Loisicuta

It's Over.

2011-12-15T13:17:00.000-08:00

With such a dramatic title, it's only natural for you to assume that something noteworthy has happened. I can just see you rubbing your hands together gleefully... What wildly interesting tidbit am I going to discover? Brace yourself for disappointment. (Like I'd ever be that interesting.)

School is over. For the next three weeks, I'm going to enjoy the unutterable bliss of having a stress free, school free, homework free, professor free, and most importantly peoplewhowearUggs-free, existence. Yes, those Nazis in charge of the system are only giving us three weeks of Christmas break before the madness begins again. I ask you! Three weeks! In reality, we only have two weeks off, because (as everyone knows) the entire first week of vacation is spent sleeping, in an effort to recuperate from the horror known as Finals Week.

I'm DOOOOOOOOOOONE! I feel like shouting it from the roof-top! But I won't, because all of our immediate neighbors are old people and my mother has raised me better than to rudely interrupt their afternoon nap. ~~I'll get Marky to do it.~~

I'm feeling pretty good about my grades. I'm hoping I did well on my Chemistry and History of California finals, as those are the only ones that have me stressed. Speaking about stress, these past 4 days have been a nightmare. I could have really used a kit like the one below.

Seriously, though, it was pretty bad. I prayed and studied for pretty much 4 days straight with a maximum of 5 hours of sleep every night. And this for a community college! Yes, it's rather embarrassing, but you'd be surprised how hard it is to cram-study for 5 classes. At least for me. I've learned my lesson though, because next semester I'm taking 7 classes. No, wait, that can't be right. *Checks class schedule for Spring 2012* Yes, yes I am. *Employs stress-reduction techniques learned above.* And I have to learn how to drive a manual!
And not just any manual. Mom's 20 year old clunker of a Honda that breaks down at irregular intervals. (Seriously, with that car, you wonder how it happens. I'm afraid to manually roll down the window lest that triggers a tire blowout.) Dad has no end of praise for that car. "It's even better than the van, which we bought 12 years ago!" Well, yeah, that's surprising if you don't factor in that when we bought our van, it was already 20 years old. Plus, "even better than the van" isn't much of a qualifier in my book, as it breaks down at regular, and irregular intervals. Ok, I might be exaggerating this slightly.

So, I had my first driving lesson. It was 9:30 p.m. on a Thursday, and I'd just wrapped up some homework, which included watching youtube videos from The Slow Mo Guys because I'm borderline addicted, when Dad told me to put some shoes on and come outside. So I put on some flip-flops (1st mistake) and got in the car (2nd mistake). Dad drove us to an abandoned parking lot. Then, for the second time in my life, I climbed into the driver's seat. As I settled in, I turned to Dad (only half-joking): "We should pray."

Dad couldn't believe I'd worn flip-flops, apparently a huge no-no, but we didn't feel like driving back, so I had my first driving lesson barefoot. (Note to self: highly uncomfortable, do not repeat.)
Dad tells me to find the pedals.
"On the far left, you have your clutch. You have your gas pedal in the middle, and your brake's to the far right."
"Okay." I mumble as I feel around for them, "Far left, middle, right. Clutch, gas, brake."
"Press down on the clutch." I press down, but the pedal doesn't budge.
"Uh, Dad, I'm pressing down, nothing's happening." He frowns.
"Push down all the way." Again, just resistance. I'm getting a little frustrated that I can't even push down on the silly clutch.
"Dad, look, it's not working!" I flip on the light, and start stomping my left foot. Dad cranes his head around to see which pedal I'm pushing.
He starts laughing at me. Hysterically. I'm talking a good 45 seconds of uninterrupted laughter. Wheezing, snorting, whooping, the works. And then I look down.
At that point I learned that the foot rest doesn't double as the clutch. Dad had said far left. In my pitiable defense, the foot rest is as far left as it gets. It was a very successful first lesson, no one was killed or injured; though I did suffer a tremendous toe cramp.

Grace to You's annual Christmas Concert was last night, and Mom, Katie and I decided to go. It was AWESOME. The traffic was insane though. A drive that normally takes 40 minutes took us over 2 hours. Crazy. But it was totally worth it.

My favorite performances of the evening:
Jubilant Sykes (Mary Did You Know?) Half-way through the first verse I got chills and goosebumps. They lasted the entire song.

Phillip Webb (O Holy Night.) When Phillip Webb sings: "Fall on your knees! O, hear the angel voices!" You do as he says. I was already sitting, though, but I heard angel voices.

Kory Welch (The Promise) I'd never heard this song, and I ended up really loving it. The lyrics were fantastic.

Mom and I had arrived 5 minutes before the concert started, so the place was already packed. I didn't like my seat, since all I could see was a corner of the piano, so I decided to chance it and find a better spot. One of the ushers saw me standing in the back, and found me a great seat in the middle-right area of the sanctuary. So awesome. The chatty older gentleman I sat next to welcomed me very kindly. After the choir's first song, he leaned over and remarked that I'd been really lucky to find such a great spot after arriving so late. With a smile, I admitted he was absolutely right. The entire evening was just incredible. I knew that some people from Church were planning on making it out that evening, so I scanned the room for recognizable faces. I'd pretty much given up, when I glanced to the right and spotted a familiar-looking blond noggin, shining like a beacon of light for all the world to see. It belonged to Kyle. (sorry.) It was fun bumping into the Stevens and the Ormans. I left pretty quickly, to make sure Mom wouldn't have to wait for me, and made my way around the back of the church. Lo and behold, who do I run into but a flustered-looking Kory Welch!
"You were wonderful!" I managed to squeak out as I hurried past. He smiled and said thank you. We were still attending GTY when Dr. Mac's youngest daughter Melinda married Kory. It was a big-deal, and my younger self was a little too fascinated by the romantic couple. I love going to Grace, it brings back such wonderful memories. I couldn't have imagined a more perfect ending to the most hectic week of 2011. Thank you Lord, for bringing me through another semester, and for all of the lovely people at Grace Church who worked so hard to put last night's event together.

Merry Christmas, Everyone! 9 days to go!

Garfield and I

2011-08-16T11:37:00.000-07:00

First, let me begin by telling you that I really should be studying for Chemistry right now. I figure taking this time out of my school is sufficient apology for not posting for two months. Then again, I've already done most of my chemistry homework for this week, so perhaps I'm not feeling as condemned as I should be.

I started the fall semester at Cerritos College yesterday. Garfield and I are in a tight "Hating Monday" competition and I think I'm going to win. Being in class bright and early at 8 a.m. is possibly the least stupendous way to begin any morning, much less a Monday morning. And, I have the sensational privilege of staying at school until 9:30 p.m. Even though I love complaining, I suppose it could be worse. God has really blessed me this semester. I got into all the classes I wanted, and all of my professors, so far, are excellent. I suppose the Lord wants me to learn humility because Jimmy and I are taking all but one of our classes together. I could spend days disserting the pros and cons, from a strictly academic viewpoint, of having a brilliant younger brother. Suffice it to say that if I could see Jimmy, just once, sitting in lecture in a state of utter discombobulation: slumped at his desk, head lolled to one side, eyes glazed over, tongue hanging out of his partially opened mouth as drool dribbles down his chin...it would be the most paradisaical moment of my entire life.

I'm taking Chemistry, History of California, Sociology, History of Architecture, and Spanish 102 this semester. At 18 units it's going to be the most jam-packed semester I've ever had. It's a strange emotion... to be looking forward to the experience while dreading it at the same time. On the one hand, I love the material. On the other, it's incredibly draining to spend 10+ hours a day with people who don't share your beliefs and values. And, if some of the people you come into contact with happen to have green and purple streaks in their hair and begin pontificating on animal rights and veganism... Well, it takes an venerable amount of self-control to resist screaming in their face at the top of your lungs: "I would rather Pogo-stick across the 605 than endure this auditory abuse any longer!" Maybe that's just me.

We went camping with relatives from Austria, Texas, and Romania at Alpine Lake in Bear Valley, California a couple of weeks ago. Just going camping, as in setting up a tent in the middle of the woods, without having any place to swim seems absolutely pointless to me. It's cold at night, you're dirty, and even if you go for a hike there's no way for you to get clean. But since Alpine Lake, by definition, had water...I'm making a moot point. Even though the water was freezing cold, it was crystal clear and incredibly clean. In my opinion, an expeditious entrance is one's best option for survival. Jump in, scream for five minutes, and wait for everything to go numb. It worked for me like a charm. When my uncle tried that, he experienced hypothermia within 20 minutes. Go figure.

I can't even begin to explain how awesome it was to swim in that water, with such a majestic view. Surrounding you on every side are pine and fir trees that stretch for miles. And mountains. Beautiful, green, slightly snow-capped mountains. It was awesome. My favorite thing to do was put on my goggles, dive down and look up to see the sun's rays filter through the water and illuminate the rocky bottom. I had a blast with just enjoying the beauty of God's creation with my family.

That's about all the update I have time for. I really enjoy posting on my blog, but it doesn't look like I'll have much free time this semester. The free time I do have will be spent reading ahead in all of my classes. (Figured I'd save some intro space on my next blog post if I make excuses about the lateness of the post now. Clever, no?)

I read this yesterday. I took it as both an encouragement and an admonishment.

"I have set the LORD continually before me;
Because He is at my right hand, I will not be shaken." ~ Ps. 16: 8

Insert Cool Title Here

2011-06-17T18:15:00.000-07:00

Sick. Lovely. I woke up a couple days ago with a scratchy throat. The next day I had a spectacular headache, which had the audacity to stick around until about six in the evening. For a while I was terrified I'd somehow caught the chicken pox. I'd jump out of bed first thing in the morning and rush to the mirror, frantically probing my face for angry little red spots. I don't think I've ever been as thrilled, or relieved, to discover a new pimple in my life. Turns out it was just a mild cold, which I might have caught from Gabby. She was sick last week and I've been spending quite a bit of time with her. I'm feeling much better now, praise the Lord.

Thank you all for your prayers. This week has been a bit tougher. I've been reading Desiring God, and Romans 12. I might as well let you know that I've been failing quite miserably in my endeavors to find my joy in Christ by serving Him. What does joy mean to you? I'm not, by nature, a person given to dramatic bouts of manic depression, so I've always thought myself to be quite familiar with the attitude of joyfulness. However, I'm finding it's a struggle to serve others as though I'm serving Him. Where is the overflow of joy I should be feeling in my soul? I feel like Mexico is where God wants me to be right now. I'm trying to rest in that knowledge...and wait for Him to reveal more of Himself to me. "Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will." Romans 12:2 This whole renewing your mind business is very difficult indeed...especially for people with the caliber of impatience that I possess. Desiring God has been a challenging, and inspiring read. When Mom's not around to offer wisdom and sage advice, John Piper will just have to do. :-) Anyway, that's some of the stuff that's been floating around in my mind these past few weeks. A disorganized jumble, to be sure, but this is my blog and I reserve the right to make as much (non)sense as I please. I'm looking forward to learning the lessons God wants me to learn while I'm here.

In other news, we've been trying to potty train Nathaniel. To put it mildly, it's been a nightmare of hideous, and stinky, proportions. He categorically refuses to dump anywhere other than his diaper. Or his pants. Or his underwear. Blessedly, we tricked him into doing it on the toilet...only once. Actually, it was more due to biology than to our artful craftiness that we got him to go at all. I'll spare you the heinous details, but since that one dump on Sunday we've been lamentably unsuccessful. **sigh** I guess even the worst of them are potty trained eventually, although it looks like nature will make an exception for Nathaniel.

On Sunday we went to the beach, as a church, to play volleyball and soccer. Everyone was greatly impressed with my serve, and severely depressed with my soccer skills. I got to try a mexican specialty. Coconut slices with a light coating of freshly squeezed lime juice and smothered in a spicy chilli sauce. Good stuff. One of the ladies here keeps trying to feed me. "Flaca, es muy flaca!" she says in response to my protests. Flaca means skinny. I find it very amusing.

We spent Tuesday at La Bufadora with Sonia and Raul. (Two young people from Church.) It's a natural blowhole located in Ensenada, in Baja California. The pressure inside the small cave builds until a jet of water, hopefully 70 ft. high, erupts out the top. It's fun to guess the timing, and call the big spouts before they actually happen. (Google "natural blowhole" to get a better idea of what I'm failing to tell you about.) Legend has it that the expulsions are caused by a baby whale that has been trapped inside the small cave for decades. Kind of a stupid legend if you ask me.

The Bufadora is located at the end of a long market street. Dozens of colorful vendors line both sides of the street selling more or less the same thing. I bought a few little items that MARKY and KATIE would have absolutely no interest in. Then, something special caught my eye. I had to have it. It's not for me, so I'll just say it was a vase. Well, this was a pretty vase. I'd seen a smaller, less cute, version of it in another stall. The vendor's lowest offer had been 220 pesos. Which comes out to around 20-21 dollars. I set to thinking about it, and when I saw this bigger, more adorable version...I decided to buy it. The trick to haggling is not letting the seller know how much you'd like to buy his product. I waltzed in, casually, and began absentmindedly fingering the vase. He practically jumped me.

"37 dollars! Look, it's very good price...cost me 570 pesos!"

Fat chance. I gave him a noncommital nod.

"And for the smaller one?" I asked.

"Oh, same price. Same price." I furrowed my eyebrows.

"It's too much, I'm sorry."

"Ok, ok. For you, 34 dollars."

"Tsk, I wanted the bigger one anyway."

"Ok, how much you want to pay?" Yippee! Here comes the fun part.

"15 dollars. For the big one." His eyes widened in shock.

"Senorita, that's ridiculous! No, 30 dollars." I shrugged.

"Still too much."

"29?" I shook my head, smiled, and turned to go.

Wait for it, wait for it.

His partner intervened. "Hey, menos dos dolares!"

Gotcha!

"Ok, 27!"

I turned around. "Sorry, too much. I'll give you 20."

"25!" I shook my head.

"24."

"20."

"23?"

"20."

"22."

This is too much fun.

"Ok, here, 21 dollars."

He smiled. "Ok, good. It's a deal."

I marched over to the counter to pay for my prize.

"Twenty-one fifty?" he queried, half joking. I laughed. He smiled. I was happy with the price, although I still think he made quite the tidy profit off me. :)

The rest of the week has been fairly uneventful. I'm pretty much in charge of the kids. Still trying to get them to come to me with their squabbles instead of bugging their Mom. They like me quite a bit now, so I'm hoping their Mom will get a full break from them this week. The three boys are balls of energy. Non-stop, constant energy. If I could just find a way to bottle it and sell it... They're sweet, but they're a handful. I've caught Ruthie up on her school, and she doesn't have much left to finish. In two weeks, a busload of youth from a romanian church in Oregon are coming down to do some work in Rosarito, and at some of the orphanages in Mexicali, and Ensenada. Lord willling, I'll be working with them from July, 2 to the 11th. So, that's what's been happening so far down in Mexico.

Again, thank you all for praying for me!

Vive México

2011-06-05T16:06:00.000-07:00

I am, without exception, the biggest wimp on planet earth. As much as I've enjoyed myself the past several days, I miss everyone back home something terrible. This Sunday was especially difficult. If all those chubby cheeks, pudgy knees, button noses, and huge brown-black eyes weren't vying for my attention, I would have been a complete and utter basketcase. Kids don't usually like me, so this was a welcome change. :-)

Narcis Dragomir, 1/6 of the missionary family I'm staying with, came to pick me up from home on Wednesday. We arrived at their home at around 7ish in the evening. They are located about 25 miles south of Tijuana, in Rosarito. I was greeted by four little blonde people. Actually, "greeted" isn't quite the word to use. Mercilessly interrogated is more like it. Even after two hours, the novelty of having a new playmate had not ceased to excite them...a word from their mother, Sarah, sent them all trooping defeatedly up the stairs, shoulders hunched, to bed.

I'm in charge of Ruthie, their oldest, who is going to turn 9 on the 30th. She's a bright girl with blue eyes and waist length blonde hair. She's incredibly smart, but, she tries to get out of doing her schoolwork at the slightest hint of an interruption. Understandably so. Doing school when there are so many visitors dropping by every day is more than a little distasteful. She's a sneaky little thing, but, as she soon found out, the tricks that worked on Mom didn't so much as dent my resolve. Been there, tried that...most of the tricks in that book were written by me anyway. (Other first-born ENTP's might have contributed a thing or two. :P) It was quite a shock to her, as she thought that she had found a friend and confidante in me, not an unyielding dictator. By the end of the second day of school, it was clear that I was the victor of the battle of wills. We're very good friends now, and we understand eachother, being the oldest in a family where boys outnumber the girls. We're both hoping she gets a sister. :-)

The little boys are really sweet. Nathaniel, 3, is still in diapers, and they've pretty much abandoned all hope of civilizing him. I help out with the housework, and babysit, and just do whatever needs to be done. On Sunday we (the youth group and I) helped move a bunch of boulders from the backyard of the house across the street. One of the guys spoke english, so I wasn't completely clueless as to what was being said. We had a lot of fun...everyone here acts like they are family. Oh, and the food is out of this world. We had tacos for lunch on Sunday. To coint a phrase...BEAST tacos. Homemade flour tortillas, served with cheesy beans, fresh guacamole, homemade salsa, and sizzling carne asada served hot off the grill. My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

On Saturday we were invited for dinner at a friend's house. Oh, my word. I have two words for you. Chiles Rellenos. They'll change your life. "Hyberbole!" you shout. "Prove it!" you demand. It's a fire roasted chilli pepper with cheese stuffed into the middle that has been dipped in flour and whipped eggs... and then fried. I'd cheerfully die of a heart attack before I ever give those up....now that I've discovered them.

