Okay, okay, I know... >> I've fallen behind. Have you ever read that Hyberbole and a Half post, about how she falls behind, feels guilty, and shies away because of it, only falling farther behind?
...I think we might be related.
So, here I am, one week before the new marching band season starts, attempting to catch up on my blog. The good news is, I HAVE been taking videos. That's right, I jumped on the bandwagon. Vlogging. I like it. ^^
So, I promise, to the three people who actually read this blog... I will post my videos in the next day or two.
Wednesday, June 22
Friday, October 15
EPIC HIATUS
Some of you may be wondering why I haven't posted in 3 months. It's not because I was kidnapped, force-fed my own hair and made a giant guinea pig. It's not because my parents got fed up and murdered me in our garage. It's only slightly because I'm a lazy asshole.
It's because of color guard.
That's right. All my of energy is consumed by a couple of 1''x6' fiberglass poles and some stretchy junk. 8 minutes and 11 seconds of music and choreography dances through my mind every waking moment, clouding my mind and invading my sleep - I've had freaking /nightmares/ about guard. Do you realize the severity of this? I don't even have nightmares about Freddie of Jason or Mike Myers or that ugly little Japanese kid from The Ring.
But despite all that... I love it. I'm in the best shape of my life, I've never looked or felt better, school is going well, and last month was my /two year/ anniversary with my fiance. And riiight around today, it's been 5 months of engagement~
But back on topic... long, long ago, I promised details on guard.
1) Workworkworkwork
- Our instructor, during band camp (2) worked us like slaves. In one day, we ran the length of a football field... and back... and again... and back... and again... and back... then we ran suicides about 10-15 yards back and forth... and then we did - count it! - 100 jumping jacks.
2) Band camp
-90 hours of sunburn, starvation, and soreness.
-I only survived off cheese-itz.
-Learned that a rail-thin 5'9'' petite girl can actually manage basic ballet
-became veeery flexible in only a few days.
3)I bruised, along with both my knees and shins and head, my FUNNY BONE.
BUT the routine is finally complete, we have a competition tomorrow, and we're gonna rock. Sorry for the short post but maybe this disturbingly large stingray will make things okay. Subscribe, comment, and share the love!
-CMT
It's because of color guard.
That's right. All my of energy is consumed by a couple of 1''x6' fiberglass poles and some stretchy junk. 8 minutes and 11 seconds of music and choreography dances through my mind every waking moment, clouding my mind and invading my sleep - I've had freaking /nightmares/ about guard. Do you realize the severity of this? I don't even have nightmares about Freddie of Jason or Mike Myers or that ugly little Japanese kid from The Ring.
But despite all that... I love it. I'm in the best shape of my life, I've never looked or felt better, school is going well, and last month was my /two year/ anniversary with my fiance. And riiight around today, it's been 5 months of engagement~
But back on topic... long, long ago, I promised details on guard.
1) Workworkworkwork
- Our instructor, during band camp (2) worked us like slaves. In one day, we ran the length of a football field... and back... and again... and back... and again... and back... then we ran suicides about 10-15 yards back and forth... and then we did - count it! - 100 jumping jacks.
2) Band camp
-90 hours of sunburn, starvation, and soreness.
-I only survived off cheese-itz.
-Learned that a rail-thin 5'9'' petite girl can actually manage basic ballet
-became veeery flexible in only a few days.
3)I bruised, along with both my knees and shins and head, my FUNNY BONE.
BUT the routine is finally complete, we have a competition tomorrow, and we're gonna rock. Sorry for the short post but maybe this disturbingly large stingray will make things okay. Subscribe, comment, and share the love!
-CMT
Sunday, July 25
I LessThan3 You, Urban Dictionary.
Okay, so the first one is pretty weird...
BUT! This one is shockingly accurate!
I'll do a real post, like, tomorrow night.
-CMT
...P.S. if you want to read the rest, you can find them here.
UPDATE: I like this one too!
1. Chelsea
- the most AMAZING people you will ever find are Chelseas. chicken flavored & lemon scented. DELICIOUSLY good looking.
BUT! This one is shockingly accurate!
5. Chelsea
- Chelsea is a beautiful creature of a peculiar nature. She is often starving or not hungry in the least, but she is dangerous in her hungry state. Possibly the sexiest creature on the planet, the Chelsea naturally has the powers of seduction and can manipulate your emotions without you realizing it. Be careful never to walk into the home of a Chelsea before announcing yourself, for she may be naked. Overall, Chelsea is a pleasure to be around, a treat to look at, and always smells nice. Don't mess with her though... she will kill you.
(friend walks up to Chelsea's house and opens the door)
Friend: "Oh, my God! Chelsea, you're naked!"
Chelsea: "Want a cookie?"
I'll do a real post, like, tomorrow night.
-CMT
...P.S. if you want to read the rest, you can find them here.
UPDATE: I like this one too!
6. ChelseaUPDATE AGAIN BECAUSE IM FUCKING ADDICTED TO THIS SITE:
- Part of New York City where all the queens hang out. Fabulous.
