Bibliophilic Vermin

Oh ho! No school for me today, apparently the rain was freezing on the mountain so all of they county schools were called off. Why is this important you ask. Well, I'll tell you, my friend. Today makes the fourth day off from school. Indeed! You may well gasp in terror. Four days is much too long a weekend when your not expecting it.

I had no books lined up and my sad lack of vehicle makes it impossible to leave the house. So, I got to stay at home. By myself. Now, don't get me wrong. I have no issues with staying at the house by myself, I'm 17 for goodness sake, but if left without proper stimulation for more than three hours my imagination will get carried away with itself. I start seeing people out of the corners of my eyes, people walking past my door, unfamiliar reflections in the mirror, and that oh so cliche tapping on the window. By the time four hours have passed I'm jumping around corners brandishing a serrated kitchen knife and screaming at inanimate objects.

After about four and half hours I've decided that a nap is called for. So, I put all pointy objects back in their drawers and make my way to my bedroom. A safe haven if there ever was one. My room is largely occupied by books and large piles of clothes. A sneak attack through there is impossible. I would be alerted when they stumbled over strategically placed pile of suitcases. --These would be old empty suit cases. Great for keeping random unorganizable clutter in.--

Five and a half hours have passed alone when the crunch crunch of disturbed papers wakes me. Ha ha! So, my fear of the unknown is justified. Something has found it's way into my room. I sit up and listen carefully, positive that I HAD heard something. Once again, I hear the sound of paper crinkling. Yet, I see no one. Perhaps there is a friendly spirit that's doing my overdue Chemistry homework. Afraid not, the Chemistry book is sitting forlornly on my desk waiting to be neglected some more. The origin of the sound seems to be coming from one of my bookshelves, so I grab a flash light and walk over to investigate. I get down on the floor and there it is. An adorable shiny black eyed mouse.

It was just a piece of a mouse, less than half the size of my palm.-- Guess of course. I did NOT pick the disease ridden thing up.-- After the mandatory second of, " Aren't you just a cute mouse?!" I was forced to decide on an action.

I could:

A. Toss it some cheese and hope that it decides not to procreate.
B. Set up some nice catch and release traps.
C. Smash it with a hammer!

My decision was taken from me when it whipped itself around revealing twice it's body length in long bald tail. **Insert grossed out shivering here.** That sucker had to die. I picked up the nearest long thrustable object which happpend to be a ridicuously heavy and blunted sword. --Note to self: Look into long spears.-- I had the light trained on it's beady little eyes when it blinked. Drat. For some reason I associate blinking with the communication.

Now my straight forward plan of seek and destroy had been thwarted by the fact that it as obviously trying to tell my something. That was all it took to restart the imagination drive that had been turned off when my baser cave man instincts kicked in. --" Ung. Me want kill mouse."--

Maybe the mouse wasn't a mouse at all! Mayhap it was the reencarnated spirit of some ancient philosopher. It was attracted to the irresistable smell of books and was now trying to tell me who it was. Once an inkwell was provided it would obviously be able to provide me with the meaning of life written in small mousey scrawl. It was quite clear that it was up to me to preserve this furred fountain of knowledge.

I was trying to decide if it resembled Aristotle or Descartes more when it decided to scurry UP the bookshelf. Oh snap. Not only did my rodent friend possess ancient philosophical strategy, it had also been bitten by a radioactice spider. The advantage higher ground was now on it's side and jumped back with, "EEk! EEk!" clearly racing through my mind. All thoughts of preservation were now off. The want to help a defensless creature had now turned to outmaneuvering a spidey-power endowed philosophizing rat.

I got it cornered between two bookshelves and did a one handed stab at it through the crack. Swordmanship is obviously not my forte because I hadn't even stunned it. It was now blinking up at me in one last attempt at intelligible communication. I had already figured out this was just another ploy of the mouse race to incite mercy. You can not fool me again! I positioned the light and put both hands on the sword this time, steadying my aim. I struck down! Right before I reached it I had a thought of how gross actually stabbing it was going to be. Plus, I would get mouse gore all over my carpet. So, instead of a death lunge it was more of a creepy caress that said, " There, there, Mouse. Why don't you go nibble on Tolkein. It's full of fine quality paper."