By now it's become painfully obvious that I've only taken one semester of Spanish. The amount of Spanish I understand is directly proportional to the rate at which a person speaks. I can string the bits and pieces I pick up together, to get a general gist of the conversation. It takes a lot of concentration, but I get by. That's what I was trying to do after dinner on Saturday. Everyone was laughing and having a lot of fun. Every once in a while, Sarah would clue me in on what was being said. At one point during the conversation, I must have looked particularly puzzled because Narcis paused the discussion to ask me whether I understood what they were saying. Me (dubiously): "Are you guys talking about putting the kids through the car wash? " This remark, after being translated into spanish for the benefit of everyone else at the table caused a gale of laughter to erupt that took a full minute to subside. Personally, I didn't think it was that funny. They'd actually been talking about bathtime at a certain orphanage. The kids were washed using assembly line technology. All of them stand in a long line, waiting to be rinsed, scrubbed, and then rinsed again by various volunteers. C'mon, it does kinda sound like a carwash. :P People, myself included, have been getting quite a kick out of the language barrier.

On Sunday, Sarah had me help Hermana (Sister) Ruth with the four year olds. Finally, people I don't confuse! I know a few simple sentences, and the little people think I'm just great. Gabby, a chatty 4 year old, has kind of taken me under her wing. She's quite the little spit fire. And she's got a voice on her...loud enough to wake the dead. But I love her. She and the younger Dragomir kids, Joshua (5), and Nathaniel (3) get along quite well...20% of the time.

Today, we had a funeral. For Ginger...one of the family dogs. Someone ran her over. (If you think drivers in California are awful, you need to come to Mexico. They're even worse here than in Romania...and that's saying something.) It was pretty hard on the kids, especially Ruthie. It put her in a sour mood for the rest of the day. They're planning on getting a new dog by the end of the month.

That's about all the update I have time for right now...I wanted to write at least this much down before I forget. Tonight I'm babysitting the Dragomir kids and Gabby. I'm already hearing some questionable crashing and banging upstairs. No earsplitting screams though, so they must all still be alive. (I'm going to make a wonderful mother. :P) I don't really have anytime to proof read this post, so excuse any spelling errors, boring sentences, and stuff that just doesn't make any sense. Do as I do and try to catch the general gist of things. I'm missing everyone back home, and praying for everyone scattered across the States.

Shoutout to my brother from Mom: Jimmy, Mom has tried calling you and e-mailing...but it doesn't seem like you're home. She's on the verge of getting herself a Facebook account. Be a good son and e-mail her your address in TN. Thank you. :-D

Lois Grows Up

2011-03-28T16:55:00.000-07:00

I'd very happily forgotten all about my duty to this corner of the blogosphere, but it's been a particularly uneventful Tuesday, and days like this have the tendency to jog my memory. So, guess what. I'm sick...again. I am developing some killer abdominal muscles from these great, hacking coughs, though. So that's a plus. If I ramble, seem a bit cantankerous, fail to captivate your interest, or attempt all three simultaneously...that's why.

Can someone please explain to me where the phrase "get well soon" originated? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the sentiment of all the friends who have spoken these exact words to me this week, but I find the phrase itself insipid, confusing, and full of extraneous content. For instance, why is the word "soon" just tacked on the end there? Have you ever met anyone who wanted to "get well later"? As for the getting well part...it's physically impossible for most people to control the pace at which their body fights off pathogens and regains health. Unless, of course, you're a believer in the power of positive thinking, in which case I'll leave you to tie knots and blow spit bubbles in a corner.

Marky always makes life interesting for me, because he's awesome like that. Don't you wish you had a cute 'lil brother like mine? If wishes were horses, peasants would ride. Nevertheless, I'll share this snippet of life with Marky with you. :)

Mom had the CD player on in the kitchen, and there was a lady speaking. (She had returned from a women's retreat, and was re-listening to a particularly convicting message.) Marky just happened to bounce by, and assumed the worst.

"Mom, women shouldn't preach."

"Yes, I know, they really shouldn't--"
"Men should preach, and women should sit like chickens and listen."

Mom, laughing so hard she can barely get the words out: "Chickens? How
about something a little more...refined."

"Ok, bald eagles."

Mom loses it.

By way of explanation, Marky offered this pearl of wisdom: "Well, I
figure women are like chickens because chickens just sit on their eggs
all day." :D

I'm going to be so sad when he grows up.

In other news, I want to direct your attention to the fact that I'm maturing, if only slightly, as a human being. Tonight, most of my friends are going ice skating, and because I'm sick I've decided not to go. For most people, this practical application of common sense is neither remarkable or laudable, however, I (rather tragically) am not "most people." One small step for Lois, one giant leap for parents of juvenile children. I do believe this is the first time I've ever prevented myself from having fun. Evidently, I haven't matured enough to let someone else sing my praises...one step at a time. :)

Well, can't think of anything else to post about for now, hopefully I'll get around to something more edge-of-your-seat thrilling, and meaningful, before too long.

BTW, I've already started to regret being mature...

WWIII

2011-01-15T09:46:00.000-08:00

Despite the fact that my deltoid is numb, my subscapularis is sore, my infraspinatus barely functions, and I may never regain feeling in my left pinky again, I have decided to suffer for your sake, dear reader, and post about my trip to Big Bear. It was epic. Prepare to be amazed.

Wednesday:

Remember the Stevens family, the one you should be especially nice to lest they use their obscenely large collection of embarrassing photographs against you? I drove up with them. Them being Rach, Becca, Drew, and Mrs. Stevens. We met up with Kyle, Phillip, Timmy, Paul and Justin (the guy who appreciates a good argument) at our resort. We played Apples to Apples (possibly the worst game I've ever had the misfortune of playing, second only to Missionary Conquest.) and just enjoyed each other's company. We took a trip down to the lake to test the integrity of the snow. It was more than satisfactory. It was poofy, powdery, white, fluffy awesomeness. Rach and I tried to climb some trees, but we were...*ahem* rudely interrupted at every turn. It's hard to defend yourself against snowballs when you can't budge a square inch because you don't know from which direction they're coming from. The lake was gorgeous! The scenery, breathtaking! I'm sure Rach and Em will post pictures, so make sure you check out their blogs...not now! Finish reading mine first. *cough* Please.

After dinner, Justin and Kyle corrupted us young innocents by teaching us how to play different versions of poker. Don't worry, we used trains as chips. Plastic trains. Teeny ones. By this time, the Oautus had arrived. (When you read Andrew, I mean Andrew Oautu. When you read Drew, I mean Andrew Stevens. It takes too long to type Stevens and Oautu.) At one point, Andrew asked Kyle, who had folded, for advice on how to play his hand. Kyle, after thinking for a few seconds: "You should do this...because, I know things. "

According to Johnny, who unofficially kept track, this was the first memorable quote of the entire trip. Cristeen had the most hilarious luck during those games. If Cristeen went all in, in a real game, we'd have folded. Emily, Ricky, and Stephen showed up at around 11 p.m., miraculously intact. (Stephen's not exactly famous for his cautious driving.) It was a fun time of fellowship, but we all turned in fairly early. (One's definition of "early" is relative.)

Thursday Morning:

We met up at the Oautu's apartment for breakfast and gathered around for a discussion time. Mr. Oautu shared from Joshua 14. I was encouraged by the reminder that God is bigger than the "giants" we face in life.

Thursday Afternoonish:

We were all eager to get to the snow, but it took us a teensy bit longer than we had expected to get there. Once we found a good spot, (good meaning free of charge) the guys did what they do best and started pelting us girls with massive snowballs. The odds, 5 to 11, were slightly in their favor. Thus began WWIII. (Warner War. Clever, no? Meh. For the sake of argument, we'll assume that there have been at least two snowball fights involving Warnerites.) I attempted to strategize and make use of the terrain, but all my efforts produced were five good (big) snowballs in the face from Kyle, before Becca got to him, and too many to count from Stephen, Drew, Ricky, and all the rest. I wisely beat a hasty retreat.

We didn't think the area we were in was a good place for sledding, so we hiked around looking for greener pastures before ending up in the exact same spot. By the time we circled around the place, we had gained a deep sense of appreciation for our original spot, which, as it turns out, was PERFECT for sledding! :-) Funny how perspective changes things.

We girls displayed such poise and beauty. Models of grace! Paradigms of elegance! Poetry in motion! Not once did our step falter, causing us to faceplant in the snow. For $100 an hour, you too can learn to ride a sled with refinement. It goes like this: WHOOSH! *kersplat* ..."I'm ok!"

It was great fun, and we were all ravenous by the time we got back to our apartment.

After A Very Late Lunch:

Drew, Stephen, Andrew, and I ditched everyone else to play Rummikub. We didn't feel like playing Dutch Blitz. I had never played it the "American" way, which quickly became obvious. Drew beat out Stephen by a narrow margin. Mr. Oautu taught us how to play the "Romanian" way, for some variety. That was hilarious. It was fun in part because I won, but mostly because of Drew's facial expressions as he picked up tile after worthless, unhelpful tile every single turn. Priceless. He had won the first game, though, so we weren't feeling too sorry for him. We joined the others to play my favoritist game in the whole entire world...Apples to Apples. One learns a few disconcerting things whilst playing that game. Namely that oil changes are serene, afros are more bizarre than the Bermuda Triangle, and that Jack Frost is harder and faster than a wrecking ball. It wouldn't have been so bad if we'd had the party edition. My travel edition was sorely lacking in interesting cards; once we'd been through the deck five times, it got old. Thankfully, we only went around the room once before Kyle won. We watched a documentary about Oswald Chambers that wouldn't have been half bad if someone had thought to edit it first. Every kernel of trivia-esque information, such as the seminary he attended, was followed by a sort of music video in which the artist acted out the lyrics in a painfully obvious way. "The chill of winter..."**The lady singing puts her hands in her pockets and shivers while gazing longingly at....a tree ** One particularly disturbing scene focused entirely on the singer's lips, nose, and eyelashes. No thank you. Plus, the weird camera angles made everyone look obese. The parts that were good, I really enjoyed, but I would have liked to hear more about his life and trials. Ah well, at least it got me interested in the book Abandoned to God, so it served it's original purpose. :-)

After Dinner:

We discussed all the bizarre foods we'd ever heard of. I think Kyle's "food" won: fermented seal guts. That's pretty sick. In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best topic we could have chosen to settle our dinner. I made a comment about lobsters that I would like to correct. It was one of the many unfortunate "blonde moments" I'm perpetually experiencing. I claimed that lobsters scream if boiled. Frankly, it's just not possible.

a) They don't have vocal chords.

b) If there is any noise at all when the lobster hits the pot, it might be air coming out of its stomach through its mouth parts. Plus, invertebrates have such a primitive nervous system that they supposedly feel no pain.

I do apologize if any of you found this tidbit of false information interesting and have therefore wasted no time in telling everyone you know about it.

Next time you have lobster for dinner, feel free to be as cruel and inhumane as possible, apparently it don't make no difference to the critter. (Gotta love Google.)

Friday Morning:

We had breakfast burritos! They were so delicious I'm including them in this post. A symphony for your palate! Are you a fan of delicious flavor? It was the first time I tried something like that...they were goood. After breakfast, Justin read Proverbs for the day, and Mr. Oautu discussed some of the verses with us. I was reminded to practice serving cheerfully at home, where perhaps I'm not praised and appreciated as often as I'd like.

Friday Afternoon:

By the time everything was packed up, it was fairly late. We drove down to the lake and parked next to a gift shop/tourist trap. A brilliant idea struck me. Thankfully it didn't hurt. With yesterday's embarrassing failure still fresh in my memory, I conferred with my Lieutenant (Becca) and rallied the forces (Em, Cristeen, and Rach). The enemy had infiltrated our ranks, planting a spy (Timmy) in our midst. My Lieutenant and I rescheduled our plan of attack so that we would maintain the element of surprise. Our first victim never knew what hit him. Kyle was smothered under a white avalanche as 10 snowballs successively exploded against his chest. As we won victory after glorious victory, their casualties grew. Cristeen was our weapon of mass destruction. They never suspect the cute one. Stephen, Ricky, Justin, Andrew, Paul, Drew, Timmy all died magnificently. We were hungry after such a masterful display of genius, so we ate lunch. Well, we all did...even the casualties.

We had another decisive battle next to the lake, but a truce was called since we couldn't feel our fingers anymore. Friends for the moment, we took a hike. We were trekking merrily around the lake when I very astutely noticed that the surrounding area looked familiar. Enter: memorable quote number 2.

Me: "Hey! We're next to that boat place thingie!"

Drew: "The dock?!"

Whatever. Boat place thingie makes way more sense. Unfortunately, I think that has earned an infamous spot on Johnny's memorable quotes list.

Around 4 p.m. the truce was called off and we headed back to the woods next to the parking lot to find the perfect place for our last stand. A word of advice. Don't ever get into a fight with Stephen Weston. He aims to kill. It doesn't matter who you are, where you live, or how old you are...he will mop the floor with you. Literally. (Considering the fact we had a snowball fight.) Snowballs. Wet. Mop. Get it? Get it? Never mind. Quite simply, you mess with Stephen, you die.

Personally, I think he was still bitter about the events preceding lunch and wanted to exact some revenge. He did. They all did. We were laughing hysterically pretty much the entire time. Tragically, I managed to duck right into one of Andrew's missiles. Rachel was bravely launching snowball after snowball across from where Emily and I were holding down the fort. Becca and Cristeen were blurs of motion. Anyone caught in the middle of the field got bombarded with a barrage of snowballs from every angle. Drew found himself in that situation once too often. Every time he'd get up after a bad hit, he'd pack a snowball and yell "Who's laughing?!" I'm sorry to report that although we girls won a battle, the guys won WWIII. (I did manage to plonk Stephen, Kyle, Justin, Paul, and Drew pretty good before they clobbered me. ) We girls came out of it looking...well, looking like something the cat wouldn't bother dragging in. It was the most fun I've had in a while. I vote to make it a yearly excursion. Any takers?

On our way down the mountain, we (the fun car) played 20 Questions. Well, Becca, Drew, Em, Rach, and I started off playing 20 questions, but ended up just playing Questions, especially when Drew chose a word. It took us about half and hour to guess light bulb, while Drew had a blast at our expense.

"Is it electric?" Yes.

"Do people use it often?" ...Yes.

"Does it give off light?" Yes.

"A lamp?" No.

"A night light?" No.

"Ceiling lights?" No.

"A computer?" No.

"The little red light that flashes on smoke detectors?" ...No.

"Is it electric?" **snickers**

~The End~

I was so incredibly blessed by everyone on this trip! You girls were such an especially incredible encouragement! I so appreciated the sweet time of fellowship we shared together. This trip is a memory I'm going to treasure. Thank you Lord for your love, and for the wonderful, safe time You gave us all! :-)

Nothing. Really, this is a nothing post.

2010-12-22T12:50:00.000-08:00

You know that feeling you get when someone asks you a question and your brain, which up till then had been put-put-puttering along its merry way, suddenly screeches to an abrupt halt? Like when Mom catches you opening the refrigerator to put in a pan of lasagna and asks you what you're doing and you look down only to discover that you are, in fact, holding a box of pencils. (Come now, I know some of you have been in this position at least once, if not twice.) Anyway, the point is that your mind goes blank and you begin to mutter something incoherent about broccoli and its significance to string theory. Well, this post is going to bear an eerie resemblance to blank nothingness because I really have nothing to write about. Most people who find themselves in my situation have sense enough to leave things well alone and not litter the blogosphere with useless rambling. I, however, have no such qualms. Besides, I haven't posted since November, and that's simply inexcusable.

Tidbit 1: I've finished this semester. Did I do well? Define well. Academically, I lowered my overall GPA by several points thanks to some pesky math and biology classes. To my chagrin, the problem wasn't that I lacked the ability, but that I simply did not apply myself as I should have... something I intend to rectify during the Spring semester by acing all of my classes. Anyway, I'm glad it's over with and I can take a few deep breaths before the madness begins again.

