In my opinion, the above line is one of the most infuriating lines in all of move/television, if not the most. Here is my reasoning; a choice always exists. Many times there is a great deal of pressure or duress that pushes you excessively to one direction, in which case it is the most logical of choices in an effort to save the girlfriend/family member, or protect someones job, or save the Declaration of Independence (yeah, I can't really recall if they used that line, but I think they may have). Anyway, the show that is most on my mind is Chuck. I have recently been rewatching Chuck with Sam, who had never seen it before. So often in that show, Chuck or Sarah say that they didn't have a choice (in relation to choices mentioned above... except for the Dec. of Ind. That has nothing to do with this show, really). Now I will admit, if my loved ones were being threatened that same way Chucks were, I would probably be unable to consider a possible scenario to save them and the government secrets in my head (yeah, spoiler alert; Chuck has a government super computer in his head). I think a more apt line would be something along the lines of "this is what I feel I have to do" or "this is the best way I can think to save them/it/etc." I know this is a bit nitpicky of me, but traditionally, doesn't something happen that alters the situation and the good guys win? Therefore, you did have a choice that still would have saved them, you only didn't think of it. Or, you could let them die (not much of a hero character, am I?), or bring snipers, etc. etc.
Okay, enough with that. Time for the story of Mario Kart. It can be a wonderful family game. There is a simple problem with my playing it; I am competitive. I once spent an entire game of Monopoly having my credit card thrown at me because I was playing so ruthlessly (it was modern monopoly, so instead of money you had a card that the transactions were rung up on. Anyone ever played that way? I don't prefer it). I didn't even want to play it that night. Anyway, my mom decided to play Mario Kart 64 with us for her first time ever. We set up four player mode, she gets her kart, and spends the entire first race trying to learn to drive. It is complicated severely by Wario pelting her with shells, laying bananas for her, and running her over when she is shrunk by lightning... I was Wario. She was distraught, traumatized by the events of the evening. She claimed she would never play the game again. A few years later, my sister was in charge of the Strawn family game night, something we were all required to participate in, if we were home, for at least 15-30 minutes. She chose Mario Kart 64. My mom fought it, but precedent was against her, and she was compelled to join the game. the thing is, there were six of us, and we only had three operable controllers by this point. I came up with the solution that we should team drive; one person would steer and use items, the other would operate the gas and brake, jump button, and the zoom in on the screen. I also offered to team with mom so that she would not have to deal with my ruthless tactics. The first race, she was driving, and I was trying to give her directions, and told her to turn left. She was hesitant, so my voice got higher, louder, and shrill. I ended up yelling, rather comically, "LEFT LEFT LEFT!!!" and my mom started sputtering with faux tears and laughter. My entire family now uses this. Whenever we give direction, we shout 'left' as loud as we can... I think it is because we think we are funny...
Also, for those who missed it, I am an official member of the St. Norbert College Track Team! I am really excited for this opportunity to run again competitively (see above re: competition). I have a steep curve to overcome, and a bit of weight to drop. Shoulders, lats, and pecs do very little to speed up your 10k time, and I could use to lose about 10 pounds in my torso moving forward. I am not sure what my events will be, but Coach Augustine has brought up Steeple Chase, 400 hurdles, and the 10k as possibilities.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Time Management
I continue to not be the best at structuring my time and allowing for getting everything done that I need and want to. My homework continues to be completed (on time and getting high grades thus far), I am spending my time brainstorming and working on my RA duties (anyone have any good program ideas?), and I am continuing to workout (too much lifting, not enough cardio/running). However, I am no longer reading, playing video games, blogging, or keeping tabs on the upcoming draft. My free time, while it is a possibility, is not being used efficiently. That needs work. So, since I got out of class 75 minutes early today, I decided to postpone my paper a bit (it is due tomorrow) and writ a blog for the reading pleasure of all those who enjoy my life (which may very well be no one).