So, the mouse got away. I've resorted to locking all three of our cats in my room and hoping for the best. The moral of this story? If you don't constantly feed your brain new information then it will TURN on you.

Spidey Mouse indeed.

To Not Review

**SIGH**

I know that last post was just a giant pile of pettiness and grudge holding, but I am a petty grudge holding jerk. First step to recovery...;)


On a less personal note --not so much of less personal as less "Look at me! I'm a teen who can't let go of things that happened years ago."-- I just finished the Abhorsen Trilogy by Garth Nix. It was good. Go read it.

I'm not going to do a review on it--I can hear your sigh of relief from here-- right now. Haha! Thought you were going to get out of it. Suckers. I don't want to do any reviews for this blog until I get my newspaper book review done. I can't decide what book to do it on. Sigh.

I mean, what is high school paper appropriate? I was going to do The Book of Lost Things, but decided that it was maybe too disturbing for a high school paper. Well, with the heart eating Rumplestiltskin and graphic child decapitating scenes it IS a bit disturbing for young peoples. Then I moved on to The Book Thief. I don't know, I just don't want to do another review on it. --Reason why I'm not doing a review on here: Because then I don't want to do it again for the paper. I might decide to review Garth Nix's books for the paper, therefore you don't get to hear about it.-- Also thought about doing Libba Bray's A Great and Terrible Beauty, but decided that the books were aimed too much at young women. I hate labeling books, so I'm NOT going to call it Chick Lit. I'm sure if some guy could get past his over inflated ego to read it, he has just as much chance as I do at enjoying it. I live in Tennessee. The guys have southernized over inflated egos.

So, what to review? I dunno. I was asking you.

Condescension and a Fun Noodle

So, this is my first week sitting in my new chair--Saxophone chair--. This chair happens to be in the front row of two. This means that I get first part now. Unfortunately, we've been working on some songs for about two weeks now and this is the first time I've seen my new part. Therefore, I am behind.

This normally wouldn't be a problem. I would practice, get the part, move on. Yet, there is a little snag in my process. Third chair.

**Brief interlude for violent swearing.**

She, almighty saxophonist that she is, has been leaning over next to me to listen. When we get to a hard part she plays very loud and pointedly at me. This, from any other person, would be grudgingly welcomed. Third chair, on the other hand, is decidedly unwelcome to say anthing to me. She is a backstabbing decomposing piece of crap. She stole boyfriend freshmen year. She stole my best friend at the beginning of this year. She is not to be trusted. Most of all, she is not to EVER correct me. I just started playing the part, it's going to take a couple of days for me to get the hang of the new one.

She will not correct me with impunity!! The next time she says something, or does her little lean over and play routine, I'm going to take HER saxophone and beat her over the head with it!

Fine, fine, violence is not a solution to my problems. There will be no beating...Well, maybe I could just get one of those fun noodle floats you put in pools and hit her a couple of times. Just a few times...not even that hard...Fine! No fun noodle either.

The condescension must stop. The only way I can see to end it is to get better than her. This means more practicing. I have a horrible feeling that scales are becoming a habit.

She has already asked me to challenge her so that she can turn me down and be automatically moved down a seat. This is so she can sit next to her boyfriend. Well, I laugh at her and her intentions. I don't plan to challenge her at all. If I challenge anyone it will be second chair! If I have a place in my section it will be earned, not given to me.

Almost, But Not Quite

Try outs have came and gone and the verdict has been given. Fourth. Fourth out of sixteen saxophones. Ah ha! I didn't fail at life completely.

**polite applause** "Thank you, thank you."

The entire day of try outs was spent in queasy anticipation of my imminent downfall to completely worthless. I got absolutely no school work done and by the time three o'clock rolled around I was just about to burst into a fit of hysterical screaming complete with changing octaves.

