tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89927147993184036672024-03-05T01:44:36.950-08:00FootstepsThese are the stories of one girl's life.Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.comBlogger155125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-63032540177360722312010-04-08T16:53:00.000-07:002010-10-05T12:31:11.990-07:00TumblrI have a Tumblr now.<br />After considering deleting this blog, I decided to keep it up just for grins, BUT from now on I will mostly be updating on the Tumblr blog.<br />I might have something on here, once or twice. Maaaybe, but only because I actually have followers now (Only five, but that's better than nothing.)<br /><br /><a href="http://-twobuttoneyes.tumblr.com">http://-twobuttoneyes.tumblr.com/</a><br /><br />Anyway.Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-31024612291866600062010-04-01T15:35:00.000-07:002010-04-01T16:10:15.681-07:00I caught a lizard, and you didn't!Or maybe you did. How am I supposed to know?<br />Anyway, in the ordinary course of walking home from school today, I saw something in the shade of a Dumpster in the parking lot. Was it a twig? A rock? A piece of trash?<br />No. It was, ladies and gentlemen, a LIZARD.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw99gXCW6JQHCUDHd5MJTp_q8ViTjqPg0Z6HBaFUFkmBnlGYNmFw8pohd209dPIXcCB3Mp4u0KrH5cwTxC_urKYRkJ5V1UGaCtXhYErI6YwEPlT-qfDxguzTJoBnjVW9ZL7PMgL9siPIA9/s1600/IMG_2388.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw99gXCW6JQHCUDHd5MJTp_q8ViTjqPg0Z6HBaFUFkmBnlGYNmFw8pohd209dPIXcCB3Mp4u0KrH5cwTxC_urKYRkJ5V1UGaCtXhYErI6YwEPlT-qfDxguzTJoBnjVW9ZL7PMgL9siPIA9/s320/IMG_2388.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455304029880366370" border="0" /></a><br />Not only was it a tiny reptile, but it was a tiny reptile with tiny aqua-blue spots on its back! I almost died with excitement. Working swiftly and silently, I unzipped my backpack, took out my dorky Tupperware lunchbox thing, (this, <span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">below,</span></span> if you don't know what I'm talking about)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirKrVaevx2PsEc2oXrfOmJKpMAvavyIdPjPJRjHGLWfHunZUjtTpv15kxj7qHs9gdlcSpaJApL01Z2DO7bKNM5LExsXPLmEZyBPqLm7gp7-dBTJ5zm2-MPKgi4gd-uayy478-Rq-YxB-5f/s1600/685629_front200.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirKrVaevx2PsEc2oXrfOmJKpMAvavyIdPjPJRjHGLWfHunZUjtTpv15kxj7qHs9gdlcSpaJApL01Z2DO7bKNM5LExsXPLmEZyBPqLm7gp7-dBTJ5zm2-MPKgi4gd-uayy478-Rq-YxB-5f/s320/685629_front200.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455305260290582114" border="0" /></a><br />... removed the lid, and held it trembling above the creature's unsuspecting body. I cooed softly to the critter and reassured him that I just wanted to be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">BFFs</span>, that I wasn't trying to kill him, you're cool, just stay still, little buddy, okay... then I happened to glance up, and saw this guy in my history class, who was walking past the Dumpster. We made eye contact for one uncomfortable second, then he kept walking. Awkward.<br />I didn't want to risk being seen chitchatting with a lizard by anyone else, so I snapped down the container, which commenced a great grand flurry of wriggling and scrabbling by the lizard. Then I had a grand time trying to get the lid back on the container without the creature leaping out and attacking me, and without sealing the lid so that it wouldn't be able to breathe. I ran all the way home, holding the lid so that it was hovering precariously an inch off the container. The lizard could breathe easily with the air I was allowing in, but it could also hop right out of the container and land on my face.<br />See, that's why I was running.<br />I did get it home though, and fashioned a quick terrarium out of a plastic box, tape, and some plastic wrap with holes poked in the top. I call him Charybdis, and he is my best friend forever.<br />At least, until I find a way to play an April Fool's prank using him, and then set him free again. I'm thinking I'll put him in my sister's backpack, but maybe that's too gross.Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-10934788990979639382010-03-21T18:08:00.000-07:002010-10-05T12:30:21.325-07:00This is a title<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOxonzRLEcTzDL0QexqunQ4jqWr49mWq73eXyAPb-neLdjw7cP3LkYRjmHO_1zv_KvuHxHHb_xiwAp5iAMZYlfYSh1zR8xqDavCLOQ8PawQjbs1WjJZ2t3QLQlfPZS81tShk8JNapVft_/s1600-h/Picture+28.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOxonzRLEcTzDL0QexqunQ4jqWr49mWq73eXyAPb-neLdjw7cP3LkYRjmHO_1zv_KvuHxHHb_xiwAp5iAMZYlfYSh1zR8xqDavCLOQ8PawQjbs1WjJZ2t3QLQlfPZS81tShk8JNapVft_/s320/Picture+28.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451266087161496370" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><br />Today was a day of indulgences. I went for a really long walk this morning because my dad had checked the online grade-checker thing, which shows every grade that you receive on every assignment for the year, and had seen that I'd sort of gotten a little bit of a C on a math test, which is much lower than I usually score.<br />Dad: "Jen, you got a C on... "chapter nine assessment?" Is that something you need help with?<br />Me: ...<br /> ...<br /> ...idk.<br />And then I left to avoid an interrogation. I am a coward.<br />But anyway, I stopped in at the grocery store near my house before heading for the creek for an Odwalla, which is probably what God drinks every day, which is the modern-day ambrosia and nectar, which I worship, therefore I can excuse its ridiculous price range. (The pomegranate ones sometimes cost over four dollars.) Anyway, for some reason they weren't selling the regular sized bottles, instead only offering the slightly larger size.<br />Darn.<br />After a few hours of walking, I returned home, hoping my father had gotten distracted by something else. Sure enough, he had: after our dishwasher flooded, he has spent several weekends remodeling the water-damaged bathroom that is adjacent to the laundry room. He painted it the same yellowish color of raw polenta, then furnished with white. Going in there sort of feels like walking into a hard-boiled egg. Not pleasant.<br />Anyway, he was painting when I arrived. I stuck my head into the bathroom and asked if he was ready for our weekend-ly run. That kept his mind off of the C for another hour. Then I dashed out to the grocery store again to buy pine nuts and cheese; I was planning to make Greek pizzas for dinner. While I was there, I saw a little tub of ginger ice cream that was so pretty and cute and classy-sounding (oh, I think I'll just treat myself to some ginger ice cream) that I had to get it.<br />It was faboo, by the way. Superb. I just ate my first scoop for dessert and it was possibly the most marvelous ice cream that I have ever tasted, ever.<br />Well, that wasn't much, but that's all I have to say . I really just wanted to have a post up that actually wasn't a survey.<br /><br /><br />(That picture at the top is of a random collage, by the way. I have been spending quite a bit of time creating random collages to put on my binders.)Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-48084745674547832692010-03-18T17:41:00.001-07:002010-03-19T17:00:07.081-07:00Are all these surveys boring you? Sorry. This one is kind of boring.<span style="font-weight: bold;">The Way I like to Say Hello:</span><br />Generally, "hello."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Once Upon A Time...(finish the sentence):</span><br />...is no way to begin this story.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">When I was five my favorite item was:</span><br />I do not even remember.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What I like between two pieces of bread best is:</span><br />Cucumbers and guacamole.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">When I grow up I want to be a/an:</span><br />Book editor.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I like:</span><br />Words, running, <span style="font-style: italic;">Community</span>, blogging, my cat.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I really, really want:</span><br />A perfect life. Who doesn't?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I desperately need:</span><br />A life.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">If I could color my hair any color I would color it:</span><br />I don't think I would. My hair color is fine.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">People often call me:</span><br />Weird.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I'm terrified of</span>:<br />Tapeworms and failure.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Way I like To Say Goodbye:</span><br />"Bye."Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-75906842239771907052010-03-16T17:44:00.000-07:002010-03-17T16:41:42.163-07:00She is addicted to surveys.1. ONE OF YOUR SCARS, HOW DID YOU GET IT?<br />Ah, swimming in the ocean in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Sorrento</span>. :)<br />That is probably the most glamorous scar I have received.<br /><br />2. WHAT IS ON THE WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?<br />Nothing at all.<br /><br />3. DO YOU SNORE, GRIND YOUR TEETH, OR TALK IN YOUR SLEEP?<br />I used to grind my teeth <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">soooo</span> bad... but now I just lie silently unconscious.<br /><br />4. WHAT TYPE OF MUSIC DO YOU LISTEN TO?<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Hmmm</span>, you should know by now.<br />A FINE FRENZY!<br /><br />5. DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME YOU WERE BORN?<br />What? How would I know that?<br /><br />6. WHAT DO YOU WANT MORE THAN ANYTHING RIGHT NOW?<br />I want fruit salad and a really long nap. Why am I blogging instead of napping? Because I am dedicated to you, readers!<br /><br />7. WHAT DO YOU MISS?<br />Several people.<br /><br />8. WHAT IS YOUR MOST PRIZED POSSESSION(S)?<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Hmm</span>,<br /><br />9. HOW TALL ARE YOU?<br />5 feet and two inches.<br /><br />10. DO YOU GET CLAUSTROPHOBIC?<br />Uh-uh not at all.<br />Well not in small spaces. But when I'm surrounded by a bunch of people, definitely.<br /><br />11. DO YOU GET SCARED IN THE DARK?<br />No.<br /><br />12. THE LAST PERSON TO MAKE YOU CRY?<br />Well, couldn't say.<br /><br />13. WHAT'S YOUR WORST FEAR?<br />Failing at life in general: you know, getting bad grades, dropping out of high school, having to take a nasty job at a greasy hamburger joint, scraping together tips to pay for rent in a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">slimeball</span> apartment with the urine of various bums soaking the door... and so on.<br /><br />14. WHAT KIND OF HAIR/EYE COLOR DO YOU LIKE ON THE OPPOSITE GENDER?<br />Oh my, blond hair is nice. :)<br />But of course it doesn't matter. I have no hormones.<br /><br />15. WHERE CAN YOU SEE YOURSELF PROPOSING?<br />I'm never getting married, fool.<br /><br />16. COFFEE OR ENERGY DRINK?<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Ew</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">ew</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">ew</span>, energy drinks. Why did you even mention those disgusting concoctions?<br />Coffee <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">fosho</span>.<br /><br />(<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Fosho</span>? I never say that!)<br /><br />FAVORITE PIZZA TOPPING?<br />Olives, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">yummeh</span>!<br /><br />18. IF YOU COULD EAT ANYTHING RIGHT NOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE?<br />Fruit salad.<br />Wait, didn't I already say this?<br /><br />*is too lazy to scroll up*<br /><br />19. FAVORITE COLOR OF ALL TIME?<br />Maroon.<br /><br />20. HAVE YOU EVER EATEN A GOLDFISH?<br />Cracker goldfish? Or <span style="font-style: italic;">fish </span>goldfish?<br />^Yes..........................^No<br /><br />21. WHAT WAS THE FIRST MEANINGFUL GIFT YOU'VE EVER RECEIVED?<br />Meaningful, eh?<br />I guess... life.<br /><br />22. DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH?<br />Pass.<br /><br />23. ARE YOU DOUBLE JOINTED?<br />I wish.<br /><br />24. FAVORITE CLOTHING BRAND?<br />Forever 21, miss.<br /><br />25. FAVORITE ANIMAL?<br />Mice.<br /><br />26. LIKE TO SING?<br />I hate singing.<br />Except when no one is around. Then I love to sing.<br /><br />27. FAVORITE MOVIE?<br />All things <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Pixar</span> make my world go 'round.<br /><br />28. GAY, STRAIGHT OR BI?<br />Straight.<br /><br />29. HOW DO YOU FEEL?<br />Mildly sick. Wildly <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">ick</span>.<br /><br />30. SAY A NUMBER FROM ONE TO A HUNDRED:<br />Seventy-three.<br /><br />31. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">BLONDES</span> OR BRUNETTES?<br />Brunettes, I guess, because I'm closer to a brunette.<br /><br />32. FAVORITE QUOTE?<br />Oh my, don't even ask that. I have a zillion.<br /><br />33. FAVORITE PLACE?<br />Oh, the creek. Lovely place.<br /><br />34. HAVE YOU BEEN OUT OF THE USA?<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">YYEESSS</span>. :D<br /><br />35. YOUR WEAKNESSES?<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Hmmm</span>. Being accused of things, getting close to people, and being cool.<br /><br />36. MET ANYONE FAMOUS?<br />Never.<br /><br />37. FIRST JOB?<br />Nope.<br /><br />38. EVER DONE A PRANK CALL?<br />Not of my own accord.<br /><br />39. DO YOU THINK EVERYONE OUT THERE HAS A <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">SOULMATE</span>?<br />No way.<br /><br />40. WHAT WERE YOU DOING BEFORE YOU FILLED THIS OUT?<br />Homework.<br /><br />41. HAVE YOU EVER HAD SURGERY?<br />No, but it's possible that I get to have a big metal rod implanted in my back next year. Oh, the joys of scoliosis.<br /><br />42. WHAT DO YOU GET COMPLIMENTED ABOUT MOST?<br />My writing, I suppose, and being "really sweet to everybody."<br /><br />43. HAVE YOU EVER HAD BRACES?<br />Not on my teeth.<br /><br />44. WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY?<br />All I want for my birthday is you-u-u-u!<br /><br />45. HOW MANY KIDS DO YOU WANT AND THEIR NAMES?<br />No kids. Fifty cats.<br /><br />46. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?<br />My middle name is my grandma's name. Exciting, isn't it?<br /><br />47. WHAT IS THE BIGGEST TURN OFF OF THE OPPOSITE SEX?<br />Obnoxiousness. (Wow, I spelled that right?)<br /><br />48. WHAT IS ONE THING YOU LIKE ABOUT HIGH SCHOOL?<br />This hilarious quote that is written on one of the stalls of the girl's bathroom. I always make sure I get to use that stall so I can have a good laugh while I pee.