Good Times

Hey I just noticed that if you take out the ‘s’ then it becomes the song “Good Time” by Owl City and C. R. Jespen.

Anyhow, that’s not the point. Just yesterday, my cousins left America to go back to (insert country here). Let’s call it ‘X.’

They were here for three weeks, and it was the most fun three weeks of the summer. They are awesome people with funny personality and I really do miss them. I wonder why our family had to move to America and not stay in X. I wonder why it’s me whose family was in America, in a foreign land, rather than someone else. All of my other cousins and aunts and uncles (nine aunts) live in X. It kind of makes you feel lonely and isolated, don’t you think?

I mean, of course, being in America is really fun, and it has its advantages and stuff, especially if you want to succeed in life, blah blah. And yes, I have lots of friends and good memories here.

But most of my family is halfway across the world, in X. (Except for my aunt, who is a nun, and she lives in San Francisco, but she moves a lot, so I can’t really pinpoint the exact distance I live from my closest-living relative.) And most definitely, all of my cousins are in X. To what I hear, they see each other so often, (as my cousin Steve teases, “I’ve seen them so much, I’m almost sick of them~ XP”) and they can always go to their house within thirty to forty minutes.

Sometimes I wish my cousins, my first cousins, would move to America. (By first cousins I mean the children of my mom’s older sister. She has six sisters, so… yeah.)

It’s so much fun being with your family, even your cousins, because for some reason, whether it’s the second time meeting them or the first, you feel closer to them than you feel with friends at school, who you meet nearly every day. You feel like you’ve met those cousins yesterday, and the day before that, and that this isn’t a meeting once a year.

At least, that’s how I feel.

Looking around my house, I can remember just like yesterday when I was doing Algebra II problems, looking at the clock every five seconds, (meaning, technically, with the whole distraction, one could say I was looking at Algebra II problems), anxiously wondering what my cousins would say when they came to our house for the first time and took a look at America. I remember just like yesterday when they barged into the house, full with smiles and excitement, with their rolly bags and jackets, coming into the house to make sure they made lots of noise and memories. When they came into my room, and I still couldn’t believe they were inside my house, and that they were sitting on my bed, and asking me where the bathroom was, and that America’s so big, and why we can’t walk by ourselves to the park, and why we couldn’t go somewhere far by ourselves…

Just like yesterday when my cousins were sulking around the house, saying that the first day was going by way too slow, how is three weeks going to go by, and them unpacking the thousands of food from X, with yummy X crackers and candy as well as a pencil set for me. Just like yesterday when I felt kind of awkward with them.

And it was just like yesterday that I was freaking out that there was three days left, and H would glare at me (jokingly) and Andrew would flick my head and say “Let’s play a game” just like yesterday we were running in the grass trying to catch the frisbee in Frisbee Football, a game Alex played at his school, and was really fun—Just like yesterday I was telling them a fun card game and how we played it until two in the morning…

Just like yesterday.

And just like tomorrow, the time always comes, when we have to comment on how fast time flies, and how we’ll miss each other, and wave to each other until the other is out of sight, disappearing into the line of people holding their passports to go to another land…

 

And like tomorrow, the day will come when they’ll come again, and we’ll go to X too, and we’ll meet each other at least once a year, I hope. I hope that we won’t have to say that we’ve met our cousins only twice, that we know who they are and what their favorite food is, and what game they play 24/7, and what brand of clothing they like the most.

Looking around the house, they’ve left no trace that they were here, no trace at all, just like they weren’t here, almost. Except for the Nike tag they forgot to throw away, and the game that shows on the screen when I turn on my iPod, and a warmth in our hearts, hope that we’ll see them in just 365 days..

Travelling Troubles

Okay, so, we went to New York City (Central Park, Apple Store, Times Square…), Washington D.C. (You know the places—museums and the White House and the Washington Memorial and whatnot), and Boston (Harvard, MIT…).

Let me tell you what happened on those three trips, and why we have the worst luck possible in picking dates for ‘travelling,’ and why I’m scared to go to the Statue of Liberty in a few days.

New York City

So, when we went to New York, we rode the car (not train) all the way to NYC, and then we walked to Central Park. It was drizzling. Then, we walked for about an hour in Central Park, because my dad said he knew where the lake thingy was, but apparently, between him and his iPhone, something went wrong, and we ended up walking in circles. When that tired us enough, it started raining more. And when I say more, I mean, POURING. RAINING CATS AND DOGS. (Plus we were hungry).

We ran all the way to the edge of Central Park, meanwhile getting soaking wet. Seriously soaking wet. Our hair was like we just stepped out of the shower, and our clothes were sticking to our skin like we decided to jump into the pool with all of our clothes on. Literally.