All of the saxophones were in the band room waiting for their turn at self inflicted torture. Some were standing idly by and chatting and others --me-- were playing their prepared pieces over in over in hopes of last minute improvement. As the other players walked to the storage cabinet I slunk back into my chair, trying to avoid notice so that I could get those extra two minutes of practicing in. Finally, my turn was fast approaching. After the next person I was up...

You'll never guess what I did. I dropped my saxophone. Dropped it. On the floor. Oddly enough, this is the first time I've dropped the thing. It's the first time I've dropped any saxophone. Ah, but here's the highlight. Not only did I drop it, I bent several of the keys. This made it impossible for me to go any lower than a G. Shiva weeps.

Thankfully, one of the sophomores let me borrow their saxophone. Bless you benevolent sophomores! Just in time too, as I pushed my mouth piece on Mr.Denton walked out the door scythe in hand. Beckoning to his next victim. "Oh, me you say?"

I walked into the storage closet--You know how I feel about those.-- and was pleasantly surprised to realize that this one was larger than last years. Seconds later it dawned on me that there was no low lying fog or dim lighting. Thank goodness!

Even with the lack of fog etc. I was a nervous wreck playing on a foreign saxophone and did not do my best, but he didn't say anything--He usually takes out time to correct us during try outs. This is not a good idea considering how close I am to hysterical during these things.--and I didn't stay in there longer than I had too.

So, for now I must for fourth, but I will be challenging. Hopefully, by the time challenges roll around I'll have my saxophone fixed. Fifth chair has already said that he's challenging me. Well, I like my chair and he can't have it. Now let some more practicing ensue...

The Storage Closet of Doom

Oh holy nine gates of hell! I have try outs Tuesday. Tuesday. I have two days until try outs. I feel queasy just thinking about it.

Try outs are, without a doubt, the bain of my existence. You see, I have had many a try out and all of them were accompanied by a horrific nightmare-ish quality. It's like a really old detective movie where they're sitting in the interrogation room. Mr.Private Detective is sitting behind his desk cooly waiting for you to break under the pressure of his deductive skills. Meanwhile, you're sitting there using a slightly yellowed handkerchief to wipe away your perspiration. Exactly like that.

My first try out was held in the sixth grade. I had been playing the saxophone for a year and was no doubt behind the others that had been playing for two. Mr.C (Short man with red hair who has a tendency to look flushed) is sitting in his office. By office, I mean small closet that has been converted into a dimly lit extremely cramped room of torture. I don't remember much of it. What I do remember seems to be filled with flickering lights, shaking papers, and fog. Yes, fog. I think he brought in dried ice for the occasion. The sicko.

But, I'm not here to tell you about then. I'm here to tell you about now. The past two years I have had to try out for the high school band director, Mr.Denton. My extreme fear of Mr.C has obviously carried over to Mr.Denton with interest. Freshmen year try outs involved a darkly lit chorus room. Sophomore try outs were moved into small storage room. This years try outs...I fear they may be moved into a even smaller and dimly lit storage room. Oh blast.

Band directors and small dimly lit storage closets must be feared. Freud has something to say about early childhood traumas effecting you later in life. See. I'm not crazy. Ask Freud.

I should be frantically practicing, but if I practice then I'm forced to think about the you-know-what. So I'm going to safely avoid any type of thinking by reading. Yeah.

I wouldn't be worried so much, but this is the last year I have to get first chair. I don't want anyone else to have it, therefore I must get it. If this means using sabotage and unchivalrous poisonings...duty isn't always pleasant you know.

Wish me luck and safe sabotaging. I'm off to conquer a room of dusty band equipment.

Literary Roses

What makes a good book? There is an unlimited amount of things that can be taken into account: word choice,descriptions,plot,characters....

