Thanksgiving: A Brief Overview

Ten Things I Am Really Thankful For

1. my family
2. teachers
3. soldiers
4. my parent's jobs
5. my friends 
6. muffins
7. pants
8. my house
9. internet
10. chairs that spin

That was a legit list that I made in school yesterday.  Except I didn't put down "friends".  My friends brought that up after I had already written the final copy in marker and I told them that they are ranked so high that there isn't a spot prestigious enough on that list for them.  (I really just forgot about them.  I think they knew that.)  I forget what I put on the list instead of them though, so they'll have to do.

Me, Aunt Tina, my cousin Teighan who is rubbing a spitty car on his face, and that other kid.  (Look at how tall I look!  And I'm not even wearing shoes!)  This is about an hour after ingesting disgustingly large amounts of food, 80% of which was bread.  I swear, I ate half a loaf of scali.

 

I'm also grateful that I went to SYTYCD Live in Manchester a couple of weeks ago and met the top 6 and some of the All*Stars in person.  I never posted about it because the pictures were on Julia's camera, and I was too lazy to figure out how to get them on the computer.  This happened during the end of September, so you can see how technologically incompetent I really am.  I am super grateful that my mom went with me and was even willing to wait for an hour after the show ended in the back parking lot with me and my SYTYCD crazed dance friends for autographs from the contestants and stars.  I sat next to my friend Jess who is Robert's future wife.  Maybe Kent and I will get a house near theirs.  :-D  (Is "theirs" a word?  It looks weird.) When the screen was rolling up at the very beginning of the show, and you could see the dancers' feet marching, then their knees, then their hips, theirs stomachs... and I couldn't see after that because I was crying so violently.  I'm pretty sure it was shock from being in the presence of such amazing people, but it could've been Jess screaming for Robert that induced my never ending flow of tears.  I have a picture of it on the computer, but it's so horrifying that if I put it here, I would probably have to live in the middle of nowhere, maybe Nebraska, for the rest of my life living on grass and jar of applesauce.  Let's see if I can just describe it to you.

• The background- an abyss of dirty-looking dark brown.

• In the foreground- my face (taking up about half of the picture) in a disturbing shade of red, and my eyes so squinty they're slits, (yet slits that are big enough to be able to release tears from).  My mouth is huge, screaming incomprehensible screams.  

• Peaking out from around my  mungo head is quaint little Jess, who although is clearly in shock, doesn't look like she's about to spontaneously combust. 

The dances were amazing, and some of them that I had forgotten about were even better in person.  My favorite one, "My Chick Bad" was even more impressive in person, even though Twitch wasn't there, and his role was played by Dominic.  The best part was the end, when Sophie, Jess, Ashley, Zoey, me, and our various parents waited out back with the rest of the stalkerazzi and got our pictures taken with them!  Which brings me to the last thing I am extremely grateful for...

I am grateful that Kent Boyd touched my shoulder.  MY SHOULDER.  With the same hand that was on t.v.  And see that glimmer in my eye?  (Pretend you do.)  That's a tear.  Of unadulterated joy.  And bad lighting.  Not only did I push the others aside to get to be the one to stand next to Kent, I am also possibly the only girl in America to ask Kent to sign her shoe.  My friends were so embarassed to be with me.  I loved that.  (Sometimes I act embarassing in public just to humiliate my friends.  Let that be a lesson to you.)  So yeah, I was casually hanging out by the security gate, with  my foot up on the bar, peering around everyone, in severe pain because jeans aren't supposed to be stretched that way, but it was okay, because it was for Kent, and for the humiliation of my friends.  Sadly, he didn't even flinch when I asked him to sign my shoe.  But maybe he'll remember me.  So when I'm president of the U.S., he'll be all "Oh yeah, you're the girl from Manchester whose shoe I signed!"  And I'll be all "Yeah.....  I still have it in a glass case.  I hope you don't think that's creepy."  

No, it's not really in a glass case.  It's in my closet, pushed aside because the fabric part of my high tops was ripped from the rubber part after the last school dance.  You can see my sock when I wear those shoes now.  I'm getting new ones on Sunday!  Woot!  There's nothing better than the smell of new sneakers.  Except maybe Walmart.  

Happy Thanksgiving!