So we stood under a ledge of a big building (and it wasn’t a ‘big’ ledge, so to say), and waited for the rain to stop, while stuffing KimBap into our mouths.

But thankfully, the day got better after that, because the rain eventually stopped, and we went to the Apple store and Times Square, which was really fun.

 

Washington D. C.

A bit farther than New York’s distance, so we woke up at five and then left at six forty four, forty four minutes off schedule (we had planned to leave at six o clock sharp, but you  know what always happens..).

We hadn’t eaten breakfast, because my mom had made a beautiful breakfast meal and put it in the icebox for us to eat along the way (as in, stop at a small park with those wooden tables and stuff to eat, on the way to Washington). So when we were pretty much in Washington D. C., we stopped at a small park, as scheduled, and happily went to the back of the car to pull the icebox out of the trunk--
that wasn’t there.

We had, in the whole hurry of being forty four minutes late, left (one of) the most important things of the trip—food. Of course, we had rice. And seaweed thingy (kim). But the BANCHAN WAS MISSING. 반찬. So we happily ate rice and kim. (Because rice and kim don’t need to be cold, we had that in a separate bag that we brought.) Good thing we at least brought the rice. .-.

Anyhow, after the fulfilling breakfast, we then arrived at Washington very early, and parked the car and left to walk here and there and have a nice day at Washington D.C. Of course, it was scorching hot that day, and we were already sweating rivers of sweat and sizzling in the heat within an hour.

(Plus, my cousins aren’t the ‘can-endure-lots-of-walking’ type, especially if it’s under a ninety eight degree sun.)

So we walked here and there, noticing how far each memorial was from each other, and looking in envy at people with cold water and ice cream (while we were holding nearly boiling bottled water) (nah it was just really warm). We did stop by once to buy two bottles of Gatorade, but in our hurried fight to drink more of the refreshing drink, we forgot to let our parents have a sip. (Sorry, Mother and Father. ): )

We then went home in the night, and in between the long car ride, we stopped at WaWa’s in Maryland. That was probably the best part of the trip, because that WaWa’s place was really clean and organized and their food was DELICIOUS. (Sandwich). (Maybe it was because we were tired and hungry.) I don’t know, their strawberry smoothie and sandwich was probably the most remember-able part of the trip. OMNOMNOMNOM.

 

Boston

So we left for Boston at around ten or eleven, thinking we wouldn’t spend much time there and stuff. And plus, in the morning, we were busy trying to convince my dad not to go to Boston so we could rest and stuff. So we dragged time quite a bit.

Leaving late means arriving late. And of course, we spent seven hours in the car (lots of traffic…) and arrived at Boston around five or six. Really late.

We went to Harvard, and the place was AWESOME. So was their bookstore—it was like Harvard Coop or something like that? I don’t know, but when we stepped in there for the bathroom, I saw much more than a bathroom there. I wanted to stay there for a while (but we had to leave) and read all of the books (that I wanted to read that were) there.

But because of the time constraint (we can’t leave too late, because that would mean we would get home in the morning), we hurried from Harvard to MIT to the Quincy Market thingy. And it rained a lot (not as much as Central Park, thank goodness), so we were all fighting over three puny umbrellas while trying to pose for pictures.

By the time we were at Quincy Market, it was about nine thirty, and all of the food-giving places were closed. Except for the bars and super expensive restaurants. (Well, not super expensive, but expensive when it comes to paying for seven hungry people).

We had no choice but to go to McDonald’s.

…

Yeah, I know.

And the best part is, when we left the place, we noticed that Chipotle’s was still open, and also another sandwich place (I forget, it was either Seven Eleven, Quick Check, or Subway’s).

Amazing.

We got home at two thirty in the morning and passed out on the floor (or bed, depending on where we slept).

 

And in those three trips, we ate lots of: soda, fast food, chips, Oreos, and other fattening, unhealthy edible items.
I’m worried about our health. D:

 

Well, besides that, it was actually pretty fun! :D I just hope that our trip to the Statue of Liberty won’t have any weather-like constraints and troubles. For once. ^.^