For example--There is a book called The Historian that I'm fond of. If you just take into account the plot, then I might accept it as okay if a bit dry. The thing that I really enjoy about it is the descriptions of places. The characters travel all over Europe and England and the author goes to great lengths to make sure you can visualize your surroundings. The words enable you to see a Romanian forest in minute detail, down to the moss on logs.

I know that reading is only limited to your imagination. If I was reading a book lacking descriptions then I could easily create scenery of my own to go with it. Probably with ridiculously unrelated decorations, but that's one of the many wonders that accompany fiction. Sometimes it's just nice to be able to let the story teller guide your attention to the warm tile of Venice and the colors of the sunset. Not for plots sake or any particular purpose. Just to stop and smell the literary roses.

A List and Some Books

Alright! *rubs hand together* There are many about to happen.

1. I go back to school Monday.
2. I have band tryouts on the 15th.
3. This is the second semester and as such I need to endeavor not to screw it up as badly as I did the first.
4. I'm going to tell you about some of the books that I read over break.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

A book set in Nazi Germany and narrated by a sentimental misunderstood Death. Death has been carting ( or carrying if you want to be picky) souls to heaven since the beginning of time and sometimes it gets a little overwhelming. He can't just let souls wander around wreaking havoc so he finds an outlet in distractions. His main distraction is the color of the sky. I found it slightly confusing at first, his mentioning random colors, but I finally realized what he was talking about. Most of you will probably pick up on it quicker than I did. Especially if you've read this first...Right. He is reluctantly drawn into the story of Liesel Meminger, The Book Thief.

The story centers around a young girl who is trying to survive in a world of hunger,suspicion, and the terrors of the Nazi Party. Thankfully, it doesn't get hung up on those things. :) The book does make nice political points just by being and showing what it was like, but it doesn't use the girl as an instrument of education by putting her through untold horrors and making her act twice her age.$ My horrible bit of reviewing aside...this was a book worth reading.


A Great and Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray

I've put off buying this book for about six months now. I pick it up,look at it, decide it's too cliche, and then put it down. I finally caved and bought the thing so I could get it over with. It's set in the quickly industrializing Victorian age$$. Gemma Doyle is sent to a finishing school in England after the brutal murder of her mother. The murder that she saw in a vision.

The fear of cliche-ness isn't as bad as I had feared, but you do have a group of girls sneaking out to do magic, a finishing school, and other things typical of almost cliched novels. I enjoyed it and plan on reading all three books in the trilogy, but if you can't stand overused plots then I would advise you to keep on browsing...I hate to condemn a book, but there it is. One of the main problems I have with it is how flat the Realms are. --Realms being the secret place they can access through the use of magic.-- You don't meet any interesting characters there that actually have feelings or visit any places that are going to stick out in your mind. Of course, this is a number one out three. The final verdict will be saved until the entire Trilogy has been read...

$This is with vague reference to a certain Nathaniel Hawthorne and The Scarlett Letter. I'm not a big Hawthorne fan and the fact that Pearl was used as a symbol of truth irks me to no end. She was a good thing to use for it to be sure, but she just as easily could have been used to add a little entertainment to it as well. Mayhap then I wouldn't have bored out of my mind reading it...

$$The Victorian Age. Just a random thought to share--Has anyone ever noticed the amount of weird and kinky things that went on with these people? All that sexual repression was probably starting to get to them...Lay back and think of England!

Feeling Some Paragraphs...

Okay, I've been trying for the past week to get my posts to actually hold paragraphs, but they refuse. Why is this?! If I put them in paragraphs and then click preview on the posty thing it shows my paragraphs, but then when I actually post it...Nada. This is really annoying. I don't like reading large uninteresting blocks of text. I can't stand to read my own blog due to my utter lack of computer-y skillz.

Thought about trying to fix it by much fiddling of settings etc, but the last time I did that it murdered my blog. New Plan: Wait it out. The computer doesn't have my human stubbornness...it'll fold eventually.

**edit**

Ah ha!! Fixed it.