The last nearly two weeks have been rather fun. A wonderful example of the upheaval since my last post is Thursday night. There I was, leaving the building with my Hall Director to workout, when we hear a slight popping noise and about half the lights on the south side of campus are out. I immediately yelled out "Dumbledore has returned!" but soon found it was was closer to the works of Death Eaters than a dead hero. Throughout most of the southern parts of campus, half of the dorm rooms were without overhead lights, though their outlets still worked. The other half had lights, but no outlets. After realizing everything that could be done was being done, we went to work out. Later that night, I was watching Hollywood Homicide in my room and there is a zapping noise... and now there is NO POWER. Fantastic. Everyone got a call stating that we should remain in our rooms with our doors closed, because the heat is also out. It took until just after midnight before the power returned, and by that time I was comfortably asleep under a dozen blankets. Crisis solved! This means that all 4 years that I have been a student at SNC the power has gone out during Spring Semester... I am sorry everyone!
Recently REH hosted the 2014-2015 RA Selection and Interview process in Boyle Hall. This event was on a Saturday morning... 8am on a Saturday morning... and it was formal attire. This meant that I needed to get up early and shower and prepare for the day starting at 7 after going to bed at 2am (I was on duty this weekend). I admit that I was not looking forward to the day. However, I was pleasantly, and exhaustively, surprised to find that it was an AMAZING amount of fun. Our room was a riot and a half, and consisted of dance parties and seemingly innocent and innocuous statements that had me near to wetting myself I was laughing so hard. Charge with arranging pictures in a logical order, people communicated statements such as "I have a mug shot of a rooster," "is there a drowning kid in yours, too?," and "the two kids in your picture may be our children!" It was a day laced with energetic explosions of Disney songs, specifically "Zero to Hero" and the introductory song from the Muses (cue 'honey you mean HUNKules!). I was exhausted by the end of the day.
Then, Sunday, my parentals hosted a dinner party. I was a riot. The main focus for the excessive laughter would be Julia, whose husband Bob was unable to attend, and Paul and Karie. The stories that were told caused all of us to tear up, doubling over and we tried to not pass out due to lack of oxygen. We were each of us beet red in the face and our eyes were bloodshot by the time the last of the stories of Big Agnus, an 8 sleeper tent, handshake mishaps resulting in being grabbed by your privates and the resulting fistfight that follows, peeing along side the dog as you go for a walk at night, my miscommunication of running naked across stage, and dodging the urine streams of ADHD children who excitedly try and great you while using the urinal finally concluded. Bob, the absent husband, was the main crux of the stories, but we agreed that those stories would still have been told with him present, and his additions would have made the stories ever more grand.
Such as been my time over the last portion of time. Therefore, it is time for my past.
"The Lumpy Haircut"
Last time, I told of how my brother cold-cocked me in the back of the head with a croquet ball, resulting in a massive, bleeding lump on the back of my head. This story picks up where that one leaves off. Only a few days later, I got a haircut. My mom ran the buzzer through my hair, time and again finding this sore and tender portion of my head that more so resembled a rotten plum than a human head. I yelped, squirmed, and employed my stage tears for her, but to no avail. You see, it had become almost tradition that I always got a haircut when I had a lump on my head. For years it was the case. From the time I could go to school until maybe high school, I would have a swollen noggin 2 out of the 3 times my mom would buzz down my hair for another 3-5 months. It became a bit of a running joke. My senior year of high school, I fell on the ice skating and when I got home told her I needed a haircut. It may be this very reason that I avoid haircuts, much to the chagrin of Kayla among others. I also do not like the way my hair pierces my skin; small bit of my hair act as slivers, sliding through the protective pads of my finger tips requiring the use of tweezers to remove them. It is also really itchy.