THREE DAYS

Three days ‘till what? Maybe you don’t care, but I DO! :DDD  MY COUSINS ARE COMING YAHHHH AKJHGALSOEIYGKJWNGLAKIHlkgi]uqy2p498ehslkjdva sdj
…
Sorry for the keyboard spasm.
But I don’t feel like deleting it. >:P
So these days I’m living in deviantart, which is an awesome place if you like drawing and stuff.
And there are lots of awesome artists out there. :D
I’m wondering what to do when my cousins are here. I mean, there’s not much to do when you’re stuck at home besides the computer. And we can’t have five kids crowding around a computer. So what do we do?
I mean, they’re all boys, so I can’t make them cook or something. We’ll probably end up spending three weeks on Starcraft and other videogames, especially on the XBOX. I wish they were awesome at drawing (who knows, maybe they had such hidden talent that they never told us of) so that we can all draw together, but I doubt that..
We can play card games (funfunfunfunfun) and board games (a bit less fun), and maybe teach them English (for maybe obvious reasons). Because they’re from ***(Insert censored Country Name Here)***.
Do we all sit on the couch and play the ‘get up first and you lose’ game?
Or do we--
I dunno.
I just hope we don’t end up sleeping three weeks straight or something. Something fun, I hope.
The time will come.
Three days.
…
MUST GROW SO COUSIN NOT TALLER THAN ME BUT I DOUBT THAT BECAUSE APPARENTLY HE GREW A LOT OVER THE YEAR AND I DIDN’T NOT MUCH.

This is a sincere prayer:
O Dear God, let me miraculously grow three inches in three days. Thank you. In the name of Jesus Christ our Lord,
Amen.

Graduation [2]

We had a nice casino-themed graduation party. The teachers/decorators went to great lengths to bring out the casino-feel to the party. In fact, they put balloons with “Casino” written on them AND scattered cards over some tables AND even put chocolate coins on some!

I mean, don’t you think that’s just a bit TOO much work? They did so much for us, and all we did was cause so much trouble for them, just like any other graduation class.

 

And plus the music hurt my ears, because it was so loud.

And plus we played a card game that I’m still trying to figure out.

And plus we ‘danced.’ As obliging Asians, we did the ‘toss the rice’ dance from David Seo. Or however you spell his last name.

 

And plus that’s probably all I feel like writing now.

The last ten minutes of the party was pretty---

huggy.

 

I tried not to cry. And I did not. I kind of was amused actually, how I didn’t. But I got less amused in the car when my parents were awkwardly sitting in the front seat hearing their daughter sob her eyes and throat out.

WHY YOU LEAVE ME.

 

Okay I’m done. Nobody read that. Kaythanksbye.

Sleepyhead

So today I woke up late.

More specifically, I woke up the time my bus cones.

I missed the bus.

The school bus.

Not the High School bus.

There were no more buses coming to our house that would take me to my school.

And my brother was late to his band class.

So my mother dutifully yelled us awake, and then took us to school.

So on the way to school, me in one seat and my brother in the other, me thinking to myself, “Why, I’m late. I’m late to school.” and not really thinking through about it,

my mother says,

“If there are any detours on the way to school, that will be the. worst.”

Because recently, the construction worker people have been obsessed in blocking usual routes to school, meaning my road-blind mother would have to find her way through the town to reach my school.

And there would be detours one day, no detours another. You really couldn’t know the schedule. It wasn’t too… organized.

So we say, “Yeah. That would be terrible.”

I mean, Lateness-to-school PLUS Detours PLUS Roadblind-Mother equals…

Disaster.

We’re reaching an intersection, and I say, “Dear God, Please let us not be late to school. Amen.” (Because if we’re good enough, we can get there on time. At least, I can.)

Two split seconds later, we stop at a red light.

!?!?!?!?!? God, I thought you were all forgiving and merciful! And school is a very educational place!

Well, He has His reasons.

ANYHOW.

So now we’re getting more and more late, thanks to the red-lights, and we reach a detour.

A DETOUR.

But my mother drives on INTO the detour road, so that we have to swerve into another road, where there are lots of houses and stuff, and then my mom’s freaking out while I’m getting the GPS (turns out, it’s out of battery. Dx we had to charge it), and finally after turning it on,

it says,

“Acquiring Satellites.”

And it ‘acquires satellites’ for quite a while. In fact, it kept on acquiring satellites. All the while, my mother is frantically driving here and there randomly, waiting for the GPS to hurry up and finish acquiring the satellites.

Then, we pass a familiar sort of path.

It doesn’t ring a bell until we actually find ourselves at school. Miracle!

Opening Locked Doors for Dummies!

So there are many things I am good at, many things I am bad at. I mean, it’s the same with everyone. For example, I am good at saying my name, opening my eyes, and failing at tennis. I am bad at tennis, bad at sports, and bad at opening doors.

 

What did you say? Opening doors, you say? Why, that’s a simple everyday task!

Well, unfortunately, when I was born, Dear old God deprived me of such supposedly easy everyday tasks. For example, very often, I lack common sense. So in a sense (XD it’s a PUN I just realized), for me, it’s not common at all.

And I’m not good at noticing things unless you actually say it really obviously. I can see, hear, taste, smell, and feel, but I’m not too good at any of those either. (Bad eyesight, bad hearing, don’t know about taste and smell and feel, but pretty sure they’re defected in some way or another.)