42. Chelsea
- Chelsea is a Pepsi obsessed female. She is a member of the Leprechaun Factory and enjoys selling Leprechaun's and Garden Gnomes to the unsuspecting people in her phonebook. People known as Chelsea have been known to walk into the most obvious things and fall for the most obvious jokes. But they are also the bestest friends ever!
Thursday, July 22
The Case of the Smelly Mini-van
Good morning world!
So, I've been wandering around for the last few days, unsure of what to share with whoever actually reads this cacophony. But yesterday, in a long, uncomfortable ride home from the mall, armed with several $3 bras and a half dozen new pairs of shorts for band camp in a week and a half, I was suddenly struck my the memory of a mystery from years ago. Be it because of my love of mysteries like The Hollow or just that my little sister asked my dad if he remembered when it happened, suddenly it was fresh in my mind: The Case of the Smelly Mini-van.
It all started a little over 2 years ago. We had this navy blue monstrosity that took us everywhere. We had it since before I remember - it faithfully carried me to Girl Scouts and 5th grade basketball games... I shudder to remember, but that's that, I suppose. And then, one day on the way home from what I can only assume was one of our many, many trips to Presque Isle National Park - which to us was just 'the beach' - we noticed that our beloved boat with wheels...stank.
Now when I say it stank, I don't mean like someone had too many chili burritos - the food at the concession stand, I tell you... Uurgh - but like something cute and cuddly crawled under the hood and had babies, but one didn't come out and just sat in its mommy's stomach so long that she went septic and the babies who were actually born proceeded to feed off her bowels until they all died of what-the-hell-were-you-thinking-eating-half-digested-food/shit-? and they just fermented in this macabre little cuddly family and wafted into the car whenever we turned off the AC and used the vent instead like good environmentalists. I was certain that was the case - and so did my, at the time, 9 year old sister. When the 9 year old thinks something "crawled in and died", you know it's bad. And it went on for months.
So we tried everything a typical lazy family does when their car stinks. Ignoring it, rolling down the windows, the occasional spraying of Fabreeze!, nothing seemed to work. Eventually, we knew that this little rank family meant business. So we looked under the hood...
Nothing but an engine older than my sister and some grease.
And we were like: "Are you serious?!" and sighed collectively, knowing what we had to do.
We needed to clean the car.
After procrastinating another few months, buying rubber gloves that go up to our shoulders, and trying Fabreeze! a few more times, just for good measure, we began to resign ourselves to the fact that actual work needed done. We set a date, changed it a couple times, and finally did it.
We took out seats row by row, first the front two, vacuuming and Fabreeze!ing like crazy, and proceeded to do the next row when we didn't find anything other than a bunch of pennies, a home and garden magazine and some mints. Rather the same findings were gathered and we steeled ourselves to do the last row.
You may be wondering why this is such a big deal. Well, to put it simply, three semi-menopausal women; a mother and two live-in aunts; my father, my 9 year old sister and barely 14 years old me. Does that sound like a cleaning crew to you? Uh-uh. There is a reason only my very, very close friends are allowed inside my house. It's a disaster.
But what really got us was that the back seat was like a bench, three ass-widths wide, able to be reclined like a bed, except that there were these random black metal loops - but more like, square shaped - That protruded from between the seat and the back-part-thing. And whenever we had a long car ride and wanted to catch some Zzz's, we would curl up all comfy and be almost asleep until we went over a bump and get stabbed in our (read: my) bony hips and shoulders, woken by near-blunt-force-trauma.
But we somehow did it and our efforts were rewarded by the knowledge of what had been trying to asphyxiate us with it's death-scent. And by now I'm sure the suspense is just killing you. What was the source of the smell that nearly made my whoel family break into a sweat, for god's sake?
It was a moldy potato.
So, I've been wandering around for the last few days, unsure of what to share with whoever actually reads this cacophony. But yesterday, in a long, uncomfortable ride home from the mall, armed with several $3 bras and a half dozen new pairs of shorts for band camp in a week and a half, I was suddenly struck my the memory of a mystery from years ago. Be it because of my love of mysteries like The Hollow or just that my little sister asked my dad if he remembered when it happened, suddenly it was fresh in my mind: The Case of the Smelly Mini-van.
It all started a little over 2 years ago. We had this navy blue monstrosity that took us everywhere. We had it since before I remember - it faithfully carried me to Girl Scouts and 5th grade basketball games... I shudder to remember, but that's that, I suppose. And then, one day on the way home from what I can only assume was one of our many, many trips to Presque Isle National Park - which to us was just 'the beach' - we noticed that our beloved boat with wheels...stank.
Now when I say it stank, I don't mean like someone had too many chili burritos - the food at the concession stand, I tell you... Uurgh - but like something cute and cuddly crawled under the hood and had babies, but one didn't come out and just sat in its mommy's stomach so long that she went septic and the babies who were actually born proceeded to feed off her bowels until they all died of what-the-hell-were-you-thinking-eating-half-digested-food/shit-? and they just fermented in this macabre little cuddly family and wafted into the car whenever we turned off the AC and used the vent instead like good environmentalists. I was certain that was the case - and so did my, at the time, 9 year old sister. When the 9 year old thinks something "crawled in and died", you know it's bad. And it went on for months.
