Sitting

The thing about life, or my life anyways, is it is horribly stressful. But not in the way that you have a million things to do every second with no time to sit. No, believe me, I do enough sitting. It's more of the stress from doing nothing but sitting. Not that sitting is a particularly stressful task, but when nothing is being done but the sitting and life seems to be passing you by, and that thing you've been meaning to do for the past month but you haven't done due to all of the sitting, that is when it gets bad.
I know there is an easy solution. And that is to get out of the seated position right now and do all of those things that are meant to and need to be done. I could do that. I should do that. But then there's that thought I have. Which is probably very strange and has never been in any other person's head but mine. But it's a thought that once I complete this task that has been waiting for so long, that there is no going back. Once these things are done, they can't be undone, and my life will never be without them again. And I will be older and even though I'm no longer just sitting, life is still flying by without my permission.
I hate Sundays. Absolutely hate them. Because that is the day where I sit at home and think about how tomorrow is Monday and that it's going to be another five days before I can stay up late and sleep in and eat at irregular hours again. And then I go "Holy crap I just lost another week." Another week of what I love and am used to, being with my family and seeing my friends whenever I want. Sundays mean another week closer to not having these things, having to leave home and grow up and never look back.
Basically, I want to put my life on pause for a while, so I can sit without being stressed and just enjoy everything that is so often taken for granted. But, sadly, I can't see the technology capable of making that happen appearing anytime in my lifetime. So maybe if I stopped just sitting, and added some more stress to my life, I would be less stressed out. It sounds like a horrible plan, but I think that it is so crazy it just might work.

Addicted

The thing about Wheat Thins is that as soon as I see them I get a primal urge to eat the whole box before anyone else has even noticed their presence. I grab the box and smuggle it to a safe place, far from the eyes of my garburator brother. And then I eat. And I will not stop until I am disturbed, or realize that I have become a wheat-crazed animal that needs to be stopped and fast.
When I look at the back of the box and see that I can eat thirteen whole crackers and it wont even be 100 calories, it makes me smile. Because that means I can eat a little more than thirteen crackers and I will only be eating a total of 100 calories and that is pretty damn good for something as tasty as these heavenly crackers. And after these thirteen crackers I decide that it would be much better to just eat another thirteen instead of something horribly unhealthy such as a donut or an equally carb-and-fat-filled delight. And it is, after all, just another hundred calories. I can do this, I think.
And then I usually stop. After a reasonable 26 crackers. And I sit there being proud that I am satisfied and I didn't have to resort to a cookie. Or potato chips. I begin to do something else, usually something very un-fun, such as homework. And I sit there thinking about math and how I should eat another wheat thin. Just one. Because what harm would that do? None. That is correct.
And then I eat three Wheat Thins. Because it is hardly worth it to get wheat stuck in your teeth for an hour just to eat one measly cracker. But three isn't bad, really. There aren't even 100 calories in thirteen!
And this is why my mother rolls her eyes when I ask ever so nicely for my precious crackers. Because I do it every time. No matter how hard I try.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am addicted to Wheat Thins.

I Live a Life of Superstition and Jinxing

Last night I was so proudly telling my boyfriend that I had not been horribly sick in such a long time, and that that was rather odd because I usually catch some sort of bug at least once a year, and I take that opportunity to be a big baby about it and complain about everything. After informing him of this, I proceeded to knock on my desk -my wood desk- because I am superstitious in ways, and I did not want to jinx my healthy state of being.

I have reason to be superstitious, you see. About a month ago my dear friend was talking about getting a kink in her neck. I decided to mention that I had never gotten a kink in my neck and I thought it looked pretty funny when she showed up to school with her head tilted to one side. I did not find the need to knock on any wood products.
I woke up the very next morning with a kink in my neck.
My very first ever neck-kink. I spent 3 days not being able to look to the right without feeling like I was being stabbed in the neck with a very sharp knife. I no longer think it's funny when people come to school with tilted heads.

