Friday, November 5, 2010
Sunday, May 2, 2010
sesquipedalianism \ses-kwi-PEED-l-iz-uhm\, adjective:
1. Given to using long words.
2. (Of a word) containing many syllables.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Since my roommate went away
I don't know how to face the day
But I know that she's in pain
So I'll try not to complain.
Last night I slept in Marie’s room
She helps to ward off the gloom
But it will creep back in soon
In Katelyn’s absence I find no boon.
Her surgery went really swell
Now her body won’t rebel
And even though she’s now unwell
Soon she will leap like a gazelle.
I hope that she’s not too hurt
To watch some Glee and laugh at Kurt
Or find a cute resident and get her flirt
On, even if she doesn’t have a skirt (On).
For now she can’t do the Hoedown Throwdown
But please, dear Katelyn, don’t frown
For soon enough you’ll dance around
Even if Asbury makes you skip town.
And now I’ll end this silly rhyme
Because I think it’s a lyrical crime
But remember, Katelyn, you’re really divine
And as for roomies—you’re all mine!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
1. I had no hair until the first grade. When I was a toddler my parents would dress me up in frilly pink things and take me to the store, and little old ladies would say, “Oh, what a cute boy you have!” Now my friends say I have goddess hair. I guess it's an even trade.
2. I have a Dasani addiction, but I'm pretty sure I'd be okay with Fuji, too.
3. I rode to the Capitol’s Fourth of July '07 in a Secret Service SUV. And met Elmo.
4. I used to have an imaginary raccoon named Tas (Tay-z) that would only come out during the nine hour car ride to my grandmother’s.
5. I took a nap in the back pew of the Cathedrale Notre Dame de Paris. There was a service going on, but I was just tired from a walking tour. I feel I should regret this, but I really don't.
6. My first memory is moving from Pennsylvania to Ohio when I was three. I tried to lug my suitcase down the stairs, tripped, tumbled, and got a bloody nose. My mom is convinced I don’t really remember, I’ve just heard the story often enough to delude myself. Does this mean all my memories of running unsupervised around the forest at age 4 are made up, too?
7. I never realized that I break my food into pieces before eating it until my friends lovingly started making fun of me for it.
8. I hate all vegetables except potatoes. And fake ones like corn and pumpkin.
9. Though I sometimes tear up, I have not actually cried since the seventh grade.
10. From grade 6 to grade 11, I wanted to be a fashion designer or a hairstylist.
11. My favorite snack is Pal’s cheddar rounds. I will wake up at 9 on a Saturday to eat them before breakfast closes.
12. Lost is the only TV show I’ve watched since the pilot. No longer true. I'm two season behind. Man, how old was that list? All the others I started in the 3rd or 4th season and, almost always, caught up on the previous seasons before the next week’s episode.
13. I’m a military brat, but not really.
14. I hate being the center of attention, but still like to be recognized.
15. When I laugh at my own jokes, it’s not because I think they’re clever. It’s because I’m asking myself, “Why the hell did I just say that?”
16. It takes me a ridiculously long time to get to know people.
17. I used to love animals. I would tag along to the animal shelter with my Mom, hold a kitten until I fell in love, and beg my mom to take it home. She always let me - I'm onto you, Mom, with your subterfuge pet adoption methods. It just took a few years. Now? I can't pet an animal without feeling like I need to wash my hands. Thanks, OCD.
18. I am ADD about my hobbies. I'll get really into read: become kinda obsessed with something, then drop it for something else. It makes me worry about my future career.
19. I will probably regret putting half of this in a blog. I really need a filter.
20. I LOVE my friends - because this belongs in every blog I write.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
I’m sure everyone (except my poor Georgia friends) got a taste of the recent snowfall. JC hasn’t seen that much legal white powder in well over twelve years, and I was appropriately excited. After all, what’re a few firey (snowbank-y) deaths compared to the hopes of a white Christamas? When the electricity unexpectedly died twenty minutes before a two-hour Dollhouse special, Jay had a mild panic attack; but I chose to succumb to my rarely seen spontaneous urge and drag my siblings into the snow.
How could I resist? The snow lay in wait, flurries continued drifting softly to the sparkling ground, and the lights from the mall reflected off the snow, turning the sky a stunning milky gold. It was Christmas break magic, there was no denying it.
“Besides,” I couldn’t help but add (several hundred times), “We have an Aga.”
Moriah abandoned us for a party, so there are no pictures. It’s hard to frolick with a camera! This will have to do.
I love my friends. Also, I kept hearing Marie-Claire yell, “Narnia!” in some distant, snow-capped memory.
Moving on, here’s a little rundown of the evening.
Annalee’s boots (which fit my feet—scary) have no traction. I fell about 37 times, beginning spectacularly with a full on, feet-in-the-air, my-butt-hurts slide on my first step off the porch.