"How I Got Screwed"
It was my freshman year of high school, and my brother and I were wrestling in the kitchen (which, in itself, is a bad idea). Tom pushed me away from him and my back hit the wall near our doorway that leads to the basement. It was this particular spot on the way that had a loose board. This board had a screw. This screw was sharp. This sharp, conical bit of metal was introduced to my back. I came away from the wall, oblivious to the fact that a 4 1/2 foot long board was stuck to me. My brother stopped and stared, pointing behind me. I turned to look, and instantly felt the tug of skin. I There was little for me to do but slowly lay down on my stomach in the middle of the kitchen as Tom fetched a philips head screwdriver. He slowly twisted and rotated the screw out of my back until he could remove the board. The cut was fairly deep, and only about and inch to the side of my spinal column. We threw some gauze on the wound, put some bandaids on it to hold it in place, and agreed to not tell mom. I got a scar now.
Well, another few stories for you. Next time, I shall relate how my mom hates Mario Kart!
To put some icing on a possibly flat and unbaked cake, I stepped out of my dorm today to hear a shriek of sorts. It was followed by another, then another. I quickly ran to get a view of the river, and saw two red tailed hawks duking it out in the tree by the Fox River behind Burke Hall. I continued to hear their showdown all the way to the Mulva. Nature is such a marvelous thing!
The last nearly two weeks have been rather fun. A wonderful example of the upheaval since my last post is Thursday night. There I was, leaving the building with my Hall Director to workout, when we hear a slight popping noise and about half the lights on the south side of campus are out. I immediately yelled out "Dumbledore has returned!" but soon found it was was closer to the works of Death Eaters than a dead hero. Throughout most of the southern parts of campus, half of the dorm rooms were without overhead lights, though their outlets still worked. The other half had lights, but no outlets. After realizing everything that could be done was being done, we went to work out. Later that night, I was watching Hollywood Homicide in my room and there is a zapping noise... and now there is NO POWER. Fantastic. Everyone got a call stating that we should remain in our rooms with our doors closed, because the heat is also out. It took until just after midnight before the power returned, and by that time I was comfortably asleep under a dozen blankets. Crisis solved! This means that all 4 years that I have been a student at SNC the power has gone out during Spring Semester... I am sorry everyone!
Recently REH hosted the 2014-2015 RA Selection and Interview process in Boyle Hall. This event was on a Saturday morning... 8am on a Saturday morning... and it was formal attire. This meant that I needed to get up early and shower and prepare for the day starting at 7 after going to bed at 2am (I was on duty this weekend). I admit that I was not looking forward to the day. However, I was pleasantly, and exhaustively, surprised to find that it was an AMAZING amount of fun. Our room was a riot and a half, and consisted of dance parties and seemingly innocent and innocuous statements that had me near to wetting myself I was laughing so hard. Charge with arranging pictures in a logical order, people communicated statements such as "I have a mug shot of a rooster," "is there a drowning kid in yours, too?," and "the two kids in your picture may be our children!" It was a day laced with energetic explosions of Disney songs, specifically "Zero to Hero" and the introductory song from the Muses (cue 'honey you mean HUNKules!). I was exhausted by the end of the day.
Then, Sunday, my parentals hosted a dinner party. I was a riot. The main focus for the excessive laughter would be Julia, whose husband Bob was unable to attend, and Paul and Karie. The stories that were told caused all of us to tear up, doubling over and we tried to not pass out due to lack of oxygen. We were each of us beet red in the face and our eyes were bloodshot by the time the last of the stories of Big Agnus, an 8 sleeper tent, handshake mishaps resulting in being grabbed by your privates and the resulting fistfight that follows, peeing along side the dog as you go for a walk at night, my miscommunication of running naked across stage, and dodging the urine streams of ADHD children who excitedly try and great you while using the urinal finally concluded. Bob, the absent husband, was the main crux of the stories, but we agreed that those stories would still have been told with him present, and his additions would have made the stories ever more grand.
Such as been my time over the last portion of time. Therefore, it is time for my past.