<br /><br />49. WHAT KIND OF SHAMPOO DO YOU USE?<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Garnier</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Fructis</span> Sleek and Shine.<br /><br />50. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Omg</span> have you even seen my handwriting?<br /><br />(The answer is no, by the way...)<br /><br />51. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?<br />Vegetarian.<br /><br />52. ANY BAD HABITS?<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Overthinking</span>.<br /><br />53. ARE YOU A JEALOUS PERSON?<br />No.<br /><br />54. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON, WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?<br />Absolutely not.<br /><br />55. DO YOU AGREE WITH FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS?<br />No.<br /><br />56. DO LOOKS MATTER?<br />Unfortunately.<br /><br />57. HOW DO YOU RELEASE ANGER?<br />*is a bottle-upper*<br /><br />58.WOULD YOU RATHER GAIN 58 POUNDS OR LOSE 58 POUNDS.<br />Lose, of course. Then I could just eat incessantly until I was back to my fat self.<br /><br />60. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE TOY AS A CHILD?<br />This nasty mouse that I made stupid little vests for, and I pretended he was a pastry chef, too. His pastries were plastic beads, and his oven was my wallet.<br />Don't even ask.<br /><br />61. HOW MANY NUMBERS ARE IN YOUR CELL PHONE?<br />As if I am going to go count.<br /><br />62.WERE YOU A FAN OF BARNEY AS A LITTLE KID?<br />I don't even remember. I didn't watch much television, so probably not.<br /><br />63. DO YOU USE SARCASM?<br />Of course.<br /><br />64. MASHED POTATOES OR MACARONI AND CHEESE?<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">UMBOTHPLEASE</span>.<br /><br />65. WHAT DO YOU LOOK FOR IN A GUY/GIRL?<br />I don't look for things.<br />(Major cop-out.)<br /><br />66. WHAT ARE YOUR NICKNAMES?<br />Russell.<br /><br />67. FAVORITE SUPER POWER?<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Flyyyyyying</span>.<br /><br />WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE TV SHOW?<br />Chopped on Food Network.<br /><br />69.WHAT'S THE BEST WAY TO DEAL WITH YOUR ENEMIES?<br />I don't have enemies! How dare you!<br /><br />70. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR?<br />The kind where it's vanilla with berry flavored "ripples" or whatever running through it.<br /><br />71. DO YOU HAVE ALL YOUR FINGERS AND TOES?<br />Why, yes.<br /><br />72. DO YOU HAVE A COMPUTER IN YOUR ROOM?<br />Unfortunately not.<br /><br />73. PLANS FOR TONIGHT?<br />It's a school night, buster.<br /><br />74. WHERE DO YOU WANT TO LIVE WHEN YOU ARE OLDER?<br />Either a little run-down hut by the sea in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Monterey</span>, or a musty-smelling retirement home where everybody knows each other's names.<br /><br />75. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO ANSWER THESE QUESTIONS?<br />Who?<br /><br />76. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO?<br />My cousin's mindless blabbering.<br /><br />77. LAST THING YOU DRANK?<br />Iced tea.<br /><br />78. LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?<br />I really don't know.<br /><br />79. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE IN THE OPPOSITE SEX?<br />The whole thing, actually. I'm not going to say, "Oh, their eyes," like you're expecting. I notice everything at once, not just about the opposite sex but about people in general.<br /><br />80. WHAT DO YOU LIKE TO DO IN YOUR SPARE TIME?<br />Blog.<br /><br />81. FAVORITE THING TO HATE?<br />Stuff that I don't have to feel bad about hating, like really, really hot days.<br /><br />82. FAVORITE SEASON OF THE YEAR?<br />Summer, of course. Have you forgotten that I'm fourteen?<br /><br />83. WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE TYPE OF CANDY?<br />Dried blueberries c<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">overed</span> in chocolate and then covered in soft candy coating!!! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Yay</span>!!!<br /><br />HAVE YOU EVER REALLY AND TRULY HAD A BEST FRIEND?<br />No.<br /><br />85. WHAT IS YOUR HAIR COLOR?<br />Brown.<br /><br />86. EYE COLOR?<br />Green in fluorescent light, yellow and green in sunlight. (Yes, yellow eyes really are as gross as they sound.)<br /><br />87. SHOE SIZE?<br />Honestly, I am not entirely sure<br /><br />88. FAVORITE FAST FOOD PLACE?<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Ew</span>. Do not even talk to me about fast food, because I will launch into an annoying, strung-out, "Do you even know what goes into McDonald's meat... how they treat the chickens at slaughterhouses... etc...?"<br /><br />89. FAVORITE RESTAURANT?<br />Nope.<br /><br />90. DO YOU LIKE SUSHI?<br />The sickly smell never fails to put me off when I feel like trying it. It seems sexy, though. I'm sure I would be a much more graceful and competent person in general if I liked sushi.<br /><br />91. WATCH TV TODAY?<br />No.<br /><br />92. FAVORITE DAY OF THE YEAR?<br />I suppose my birthday? People are generally nice to me, but it's not as big of a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">honkin</span>' deal as Christmas or whatever.<br /><br />93. PLAY ANY MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS?<br />No.<br /><br />94. REPUBLICAN OR DEMOCRAT?<br />I am fourteen.<br /><br />95. KISSES OR HUGS?<br />Hugs.<br /><br />96. RELATIONSHIPS OR ONE NIGHT STANDS?<br />Neither for me, thanks.<br /><br />97. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU BOUGHT?<br />Two tins of Altoids.<br /><br />98. WOULD YOU EVER BE A HOUSEWIFE?<br />Well, maybe.<br /><br />99. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING?<br />Homer's <span style="font-style: italic;">Odyssey</span>, very very abridged version. (My cat is still enjoying it, I believe. I've been reading it aloud to him every day.)Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-12022982972810721282010-03-14T13:00:00.001-07:002010-03-14T13:00:51.385-07:00Please.<a href="http://www.formspring.me/twobuttoneyes">Formspring me.</a>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-20495461522991711132010-03-13T20:19:00.000-08:002010-03-13T21:24:16.461-08:00Just a couple thingsHello, America. First, just a couple of things I wanted to show you:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUWr_sR6jsTfGSLk-G2zV-W4sqklpm2OmyLvmHipokolXNfA54aHx3HkV9WPz3J2UV2YAmZ86fbAMGu68AM0hzB7E6Pi48oN8w0GdM8junN9gFoEOIiMennZLBDw3DBYaYZeAlxN_wAOcQ/s1600-h/russel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUWr_sR6jsTfGSLk-G2zV-W4sqklpm2OmyLvmHipokolXNfA54aHx3HkV9WPz3J2UV2YAmZ86fbAMGu68AM0hzB7E6Pi48oN8w0GdM8junN9gFoEOIiMennZLBDw3DBYaYZeAlxN_wAOcQ/s320/russel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448340421991363234" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:180%;">IT IS THE REAL-LIFE RUSSELL.</span> I WANT TO MARRY THIS KID, AND I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING RIGHT NOW.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAW1yW49gs2V_oVUxKQO81pSH1q6SkgUxEpEI2DLegqAaZheNdrGdJryTh4YWr2qGuHONE-JJRPVDCqrA4LU7I-U7RVMGwpFEmbwatbLrUnPAGwAZqv5DVUWGwSUaELrW68isjcN_7Uif8/s1600-h/skill.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAW1yW49gs2V_oVUxKQO81pSH1q6SkgUxEpEI2DLegqAaZheNdrGdJryTh4YWr2qGuHONE-JJRPVDCqrA4LU7I-U7RVMGwpFEmbwatbLrUnPAGwAZqv5DVUWGwSUaELrW68isjcN_7Uif8/s320/skill.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448340404442049762" border="0" /></a>Oh, I have major skills if this is true. I have been tripping so much lately, it's just crazy. Sorry if you were one of the people who I crashed into/almost crashed into/grabbed suddenly for support to avoid crashing into you these past few weeks.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCre9gnWIh_VEffI4eD50n62MicGrU5rKDvgdXiZVLTA9dEGMz4YdW8Cvj2hhwavwOYapOu9KWRhqFiEek3Pqfs8CwHnm-lf9mHM3VfbDi7Qo_jbSkFdh6xhHD6QOQYyVnpgtK4KzA78Qt/s1600-h/white_crayon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCre9gnWIh_VEffI4eD50n62MicGrU5rKDvgdXiZVLTA9dEGMz4YdW8Cvj2hhwavwOYapOu9KWRhqFiEek3Pqfs8CwHnm-lf9mHM3VfbDi7Qo_jbSkFdh6xhHD6QOQYyVnpgtK4KzA78Qt/s320/white_crayon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448340397114933810" border="0" /></a>It's a mystery.<br /><br />Anyway, do you guys remember that half-broken laptop that I have in my room, the one where the only thing that worked was the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Appleworks</span>, and then <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Appleworks</span> broke so it was just sitting there useless?<br />Yeah, I don't know if I have mentioned this yet, but it has <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">un</span>-broken itself, somehow. I restarted it for the millionth time in an attempt to fix it, and <span style="font-style: italic;">voila<span style="font-style: italic;">,</span></span> I guess it got tired of being broken, and it worked again.<br />So now I have resumed my great American novel (ha ha ha ha ha ha NOT) and perhaps will be spending a bit less time blogging.<br />NOT TO SAY that I am going to give up on it. I deeply apologize for considering it... twice. And for still considering it, a little bit.<br />I mean, it's just that I really have nothing to <span style="font-style: italic;">say.</span> Oh and that reminds me, *clumsily drops to knees, awkwardly readjusts <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">backbrace</span> to make this position possible, bows head, and presses palms together* there is at least one person who reads my blog often, out of my grand total of four followers. Please, kind sir or mistress, will you leave a comment on a post or in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">cbox</span>? I used to get comments every once in a while and I would pee my pants with happiness. It would make my entire day worthwhile. My entire <span style="font-style: italic;">life</span>.<br />I guess, when my blog started sucking, and I cannot quite pinpoint when that happened, <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >(except for that I think I can, but the reason is so pathetic that I am not even going to say it)</span> people stopped leaving warm <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">fuzzies</span> for me.<br />Cry, cry, cry.<br /><br />Oh gosh, do you know what I hate more than anything in the world?<br />Okay, not more than <span style="font-style: italic;">anything</span> in the world. But it is pretty gosh-darn annoying, and gross. Are you tired of buildup and just want to hear what it is now?<br />When milk goes bad. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Blech</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">blech</span>. I never notice when it's in the jug, so I just pour it out like normal. And when it hasn't gone super-bad, just a little sour, but it's not chunky yet, you don't even know it until you taste it/smell it. Well, today I was making a mushroom sauce that called for milk, so I dumped the milk over my pan of already seasoned and cooked mushrooms and caramelized onions that were the perfect golden color and everything smelled delicious, but then after I poured the milk over it all I noticed this terrible smell. Like, really, really awful. It was the milk.<br />I had just poured spoiled milk over my lovely onions and mushrooms, so now the entire <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">panful</span> of food was useless. I wanted to slap myself, but my mom did that for me. Ha-ha, just kidding. But that was an enormous waste, and I had to eat my dinner of tofu with boring old soy sauce from a bottle instead of creamy fresh homemade mushroom sauce.<br />Cry, cry, cry.<br /><br />Do I have anything to talk about that doesn't make me cry? Yes, I do. Several happy things happened today.<br /><ul><li>I got to open a brand-new box of fabric softener sheets, and used three of them in my laundry.</li><li>And then I wore a pair of sweatpants right out of the dryer, and my legs were so warm and yummy-feeling for the five minutes that the warmth lasted.</li><li>I brushed the extra hair off of my cat today, and then made a little mustache out of the loose fur. <span style="font-style: italic;">(<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">WhyamIsoincrediblycool</span>?)</span></li><li>I hit a triple at my softball game today<span style="font-style: italic;">,</span> and then my coach let me play first base for two innings.</li><li>My sister let me hug her.</li><li>I painted the fingernails on my left hand turquoise, and the fingernails on my right hand pearly pink.<br /></li><li>I stubbed my toe, but for some reason it didn't hurt.</li><li>I read the <span style="font-style: italic;">Odyssey</span> out loud to my cat. He enjoyed it, I think. Well, I did, at least.</li></ul> <span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Oh, to end things on a happy note~~</span></span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-75495778583168921912010-03-09T16:48:00.000-08:002010-03-09T17:44:12.655-08:00I guess this post is mostly about cooking, so I'm going to put that as the title.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKrRmsEemh4Kbh7JKDcOQmDOrRvfYAm9V2kQHQOtEbh1UED874iLU4r7DYEPlRS8z4t7_FEaBmGeJFDg2-PM7-EJk54AaLYYMTswdM7fXpElLSAgkuLNab46IsI7uxl5ze9jYckBrZlkST/s1600-h/tumblr_kwvh4nLrTb1qa0nd6o1_400.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKrRmsEemh4Kbh7JKDcOQmDOrRvfYAm9V2kQHQOtEbh1UED874iLU4r7DYEPlRS8z4t7_FEaBmGeJFDg2-PM7-EJk54AaLYYMTswdM7fXpElLSAgkuLNab46IsI7uxl5ze9jYckBrZlkST/s320/tumblr_kwvh4nLrTb1qa0nd6o1_400.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446801129916922514" border="0" /></a><br />Remember how I was saying that nobody reads this blog anymore?<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Scraaatch</span> that. I got a new vote on the poll, and a vote for "Almost every time I'm online," nonetheless! I just wonder who it is.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-random subject change-</span><br />Can you even conceive how much baking I have had to do this past year? Birthdays, potlucks, clubs, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">et</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">cetera</span>. Freshman year has been a flurry of flour and butter and eggs. I just finished making a double batch of chocolate muffins, one batch for my friend's birthday and another batch for a "chocolate potluck" that my community service club is having.<br />Sigh. I love baking. But I could probably fund the construction of a school in a developing country with the money I have wasted on cocoa, sugar, vanilla, and whatnot.<br />I remember that I had something to say when I logged in to my blog account. I just need to sit here and think for a minute. I bet it was really, really important, and that's why I forget it.