So we tried everything a typical lazy family does when their car stinks. Ignoring it, rolling down the windows, the occasional spraying of Fabreeze!, nothing seemed to work. Eventually, we knew that this little rank family meant business. So we looked under the hood...
Nothing but an engine older than my sister and some grease.
And we were like: "Are you serious?!" and sighed collectively, knowing what we had to do.
We needed to clean the car.
After procrastinating another few months, buying rubber gloves that go up to our shoulders, and trying Fabreeze! a few more times, just for good measure, we began to resign ourselves to the fact that actual work needed done. We set a date, changed it a couple times, and finally did it.
We took out seats row by row, first the front two, vacuuming and Fabreeze!ing like crazy, and proceeded to do the next row when we didn't find anything other than a bunch of pennies, a home and garden magazine and some mints. Rather the same findings were gathered and we steeled ourselves to do the last row.
You may be wondering why this is such a big deal. Well, to put it simply, three semi-menopausal women; a mother and two live-in aunts; my father, my 9 year old sister and barely 14 years old me. Does that sound like a cleaning crew to you? Uh-uh. There is a reason only my very, very close friends are allowed inside my house. It's a disaster.
But what really got us was that the back seat was like a bench, three ass-widths wide, able to be reclined like a bed, except that there were these random black metal loops - but more like, square shaped - That protruded from between the seat and the back-part-thing. And whenever we had a long car ride and wanted to catch some Zzz's, we would curl up all comfy and be almost asleep until we went over a bump and get stabbed in our (read: my) bony hips and shoulders, woken by near-blunt-force-trauma.
But we somehow did it and our efforts were rewarded by the knowledge of what had been trying to asphyxiate us with it's death-scent. And by now I'm sure the suspense is just killing you. What was the source of the smell that nearly made my whoel family break into a sweat, for god's sake?
It was a moldy potato.
Sunday, July 18
One Click, That Quick? Since when?!
You know those shows about teenage girls who get pregnant at like 16 years old? My aunt LOVES them. I have no idea why, but she watches like every episode of 'em. And of course, since I'm a teenager in a committed, monogamous relationship, she's absolutely positive I'm going to get pregnant. She doesn't seem to understand that my fiancé is 1000 miles away from me more than 90% of the year. Being that I'm not sexually active, apparently I'm going to have Jesus in my belly.
Still, though, even if we were to have sex, she always tells us, "It just takes one time." Now don't get me wrong here, I know it's possible. But how likely is it that a girls uterus is going to go Edgar Snyder style: "One Click, That Quick"
Please, don't misunderstand me. I know that intercourse is a real situation that can have consequences. But does that mean every single time you have sex, you get knocked up? No. It's just a possibility. Like herpes. Mmmmm, herpes...
And no matter how much I hate to agree with my hokey Health teacher, Mrs. T, you can't make people stop having sex, or not start. People, especially teenagers and younger adults, are going to have sex. It will happen. All you can do is remind them of birth control. Condoms, pills, a monthly injection or even an IUD - if you're going to sleep with someone - your boyfriend, fiancé, husband or a random guy from a bar, that's your business, have fun, but I'd advise protection. Unless you want a Jesus baby.
Okay, so technically, if it's actually conceived with sex, it's just a baby. But still. Who wants a baby at my age, when you really think about it? Maybe a couple people, but I know I don't. I have school, band, work, and cats. That's enough stress for me.
So, my question for y'all. If you were going to be a mommy or daddy, what would you name your child? Personally, I love the names Tabitha or Sasha for a girl and Emery for a boy. Comment, follow, and share the love!
-CMT
Still, though, even if we were to have sex, she always tells us, "It just takes one time." Now don't get me wrong here, I know it's possible. But how likely is it that a girls uterus is going to go Edgar Snyder style: "One Click, That Quick"
Please, don't misunderstand me. I know that intercourse is a real situation that can have consequences. But does that mean every single time you have sex, you get knocked up? No. It's just a possibility. Like herpes. Mmmmm, herpes...
And no matter how much I hate to agree with my hokey Health teacher, Mrs. T, you can't make people stop having sex, or not start. People, especially teenagers and younger adults, are going to have sex. It will happen. All you can do is remind them of birth control. Condoms, pills, a monthly injection or even an IUD - if you're going to sleep with someone - your boyfriend, fiancé, husband or a random guy from a bar, that's your business, have fun, but I'd advise protection. Unless you want a Jesus baby.
Okay, so technically, if it's actually conceived with sex, it's just a baby. But still. Who wants a baby at my age, when you really think about it? Maybe a couple people, but I know I don't. I have school, band, work, and cats. That's enough stress for me.
So, my question for y'all. If you were going to be a mommy or daddy, what would you name your child? Personally, I love the names Tabitha or Sasha for a girl and Emery for a boy. Comment, follow, and share the love!
-CMT
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