Nothing

Pfft... Sad things. I glee when I read my previous posts because they are funny in their stereotypical Adolescence. Hilarious, I Tell You.

It is sad, though, how I have to use spell-check every time I spell "adolescence."

Eat Me.

I am rich in literature once again. The Nest and I went to a homeschool convention where--joy of all joys!--there was Used Book Sale. And for the next hour, I was transported into cheap-printed heaven.

I am filled with glorious feelings.

And YAY people won't forget me! You know those Hello My Name Is tags? I wrote IRRELEVANT, and two people laughed (at me? with me?). It was worth it.

During the car ride there, I was deliriously happy and couldn't stop grinning. Also I talked to one saleslady who complimented my articularity. It made me feel special. :B
(That was a toothy smiley.)

AND (conjunctions will rule the literary world someday) I found myself envying the owner of a certain representative's eye-crinkles.
I am IN AGONY when I see Crinkles.

In fact, I fall in love with every man who has them.
But then I change my mind like a girl changes clothes regarding love, anyhoo, so WHATEV, YO.

The triumphant attitude has carried over from yesterday's late-night ramblings, which I thought it wouldn't, so WHOOP!!

Also!

STACY and CLINTON.

At nine, TLC. I love their snobby humor. I giggle in throes when they fling the poor lady's clothes at the other end of the room or sashay in front of the mirror mockingly and make snobby jokes about the (often trashy) shirt and (hideously hooker-esque) jeans.

As I watch What Not to Wear, I laugh along with them (sheepishly) and at them, as well.

That show is certainly what one could call a Guilty Pleasure (capitalization will also someday rule the world).

AND I WILL INDULGE THIS EVENING, HIP HIP HOORAY.

The Best Things in Life Are Tasty

I have learned that life is too short to be taken seriously.
So I'm going to stop writing Woes-of-Me.
(I am sure I'll forget this and flee to the keyboard as soon as that Darn Summer Depression hits again, but Whatev. I'm down with this right now.) (Yo.)

Hey! It's been a long time since I mentioned The Pretty, and let me reassure you that he is still as Pretty as he ever was.

The only difference now is that he has a wholelotta new roommates sharing The Pretty House (read: Every actor from Band of Brothers except Cobb.) (And Sobel.) (They are not love 't all.).

Woohoo! Now it is 12:Twenty-Five AM! One and half hours left and this staying up 'til ungodly morning hours will become habitual.

I think I am done for tonight, though. I had High Ambitions of finishing a book about the Trials and Tribulations of the Japanese-Americans of World War Two, but I am sick of issues. Can't people get a grip on some good bread and maybe a little wine (if you are into that sort of thing.) (Which I know everyone secretly wishes they were, if they aren't.) (I know I certainly do.) (Because wine is just COOL, all right?) and just enjoy the nicer sides of life? Because Lord knows the worst sides are presented far too often.

Anyway. This is way too serious (see? Didn't even take ten minutes.) so I am going to sleep now.

Oh. And in case you ignored that link on Lewis's name in my last post, here is the actual poem (you lazy bum, you).

I will find out a place for thee, O Sleep-
A hidden wood among the hill-tops green,
Full of soft streams and little winds that creep
The murmuring boughs between.

A hollow cup above the ocean placed
Where nothing rough, nor loud, nor harsh shall be,
But woodland light and shadow interlaced
And summer sky and sea.

There in the fragrant twilight I will raise
A secret altar of the rich sea sod,
Whereat to offer sacrifice and praise
Unto my lonely god:

Due sacrifice of his own drowsy flowers,
The deadening poppies in an ocean shell
Round which through all forgotten days and hours
The great seas wove their spell.

So may he send me dreams of dear delight
And draughts of cool oblivion, quenching pain,
And sweet, half-wakeful moments in the night
To hear the falling rain.

And when he meets me at the dusk of day
To call me home for ever, this I ask-
That he may lead me friendly on that way
And wear no frightful mask.

It Took Me Three Minutes to Think of a Title

Finally. FINALLY, I am satisfied with my the look of my little blog.

I feel like giving myself a cookie.
(Or maybe not. I will have enough of the fast food tomorrow. Yech.)
(What a thing for a teenager to say, I know.)
(Oh wait. That's right--adolescence is un-Biblical.)

Tomorrow, the family and I are headed to a homeschooling convention on our (borrowed) van.

Today, I ended my schoolwork. Ya acabe.

ALSO! Who knew that C.S. Lewis also wrote poetry??

I've been reading about him lately, and he was a fascinating man. There are some things about him that inspire respect and role-modelization.

Holy hard drive, it is midnight and I have to wake up early tomorrow. And Saturday as well.
Sunday, too.
THEN ALL OF NEXT WEEK BECAUSE I AM GOING TO YOUTH CAMP WITH NOT A SINGLE ONE OF MY FRIENDS, O BOTHER.

Clearly, this is unbelievable, prositively frustrating, and confounded!

Of course you may applaud my genius.

ZooLOLogy

"The good thing about stealing information is that no one really notices. Steal a purse and someone screams."

"Involving civilians in operations is dangerous, but sometimes necessary."

Burn Notice is the Ultimate for useful tips on espionage and how to thwart bank-robbers.