And besides common sense, I lack the ability to open doors.

Of course, I can open them. It’s just the matter of unlocking them. With those keys, jingling on the keychain, the one you stick into the keyhole and then twist it to unlock the door?

Well, I’m not too good at it.

I mean, just today, I was locked out of my own house even though I had the key in my hand.

Do you want to hear my pathetic story?

Hear, hear.

 

So it’s a nice and sunny day.

No.

It’s actually pretty cloudy, and I’m coming home from school, (got off the bus and stuff), said good-bye to my friend-neighbor whom I walk home with, and I go to the door.

It’s a normal day for me, supposedly, because (1) I’m still short, (2) I am still alive, and (3) there are no sudden atrophies in my health.

So I had nothing under suspicion, not even the squirrel that chitter-chattered as it scrambled up the tree nearby.

Then, I reached the door of my house. The looming, big, green door.

You see, our door is not any ordinary door. Like me, it has some flaws and imperfections. For example, the screen door will not shut. In fact, if you live in my house, like I do, after you shut the screen door, within about three minutes, you hear that irritating CREEEEEEEEEAAK CREEEEAAAAAAAK coming from right outside again. (Recently my dad fixed it, so now it never opens properly—it shuts closed even if you prop it open.)

Then, for the real door (not saying the screen door is fake, but just as a figure of speech). Gawd. So the doorknob thing isn’t a round-ish sort of circle, like most doors. Ours is like a handle sort of thing.

^ Like that.

So anyhow, we have ANOTHER lock on TOP of that.

So anyhow, the handle of our door (shown in the picture above), broke a while ago. And then, one fateful day (the phrase comes from Drums, Girls, and Dangerous Pie by Jordan Sonnenblick), while we were hurriedly rushing our reluctant selves out of the house, the handle just came loose and got ripped right out of the door.

…Which was pretty shocking, considering we were (probably) pretty late to wherever we were supposed to be getting to.

SO ANYWAYS, our father eventually “fixed” it (just a week ago it came out again, but now we’ve all just given up), and now the little pushy thingy that goes in and out as you turn the handle—the small metal chunk thingy that clicks the door closed and keeps it closed—you know that, situated at the edge of the door, the thingy protruding out of the rectangle of the door? Well, it stayed inside the hole thing. I guess it’s gone through a lot in its life, and decided that ‘that’s it,’ and it would never expose itself to the outside world once again.

SO now, we can open our door just by pulling the door handle (no need to turn the knob and then pull the door—just pull with no turn). Which, sometimes, the handle comes off just as the door creaks open.

AND THEN. I’m not even done.

The Doorbell. Geez, someone messed with that, because our doorbell is cracked. It is CRACKED. Like, someone got real angry and decided to put it out on a poor little doorbell, so that the plastic covering that hides the little LED light is out. It’s just cracked and open. So now, friendly neighbors trying to be social are awkwardly knocking on the door instead of pressing the cracked, dilapidated, neglected doorbell.

Oh, well.

La boca de mi casa es muy viejo y roto.

Well, you can call it the mouth.

Anyhow. We have a very messed up front-of-the-house.

ANYWAYS.

Back to the main story. I reached the welcoming entrance to my cozy home and pushed the door to open it (at this time, we’re so used to the broken door that we don’t even think about turning the handle, we just push the door in and it opens).

It didn’t open. Which meant—the door was locked. Of course the lock on the doorknob/door-handle itself was broken—everything about that was broken, but the lock above that (remember, we have two locks, one on the doorknob and one above it) was locked. It’s our only  means of security.

So I flipped my backpack onto my tummy and opened the front pocket to get the key.

Whew, it’s there.

Then, unclipping the key from the bag, I stuffed it into the key-hole in attempts to unlock the door.

It didn’t open.

So there I was, standing pathetically at my OWN FRONT DOOR, with the KEY TO THE DOOR, TURNING THE KEY, and I STILL COULDN’T open the darn DOOR.

You see, as much as I twisted the key this direction and that, it just DID NOT BUDGE.

So I got really scared, and I wondered if I should stay at a friend/neighbor’s house—but what could I say? “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to get into my own house even though I have the key.”

So I called my mom, who said she’d be coming in five minutes.

Then, returning to the door-unlocking business, I continued to bite my tongue off trying to get the key to UNLOCK THE STUPIT DOOR.

I felt like a total idiot.

Please excuse the use of the word, but I really did. I mean, really. Who can’t open a door?

Well, apparently, me.

Who Knew?

Oh, I think this title is so well title-d. It fits the situation perfectly. Who knew. Why, who did? Well, nobody. Except for my mother, but she didn’t exactly know, more like, she expected. Hoped.