The snowball fight turned into a battle of sorts. I was tackled 9ish times, and I’m still thanking my wonderful siblings that Neal was everyone’s favorite target.
A flashlight blinded me no less than 27 times. This was not as bad as Jay’s eye injury (snowball to the face) or Neal’s almost crushed glasses (which were, for some reason, in the pocket of his parka). Annalee got away unscathed.
Our snowman was -32 degrees awesome. And, as any misshapen, crumbling snowman (with one boob) is expected to, it ended in assisted suicide. When one(s) fail(s), one(s) should have a hella good time destroying the evidence. With one(s)’(s) boots. (Okay, now I’m confused).
Also, surges in power lines look remarkably like lighting. It’s super cool and kinda scary, like the northern lights in your backyard. Everyone should see it happen at some point in their lives. Bonus points for a snowy backdrop.
Anyway, we trumped back to a still-dark house, acted smug about our gas stove as we drank mucho hot chocolate, and blindly stumbled to our beds, fully expecting the power to return in the night. The joke, it seems, was on us.
There was no power in the morning. Also, we were snowed/iced in. Didn’t stop Mom from making Dad take us to Pal’s for breakfast. But when we got back, we were pretty much stuck.
I wandered about the house. I pestered my family. I took several naps in unconventional places.
I found myself facing the ultimate conundrum: the Divine Comedy or Harry Potter? Annalee forced the solution by refusing to start The Sorcerer’s Stone because she had homework. And so, Sibling Pressure Story Time was born.
Then sibling conserve-heat-by-sharing-beds was born. It made me miss group naps.
Then our cousins arrived, decided it was too cold, and got a hotel. Thanks guys, really. But it worked out for the better, because we finally broke down and visited their room after two days without showers.
Don’t we look good?
We decided to alleviate our boredom by finishing our Christmas shopping. Wouldn’t you know it?
The power goes out. Good one, mall.
So we headed home amidst the swarm of heretofore-unseen traffic. Where did all the cars come from? We don’t have that many people in Johnson City. I still haven’t figured it out.
And I continued my napping streak. (Ask Moriah why she sepia-ed that picture).
This is nothing; several of us took turns napping on the Aga. It was cozy (but did burn Neal’s butt).
Two days without power: ten thirty pm. Mom, Dad and Neal have gone to the Biltmore so Neal can sing Ava Maria. Jay, Alura, Haley, Moriah and I are hanging out by the Aga, per usual. We hear the rumble of trucks. Could it be? Yes! The Johnson City Power Board! We ran outside in our pjs and blankets (we’re not ashamed!) and pestered the workers.
“Do you folks live on Ridgewood?”
“We live on Cloudland.”
“You’re on the corner, right? We aren’t getting Cloudland up til tomorrow.” A tree had shattered a pole and the lines were scattered across the street like the snakes in Indiana Jones. “But y’all’s line probably runs from Ridgewood. You may have power in a few hours.”
“Of course! Lemme check.” We followed him around the house like hopeful puppies. “Nope, y’all are on Cloudland. Sorry.”
And that was that. We went back to the kitchen, played Apples to Apples by candlelight, and made adult jokes over our little siblings’ heads. Sometimes, you do what you have to.
We weren’t so hopeful the next day. Our non-hopes weren’t disappointed. All our food went bad. There was candle wax everywhere. Still nothing was accomplished, aside from a trip to the Laundromat. We got power back around six pm, 70 hours after it went out. We were leaving in twelve hours. Good one, first three days home.
So then we caravanned to Delaware for Christmas. It’s a nine hour drive. We got there in thirteen hours. Good one, DC traffic.
That week I learned that my love for naps in strange places is genetic. We found Uncle David sleeping: on the kitchen floor, on the living room floor, sandwiched between the sofa and coffee table (on the floor) and leaning against the step on the dining room floor. Moriah has photographic evidence (they’re awesome) but I couldn’t get ahold of it. Ah well. I give anyone reading permission to Facebook stalk my sister.
Before we left we hit the outlets. Factory stores+50% off everything=almost making up for the previous week and a half. Thank you, Rehoboth Beach. Also, Grotto Pizza isn’t half bad either. (Seriously, it’s delicious. If anyone ever goes to Delaware, eat it. Your life will be changed).
So we made it home in eleven hours (due to potty stops for the puppy we somehow ended up with. It cried for three hours straight. Thankfully, we passed it along to my aunt a few days later).
And I’ve been a vegetable for the five days since. Although it hasn’t been a week entirely wasted. I finished Battlestar Galactica. And got caught up on Dollhouse. And dyed Moriah’s hair. And what more could I ask for, really?
If there’s one thing this break has shown me, it’s how often I say "good one." DJ and Marie, this Christmas is for you.