Tamora Pierce likes to...rock?!

According to what seems to be a legitimate Tamora Pierce website ( It's rather terribly done in typical author fashion. XD), Ms. Pierce has a fondness for...Marilyn Manson. Yes, quite odd. I like Tamora Pierce. I like Marilyn Manson. Yet, I've never had the hankering to read a good ole fantasy book to the accompaniement of loud screamy music. --> I say again, " I DO like Marilyn Manson, but I realize that his music is loud and screamy. There's nothing wrong with a bit of loud and screamy."

To quote the page exactly:

As always, since I have gotten my iPod Podkayne, I have wondered far and wee over the world's musical scene. As a result, I have found some truly interesting things:

"Song"
"Tainted Love" as covered by Marilyn Manson (rock)
"Song"

Okay fine, it wasn't an exact quote. I just didn't want to take up an enormous amount of space listing what songs she found interesting. :D But everything else is correct.

So, one of my favorite authors meets one of my favorite musicians. ( Well, not meet exactly, but you know what I mean.) This is cool. Yet, for all of it's coolness I'm still having problems meshing 54 year old fantasy author with our favorite shock rocker. ( Note: Doesn't completely agree with shock rocker label) 'Til later then.

Books

I have written ( or typed if you want to get picky) 89 posts on this dilapidated blog of mine. Frighteningly few of them have adressed any books. This is oddly surprising to me considering that my life revolves around reading. How could I not have at least ranted about the injustice that is living in a small town sans bookstore? (We'll save that for another time.)

Now, where to start? First off, I don't have a FAVORITE book. Books are so different and varied it's impossible to say firmly, " This is MY favorite!" The closest you can come to it ( Fine, the closest I can come to it.) is to say, "These are the books that I read over and over."

Books like Spindle's End by Robin McKinley or Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine. Yeah, I'm a big fantasy nut.

Books that I don't care for range from macho guy novels to Douglas Adams books. ( Exception of Hitchkiker's Guide)

Mmm! I love my tea thick.

I'm the only one in my family that drinks hot tea in my family. They drink tea, just not hot. Actually, I would say that my house goes through at least three gallons of tea a day. The concept of water has yet to be introduced.

Now, I like my tea, but I like it in tea bags. I've never tried loose leaf tea and don't plan to until I take time to go buy a tea pot,strainer, and a nice set of china! Then I'll invite of Mary Sue and Diane for some nice biscuits and....right. I'm usually in a hurry and throw a bag in a mug and then pour some water over it right as I walk out the door. Sure, my tea would probably taste a million times better if I took out time to properly fix it complete with strainer and pot, but I do not. I'm sure every loyal tea drinker out there cringes at my caloussness concerning there prefered beverage.

All of this is getting to a story that happened two years back. Look with me into the past...

My friend and I had been pointlessy surfing the web and chatting about many a pointless subject when I came upon a slightly shifty looking page about divination. Of course the curiosity of my fantasy based mind was instantly piqued. Anything involving divination brought up fond memories of a certain Prof. Trelawney. I find that the site is really just a list of symbols and their meanings with directions to make tea, drain it, and then look at the leaves.

I IMd my friend and we immediately complied with said directions! Oh wonder of wonders, we were going to start a business of tea leaf reading. (Possibly with nice china and biscuits...) Unfortunately, I had no loose leaf tea. Just some nice Lady Grey tea bags. Oh Well. I ripped one of them open, dumped it into a mug, and then sloshed some water over it. My friend on the other side of the internet did the same. We waited the required brewing time of 3-5 minutes and then proceeded to down our dreggy brews. Absolutly disgusting. In waiting our 4 minutes we failed to take into account the time it would take to drink it. So by the time we got half way through the cup the taste could safely be compared to a fragrant varnish. By about the 2/3 mark it was getting nice and thick with our incy wincy tea bag particles. Mmmm.

Finally, the cup was finished. I looked deep into the cup and realized all of my effort was for naught. First of all, tea bits do not lay the same as tea leaves. Second problem, most of the dregs had been swallowed due to their small nature.