"The Lumpy Haircut"
Last time, I told of how my brother cold-cocked me in the back of the head with a croquet ball, resulting in a massive, bleeding lump on the back of my head. This story picks up where that one leaves off. Only a few days later, I got a haircut. My mom ran the buzzer through my hair, time and again finding this sore and tender portion of my head that more so resembled a rotten plum than a human head. I yelped, squirmed, and employed my stage tears for her, but to no avail. You see, it had become almost tradition that I always got a haircut when I had a lump on my head. For years it was the case. From the time I could go to school until maybe high school, I would have a swollen noggin 2 out of the 3 times my mom would buzz down my hair for another 3-5 months. It became a bit of a running joke. My senior year of high school, I fell on the ice skating and when I got home told her I needed a haircut. It may be this very reason that I avoid haircuts, much to the chagrin of Kayla among others. I also do not like the way my hair pierces my skin; small bit of my hair act as slivers, sliding through the protective pads of my finger tips requiring the use of tweezers to remove them. It is also really itchy.
"How I Got Screwed"
It was my freshman year of high school, and my brother and I were wrestling in the kitchen (which, in itself, is a bad idea). Tom pushed me away from him and my back hit the wall near our doorway that leads to the basement. It was this particular spot on the way that had a loose board. This board had a screw. This screw was sharp. This sharp, conical bit of metal was introduced to my back. I came away from the wall, oblivious to the fact that a 4 1/2 foot long board was stuck to me. My brother stopped and stared, pointing behind me. I turned to look, and instantly felt the tug of skin. I There was little for me to do but slowly lay down on my stomach in the middle of the kitchen as Tom fetched a philips head screwdriver. He slowly twisted and rotated the screw out of my back until he could remove the board. The cut was fairly deep, and only about and inch to the side of my spinal column. We threw some gauze on the wound, put some bandaids on it to hold it in place, and agreed to not tell mom. I got a scar now.
Well, another few stories for you. Next time, I shall relate how my mom hates Mario Kart!
To put some icing on a possibly flat and unbaked cake, I stepped out of my dorm today to hear a shriek of sorts. It was followed by another, then another. I quickly ran to get a view of the river, and saw two red tailed hawks duking it out in the tree by the Fox River behind Burke Hall. I continued to hear their showdown all the way to the Mulva. Nature is such a marvelous thing!
Friday, January 31, 2014
I'm an RA again!
Last week Thursday, I was able to return to school and begin Winter Training the next day. I was very excited for this opportunity. I have greatly missed much of what being an RA is. I feel more socialized with everyone else living on my floor, as well as a greater connection to the rest of the building. I get to plan and design programs, make door decorations, and put up bulletin boards. I know at times this may get to be stressful, but I am still simply so excited about it all.
Also, my car ended up in the ditch again. I had some pretty bad tires on my car, and driving through the snow was not a safe feeling. It may have taken me about 4 hours to drive from Sheboygan to Green Bay, but a portion of that was pushing my car out of the ditch, as well as pulling off in Manitowoc and scheduling an appointment at Fleet Farm to get my tires replaced upon getting to Green Bay. The other 2 1/2 hours were spent driving 40 miles an hour. I'm very glad that there were no other drivers going north on old CR, otherwise I would have annoyed a vast number of people. I am glad to say that I now have excellent new tires on my car, that I don't start drifting whenever I sneeze while driving in a straight line, and that I feel far safer and much more secure. I heartily advise everyone to keep their tires in great condition, especially as the weather turns.
