Blog

I resent the term Blog.

It sounds too new-age, too chitzy, too much like the something you’d pull out of a pool filter when the Creepy isn’t picking up dirt anymore. Or what the inside of the Rock Ranch Port-A-Pottys looked like. It sounds like some computer whiz sat around trying to come up with something clever for his little invention, sneezed into his hand, and came up with the word Blog.

Which is probably what happened, now that I think about it. Gross.

When I tell people I Blog, I always feel the need to add on that it’s more of a journal, more of a dumping ground for thoughts that simply no one cares about, including myself, and therefore must be cleansed from my brain. It’s a collection box for things I’m done with, for things I don’t know what to do with, for things I can’t figure out, and for things I need to postpone further thinking about. It’s also a place where I put the random musings that I think might entertain people. Blog just doesn’t cover all of that.

So now I’m on a quest of sorts. To find a new name for the Blog.

Suggestions welcome.

And then it hit me

No, not the tennis ball.

Oh never mind.

This has to be a good thing. I know it doesn’t feel like it now but it’s a good good thing. The fact that it sucks so badly right now is the very reason why it’s a good thing- that was inexcusable and that was also not a first offense. You’re on the right track, and now all you need to do is stay there.

Psh of course I know none of this makes sense.

I can help. You’ve got my number and I’ve got caller ID. At three in the morning, if it’s my mom or my coach, (I’m hoping he won’t ever call me at three in the morning,) or the regional coordinator of STAND International or Bill Kaulitz or the president of the United States, I’ll hit ignore and send them an angry text message involving the things I learned from watching Fringe.

But if it spells out your name in that stupid mechanical voice that I cannot seem to fix, I’ll answer.

I probably won’t be coherent, but I will answer.

The Fab Fours Grand Mt. Lemmon Adventure

Snow is a funny thing. Out here in the desert, it’s even more funny, considering the amount we get in a year. (On ground level, anywhere from absolutely nothing to one lone flake.)

So when I started getting bombarded with text messages and voicemails that screamed WHERE AER YOU WE ARE GOING TO DRIVE UP MT LEMMON TO PLAY IN THE SNOW it didn’t register in my mind that a) I should go home and get some kind of closed toe shoes b) I should go home and put long pants on or c) I should go home and find a jacket a little more substantial than my Poipu Beach hoodie.

In my defense, I did not think there was going to be SNOW or anything.

Upon arrival at the tip top pull out on the Catalina Highway, I was proven wrong.

But were a pair of flip flops and jean cutoffs going to stop me, The Queen of All Things Completely Ridiculous, from frolicking in the snow with the three people I’ve known since setting foot in my first education facility?

The answer to that run-on would be Hell no.

The first snowball was lobbed into the air, and I forgot that my poor toes were slowly turning red. With four teenagers slipping and sliding all over the place, a fantastical war raged; mud-smeared snow lumps ended up down shirts and pants and inside undergarments. When we finally realized that we were now cold, underdressed, AND dripping wet, we settled for a less energy consuming pastime; the building of miniature snowmen and formation of snow angels. Noses and exposed digits went from red to purple without anyone noticing.

The point of this story is not Beware of Frostbite, but I guess it’s kinda turning out that way, huh?

The point of this story is to comment on how beautiful my three best friends looked in filthy jeans and wimpy jackets. They all had snow clinging to their eyelashes and the ends of the hair that was sticking out in all directions.They had matching pink cheeks and noses, chattering teeth, and bright eyes. They all were smiling so wide you could never tell that there were problems pushing and pulling at whatever it is binds us together as The Fab Four, and for a second there were none. For a second we were ten again, pretending to be flying cats in the wash behind my house. For a second we all had boy haircuts and clothes that were way too big and a minimum of two spaces where our adult teeth hadn’t grown in yet. For a second the only problem was whether or not we would play Hot Lava Monster or Freeze Tag during recess.

Librarians

I was informed that I looked like a lesbian librarian today. By two people.

At first this bounced off my radar as simply a joke. But then I thought about it for a second in math class.

So what you’re saying, essentially, is that since I don’t dress like a prostitute in the middle of winter I must not like attention from guys. Since I don’t hit on every male that crosses my path, I must not want them to notice me because I’m uninterested. Since I don’t throw myself at the members of the opposite sex and flirt mercilessly, and since I occasionally retire my contacts and pull out my glasses, I must spend all my time surrounded by books and not out with guys. And since I expect more than a booty call out of my guy friends, then all my womanly ways are lost and I’m dead to the World of Men.

Yeah, now I’m a little mad. There’s supposed to be a beauty in the ability to let your guard down, wear that loose fitting jacket that doesn’t prop your boobs up for display like cakes in a bakery window. There’s supposed to be something special about letting yourself speak for your personality and not depending on your wardrobe to do it. There’s also supposed to be a powerful quality to reserve and a twinge of modesty, something that says Hey, I’m a person, not a walking oggle-fest.

