Friday, February 20, 2009

2/20

My blog entries never have much ka-powza to them unless they’re about either a wonderful or terrible experience. I need to experience something wonderful or terrible so that this little speck of cyberspace doesn’t become... *DUN DUN DUN* boring.
Let’s talk about field hockey. On a two-degree scale of wonderful or terrible, I would definitely say terrible. In softball, you use your arms to throw balls around, as they are accustomed to doing such things as writing, opening doors, pushing lawnmowers, punching down bread dough, and strapping helpless victims or notorious villains to uncomfortable chairs. In soccer, you have to use your legs and feet, which is preposterous enough. And impossible, as I learned in either fourth or fifth grade, during my excursion into soccer clinic hell. But now, they’ve come up with yet another way to poke balls around: with a stick! And they call it field hockey! And as I stab furiously at the ground in futile attempts to get control of the stupid plastic orange ball, people are charging at me with lethal weapons gripped tight in their hands. My fear of getting whacked in the head with one of those sticks still hasn’t subsided, by the way. Sweaty bodies, scrambling people, and minds focused entirely on sending a dumb little ball through the makeshift “goal” is so not my scene. I mean, why complicate things with these sticks? They could hurt somebody, you know. You hear that, hockey gods? If it is so absolutely vital to get that ball between those two metal poles, why don’t we just pick it up, throw it in, and call it a game? Unfortunately, nobody appears to understand my logic. At least my team isn’t very competitive, we’ve lost every single game due to the fact that every single one of us has no idea what we’re doing.
Project Citizen: We’re doing some sort of project relating to tardy people and sick kids. I don’t really get it, as the project was mostly problems and complaints with few ideas on how to come up with a solution, and minimal suggestions of what the heck we were supposed to do.
As for other slightly prominent events that will occur presently in my life, Judy, Tiffany, Lourise, and I are going shopping on Saturday to celebrate Tiffany’s birthday. (The Jelly Belly Factory can wait.) I made Tiffany a cake yesterday to bring to school today. Let’s just say it’s not the most attractive thing in the world, but it’s that yummy kind with the rainbow flecks in it, so I’m sure it’ll be delish. She’ll just have to close her eyes so they don’t bleed from grimacing at my messy icing job. The cake proudly proclaims, “Tiffany is... FLIPPIN’ AWESUM! in a sloppy scrawl. I dyed leftover icing from the cake blazing-bright shades of blue, pink, and yellow to create the exuberant, misspelled message, as well as a deformed smiley face that seems a little creepy if you look at it for too long. When I covered the cake with clingwrap, it clung on just a little too tight and smooshed the icing a teensy bit. Oh well. It’s the thought that counts, huh folks?
I really don’t have anything else to talk about besides all those trivial matters. Hope you’re all well, and make sure you don’t get salmonella because that would be gross.

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