I like stories. Do you like stories? I hope so, because I want to tell a story of my childhood each time I blog now. Today's story begins with a recollection brought about during RA training. We were told to give a depiction of our families; either write or draw about them, and describe them to our groups. I drew three things; a croquet mallet, a croquet ball, and a croquet wicket. When I think of my what my family was like when I was a child, I most vividly remember two things, and both involved tears. First, that we were spanked as children, though not nearly as much as we deserved. We were loud, boisterous, and often fairly misbehaved little demons for a number of years. My brother and I shared a room, and mother or father slept in the room next to us. Come 10:30, Tommy and I would get in a row, or start laughing without restraint. The first few times this occurred, we were scolded only. We began to recognize that we were still able to shriek as midnight grew closer with nearly no repercussions. This is when we began to really get to know the Bible. It was a large-print Bible, the King James edition, with a supple, soft leather cover with gold lettering embossed on the front. It was heavy book, but also flexible. My dad read from it every night before going to bed, and as he rose each morning. It was marked, dog eared, highlighted, with references and thoughts and inspirations written in the margins. It was also able to imprint the words 'Holy Bible' on our butt cheeks when swung just right. My mother's choice of tool was a wooden spoon. They no longer sat in the utensil's section of our cupboards, but lay within easy reach of her bed as she rose to once again quiet us down. Let me point out something I think is very, VERY important; I do not believe that I was once an abused child. I was disciplined. There is a very important distinction. Judging from the stories my grandfather told us of his childhood, I was downright coddled compared to the nuns that used to show him that a ruler was intended not from measuring, but for handing out welts to students hands, butts, and the backside of their cranium. Moving on with the story, though, we were near every night becoming more acquainted with the word of God (unfortunately without reading it) as well as cooking implements (without the bonus of licking cookie dough off the tools afterwards). The problem was that I had a pain thresh hold as a child that would make a full grown bull gorilla pale in comparison. I shrugged off a lot of physical punishment from my brother in 'friendly' games of football (he was 5 years my senior, so it was like pitting little league against a Division I power house in my mind), so spankings never did much for me, but they wouldn't stop until we proved we were repentant of our disruptive deeds. Tommy and I developed the uncanny ability to cry. It is a skill I have since lost, but I could cry on cue to stop a spanking. I also broke more than a dozen wooden spoons on my butt, however my dad still studies from the same Bible.
The second story is a far brighter one. My family would play croquet. It was a marvelous game, and I am not certain we followed the exact rules of the game, but we played. Within 20 minutes, tempers would begin to smolder, and less than three turns later, someone would quit. yet we still (mostly) enjoyed this game. One day, my brother Tommy and I were playing. It was just the two of us, and I was on a roll. He went first, and he made to just through wicket four, the one in the middle of the course. I came through the two initial two wickets, soared through the third, knocked it through the fourth, and collided with my brother's ball in the process. So at this point I had a decision to make. I had at least two hits now (one for the wicket, and at least one for hitting Tom's ball). I could either knock his ball flying and take the single additional hit (meaning two from where I now resided) or leave his ball be, and have two hits (meaning three from where I was). I quickly formulated a plan. I aligned my ball with his, and gently knocked his a few feet. Tom looked at me, surprise in his eyes, and said 'That wasn't that bad. Thanks'... well, he said something of that sort, anyway. So I used my two hits, got through wicket five, and had one more to go... and Tom's ball was perfectly in line for me. I knocked into his ball again, but left it laying to take two additional hits to score on the post, then came back through and hit is ball again, knocked it between wickets 10 and 11 (and wicket 11 is also wicket 4, if you are following closely), went through 10, hit his ball again, knocked it between 11 and 12, went through 12, hit his again, knocked him between 12 and 13 (which is also wicket 2), through 12, hit his, then went through 13 and 14 to win in one single turn. I began to celebrate, but such activity was cut short when something remarkably hard made contact with the back of my head. It was not, as you may be suspecting, a croquet mallet. No. It was the ball. You see, a mallet has a bit of rubber on the end to soft blows. The ball doesn't. I fell to the ground with the impact, and began to cry (ON CUE) as I reached back to feel a large lump forming about the base of my skull. I pulled my fingers away to find blood dripping down my digits. At this point, I was actually crying. Tommy, somewhat apologetic, got me an ice pack as an apology. We played croquet again the next day.
Stayed tuned for next week's story of "The Lumpy Haircut" and "How I Got Screwed"!