<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Hmmm</span>. After seventeen minutes of sitting here concentrating so hard that I think my brain might explode any minute now, I STILL DON'T REMEMBER. *frustration*<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">-another random subject change-<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span>Guess what we have to do for Spanish? Instead of being a normal teacher and giving us a test at the end of the chapter, my super-duper extra-fun-and-interesting teacher is making us cook Hispanic food in front of the whole class.<br />How does this replace a test at all? Do not even ask me.<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>How are we proving that we've learned our chapter ten Spanish by dicing onions and squeezing limes? I have no idea. But now I have to make gazpacho soup while the rest of the class looks on in boredom. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Yay</span>.<br /><br />*is still unable to remember what she was going to say*<br /><br />*awkward silence*<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Uhh</span>. How about a survey now?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">When someone says "we need to talk," what runs through your mind?</span><br />I don't think anybody has ever used that phrase on me, because I'm not one to get too involved with other people.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What’s the last movie you watched? With who?</span><br />"Legally Blond" with my cat because I'm a loser with no family or friends to watch movies with.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">When was the last time you wanted to punch someone in the face?</span><br />I never want to punch anybody in the face. Except extremely annoying people.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Do you know anyone who always looks perfect?</span><br />Yes.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Two wrongs don't make a right, Correct?</span><br />Correct, sir.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Do you think relationships are hard?</span><br />I wouldn't know.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Is there someone who meant a lot to you at one point, and isn't around now?</span><br />Yes.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Can money buy happiness?</span><br />Technically, yes, but then again, technically no.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What do you hear right now?</span><br />"Near to You" by A Fine Frenzy, my fingers tapping on the keyboard, my mom screaming at my sister, the dishwasher running, and my own disgusting snuffling.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">If you had a tree that could grow anything you want, what would it grow?</span><br />Money, of course.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Do you know anyone who's been in jail?</span><br />Yes. Hello, high school.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What is your favorite color?</span><br />Maroon.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Do you have a lighter on you?</span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Hah</span>, no.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Could you go a month without talking to your best friend?</span><br />I suppose so.<br />Oh gosh, I guess I technically have. Yes.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Have you ever sat in the back of a police car?</span><br />No.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Would you say you’re emotionally strong?</span><br />Yes, except you would never know it if you knew me.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What’s worse, ignorance or stupidity?</span><br />Stupidity.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Do you know anyone who <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">doesn</span>’t smoke pot?</span><br />Yes. ME.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Think, what do you want more than anything?</span><br />A perfect life, of course. Endless money, a lover, an awesome job, a beautiful house in the mountains or in the middle of the sea, good looks, a wonderful personality, fifty cats, perfect health, etc.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Would you rather have long or short hair?</span><br />Long.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Do you follow your head or your heart?</span><br />My head, always.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Do you ever get so frustrated that you just wanna cry?</span><br />I don't cry when I'm frustrated.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">After taking a shower, do you change in the bathroom or in your bedroom?</span><br />The bathroom. My house is a freaking industrial meat freezer, not just in the morning but all the time. (Hence my habit of putting on my robe as soon as I step in the front door.) I like to stay in the steamy warmth as long as possible.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Which would you rather, grow old with somebody or alone?</span><br />Alone.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Your lost in the middle of nowhere, without a phone to call for help, What would you do?</span><br />I would spin around and around in circles until I got so dizzy I fell down, and then try to go to sleep and not wake up, ever.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What's your middle name?</span><br />Jean<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Have you ever given up on someone but then went back to them?</span><br />Like this blog? Yes.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Do you have someone of the opposite sex you can tell anything to?</span><br />Not even close.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Have you ever dated two people at once?</span><br />I’<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">ve</span> never dated anyone. So no.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Who was the last person to piss you off?</span><br />My Spanish teacher. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">LOL</span>, not really. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Uhm</span>, I think it was my sister.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Are you Asian?</span><br />No. I declare this the random-est and most pointless question on this entire survey.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Are you happy right now?</span><br />I am neutral.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What age do you want to get married?</span><br />Never.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What's a line from the song you're listening to?</span><br />"<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Something's</span> causing fear to fly, rising like a dark knight in silence." (Last of Days, A Fine Frenzy.)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Are you a bad influence?</span><br />It depends on what kind of bad influence you mean.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Do you get jealous easily?</span><br />No.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Is it usually easy for someone to make you smile?</span><br />Yes, because certain things strike me as amusing even when other people don't think anything is funny at all, and they give me little furtive sideways glances when I start laughing in the middle of a conversation.<br />It is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">colossally</span> inconvenient.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Is tomorrow going to be a good day?</span><br />It's a possibility.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ever cried while you were on the phone with someone?</span><br />Yes.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What color's your shirt?</span><br />Off-white.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Do you like to be tickled?</span><br />Ugh, no. It is absolute torture, and I am not even kidding you right now.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Are you dying to take off your clothes?</span><br />IT IS FREEZING, BUDDY, WHAT DO YOU THINK?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Do you care too much/not at all/just enough?</span><br />Too much.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Have you ever kissed someone with the same first initial as you?</span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">LOL</span> NOW THAT I THINK ABOUT IT YES but it's not what you think.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Who would you want to be tied to for 24 hours?</span><br />Wow. I really don't know.<br />Does my cat count?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What should we do w/ stupid people?</span><br />Feed them to sharks.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">What was the first thing you did this morning?</span><br />I woke up.<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Hah</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">hah</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">hah</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">hah</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">hah</span>, not what you were looking for.<br />Uh, I folded up my quilt and stuffed it under my bed.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Are you spoiled?</span><br />No.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">How do you vent your anger?</span><br />I don't vent. I bottle.<br />That makes some people think that I am never angry, including my parents.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Would you ever join the military?</span><br />No. I am far too wimpy.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The last website you visited?</span><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span>The blog where I found this survey.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Who was the last person you took a picture with?</span><br />Micheal, who you don't know, so I don't know why you care.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Today, would you rather go back a week or go forward a week?</span><br />Forward! Leave the past behind! Let's get on with this nonsense called life!Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-69266743499122624082010-03-07T16:23:00.000-08:002010-03-07T17:25:52.029-08:00It's between afternoon and evening. Hmm.Borrowed another survey-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ish</span> thing from <a href="http://www.inanurseryrhyme.blogspot.com/">Once Upon A Time</a>.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a month, I'd be November</div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a day of the week, I'd be Sunday<br />If I were a time of day, I'd be the moment you wake up<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were planet, I'd be Pluto<br />If I were a sea animal, I'd be a jellyfish<br />If I were a direction, I'd be east<br />If I were a piece of furniture, I'd be a shelf</div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a liquid, I'd be vinegar<br />If I were a gemstone, I'd be fake<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a tree, I'd be a willow<br />If I were a tool, I'd be a little screw<br />If I were a flower, I'd be a magnolia<br />If I were a kind of weather, I'd be a sprinkling snow<br />If I were a musical instrument, I'd be a lyre<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a color, I'd be white<br />If I were an emotion, I'd be neutral<br />If I were a fruit, I'd be a pear<br />If I were a sound, I'd be whispering leaves<br />If I were an element, I'd be one of those ones at the bottom that aren't real elements yet<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a car, I'd be a something rusty and slow<br />If I were a food, I'd be a cube of tofu<br />If I were a were a place, I'd be the sea</div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a material, I'd be off-white silk<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a taste, I'd be cupcake frosting<br />If I were a scent, I'd be vanilla and cinnamon<br />If I were an animal, I'd be a chickadee or a mouse<br />If I were an object, I'd be a magnifying glass<br />If I were a body part, I'd be an eye<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a facial expression, I'd be a vacant stare<br />If I were a song, I'd be 'The Minnow and the Trout' </div><div style="text-align: center;">If I were a pair of shoes, I'd be tall boots with buckles<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This was so much fun!</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Anyway, I sort of re-did my bedroom. More like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">un</span>-did it, actually. I was beginning to notice how there was so much clutter pressing in on all sides of me that it was almost claustrophobia-inducing. And since I have the opposite of claustrophobia, this should have been lovely for me, but it really was not. I like things to be nice and neat, but you'd never know it by looking at my room.<br />So I took action.<br />I cleared all the crap off of my shelves and filled an enormous garbage bag with all sorts of things that I have but never use. Some of it, like the books and stuffed animals, can be given to Goodwill, but the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">wiffle</span> balls, stacks of pictures cut from magazines, bits of chain, and bottles with only a droplet of lotion left in the bottom that I couldn't bear to throw away because they smell so good? Trash. And everything else was stuffed onto the top shelves of my closet or into my set of drawers.<br />I ended up with a fairly bare room. Some things, though, I couldn't hide: my shoes, my books, my guitar, and this enormous stuffed tiger that I am never going to throw or give away, no way. I chose to leave out my jewelry box and lotion/perfume/room spray/stuff I use every day.<br />A couple of days later I saw this picture on a blog...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDaaknKY-Qodgro1rlJPOImlXF9EKspCBwO2EAVkOeE0yYsYB1kQQVC3GC1CqyVWBHrP7wfV_J8DpIy5RMVex1uE9j0eMrfSdW67Taj-n99hGS959sUCgnHy8jJ1eacA0j2ogS_mdvr1y/s1600-h/cloud.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 202px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDaaknKY-Qodgro1rlJPOImlXF9EKspCBwO2EAVkOeE0yYsYB1kQQVC3GC1CqyVWBHrP7wfV_J8DpIy5RMVex1uE9j0eMrfSdW67Taj-n99hGS959sUCgnHy8jJ1eacA0j2ogS_mdvr1y/s320/cloud.