How I Spend A Rainy Day: If you're ever bored, grab some of your little siblings, and have them play Monopoly. It's one of the most entertaining things to do on cold days when it's been raining incessantly. You could also bake something, but baking usually ends in disaster. After a tray or two of whatever you've made you start feeling fat, obese really. Of course, because of the aforementioned precipitation, you can't jog off the cookies. Well, you can, but you will get sick because it's cold outside. Then you'll be all wet and your nose will run.... Just trust me, going down this road of cookie baking on a rainy day will lead to a nightmare of hideous proportions. Take my word for it. Plus, you may never find your nose again. Where was I? Ah yes...Monopoly. So, grab some siblings, get the game started, pop some popcorn, fluff some pillows for your chair, and sit down and enjoy the show. If your siblings are Marky and Katie, the scenario will play out like this:

Marky, as the oldest, will think up as much of a strategy as can be thunked up for a game in which the outcome is almost entirely based on luck. Katie will roll the dice and move her little golden piece. Marky's goal is to trump Katie by any means necessary. Katie's goal is to amass a large amount of money while not spending a bit of cash, and avoid anything that will prevent her from gaining 200 extra dollars for passing"go". Several hours will elapse during which time you will have finished your popcorn, Marky will have built hotels on the prestigious Boardwalk Boulevard, and Katie will have acquired, by accident, the odd railroad here and there as well as Baltic Avenue. Now, the fun begins. (Which is a crying shame seeing as you're out of popcorn...)

Marky: "I'm the most successful person in the universe....look at how much money I have!" He picks up a stack of hundred dollar bills, and throws them in the air. Inevitably, Katie lands into one of his numerous traps, and has to forfeit her hard earned dollars. The second time Katie reluctantly enjoys the luxury of Pacific Avenue, Marky "forgives" Katie's debt, leaving her with one dollar. At this point, Katie just doesn't care anymore, so she rolls without fear. And, miraculously, makes it around the board twice, none the poorer, leaving Marky sputtering in disbelief. The third time she lands on community chest in between Tennessee Avenue and St. James Place, she receives a bank error in her favor(would that that could happen in real life) and gains $200.

Marky: "I take it back! This is ridiculous. You're winning. I don't forgive you anymore."

Katie: "What? You're cheating!"

Marky: "Lois!!!"

Katie: "Lois!!!"

Marky: "LOIS!!!"

If you're an older sibling, you'll know what happens next. If you're the youngest, think back to why none of those games of monopoly finished in a civil manner. Great, now you know too.

Tidbit 2: My uncle came up from his adorable house in Texas with his adorable wife and their three adorable children, who all have tiny feet. The youngest, Elise, doesn't even reach up to Jimmy's knee. Needless to say she's....well, adorable. Their kids are like cuter versions of me when I was a baby (as impossible as it sounds, its true) . Naturally, you have no point of reference so you'll just have to take my word for it. I'd show you pictures, but the adorability factor would shatter your monitor. I know some of you have access to a good lawyer, but I'm just not in the mood to talk circles around people in suits in a court setting. Ahh...they're SO CUTE!!!

Tidbit 3: They all left yesterday morning to spend Christmas up north with everyone else who doesn't have a house in Murrieta that needs to be remodeled.... :( I mean, it's great that Mom and Dad found a house. But, as thrilled as I am to be privileged enough to work on it, I'd rather be up north in Oroville with my insanely darling cousins.

Tidbit 4: Every day I realize more and more how incredibly undeserving I am of God's love and forgiveness. There's a lot that I take for granted, and it just amazes me that I can keep coming back to Him and He welcomes me with open arms. I just wish it wouldn't take me so long to get to that point. In Jimmy's words: "It's a pride thing." How true that is. It's just so awesome to know that as long as I keep coming to Him, He will still forgive me.

Tidbit 5: Jimmy and I do dumb things when we can't play outside and we have free time. Like make up weird word games. Adding " 'Tis true 'tis true, and pity 'tis 'tis true" at the end of every sentence gives the sentence that certain je ne sais qua. And, adding "of doom", said with a deep, and preferably masculine voice, makes every noun sound ten times cooler than it really is. Try it. 10 brownie points to whoever guesses which little phrase is mine and which one is Jimmy's. Told ya it was dumb. ;P

Tidbit 6: If you've noticed, I took a personality test (view sidebar)...just to see if I'm really an ENTP. Buster Keaton was an ENFP. The first time I took it, I turned out to be one too, which I thought was the most hilarious thing ever. I took it again and ended up being an ENTP. Maybe if I take it a third time I'll turn out to be an INTJ, wouldn't that be amazing. Blech....I take it back....I TAKE IT BACK. Susan B. Anthony was an INTJ. ENTP's are great. :) Bugs Bunny is an ENTP.

Tidbit 7: I'm out of tidbits. Actually, I was out of tidbits when I started this post on nothing, because, this is merely to let everyone who cares know that I'm still alive and kicking...as if my ceaselessly constant presence on Google Buzz wasn't a dead giveaway. (Thank you, Timmy S. for bringing this to my attention.)

If you're tired of reading nothing, I don't blame you. Try writing nothing...it's even more challenging. Alas, I have succeeded...I'm that good. 'Tis true 'tis true and pity 'tis 'tis true. Post. Of doom.

In Which We Get Yelled At By Old People...

2010-11-04T09:07:00.000-07:00

The following people should not read this post:

Those who are "special" or may become "special"
Those who still drool and doodle simultaneously
Those with serious back problems
Those subject to sickness after excessive cumin consumption
Those that might cause others to be more vulnerable to injury

** Please keep your hands and feet close to your body at all times, and hold on to your chair. Enjoy your ride on Loisicuta: The Blog!!!**

Welcome to the excessive thrill ride that is the blog that chronicles my life. Not. But don't you think my introduction was rather sparkling with creativity?

This past week was indeed, awesome. Mom and Dad finally went off to Costa Rica on their long anticipated "second honeymoon" trip. Do you remember ever contemplating, as a child, how gloriously liberating and incredibly fun it would be for your parents and everyone else to go away, just for a little bit? To be able to do whatever you wanted, no restrictions, make as much noise as you pleased, read as many books as you cared to, completely ignore chores and responsibility ...No? Ok, you're lying. This past week, I've experienced, in reality, that secret longing. And, I'm happy to say that I've made a life-changing discovery. Small children have a severely underdeveloped intellect, and are therefore incapable of having perspective. I have to admit, the novelty of the first day was fun, I enjoyed it. By the second day, though, I was worried. How were the kidders doing while I was at school. What was Grandma feeding them for lunch. Did Katie forget to pack clean underwear and church shoes. Plus, I had a veritable mountain of homework to deal with. I've diagnosed myself as having a chronic disease...it's called aging. I was surprised, nay, shocked. I thought I was incapable of growing up. They should come up with a drug to fix this...Peter Panicillin. But, I digress, and you're probably half-asleep from reading my rambling.

Mom and Dad had left on Tuesday, and by Thursday, my siblings were dispersed amongst various family members.

The first night they were gone, Jimmy and I were sitting on the couch talking, when it struck us. The noise of....silence. It was quite an experience. We sat there in awe for a good ten minutes, appreciating the uniqueness.

Tuesday, I had sent Rachie an e-mail, all but begging (actually, I might have done a wee bit of begging...ok, a lot) the Stevens family to have Jimmy and I over. It worked so well, I'm thinking about becoming a homeless person, part time. They agreed to have us spend the night on Saturday, and take us to Church on Sunday. Tragically, Jimmy found himself drowning in a flood of school work, so he was unable to come. Saturday morning, bright and early at one 'o clock, Rach and Drew arrived to pick me up.

Very shortly after being welcomed into their home, I was made aware of a disturbing, and dangerous fact. The Stevens Family has amassed a frighteningly large collection of pictures. Abominable, atrocious, highly unflattering pictures of a great many people, the most appalling of which featured me. As a guest in their home, I had a difficult time disguising my horror. Can you imagine the behemothic amount of sheer blackmailing potential contained within a single hardrive? It was positively mind-boggling! I was duly impressed. A word to the wise: Don't be fooled by their warm, hospitable, generally lovable exterior. You can all thank me for exposing this potential threat at your earliest convenience. An unpretentious amount of monetary compensation bestowed in gratefulness would be appropriate, in this situation, considering what a dreadful fate I've saved you from. If you fail to comply with my request, I shall be tempted to join the Stevens in their unsavory blackmailing endeavors.

Speaking of temptation, I fell into it a good deal too frequently while at their house. I shamefully admit to gossiping about my co-workers, and various church members. Rachel, on the other hand, was an exemplary pillar of Christianity. She consistently read her Bible with an alacrity that would have astonished Jonathan Edwards. Andrew and Timmy demonstrated an unsettling inclination towards get-rich-quick schemes, most of which failed magnificently. Paul and Kyle distinguished themselves by being marginally productive. Kyle, near the very end, just managed to edge out the competition. While Becca, the perpetual recipient of monetary contributions, ministered to the Asiatic people, on account of their having especially adorable babies. Yes, yes, you're completely right. We played Missionary Conquest. And, as usual, Becca won.

The game itself was simple, and similar to Monopoly, a ratio of 7 parts luck to 1 part skill. (Sorry, Becks, I have to agree with Drew here. ) Most of the enjoyment comes from being as irritating as you possibly can to the other players, while you are stuck in "Bad Stewardship." The guys have perfected this to the point where it's become an art. Kyle and Drew, especially, are true masters.

We played "Pit", for a while, but soon decided it wasn't loud enough.

Then, I taught everyone how to play Kemps. It's a very competitive card game that involves a good deal more strategy than luck. The point of the game is to collect 4 cards of the same kind, and then flash "the sign" to your partner. "The sign" can be absolutely anything. When the sign gets flashed to a team member, he/she yells out "Kemps!" But, if you've been paying close attention to your opponents, you can steal their point by yelling "Contra-Kemps!" I've played it so often, and in so many different ways, that I horribly botched up the rules, but it was still tons of fun.

I tried to divide the teams up fairly evenly, but in the end, my competitive streak got the best of me, and I paired myself up with Rach, giving us a subtle advantage. At first, it wasn't nearly as subtle as I had hoped. I'd underestimated our natural talent, because we were absolutely puréeing the opposing teams. Oh, it was a thing of beauty! Kyle and Timmy conspired with Andrew and Becca; they compensated for their losses admirably by rigging the game a few times while Rach and I were out making up a new sign. The guys had WAY too much fun with one of the rules. Or rather, non-rule. In Kemps, it's perfectly legal to cheat, by peeking over at your opponent's cards. Kyle made good use of this by appointing Timmy as his designated cheater. For a while, Timmy's utmost priority was to peek over at everyone's cards and get points by cheating. Now, I consider myself a fairly decent human being. On principle, I wasn't about to peek at little Timmy's cards, and therefore had no idea that he pretty much knew every card in my hand! But, since everyone else was piteously far behind, Rachel and I won the first game.

By the second round, everyone had familiarized themselves with the game, and the "cheating" was down to a science. Their strategy was genius in it's simplicity. It became Rach and I contra universum mundum. (The Latin was to make sure you were awake.) They ALL ganged up on us! It was actually hilariously entertaining. Kyle would randomly say something nonsensical like "I like green bananas!" or "I love purple pumpkins!" That would really throw us off. Just when we thought he'd really lost it by saying something genuinely absurd, Timmy would urgently yell out "Kemps!", and they'd win the point. (Remember, anything can be a sign) It quickly became ridiculous, so Drew and Becca joined in. Interjections like, "Penguins fly south!" and "Pears!" or "Apples!" were not out of place. At one point, there was a lull in the game, and Drew yelled "Moose!" And, for some reason, I FELL for it. Hook, line, and STINKER! It was terrible. That really sent everyone into hysterics. In all the confusion, Drew and Becca, miraculously, won.

Kemps was becoming a tad too competitive. At times we were swapping cards in complete silence, eyeing each other suspiciously while desperately clutching at our cards, paranoid that someone was "cheating." We made a half-hearted attempt at playing Spoons. (Personally, I have yet to appreciate Spoons as a game that people could enjoy wasting time playing...)

So, we moved on to Round Robin. That was highly entertaining. Since most of the guys are too good, no one really presents any recognizable competition. Rachie, Becca and I fixed that by making them play left-handed. That was marginally better. Rach and I had something to prove. Last year, Kyle and Drew had beaten us soundly (left-handed!) when we played Racquetball. So, naturally, I took this opportunity to exact some semblance of revenge. I did end up winning, once or twice.

Since it was just about dinner time, Rach, Becca, and I ditched the game and went inside to help with the cooking. Mrs. Stevens asked me to make some oven-roasted broccoli. Lamentably, I added an excessive amount of cumin, instead of paprika, which made for some severely over-spiced Broccoli. It wasn't terrible, as much as it was fascinatingly overpowering. Hopefully no one hates cumin because of me. I didn't give anyone indigestion, on account of the fact that cumin is good for the digestive system...supposedly.

After dinner, we played "Silent Tag" at the park. The person who was "it" would appear from out of nowhere, and since it was dark, I got spooked for no reason quite often. Mostly what happens is that Kyle and Drew take turns tagging each other so that they can chase Becca around. It's the funniest thing. The hardest part is commandeering a good vantage point, to enjoy the show. Becca's pretty fast, and when they do eventually catch up to her, they're usually laughing too hard to do anything except tap her and yell "No tagbacks!"

Too soon it was time to go, and we ran home. Well, one-quarter of the way home. There were a few people up late, and they saw us. I can only imagine how weird it must have been for them. What do you do when all of the sudden, while you're relaxing and enjoying the evening in front of your house, a large group of young people comes tearing out of nowhere across the street from you? Ordinarily, you yell at them. I forget what it was they said, exactly. Everyone heard something else. The general consensus was that it sounded like "You can do it!"

We had some apple pie, when we came home, and then we went to bed, because it was getting pretty late.

HA! Like Becca, Rach and I would actually waste a perfectly good evening sleeping. How absurd. I can't believe you fell for that. In reality, we stayed up until....hmm, something tells me this should be filed under "classified information". Since the following day was Sunday, we decided to exercise a modicum of restraint because no one wanted to look like a partially electrocuted raccoon in the morning.

Sunday was an encouraging day, as always. It was especially fun because a lot of people played volleyball. That, for me, made it the perfect ending to an already incredibly fun weekend. Thank you, Stevens family, for putting up with me! (Oh, and Becks, would you mind giving me back the jar of vitamin C powder I left at your house? ) :-)

All Stevens Who Read This Post Are Required By Law To Leave A Comment.

"Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: "What! You too? I thought I was the only one."
— C.S. Lewis

Acute Viral Rhinopharyngitis (Take 2)

2010-10-05T19:45:00.000-07:00

So, apparently I have to post again...because SOME people think my previous post left a little to be desired. Frankly, I think all of my posts leave something to be desired...but, here I am....ever the obliging, sweet, entertaining, funny, articulate, humble one. (I decided to quit while I was ahead, before running out of appropriate adjectives.)

Just this past week, I've had the privilege of experiencing the blissfully joyous feeling of a head cold; courtesy of my dear brother, Jimmy, who caught the bug from school. I first heard the term "head cold", when Rachel mentioned, a while ago, that some of her siblings were suffering from it. At first, I thought it meant that they simply thought they were sick, but were in fact, healthy. As in, their symptoms were purely psychological. **cough** Apparently, that's not the correct definition of a head cold... aaand, since everyone ELSE knows what it is, I shan't bother giving you a definition.

I can't believe I'm sick again!

**please allow five minutes for Lois to throw a hissy fit over the injustice of life**

My immune system wasn't always in this piteous condition. Like I've said before, I hate being sick, but it's even worse when you have to go to school. You can't imagine how wonderful it feels to ask for help in math from the scrawny, Indian tutor that's on duty, when you're visibly afflicted with a contagious ailment.

I wave him over. He brings with him a piece of paper, which, upon studying me closely, he cautiously sets down on the farthest corner of the table, taking care to avoid coming near me. I show him my problem, and ask him for advice. Gripping a pencil delicately by its eraser, he proceeds to scratch out some symbols on the piece of paper. Apparently my vision isn't what it used to be, because I can't make out anything besides chicken scrawl and ancient runes. That paper is awfully far away. So, I move on to plan B; I ask him for a verbal explanation, something he has not given me thus far, because it could damage his effort to avoid contamination. With much trepidation, he creeps slowly into the kill zone I've created with my great, hacking coughs, all the while eyeing me suspiciously. Before taking the last step, he inhales a huge lungful of air, and closes the gap between us.

He tries to expel as little air as possible in his explanation, making up for the lack of oxygen by talking rapidly and incoherently in a language I'm not sure is English. He soon runs out of air, which abruptly halts his speech. He looks at me, (at this point, I'm getting scared, because I can feel another coughing session coming on) but refuses to take a step back for more oxygen, knowing this would be rude and insensitive. (There's a fine line between surreptitiously avoiding disease, and avoiding it in an offensive manner.) Time is running out, and I'm still clueless as to the solution. His skin has started to turn an unhealthy shade of blue. Wait! His eyes have lit up... I sit, transfixed, as his lips migrate to the left side of his head... an incredible distance. He purses them, making a small "o", and sucks in a tiny stream of what he hopes is unpolluted air, before again turning to my assistance. Suddenly, I can't take it anymore.