So, remember that post I made where I talked about the Sejong Writing Competition?

Here’s the link: http://sugarsweetlemons.blogspot.com/2012/03/on-top-of-world.html

You know how I said “I don’t think I’m going to win”? Well, I did.

OF COURSE NOT FIRST PLACE. Dang, that’s way too high for national competition. I got ‘Honorable Mention.’

Quite exciting way to find out about it, I had.

You see, after sending the essay for the writing competition, I really didn’t give it a second thought, not that much. I just thought to myself, “Well, I’m not that good at writing, and besides, it’s better off if I vilify my expectations in this so that I don’t get upset whatever happens.”

And I forgot about it. It was totally off my mind.

So, going back, when I sent the essay, they made you give your email, and also your teacher’s email. Your English teacher, because apparently most kids enter the contest via their school’s requirements or something. Of course, I didn’t. It was more of an on-my-own thing.

And so I put my English teacher’s email in, and mine, too.

And these days, with Washington and all, I didn’t really check my email much.

So today, Monday, just another day to drag yourself to school, I went to English class, disappointed that the Graduation Practice had been cancelled, because that would mean we’d miss two periods of class (including English). I plopped myself down into my seat, and listened to my English teacher rant on about his philosophies in life and the way Honors English should not be called Honors English, particularly. It was a normal, boring day for me.

So then, my teacher realized there was a LOT of time left, so he just waved us off and said, “just study for the grammar test,” which is open notes, by the way, so I didn’t study at all. I just sat there, and in the midst of explaining the difference between “Lie” and “Lay” to my friend, my teacher yelled out, “CELINE! WHERE ARE YOU!”

Psh, like the room’s that big he can’t find me.

But I stand up anyway, my eyes all wide and stuff, wondering, What did I do?

He says, “Come over here!”

So as an obeisant student, I saunter over to his desk, which is conveniently located across the room, and look at him all confused, because obviously he isn’t calling me over to give me my vocab test—already got that five minutes ago (got a 100, thank you very much).

He peers at me, like a coup d’oeil, from the edges of his old-man glasses, and says, “Whatcha win?”

And then I’m doubling back, thinking, “What in the world is this man talking about?”

And apparently my thoughts are visibly shown, because he says, “You know, that thing—the Korean thing you entered! Did you enter a contest?”

And then it begins to dawn on me. Korean thing… Contest…

“I—uh, I think so…”

“What’s your last name?”

“Choo.”

“Yeah, you won something!”

At this I look at him, because the truth is finally uncovered in my brain. I won something in the Sejong Competition?

What?!

And then he says something about a teacher wanting to read my essay to the class, how, quote, ‘all the teachers are talking about you.’

And I think, What in the WORLD!

But then again, the world is pretty big, so you never know what to expect.

Anyhow, he says something about me going to the teacher’s room and telling her that I’d like my essay read to her class, thankyouverymuch. (Not exactly in that tone, but I wanted to use “thankyouverymuch.”)

Then, realizing I didn’t know where this teacher’s room was, and that my friend was hovering over me, I said, “D’er… Idon’tknowwhereherroomis. I need someone to help me find it…”

And my teacher rolls his eyes and says, okay, R, you can help her.

And just as I’m about to leave, he booms out to the class, “HEY GUESS WHAT C WON SOMETHING IN A WRITING COMPETITION!” or something like that, and I’m backing out of the room with my eyes wide at the widespread attention suddenly dumped onto my shoulders. I’m not good with public attention, you know.

So R (my friend) and I go to her room, which is two hallways away, so we have plenty of time to think about it. At least, I do. And all that’s racing in my head is:

Whatwhwat? what? what? What? What? WHAAAAAAATTTT?

And then I tell the teacher, let’s call her Miss W, that it would be kind of her if she could read it to the class, but I had to sort of yell it out because she was sitting in the back, and we had entered through the front, and apparently she felt no need to walk over and talk where we could hear each other.

Then, the air conditioning got way too loud (or I was too soft), and my friend had to translate my words and yell them out to her.

Then, still in a What-y haze, I went back to my English class and spent the rest of the time talking/thinking about it.

 

YAYZERS!

Well, anyhow. I would like to post it here so that the memory will stay longer than it might without it being written down and published.

Have a nice day!

WASHINGTON!

AND ENDER’S GAME!

So for our Class Field Trip, we went to Washington and stayed there for two nights and three days. We wake our drowsy, unwilling (and yet willing) selves up out of our beds and drag our drowsy selves and heavy suitcases or whatever to school at FIVE O CLOCK.

And anyhow, we stayed there (got there Wednesday) and then came home today, at approximately six or five thirty in the afternoon.