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446059799643839634" border="0" /></a>... and decided to do something like it. I made "clouds" out of cotton instead of tissue paper and hung them from white nylon above my bed. I used to have little paper lanterns above my window, I took off the paper lantern part so that it was just a string of white lights and set it along the windowsill. Now my bed looks like this before I go to sleep:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE6AtCUh19-AbOemPZDLEqwQ4vXBp26XSe1INTlFok87OEjxV07zTi3CMVzPC0Ne6GIH9Qm06g9VM2ZlxiCIFVjG9aQ72BDSeOoqS-cwv70cXdEi84CTsXaZvqTW3ZE4WvGF5YABCJ8xt3/s1600-h/IMG_1961.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE6AtCUh19-AbOemPZDLEqwQ4vXBp26XSe1INTlFok87OEjxV07zTi3CMVzPC0Ne6GIH9Qm06g9VM2ZlxiCIFVjG9aQ72BDSeOoqS-cwv70cXdEi84CTsXaZvqTW3ZE4WvGF5YABCJ8xt3/s320/IMG_1961.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446059501392842802" border="0" /></a>(Those two random blotches on the wall are hooks from my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">bulletin</span> board. I have yet to take them down and fill the holes with putty.)<br />I don't have any more pictures of my room, sorry...<br />But who am I apologizing to? Nobody reads this blog. It's just a lonely forgotten corner of cyberspace. Sad. Remember when I thought I was going to stop?<br />(Should have.)<br />Anyway, I might keep doing a "blog," but not publish anything. That way I won't have to reread anything to make sure it's acceptable to show the world, and besides, there isn't much of a point of showing the world something if they aren't going to look at it.<br />I don't mean to sound pessimistic. It's just true. And I have started that other blog that I said I was going to start, so I can keep publishing on that one and delete this one.<br />I don't know. We'll see.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">If you read this, I love you~~</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXyK2uoHsHKWhbWhDK76DjYChwcXyxAutXSW9augF9MQIY1XXM5hUgsJPQlaxD1-b0BIt7Q6KBeIfR2y8kL86sbjCPIaJtcrYBhDtt0I4may_AfBZw9IrxEH9hhwIlwyrbRR5blp1ay-kB/s1600-h/IMG_1956.JPG"><br /></a></div></div>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-50977734470352403142010-03-05T15:35:00.000-08:002010-03-05T15:37:00.702-08:00I wonder<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsKfex7933gWNlTSouu-VrFY49lZ-y4W73XchvhtSTmdxrxZyvBg0WadBVUb6KXybvpdKh_pQ0E9HoxiLNqz5fb0-RVQZgTk2FBAdUCpzRT2c8ofuKuSnWPaFFOwXWV-BYFIMDr_qyapGv/s1600-h/IMG_1702.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 154px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsKfex7933gWNlTSouu-VrFY49lZ-y4W73XchvhtSTmdxrxZyvBg0WadBVUb6KXybvpdKh_pQ0E9HoxiLNqz5fb0-RVQZgTk2FBAdUCpzRT2c8ofuKuSnWPaFFOwXWV-BYFIMDr_qyapGv/s320/IMG_1702.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445297860276692482" border="0" /></a>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-60617755946363040992010-03-02T15:22:00.001-08:002010-03-02T15:56:46.887-08:00What's wrong. What are you doing. What is my purpose. What is a rooster?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA1fmWQoNzToL74uN5xucFUn5vnD0kUkVjKQnfAdJcT7noCAQb2CnLKCgVGEyJY5EGy4F6V_ciFpf0BWHkqoMhZOVJhFzl7QrBx-Bm_0M18DWIKsBsyUnt1ovZu6VegIkTR-n1frcfXO-q/s1600-h/tumblr_kxcb2xlS231qa0nd6o1_500.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 198px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA1fmWQoNzToL74uN5xucFUn5vnD0kUkVjKQnfAdJcT7noCAQb2CnLKCgVGEyJY5EGy4F6V_ciFpf0BWHkqoMhZOVJhFzl7QrBx-Bm_0M18DWIKsBsyUnt1ovZu6VegIkTR-n1frcfXO-q/s320/tumblr_kxcb2xlS231qa0nd6o1_500.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444185434231566386" border="0" /></a><br />You know what's weird? When somebody tells you something, and you say "What?" even if you heard them perfectly fine. I do this to other people all the time without even thinking about it. It's like I need an extra second to respond, or something.<br />And other people do it too. When I'm talking to somebody and I ask them a question whose answer will make absolutely no difference at all on my life or anybody <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">else's</span> in the universe, and they say, "What?" I usually just say "Never mind." And then they answer me. And I wonder why they didn't just answer in the first place. And then I remember that I do the exact same thing to others.<br />In books and movies and whatnot, the characters always hear each other perfectly. During long dialogues between people, there is never a "What?" In real life, people are going, "What?" every few minutes. Listen to your conversations. It happens so often. So often we don't even notice it anymore. But in books and movies it happens so rarely that we don't even notice how unrealistic it is for two apparently modern-day teens to have a conversation that lasts the front and back of a page without once saying "What?"<br />It's kind of handy for me, though. Whenever I try to explain something more complicated than how to work a toaster, I start making all these analogies to totally unrelated things, and detail far too much, and wave my fingers around in front of me thinking maybe they will stir up the words and rearrange them into a commentary that actually makes sense.<br />And then people say, "What?" Even if they heard me. Even if I --<span style="font-style: italic;">gasp!</span>-- made sense. It's a reflex, and I can always brush away my insanity with a "Never mind."<br />It's just odd. An oddity.<br />I was only thinking about it because I noticed it happening about a million times today.<br /><br />Speaking of talking, I found this wonderful Stephen King quote today. About a minute ago, actually. It reminds me of something I was talking about on here earlier.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_6NuCXN4BalvySmZSEL_jCOZ0TmnCX1JbJ_vNdMwtb6saTd837WPjkZ9KH_-Ly1YjXoMJwDxvk2T82WESLloBxPQjqOiX4oV7aFt_ejuEFUk83XThbiXhQ78HZ1NTZbK1iGNPaIPxu_t6/s1600-h/type+this+out.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 311px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_6NuCXN4BalvySmZSEL_jCOZ0TmnCX1JbJ_vNdMwtb6saTd837WPjkZ9KH_-Ly1YjXoMJwDxvk2T82WESLloBxPQjqOiX4oV7aFt_ejuEFUk83XThbiXhQ78HZ1NTZbK1iGNPaIPxu_t6/s320/type+this+out.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444186316558390626" border="0" /></a><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Mucho</span> love~~Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-84087801035175154962010-02-26T16:47:00.000-08:002010-02-26T17:00:46.106-08:00Look this up: Nudiustertian<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:180%;">1.</span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Changed my profile picture from the random shot of a chocolate bar that I stuck in there when first starting this blog over a year ago to one that I took while in </span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" style="font-size:100%;">Monterey</span><span style="font-size:100%;">.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:180%;">2.</span><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">I am thinking about starting another blog, but very differ</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ent</span> from this one. Sometimes I get really angry or sad about something, and a stream of poetry and prose flows out of my imagination. The little word-bundles are very nice really, but too dramatic and stupid to post here where people who know me in real life can see it. So if you stumble across a blog that maybe uses some pictures you've seen here, or uses language <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">tha</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;">t sounds like me, maybe it is me, indeed.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">3.</span><br />I saw 500 Days of Summer the other day. Well, half of it. I walked in while my sister was watching it for the billionth time. She'd offered to watch it </span><span style="font-size:100%;">with me before, but I'd always said no. Why? When I asked what it was about, I got something along the lines of<br />Sister: "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">OMG</span> IT'S THE CUTEST THING EVER THIS GUY M</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">EETS</span> THIS GIRL NAMED SUMMER AND THEY'RE LIKE IN LOVE BUT NOT REALLY BUT THEY SPEND 500 DAYS TOGETHER AND IT'S SUPER SWEET I LOVE IT."<br />Me: "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Uhnothanks</span>."<br />But since I had nothing better to do, I watched what was left of it. Surprise: it was a lovely movie. Not good by any means, but enjoyable to watch. It's a know</span><span style="font-size:100%;">n fact that I only like animated movies and those aimed at the six-to-ten-year-old crowd</span><span style="font-size:100%;">, so to enjoy a movie like this is a big step towards <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">teenagerhood</span> for me.<br />This completely random and completely hilarious dance number made me laugh for at least a year or two, and I begged we watch it again and again. (To which my sister had no complaints.) I don't know why I was so amused by this scene, but I was. However, I also find food falling in slow motion to be hilarious beyond words in any language, so I don't know if that counts for anything. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmKl-ED-KZNQtfQjlYRxZlsNiP0XzOK7Iet44vS_9_3H69E7zzexKQTqf-7TPDFoyURJUkG2vVKE7nosmb9wybKbhR0Ea7mHtO5-2H52e5UAlcy0s-uchEsxrh8KNkC7Q4-H3MmND8Yimy/s1600-h/500_Days_of_Summer(3).jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 160px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmKl-ED-KZNQtfQjlYRxZlsNiP0XzOK7Iet44vS_9_3H69E7zzexKQTqf-7TPDFoyURJUkG2vVKE7nosmb9wybKbhR0Ea7mHtO5-2H52e5UAlcy0s-uchEsxrh8KNkC7Q4-H3MmND8Yimy/s320/500_Days_of_Summer(3).jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442350171431179394" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;">I also love this quote, even though I'm not usually into movie quotes so much.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3dXq5fhH9DElJM4PzcaT6f5BBXAKfhxNuQbVMMDVdrunt-povH8mpKah041sO2AAXCNy4ixrPCMLi6cs90U2TiiwfzACCelkjTdAf1fs6umlMZJTgfGEp4W0mbmDZbzga4sKtHapRVagb/s1600-h/Picture+24.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3dXq5fhH9DElJM4PzcaT6f5BBXAKfhxNuQbVMMDVdrunt-povH8mpKah041sO2AAXCNy4ixrPCMLi6cs90U2TiiwfzACCelkjTdAf1fs6umlMZJTgfGEp4W0mbmDZbzga4sKtHapRVagb/s320/Picture+24.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442352211155366610" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(-Nobody likes Ringo Starr. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> -That's what I like about him.)</span><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">I can really identify with this. I like things that nobody likes, just because I think that somebody should.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:180%;">4.</span><br />I am a vegetarian now. I decided this over the break. My mom and dad are none too happy about this decision, but they are dealing with it. Why? Because for one, meat is sort of disgusting, always has been for me. I saw pork shoulders at the grocery store the other day. Can you imagine a row of dead pigs, with either a machine or a butcher taking a huge blade and hacking out the shoulders, then shrink-wrapping it for sale? Ugh.<br />Not that I will judge you if you do eat meat.<br />But also because I have heard too many horror stories about animals being tortured in slaughterhouses. Animals are supposed to be living lives. Actual lives. I don't think any living thing should be in a cramped cage their entire lives under horrible conditions. And if enough people are vegetarians, the demand for meat will go down and less animals will be killed for meat.<br />Let me put it this way. Imagine thousands of dead cows being stripped out of their skins and being put through a machine that grinds them up and spits them out the other end, now as red squishy hamburger meat.<br />That's why.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >(I could post some really awful pictures I've seen, but I won't to save your eyeballs from melting into their sockets.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >You're welcome)</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-36567955779522536122010-02-25T15:16:00.000-08:002010-02-25T15:26:41.725-08:00Discover me<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiolmV_EjeRUM53Nd7j8A3OAl_Z71vBHWzZy_iRl0n_vbzcfOOy5jnxQh0IrEZUGlDZI3SZZQg18pIh3JRpTHVeSN7TALuHR-_T_StUWNsDD63MCzKdmbWxNjD4YyCGCKQKe4EuCsoGwtgF/s1600-h/kids1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiolmV_EjeRUM53Nd7j8A3OAl_Z71vBHWzZy_iRl0n_vbzcfOOy5jnxQh0IrEZUGlDZI3SZZQg18pIh3JRpTHVeSN7TALuHR-_T_StUWNsDD63MCzKdmbWxNjD4YyCGCKQKe4EuCsoGwtgF/s320/kids1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442323342490516242" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyw4RZa8d54WbPHAgqiTeF_4Vo6LIyq7db8fFgArT6VRyJryjIC1RnCkX_jnbeSnQ_3Boof6chaPLbvyJqhv8VYm20RCmfT-5TV8MYs8zFPUkMkh3lmeEio5nHKWwfWgOGwf3Qkiy9nHp4/s1600-h/cupcake_palette.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyw4RZa8d54WbPHAgqiTeF_4Vo6LIyq7db8fFgArT6VRyJryjIC1RnCkX_jnbeSnQ_3Boof6chaPLbvyJqhv8VYm20RCmfT-5TV8MYs8zFPUkMkh3lmeEio5nHKWwfWgOGwf3Qkiy9nHp4/s320/cupcake_palette.