I had a panic attack yesterday morning. It was an experience (which I live for. My one wish in life is that I leave it strangely).

This site is a site after the Fish's own heart. Tell me. Tell me this picture is not a Genius Landmark of the Twenty-first Century.

Monday Morning Snippets

Poop. I changed my layout and realized that the font I used previously does not match the one I use currently. Duh, I know. But simple truths are often the ones that hit you right underneath the eye and leave a mark for everyone to see.

As you can see, I have re-amped my blog and it has risen to new dimensions.
And, yes, I chose this layout for the swirly thing at the top of each post.

Mondays are strange things. I don't really know what to make of them.

Today, it is a peaceful thing.
Summer Mondays are the most pleasant, I think.

When the chill breeze brushes against the curtains and the birds twitter outside, and there is no shouting or pounding footsteps to distress any sensitive semi-adult ear buds.

I will make you a present if your Monday is not pleasant and cut my post off here.

*snip!*

Pictures Previously Mentioned.

All the Good Guys Are Either Gay, Taken, or Ninety Years Old and Married.

Literary dilemmas, while not as harrowing as nautical dilemmas, are still full of scariness.

I mean, there's no compass for these kinds of things. No map telling you where you are and where you need to be. And CERTAINLY no MapQuest connecting how to get there in as little time as possible.

What literary dilemma could I possibly be in, you ask?

The kind where you have many topics, but not as many topics as you'd like. The kind where the topic you'd LOVE to write on (and are already writing mentally) is not on the suggested-topic list.

The Character Sketch kind.

I have three different people I could write on. HOLY HARD DRIVE, NEVER MIND. I just had inspiration.

Since I can't post pictures without screwing up the HTML, I will post the icon that I was reminded of when inspiration hit and also the picture that prompted this post's title.

Arividerci!

Rumination

Dear The Fish,

I deny that name you called me unless we are talking in person and not over the web. :P (Have to keep my interweb identity sacred, you know.) Generally my obsessions do result in good things, but I'm glad you're sitting there giggling like a fool. Foolish giggling tends to be a release. :D

I talked to my parents about the 30th, but I am banned from having sleepovers (AND IT'S NOT EVEN MY FAULT AND I AM this close TO CURSING) because my sister is banned from going to sleepovers.

Ah, the intricacies of the parental mind.

I'm working on them, though. Being the oldest has its advantages, sometimes.

Squinting at the Computer,
Mara de la Mugre


I've been reading Hemingway's Islands in the Stream, and am really enjoying it. I didn't expect to, being indoctrinated with A Beka philosophy, but I am really, really enjoying it. It is very fresh and real and vivid.

Also, I think I'm saying my name wrong in Spanish. Pretty sure it's supposed to be Mara del Mugre.

P.S. I finished Faking It. And even with all the risque references, I loved it. :)
Just what the doctor ordered for a disillusioned, discombobulated adolescent.

May I share with you my new favourite radio station? Radio1045.
There I discovered Death Cab for Cutie's "Grapevine Fires," the lyrics I fell in love with.
Blue October's "Say It," the emotion I fell in love with.
Airborne Toxic Event's "Wishing Well," the voice I fell in love with.

Also I want to tell you that I am good.
No, that was a lie. I am alright.

I had a dream last night. A lot of dreams. Number Two was my favourite. Maybe I will tell you about it sometime.

Fart. I have a poem about procrastination (I planned to write about it in a few sentences), but then when I went to dig it up out of Documents, I remembered that I'm borrowing my brother's account right now because I am feeling lazy as all-get-out and didn't feel like logging out, logging in, waiting for the load, restarting a few times, etc. etc.

So here I am.

This is ridiculous. I've been writing this blog since the beginning of 2009.

(Sidetrack: Padma Lakshmi sounds snobbish when you're not looking at her face when she talks.) (From Top Chef.)

I've been writing this blog since the beginning of 2009. It is going nowhere. Might as well be my journal-away-from-my-journal.

Would you like to be spun dizzyingly away from the topic?

Then let us talk about ketchup. Personally, I like spelling it with a k better, because it reminds me of catfish and all things Cajun the other way. Which isn't a bad thing, thinking about it. After all, Band of Brother's Eugene Roe (a.k.a. Shawn Taylor) is Cajun.

OH MY GOODNESS ITALIAN IS AMAZING. I love it and wish I spoke it. Also I love and wish I spoke French. AND HOW COOL WOULD IT BE if I knew the Phantom of the Opera? How AWESOME would it be if there WAS a Phantom of the Opera?? I would die.

Then I would promptly buy a one-way ticket to France.

I have a fine kettle of fish-out-the-water frying on the back burner. Since there's no smoke without fire (and since no one uses a little when a lot will do), I'll douse any stray embers with the baby's bathwater, which is impossible to make a horse drink once you lead him to it. The horse in question is a gift horse that was looked in the mouth and subsequently bit the hand that fed him. The bird in that hand flew past the two in the bush and off the handle, which is just another reason we're all going to hell in a handbasket.

Oh, France. Home of all things French (read: tasty) and fashion.

I've been wearing green so much lately that I really, REALLY don't want to wear green tonight for Youth Group.

Good night.

I am going to change into green for Youth Group. :P

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