Now I am doubting the classification of particle board as wood. Because I woke up deathly ill this morning. Deathly ill and feeling rather dehydrated. Trying to fix this dehydration issue led me to discover that I wasn't even able to hold down water. Not even for a minute. So after getting rid of this obviously unneeded sip of water, I went into the living room and curled up in a ball of pain. My mom asked if i was okay, I said no. And then I fell asleep.
I woke up feeling better. I drank some water. And waited. And then I thanked my stomach for letting me replenish my cells. I spent the rest of the day sitting and eating toast and crackers.

My family had pizza for supper. I did not. My mom didn't think it was a good idea. I was angry, until I found the superfries. My mom said superfries should be fine, and since there really weren't that many left, I should just make the rest of the bag. I told her that I wouldn't be eating them all, because I was still feeling fairly sick. When they got out of the oven, I inhaled every last fry crumb without hesitation. Because superfries are just that good. I don't care if I stay up all night tossing fries, because now I am satisfied.


Do you consider yourself to be a superstitious person? Have you ever jinxed yourself?

Humorous Math Terms

Because I am a slightly nerdy person, I was just thinking about math. No, not about the Pythagorean theorem or the quadratic formula, just about words. There are some words used by the mathematically gifted that make you wonder why the inventor of said terms did not put more focus on their English. After saying them once or twice it is clear that they do not sound intelligent at all, but merely quite ridiculous. Here are some terms I can think of off the top of my head (although I guarantee there are many more, that may be added on a later date.)

1. Sinusoidal
This word makes me irritated, because it is almost impossible to say it in a normal voice. The speaker of this word almost always gains a nasal tone. Sine-you-SOY-Dal. (unplug your nose...)Sinusoidal.

2. Logarithm
Now I suppose there is nothing wrong with this word, and it is just me and my active imagination taking over. Wherever I hear or read the word "logarithm", I instantly get an image in my head of a freshly chopped log dancing around to a steady beat. (Log-rhythm, if that was confusing.)

3. Asymptote
I think it was my very own math teacher that really ruined this wonderful word for me (Though it wasn't much better without her help...) Even though the P is clearly positioned before the T, she insists on pronouncing it "ASS-IM-TOPE" (or, as I like to say, "ass-in-tope"). Now this was fine, until the first time I heard her say "WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT TOUCH THE ASS-IN-TOPE!"
You can only imagine my reaction. (i.e.: giggling immaturely)
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And now I have a question for you: What is the most rediculous word you have ever heard, and what do you think of when you hear it?

My Salamander

I have a pet salamander. His name is, surprisingly, Salamander, though he has gotten quite a few nicknames in the 6 months that we've had him living in the lap of luxury. Most of the time I call him Creature, although some less flattering nicknames have come out, including Stinky, Stink ball, Savage (when he makes a particularly ferocious snap at my food offerings), and Cutie (which I'm sure makes him feel very manly). My dad insists that he is a girl (which probably makes him feel much worse than when I call him cute) and usually calls him Sally or some variation of that. And my mother, well, she's too busy stuffing food in the poor things mouth and sending him on a long and painful road to obese-dom to give him a proper name. She insists that he's "Just a little boy!" and should get as much food as he wants. I object, and every time he decides to trek out from under his log when others are watching, I point out that he's gotten much rounder since the last time we actually saw his whole body.

One unfortunate night my cute little creature decided that he was not happy with something in his wonderfully designed storage box-turned-terrarium and decided it was time to make his disappointment known. I looked over and saw him scaling the wall of the box. This was quite shocking since he usually doesn't even soak in his pool while the lights are turned on. We did an emergency soil-change, and all has been well ever since.

Though many people think that a salamander is probably one of the most unappealing pets out there, I have to disagree (obviously). I get great pleasure out of having him around. He's started to recognize me as one of his "feeders" (although he probably likes my mom better, because he knows she cant resist him), and every time he sees me looking for him, he stretches his neck out from under his log and gives me a cute little salamander smile. He also has a few quirks, like his obsession with chicken, his need to attack anything that moves, and his bathing ritual (in the tub, every night at 8 o'clock). I love just watching him, he's so adorable.