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5442323334516227362" border="0" /></a>Bold the things you like, italic the ones you love but hate:<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">striped socks</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">winter vacation</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> minty breath</span><br />warm hands<br />sublime<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">proving people wrong</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">sketching</span><br />steel drums<br />the sims 2<br />kissing<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">backpacks</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">cloudy weather</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">picking out presents for people</span><br />kevin flamme<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">boys</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">old movies</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">reminiscing</span><br />mario party<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">orange juice</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">interesting people</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">late night texting</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">cool teachers</span><br />levi jeans<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">the city bus</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">cardigans</span><br />sneezing<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">drinking cold water</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">finding money in my pockets</span><br />making connections<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">books</span><br />bolding surveys<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">a clean bedroom</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">collages</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">meeting people</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">comfortable positions</span><br />headphones<br />marathons<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">packing to go somewhere</span><br />mascara<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">daydreaming</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">possibilities</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ramen</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">notepads</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">burt's bees</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">babysitting</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">actually getting homework done</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">feeling good about myself</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">complimenting people</span><br />postsecret<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">confiding in people</span><br />themed things<br />t shirts<br />gentlemen<br />singing harmonies<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">being surprised</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">new clothes</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">target</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">long eyelashes</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">bright eyes</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">naps</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">nicely-dressed boys</span><br />barack obama<br />tweezed eyebrows<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">inside jokes</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">eye contact</span><br />acronyms<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">thinking</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">animals</span><br />collecting turtles<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">understanding</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">friendship bracelets</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">meaningful items</span><br />simon & garfunkel<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">silly pictures</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">raspberries</span><br />not going to school<br />startrek<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">reading blogs</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">showering away problems</span><br />worn-in shoes<br />paranormal television shows<br />facebook chat<br />baked ziti<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">visiting my elementary school</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">soft blankets</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">big words</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">staying up late</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">second chances</span><br />piggy back rides<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">saying words over and over until they sound really strange</span><br />surrealism<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">the feeling of relief after going pee</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">home vidoes</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">unusual names</span><br />diving boards<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">smiles</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">cats</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">feeling better</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">considerate people </span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Found this on <a href="http://inanurseryrhyme.blogspot.com/">Once Upon A Time</a>.<br />Feel free to repost on your blog!<br /></div></div>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-16849960202769722632010-02-23T16:47:00.001-08:002010-02-23T16:49:16.824-08:00Flies and other little things<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8bl0mrZ6oqXF5QsPTcbzU_GWM54zS_AY0E8mJ2_CgLQmH_pPs4G41LK0yF4Yy0C9tnQCeU5kOQBtidpf0yMCfPBlwRCaE2Y0snXLz7612k5i1ilJrJhUTHO5FlYW_3HxdqIMJLQMJ9F3w/s1600-h/peacock.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 246px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8bl0mrZ6oqXF5QsPTcbzU_GWM54zS_AY0E8mJ2_CgLQmH_pPs4G41LK0yF4Yy0C9tnQCeU5kOQBtidpf0yMCfPBlwRCaE2Y0snXLz7612k5i1ilJrJhUTHO5FlYW_3HxdqIMJLQMJ9F3w/s320/peacock.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441605503166831250" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf860dVnGeZfvlqjfLakoBC23SZPzpgTJ_25hDuI8bxiGh7qRDi9EdKuWtn0gJZ6fa58zpfnoc5CO2aFK9HihIEgJI74zOwpU_qnLisfn7e_4vd4aqPVhBBnLkMjSAy-icvCIQZmgsO9d0/s1600-h/ducks.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf860dVnGeZfvlqjfLakoBC23SZPzpgTJ_25hDuI8bxiGh7qRDi9EdKuWtn0gJZ6fa58zpfnoc5CO2aFK9HihIEgJI74zOwpU_qnLisfn7e_4vd4aqPVhBBnLkMjSAy-icvCIQZmgsO9d0/s320/ducks.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441605498447789698" border="0" /></a><br />Completely unrelated photos^<br /><br /><br /><br />How long has this "create post" window been sitting here patiently, waiting to be filled with words? Forever at least. Interestingly enough, I have nothing to say.<br />Scratch that. I have something to say. I hate flies. I think all the flies of the universe have had some worldwide conference thing, during which they decided it would be a wonderful idea to gang up on me. Whenever I enter a room, they all go, "OMG GUYS LOOK IT'S JENNY LET'S ALL ATTACK HER!!!" I think only I can see them, because when I wave my hands in the air in a feeble little attempt to swat them all away, I occasionally notice people glancing over at me. They're probably wondering if I'm having a mild seizure, though they have yet to dial 911. It's really annoying. Flies bug me. HA, HA, HA, HA. I am amazed at my own cleverness. Does anybody get it? Flies are bugs, and they bug me. "Bug" as in "annoy." Actually, more like irritate to the point of feeling an urge to stab somebody with a rusty pitchfork, but that's an elaboration that I really did not have to share with the world.<br />Anyway, *plunges hands through a thick swarm of flies to reach keyboard* it's kind of odd that I don't like flies, because I really like little things. The purple gems out of pomegranates are my favorite thing to eat, with snowflakes close behind. And my favorite bird is the chickadee, and my favorite flowers are those pretty pink cherry blossoms that grow on trees. My favorite animal is a mouse, the little little kind of mice that you can't see unless you're really looking. Flies are minute insects, so I should be fascinated with them.<br />Instead, their tiny size just makes them all the more frustrating. The smaller something is, the harder it is to swat.Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-18015998853775745692010-02-20T12:12:00.000-08:002010-02-20T12:12:00.427-08:00Candy cornSo, new poll again. But this one doesn't really count for much, because I'm probably not even going to listen to whatever you-all think this blog needs. So far the only vote is for "try to be funny," and buddy, that is not going to happen. I am just not a funny gal.<br />I don't know, I read back to my eighth-grade posts just now. They were written by a much more energetic and humorous person. Maybe I used to be a funny gal, but people change. Maybe this used to be a good blog, but things change. I don't really mind if nobody reads this, anyway.<br />Check that. I do mind if somebody reads this. Getting comments on the posts and messages in the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">chatbox</span> used to make my day. Now I rarely see a sign of life. Not motivating, folks.<br />Anyway, sorry for seeming so downtrodden yesterday. I was just really frustrated with myself about something. This is certain to be a happier post.<br /><br />Last night I couldn't sleep. At all. I don't know why, because I'd been exhausted all day. And what do I do when I can't sleep?<br />WHY, MAKE A CANDY-CORN SMILE TO ATTACH TO A PAIR OF GLASSES, OF COURSE!<br />I had entirely too much fun with this thing. Even though the "candy-corn smile" did not end up looking like a smile at all.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ6ErDWn3ejGZzrfZpK3ohyphenhyphenwqFr_EdakWWfGM3UpbV6Vl-uC2hYiYVlS6BGIOtKEsCAT8j7oVY1TjGvlV6PWCIdNx1vfG4uXhOpBMUP4xhkLqvsRC63bD5FAfb2r2NJ11Yga3jIplSyBRO/s1600-h/IMG_1650.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ6ErDWn3ejGZzrfZpK3ohyphenhyphenwqFr_EdakWWfGM3UpbV6Vl-uC2hYiYVlS6BGIOtKEsCAT8j7oVY1TjGvlV6PWCIdNx1vfG4uXhOpBMUP4xhkLqvsRC63bD5FAfb2r2NJ11Yga3jIplSyBRO/s320/IMG_1650.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440053693439013618" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDCAYpkLmzJ9YR5Q_zYNUQl0gBKfsHzPUgLQjFjAMM7ovvROn-4VI1ItwvKcIuXwxbVUhdc2lyXLGbFg0VSkvJ_FJXE0LAROsiJ2JM_uU_5x5kz5N3p38LKfCqAmWBglGmcxozjlJZkQc/s1600-h/IMG_1632.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDCAYpkLmzJ9YR5Q_zYNUQl0gBKfsHzPUgLQjFjAMM7ovvROn-4VI1ItwvKcIuXwxbVUhdc2lyXLGbFg0VSkvJ_FJXE0LAROsiJ2JM_uU_5x5kz5N3p38LKfCqAmWBglGmcxozjlJZkQc/s320/IMG_1632.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440052801105924754" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitlYNJtZ0KjFNM7re7ZIFOM7cimudv6w4J8oIPPRkomgxXv22XedEMZ1JNMIvXFePFbSh1GFI86DcWCpoWQFyYBqhOQls1IZXuPv42QrQRYXTYJqxdLl6Epc3ETxMbGwTwS1DjtEuLnxPg/s1600-h/IMG_1638.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitlYNJtZ0KjFNM7re7ZIFOM7cimudv6w4J8oIPPRkomgxXv22XedEMZ1JNMIvXFePFbSh1GFI86DcWCpoWQFyYBqhOQls1IZXuPv42QrQRYXTYJqxdLl6Epc3ETxMbGwTwS1DjtEuLnxPg/s320/IMG_1638.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440053253666128610" border="0" /></a><br />And how on earth did I obtain giant candy corns in the middle of February, when all citizens of the United States of America are aware that candy corn is only readily available in October, and sometimes the end of September if the grocery stores are a little too eager that season? This is the secret:<br />On the way to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Monterey</span>, we stopped at the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Gilroy</span> Outlets, which is a bunch of stores, mostly women's apparel with names like Nine West and Ann Taylor, stuck side by side by side by side. My mother and grandmother spent hours browsing through racks of beige slacks and navy blue button-up sweaters, ribbed cotton tee shirts the color of pond scum and sold-color pencil skirts. It was loads of fun, let me tell you, being surrounded by such exciting variations in clothing.<br />What I think is that they should just take all the dull clothing from all the stores and make one giant warehouse out of it all. Each store literally sells the exact same thing as the one next to it.<br />But not the Jelly Belly store!!!!!!<br />That's where I got the candy corn. They were selling big sacks of it, three sacks for a quarter. Three sacks of stale <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">mellocreme</span>, just twenty-five cents. How could I resist?Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-42049489375821428882010-02-19T12:14:00.000-08:002010-02-19T12:14:11.999-08:00Unspeaking things.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiprqaXOd4rrAu5Oj3OTeuStrfa6FaVnBJlVDvdsaan5MGoj0Hb7XTrhhDErU8UvNGmSF3aXd36DuwLDQFa3XfjoLn4WMeHlxBmM6fBR63Cj3FobMtUodHd30bb-udWPhsjWQKDxT_M_D8F/s1600-h/three+faces.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 141px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiprqaXOd4rrAu5Oj3OTeuStrfa6FaVnBJlVDvdsaan5MGoj0Hb7XTrhhDErU8UvNGmSF3aXd36DuwLDQFa3XfjoLn4WMeHlxBmM6fBR63Cj3FobMtUodHd30bb-udWPhsjWQKDxT_M_D8F/s320/three+faces.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439729491230912130" border="0" /></a>I always have so much to say, but the words are locked up in my heart and never find their way out of my mouth. They get stuck halfway up my throat, and I always swallow them back down. My voice is so flimsy and weak, it never says what I want it to. I still hope people understand what I'm trying to convey. They never do.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9fcTYvGf5ZTROqybHZ_DbZOAH7ZzqK-nhMaW3MPboRSyqaNBVlUmfdcASJaJoILp9hT6uTmLtuZxyEyklNKq_dvFVGV78xoIMug2Al1ypdOoMtKReDaCXBZt4HTt0zVoAfI59YWuTJ_4w/s1600-h/Picture+23.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 184px; height: 185px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9fcTYvGf5ZTROqybHZ_DbZOAH7ZzqK-nhMaW3MPboRSyqaNBVlUmfdcASJaJoILp9hT6uTmLtuZxyEyklNKq_dvFVGV78xoIMug2Al1ypdOoMtKReDaCXBZt4HTt0zVoAfI59YWuTJ_4w/s320/Picture+23.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439734392984676738" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">andrew</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">hefter</span> photography)</span></span><br /><br />Maybe I'm the only one who talks in riddles and never says what I mean. Maybe I'm the only one who makes people decode their conversations with me to get inside my head, the only one who sees secrets in sentences that don't exist. Maybe that's why I often find myself all alone.<br />And nearly every time that I <span style="font-style: italic;">do</span> say what is on my mind, it's never the right thing to say and I want to unspeak it. It's so easy to say what I feel like saying on my blog, but when I talk to people that matter, my mind whirs a million miles a minute while my lips freeze. Everything I need to say spills through a filter between my brain and my voice, and so little gets through.<br />Why is it so hard for me to speak?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdZYLQKgetehCh_lsF9OqtWNP3Y4zHqz2Qf_051juvJq-tthxypOLtqbUvXUdSnfMyWI648hfw8bf32DeEjDtcHS1trVlnjTZXf8mHRT5BxrgEOCLXftCy2GqpwkUPC4dL_v8-QIHPE7_D/s1600-h/Picture+22.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdZYLQKgetehCh_lsF9OqtWNP3Y4zHqz2Qf_051juvJq-tthxypOLtqbUvXUdSnfMyWI648hfw8bf32DeEjDtcHS1trVlnjTZXf8mHRT5BxrgEOCLXftCy2GqpwkUPC4dL_v8-QIHPE7_D/s320/Picture+22.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438549843383244882" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Jenny, did it hurt to stick all that tape on your face in the first photo?</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Yes. But one must make sacrifices for art.</span></span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-41840529203529576432010-02-18T11:34:00.000-08:002010-02-18T12:40:12.556-08:00I am a little starfish and I need the sea to thrive.Reasons why I love Monterey:<br /><br />This...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXf94fD-ZiYYYiPI40BNxHLXAWE__ZuYfxNao5jqbOT-PhYn-TVDs9YvlN8wfm-TeF39Bu284iMuAvB2P8Cq9Cltei7Vd3DNiyophmLgJvuRTalgO4MyqwBUV79lVDDfQF1DeoO6Mkkjq/s1600-h/IMG_1442.