It was fun, but most of the fun-ness was with friends, not particularly anything about Washington. It may have just been any other place in the world and we would have had just as much fun. We played Asian Mafia, ate Ramen, talked, ran around, played finger puppets (for like two minutes), and other worldly things.

ALSO.

Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card is the best book you will ever read, whether you know it or not. Ender’s Shadow is good, too. And it’s not like Harry Potter or the Hunger Games, because it’s much deeper than that.

In fact, so deep that KIDS IN HIGH SCHOOL READ IT FOR THE STUDYING SORT OF THING! So before reading it in school and thinking it’s so boring and dreadful (like most books turn out to be when you read them in school), read it on your own so you can fully enjoy the wonders and perfections of this book AND spoil the ending for everyone when you’re reading it in school! (If you are, that is.)

Ender’s Game I’ve read two and a half times already, and now I’ve re-started so that I have read it two and two half times. (Because reading the first half twice does not mean that I’ve read the whole book once.)

AND PLUS they’re making a movie in 2013. But Ender is the actor from Hugo, Ava something or something like that, and he doesn’t look ANYTHING like Ender. YOU PEOPLE.

Then again, how many actors are there out in this world who can look and act like a six year old and yet have a charismatic aura about them, as well as some genius intelligence?

Not many.

BUT ANYHOW IGNORING ALL LOGICAL EXPLANATIONS WHY COULDN’T THEY CONJURE UP SOME CHILD WHO LOOKS LIKE ENDER.

 

You know I really didn’t mean to make it caps lock, and I’m not all that mad, but my pinky finger disobediently pressed the caps lock key, and by the time I realized how angry it seemed I was (in the text), I wrote too much and I didn’t feel like erasing it and re-typing it un-capitalized. So I am sorry if you are shrinking back in your seat because of my nonexistent wrath and fury.

 

Kaythanksbye.

Return of the Human & Phases

So I am alive. Surprise! Thought I had died?

Well, due to the stash of food and air in my home, I am fully (halfway, actually) awake and ready to confront anything (but spiders and millipedes).

I really am sorry not for writing these days, I’ve been awfully busy. Let me give you an update on my life. I bet you’ve been dying to see how I’ve been dying. (Because getting older means you’re closer to death, so everyone in a sense, is dying.)

Here are the updates.

1. I am still bad at tennis.

2. I am still sleepy.

3. I am still short.

4. I am still stressing over things not ought to be stressing over.

5. I am still a human.

6. I still go to school.

7. I still don’t enjoy math class too much.

8. I am still learning.

9. I’ve finally replaced my broken earrings (which were resting on my ears before I decided to put on some not-broken ones).

10. My Dad’s in a Phase.

 

I’m sure the first nine updates are very appealing. But I’d like to specify on the very last update. The Phase.

 

Here, let me give you a definition.

Phase- n. a state of mind in which someone is so obsessed with a certain subject or action that they must go to great measures to do whatever they can to continue with this subject or action so that it drives everyone else crazy. Also known as temporary obsession.

Of course, I have my own Phases. Right now, I am in no Phase.

My father definitely is.

You see, the whole Phase thing probably came from my dad. My mom never goes through Phases. I mean, she gets interested in things and all, but she doesn’t get super obsessed and then drops it.

My father, on the other hand, definitely has obvious Phases.

Here are some Phases he’s been through:

1) The ocarina Phase. I brought home an Ocarina after coming home from Korea, and then my father just took off with it. He played it every day, and despite the fact that he was in the basement playing it, the loud music spread even to the first and second floor, so that it drove us all crazy. The too-too isn’t always so soothing when you’re not an Ocarina-Virtuoso. He still has the tens of hundreds of sheet music on his iPad.

2) The Electronics Phase. Speaking of iPads… At one point, my father decided that our house needed major updating. So he went off to his computer and ordered just about fifty electronic things, ranging from speakers to earphones to iPads and kindles. Not a very long phase, though.

3) The Guitar Phase. His alleged skills in guitar-strumming were finally revealed when he was raving to buy one. Instead of waiting patiently to buy a good guitar, we went off to Target to buy one. Strum strum strum, twaaaang. …Beautiful guitar-playing skills, let’s just say.

4) House Arranging Phase. Here, we are finally nearing the present. My father was quite fond of moving sofas and tables around for a time. I guess it was a good sort of phase, because it burned at least two calories. I’m assuming.  (Hoping.) He would rearrange the basement, rearrange the living room, decide that the sofa’s not put in the right spot, switch bookcases, and all the while, put the wrong things in the wrong places, and mixing all of our belongings up, so that I’d be scouring through the house looking for the camera, while my brother’s looking up and down for the scissor. Although, it was quite amusing, having a different living room every week.