I'm bent over double, coughing and sneezing for all I'm worth. I can literally feel my internal organs jumbling around, arguing over whose turn it is to be coughed up. The poor Indian guy took one look at the heaving, wheezing, snotty mass of humanity in front of him, and lost all of his social graces. He jerked back as if electrocuted, ran to the counter, and signed himself out of tutoring for the day.

Yep, being sick stinketh.

DISCLAIMER: I have in no way dramatized or exaggerated the event described above. Things happened exactly as I described them. Rully.

How Not to Clean a White Skirt

2010-09-24T20:45:00.000-07:00

Ah yes...this wee neglected corner of the blogosphere belongs to me...
I haven't had much time for posting lately, because I'm striving to be a diligent student at college. Ah, who am I trying to kid. I haven't posted because nothing interesting has happened. (Notice how this sounds light-years better than "I was too lazy to post.")

During this past week, I've had the epitome of all blonde moments. So far, it's my second time going down this route, since a person can have multiple epitomical blonde moments. The first, was when I stated with confidence that the capitol of New York is New Jersey. I've since learned that New Jersey is, in fact, it's own separate state.

Last Saturday, I oxi-cleaned and bleached my favorite white skirt, actually, my only white skirt, until the fabric had nearly dissolved. With utmost care, I wrung out my spotlessly white garment, and hung it up to dry. On Sunday, I laid it out on my bed, and waited patiently for the iron to heat up. Gingerly, I began pressing my skirt. Then, I made a horrible, gut-wrenching mistake. Seeing that there was still a bit of water left in the iron, we have one of those new-fangled contraptions that allows one to unwrinkle a garment using indirect heat, I pressed the steam button. Apparently, the person who had last used the iron had forgotten to wipe away the excess moisture, in retrospect it was probably me, so the little holes that allow steam to escape had developed a bit of rust. Tragically, as I began to iron my skirt, the rust mingled with the escaping steam, causing a dribble of disgusting orange liquid to ooze out all over my pretty white skirt. Have you ever had the irrational urge to cause an inanimate object physical pain? Cue nervous break-down. Admittedly, it wasn't one of my finest moments.

I used up half a bottle of hydrogen peroxide on the offending stains, threw my skirt in the sink, and hoped for the best.

So, on Monday, I began the whole cleaning process...again, and left my skirt to soak in a basin full of water and detergent. I promptly forgot all about it, until Wednesday night. Wednesday! So, I ran out the door at around 10 p.m., dumped out the old water, rinsed my skirt, and filled up the basin with fresh H2O. When do you think I remembered it again? That's right...today. Friday. I found it floating amongst the decomposing carcasses of dead flies, mosquitoes, and other disagreeable insects. I'm going to take this as a sign that God doesn't want me to wear white skirts...

I'd like to direct your attention to the fact that you've just spent a whole two minutes of your time reading several paragraphs on: a white skirt. Heehee.

Acute Viral Rhinopharyngitis Stinks.

2010-08-17T15:15:00.000-07:00

It's about time I got back to this. I would hate to be counted amongst the slackers currently littering the web with their shamefully unupdated excuses for blogs. (you know who you are.)

Right now, I'm as sick as a....I can't seem to conjure up a simile that accurately portrays exactly how horrible I feel, and look, for that matter. (I am coming to your monitor today from the computer lab at Cerritos College...unfortunately for me, 'tis a very public area.) Well, just use your imagination and envisage an image of such hideous proportions as would frighten a small child. Got it? That would be me. Now, multiply that by a googleplex. That's how I feel. You can thank me for the charming mental (to give you an idea of how sick I am, I originally spelled that mentle) pictures I've had you contrive at your earliest convenience. :)

Boy, do I ever hate being sick. You can't think, you can't work, you can't play, you can't exercise...and you can hardly eat. It's a state of being that is neither life nor death. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Today alone I have consumed 3500% of my daily allotted vitamin C, and 1 ounce of Swedish Bitter. (A devilish concoction of Vodka and bitter herbs renowned for its healing properties.) Yesterday, I chewed and swallowed 4 cloves of raw, organic garlic. (WAY more potent than your average supermarket stuff.) Needless to say, any person unfortunate enough to be in my immediate vicinity was in danger of being knocked clear into next week. Amy, dear, as a fellow Sickie, I feel your pain.

On the bright side, the 3 out of my 5 professors for this semester that I have met are super sweet and very funny.

English 100 Professor: "You should have received an e-mail from me last week explaining the purpose and length of this orientation. Did any of you receive this e-mail?"
Several hands go up.
"If you did not receive this e-mail, you either are not enrolled in this class, or the e-mail from me is currently in your junk folder... please go home and tell your computer that I am not junk."

-Stephen Clifford

I already "buzzed" about my biology professor. You can pull up a new tab if you'd like to see her quote. I've heard it takes quite a bit of effort, but, you know, I have faith you can muscle your way through this arduous task.

I do have something else to share from biology. Last night I used a microscope for the first time in my life. It. Was. AWESOME! I examined the leaf of an aquatic plant, my finger, the letter 'e', and brine shrimp. BTW, your hands are much filthier than you think they are. In order for the human eye to perceive an object, in must be at least 0.1 mm in size. There's a heap of stuff on your finger that you can't even see. It's pretty gross, and really neat to observe. Mom was right, though, don't eat with your fingers.

My Spanish teacher is hilarious. She is the smallest woman I have ever seen, and she speaks 5 languages. She looks like an older version of Disney's Jane from "Tarzan". The same up swept bun, and the same facial features. She also has really cute spectacles. She pronounced my last name with astonishing accuracy and informed me it was French. I was none too pleased with that piece of news, so I informed her that it was, in fact, Romanian...and she had pronounced it in a rather Frenchy way. She slowly raised her spectacles. Thus began a lecture which concluded with me conceding that perhaps I had been a wee bit hasty and that my last name was borrowed from the Frenchies. Oh well. You win some, you lose some.

SO, I'm pretty happy and thankful for my classes and professors thus far. :)

These past few weeks preceding the start of the Fall Semester have been a total blast! Why? Because Laura Brown and Kayla Updike have graced us with their superawesomefunnycharmingbeautiful selves. We went shopping, did a photo shoot, had our make up done,(although not to the extent that SOME people did theirs. I seriously doubt Ally reads my blog, and so, this inside joke is completely wasted), and we had pedicures to boot! Not to mention all the totes amazing laughs we shared. I have two things to say to you girls...never, EVER Facebook stalk anyone, AND, when in doubt, belt it!

All the rest of you less privileged beings(less privileged in that you could not understand the above paragraph) welcome back to my blog post. Oh, you've left? Oh. Well, ok then. Have a great week. ...Toodles.

***~*~*~**~*~*~**~*~*~***~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~*~*~**~*~***

It's only my second day back on campus, and already I'm getting a bit peeved, albeit, on only one issue...for now.

1) Um Question. Girls, if you positively have to dye your hair, why must you be so indecisive? What's with all the blue and purple streaked blondes? Why the neon highlighted dread locks? WHY? It's visually disconcerting and emotionally disturbing. I would like to be one of the first to protest this brutal form of ocular harassment. Thank you.

In Which Lois Survives Her First Semester

2010-05-25T09:09:00.000-07:00

Hey, it's me again. Don't look so disappointed, this is MY BLOG, as I've reiterated countless times on numerous occasions. I expect you've come for some entertainment, a word or two of advice, pearls of wisdom, perhaps even a cookie? Well, you've come to the right place!

(If you'd like a cookie, just drop me a comment and I'll send you one, right away.)

Just in case you're currently experiencing a brain spasm, and therefore wondering what I'm wearing as I sit here and type this, I'll tell you. Pajamas. Yes. It should be an inalienable right; a nationally, no globally, embraced holiday. One should set aside one day each week to parade around in their pajamas.

"Scientific" research has concluded that health and longevity correlate proportionally to how much time one spends in their pajamas. Allow me to pause and demonstrate how one should properly celebrate GWYPD.(Global Wear Your Pajamas Day)

*Enter Pause*

Lois proceeds to jump on the bed, climb a tree, jump on the trampoline, jump on Jimmy, run from Jimmy, and do a happy dance as she manages to escape Jimmy's clutches by locking the door to her room; all while wearing her pajamas.

*End Pause*

This is how things should be done. It must be mentioned, however, that Jimmy strongly objects to any person weighing in excess of 200 lbs. jumping on him. Unfortunately, this means that people who weigh more than 200 lbs. are discouraged from participating in GWYPD. In fact, they are prohibited from celebrating GWYPD altogether; which brings me to the reason I am writing this post in the first place.
I MADE THE PRESIDENT'S LIST!!!

Oh, how I enjoy giving people mental whiplash. Naturally, the above paragraphs are not even triflingly related to the former sentence. That's the beauty of experiencing mental whiplash, you don't even know what hit you until I explain it.

Speaking of explaining things, I'm sure you're wondering at the monstrously deplorable state of disrepair our school system suffers from, considering the fact that I made the President's List. Contrary to what you're thinking, I did not hire an expertly skilled ninja to threaten my College President with assassination should he fail to add my name to his list. I'd looked into it, of course, but it's far too expensive...and, at a stretch, morally questionable. No, I earned my A's by working hard, praying, and studying; which apparently is the second most recommended way to make the President's List.

A is for Accounting...

Without a doubt, this class was the hardest I took this semester. Accounting is organized, precise, and logical. It spits on creativity. Basically, Accounting is a free-spirit's worst nightmare. If you step a single toe out of line, mess up one teensy number, incorrectly label an account...you've failed. Miserably. In this situation, you, the miserable failure, will have to go back through all the work you've done, retrace all the information you have, and cross-examine every single account until the total number of debits equals the total number of credits. If you've done this, good for you, nobody cares. You're only possibly correct, if not entirely wrong. Just because you've managed to come up with the right sum for both columns, doesn't mean that you've correctly debited and/or credited the correct account. So you go back and look everything over, making sure that the total of each respective account has been properly recorded. Again. By this time, your eyes will be popping out of your head, and your brain should feel like mush. If you've reached this stage, rejoice! You're nearly done! Total the columns and pray that your calculator is working properly. If the sums match, you're done. And that's only a tiny, basic part of Accounting. I mean, we haven't even gone into evaluating accounts based on market fluctuation. A word to those who think Accounting is easy: you disturb me.

The Lord gave me the grace to work hard and study, enough to barely make it out of the class with an A. Hopefully, that's the last I'll ever have to see of Accounting.

Computer Information Science...

Or, Computer Information Systems, but this is what my Professor called it. My Professor for this class was a sweet old man who hadn't the minutest clue what he was doing in a class of 20 teenagers. Honestly. The confused, slightly perplexed look he wore perpetually testified to this fact. He didn't teach us...he gave us a PowerPoint presentation of our CIS book, which we had purchased for an absurd amount of money, and read from it in class. For 2 1/2 hours. Interspersed throughout the fascinating monotony of this lecture were comments on how different computers were 20 years ago, and his amazement at the speed with which CD's had replaced floppy disks. Seriously, during the third week of class, as soon as he began talking, for 2 1/2 hours all I heard was a buzzing sound in my ears. This would have been problematic, had not all my tests been open book. And my assignments idiot-proof. In order to fail an assignment, you'd have to not do it. In order to fail a test, you'd have to be illiterate. A disturbing fact was that some people were, indeed, failing the class. Over achieving show-offs. They worked much harder than us 'A' students. Since I had aced all of my tests, my Professor informed me that it was unnecessary for me to complete my two remaining assignments or take my final. So, with great shame, and a healthy amount of guilt, I accepted my 'A' in his class.

Volleyball...

The difficulty of this class nearly drove me insane. I literally had to roll out of bed at 7 in the morning, pull on some loose clothing, eat, and go to school. THEN, I actually had to show up for class! Can you imagine? For all of this hard work and dedication, my reward was a measly 'A'. Will horrors never cease!

Mathematics...
Boy, am I glad this class was over with 10 weeks ago.

So, really, the only A's I'm proud of achieving this semester are the ones from Accounting and Mathematics. The ones I actually worked for.

Congratulate yourself. You've just finished reading the brief synopsis of all my classes for this semester. Did I mention I made the President's List? Funny thing about the President's List. For the first time in my life, I've one-upped Jimmy on something, albeit by default. As a student, you have to take at least 12 units worth of classes in order to make the President's List. Jimmy's piano class counted for 1.5 units, causing him to miss making the President's List by .5 units! Haha! I'm deliriously happy. Uh-oh.

*Lois runs to her room and locks the door*

No, actually, Jimmy deserved to make the President's List this semester, and I'm disappointed for him. There's always next semester.

I want to leave you all with this thought. It's Mom's thought, actually. I was borrowing her MacArthur's Study Bible this morning, and a little note fell out of it that completely made my day.

' "For when we were still without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly. - Romans 5:6"
Without strength to train, to live right...Christ died for my ungodly moments, hours, days, years!'

Thank You, Lord, for a great first semester at Cerritos!

**~L~**-**~L~** Top Ten Things I Love About College **~L~**-**~L~**

1. Sitting in the amphitheater and eating dinner with Jimmy, while he stares intently at random passerby trying to get them to glance in his direction by using his formidable brain power.

2. Laughing at Jimmy's antics until I choke on my food.

3. Opening Gatorade bottles for girls who are too skinny to do it themselves.

4. That point of despair before receiving your results when you know you've failed your test and will fail every other test you take for all eternity, until the realization that it's all in Lord's hands hits you like a ton of bricks.

5. The determination and drive that overcomes you when you do fail your test, and the commitment you make to yourself to study harder, and ace the next one.

6. Not having to work out for a full 18 weeks because you're rushing from class to class like a frenzied rabbit and skipping breakfast and lunch.

7. Just touching the ball so that it barely tips over the net and watching 5 people dive for it simultaneously.

8. Never letting my schooling interfere with my education.

9. Pretending to fall asleep in the library, while in reality eavesdropping on a debate about social science.

10. Making the President's List.

Sobering Thoughts

2010-05-18T20:16:00.000-07:00

"He who is slothful in his work
Is a brother to him who is a great destroyer."
Proverbs 18:9

So, this week was finals week. I studied fairly hard, to pass a class I had no interest in taking in the first place, to learn a subject I have no aptitude for. Such is life. I came across this verse today, from Proverbs chapter 18. Now, I have read Proverbs at least a hundred times; but perhaps the fact that this week was finals week prompted me to do a study on it.

Who do we think of as Destroyers? Right off the bat, most of us would say Hitler, Castro, Mao Zedong, Ceauşescu, and Stalin. Dictators and Murderers, destroyers of lives and freedom. Could I take it a step further? Who is the ultimate Destroyer? Satan, of course. Right about here, my train of thought screeched to a halt and I experienced mental whiplash. 'Woah, God, wait a second. You can't possibly put being slothful in near the same category as being like Hitler, or Satan, can You?' The thought horrified me. I mean, I nearly lost it just thinking about the many times I've been slothful in my work. I pulled out the dictionary to do a little research.

Destroyer: 2. a person or thing that destroys (I don't think the military definition applies.)
Synonyms- arsonist, brute, demolisher, savage, terrorist, wrecker, vandal, wild man.

Slothful: disinclined to work or exertion; "faineant kings under whose rule the country languished"; "an indolent hanger-on"; "too lazy to wash the dishes"; "shiftless idle youth".
Synonyms- ambling, apathetic, bone-lazy, cadging, do-nothing, faltering, flagging, foot-dragging, good-for-nothing, idle, inactive, indifferent, indolent, inert, lackadaisical, languorous, lax, lazy, leisurely, lethargic, shiftless.

I went to Mom for some wisdom and asked to hear her thoughts on this. She asked me where being slothful lead to. Let's take slothfulness of mind, for example. If a person is slothful in guarding their hearts and minds from immoral influences, they will become immoral, wicked beings. After all, Hitler was once a child. He was once a person whose mind was not poisoned against all that is good and pure. If not for the grace of God, we could all be Hitler. Here's one that hits too close to home with me. Being slothful with my time. A person who wastes their time is a person who is wasting their life. If the only things worth doing are the ones that count for eternity, we should avoid wasting time like the plague. It's enough to cure you of several lifetimes of addictions to Buzz. And a whole lot more.

Anyway, that's my sobering thought for the day. Summer is practically here, and I'm done with school. I'm praying that I won't waste the free time I now have by lazing around being slothful and doing nothing for the Lord. I pray that you also will be actively engaged in living for Him. I can hardly wait to read Proverbs 19 tomorrow. Read proverbs, friends, a sobering thought per day helps keep temptation at bay.

When the Moon Hits Your Eye Like A Big Pizza Pie

2010-04-22T17:26:00.000-07:00

...that's Amore. Jimmy has a blog. Check it out. HERE!