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXf94fD-ZiYYYiPI40BNxHLXAWE__ZuYfxNao5jqbOT-PhYn-TVDs9YvlN8wfm-TeF39Bu284iMuAvB2P8Cq9Cltei7Vd3DNiyophmLgJvuRTalgO4MyqwBUV79lVDDfQF1DeoO6Mkkjq/s320/IMG_1442.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439673245317123218" border="0" /></a><br />this,<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg76spiVBJrVoGASaAgm1ApmuJ34Gc9ibIdQuTlANIeMUNpdqRaltBlLHDqG1FXZoF2HWmoAB70HTXahkNPa9y3f_oPKGOIcuZQKLAYIzshdJiCq_dgwFLNPULoeeCicyCzWtTUpeLqcZfy/s1600-h/IMG_1312.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg76spiVBJrVoGASaAgm1ApmuJ34Gc9ibIdQuTlANIeMUNpdqRaltBlLHDqG1FXZoF2HWmoAB70HTXahkNPa9y3f_oPKGOIcuZQKLAYIzshdJiCq_dgwFLNPULoeeCicyCzWtTUpeLqcZfy/s320/IMG_1312.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439676381356043570" border="0" /></a><br />and this, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmpFCwEbIgXG7sbiBdBa2lUzHl3Z6sqQ-0iw2ZH1tyfOfBbeZgMph7ri7Tc3Myd5tsHPd045HalDfQf92qosn27KudyCJDYV7SixqRoKosHzGkGvApq7Vl-gf2YS-BzJH9kBlY-TNWXrqy/s1600-h/IMG_1292.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmpFCwEbIgXG7sbiBdBa2lUzHl3Z6sqQ-0iw2ZH1tyfOfBbeZgMph7ri7Tc3Myd5tsHPd045HalDfQf92qosn27KudyCJDYV7SixqRoKosHzGkGvApq7Vl-gf2YS-BzJH9kBlY-TNWXrqy/s320/IMG_1292.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439676079956978930" border="0" /></a><br />this,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir4PGoMr182NmJ2fbcJh43GrbLeOwOqisqwDBlFcn5YaviJJ-E0r6srHpku39SK_KjN4j4zl3lRcS0lstxV-hY78UrAFyNNeIXGmnrtoq49KKGVlkt4zB1s4MGmDlqY_XX8-rNyTAQxXCf/s1600-h/IMG_1434.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir4PGoMr182NmJ2fbcJh43GrbLeOwOqisqwDBlFcn5YaviJJ-E0r6srHpku39SK_KjN4j4zl3lRcS0lstxV-hY78UrAFyNNeIXGmnrtoq49KKGVlkt4zB1s4MGmDlqY_XX8-rNyTAQxXCf/s320/IMG_1434.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439673256451441938" border="0" /></a>THIIIISSS...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHN1qeTUw2sSdq1w3JekmUIJBG67iNqJjD1NQAmfU1J6NrOzmgKCIeSRTIfgaL-C_0r_s8xsxcTOPbfNTk12jOdm-LqPgupjGFiJAN2lMgYMMSDTm6RPAO6p-B9Z8Q_E_zVHAATK5Pey8-/s1600-h/IMG_1382.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHN1qeTUw2sSdq1w3JekmUIJBG67iNqJjD1NQAmfU1J6NrOzmgKCIeSRTIfgaL-C_0r_s8xsxcTOPbfNTk12jOdm-LqPgupjGFiJAN2lMgYMMSDTm6RPAO6p-B9Z8Q_E_zVHAATK5Pey8-/s320/IMG_1382.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439673230435018114" border="0" /></a>and especially this.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9V8lqSGDHkEtC4SHZvbTi2uYw2elCzpOFmHnb74J0DWnTdPbpnLEodWnHM9067p3j7Qyyu6zfEdISKTlu_8_kc5X_gfzLVK3YI2bfQlafVys0JZ8WbFLnUwTJwOP-jK22Ok6NQk-h0hYO/s1600-h/IMG_1429.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9V8lqSGDHkEtC4SHZvbTi2uYw2elCzpOFmHnb74J0DWnTdPbpnLEodWnHM9067p3j7Qyyu6zfEdISKTlu_8_kc5X_gfzLVK3YI2bfQlafVys0JZ8WbFLnUwTJwOP-jK22Ok6NQk-h0hYO/s320/IMG_1429.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439671258249701506" border="0" /></a><br />So. As you might have concluded, <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:78%;">and I hope you did, or else you are terribly dim,</span></span> I have returned from my short venture to Monterey. It was lovely, like it always is. Cold, windy, rocky beaches; that is so fully where I belong. If you can count on one thing to be unquestioningly wonderful, no matter what, why, how, when, or where, it is the sea. The moment I was released from the car, he greeted me with open arms and drew me in and didn't let go for hours.<br />My mom yelled for getting so soaking wet. The rest of them had gone shopping while I stayed on the beach, and she had expected me to just lounge on the shores for one hundred and eighty minutes while the sea was just sitting there <span style="font-style: italic;">waiting</span>, calling, sending welcoming rays my way. And I couldn't waste time changing into a swimsuit, I only had as long as the shops could entertain them to enjoy the ocean. Who cares if my impatient-ness resulted in waterlogged jeans?<br />By-the-by, by "them" I mean my grandma, my mom,<br />my sister:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN8iMpN_KjOG1YjKlSakC0opksPkV-tpUtuxipc376CF45uar7m7y-8ulGRz7lOKuHh1hdhNerZ3pqwxVAYNAVwu1RiXyGC1W4dsPa57SxdsJxknjESTvZH04K1w-Wu8CO7Q3JNbdssBkL/s1600-h/IMG_1390.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN8iMpN_KjOG1YjKlSakC0opksPkV-tpUtuxipc376CF45uar7m7y-8ulGRz7lOKuHh1hdhNerZ3pqwxVAYNAVwu1RiXyGC1W4dsPa57SxdsJxknjESTvZH04K1w-Wu8CO7Q3JNbdssBkL/s320/IMG_1390.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439676064840505090" border="0" /></a><br />my cousin:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3PovK_-EsHeNv8s_G2OEO8Ro7HaZXqpExnVcoRG1QJRh6xaheIJvxK87-OAXEN0pM9JJRIrnzWB0RoPN2dJZX9j6cjTq2_nx9qVgalYk_eWVFP2SzCeQc-h6q8ZfcVLMeiCvhGwLm-tlh/s1600-h/IMG_1320.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3PovK_-EsHeNv8s_G2OEO8Ro7HaZXqpExnVcoRG1QJRh6xaheIJvxK87-OAXEN0pM9JJRIrnzWB0RoPN2dJZX9j6cjTq2_nx9qVgalYk_eWVFP2SzCeQc-h6q8ZfcVLMeiCvhGwLm-tlh/s320/IMG_1320.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439676766445753186" border="0" /></a><br />and my other cousin.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcm4CSPhKAXvlB9ievO5kblAxFkucCz-M8dJMSyAx9l0Mt5ePV0tbYa23AJqquEP3fsJun5KIkYXTMUopEcJ2BvzqrJkHlw4Kq4uMMhVaH-4F2B6LaNh92tOVi1LF_oVoIke6I91FKEZD2/s1600-h/IMG_1319.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcm4CSPhKAXvlB9ievO5kblAxFkucCz-M8dJMSyAx9l0Mt5ePV0tbYa23AJqquEP3fsJun5KIkYXTMUopEcJ2BvzqrJkHlw4Kq4uMMhVaH-4F2B6LaNh92tOVi1LF_oVoIke6I91FKEZD2/s320/IMG_1319.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439676752080955730" border="0" /></a><br />Plus me. Coincidentally, this is the only picture I have of myself, and I edited it up. Oh well.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxWHBi_tGJsKSDEFSrXqPoAbxpRGg8LaGQZC473AdnXaSOcgHrwzKkuNJ4cSXVZ9LnZ81YJ_LGnhjmGt_WW-c30bKHzzeBY3E52Hku0G1ybVHax8wbhP-cCblKEXNP7Mb5XEkU8llr1D4/s1600-h/IMG_1376.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxWHBi_tGJsKSDEFSrXqPoAbxpRGg8LaGQZC473AdnXaSOcgHrwzKkuNJ4cSXVZ9LnZ81YJ_LGnhjmGt_WW-c30bKHzzeBY3E52Hku0G1ybVHax8wbhP-cCblKEXNP7Mb5XEkU8llr1D4/s320/IMG_1376.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439678250182709762" border="0" /></a>There's a small beach right next to Cannery Row, where they were off to do their second period of shopping during the evening. My mom didn't want me to get all wet again, because we were going to eat dinner in a restaurant, so she didn't let me hang out there. Even after I promised to not even touch the water, to hold my breath so I wouldn't be able to smell the salty fishiness.<br />We both knew I would break any vow once I got the damp sand squishing between my toes.<br /><br />Ugh. I want to go back already. I want to live there. I want to get married on Fisherman's Wharf. I want to die in a little sailboat in the choppy waters off the coast of Monterey. I want to go back there.Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-34230795776738897842010-02-15T00:00:00.000-08:002010-02-15T00:00:06.957-08:00Shouting out loud.It's shout-out day.<br />I am shouting out to you, and you, and yes, even you. You too, over there. Some of the names are in code, some are nicknames, others are plain and simple, but I'm not going to specify too much.<br />Are one of these shout-outs... to you? Maybe. Decode and decide.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Again, not all of the images are mine.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">To <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">KK</span>,</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQePHuC8AB1GCNmuMGS1oSwsdjrsKrPyHb8OtAmBreM35o_J8ohWcGrWFqxZKkRrxBiNThhnzIJSfiJNxJ-APHO3PfjCGE0JsZkqafWulIGIxg5SOIsD_EY4RIXS0d3aJ0odWK7XXhC0V7/s1600-h/Picture+13.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQePHuC8AB1GCNmuMGS1oSwsdjrsKrPyHb8OtAmBreM35o_J8ohWcGrWFqxZKkRrxBiNThhnzIJSfiJNxJ-APHO3PfjCGE0JsZkqafWulIGIxg5SOIsD_EY4RIXS0d3aJ0odWK7XXhC0V7/s320/Picture+13.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438350104575575570" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhbXuk7tbrkPxfQMr2qZ5Ci8UQLWWZ4zrcQb9J_rJ22-Ff3vVcXXK5DWbT_kRvHWm8YiSI-PLxN5yaYEw092fZP5yQQ-lq1iRqFqaii0ThivsyV3F56T7hh7e4LwlL92duEY3OpnVqG9qd/s1600-h/Picture+14.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhbXuk7tbrkPxfQMr2qZ5Ci8UQLWWZ4zrcQb9J_rJ22-Ff3vVcXXK5DWbT_kRvHWm8YiSI-PLxN5yaYEw092fZP5yQQ-lq1iRqFqaii0ThivsyV3F56T7hh7e4LwlL92duEY3OpnVqG9qd/s320/Picture+14.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438350117473896546" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">To Shirley,</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1kXOl2DzOWUfcjaWgLEsyLEMBOYNxVjn7sUn-xq5oLcT2n6fTCkfoySrdjMWFt-Sn9gHX_EPuqyMO0nik8OvyysUWTaxMMHGzgIRrf1DbZmBVBWh5FGJFuTm2IglrQHofUV1Q3FggqFH3/s1600-h/Picture+15.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 197px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1kXOl2DzOWUfcjaWgLEsyLEMBOYNxVjn7sUn-xq5oLcT2n6fTCkfoySrdjMWFt-Sn9gHX_EPuqyMO0nik8OvyysUWTaxMMHGzgIRrf1DbZmBVBWh5FGJFuTm2IglrQHofUV1Q3FggqFH3/s320/Picture+15.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438352885738321842" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">To those of you,<br /></span></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik1XWR33MpBpcF2bRnPfoQtPlxPBMqh6NDEGu4zBoIld3NNBNh2Lq01TeiVxHS06V_BZuMiyN-k5XewBemZtZbl14mf44zWTMD8SxqMaLZ2qn3pQ4eB7tBBPNnWEELqLFrDbdQb3EdizW5/s1600-h/Picture+16.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik1XWR33MpBpcF2bRnPfoQtPlxPBMqh6NDEGu4zBoIld3NNBNh2Lq01TeiVxHS06V_BZuMiyN-k5XewBemZtZbl14mf44zWTMD8SxqMaLZ2qn3pQ4eB7tBBPNnWEELqLFrDbdQb3EdizW5/s320/Picture+16.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438354394933729234" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">To the most obvious cryptic I know,</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWAMtLWOmt8Hpj_WvCsfpbSZmcywJRKRjRfCkowcIxiQzOVzMnfn78s5uOlyri1ILA85mCu_ZKAI6o4Ia2kLieWK2fmV4XvzamRCpfE2LodSWG2uJf3yL9_uHnjHqMxEz6CV5hKtFvWCGD/s1600-h/Picture+19.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWAMtLWOmt8Hpj_WvCsfpbSZmcywJRKRjRfCkowcIxiQzOVzMnfn78s5uOlyri1ILA85mCu_ZKAI6o4Ia2kLieWK2fmV4XvzamRCpfE2LodSWG2uJf3yL9_uHnjHqMxEz6CV5hKtFvWCGD/s320/Picture+19.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438358213842910818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">To my mother,</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmOeBjNmAJLhRH5pU5eBqvlkNzi2zyes3HAO8uSJOmkj4la1tXXx_JFCq4h8dFQo2FG8s2a3KmD5VyuuGseoq0IDplMt9rZBqqzCaPJnmw70At1PEp5AV93JZfvlMIDVIYpyaJX_vwafE8/s1600-h/Picture+17.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmOeBjNmAJLhRH5pU5eBqvlkNzi2zyes3HAO8uSJOmkj4la1tXXx_JFCq4h8dFQo2FG8s2a3KmD5VyuuGseoq0IDplMt9rZBqqzCaPJnmw70At1PEp5AV93JZfvlMIDVIYpyaJX_vwafE8/s320/Picture+17.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438355297263013154" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">To myself,</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikxrYN4JNbVE83OxXDseXNtjVwx4X3htYwZG1sP9Fq0VVcEjWDS1gxjigi6lYjmAfHDFPzjOWTTCJQJuup95DRvgQpedN8FvjGemY2rYhYvmlaGVZRriyhMHfddlE5v_FGiWoVmwms5OBR/s1600-h/Picture+18.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 318px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikxrYN4JNbVE83OxXDseXNtjVwx4X3htYwZG1sP9Fq0VVcEjWDS1gxjigi6lYjmAfHDFPzjOWTTCJQJuup95DRvgQpedN8FvjGemY2rYhYvmlaGVZRriyhMHfddlE5v_FGiWoVmwms5OBR/s320/Picture+18.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438355954687919922" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">To Amy,</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw0xJLGI6uITJKKKCA6laNGhmnLbezGbQ70dfSG8ad4zQznjHzaKda8rLoBB5g2hhPvgarAXcASiXjpHJ0zFeUtpoZgxm7ouP3kawv1KefqqNESyJRhoDasRE-o09MCLm5khcFoTLO8g0n/s1600-h/Picture+20.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 205px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw0xJLGI6uITJKKKCA6laNGhmnLbezGbQ70dfSG8ad4zQznjHzaKda8rLoBB5g2hhPvgarAXcASiXjpHJ0zFeUtpoZgxm7ouP3kawv1KefqqNESyJRhoDasRE-o09MCLm5khcFoTLO8g0n/s320/Picture+20.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438359776568020850" border="0" /></a>I'm sorry for having so many pictures and so little words lately. I just don't have anything much to say.<br />Also, I am leaving for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Monterey</span> TOMORROW, and let's hope I don't stumble through a post while drunk on sea air. Actually, my mother isn't bringing her laptop, so that's not going to happen. I'll post when I get back, <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">maaaaybe</span></span>, but remember, I'm not the most dependable blogger you know.<br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">or am i?</span></span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-51088819970459874802010-02-14T12:37:00.000-08:002010-02-14T12:37:00.385-08:00To be in love.Stupid lovey-lovey images, in honor of Valentine's Day. Not all of them are mine, but I don't know who to credit.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2Oj0Ax2StaORTPDj-5ePRRPe0BgRzTHCcFdALDxF-yMiLxVPGm_ARDUCkgjcoCHnV2mKMtZbSfYPXm3b2cvHi5wIopZ2zozlPDpfnKCjM8ROSViejH_LkohtPnJ_3dkHPKFeJhzU5JFN/s1600-h/20080718031724.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2Oj0Ax2StaORTPDj-5ePRRPe0BgRzTHCcFdALDxF-yMiLxVPGm_ARDUCkgjcoCHnV2mKMtZbSfYPXm3b2cvHi5wIopZ2zozlPDpfnKCjM8ROSViejH_LkohtPnJ_3dkHPKFeJhzU5JFN/s320/20080718031724.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437830693586702370" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh27wVu_orKVRZuz0hf8bnFgOBOxrI8_A2pmzt21YhvUqDhrji3O63sIc7jfTPwp-GUuxfqaNIRZzvuI7ECFK0HTE_TjqXTI9InYyg4I_ytOoWWEERRz-JwltLeOQ7416ZREKcDuZyqF9e_/s1600-h/sunshine+lilla.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh27wVu_orKVRZuz0hf8bnFgOBOxrI8_A2pmzt21YhvUqDhrji3O63sIc7jfTPwp-GUuxfqaNIRZzvuI7ECFK0HTE_TjqXTI9InYyg4I_ytOoWWEERRz-JwltLeOQ7416ZREKcDuZyqF9e_/s320/sunshine+lilla.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437842159904092770" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxllkUk8OOBgykFMHps8nAQIjRs84XoXtnFvZ4BIjpnms-DmWr365wZ1puj0mghJvyxihFH-S_lAMbSyLv1HBe4J53j8oX2mDHRTO3hjV14qy4Hbkcq4N7jq5XGkSc98yScPj3hH6N-pZo/s1600-h/eet3cnmkt_jacqueline-rivera2-550x412_large.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxllkUk8OOBgykFMHps8nAQIjRs84XoXtnFvZ4BIjpnms-DmWr365wZ1puj0mghJvyxihFH-S_lAMbSyLv1HBe4J53j8oX2mDHRTO3hjV14qy4Hbkcq4N7jq5XGkSc98yScPj3hH6N-pZo/s320/eet3cnmkt_jacqueline-rivera2-550x412_large.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437830697484628258" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB7K7JdrfrR5GFtxQBCy8pnjYXjmcqRlZYcOw5qz393TyTIJm57oBjsPX_7XyqZ0Vzq6Jj0cdQpaVsSjyyg7wmpoWawmPtJ9qM5LX-__VoHoFW_T3H7fYvH9uggY8rcf1loWqvOqJGWD71/s1600-h/tumblr_kx87p0hiWm1qahqyoo1_500_large.