5) The IKEA Phase. Ahhh, alas. The present. I have coined this Phase the IKEA phase, because IKEA sells furniture, and IKEA sounds darn better than furniture. It sounds all red and white and black-y. Modern-y. Minimalistic.
Anywho. This is the current phase my father has indulged himself in. And it’s a combination of furniture and the house arranging phase. He is now moving everything around (between floors, even), and also buying new furniture to add ‘homey touches’ to our already homey home. We’re got about three new lamps, a new rolly drawer thing, bookcases from downstairs, while bookcases on the first floor now in the basement, a new table to dine on, a supposed color-theme in our living room (I’m not sure whether it’s a living room—what is a living room, exactly?)… Oh yeah, and a mirror. And a colorful drawer thing.
It’s all very amusing. The piano’s in a new spot, and the sound’s SOOO much better. It’s all echo-y, and much louder and fuller. I like it. So, all in all, the IKEA phase isn’t too bad. I mean, the Ocarina one was pretty---loud, to put it that way.

The Adventures of Stair Sliding

Hear, hear. Here is the adventure of stair sliding, or shall I say, here are the Adventures of Stair Sliding.

Stair sliding, essentially, is the activity, so to say, or rather, unpredicted collision or accident, of sliding down the stairs. It is when you are at the top of the stairs, and the next second, you find your butt bumping down the stairs, finding your legs and feet vestigial to the current purpose.

This (perhaps painful) ‘activity’ (so to say) is called stair sliding. The aftermath and consequences are not of the brightest. They may include bruising in the anal area, breaking of a tailbone or of the vicinity, and/or grumpiness, depending on how happy or unhappy you are with the outcomes, and how much the pain may be.

Now that I have explained the sciences to stair sliding, let me tell you my story.

Hear, hear.

actually…

Read, read.

 

SO.

I was in a city, at the other side of the country, in this state, which I shall not name (because I don’t want to), but this state I must hint, is at the coast, quite big, and stretches very far (in vertical terms, not in total area). The city, I shall not name, because if I name it, that’s pretty much naming the state, rhymes with ‘Disco’ and starts with SF (two words long).

I think I’ve given enough obvious clues there.

Anyway, I was in SF, on a cruise, looking at this island, which was the setting of Al Capone Does my Shirts, which is an awesome book, by the way, and I was genuinely interested. After all, it was the setting of one of the books I’ve read.

SF does harbor a lot of stories. It’s like the birthplace of all stories, almost. The houses are all colorful and beautiful, it’s a city but has an old country feeling, it reminds me of totally different cities all at the same time, and most of all, it’s peaceful, calm, and sweet. I don’t know how, or why. But it just gives me such a good feeling in my tummy, when I’m walking down the street. Everything’s subject to be in a painting, everything is so colorful, but not the obnoxious sort of colorful, but the colorful that lets you know that this city means no harm and that they are merely, humbly, decorating their homes to have a ‘Home Sweet Home’ feeling.

Anyways.

I was on a cruise, and then the cruise ended (…yeah. Never knew.), so we were going to get off the boat. But of course, the many many many people in front of us (we were at the very top of the boat thingy and at the very front, meaning we’d be the last ones off the boat), so we decided to take pictures. But THEN, having a mother who is so excited about pictures, practically attacking us with the camera, wanted us to take a picture in front of the stairs (leading to the bottom floor of the boat so we could get off). And somehow, we weren’t the last ones off, and in fact, many were waiting, yet, they could not pass because we were taking a picture right at the stairs (because it was ‘a great view’). Then, feeling a little sympathetic towards the waiting people, I urged my family on, down the stairs, grabbing everything (but the bag and the camera) that my mom had, which was, actually, two hot-chocolate cups, and started going down the stairs.

Those stairs are steep, slippery, and small.

I’d just like to let you know.

My foot just gracefully slipped over one step, and in a frantic wave, I tried to get it to land on the step below that, so I could regain control of my gravity, but my other foot gave way, and the step below that (the one I was trying to reach) was just too far, and I was nearly prostrate on the stairs when I began to slide down the stairs.

Trust me, they’re not meant for sliding on.

This all, occurring within about one second, sped by as I could barely realize that I was on the floor, much quicker and much closer than I’d expect to be there, and my butt was throbbing. It hurt.

Like crazy.

Apparently, I had slid on my tailbone. My tailbone, no matter how vestigial or whatever structure it is, still has nerves on it, and still can hurt.

My tailbone hurt.

So there I was, faking that I was very very fine (just to get out of more humiliation), and quickly sped off the boat.

Of course, the rest of the day, I was limping around, because my tailbone would not allow me to sit on any given chair, no matter how puffy or hard, without this major pain in my butt.