Sarah

I Google and Write

RANDOM PICTURE NUMBER TWO

THE VORTEX OF SWIRLING COLORS:  This picture makes me think something along the lines of "AHHHHH!  MY HEAD!  THESE NEON COLORS ARE GIVING ME A MIGRAINE THE SIZE OF AUSTRALIA!"  And it's hard to disagree with me, no?  Because what earthly being who has the misfortune to gaze upon this mistakus ofus colorus doesn't immediately think "It's like being stoned to death, except they use bright colors instead of stones, and instead of dying, I'm about to throw up, most likely on this rainbow."  Don't tell me you didn't think that.  I thought we agreed not to lie to each other.

RANDOM PICTURE NUMBER THREE

THE "HAHA, I HAVE YOUR STUFFED CAT YOU LOSER!" AD: Something similar occurred to me in sixth grade.  Catherine and I were at the bus stop one winter morning, and there was snow everywhere.The large collection of snow at the corner of the street where we wait was disgusting; splattered with dirt, Dunkin' Donuts cups, and a present from Fido.  But there was something special about this mound of snow.  WE R WHO WE R  It came in the form of a soggy stuffed bunny, carelessly tossed on the pile.  I felt really bad for it, because I have a problem, thinking that all inanimate objects have feelings.  And I'll probably regret putting this on the internet, but whatever.  In my sock drawer, my socks are lined up SINGLE LADIES very neatly, in nice, orderly rows.  And I wear them in the order I put them there, because if I don't, some poor pair of socks will probably get pushed to the back, buried beneath the other junk I keep in that drawer, and will never see the light of day (or my delightful smelling feet) ever again.  And I couldn't bear the guilt that would cause.  Anyways, Catherine and I left the stuffed bunny there for a couple days more, and when the snow had melted enough for us to climb over the snow pile, we placed it in a bush that was relatively snowless and offered it some shelter from the weather.  ONLY GIRL IN THE WORLD When, a few weeks later, the bunny was still sitting in that bush, I finally did what I had known I would do from the minute I saw its forsaken little face on that fateful winter day.  I took it home with me.  My mom, understandably, was disgusted, because who in their right mind would want a used bunny that had been sitting outside for a month?  I did.  I had already developed feelings for this unloved creature, and intended to keep it, no matter the consequences.  So Mom reluctantly gave in, as long as I put it in a plastic bag for a week (to make sure if there were any ticks, they would have died) and washed it in the washing machine afterwards.  I cheerfully obliged and even checked on Hopper every day as he sat in a Target bag next to the washer/dryer.  And when 7 days had passed, I whispered encouraging words to my new friend before dropping him into JUST THE WAY YOU ARE the vat of lukewarm water to ensure our safety from the rabid rabbit plague.  I pulled him out just as the washing machine stopped, so he wouldn't have to be trapped in that metal death cage any longer than he needed to.  That twenty-five minute ride alone could have caused irrepairable damage to his psyche, I reasoned with myself.  After a more fun ride in the dryer, Hopper was finally mine!  I placed him in the place of honor next to Big Bird, Tickle Me Elmo, and Winnie the Pooh in my bedroom, bringing my stuffed animal total up to 53.  A week  later, I had forgotten about him, and the only time I even touched Hopper was to move BULLETPROOF him so I could vacuum the floor beneath his rabbit butt.  I only just donated him to Big Brother Big Sister on Friday, so I can't supply a picture, which bothers me.  I even GoogleImaged "stuffed rabbit" in the hopes of finding a bunny similar to Hopper.  But those pretty Google bunnies are nowhere near as ugly as Hopper was, may he rest in piece(s).  I donated a whole bunch of stuffed animals, actually including my money-wasting Webkinz.  And now I have to go count how many stuffed animals I have left because I really wanna know.  

HOLY GUACAMOLE! 

He's here!  Hopper is still here!  I thought he had gone with all my other meaningless stuffed animals to needy children!  Where is my webcam?!?!?!

 

BTW, I'm down to 17 stuffed animals, four dolls.  PRETTY GIRL ROCK Don't worry, I'm not that mentally unstable.

Loves,

Sarah

This is my natural picture-taking face.

Guilt Post

So I decided to write a post entirely about a triangle of numbers I found on the internet.  I swear on my fish's food pellets that I typed the word "random" into a Google search engine and just clicked on the first picture.  And then the majority of the post goes on about my failure at life and completely disregards the triangle.  So here goes.