Also, my car ended up in the ditch again. I had some pretty bad tires on my car, and driving through the snow was not a safe feeling. It may have taken me about 4 hours to drive from Sheboygan to Green Bay, but a portion of that was pushing my car out of the ditch, as well as pulling off in Manitowoc and scheduling an appointment at Fleet Farm to get my tires replaced upon getting to Green Bay. The other 2 1/2 hours were spent driving 40 miles an hour. I'm very glad that there were no other drivers going north on old CR, otherwise I would have annoyed a vast number of people. I am glad to say that I now have excellent new tires on my car, that I don't start drifting whenever I sneeze while driving in a straight line, and that I feel far safer and much more secure. I heartily advise everyone to keep their tires in great condition, especially as the weather turns.
I like stories. Do you like stories? I hope so, because I want to tell a story of my childhood each time I blog now. Today's story begins with a recollection brought about during RA training. We were told to give a depiction of our families; either write or draw about them, and describe them to our groups. I drew three things; a croquet mallet, a croquet ball, and a croquet wicket. When I think of my what my family was like when I was a child, I most vividly remember two things, and both involved tears. First, that we were spanked as children, though not nearly as much as we deserved. We were loud, boisterous, and often fairly misbehaved little demons for a number of years. My brother and I shared a room, and mother or father slept in the room next to us. Come 10:30, Tommy and I would get in a row, or start laughing without restraint. The first few times this occurred, we were scolded only. We began to recognize that we were still able to shriek as midnight grew closer with nearly no repercussions. This is when we began to really get to know the Bible. It was a large-print Bible, the King James edition, with a supple, soft leather cover with gold lettering embossed on the front. It was heavy book, but also flexible. My dad read from it every night before going to bed, and as he rose each morning. It was marked, dog eared, highlighted, with references and thoughts and inspirations written in the margins. It was also able to imprint the words 'Holy Bible' on our butt cheeks when swung just right. My mother's choice of tool was a wooden spoon. They no longer sat in the utensil's section of our cupboards, but lay within easy reach of her bed as she rose to once again quiet us down. Let me point out something I think is very, VERY important; I do not believe that I was once an abused child. I was disciplined. There is a very important distinction. Judging from the stories my grandfather told us of his childhood, I was downright coddled compared to the nuns that used to show him that a ruler was intended not from measuring, but for handing out welts to students hands, butts, and the backside of their cranium. Moving on with the story, though, we were near every night becoming more acquainted with the word of God (unfortunately without reading it) as well as cooking implements (without the bonus of licking cookie dough off the tools afterwards). The problem was that I had a pain thresh hold as a child that would make a full grown bull gorilla pale in comparison. I shrugged off a lot of physical punishment from my brother in 'friendly' games of football (he was 5 years my senior, so it was like pitting little league against a Division I power house in my mind), so spankings never did much for me, but they wouldn't stop until we proved we were repentant of our disruptive deeds. Tommy and I developed the uncanny ability to cry. It is a skill I have since lost, but I could cry on cue to stop a spanking. I also broke more than a dozen wooden spoons on my butt, however my dad still studies from the same Bible.
The second story is a far brighter one. My family would play croquet. It was a marvelous game, and I am not certain we followed the exact rules of the game, but we played. Within 20 minutes, tempers would begin to smolder, and less than three turns later, someone would quit. yet we still (mostly) enjoyed this game. One day, my brother Tommy and I were playing. It was just the two of us, and I was on a roll. He went first, and he made to just through wicket four, the one in the middle of the course. I came through the two initial two wickets, soared through the third, knocked it through the fourth, and collided with my brother's ball in the process. So at this point I had a decision to make. I had at least two hits now (one for the wicket, and at least one for hitting Tom's ball). I could either knock his ball flying and take the single additional hit (meaning two from where I now resided) or leave his ball be, and have two hits (meaning three from where I was). I quickly formulated a plan. I aligned my ball with his, and gently knocked his a few feet. Tom looked at me, surprise in his eyes, and said 'That wasn't that bad. Thanks'... well, he said something of that sort, anyway. So I used my two hits, got through wicket five, and had one more to go... and Tom's ball was perfectly in line for me. I knocked into his ball again, but left it laying to take two additional hits to score on the post, then came back through and hit is ball again, knocked it between wickets 10 and 11 (and wicket 11 is also wicket 4, if you are following closely), went through 10, hit his ball again, knocked it between 11 and 12, went through 12, hit his again, knocked him between 12 and 13 (which is also wicket 2), through 12, hit his, then went through 13 and 14 to win in one single turn. I began to celebrate, but such activity was cut short when something remarkably hard made contact with the back of my head. It was not, as you may be suspecting, a croquet mallet. No. It was the ball. You see, a mallet has a bit of rubber on the end to soft blows. The ball doesn't. I fell to the ground with the impact, and began to cry (ON CUE) as I reached back to feel a large lump forming about the base of my skull. I pulled my fingers away to find blood dripping down my digits. At this point, I was actually crying. Tommy, somewhat apologetic, got me an ice pack as an apology. We played croquet again the next day.