Hullo Chumsy-Wumsy! I have nothing to post about...so this is just going to be a non-post, as it were.
"Calvin: You can't just turn on creativity like a faucet. You have to be in the right mood.
Hobbes: What mood is that?
Calvin: Last-minute panic." Right-o. After all, procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday. Since I like to take it a step further, I'm going to post about Spring Break...which I wanted to do awhile ago. I hope you enjoy wasting your time reading this...because obviously time you enjoyed wasting technically doesn't qualify as wasted time. Am I right, or am I right? Yeah I'm wrong, so sue me.

Spring Break Madness:
In order to celebrate the glorious freedom Spring Break affords young, hardworking, diligent, conscientious, brainy, clever, resourceful, punctual, too-humble-for-their-own-good college students like me, I invited myself over to the McIntire's house for a few days. Naturally they were absolutely thrilled, insisting that I invade their residence as soon as their busy schedule permitted. I obliged and arrived at their house Thursday night, around 7ish. I had thought they lived only 15 minutes away, on account of how much fun we girls had in the car driving up to their place the last time I slept over, so I convinced Dad to leave the kids alone at home (Mom and Jimmy were gone) to drive me over. *cough* Apparently, the McIntires don't live 15 minutes away from us. That caused a teensy bit of a fiasco, especially when Jonathan heard about the situation and offered his two cents.
Jonathan(whispering): "What if they're dead!?"

Thankfully, it all worked out. When Dad got back home the house was still standing, the shed hadn't burned down, and the kidders were in one piece. Separately. That is to say they were each their own whole, separate, unharmed, individual piece. I didn't mean that they were all jumbled together with duct tape or anything like that. Ah, the difficulties of grammar.

Meanwhile, back at the McIntire Residence...WE PLAYED FORT! Feel free to be jealous. For those of you who've lacked the pleasure, Fort is a strategy game that requires physical and intellectual stamina. Players could also benefit from acquiring an accurate throwing arm. It is a game so extraordinarily brilliant that only someone whose mad creative genius far surpasses my own could have thought to conceive it. Sacrilege, of course, since no such person exists. Credit must, however, go to Jonathan for coming very close with his superbly prodigious magnum opus of a game. The object of the game is for each person from the three teams to pummel opposing players with stuffed animals in the hopes that one of their throws miraculously hits its mark, thereby eliminating a player from an opposing team. Last time, Jonathan's aggressive bomb launching managed to knock down the walls of mine and Amy's fort. Terrified, I threw a blanket over myself and proceeded to do nothing but scream for two minutes straight while Amy tried valiantly, but ultimately failed, to defend our position. Jonathan won, to my utter disgrace and humiliation. This time around, I was determined to reclaim my dignity.

As I mentioned, there are three teams. Teams one and two each have a bunk bed that they convert into a fort using sheets and blankets that overlap in complicated ways. Amy is our resident fort maker extraordinaire. The last team, the one Jonathan is usually on, has no fort. With relatively little protection, Team 3 has fantastic offense, but insufficient defense leaves them vulnerable to early elimination. With the forts made, and our stuffed animals at the ready, the battle was about to begin. As per tradition, Jonathan picked a spooky song from the Braveheart soundtrack, and hit 'play'. Bombs Away! Amy and I 'killed' Sarah...that left Jonathan with Michelle as his lone teammate. Despite doing his best to remain in hiding, Daniel was 'killed' by a stray bomb, leaving Cristin to fend for herself in the other fort. A period of pointless volleying back and forth with words and cotton bombs ensued as each team struggled to devise a strategy. Jonathan, greedy for a repeat ending of our last epic battle, began to batter our fort with renewed purpose. Amy, eager for vengeance, inched forward a little too much. She must have stepped on sheet corner, because a portion of what was our fort suddenly fell away; exposing a gaping hole in our defenses. Amy, shocked, barely had time to register Jonathan's Scottish battle cry of victory as his beanie baby sailed through the air and finished her off.

Adrenaline rushed through my veins...I would not let him win. With a yelp I grabbed one of our remaining stuffed animals and threw it as hard as I could. As if in slow motion, my missile sliced through the air and, bulls-eye! It hit Jonathan's Adam's apple. (The small choking sound that escaped his lips was particularly satisfactory.) I was elated, victory was within sight! I threw a curve ball bomb, and, miraculously, Bunny the Rabbit sailed through the air in a perfect arc, hitting Cristin! So jubilant was I, rejoicing in my sure to be legendary conquest, that I failed to notice the silent, deadly enemy. Too late I turned around, only to feel the sickening thump of a cotton bomb slamming against my abdomen. Michelle, the patient assassin, had bided her time until opportunity presented itself. When the time was ripe, she pounced! So, in the century's most anticlimactic ending since Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Michelle stole my triumph causing Jonathan, by default, to win...again.
"Who says life is fair, where is that written?"
-William Goldman
How true, how grievously, insufferably, dreadfully, unfortunately true. You can go away now, I've so depressed myself by remembering the incident that I can't be bothered to end this post properly. I really can't be bothered.

All McIntires who read this post are required by law to leave a comment.

~**~**~**~**L**~**~**~** Ten MORE Things I Hate About College

1. Please DO NOT show me your belly button. I have one too, and I don't particularly need proof that yours exists.

2. Makeup should be applied with a brush, not a shovel.

3. Makeup should be worn only by girls. You're thinking that goes without saying right? Huh. Wrong.

4. Want a culture shock? Stop by the cafeteria and listen in on a group of students as they eat lunch.
Girl 1: Ugh. Can you buhlieve this? My taco is sooo soggeh.

Girl 2: Rully? That is sooo sad.

Guy: Fo reals? Dude, that stinks.

Girl 2: TacoBell is so, like, wrong.

Ahhh! people! It's a TACO! Are you kidding me?? Just. Eat. It.

5. All of you Neo-Nazi dudes with the creepy hairstyles and liberally applied eyeliner, it should be illegal to look that weird. What are you trying to do, terrify small children?

6. Girls, this is not high school. I will not yield my right to use the computer simply because you are wearing Jimmy Choo Sandals, and Valentino designed your sundress. The whole pout and glare thing doesn't phase me either. I was here first, find your own computer.

7. If one more skinny, peace sign flashing, hippy-looking, dread-lock sporting, Greenpeace advocate tries to get me to petition against the commercial exploitation of endangered baboons, I will break his clipboard over my knee.

8. I have to buy my own scantrons?? '“Remember, for the midterm on Thursday, you need to bring a scantron to the exam. I won’t have any for you,” my professor reminded us last week. Having paid ridiculous sums of money for tuition, with the sum likely to increase next year, the one thing I would expect the school to do is to provide students with the necessary test-taking materials at no cost whatsoever. Don’t you agree?' I do indeed.

9. It's terribly frustrating to forget your student I.D. on the day that In 'N Out is on campus giving away free lunches.

10. A few quotes...because I'm drawing a blank on college-related atrocities at the moment.

"Training is everything. The peach was once a bitter almond; cauliflower is nothing but cabbage with a college education."
— Mark Twain

"There are few sources of energy so powerful as a procrastinating college student."
— Paul Graham

"Helen Keller was blind and deaf when she graduated from college with honors. So what's your problem?"
— Charles Stanley

Good day, Readers! May you have a blessed week!

The Adventures of Purple Girl

2010-03-19T12:59:00.000-07:00

Hello Reader(s)!

Welcome to the fabulously entertaining, tremendously witty, marvelously informative, stupendously productive corner of the the world wide web that is my blog. You'll pardon my conceit. Yes, you will.

I've been up to quite a few things lately, so this will be a rather long post. Ah, ah, ah!...you're here, and here you'll stay until the remainder of this obnoxiously long entry comes to a close. Good manners and fine breeding prevents you from exiting this page without first fulfilling your obligatory duty. Now, now, we've been through this before. Chin up, wipe your eyes. There's a stout-hearted chap/chapess. And so, I begin.

Several weeks ago, the Ouatu Family graciously took me, and two other girls and a guy on a ski trip to Big Bear. Being my typically pestiferous self, I brought along my snowboard, the only person in the entire group who went snowboarding. It was a total blast getting to know the girls. The snowboarding was AWESOME! As an added bonus, it snowed the whole day we were up there! Naturally, I have no pictures. It was a wonderful time, full of fun and fellowship. Thank you Ouatu Family! The night before, I had gone to get my bindings adjusted. Now, I had received my board from my uncle around the age of 13. He's never been very particular, so I doubt the board was new when he bought it. Luckily, he had average size feet, so with three or four thick wool socks my feet fit quite nicely into the boots. Plus, I didn't have to spend a cent on new bindings. Bottom line, my board is an antique.

Anyway, I come in to the shop, greet the guy behind the counter, and unzip my case to pull out my board. He took a look at it, raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. He asked me what was wrong, and I told him I'd like my stance to be wider, and would he please angle my ramp/disk thingie more to the right. As he's adjusting my board, some guy from behind him reaches over to grab something and spots my snowboard.
"DUDE, that board is like, ten years old man!" (To a snowboarder who spends his yearly salary on new gear, this amount of time is unfathomable.) He looks at me in amazement before leaving. Just then two other guys walk in; they also see my board.
"Hey! You guys are still renting step-in bindings, or is that a personal board?" The guy behind the counter dropped my board like a hot coal.
"Oh n-no," he stammered, "it's her personal board." The friend of the guy who asked the question gave me a little smile.
"That board is ANCIENT! Really, really old. You should try *insert the name of some ridiculously expensive brand name bindings, the cost of which could feed a small country, or Jimmy, for a week here*; these guys hooked me up last year." The man had a Spanish accent, because HE WAS FROM CHILE! Like, by what authority do people from Chile give advice on snowboards and bindings to Californians? Do they even HAVE snow in Chile?? Yeah, I was steamed, because they made fun of my totally awesome board, that I knew they were all secretly jealous of anyway. Only not. Whatever.

While we were going up the lift, Johnny and Andrew entertained me by relating the plot of a film they had seen. A mild horror movie about three men who go up the mountain on the lift just before the park closes...leaving them stranded near the top. They all freeze to death, and movie concludes with the image of a frozen hand, eerily rising from the fog. Charming. Precisely the sort of story one wants to hear as one embarks on the very first run of the day. Nothing like some twisted fiction to put a spring in your step. Consequently, they let me know that the probability of something like that ever happening is very low, and of course it could never happen in real life. Alas, the damage was done. We had a great time skiing/snowboarding together. (At least I did, I don't know about them, they were stuck with me.) Without exception,(except me) all snowboarders are arrogant, selfish, boisterous creatures. Imagine, if you can, the presumption, the nerve, the amount of pride it must take to plop oneself in the middle of the slope, without regard for anyone else. Next time I see one of those punks I'm going to let loose what I've restrained for 10 years: "Hey you! Yeah, I'm talking to the walking Burton advertisement! Get out of my way before I run you and your precious beanie over!" Ooh, that'll feel good. I can hardly wait for next year.

A few days after I came back, I went snowboarding with Florin at Mountain High. (If you don't know who he is, he's the man renting a room from us, and I've known him for 16 years.) Somehow, Florin and I got separated. It was getting close to ten 'o clock, the time the park closes, when I decided to take one last run down the mountain. I got into the lift, meant for 4 people, by myself. That's always fun. When the attendants aren't looking, I turn sideways and prop my board up against the back of the chair so that I'm lying down. It's a ridiculously comfortable position. The attendants will yell, scream, and generally make pests of themselves if you do that when they're looking. Try it when you're out of their sight range. Speaking of which, visibility was 30 feet, max. Less than that at the top. The fog was so thick you could cut it. The scene: I'm merrily enjoying my ride up the mountain, when suddenly, the lift stops. Ah, no big deal, it's stopped before. But it doesn't start up again! Two minutes go by...nothing. Four minutes...nothing. Six minutes in, and I hear a faint shout: a rude variation of "Hey! What's going on?" after that, nothing. Eight minutes in, I've switched out of my cozy lounge and into the much more appropriate sitting-on-a-lift fetal position. I began calculating the distance from the lift to the ground, when sheer terror overwhelmed me. All I could think about was a frozen hand! THANKS FOR NOTHING ANDREW AND JOHNNY!

*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~***

And now, I suppose I must explain the title of this blog post, before you die of curiosity. It's a rather boring tale, so keep your hopes down where they belong. I wear almost exactly the same clothes for every single volleyball class. My outfit includes a hideous pair of stretchy purple bell bottoms, and an over sized purple t-shirt. Bell bottoms used to be quite popular with hippies, though they at least had the good sense to make use of denim. Somehow a crazed lunatic got ahold of some stretchy cotton, made a pair of bell bottoms, and forced my mother, at gunpoint, to buy them. Waste not want not, so I'm wearing them. First day of Volleyball class. This skinny, Hispanic boy wanted to get my attention. The ball was flying towards me, and I had no idea. Brilliance has a way of striking people at opportune moments.
"Hey! Purple Girl!" he shouted. That got my attention, I assumed the position I vaguely remembered Jonathan teaching me, and sent the ball flying across the net. Victory!

Moving right along, my friend and I had a test for CIS(Computer Information Science). I scored 54/55, and she 51/55. The statistics show that in a class of 30 people, the first 3 people who stand up will receive D's. Numbers 4-11 receive A's. And all the rest get C's, with a few scattered F's. As everyone knows, all the information garnered from sources like the Internet, and statistics, is infallible. Does your humble self care to contest this fact? Smart cookie. :)

Unfortunately, dear reader, the randomness has petered out and our time has drawn to a close. Halt. Mind you be polite and let me finish before you run out of the room in a frenzy of delight. Ha ha. You are now my prisoner. I will finish with a quote I found very amusing, to celebrate the joyous occasion commemorating the completion of my Algebra 2 class. Which, by the way, I'm very confident I'll get an A in.

Anyone who cannot cope with mathematics is not fully human. At best he is a tolerable subhuman who has learned to wear shoes, bathe, and not make messes in the house. ~Robert Heinlein, Time Enough for Love

Apparently, I am a tolerable subhuman who still makes messes in the house. :)

Of College and Test Results

2010-02-18T18:35:00.000-08:00

Hello my dear, sweet, lovely, beautiful readers! Welcome to you too, you handsome, rugged...thing...you... (One of the perks of coming on my blog: you come away feeling absolutely fantastic; in much the same way you would if you were to visit a nursing home on a sunny Sunday afternoon.) By the way, if you don't do that too often, make it a priority. So, I took a test last Monday.

I hate tests.

I went in, fully prepared, or so I thought. I figured, I've got 90% of my score already, for the other 10% I'll just have to smile and look pretty. Fat chance. I took one look at my test and passed out. Correction: I took one look at the second page of my test and nearly passed out. It was as if I had studied for an English exam and the professor handed the test to me in Greek. Not all of the problems were hard, but there were a couple of head-spinners in the bunch. So I was ambling along, doing the best I could, and stressing because the minutes were flying by way faster than they had any right to. I snuck a glance in Jimmy's direction; the small plume of smoke and the acrid smell of burning paper emanating from his corner of the room irritated my sensitive nasal cavity. I sighed, returned to my stubborn math problem, which still hadn't solved itself, drew a little arrow pointing to the question, and moved on.

One hour and twenty minutes into the test, this scrawny kid with curly black hair left wild(not brushed, and most probably unwashed) strolled up to the desk nonchalantly. He hitched up his pants with one finger from each hand after handing in his test. "You're finished?" asked Miss Mariani, with an incredulous look on her face. By " an incredulous look", I mean a look that clearly implied: "Kid, based on your behavior in class so far you're really not smart enough to complete this test in a half hour, so I suggest you grow a brain and review your answers before you fail this class with a 'W'." Really, I felt insulted at that moment. In a weird way, I felt insulted that he didn't care enough about this class to put in more effort than a paltry 40 minutes.

Do you know HOW I know this kid was lazy beyond comprehension? Because Jimmy wasn't done yet, and Jimmy is a genius. Not to brag about how smart and awesome my brother is (fail) but Einstein doesn't hold a candle to him. Seriously. Forget the fact that I'm his sister, Jimmy is lighting fast. Then this kid has the audacity, after being one of the most ill-behaved kids in the class, (when you're not paying attention, how can you possibly learn?) to hand in his test early!?? His test results will not be high, which goes to prove all kinds of points.

I was practically the only student who got up to clarify a problem and ask a few questions. Hey, I don't care if I look dumb, if I score a little higher, then its worth it. So, I'm getting to the end of my test, with a couple of problems left, and Miss Mariani announces that we have 5 minutes left. Then and there I made a decision. I really didn't care that the test was timed, Miss Mariani would have to pry that test from my cold dead fingers to get it back, because I wasn't turning it in until I was good and ready. That's how I had the honor of being the last person to turn in my test. After an agonizing week-long wait....we received our results. Jimmy scored 99.5% and I scored a respectable 89%, missing an 'A' by two points. I'm still thankful though, because I've gotten 100% on everything else she's given us, so I'm fairly confident that I'll end the semester with an 'A'. Jimmy had the nerve to voice his disappointment that he didn't score 100%. hah. Half the class shot him dirty looks.

