.

Growing Up (or lack of)

    There is a mandatory time in every girls life. It is the time when you're a baby-tooth-grinning-five-year-old. It is when you try on Mom's high heels. You parade through the house delighting in the little clicking sound that follows you. You show everyone what your feet occupy, not waltzing away until you get the mandatory "You look like your fourteen in those." The problem is one candle filled birthday after another comes and you wear high heels again. Only they aren't moms. They're yours.

   Growing up is scary. Too scary. As a baby-tooth-grinning-five-year-old I was only too happy to grow up. It meant make-up and cars and... high heels and... and... other super, super, super cool stuff! What happened to my enthusiasm. As a preteen I promised myself I would not, for all the doughnuts in the world, come down with teen symptoms (NOTE: My sister is a definite exception!) You know the usuals. The rolling of eyes, treating siblings like annoying cats, etc. But here I am a teenager and I hate to admit it but my temperatures running high. I have to stop myself. There's more. From what I hear it just keeps going. Growing up. It doesn't stop after your 20 or 80 it just keeps on going. More symptoms, more broken promises to myself.

  Of course, as all stories (except, apparently Chinese) have to have happy endings there is the fact that growing up is always better than growing down. Or staying the same for that matter. So here's my conclusion (I know science teachers I'm making you proud) we can enjoy growing up and all the quirks it offers us. Laugh at the quirks, it seems to make you feel better. Be wise in how you grow and always be considerate of the people and objects (lets not forget doughnuts) around you. There, my piece of pretend wisdom is out. I can go complete the evil homework my teachers have presented for this weekend in peace.