What moral was learned from this? What lesson was learned? Well, it turnes out that loose leaf tea is probably superior due to the plain fact that it's actually made of leafs. Tea bags contain small bits of leafs that have probably fallen onto the tea factory floor and then been swept up. Disgusting.

Aggresive Religion--What bullying can do for you!!

Yes, I'm back. Sometimes it's just nice to complain to something that might listen. My unresponsive mirror has became increasingly less satisfying. I have never asserted my religious views on this blog. Mostly because I"m so confused that I don't even know myself, but that's not what I'm here to do. I would just like to say that everyone has a right to believe in what they so choose. Be it faith in the unreliability in the post or in the omniscience of God, it is their right of being human to believe what they will. So why must people be constantly forcing their beliefs on others? I can understand these traveling religious types who knock on your door, say hi, and then scat, but some people...I mean, when your at school and someone starts attacking atheism or Buddhism just because it isn't Christianity. Well, just keep that up bucko! Your dissing their religion and trying to foist your own on them by way of insult is going to work smashingly. I don't want to sound like some uber teen with angsty ramblings about the expectations of my peers/family/community so I shall stop before I ramble myself into a giant vortex of text based rage!!

Just let me say this. If you believe in it then it is real. There is no one right religion. No one is wrong in their beliefs if they truly believe. The only way you can be wrong in a religon is if your play acting your part.

Catching Up

Okay, I was going to leave it at the last post, but it didn't tell you anything. This past year many things have happened. I have fallen out with friends..gotten back together with them...then fallen out again...But my rocky social life isn't what I am posting again to tell you about.
I have started a new page in life. That's right my friends. I have went from sophomore to junior since I last talked to you. My life has blossomed like a stunted cactus. Slow and painfully. I did make it into newspaper though. *nods* I know! If I had only recalled that I had this blog earlier then you could have went through my anxious sufferings with me, but alas.

I spend a lot of time on a MUSH (Multi User Shared Hullicination a.k.a. geeky text based computer program) with my friend Matthew...or err...Wilbur ( since I said I was going to stop using names...) Which is really fun. I astound myself with eloquence....

Ah, one more thing before I leave. I used to have my pootry based blog called the Ragged Bookshelf. Remember it? I didn't think so...Well, I can't remember my sign in name so I shall be moving it to here. Which means I have a lot of copying and pasting to do. :(
Well, there is a more complete albeit boring post. It will get better once I've gotten past this little bump of not posting in forever.

And I'm Back!

Hello my dear readers, I have once again returned to you. Indeed, every minute that I spent away from blogger was pure agony. No, truly...I'm serious.

Ah, drat. You've figured me out. I did in fact forget about my blog entirely. A whole year has went by without me posting and I think I shall rectify this. Prepare your self for I've an impure tale to tell! ( Quills)

Band Camp

So, I have made it through two whole days of band camp unscathed. (A record, I'm sure) It was a lot different than last year. Well, camp is the same, but it doesn't come with the feeling of complete bewilderment associated with being a freshmen. I got to see all of my friends again, which did wonders for riding me of my recent maudlin thoughts. No one has decided that I'm too annoying, sarcastic, dorky, or perverted to talk to. Forgive me if I'm not suprised. Most of my friends fall in one or more of those categories, and are not likely to leave me for such failings. :D Sorry my good friends. I'm tired, so let me get to the point. Band camp is fun most of the time and my friends are freakin' awesome. Now, I said that I would add something to about my views on things, and i'm tired.. so nothing too speech inspiring Let us contemplate the mystery of the pickle. Where did the pickle come from? and who would think to put something as alnd as a cucumber in a jar of viinegar and make it absolutely delicious. I think that the pickle is a direct result of a failed attemp at world domination. Yes, that's right my rapt audience ( ya'll had better be rapt.... grr..) The pickle was first invented by a communist Czechslavokian nun. ( Yes, this was a bit before that country split up) errr.. have to leave quickly before mom realizes I'm on so late... TBC

I found your blog inquisitive?