Stayed tuned for next week's story of "The Lumpy Haircut" and "How I Got Screwed"!
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Old News Thursday
So the last post I made regarding our decrepit dog, Jenna. It is with a heavy heart I tell you she passed. We took her to the vet, and they claimed she was the most peaceful animal they had ever worked with. They also want her picture for their offices. It is very, very sad, so I, of course, try and not think about it.
To lift spirits a bit relative to the nasty feelings many of you may be feeling, I have brighter news. I learned a song on piano. Now, I have claimed to have little to no musical talent, so I am very, VERY proud to say that it took me 12 hours (many of them spent eating, sleeping, and playing video games) to learn to play 'Say Something' by A Great Big World. I feel far more accomplished than I did upon waking up.
Also, I have a throwback story. When I was a child I enjoyed running. I mean, I really liked it. I didn't learn to ride a bike until I was 10 because I figured I could run everywhere. The only reason I eventually learned to ride was so that I could have a motorcycle when I grew up. Anyway, I used to race my mom to the corner. She would pull out of the driveway, line up, and we would take off for the corner. It used to be my thing with my mom. I loved it... and then I forgot about it. So the other morning, after another nice snow, I was up before the buttcrack of dawn to clear our driveway of snow, and move the cars so my mom could leave. I am in a rather foul mood at this point. I walk back across the street as my mom backs out, and as she starts to drive away she yells out her window "race you to the corner!" It wasn't until she was already there that I remembered our races. It cheered me up a great deal.
The last news I have is regarding dinner; I made it. I made ribs, a nice salad, and rice. It was delicious! The meat was falling off the bone, the tomatoes were nice and juicy, the cheeses tasty, the rice soft yet not mushy. It was a wonderful meal, and it was all my doing! I ain't some good for nothing kid! I can cook!
To lift spirits a bit relative to the nasty feelings many of you may be feeling, I have brighter news. I learned a song on piano. Now, I have claimed to have little to no musical talent, so I am very, VERY proud to say that it took me 12 hours (many of them spent eating, sleeping, and playing video games) to learn to play 'Say Something' by A Great Big World. I feel far more accomplished than I did upon waking up.
Also, I have a throwback story. When I was a child I enjoyed running. I mean, I really liked it. I didn't learn to ride a bike until I was 10 because I figured I could run everywhere. The only reason I eventually learned to ride was so that I could have a motorcycle when I grew up. Anyway, I used to race my mom to the corner. She would pull out of the driveway, line up, and we would take off for the corner. It used to be my thing with my mom. I loved it... and then I forgot about it. So the other morning, after another nice snow, I was up before the buttcrack of dawn to clear our driveway of snow, and move the cars so my mom could leave. I am in a rather foul mood at this point. I walk back across the street as my mom backs out, and as she starts to drive away she yells out her window "race you to the corner!" It wasn't until she was already there that I remembered our races. It cheered me up a great deal.
The last news I have is regarding dinner; I made it. I made ribs, a nice salad, and rice. It was delicious! The meat was falling off the bone, the tomatoes were nice and juicy, the cheeses tasty, the rice soft yet not mushy. It was a wonderful meal, and it was all my doing! I ain't some good for nothing kid! I can cook!
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