THE NIGHTMARE TRIANGLE FROM COMPUTERS:  In computer class at my school, you pick the computer you will be working at for the next consecutive six weeks on the first day of class.  I always forget this fact and end up late by about two minutes, which is about three minutes too many.  Last year I ended up stuck in between Unicorn Girl (see two or three posts down) and the blond kid who doesn't give a monkey's butt about school or anything within a ten mile radius of it.  This year I was late again and although I certainly had limited choices, got to sit next to a girl whom I can talk to without worrying about having her growl at me or offer me drugs.  On Thursday this week, when we walked into Computers, which is Lazy Typer slang for Computer Class, and is by the way my second favorite specialist after art*, we were paired up with the person sitting next to us for a class-long project which will forever bring upon me a feeling of shame and stupidity.  Briana and I were partners, and at first I was all "Yay!  She's an overachiever, just like me!  We're going to ace this bad Larry!"  Ten minutes later I was yelling at myself in my head.  "SHE'S NEVER GOING TO FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS!  SHE THINKS YOU'RE STUPID AND DON'T KNOW HOW TO ADD TWO DIGIT NUMBERS!  SHE'S GOING TO TELL THE PRESS THAT YOU'RE NOT AS SMART AS YOU THINK YOU ARE AND YOU'LL FLUNK OUT OF HIGH SCHOOL AND END UP SERVING GREASY RAT MEAT TO OBESE AMERICANS AND POSSIBLY FOREIGNERS!!!"  (Not that I have anything against Americans or foreigners.  You're all lovely people.)  The goal of our assignment was to add 500 numbers together, using either pencil and paper or calculator.  Half of the groups in the class got paper, half got calculators.  Briana and I had calculators and twenty minutes.  Originally, I didn't understand this assignment AT ALL and was just adding random numbers together for her to write down thinking that the object was to have the most sums at the end of the twenty minutes.  Five minutes later, I heard kids saying "We finished the first column!  Only...  7 MORE TO GO?!?!?!"  And I began to get this awful feeling in my stomach.  It was the first sign of my impending social doom.  Because we WEREN'T supposed to be adding random numbers together to get random sums.  We were supposed to be adding them all TOGETHER to find out what the total of all 500 numbers were.  So I whispered sheepishly to Briana "I think I'm doing this wrong..."  And she gave me a look that told me I was doing it 200% wrong.  So I gave her the calculator and she added up the first column.  Then she generously allowed me to try again.  That was a mistake on her part.  I kept forgetting which numbers I had added last, and had to start over again.  And again.  And again.  Until I just started typing in random numbers, and begged Whoever is up There to give me an answer that wasn't too far off the mark.  I didn't realize the the Guy up There was out fishing at the time and I left the message on his anwering machine.  Because my prayers clearly weren't answered.  The correct total of the 500 numbers was something around 15,400.  On the slip of paper I handed in, I had written 28,000 and hoped for the best.  Needless to say, Briana and I came in last and did not get the six prize lollipops.  My nubby computer teacher made a power point the next day of who came closer to the actual number.  Each slide had two teams, their place in the competition, and whether they were Paper&Pencil or calculators.  The very first slide said 

CALCULATORS:

SARAH AND BRIANA

6TH PLACE

28,000

There was another team on there who was farthest from the correct answer but used Paper&Pencil.  So of course when that slide showed up there were some confused murmurs that went along the lines of "Sarah came in last place?  *pointing in my direction* That one?"  I panicked, clapped my Man Clap, which I use to intimidate others, and yelled "Whooooooo!"  Then, face red from embarassment, I finished the rest of the class in silence.

*SIDE NOTE:  I do not like art because I excel at it.  As a matter of fact, the only reason I didn't fail that class last year is because I was the least horrific of the delinquents in my specialist class.  I was a buoy of excellence in the sea of despair, one might say.  If one choosed to. Chose to.  Whatever.

To-Do

A wise woman once said "Without lists, my husband would never get any household work done, my children would never know the definition of organization, my mother would never remember what pills she is supposed to take, and I would never know what food to get at Market Basket."

TO DO THIS WEEK

1. Make cards necessary for November-

• Aideen's birthday
• Mom's birthday
• Uncle's birthday

1. clean bedroom
2. clean bathroom
3. make Halloween costume
4. write a couple blog posts (SYTYCD, Canobie, Emily's drawings, Ferris Bueler, spirit week, dance party, ...  CHOOSE ONE ALREADY!)
5. catch up recent "Blogs of Note" and posts on the blogs I follow
6. Witch's Woods on Friday???
7. Halloween party on Saturday???
8. Mumble grumble fluffershnoof on Sunday?
9. retype Josh's grammatically erred portion of Freud project
10. research what senior citizens like to discuss
11. finish my book

Please, oh please let this list motivate me.  Some of the things on here should've been done weeks ago.  I'll update as I finish certain tasks.  I might as well tackle the most difficult things first...  Where did I put Josh's paper? 