And you know what? Librarians are sexy.

DON DELILLO IS NOT GOD!!!!!!

(If you’re one of those annoying people who don’t read the title of things, go back and read it.)

So how come people don’t underline HIS made up words in red?????

THERE IS NO SUCH WORD AS UNLOCATABLE!!!!

But did that stop him? No! Because people think Oh, he’s Don Delillo, he writes satires on modern day life and the pathological fear of death, he MUST be vastly superior and therefore we’ll let him get away with it.

Well you know what Donny? WordPress doesn’t think Delillo is a word. Do you see that little red squiggly line?

THAT’S RIGHT- WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD!!!!

Breaking into Jasmines house

Now that I think of it, it’s a really pretty picture, Jasmine opening her window to let the intoxicating smell of rain drift in on the after-storm air.

But who would we be if we didn’t take advantage of it?

I still can’t believe she didn’t hear us a) driving up her driveway, b) on her porch, c) climbing onto her window sill, d) falling into her bedroom, e) sitting on her bed in the dark laughing our heads off.

But she didn’t. Instead she continued to do whatever it was she was doing out in the family room of her house while we filled her camera with pictures of ourselves and our brilliantly executed delinquency. It was funny, really, sitting in the dark with Sammi. I mean, technically we were supposed to be coming there anyway, what did it matter if we didn’t use the front door? (Or the back door, for that matter. Or the garage door.) We were about to call her so that she would have to come into her room to get the phone when she opened the door.

It took a second or two. She turned on the lights, looked at us, and then let out the loudest banshee scream she is capable of.

I realize breaking and entering, as well as lying in wait and scaring the crap out of close friends, are not good things.

But it was worth it.

There’s no Dr. in front of your name.

Don’t you tell me I’m just a teenage girl with PMS, raging hormones, and irregular sleep patterns. You seem to think these are legitimate reasons not to take me seriously.

Sometimes

Sometimes I dream about being a secret agent, affiliated with a top secret organization dedicated to the total annihilation of organized crime. They specialize in training young men and women in the latest, most cutting edge techniques and gadgets, skills not even the Secret Service are aware of. Like Control. Together with my equally young and extremely attractive male partner, I’d infiltrate gang headquarters at night and then transform back into mild mannered Chloe during the day, who can slip into a crowd as simply another seventeen year old kid.

I wouldn’t suffer from lack of sleep because I’d catch up on the flight to China, (where a powerful head of the underground terrorist organization is in hiding,) my head conveniently slipping onto the shoulder of previously mentioned sexy male associate. While in China we’d suddenly find ourselves outnumbered by hundreds of highly trained ninjas with all forms of back up still on the opposite side of the world, and we’d fight tooth and nail, back to back. Somehow two will overcome one hundred, and with barely a scratch we’ll run to a remote shack in the wilderness to wait for orders. Huddled around the campfire we birthed from two pieces of flint and some branches we karate chopped form the nearby trees, we’d share secrets and become extremely emotionally attached to one another through shared life and death situations. Making out will ensue.

Then my sister hits pause, and the DVD inside the little box stops spinning. The screen turns blue, and with a sigh, I get up to ready for school the next morning.

Convenient

I’ve heard that the number of times you accidentally write the wrong year on your paper is the number of larger scale mistakes you’re going to make through out the year. From a very reliable source, obviously.

You know what’s so great about the year 2010?

When I start writing 09 on my papers, I can catch myself before I write the 9, add a 1, and tada! One less screw up. This year things are going to work out.

Deja Vu: Don Delillo Style

Don Delillo thinks that the phenomena of Deja Vu is caused by the following;

We, as human beings, can see the future. We can’t, however, register what we see in our conscious minds, and therefore it just stews in our subconscious until WHAM! The event we’ve foreseen occurs in its normal chronological order and we think, Wait a minute. I’ve already seen this somewhere.

And that’s because WE ALREADY HAVE!!!!

So if Donny’s right; we have the undiscovered and unharnessed power to see into the future, then the next logical question is what other hibernating powers do we have? Can we fly? Can we turn invisible? Can we walk through walls, jump impossible heights? All in a subconscious state?

Do we have X-Ray vision, the pictures only surfacing in REM stage? Can we walk on water unawares? Can we unwittingly shoot flames from our eyeballs?

That last one would explain why things burst into flames whenever I enter the kitchen.

Climbing in Chicago

AHH DAD GET BACK ON THE WALL THE ATC ATE MY BRAID!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So yeah, it was pretty much awesome. We’ve already made plans to return to this place over the summer.