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 221px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB7K7JdrfrR5GFtxQBCy8pnjYXjmcqRlZYcOw5qz393TyTIJm57oBjsPX_7XyqZ0Vzq6Jj0cdQpaVsSjyyg7wmpoWawmPtJ9qM5LX-__VoHoFW_T3H7fYvH9uggY8rcf1loWqvOqJGWD71/s320/tumblr_kx87p0hiWm1qahqyoo1_500_large.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437830686398176834" border="0" /></a>I love the idea of being in love, even though I never have been.<br />I don't think I could fall in love with a person. People are too complicated.<br />I could fall in love with a pear tree or a blue jay, a square of silk, or a whistling wind. I have fallen in and out of love with the sun a hundred times. He and I, we don't have the healthiest relationship.<br />But that's another story.<br />The only <span style="font-style: italic;">people</span> who love me are the ones who have to by laws of nature; my family. There are no geeky boyfriends, no crushes, no hugs and kisses, no 'dating,' no 'relationships,' and there never have been.<br />And that is just how it should be for me. Sometimes I think I want to delve into that element of life, but I don't. People are too volatile, I've seen too many reputations ruined and hearts broken because of what they call love. Those schoolroom couples don't seem genuine, not a true definition of what I call love.<br /><br />I think if I go on, I am not going to make a lot of sense. (See first picture.)<br /><br />On a less whimsical, more down-to-earth, solid-ground note, my family is thinking about taking a little overnight trip to Monterey. We have the entire week off for no particular reason, but free time is filling up fast with softball, movie dates and the like, a hefty school project, and now this possible mini-trip.<br />I am willing to throw aside that project for a couple days and cancel any plans; I am ecstatic to hear of maybe maybe maybe, a visit to my true love, the sea.<br />If I ever become beautiful I will give myself to its waters. If I live to be old, I will die on an empty shore. I really hope that this trip happens after all.<br />Because I really, really love the sea.<br /><br />You can probably tell I'm in a strange and sprightly mood. I think I need to bottle up now, before I spill any more inky insanity from my mind through my fingertips.<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I'm not usually like this, promise. Just let me be crazy for a minute.</span></span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-41774696417982752842010-02-13T18:21:00.000-08:002010-02-13T19:12:16.981-08:00Splitting a face in a wonderful place.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YhNHmrk199_SJLbRdsQYTEsvRnrCPoBVJ5hexdYOKgQaLFcNBk9fUGATFRSxsO3PrBs3qa40qo6c6DcC0zhpGyd-dbxH6jqkANgiHzQq4-8RwKkJIWGQESIo6FspiIW6v723GSGCT9it/s1600-h/Picture+2.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YhNHmrk199_SJLbRdsQYTEsvRnrCPoBVJ5hexdYOKgQaLFcNBk9fUGATFRSxsO3PrBs3qa40qo6c6DcC0zhpGyd-dbxH6jqkANgiHzQq4-8RwKkJIWGQESIo6FspiIW6v723GSGCT9it/s320/Picture+2.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437921996728399266" border="0" /></a>Or explode. I don't usually smile that big, you know.<br /><br />Went on a perilous journey to a creek today. I was already in a good mood when I headed over there, so when I started thrashing through the shrubbery and splashing in the shallow inlets of the water, I felt so buoyant I almost floated away. Good thing I didn't, because it would have been a bummer to miss out on all the fun that ensued.<br />The creek is lovely, but there isn't much of a story to tell.<br />A story in pictures today.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98yuC-blZbiGMzkaP9fqjZeOqOj6v3G1O94NfG9QQ1Ls_DWSon1Wh7oFH2_K8nwfqEmj1oPeefqAwG1h-SgvXPHrBnwyFP8TIpPKg5PxzrGjCG3a4a2Drfw8hJ2sdD0wL8YFwfO7NXtgi/s1600-h/IMG_1036.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98yuC-blZbiGMzkaP9fqjZeOqOj6v3G1O94NfG9QQ1Ls_DWSon1Wh7oFH2_K8nwfqEmj1oPeefqAwG1h-SgvXPHrBnwyFP8TIpPKg5PxzrGjCG3a4a2Drfw8hJ2sdD0wL8YFwfO7NXtgi/s320/IMG_1036.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437928003690583266" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-o1S_-CXA87GVbDJ_n3BidoJSzIiVS3fj0v8iWynSnfw3HJkOfUySkj3GMtgiLKSKUxfs7APwTx2bcKqg9ShjoZIJyVUBmqETxVrUJgXeK3DVqHgKWlL7fLcFYzJ4lQYWnGnQScMkyo4/s1600-h/IMG_1157.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-o1S_-CXA87GVbDJ_n3BidoJSzIiVS3fj0v8iWynSnfw3HJkOfUySkj3GMtgiLKSKUxfs7APwTx2bcKqg9ShjoZIJyVUBmqETxVrUJgXeK3DVqHgKWlL7fLcFYzJ4lQYWnGnQScMkyo4/s320/IMG_1157.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437928670204471858" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQOzfP4PJKkeXimYzWKwNoijKM7Zp0xa2iUhOUvXWQ20JJQMApGoIm86Xy69DYhxVOz-MTPZjEET86CIaECDdoERqsKlIwLTCnPhwu-N3PtEm6_y6JnDkucvjJ2DmWFyXXz9Jg9qWQ0N_H/s1600-h/Picture+3.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 228px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQOzfP4PJKkeXimYzWKwNoijKM7Zp0xa2iUhOUvXWQ20JJQMApGoIm86Xy69DYhxVOz-MTPZjEET86CIaECDdoERqsKlIwLTCnPhwu-N3PtEm6_y6JnDkucvjJ2DmWFyXXz9Jg9qWQ0N_H/s320/Picture+3.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437930518598708418" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeHr5SkgxdPMx_DEcHNNeJi5c8DsJqzGFcSwDt-JC4ZGlZTBRgYOBs41ZngWqWN6dkD2pPpt1nd3XMHJkhhvglbkGrID3ukHztj2AakUvUGqg0fq7v6fITeaXt8981-Sa0uX68mF5kq2_0/s1600-h/IMG_1103.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeHr5SkgxdPMx_DEcHNNeJi5c8DsJqzGFcSwDt-JC4ZGlZTBRgYOBs41ZngWqWN6dkD2pPpt1nd3XMHJkhhvglbkGrID3ukHztj2AakUvUGqg0fq7v6fITeaXt8981-Sa0uX68mF5kq2_0/s320/IMG_1103.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437925719706342722" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAQ3RUV3bNQ8IuSygV4LaiolVZAF3KSC0YLkCbjS6hf-Xyt5SguBa0Mm6vxCzbhNxcrWVFxRjI9wiFSVDSL8mBCJVPAGanOLAlDhRa9D13LQi3Mo7TUl7sL4fOkvAIWDLpSnT9L92yLA4J/s1600-h/IMG_1035.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 289px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAQ3RUV3bNQ8IuSygV4LaiolVZAF3KSC0YLkCbjS6hf-Xyt5SguBa0Mm6vxCzbhNxcrWVFxRjI9wiFSVDSL8mBCJVPAGanOLAlDhRa9D13LQi3Mo7TUl7sL4fOkvAIWDLpSnT9L92yLA4J/s320/IMG_1035.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437925702736223666" border="0" /></a><br />Yes, I took pictures of myself, which I am sort of unaccustomed to doing. I was not feeling particularly attractive, but I was feeling particularly happy.<br />So I pointed a camera at myself...? I don't make sense, even to my own head.<br />I have <span style="font-size:180%;">TONS</span> more pictures, but I'm saving them for later. I'll start future posts with a picture from the bazillion I took during my afternoon excursion. That way I won't ever run out of pictures to put at the top of posts, as I always fear I will.<br /><br />Much love~Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-46449980694384231682010-02-12T15:22:00.000-08:002010-02-13T17:48:13.779-08:00BirdSpanish class today was the same as Spanish class any other day, except for that a little bird came fluttering in through the open door and flicked around the classroom, befuddled by the sudden change in environment.<br />We were equally confused. "What is that?" "Why did it come in here?" "Is it retarded?" "Can we name it?" "How are we gonna get it out?" The bird darted frantically around the classroom in an aimless, hopeless pattern, lurching from one corner to the next, seeking escape.<br />The teacher has the brilliant idea of turning off the lights so it would fly towards the sunlight streaming in through the door. But when she did, the bird freaked out and shot behind a filing cabinet. After a few seconds of unsure ha-ha's and a few pitying moans, the bird reappeared. It rose into the air--we held our breath--started towards the door--we bit our lips--hovered near the doorway--we crossed our fingers--then lurched upward, pitched forward, and BAM! Into the window. It was insistent that the window was the only avenue to freedom. It hurled its tiny body against the pane of glass again and again and again, torturing itself in its attempt to escape.<br />At this point my fingers were itching. My camera was sitting patiently right there in my backpack, but I could sense its eagerness radiating in electric pulses. We're not exactly allowed to have them on during school, but I had to ask.<br />"Can I take a picture of it?"<br />I was relieved to be granted permission. I didn't catch very much of the action, but this is what I managed to get:<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw71xLK77g2IHd6qKLjgadJUOnEGCekperSFHmd-Jh030Rt2XemahKKuTWw3BX7OnzXmGXGSDbJ6jZxHtg4sw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw57CVO8dhAOKeREhCys7aI1nEbEjnDki82LpykDSlJkdblx2Q94fGBhMnulrMhoAvvKqfoG4WtoHPCC1pKnQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />The little creature did not enjoy being prodded at by the janitor, but he eventually he figured out how to get himself out the door.<br />We all applauded for him, but he was probably far, far away from our classroom by then, too far, far, far away to hear us.<br />Anyway, that was the big interest of the day. Today was "Valentine's Day," technically, since it falls on a Sunday this year. Not many people brought Valentines, not many girls paraded around with balloons and roses. It was a bit muted, but that's okay.<br />I have this big project to work on right now, even though what I feel like doing is...<br />...I spent five minutes trying to think of how to end that sentence. I don't know what I want to do, but I know that sitting my bum on a chair and researching for an hour is <span style="font-style: italic;">not </span>it. I have way more energy than a single body can possibly contain. I need to run. That's what I need to do.Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-27560650619300565122010-02-10T15:53:00.000-08:002010-02-11T15:57:16.070-08:00Weeds and Bacon<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd7Ys1lxswjhHZ0we6ViiCpr0K3ZQ0KCfU7IKcPYcWm4KfTcz0YpCJMI5nTkK1lXVqeVQAb4pVseYFaRPc6dR6508PuzGaDzFX93LiLtfyUntGBG4dsltascQdlBokEPH7cR-Qd0OZD-qX/s1600-h/IMG_0948.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd7Ys1lxswjhHZ0we6ViiCpr0K3ZQ0KCfU7IKcPYcWm4KfTcz0YpCJMI5nTkK1lXVqeVQAb4pVseYFaRPc6dR6508PuzGaDzFX93LiLtfyUntGBG4dsltascQdlBokEPH7cR-Qd0OZD-qX/s320/IMG_0948.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436770020855629410" border="0" /></a><br />Those are weeds I'm standing in. I know, weeds are supposed to be ugly.<br />These were the nicest-looking weeds I've ever seen in my life. Or maybe I just liked them because they matched my shoes.<br />Somewhat.<br /><br />Well, I think there's something wrong with me. A few days ago I was living my humdrum life, making cynical comments inside my head and constantly waiting for the week/year/rest of the life to end. But then a little switch in my head flicked, a dial turned, and suddenly everything seems just fine, and even wonderful. I think I might be happier than I have ever been.<br />Nothing in particular <span style="font-style: italic;">happened</span> to initiate this sudden but welcome burst of positivity. But it came forth nonetheless, and I plan to enjoy it before it sputters and fizzles, and my life descends back into its lusterless gray shades.<br /><br />I have energy now. I tap and hum in class. I spin in circles down the sidewalk instead of walking, if nobody's around to see. If this goes on I'm going to jump out of my skin and explode into the sky. I will fly, fly away and never come back to the world where there are troubles, because it is simply too amazing to feel so free.<br /><br />Anyway. Bacon. <a href="http://bacolicio.us/http://www.jenisblogwhee.blogspot.com">*click*</a>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-89559225863922803642010-02-08T15:05:00.000-08:002010-02-08T19:59:28.394-08:00A multitude of lightbulbs illuminating<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm4bfJcDDA9DeJbUR1xwWGM1Z_azDGI0R6CincGc4itFCMgMvQEKdh5yYU3QGZyGt0Gu_yoTBMpsOnS_1c2nf7pJKdOa9ZgPbAoIEhyYjA0d_dwUhyjou6rB3KFD9gweMDxTei7J7-a5fs/s1600-h/IMG_0772.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm4bfJcDDA9DeJbUR1xwWGM1Z_azDGI0R6CincGc4itFCMgMvQEKdh5yYU3QGZyGt0Gu_yoTBMpsOnS_1c2nf7pJKdOa9ZgPbAoIEhyYjA0d_dwUhyjou6rB3KFD9gweMDxTei7J7-a5fs/s320/IMG_0772.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436016086421291186" border="0" /></a><br />I think I think too much. I can turn around entire situations by overthinking things. I have put myself through a good amount of misery by doubting and believing and deciding and changing my mind with every blink.<br />Sometimes I really want to kill my stupid, paranoid brain.<br />My blog is a good thing, a place where I can ramble mindlessly without worrying what I'm talking about, or why. I used to care more, but suddenly my mind has more important things to attend to, and the blog that used to be the center of my personal universe is now just an accessory to my life, a little embellishment, a sprinkling of glitter on the edges.<br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Speaking of which, please vote on the new poll,</span> because I actually want to see some answers for this one. Do pictures make this blog any better at all? For this post I wasn't really sure what went with the topic, so I tried to look... curious. Curious--wondering--thinking...? Whatever.<br />So, I'm really craving a little snow these days.<br />I know, Jenny. You live on the coast of California. You never see snow, unless you travel up or, as it turns out, down. But snow is so pretty and bundle-up-y. School and softball keep me pretty busy, and I crave an excuse to stay in bed, stay in my head, watch the snow drift and feel my spirits lift. I never feel like facing the world when it's freezing out. I cling to my bedclothes in the morning as if I were clutching the corner of a cliff with fingers weak enough to slip.<br />The frigid days send my spirit out of my skin, my nerves close off, and I draw into myself. Wintertime can be beautiful, but my skin is paler than the moon and my heart has frozen solid. I think maybe I'm ready for little sunlight.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(Both literally and figuratively)</span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-46759140038715748602010-02-07T17:32:00.000-08:002010-02-07T18:38:38.519-08:00The Valentine's Day post, early.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiXdG5y2AYMHUVVqj1CDVM8XBxw5ryNMoQK1zcSWEcA2BopFoWYjPkuRwHojU8DVyqgvCLJEgDgP46-qgRtmijJtS39z_drgPpcBtVmENPEZuf8s5XsKlIv8uFLNaZs-_DszlefZz66-RM/s1600-h/IMG_0832.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 174px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiXdG5y2AYMHUVVqj1CDVM8XBxw5ryNMoQK1zcSWEcA2BopFoWYjPkuRwHojU8DVyqgvCLJEgDgP46-qgRtmijJtS39z_drgPpcBtVmENPEZuf8s5XsKlIv8uFLNaZs-_DszlefZz66-RM/s320/IMG_0832.