(\_/)   (\_/)
(._ .) (^ ^)
(># ) (<<)   I was going to give you this waffle... 

(\_/)       (\_/) 
( . . )      (-. -) 
(>#<)    (     )   But then I was like… 
  
(\_/)      (\_/) 
(O_O) (o.O) 
(>#<)   (^ ^)   I’M SO HUNGRY!!!!!!

(\_/)    (\_/) 
(^.^ ) (‘-.-)
(> <)  (> <)    So I ate it. Hahaha!!!

Update 1 (14:47):  Reworked Josh's paper in 5 minutes.  (And it looks a heckuva lot better.)  Next:  Pick up the random clothes on my floor. 

Update 2 (16:33):  Started picking up room, but was interrupted by a younger and maler me to ask if I would supervise he and his friend on their "walk".  I glanced around my room, thought "Mehhh, to heck with it," and walked outside with a PB granola bar and my iPod.  After chasing them around the general neighborhood on foot while they sped away on their bikes, I gave up and walked at my own pace, praying that they wouldn't get kidnapped, because that would mean a lot of paperwork, which would mean another thing on this list.  Returning an hour later, I resumed the picking up of my room, until it reached my satisfaction.  I will now tackle Item Number 10. 
Update 3 (16:53): This website has lots of information about the elderly.  Apparently, they like children, small animals, and PlayDoh.  And when I go to the senior center on Thursday, I'll ask as many people as I can who their best friend is, what their best Christmas present ever was, what games they like to play, and if they have any nicknames.  I can cross that off.  *Mentally crosses that off the mental list in my mind*  And now, for the "mumble grumble fluffershnoof" part.  I will be back!
Update 4: Thursday 10/28/10 (20:34): Many things accomplished over the past 48 hours.  I threw together my Halloween costume Wednesday afternoon at 15:30, just in time for dance at  1600 hours.  Me and my 7th grade friend Tessa were the only ones who showed up in our Halloween costumes, and we rocked the various socks and tank tops off that joint.  So that was #3 complete.  #7 (Halloween party on Saturday???) has been confirmed.  I will be attending a Halloween party on Saturday.  And I finished my book ("Hunger" by Michael Grant) this afternoon from the comfort of the new couch.  I have the third book in the series, "Lies", lying (HAHAHA!  PUNNY!) next to my bed and I'll probably go read some of it when I'm done with this.
That is all.  Return to your day.

I loved this book even more than the first!

Sarah's Battle Scars

This picture is the most perfect metaphor for the unicorn/book/horse-loving girl I'm talking about.  I mean, it is so perfect it is impossible to really put it in words.  The Spiky Unicorn says all I could ever want to.

     Because I feel guilty about not writing anything, as per usual, I have decided to grace you with the Slightly Gory Odd and Disturbing Guide to Sarah's Battle Scars.  Prepare yourselves.  Find the nearest set of dragonskin armor (these can be bought from people who were bred for war.  And believe me, these people are more common than you may think.  The one I know disguises herself as a horse-loving, book-enjoying, band-participator.)  and suit up for a ride of epic battles and loss of blood.  Although I probably only lost a milliliter of blood...

Battle Numero Uno

Fourscore and seven years ago,  

     Two years and a couple months ago, I was swimming around in my pool, enjoying myself immensely, if I remember correctly.  Julia joined me in my water-related activities, and we made a whirlpool, played an awful game of two-person Categories, screamed when we saw bugs that we thought were bugs but were actually smallish leaves, and rescued each other from fake drowning.  We got tired of that pretty soon, as we were but wee things and had the attention spans of squirrels, so we invented a new game.  We called this amazing game "The Surfing Game".  It involves two people, namely, Julia and I.  One person (I) holds her breath and lays down on the bottom of the pool.  The second person (Julia) stands on top of Person One and tries to remain balanced for as long as Person One can hold her breath (Therefore, Person two is "surfing").  When Person One (me) runs out of breath, she arches her back to get Person Two (Julia) to fall off.  When I arched my back and simultaneously blew the last of my lung air into the grass speckled water, Julia stepped on my collarbone instead of falling off, leaving me with a scar at the base of my  neck.  It is an almost imperceptible white toenail-shaped mark, which, to the delight of my mother and I, has almost (but not quite) faded to the normal color of my skin.  And so began my habit of wearing a necklace every single day, because they are of just the right length to hide the tiny disfigurement.