**~**~**~ TOP TEN WORST THINGS ABOUT COLLEGE~**~**~**

* Guys who think they look incredible, strumming away at their guitars while humming soulfully off-key in the amphitheater, need to think again.

* Every day I witness the merciless slaughter of the English language.

* If I close my eyes, I can smell a Fohawk-wearing guy 300 ft. away, his hair has more product in it than a girls'. (Easy on the Pantene for Men Spray Gel, guys. Specifically, easy on the Fohawks.)

* Please explain to me how blond dreadlocks became legal.

*If you are girl, you shouldn't wear skinny jeans...if you are a bigger girl you should ABSOLUTELY never wear skinny jeans...it takes a staggering amount of self-discipline NOT to throw up on a GUY wearing skinny jeans.

* If I have to run after another bus yelling and screaming like a crazy person only to miss it by 20 feet, I cannot take responsibility for my actions.

* I sit next to a guy, and my nails aren't painted, but his are. *_*

* There's enough bass in the Techno R&B they play live on campus to bounce me from class to class.

*I get the feeling that if I pull someone's earbud out, their ear will come off with it. That's what happens when you never remove an object, the body adopts it.

* My backpack is so heavy, I'm going to have shoulders bigger than Shaq's by the end of the semester.

~**~**~**~**~**~

Our teacher Miss Mariani immigrated from Crete. If Italians are from Italy, Romanians are from Romania, and Indians are from India...shouldn't it follow that Cretins come from Crete?
Sorry, bad joke. I really like her, but she gives us too much homework.

An update? Can it be?

2010-01-22T21:40:00.000-08:00

First off, HELP! I'm drowning in skads of homework...which I should be doing, but don't judge me. Seven hours of math is quite enough, thank you very much. A few people I once thought to be quite wise advised me not to worry because college only gets easier. Yeah, NOT WHEN YOU'RE TAKING A HYBRID COURSE! It's 18 weeks of math squished into 9. Chew on that for a while, especially if you're not a math person. So, why am I sitting here typing when I have literally a mountain of math on my desk? Yeah, I'll get back to you on that. ( Or not.) If you're just going to sit there and judge me though, then you can go ahead and click the little "x" button on the top right-hand corner of your screen. I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself.

Oh, who am I kidding? No one even reads my blog anymore...(excepting, of course, of my three saintly friends Emily, Laura, and Sarah) AS EVIDENCED BY THE THREE MEASLY COMMENTS THAT I RECEIVED WHEN I PRACTICALLY POURED MY HEART OUT TO YOU IN MY LAST POST. IF IT LOOKS LIKE I'M YELLING AT YOU IN PRINT IT'S BECAUSE I AM. Did you catch the hint? I all but threw it at you. Honestly, not commenting on peoples' blogs is insensitive, irritating, and displays an almost imponderable lack of social refinement! One puts so much time and effort into achieving that perfect blend of witticism and satire known as a blog post, only to discover that the symphony of words and phrases that distinguishes ones' art from mediocrity isn't good enough for some people! In fact, it's beneath the audience to even LEAVE A COMMENT. You trample some poor, honest souls' self-esteem into the dust, and spit on it for good measure every time you refuse him/her the courtesy of a comment. If you are one of these people, go crawl under the rock from whence you came.

Seriously though, I'd have to be a complete hermit, or pathetically sensitive, for your comments (or lack thereof) to affect me so deeply. Oh wait...

(watch me waste my words on your heart of stone and receive no comments for this post.)

*~**~**8~**~**L~**~**8~**~**~*

Anyway, school has been going great. I can't wait to start my last class, accounting, in February. Fun stuff. :) One thing, though, really bothers me while I'm on campus. I just feel like addressing the issue. On some days it's bad, and on others it's worse. The language. I haven't really interacted with strangers on a daily basis before, so I was shocked. This is how people "in the world" communicate with each other? What happened to actual talking, as opposed to swearing at one another? Not that I stick around long, just the bits and snatches of conversation I pick up while going to and from class. It's still enough to burn my ears off. I realize that most of you don't have to deal with all of these sordid details, but since I don't have a journal anymore, bear with me. It grates on my nerves. Not every day, because like I mentioned I don't stay, but sometimes it's overwhelming. I just feel so sorry for those kids! There they are, at college and studying hard, presumably to get a decent job, and using such awful language. Who's going to hire somebody who can't form a complete sentence without using dirty expletives? Nobody. To say nothing of how skewed their moral compass must be. It's sad and depressing that you can't have a decent discussion with people anymore. Of course, not everybody is like that...I've met, so far, seven nice, decent people. I'm thanking the Lord that I've made a few friends there. :) Sometimes I wonder if it's okay to just go up to people and tell them to clean up their mouth. The urge to do that is slowly becoming uncontrollable. One of these days I'm going to get so offended its going to pop out. *sighs*

~**^**~**^**~**^**~

At last count I have 31 pairs of shoes. It's gotten to the point where even I realize it is a teeny, tiny bit over the top, so I'm going to try and find time to revamp(read: throw out the contents) of half my closet. Most likely, it'll be a very emotional, painful process that I'm going to medicate with Andrea Bocelli and a whole lotta chocolate. In other news, I passed by Life guarding Final! All I have to do is show up on Tuesday and get my card. Boy, am I ever thankful and thrilled. I'm also qualified to give emergency oxygen. So, if you ever feel the need to pass out and stop breathing, do it in front of me. I figure if I need to practice, it might as well be on you. ;) How does that rate on your comfort scale? Pretty high? Yeah, didn't think so.

That's all the news I have for this post. Thanks for stopping by!

Now go do something productive, you've wasted enough time as it is.

I'm a Cerritos Falcon....and I've a good mind to buy a cheesy sweatshirt displaying it.

2010-01-13T22:36:00.000-08:00

I so should not be posting right now....I should be in bed, sleeping, or doing homework. But you all know me, so of course, I'm not doing any of those things. Plus, as it's the first week, I don't have much homework. Homework. I'm a college girl! It's pretty exciting. I was surprised, to say the least, by my first couple of days on campus. I've talked to some people about college, and about their experiences...so I came expecting the worst. I loaded down my backpack in self-defense, just in case Jimmy, at 6 foot and barely 15, wouldn't do the trick.(My backpack is now lethal. Be afraid, be very afraid.) I steeled myself to meet the druggies and thieves I knew would be lurking around every corner; fully expecting the campus to be crawling with creepy, bug-eyed creatures complete with horns and tails.

Boy, was I ever dissapointed! These people were normal! And nice! Well, some of them were, the ones who'd learned to mind their manners and their language. What a relief to discover that a shred of moral decency still existed within the hearts and minds of these young people! No monsters OR aliens. (If you don't count a certain someone in a black hooded sweatshirt with some questionable items on his person.) Anyway, I was pleased.
My algebra professor is really great. She's a plump lady in her late thirties, the mother hen type, and she knows her stuff. This is going to sound awful, but it's great fun for us when she yells at students for being late. Jimmy and I sit at our desks puffing out our chests with pride, because we're never late. (At least, we haven't been the last two times.) She hates tardy kids. "If you're tardy twice, I will drop you. If you're absent once, I will drop you. If you're extremely tardy, I will count that as an absense and drop you." This one kid showed up today right after everyone had sat down. Like, right after. She had barely begun talking when she saw him and stopped. "If you're late like this one more time *insert whatshisface name's here*, I will drop you. Go find a seat." I like her. :)We're going to get along great, I can feel it.

Volleyball. Me loves it! The first day of class was interesting. Jonathan Stevens had suggested I enroll in the Intermediate/Advanced class as opposed to the Begginer class. From what he saw, the begginers were pretty awful. He thought I would probably do better in something more advanced. From now on I'm going to take Jonathan's good advice with a grain (or 5) of salt. These kids were good. Scary good. A couple of the guys even played as well as Jonathan. (I'll stop saying your name now, Jonathan. Ok, done.) I mean, I was confused. "Janette, pass!" The ball swoops through the air in a perfect arc. "Andy, set! You got it man!" He sends the ball high, but not too high, the perfect distance from the net. "It's all yours, Chad! Spiiiiike!" POW! We score. I was like, Woah! I'm slightly out of my league here. I learned real quick not to ask too many dumb questions, either.(What do you use to spike the ball, your whole hand, or just your palm?) Our volleyball coach was quick to inform me that this here was not picnic volleyball, and basically told me that little girls should go to the begginers sandbox to learn how to play. I wasn't having any of it.

"Look, ma'am, I'd like to try and stay in this class. If I try and I'm not good enough, then please, by all means kick me out." She gave me a whole little spiel about not wanting to kick anybody off the team, but I still felt a little discouraged. Anyway, I went back to playing, and in the end I had a lot of fun. (Even when I messed up, which was often, my team mates didn't get mad. I've never received so many high-fives in one day.) So I talked to her afterwards, and she saw I was sweating, and I told her that even though I hadn't actually "played" before, I thought I could do well. She just looked at me. "All right kid, it looks like you've worked hard, so I'll give you a shot. Good hustle." I got a pat on the back and a spot in the class for my efforts. Someone cue that "Remember the Titans" theme song. I guess you-know-who was right after all. In any case, playing real volleyball is a lot more fun than tossing the ball around in a circle on the kiddie side of the fence. :-)

I'm starting to like this whole college thing. I'd appreciate your prayers for me, that I would be a godly example to the people who get to know me, and a diligent, responsible student. Starting right now, as I'm going to go hit the sack. Thank you everyone for your support!

"Oh give thanks unto the God of heaven, for His mercy endures forever."
~Psalm 136:26

TAG...

2009-11-30T18:44:00.000-08:00

I'm it!!!

Soooo, I got tagged, by Kayla...to do this.

Seven Things You Might Not Know About Me

1. I like shoes. Heh heh...Psych! No, really, this is hard. There's not a lot people don't know about me. *think* *think* I absolutely love climbing trees. It's embarrassing how much I like it. The harder the tree is to climb, the more I enjoy it.

2. I've always dreamed about opening up a restaurant..or a cafe...next to a local highschool or college. Most likely it'll never happen, but it'd be so much fun if that would work out. I love cooking and baking. :D

3. I'm not nearly as clever as I look.

4. If given the opportunity, I would seriously go skydiving, or bunjee jumping, or something really extreme.

5. When I was younger, my heart's desire was to have curly blonde hair and big blue eyes. I hated my name, and was forever bemoaning the fact that my parents didn't call me something like Emma, or Hannah, or Madison. Aren't you glad that wishes don't always come true?

6. My record for journaling is 1 week straight, if that. I have a journal graveyard in one of my cubbyholes. It's hilarious. Almost every single one of my entries begins with me apoligizing to "Betsy" or "Anne" about not writing sooner. (My Aunt taught me to name my journals...)

7. I have a teeny, tiny mole (junctional nevus) on the outside corner of my left eye.

Part II of Tag Duties

1. Have you ever ridden an elephant? Well, shockingly, we don't have many elephants wandering the streets of SoCal. That would be a no.

2. Have you ever eaten squid? Yeah, it's great. Once you get past the tentacles and the rubbery texture, it has a surprisingly robust flavor.

3. What is something crazy you have done with your friend? Ha ha...just ONE? Well, this girl I didn't like very much and her boyfriend were walking down the street...being all lovebirdy. My friends and I were at the church playground when they sat down right next to the fence that separated the playground from the sidewalk. The nerve! I couldn't take it anymore...especially when they started whispering and giggling together like...like...two people giggling and whispering to each other. (Creativity sometimes reaches an impasse.) Anyway, I suggested we all start throwing sand at them. So we did, and it worked very well. I wouldn't reccomend it, but in case of a dire emergency, it's a useful trick to have up your sleeve. Do yourself a favor and don't use this if your sister is courting. (Jimmy, Johnny, Marky...you have been warned.)

4. Have you ever held an alligator? What do you think?

5. Have you ever let a snake slither through your fingers? Ehm, WHY would I do that?? Why? Gross. No.

6. What is your first and foremost dream in life? Well, in death I don't want to regret my life. That's one of my biggest fears.
When I die, I don't want to meet my Savior face to face, and tell Him that I've accomplished nothing with the life He gave me.

7. What is your dream vacation? Going horseback riding in New Zealand. I'd throw dirt clods at all the sheep around there while the farmers yell at me in their funny accents. Hey, it ain't called a "dream" vacation for nuthin'.

8. What is the funniest movie you have ever seen? It's a toss up between The Philadelphia Story and My Favorite Wife.

9. What is your favorite song? "Short people...ain't got no reason to live."

10. If you could change the world in just one way, what would you do? I'd make sugary food good for you. (I'm feeling guilty, because I just had a huge piece of leftover pie...so much for my diet.)
(Do this if you like, if not...'so 'kay.)

Of Straightjackets and Lifeguarding

2009-11-19T09:21:00.000-08:00

Well, here I am again, and this post is going to be all about me...because the others usually aren't. ...Wow, that was fast.

Ah, there you are.
You do realize that when you enter my blog, you're going to read my posts, which, unfortunately for you, are about me. And hasn't your mother ever taught you that it's rude and inconsiderate to leave someone abruptly at the start of a conversation? Shocking. As I was saying...

...The dreaded CHSPE. Have you ever been so nervous you've felt like you've swallowed a brick? Welcome to my world. A lot is banking on my passing the CHSPE; so much so, that my sweet mother has threatened to disinherit me if my results are less than satisfactory. (i.e. I fail.) Some days, I go to bed absolutely knowing that I've failed. And other days, I wake up with a song, a skip, and a spring in my step with the intuition that I've passed. Yesterday, I felt like someone had rammed a brick down my throat, and added a bowling ball for good measure. It was nearly 5:00. If you're a seasoned CHSPE veteran, like myself, you'd know that a month after one takes the CHSPE, his or her results are posted online. Yesterday's results could either free me from my mental anguish, or propel me over the cliff of uncertainty into the depths of despair. And, just as I hit "enter" my computer crashed.

Haha....just kidding. You should have seen the look on your face. But I digress...

I've a good mind to sue the government, for gross procrastination concerning this matter, and/or whoever is in charge of, or responsible for, correcting the CHSPE and distributing the results. I'm charging the defendant with causing prolonged emotional distress, mental pain and anguish, and intentionally inflicting cruel and unusual punishment on a minor.
Really, the test in and of itself is not that difficult. If you study hard and do your level best, I'd say you've got an excellent chance of passing it. So, you make a few mistakes here and there...not bad, you'll still make it. Or so you think!!!

A week after the test.
You've developed a curious habit of biting your nails and sneaking covert looks over your shoulder. Surely you'd remembered the formula for quadratic equations. It's got a negative 'b' in there somewhere. You're positive...sort of.

3 weeks after the test.
You've chewed your nails down to the nail bed and have taken to shouting random equations at innocent pedestrians. Sleep is a thing of the past as every night you analyze every math problem you'd taken, and curse the fact that you didn't study more analytic geometry. You've lost about ten or fifteen pounds because you refuse to eat anything, claiming you feel like you've swallowed a brick.

2 days before your online results are available.
Your parents find you under a blanket in the fetal position blubbering and shaking uncontrollably in the early morning hours. You've finally fallen into a restless sleep as you mumble over and over "two plus two is..." They try and shake you awake, to no avail. At around six o'clock in the morning you jump out of bed and run around the neighborhood screaming "Two plus two is THREE!" at the top of your lungs. Your eyes are bloodshot. At this point, you could have passed your CHSPE with flying colors and received a letter from the governor commending your superior academic prowess and it wouldn't have mattered. Some lovely people driving a white van come up and put a white sweater on you. They nod and speak calmly and soothingly to you as they sew you up. You have gone stark, raving mad.

It's the waiting period afterwards that really gets to you. But, hey, guess what...I'm home free. I passed. :) Good luck to the rest of you taking the test in 2010. Heh, heh... "Two plus two is THREEE!"

~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

SCUBA diving is super fun. We've come to the part of the program where they teach us how to swim...properly. There are three programs we can choose from. In Community Water Safety, they teach you basic strokes. Or, if you are a fairly good swimmer, you can take the Swimming Instructor course. (To become a swimming instructor, duh.) Jimmy, Dad, and I are doing Lifeguarding. Well, Jimmy and I are. We've at least got a shot at it. :-P The only reason Dad is still in the class is because Scott(one of our instructors...he's awesome) is a nice guy and wanted to keep the family together.

On Monday Scott tested our stamina, and our swimming strokes, neither of which were much to boast of. We did 500 yards of the freestyle, backstroke, butterfly, breaststroke, and the sidestroke. We're all in such horrible shape, that it took us (20 students) about an hour to swim 500 yards. And we were real proud of ourselves, too. Of course, Scott had to burst our bubble. He told us that competitive swimmers swim 5000 (FIVE-THOUSAND)yards every single morning. That's nearly 3 MILES!!! And then, they DO IT AGAIN!!! At night. Another 5000 yards....nearly 6 miles every single day. Wow. We've got a lot of work ahead of us.