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435679510560060802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >I count all the reasons I love you before I sleep,<br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Count the endless reasons instead of sheep.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br />Because even when I close my eyes, I only see your face,</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br />And I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">shi</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ver</span> because I am not wrapped up tight in your warm embrace.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br />You left me with a</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" > frozen heart, a silent heart that will no longer beat,</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >A heart that fell asleep and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ne</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ver</span> woke, a heart shamefully accepting defeat.</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >But sometimes,</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br />When I smother my thoughts,</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >And cover my ears and my eyes with my pillows and my</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" > sheets,</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br />And tell myself you were never important to me, I can hear tentative heartbeats.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br />I count the h</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">eartbeats</span> before I sleep,</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><br />Count the lies instead of sheep.</span><br /><br /><br />Yes, I took that picture and did not edit it. There was actually a heart-shaped puddle on the front lawn of my school.<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Prettycoolhuh</span>??<br />But now that I think about it, I should have gotten an angle that reflected something more eye-appealing than a school building. I mean, it makes the whole picture so much more <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">bluh</span> </span>than it would have been otherwise<span style="font-style: italic;">.</span><br />Then I thought it would be cute to whip up a little love poem to go with it. But don't worry, it's not based on any actual experiences/emotions<span style="font-style: italic;">; </span>I'm not heartbroken.<br />But that's not all I've been whipping up!<br />I've been working on my valentine to give people this year. Last year I was boring: a little card and candy. I almost fall asleep just thinking about it.<br />THIS year, I am making fudge, then pressing those little conversation hearts on top, and making rice <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">krispie</span> treats with pink sprinkles, putting them in a cupcake liner with two jumbo conversation hearts, covering the whole thing with tissue paper, and tying it up with ribbon.<br />*claps excitedly*<br />I have pictures and everything...<br />Fudge with conversation hearts pressed in them!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglP8UCuT2UBZpleDIhIAN4a1xIHh90X_RQTX-gx4qu6_Wh8DkHLwLGQmbuSbmJfx7InPSBo68H0pgSkxvJZmXGW9W_NvjLc05KITzvxkQ_N3L1E7AWVPVC6LQlXZV1W67Pgq3k6x7Z9Cr_/s1600-h/IMG_0919.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglP8UCuT2UBZpleDIhIAN4a1xIHh90X_RQTX-gx4qu6_Wh8DkHLwLGQmbuSbmJfx7InPSBo68H0pgSkxvJZmXGW9W_NvjLc05KITzvxkQ_N3L1E7AWVPVC6LQlXZV1W67Pgq3k6x7Z9Cr_/s320/IMG_0919.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435691261494281634" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVnDlguOE0EaH3rwUgWy1GBDfrjryYgRds0UH1ILSBUL0MZPGxfq5Zh1jc-oEJ0JSNsae1bQjJSQMgms4YEXwbrCOz_BcxDbFhl5r0fq1VkEzsknKWhl9MZdH4kiHLKw8XdLvQ5bZOQ158/s1600-h/IMG_0921.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVnDlguOE0EaH3rwUgWy1GBDfrjryYgRds0UH1ILSBUL0MZPGxfq5Zh1jc-oEJ0JSNsae1bQjJSQMgms4YEXwbrCOz_BcxDbFhl5r0fq1VkEzsknKWhl9MZdH4kiHLKw8XdLvQ5bZOQ158/s320/IMG_0921.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435691271406567138" border="0" /></a><br />Pink-sprinkled rice <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">krispie</span> treats!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnWto0BChd7-8ZAu7U3UlCE4Ar2rMlzMrDmvfN4oPu_27Se2jtqfPGUCJsYfTWsNOsBicX3QxpvbLhwy4li7l9TtjJ1DnpGhGQwrzdkLgcGyClpuw_M2QjRT9pVvCpynrT-ciLSOKSYD0/s1600-h/IMG_0924.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnWto0BChd7-8ZAu7U3UlCE4Ar2rMlzMrDmvfN4oPu_27Se2jtqfPGUCJsYfTWsNOsBicX3QxpvbLhwy4li7l9TtjJ1DnpGhGQwrzdkLgcGyClpuw_M2QjRT9pVvCpynrT-ciLSOKSYD0/s320/IMG_0924.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435691281578409426" border="0" /></a>^ Yeah, when I spread the mixture out to fill the entire pan, the treats were <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">realllly</span> thin. So I kind of compromised by doing this. ^<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIp-N2-5uV3Cc5dT_KfLPzxCR2fDgWQMEL1_W1iIHsMnJ7Z1XEFEzTbWLYuUHzIoRT36sA3br4bfwKgLu7DKbSiN_g4NibYGX44dIVGftO6e7HnGLSKkkgVZhcac6QyGEnC8kV7OU-BK0f/s1600-h/IMG_0925.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIp-N2-5uV3Cc5dT_KfLPzxCR2fDgWQMEL1_W1iIHsMnJ7Z1XEFEzTbWLYuUHzIoRT36sA3br4bfwKgLu7DKbSiN_g4NibYGX44dIVGftO6e7HnGLSKkkgVZhcac6QyGEnC8kV7OU-BK0f/s320/IMG_0925.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435691287217844530" border="0" /></a><br />Liners waiting to be filled with delicious treats...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlmFx01hZYAkaVzEAe0mb_q_B8ybjrIKwMnawC463kEcxqeMbbcGTmrH-F6rhF8mq2HcdURBbq_UY4ValBXxKt0I2mY5Z4hh0J6Yv7_-TGqKJz7cVFScFfzLXNz7oH_U3hyudq8a5Nv5m5/s1600-h/IMG_0931.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlmFx01hZYAkaVzEAe0mb_q_B8ybjrIKwMnawC463kEcxqeMbbcGTmrH-F6rhF8mq2HcdURBbq_UY4ValBXxKt0I2mY5Z4hh0J6Yv7_-TGqKJz7cVFScFfzLXNz7oH_U3hyudq8a5Nv5m5/s320/IMG_0931.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435691293915678386" border="0" /></a><br />And f-i-n-a-l-l-y, what's done now. I'm still waiting for the fudge to set, so this is all you're going to get to see. (So far.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyB5X9r02uRCarcQ7UqBWaFGFS0PHmqiLIXcy7Sx4o_xADUb9-lavNX0NWoGqDa93tCz-6BlYPt7ENJ593y9GtToTSL8STDbXNoskoWUlpqVw4YRbtqcKjkxz0ZcloCTzVfNCLEcHUhmjv/s1600-h/IMG_0932.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyB5X9r02uRCarcQ7UqBWaFGFS0PHmqiLIXcy7Sx4o_xADUb9-lavNX0NWoGqDa93tCz-6BlYPt7ENJ593y9GtToTSL8STDbXNoskoWUlpqVw4YRbtqcKjkxz0ZcloCTzVfNCLEcHUhmjv/s320/IMG_0932.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435692064513521794" border="0" /></a><br />Ta-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">da</span>!<br />Valentine's Day is really sort of a pointless holiday, unless you have a wife/boyfriend/girlfriend/husband who will dutifully buy you stuff. It consists of the aforementioned buying of stuff for each other of couples, plus giving your friends little cards and candies.<br />It just doesn't seem special enough to be a holiday, you know?<br />But then, you don't see me complaining that Boxer Day is a pointless holiday, so whatever.<br /><br /><3Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8992714799318403667.post-36602060583504790382010-02-06T18:14:00.000-08:002010-02-06T21:03:09.507-08:00Capturing beautiful things<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVzQeQxLmEwUVqyN4LHpEGwUQE2OdiRqbcZfF5M-RMlvT4uZZ7glZ46Oqx81fRZlBxNi459MIu94eZGPabt_R1pv_EupgbCLJjBL5WEIZc-EwPWR0wh0YVjTiN_bfQZ60c2MrbqDvWS_W/s1600-h/IMG_0909.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVzQeQxLmEwUVqyN4LHpEGwUQE2OdiRqbcZfF5M-RMlvT4uZZ7glZ46Oqx81fRZlBxNi459MIu94eZGPabt_R1pv_EupgbCLJjBL5WEIZc-EwPWR0wh0YVjTiN_bfQZ60c2MrbqDvWS_W/s320/IMG_0909.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435323676089742594" border="0" /></a> Went for a walk through the neighborhood today, looking for pretty things to take pictures of. It was five o'clock already when I had the idea, so I couldn't go far. Plus, the batteries in my camera were low and we didn't have any more. I went anyway. I think I need to do more spontaneous things.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7s20iEc5QhYqZ1GbSWSez2-8SpJIDjcFSzdGM3HNun_1q-cjttWK_-6gPCaWa_30WxrgWaS31KawjSdN3wtEnpHm9uy_-GmYzgv9prNsBTFJIed7Wzc5iZi0jEhnPvFZOAxu5LYcYnczz/s1600-h/IMG_0905.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7s20iEc5QhYqZ1GbSWSez2-8SpJIDjcFSzdGM3HNun_1q-cjttWK_-6gPCaWa_30WxrgWaS31KawjSdN3wtEnpHm9uy_-GmYzgv9prNsBTFJIed7Wzc5iZi0jEhnPvFZOAxu5LYcYnczz/s320/IMG_0905.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435323646204385378" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA7zSiuehNnYxxHFLbAPu_UBu2r9PhJRNTUMtEegRXcvYz0G1GZap1cvDPxOJwh88WycVCYhUi4A6_vqL-B7z5lHvPPGT-xf17_v_FU7KjzfUu0HW4U5r6blVYX-wNE5BbjKPdzg2vmWv5/s1600-h/IMG_0904.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA7zSiuehNnYxxHFLbAPu_UBu2r9PhJRNTUMtEegRXcvYz0G1GZap1cvDPxOJwh88WycVCYhUi4A6_vqL-B7z5lHvPPGT-xf17_v_FU7KjzfUu0HW4U5r6blVYX-wNE5BbjKPdzg2vmWv5/s320/IMG_0904.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435323644572064098" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjwxOwxCQptcocCx14bUyIIZRMTwUcvtoKbFjU39UEVx1tpY5827tteKXctfVTExVU7kCr_zk5H8C-eNTVWrhGWlKOkALOqWhvymp9KA1IYjCi8EeZplgp-QxW4tHx5dL5BKdHvqWRims9/s1600-h/IMG_0893.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjwxOwxCQptcocCx14bUyIIZRMTwUcvtoKbFjU39UEVx1tpY5827tteKXctfVTExVU7kCr_zk5H8C-eNTVWrhGWlKOkALOqWhvymp9KA1IYjCi8EeZplgp-QxW4tHx5dL5BKdHvqWRims9/s320/IMG_0893.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435323637087981554" border="0" /></a><br />These clover (clovers?) were in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">somebody's</span> front lawn. I was struck by a sudden urge to find one with four leaves. I did a quick reconnaissance of the street around me, then crouched and started hastily shuffling through the teeny plants. Every time I heard a car approach or thought I saw a movement in a window in the corner of my vision, I would promptly straighten up and casually start strolling down the sidewalk. Then, as soon as the car/kid on a bike/dog walker had turned a corner or gone far enough down the way that they wouldn't be able to see me, I would resume my task. My fingers located each stem and determined that only three leaves were attached to it, time after time, between nervous glances at the front window of the house whose lawn I was trampling on.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJieM8PNU5mMt8rjtujgYdt2OXX3GcWqdkDDRzBBupqPD5LPD7xzPueHwLE-I659WveXqZ_RD5KNa4b130xoz4EanaDaz-VEHFqG9hC84X6YQm68mgwVKWAgx1PH8Mxk6f6BJ-728Us8AT/s1600-h/IMG_0908.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJieM8PNU5mMt8rjtujgYdt2OXX3GcWqdkDDRzBBupqPD5LPD7xzPueHwLE-I659WveXqZ_RD5KNa4b130xoz4EanaDaz-VEHFqG9hC84X6YQm68mgwVKWAgx1PH8Mxk6f6BJ-728Us8AT/s320/IMG_0908.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435323663029014866" border="0" /></a>I think I searched that clover patch pretty thoroughly, but no four-leafed clovers presented themselves. I'm just waiting for bad luck to strike.<br />Maybe I shouldn't have looked. Maybe I should have just glanced at the patch and not known whether one was there, but left the possibility open that <span style="font-style: italic;">maybe</span> there was.<br />I guess I like to be sure of things. Hence being year of the Boar on the lunar calendar.<br /><br />Walking home, I decided to cut through my school because it was getting dark and I needed to get home. I love being at school during the day when it's empty. I don't know why. I guess because it's just so suffocatingly crowded during the school day, it seems really spacious and nice when there aren't thousands of bodies shoving and bumping past you constantly.<br />But in the dark, it was creepy. I kept thinking somebody was going to jump out of the shadows at me, and I had this odd sensation that I wasn't supposed to be there, like students are not allowed on campus when it's not school hours. It would a have been a good time to commit suicide, have my first kiss, get beat up, lose my mind, get inspired to write a really edgy poem, pass out, or meet a mysterious stranger.<br />None of these things happened. I scuttled away, frightened by the spooky <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ambiance</span>.<br /><br /><br /><br />Also;;<br />My duct tape/comic strip <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">pencilcase</span> that I talked about earlier:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh8k8GBhtDZksOBBUJA-qoKM3be_icLlN3mMTaicTf1DuxhypiwBwpV_Oa40aucd0iGGQbihiGMXzCfPu_Cm2bCLQ4Bqa1Zl3Vz7zSfpN5CigTj1qOLJhqPdTCzGK8UQJ2OLZyhU96jIIB/s1600-h/IMG_0844.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh8k8GBhtDZksOBBUJA-qoKM3be_icLlN3mMTaicTf1DuxhypiwBwpV_Oa40aucd0iGGQbihiGMXzCfPu_Cm2bCLQ4Bqa1Zl3Vz7zSfpN5CigTj1qOLJhqPdTCzGK8UQJ2OLZyhU96jIIB/s320/IMG_0844.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435344488551427074" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2vIk99HVSo4Rhd2iSMEtNCT2iX-IVe9i9zoSPes0bRRjBKHtZdIifxZgV7DYT3lxycAl5ed7QlzWdPOtfgHkTQJDHEHnUAgTXZ21iwBO-MxDjr66vBI-eBF9rN1jo4lNyICU6kvCAtGG/s1600-h/IMG_0847.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2vIk99HVSo4Rhd2iSMEtNCT2iX-IVe9i9zoSPes0bRRjBKHtZdIifxZgV7DYT3lxycAl5ed7QlzWdPOtfgHkTQJDHEHnUAgTXZ21iwBO-MxDjr66vBI-eBF9rN1jo4lNyICU6kvCAtGG/s320/IMG_0847.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435343723273319298" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-z1E8Igs5MItxDtUpa3OoYjjApT09vn7H34OkX1ryV2vhZS0xraMgRb9tkLSO5647x53XmHL3N7iPVWZaYYVFoqklOo7veVjzmYp1-lzajY8FdBXy1nq3ff7N1aTTccMYnzxQEB-0GDgw/s1600-h/IMG_0845.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-z1E8Igs5MItxDtUpa3OoYjjApT09vn7H34OkX1ryV2vhZS0xraMgRb9tkLSO5647x53XmHL3N7iPVWZaYYVFoqklOo7veVjzmYp1-lzajY8FdBXy1nq3ff7N1aTTccMYnzxQEB-0GDgw/s320/IMG_0845.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435343718588210514" border="0" /></a><br />I'm using it to store all my markers and Sharpies. I saw this tote bag in a boutique in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Monterey</span> a <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">loooong</span></span> time ago that had this sort of comic strip collage design. But, being in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Monterey</span>, it was a large sum. I don't remember how much, but I remember thinking that it was not worth it, no matter how cute it was.<br />I think I might make a tote bag, because the little <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">pencilcase</span> I made was really pretty durable and not crappy like most other little experiments of mine turn out. I have made a tote before with a T-shirt, and I think I can convert the method to duct tape.Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10666863503418334873noreply@blogger.com0