Okay, so about a month ago I get a comment saying that so and so finds my blog inquisitive, and would like me to visit his or her blog. I was just now browsing through several blogs and guess what. Mr. So and So finds just about everyones blog " inquisitive". :My heart is crushed. Who actually uses the word inquisitive anyway. ( No offense to those who actually use that word... a.k.a. absolutely no one.) I'm not really upset, but these findings beg the question " does he/she actually read the blogs that they post at?" . I think not my good people. If he does than I'm the peg legged aunt of the prime ministers secretary's brothers same sex partner. Which consequently I am not.

Wow.. I just read over my entire blog. I used to be so good at posting. I quit caring about this stupid blog a while back. Mostly because I was afraid someone would read it and think it was stupid and later taunt me about it while I was at school.... but since I haven't updated in forever I imagine they ( all my friends) have all forgotten about this site and me. Ues, that's right faithful readers ( me) , my once stalwart companions I hardly ever speak to anymore. Thomas and Matthew are a thing of the past. How strange to be writing that. It seems so long ago that they were my friends and life wasn't a hormone laced pool of angst. I have also Fallen out with Meaghan and my boyfriend broke up with me.

So, to start posting on this again I'm going to make a rule. Since anyone reading this doesn't know any of my friends personally, I'm going to refer to them by alias's or the first letter of their names from now on. Right after this next bit. :D

Okay, for all of you curios as to where my Thomas and Matthew friendship went.... Let me fill you in.

Matthew: I still speak to him, but not that often. We have absolutely nothing in common and I have a horrible feeling that we both get on each others nerves. Nothing big really... Just highschool came and we met new people and made other friends.

Thomas: Different matter entirely. I never speak to him and haven't for close to a year now. Miss him a lot, much more than I would ever openly admit to anyone asking. Not for sure why he quit talking to me, but let me mention it wasn't a " We just don't see each other any more" thing. It was a delibrate " I'm not talking to you" thing. There has been much speculating as to the cause for his reluctance to talk to me ( done by me of course) , but no definite conclusion.

Alright, This post was mostly for me. I'll try to be more forth coming with interesting things later. My opinions on world leaders, terroist attacks, cafeteria food, and maybe even cell phones that cause your brain to become a mash patatoe like mush...

Tootles! .... So many people to avoid , so littly hallway.

Progressively Peachy?

Well, isn't life getting progressively peachier. Just a month ago I was wishing for school to start again and here I am dreading band camp. I feel liking being thoroughly disagreeable, but that wouldn't be pleasant for anyone... Sooo... If anyone is reading this that I dislike than let is be known that I say to you " I hope you live a very long, miserable, life married to a retired nazi who looks like a baboon." If I don't dislike you then feel free to look over this post... and forgive me for being disagreeable. However you spell that.

Coffee and Funyons

So I was just sitting in my room and I had a thought.....What if i lived in a house made of peaches... Wouldn' that be awsome?! Then right after that I thought that maybe I should let people know that summer is as boring as hell . And I imagine after a couple days of burning , hell is pretty boring. Then again I may be wrong. I don't have any personal experience in the matter.... Have you ever really noticed that when you are given time to think about things you keep thinking aout them until you are drivn to insanity? There should never be a time when you have nothing to do for a period over three days. You think about one thing over and over trying to figure out how to fix it. You look at it from every angle and work through every senario and three pots of coffee and a bag of funyons later you realize something. No matter what you think about there is now way that you can go back into he past and cange anything so there is no point obcessing....which makes you deppressed and want more coffee.

Stalker's Shopping Mall

Well, I've not updaed in quite a while...... You know I think the whole Blogger thing is a bit creepy. You write stuff bout you and your life on a page and publish for anybody to see. It's like a stalker's shopping mall.Ah Well, I'm the only one who reads this anyhow.