The funnest(I've taken the liberty of adding this word to the dictionary) part about Monday night was watching everyone swim. More specifically, watching everyone swim the butterfly. There are few things more entertaining than watching people who have never swam the butterfly flounder around pathetically in the water nearly drowning themselves trying to execute it perfectly. It's hysterical. Just when you think you're about to pass out from laughing....it's your turn. Scott gave me a big, fat 'E' for Effort. He was being generous. Judges invented the butterfly because it got boring sitting in a chair for hours on end, and they needed some entertainment.

There was this one girl, though, Ashley. My word, she was a machine. She swam competitively, and played water polo. Not only did she do every stroke perfectly, but during the entire 500 yards, she didn't touch the wall. She treaded water for an hour and a half. This was after her three hour practice earlier that day. *cough* *cough* She was so good, we were like, "Scott, please, no, don't look this way...no, not the Butterfly!" He finally put us out of our misery, telling us that in his entire life he had never seen such a nauseating, abominable excuse for a butterfly stroke, and that if we had any pity for him at all, we would just stop trying. Overall, it was a blast, even though I drowned my brick. In one exercise you have to swim to the end of the pool, dive down, pick up a 10 pound brick, and swim back using only your legs and keeping the brick above the water. So, yeah...I was kinda tired and I drowned my brick. R.I.P. Bricky.

Anyhow, that's all for now, faithful reader(s) :) Have a wonderful day, and remember to be a blessing!

I'm still alive....barely.

2009-10-15T11:24:00.000-07:00

**sobs hysterically**
Life is so terribly cruel and unfair! Oh, why me?! I'm in the depths of despair. "I shall never love again..."(no, wait, that doesn't apply.) Dad and Jimmy are leaving tonight for San Francisco, where they will visit our good friends the Frone family, play volleyball, go ice skating, and enjoy all manner of wholesome entertainment....and I'm not coming! *sniffles* It's all because I still have to pass my CHSPE...the math section. Ugh. Between the hours of 9:00 p.m. tonight until 7:00 a.m. Saturday morning, I will be throwing myself a pity party. Please come, as I would appreciate your support through this very difficult time.

In other not-so-tragic news...

Em and I spent the day together last Saturday, and we got a little bored. What better way to pass the time than to take some romantic, victorianesque portraits? I'm no good behind the camera, but Em seemed to think that I had some potential in front of it. WARNING: If you are not particularly partial to romantic, victorianesque portrait pictures... don't keep reading. It's for your own good. :) I shan't be held responsible for convulsions, acute upper airway obstruction, headaches, nausea, or any other unpleasentries that might occur when some people view sappy, girly pictures without first mentally preparing themselves for the trauma ahead.

Now that I've gotten rid of most of the gentlemen readers, if not all, ladies you may proceed. Thanks, Em, for all of these lovely shots.
I love the lighting, it was gorgeous. Look at me go! I managed to look pensive.

Em told me to play with my hair...so I did. I like it. :) (Not my hair, silly, the picture.)

Yes, I'm TOTALLY thinking about something with chocolate. Or cheesecake. Or both.

Just sitting. It was such a beautiful windy day. :)

Em managed to get me looking kind of melancholic. I normally don't suffer from melancholy...hyperactivity, yes...but not melancholy.

Don't mess with me. ..." I'll do you in, I'll do your family in, I'll do your whole lineage in...your whole race! Wait, no, scratch that...that's too many people. " lol. I forget where that's from.

Ah yes. And here we come to...the pout. You've no idea how many spankings I've gotten myself out of, and into, with this face. Dad's an old softie...but Mom's tough as nails. :P

It took forever to get my hair out of my face. "Quick! Take a picture! The wind's not blowing it all over my lip gloss!!!"

This picture is hysterical... Em probably told me to do something dramatic...

Me: "What? No way!" And, before I could arrange my features into something less dorky, she snapped this picture.

This is all the posing I can do...plop my chin into my palm. For the life of me I can't understand those pictures where the girl is smelling a rose and getting that faraway look in her eyes, as if the mists of time have suddenly parted; the fragrance helping her remember someone long forgotten. PUH-LEASE! There's a reason those photos aren't popular anymore. Even girls started feeling nauseous...to say nothing of all the guys in the ICU. All that sap is quite unnecessary. Penny for my thoughts.

My pout...again. I'm telling you I've been working on perfecting this for years. *cough* Needs more work.

And this is a picture of...wait...Jimmy and RICKY?! How did th-- Oh, yes...Ricky and Jimmy had nothing better to do, so they came around to our little corner of the park, and proceeded to become insufferably annoying versions of their exceedingly annoying selves. Photographic art does not thrive under the scrutiny of two..eh..."punks" who can't appreciate it.

Heehee...I'm such a dork. :)

Ahh....the wind blowing through my hair, the sun shining...how incredibly egotistic of me to post all these great pictures of me on my blog.

I had to do a couple of silly ones...there's only so much emotion a girl can muster up before having a nervous breakdown. The reason I don't have my glasses on, is because they transition. Apparently, Victorian dresses and sunglasses don't go together all that well.

I asked Em a question....and she answered with some funny response that I didn't quite believe...and then I made the above "real" face. I have trouble smiling genuinely in pictures. Normally, I look like I'm suffering from severe indigestion. Em's great. Hire her...she can make anyone look good. ~My ever loving brother voices his opinion~ "But Lo, you DO look like you have indigestion!" *He giggle-snorts out of the room*

Ooh....dramatic. I like that angle...notice how it looks like I don't have a double chin? Em's a genius.

So that was Saturday...and I've run out of things to say. And, of course, I'm still devastated over the fact that can't go see my friends.

~a pause of about 5 minutes ensues as Lois throws a hissy fit over the injustice of it all~

*blows nose hard*

I'll get over it...maybe. Just *sniffs* come to my party.

A day in the life of a jean-yus.

2009-09-04T11:51:00.000-07:00

Oh, I know. I'm good, I'm really good.

I woke up today, at the ungodly hour of 8:00 in the morning. A good half hour before I usually wake up. Still in my jammies, I made sure to greet Jimmy with an especially breathy good morning as we sat down to breakfast. He gagged his way over to the other side of the table. Mom had made hot dogs, and I added a few onions to mine because my breath needed some freshening up. Mom and the kidders were already hard at work in the office. They had started their day an hour before, and were already done with several subjects. I stifled the wave of guilt that suddenly welled up. After all, if one's family is given to diligence, one can hardly blame oneself for their faults. I heard Katie enthusiastically answer one of Mom's questions. It was obvious she had been applying herself. I shook my head. Where had I gone wrong? After breakfast, I brushed my teeth. Jimmy nearly fell over himself with relief and gratitude. And on to History. Today's topic: " The Colonization of New France. " Or, if you prefer, " The Frenchies take over the Midwest while the Brits have their backs turned ."(Hmm, people who find this humour offensive could sue me, since I'm neither French nor British.) I pretended to be interested in the exploits of a certain Monsieur Jacques Cartier. He prided himself in leading the expedition that led to the discovery of the St. Lawrence River. It was hardly much of an accomplishment, in my opinion. The Indians around there knew the area like the back of their hands and yet some pompous french popinjay comes along and is given full credit for stumbling across a body of water. Why, everybody would have discovered it eventually! They didn't have to make such a fuss about him. Anyway, moving on...history depresses me.

I've always intensely disliked math, but just recently I've discovered why. It's because we've always done Abeka Math. Whatever they pay those guys to come up with Abeka curriculum it's too much. They twist their words to throw you off, and make up ridiculous equations, basically doing their level best to make the lesson as confusing as mathematically possible; so that if, by some miracle, you happen to understand their explanation, you would never be able to practically apply it to the lesson. One of Mom's friends gave us a book that has been a total breath of fresh air. I don't think I've ever loved algebra as much as I do now. The instructions are clear, concise, and accurate. And, when I plug in the equation...it works! Who'd 'a thunk it? We've started chemistry this year. One of the first things I've learned is that in modern scientific usage weight and mass are fundamentally different. Weight measures how strongly gravity pulls on matter. Mass is an intrinsic part of matter. Although really, the weight and mass of objects that are close to the earth's surface are pretty much the same.

Still awake? Good, good. I had chicken salad for lunch. We make ours with celery, bell peppers, cayenne, and sometimes homemade mayo. I think its better than yours. :-P And we even had cookies for dessert. Jealous much? I thought so. In literature we usually read a poem. They're tragic. Tragically written. I have very little respect for poetry. I mean, yeah, some poetry can be really good... but for the most part its just nonsense that leaves some poor soul grasping at thin air for a small semblance of meaning or logic. Observe:
"Thou Fancy! who hast ruled me through Infancy's days,
Young offspring of fancy, 'tis time we should part; Then rise on the gale this last of my lays, "-- I'm sorry...this is too painful. I can't continue. And some people actually read this on purpose! Supposedly this Lord Byron dude is very popular... *cough* Was...

Sometimes, if I'm feeling creatively inclined, I'll work on one of the stories that I have to send my writing instructor. My last assignment was a little late. I thought he took it rather well.

"Dear Lois,

Of course I understand the lateness of this assignment, but be careful. I've hired a motorcycle gang to harass any of my students who turn in their assignments late, and they don't understand much of anything. They're all midgets, so they aren't really a motorcycle gang--they're more of a motor scooter gang--and it's true that being so short means that they can't do a lot of damage, but if the next assignment is late, one night you're going to be awakened by a rapping on your door, and your house is going to look like a two-foot tornado went through. You're going to have bruises on your knees for weeks.

These guys are mean; they're ugly--Vito and the vertically challenged Vipers, they're called.
You've been warned."

Funny guy, huh?
Anyway, I'll leave you with my verse from Proverbs for today. Verse 26.
"Ponder the path of your feet, and let all your ways be established. "

Fishes

2009-08-25T12:46:00.000-07:00

I. Love. This. Picture. It's hilarious. Look at Dad's face. If you've been anywhere near my Dad, you'd know what his life's passion is. Fishing. And, of course, giving a detailed account of his knowledgeable prowess in all matters concerning cold-blooded aquatic vertebrates of the superclass Pisces. My father, fisherman extraordinaire. Hahahaha! The expression on Jonathan's face. And Mr. Iorga, ever the stoic. :-P
Dontcha just love ice cream socials?

Ice cream brings out the best in everybody.

P.S. Oh, hey look in the back...Jonathan S. seems to be describing some kind of aquatic animal as well. Fascinating.

I'm bored, therefore I post.

2009-08-11T21:05:00.000-07:00

Although, really, I don't know why I bother. :)

The McIntires had me over last weekend. It was a total blast, and I would post more about it, except Sarah hasn't gotten the pictures up yet. *COUGH* (Isn't it wonderful when you can blame your laziness on other people?) Apparently, Jonathan and I had the same bright(I use the word loosely) ideas as kids that got us into tons of trouble. Perhaps this stems from that fact that both Jonathan and I are ENTP's and are the first-born. Our childhood was eerily similar, although Jonathon had more toned down versions of my ideas. Do I care to elaborate? Not particularly. Suffice it to say that it had something to do with bell peppers, mud, flinging, a fence, and neighbors yards. Feel free to ask me about it sometime when I'm at my leisure.
Anyway it was the most fun I've had for a while....and that's saying something. BTW, all of you doubters out there (you know who you are) I went to Target...and didn't buy anything!!! Not one solitary thing! And I even had a gift card. So there! (It's my blog. I reserve the right to occasionally post things that make me feel good about myself...however few and far between they are. If you don't like it you can leave. :) )

I'm not looking forward to starting harder math problems. Yuck.
I am looking forward to driving. Hello freedom! (Well, as much freedom as can be attained with a responsible adult riding shotgun.) It's a crying shame I don't know any irresponsible adults.
Laugh, twas a joke. Or don't laugh, it's not like I can hear you anyway. My, my, Lois...where's all this cynicism coming from?? I dunno. Don't you ever get like that for no reason, and then start randomly babbling away on your very public blog? Oops. Good thing it's my blog...and not yours.
I suppose it has something to do with the fact that Summer is rapidly drawing to a close and I have a whole 'nother 9 months of responsibility, accountability, and punctuality to look forward to. Torture. Yes, I know I need to grow up, but Jonathon said people like us are the "fun type" anyway, and NOTHING is fun about school. Except for, maybe, those moments when you've been studying hard and you have a light bulb moment as suddenly you figure out how to solve the problem. Otherwise, it's not fun. :-)

Oh, yes, I may as well mention that I'm more than a teeny bit jealous that my "cousins" are up visiting my aunt and uncle in Big Sky Montana, and quite possibly riding horses, while I am not. I am, however, happy that they got to go. That's as much christian spirit and brotherly love as I can wring out tonight, in my present mood.

Come to think of it, the Lord knows how I'm feeling about everything, and He knows that the best possible situation that I could be in, is the one He's placed me in now. Oh, how often we aren't thankful, content, and happy. It really is something I need to work on. To be content. And really, after such a blessed, fantastic weekend, what am I complaining about. Really, I'm ashamed of myself for moping for no reason. Thank you, Lord, for family, friends, and wonderful weekends to remind us of how your love constantly surrounds us, even when we're thankless and don't deserve it.

Oh, and Daddy would really appreciate your prayers...despite his best efforts, he's caught the flu. We don't know if its from us, or from somewhere else, but he's sick. We're all praying that he gets over it very soon.

Baby's First Fever

2009-07-27T15:54:00.000-07:00

*cough* *cough*
On three....everyone feel sorry for me. 1...2....I'm getting over the flu. Yesterday, I was running a temperature of 102. I've never had a fever before, so this bug sure was a doozy. I don't usually get hit this hard. I've never had a migraine headache before, and now I know why, its awful!!! It's like there's this little man inside your skull and his sole purpose for two days is to pound your skull into pudding. Actually all of us were sick, and running pretty high temperatures. Marky got up to 104 before Mom decided that was high enough and dunked him in a tub of cold water. You should hear him parading around the house now that its over and done with, like a fox with two fat pullets in his mouth.
(Glancing at the thermometer that's sticking out of my mouth.)
"102, huh? Not too shabby, but that's nothing...I got up to 104." He waggles his eyebrows at me, pats me sympathetically....and goes off to give some other poor sufferer grief.

Dad is really scared that he'll catch it....It's pretty funny. I didn't think it was possible to eat so much garlic and not wilt everything around you. (For the record, we've been trying to steer clear of Dad just in case.) If he does catch it after all, I will have lost all faith in the healing powers of garlic.

I discovered something new while I was sick. Advil does nothing to relieve pain....neither does Tylenol. (The commercials lie.) I was just desperate enough to try Motrin, but Mom didn't let me because I refused to eat anything. In the end, NyQuil saved my life. For two days all I had was 5 doses of NyQuil, vanilla ice-cream(Breyers), and blueberries. It worked like a charm.

I got my Chspe results today. Naturally, I flunked Math, that came as no surprise at all. I passed my Writing Test with a 5.0 score, which nearly made up for my failing Math. And, I was a little surprised that I passed reading as well...that was great because I didn't really read through a lot of the questions before I answered them. Now I'm looking forward to taking it again in two months. :P Lord willing, I won't fail again.

Well, I'm getting dizzy again, so adieu, fair reader, adieu.

Happenings

2009-06-29T10:16:00.000-07:00

Little siblings are too cute....sometimes. :)

Katie, running the appeal she was going to give to Mom by me: "Lo, you've heard about that explanation about taste buds, right?"
"Uhh, what 'explanation'?"
"Well, little kids taste buds are different than adults....the more older you grow your taste buds change, when you're younger your taste buds are the same. So, the more older you are, the more wrong your taste buds are, and the more younger you are, the more your taste buds are right. See, that's why Moms like zucchini, and kids don't."

You learn something new every day. :)

Also, Dad just got me some test materials for the DMV Learner's Permit Test. Yay! So, I'll be studying for that sometime next month.

Beware: TEEN DRIVER!

The CHSPE

2009-06-22T08:28:00.001-07:00

Dun da duuuun.

Well, I'll tell you straight out, I haven't a prayer of passing the Math section. Somehow, I'd gotten the strange idea that it would've been easier. I mean, what are the odds that out of seventy kids and eight different tests, I'd get one of the hardest?? And Jimmy... JIMMY!, Mathematical Genius summa cum laude, gets one of the easiest tests. *groans* Life is not at all fair.

Oh, it started out beautifully, I grant you. I created a simply smashing essay. Five exquisitely cohesive paragraphs, including a thesis that brought tears to my eyes because of its sheer perfection. I had written my entire outline in ten minutes, thinking I was set. But, by the time it was finished, one hour and ten minutes had elapsed. Jimmy was giving me dirty looks the entire time...I knew he wanted to tell me to hurry up, but I could hardly just botch up my last two paragraphs when the rest of the essay was so inspiring. (Talking risked disqualification. ) It was a persuasive essay that we were to "send to the City Council" suggesting one improvement or change that would better the community. I thought up this brilliant idea of having a once-a-week Family Activity Day, hosted by any one of the city's parks. Families participate in various recreational activities, grow in harmony, and meet new people, drawing the community closer together. Naturally, I concluded with the rousing "A stronger family results in a stronger community, which contributes to a more united America--bla bla bla. " Really, it was quite good.