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I realize that a salamander can be considered an odd choice for a pet, which leads me to my question for you marvelous blog readers:

What is the strangest pet you or someone you know has had? What pet do you wish you had?

What the Time Change Means to Me...

This is my first non-myspace blog ever! I'm trying to not blog so seriously all the time, although I'm not sure how well that's working. Let me know what you think..

Today was the first "real" day after the unfortunate clock-changing experience on Saturday night. It was a long day. But when I walked out into the first warm day in what's felt like forever, an instant feeling of Spring came over me. Supper was eaten while the sun was still in plain view, and that annoying glare was still on the TV when Everybody Loves Raymond came on. When I realized that Spring was upon us, another thought struck me. A dreaded thought that I knew was comming but am never really prepared for. And that thought was... It's time to shave my legs.
Now, don't get me wrong. I do not lock up the razor all winter. I do shave when I am starting to feel like I will never be a female again if I let this go on. But those gender-defining moments are nothing like the end-of-winter, make-sure-you-do-a-good-job-of-it experiences.
So, after supper, when the sun was still shining, I went and got a brand new 2-blade bulk razor from the handy resealable bag that my mom so kindly purchased for me. I told myself that it would all be worth it in the end, and went ahead and did it.
Now let me tell you, 2-blade disposable razors, though claiming to be wonderfully designed with you in mind, do not live up to their promises. A long battle for smoothness ensued, but after a good half hour, I walked out of the shower in one piece, having left not one drop of warm water behind. It wasn't all fun and games though, as I did end up with a few battle scars which have now been doctored and are already showing signs of recovery.
And now I sit here, relieved that this ordeal is over, and kicking my legs back and forth so my pyjama pants will billow over my extremely smooth and touchable legs.

Being Nice Never Hurt Anyone

The last old myspace blog for the night..

I read a story today. I've read it before, but when I read it today, it made me think. Not like you didn't see that phrase comming, "It made me think". I probably use that in almost all of my blogs. Which makes sense, blogs are inspired by thoughts. But anyways..
The story was about this boy, we'll call him Joe. So Joe was walking home from school, carrying an armload of stuff, and dropped it all on the sidewalk. There happened to be another boy walking past him at the time, who I will call Bob because I am unable to think of creative names. Bob stopped and helped Joe pick up his things. They ended up becomming great friends. And then, years later, Joe tells Bob that he was going home to commit suicide on the day that they met. He had cleaned out his locker, and that is why his arms were full of things. That random act of kindness from Bob was enough to show him that life was worth living. If Bob had just kept walking, Joe would be dead.
So after reading this very touching story which i think has been going through the inboxes of everyone for generations, I was thinking about how you have an impact on everyone you encounter. I know a lot of them are not nearly as huge as that. Giving a smile to someone you pass on the street, for example, will more than likely not be a life-altering experience for either you or the stranger you pass.
If someone you dont know very well, or at all for that matter, or anyone that isn't in the position where they feel that it is their duty to make you feel good about yourself, were to come up to you out of nowhere and compliment you, you would probably feel pretty good about yourself. You would go "Yeah, these shoes are pretty cool, aren't they?" There's something about a stranger going out of their way to say something nice about you that makes it so much more satisfying. They may not have changed your outlook on life, but they could very well have made your day.
And if you think about it like that, would it not be terribly cruel to make some random remark of disgust when passing someone on the street? Shouldn't we think twice before judging people and voicing our opinions about them? You can ruin someone's day as easily as you can make it, and you don't even know these people. We have a lot of responsibility that we don't really even realize we have. It's kind of creepy, the effect you can have on strangers that you have never seen before and probably will never see again.
So, i guess the point of this blog is that being nice does not hurt anyone, if anything it makes people better, and considering people's feelings before you say something cruel is always a good idea. If you see someone having difficulties and think "I wonder if they need help.." they probably do, and an offer never hurt anyone, even if they refuse. You never know who's life you could be saving...