Battle Numero Dos

     This battle story is a lot shorter than the previous one.  Partly because my eyes are already burning, and partly because I don't like this one as much because it's not as cool.  This summer we (mi familia) journeyed to the Cape Cod.  About a week before we left, Nick concocted a bad case of poison ivy.  It started on the back of his knees and spread to his legs and other various limbs.  So, as we should have figured out sooner, the backs of Nick's knees come in contact with

• the edges of couches
•  the edge of this here computer chair
• rugs, if he sits with his legs straight out
• and my foot, if I kick him behind the knees to make him fall

     So, of course his poison ivy germs had to travel from the backsides of his knees to the backsides of mine, and from there to my various limbs and feets.  So that was a major downer on the Cape Cod trip.  It's not particularly enjoyable lying in your bed, unable to sleep because you don't want to smear Calamine lotion all over the Tigger sheets you brought.  Anyways, after the poison ivy vacated my system, and the awful itchy bumps disappeared from my skin, they left behind little white scars the right side of my right knee, which thankfully have disappeared.  So I guess I can't really call them scars if they only remained there for a couple of weeks.  

     Now do you realize why I didn't want to tell that one?  It's hideously boring compared to the first one.

Battle Numero Tres

     I like this story even more than the first one, because it makes me seem all heroic and dignified and stuff.  Which believe it or not doesn't happen to me all that often.  (The heroic part.  When is Sarah ever not dignified and stuff?  Pssssh.)  We were camping in summah 2009 with the same pack of kids from this summer.  (Haven't read that post?  What's your problem?  Clicketh these here italicized words!  CLICKETH!-------> PSSST.  RIGHT HERE!)  So the whole lot of us were up in New Hampshire somewhere doing camping things like making s'mores, applying liberal amounts of bugspray, and stinking.  (Whole lot of us= Mom, Julia, Nick, me, Mom's friend Karen and her four children.)  We had traversed down to a pretty lake on the campground and were swimming contentedly for awhile.  Julia, one of Karen's boys who is Julia's age, and I were the oldest ones there, and we made a game of swimming out to the floating buoys and back to shore.  It wasn't even a race, it was just to see who would chicken out over the deep, dark water with swirling muck.  Needless to say, we all did it with relative ease.  We managed to swim that length of 50 yards a couple of times before all the little boys wanted to do it.  Julia managed to keep the three-year-old content by chasing him in the shallow water, but James and I couldn't stop Nick, Jonathan, or Benjamin, who were very determined to swim out there.  

     Knowing what you know about me and my lack of luck when it comes to camping, whose brother do you think got stuck out in the water that was probably two or three times as deep as he was?

That's right.  Mine.

If you ignore the fact that we're sideways, this is a really good picture, from the actual day of the loss of my toenail.  From top to bottom, James, Jonathan, Nick, Benjamin, me doing a funny lip thing, Devan, and Julia who is WAY too excited.

     I remember sitting on the sand next to Mom, drawing in the sand, when all of a sudden Julia's screaming "NICK'S DROWNING!  NICK'S DROWNING!"  Looking back on it, I think "Gosh he's so annoying.  Let him figure out how to swim back here on his own."  But I remember thinking "Holy CRAP I gotta get him gotta get him gotta get him!"  Here's where the heroic part comes in:  I swam out to the buoys faster than I ever wish to swim again and grabbed him under his armpit.  To reward me for my effort, he gripped me like I was the last taco at the Mexican buffet and made me sink like a stone.  Somehow I managed to keep both me and him afloat by holding his arm above my head and using my other arm to do a spasmy dog paddle thing.  I don't really remember what the other two kids were doing; I think they were swimming back to where their feet could touch the ground so they could stare at me in my moment of triumph as I half pulled, half dragged a spluttering Nick to the sand.  This is the moment where I remember feeling angry.  Like "What the cheesebiscuits do you think you were DOING out there?!?!??!?!"  angry.  I had been contentedly defrosting myself from the frigid pond water when he had to go and drown himself.  It was so unfair.  And the battle scar I got for saving my non-buoyant brother?  My toenail FELL OFF.  I don't know how or why, but I sat down on the towel to dry off for good, still feeling ticked at Nick, and noticed that I didn't have a left pinky toenail, which I knew had been there that morning, because I had thought "I should really remove that tiny speck of pink nailpolish", just that morning.  There wasn't any blood, so I didn't feel all that grossed out about it.  I could rub sand on it without feeling anything, and could wade in lake-muck too, so I figured was in an okay position to lay down and try to nap. 

     All is well now.  The toenail grew back, and is fully paintable.  

     I hope I've disgusted you to a level you never thought possible.  Especially with that last one.

     My current favorite song?  Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri

~Sarah~