Rachel had told me previously that she and Andrew had to write about the same topic. Jimmy followed Drew's example and wrote about planting trees. He figured that if he was going to play the part of a rabid Californian environmentalist, he'd go all out. So, he devoted an entire paragraph to explaining the global benefit of a community's efforts to reduce their "carbon footprint" on the earth, going green, and other such rubbish. The EPA would've hired him on the spot, had he used his essay as a resume.

Ah well, back to me. I glanced at the clock. First mistake. Then, I turned to the Mathematics Sub-test. Second mistake. It took me at least an hour to work through forty or so problems, until I realized that my essay would be worthless if I didn't pass the rest of the Language Sub-test. The sad thing was, given enough time, I could have finished. I just didn't have enough practice doing quadratic equations, and figuring out distance between coordinates. I should have studied harder, so really it was my fault. There were also some probability/geometry problems in there that really had me stumped. I finally felt understood what those poor little ants feel when I go outside and drown them in a flood of Raid. I gave up and moved on to Language.

That was pretty easy, but its no fun working against the clock. Reading was actually a difficult section for me, and one of the most stressful. I took my time doing Language, but that left barely an hour to answer around fifty questions for the Reading Sub-test. Oh joy. I mean, I consider myself a pretty fast reader, but there was no way I could read all the poems, stories, and articles and answer everything. But the Lord was gracious, and I finished everything. Towards the end, though, I was bubbling in what seemed to be the most logical answer, and barely skimming the article.

(Ex.)In the paragraph above, who is the author attempting to portray the character as?

a) A hero

b) A dimwit

c) A well-intentioned old man

d) An elephant

c) The Villian

Ehh, well, d) appears to be the most logical answer to my jellied brain. Yep, gotta be d).

By the way, do yourself a favor, and don't try to figure out the system by looking back on your previous answers and trying to find a pattern. It doesn't work. There is no pattern. Drop it. I win this argument, hands down. In fact, I will mop the floor with you.

Thankfully I finished with time to spare, 30 seconds to be exact; leaving just enough time for me to bubble in the rest of my math answers as C. Who knows, maybe I got lucky and beat the system. ;)

In all seriousness, the Lord knows, and if He wants me to pass...I'll pass. I'm glad it's over, and, even if I don't pass...I can take it again in October. Summer Vacation, here I come!!!

"Casting ALL your care upon Him, for He cares for you." - 1 Peter 5:7

Chapter XXI

2009-06-10T20:15:00.000-07:00

An excerpt from Tom Sawyer, by Mark Twain.

VACATION was approaching. The schoolmaster, always severe, grew severer and more exacting than ever, for he wanted the school to make a good showing on "Examination" day. His rod and his ferule were seldom idle now--at least among the smaller pupils. Only the biggest boys, and young ladies of eighteen and twenty, escaped lashing. Mr. Dobbins' lashings were very vigorous ones, too; for although he carried, under his wig, a perfectly bald and shiny head, he had only reached middle age, and there was no sign of feebleness in his muscle. As the great day approached, all the tyranny that was in him came to the surface; he seemed to take a vindictive pleasure in punishing the least shortcomings. The consequence was, that the smaller boys spent their days in terror and suffering and their nights in plotting revenge. They threw away no opportunity to do the master a mischief. But he kept ahead all the time. The retribution that followed every vengeful success was so sweeping and majestic that the boys always retired from the field badly worsted. At last they conspired together and hit upon aplan that promised a dazzling victory. They swore in the sign-painter's boy, told him the scheme, and asked his help. He had his own reasons for being delighted, for the master boarded in his father's family and had given the boy ample cause to hate him. The master's wife would goon a visit to the country in a few days, and there would be nothing to interfere with the plan; the master always prepared himself for great occasions by getting pretty well fuddled, and the sign-painter's boy said that when the dominie had reached the proper condition on Examination Evening he would "manage the thing" while he napped in his chair; then he would have him awakened at the right time and hurried away to school. In the fulness of time the interesting occasion arrived. At eight in the evening the schoolhouse was brilliantly lighted, and adorned with wreaths and festoons of foliage and flowers. The master sat throned in his great chair upon a raised platform, with his blackboard behind him. He was looking tolerably mellow. Three rows of benches on each side and six rows in front of him were occupied by the dignitaries of the town and by the parents of the pupils. To his left, back of the rows of citizens, was a spacious temporary platform upon which were seated the scholars who were to take part in the exercises of the evening; rows of small boys, washed and dressed to an intolerable state of discomfort; rows of gawky big boys; snowbanks of girls and young ladies clad in lawn and muslin and conspicuously conscious of their bare arms, their grandmothers' ancient trinkets, their bits of pink and blue ribbon and the flowers in their hair. All the rest of the house was filled with non-participating scholars. The exercises began. A very little boy stood up and sheepishly recited, "You'd scarce expect one of my age to speak in public on the stage," etc.--accompanying himself with the painfully exact and spasmodic gestures which a machine might have used--supposing the machine to be a trifle out of order. But he got through safely, though cruelly scared, and got a fine round of applause when he made his manufactured bow and retired. A little shamefaced girl lisped, "Mary had a little lamb," etc., performed a compassion-inspiring curtsy, got her meed of applause, and sat down flushed and happy. Tom Sawyer stepped forward with conceited confidence and soared into the unquenchable and indestructible "Give me liberty or give me death"speech, with fine fury and frantic gesticulation, and broke down in the middle of it. A ghastly stage-fright seized him, his legs quaked under him and he was like to choke. True, he had the manifest sympathy of the house but he had the house's silence, too, which was even worse than its sympathy. The master frowned, and this completed the disaster. Tom struggled awhile and then retired, utterly defeated. There was a weak attempt at applause, but it died early."The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck" followed; also "The Assyrian Came Down," and other declamatory gems. Then there were reading exercises, and a spelling fight. The meagre Latin class recited with honor.

The prime feature of the evening was in order, now--original "compositions" by the young ladies. Each in her turn stepped forward to the edge of the platform, cleared her throat, held up her manuscript (tied with dainty ribbon), and proceeded to read, with labored attention to"expression" and punctuation. The themes were the same that had been illuminated upon similar occasions by their mothers before them, their grandmothers, and doubtless all their ancestors in the female line clear back to the Crusades. "Friendship" was one; "Memories of Other Days"; "Religion in History"; "Dream Land"; "The Advantages of Culture"; "Forms of Political Government Compared and Contrasted";"Melancholy"; "Filial Love"; "Heart Longings," etc., etc. A prevalent feature in these compositions was a nursed and petted melancholy; another was a wasteful and opulent gush of "fine language";another was a tendency to lug in by the ears particularly prized words and phrases until they were worn entirely out; and a peculiarity that conspicuously marked and marred them was the inveterate and intolerable sermon that wagged its crippled tail at the end of each and every one of them. No matter what the subject might be, a brain-racking effort was made to squirm it into some aspect or other that the moral and religious mind could contemplate with edification. The glaring insincerity of these sermons was not sufficient to compass the banishment of the fashion from the schools, and it is not sufficient to-day; it never will be sufficient while the world stands, perhaps. There is no school in all our land where the young ladies do not feel obliged to close their compositions with a sermon; and you will find that the sermon of the most frivolous and the least religious girl inthe school is always the longest and the most relentlessly pious. But enough of this. Homely truth is unpalatable.

Let us return to the "Examination." The first composition that was read was one entitled "Is this, then, Life?" Perhaps the reader can endure an extract from it:

"In the common walks of life, with what delightful emotions does the youthful mind look forward to some anticipated scene of festivity! Imagination is busy sketching rose-tinted pictures of joy. In fancy, the voluptuous votary of fashion sees herself amid the festive throng, 'the observed of all observers.' Her graceful form, arrayed in snowy robes, is whirling through the mazes of the joyous dance; her eye is brightest, her step is lightest in the gay assembly."In such delicious fancies time quickly glides by, and the welcome hour arrives for her entrance into the Elysian world, of which she has had such bright dreams. How fairy-like does everything appear to her enchanted vision! Each new scene is more charming than the last. But after a while she finds that beneath this goodly exterior, all is vanity, the flattery which once charmed her soul, now grates harshly upon her ear; the ball-room has lost its charms; and with wasted health and imbittered heart, she turns away with the conviction that earthly pleasures cannot satisfy the longings of the soul!"

And so forth and so on. There was a buzz of gratification from time to time during the reading, accompanied by whispered ejaculations of "How sweet!" "How eloquent!" "So true!" etc., and after the thing had closed with a peculiarly afflicting sermon the applause was enthusiastic. Then arose a slim, melancholy girl, whose face had the "interesting" paleness that comes of pills and indigestion, and read a "poem." Two stanzas of it will do:

"A MISSOURI MAIDEN'S FAREWELL TO ALABAMA"

"Alabama, good-bye! I love thee well! But yet for a while do I leave thee now!
Sad, yes, sad thoughts of thee my heart doth swell,
And burning recollections throng my brow!
For I have wandered through thy flowery woods;
Have roamed and read near Tallapoosa's stream; Have listened to Tallassee's warring floods, And wooed on Coosa's side Aurora's beam.

Yet shame I not to bear an o'er-full heart, Nor blush to turn behind my tearful eyes; 'Tis from no stranger land I now must part,
'Tis to no strangers left I yield these sighs.
Welcome and home were mine within this State, Whose vales I leave--whose spires fade fast from me. And cold must be mine eyes, and heart, and tete,
When, dear Alabama! they turn cold on thee!"

"There were very few there who knew what "tete" meant, but the poem was very satisfactory, nevertheless. Next appeared a dark-complexioned, black-eyed, black-haired young lady, who paused an impressive moment, assumed a tragic expression, and began to read in a measured, solemn tone:

"A VISION"

Dark and tempestuous was night. Around the throne on high not a single star quivered; but the deep intonations of the heavy thunder constantly vibrated upon the ear; whilst the terrific lightning revelled in angry mood through the cloudy chambers of heaven, seeming to scorn the power exerted over its terror bythe illustrious Franklin! Even the boisterous winds unanimously came forth from their mystic homes, and blustered about as if to enhance by their aid the wildness of the scene."At such a time, so dark, so dreary, for human sympathy my very spirit sighed; but instead thereof,

"'My dearest friend, my counsellor, my comforter and guide--My joy in grief, my second bliss in joy,' came to my side.

She moved like one of those bright beings pictured in the sunny walks of fancy's Eden by the romantic and young, a queen of beauty unadorned save by her own transcendent loveliness. So soft was her step, it failed to make even a sound, and but for the magical thrill imparted by her genial touch, as other unobtrusive beauties, she would have glided away un-perceived--unsought. A strange sadnessrested upon her features, like icy tears uponthe robe of December, as she pointed to the contending elements without, and bade me contemplate the two beings presented."

This nightmare occupied some ten pages of manuscript and wound up with a sermon so destructive of all hope to non-Presbyterians that it took the first prize. This composition was considered to be the very finest effort of the evening. The mayor of the village, in delivering the prize to the author of it, made a warm speech in which he said that it was by far the most "eloquent" thing he had ever listened to, and that Daniel Webster himself might well be proud of it. It may be remarked, in passing, that the number of compositions in which the word "beauteous" was over-fondled, and human experience referred to as "life's page," was up to the usual average. Now the master, mellow almost to the verge of geniality, put his chair aside, turned his back to the audience, and began to draw a map of America on the blackboard, to exercise the geography class upon. But he made a sad business of it with his unsteady hand, and a smothered titter rippled over the house. He knew what the matter was, and set himself to right it. He sponged out lines and remade them; but he only distorted them more than ever, and the tittering was more pronounced. He threw his entire attention upon his work, now, as if determined not to be put down by the mirth. He felt that all eyes were fastened upon him; he imagined he was succeeding, and yet the tittering continued; it even manifestly increased. And well it might. There was a garret above, pierced with a scuttle over his head; and down through this scuttle came a cat, suspended around the haunches by a string; she had a rag tied about her head and jaws to keep her from mewing; as she slowly descended she curved upward and clawed at the string, she swung downward and clawed at the intangible air. The tittering rose higher and higher--the cat was within six inches of the absorbed teacher's head--down, down, a little lower, and she grabbed his wig with her desperate claws, clung to it, and was snatched up into the garret in an instant with her trophy still in her possession! And how the light did blaze abroad from the master's bald pate--for the sign-painter's boy had GILDED it! That broke up the meeting. The boys were avenged. Vacation had come.

Bass Lake 2009

2009-05-23T13:36:00.000-07:00

Hmm, I could have been more creative, but who reads post titles anyway? So, I've switched from Xanga to Blogger. Why? Because Xanga is awful, and it takes about two hours to upload 50 pictures. Plus, blogger is just WAY better. (Hi Justin, how's it going?) :P

We had an amazing vacation last week in Bass Lake, about a half hour drive away from Yosemite. The resort was beautiful! As an added bonus, our good friends Emily and Roxy spent the week with us. The resort had a pool, which we frequented religiously every single afternoon, and the lake was a short walk away. Strangely, we never went to the lake that week. We were afraid that Dad would recruit us for an afternoon fishing trip. Dad went fishing nearly every day. He usually begged one of us older ones to go with him, but since we wouldn't comply...he made Johnny come. Johnny found a turtle. I named him Speedy Gonzales. Unfortunately, Johnny let him go before I could take a picture. We had him a whole day, before Mom got sick of him messing up her nice, clean, plastic boxes. :)

The Resort.

City slickers on a hike.

Roxy 5 minutes into the hike: "Oh! My legs are KILLING me... I think I'm getting a cramp. Seriously, are we going to take a break soon? Please?"
What a trouper. :)

(I have no clue what they're staring at. )

My feeble attempt at an artistic shot, although, with God's Creation as the subject...one can't go wrong.

Group picture after the hike. Minus the "photographer."

Yosemite!!! We did a TON of rock climbing. It's fun to climb....on rocks...ergo...rock-climbing. (Yes, I know, I'm a genius.) We would shout YOSEMITE at the top of our lungs whenever we reached the top. Did we look like total dorks? Probably. Was it worth it? No. But it was a blast. :)

The view from Glacier Point.

"The fall wouldn't kill you, just the landing," remarked an older gentleman. Yep.

I'm not faking the look on my face. It took me a good 10 minutes to get off, even with Jimmy's help.

See that blue speck waaaaay up there? Yes, that's me. I was so proud of me. :)

Just so you all can appreciate the extent of my talent....here's the rock. (It looked about 15ft. high.) I'll stop boasting now, since there wasn't much to boast about in the first place. But I tell you, the view from up there is incredible.

The Lord was very faithful to us. The night before we were supposed to head home, our trusty, ever so reliable van broke down. It just refused to start. Mom and Dad left it at the shop and caught a taxi to the resort. It was a worrying time, but still a great testimony of the Lord's faithfulness. We spent the following day and night at the hotel. It was pretty funny trying to utilize the two beds for maximum sleeping arrangements. Naturally, we all volunteered Jimmy to sacrifice his rights and sleep on the floor. Now for the kidders. Katie was easy, she had fallen asleep halfway through a history channel documentary. (I was bordering on sleep myself) So, we put her down on a sleeping bag as well. Johnny, Marky and I had one bed, and Mom and Dad had the other one. (duh.) Now, you all have to realize something. Dad snores. And not just regular snoring either, oh no....mountain-man snoring. Sometimes, I can hear the windows rattling. To this day he denies he snores, even since the time I was about ready to sleep in the truck as opposed to the hotel because I couldn't take it anymore. (That's a story for another time, though.) Anyway, I had my ear buds in and was listening to some very relaxing music, hoping I could fall asleep before the earthquake started. I was in between dreaming and sleeping, when, all of the sudden...

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! Right on top of my head. I bolted up and looked at the clock. It was 2:00 in the morning.

Katie was looking at me with her I'm-very-disappointed-with-your-behavior look.

"Lois, why am I on the floor???"

Seriously!?

I groaned, and told her to get in one of the beds and stop bothering me. I couldn't believe it. I. was. so. close!!!

Then I heard it...the unmistakable sound of Dad not snoring. Oh, joy!!! I turned around and commenced the counting of the sheep. Number 22 had just hopped over a cloud when a huge gust of wind shook the door. Actually, it was Dad....and he was snoring. Loudly. *rolls eyes* Do you ever get the feeling that horrible things happen only to you? I got a grand total of four hours of "sleep" that night. We went shopping the next day, though, and I bought some new.... Yes! Exactly! You know me too well, don't you. (In my defense, they're VERY cute.)

So it definitely wasn't all horrible. In the afternoon our prayers were answered, and the car was fixed. It took us all the way back home with nary a bump. We had a great time together as a family, and I wouldn't change anything about it. :) (With, perhaps, the minor exception of Katie's waking me up.)

"O give thanks to the LORD for he is good, for His mercy endures forever!"