So I had to lean forward when sitting, so that my tailbone need not touch any man-made surface.

You can guess how the rest of that week went by.

(Don’t even ask about the plane ride home. Red eye flight? Yep. Red eye, indeed.)

 

So, I’d like to tell you, I’m fine right now (except for the slight pain when sitting, although I’ve gotten used to it), at least it’s not the needle feeling I had the day after.

 

I’d just like to remember this day. {:

 

Well, Thanks for reading (probably nobody reads this anyhow), and have a nice day.

TY A HAND!

Ender’s Game

Is the Best Book In The World (don’t talk about Harry Potter, please, Ender’s Game is a bit better than that).

I looked it up, and THANK YOU, ORSON SCOTT CARD he wrote a bunch of books. And on the San Fran trip, I read Ender’s Game almost twice, (I’ve read the book once before), meaning I’m reading this for the third time.

I still can’t fully understand the hidden meaning. I mean, I understand it, I know it, because I can feel somewhere it the pit of my stomach, but I just can’t seem to bring it up and into my brain and hand to write on paper/type.

And then when I looked up ‘Ender’s Game,’ some of the ‘suggested’ choices thingys was ‘Ender’s Game movie.’

Then I was thinking, hrmph?

I searched that, and IMDB says it’s coming out 2013. Plenty of time to read the books, and then watch the movie.

I can’t wait.

:D

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1731141/

(IMDB link)

 

I love the idea of it.

GRAHHHHH

 

Okay.

I’ll stop.

(Technically I haven’t even ‘started.’)

Freedom

FREEDOOOMMMMMM

 

NO LIFE SKILLS

NO LIFE SKILLS

NO LIFE SKILLS

NO LIFE SKILLS

It’s a beauty.

NO LIFE SKILLS!

Away from the teacher (I’m sorry, but you kind of scare me. ); ) and away from the annoying people at my table who make me do all the work (except for S, who is not part of the ‘annoying people’ group I was speaking of a parentheses ago).

HERE COMES ART. YAHHHHHHHH

Deviled Eggs

MUAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAH

Sorry had to.

Well, today, this Friday, as I used to every Friday a while ago, I made some food. Unfortunately, my mother had made salsa and chips, so everyone was munching on that while I was pathetically making—yes—deviled eggs!

I read it in lots and lots of books, and it always mentioned the delicious-ness of it, so I wondered, how does it taste like? (At this context, you should realize I have never eaten deviled eggs before.)

So, I went on allrecipes.com (now that I go on it so much, I just made an account. :D) and searched ‘deviled eggs.’ Obviously, there were quite a few of them.

I saw a short video by foodwishes.com, where this creepy-happy man keeps guiding you through the recipe (obviously). He had a very good idea of candied peppers.

And I combined that recipe with the recipe that had four stars (out of five) and six hundred something reviews. Obviously it’s better than the four stars with eight reviews.

It’s really easy. There’s technically no need for a recipe. For every three eggs, you need one tablespoon of mayo, and half a teaspoon of everything else. Imean, not even half a teaspoon, because technically it depends on your taste.

The ‘everything else’ list is:
mustard
vinegar
hot sauce (:D also the creepy-happy man’s idea)
salt
sugar

What you do is you boil the eggs, you peel the boiled eggs, and then you cut them in half vertically, into two long, congruent (symmetrical, however you want to put it) slices. You then pop out the white yolk parts, mash them in a bowl, and dump in the mayo and everything else. (See the ‘everything else’ list for details.)

You mix it all up with a fork or spoon or whatever utensil you’d like.

Then, you put the yellowy mixture into the empty white-part-of-the-boiled-egg.

Only, I came up with an idea. Obviously, I don’t have ‘dispensable tube thingy whatever they’re called’ laying around, so I used a small plastic bag (those short, horizontal ones), and I cut off the tip of the bag just a very little bit, so that the hole is perhaps three eighths of an inch wide.

I dumped in a spoonful of the yolk-mayo-everythingelse mixture, and closed the bag just a little bit so that it doesn’t spill out of the bag, and then squeezed the bag so that the mixture could come out of the tip of the bag like icing. I made a swirly motion when putting the yolk-mixture into the white part of the boiled egg. Then it made a pretty design!

Then, I took a little bit of peppers (any kind, in fact. Bell pepper, sweet pepper, whatever it is) and diced them into small pieces and put them aside.

Then, I boiled a little bit of water (that was left in the teapot) just to about a medium simmer or whatever you call it. I put about a tablespoon or half of sugar into a very small cup, and poured in just enough water to wet the sugar. (Not too much water—it has to be syrupy.) Mixing it around for a few seconds will melt most of the sugar, and if you have OCD like me, you put it in the microwave for about five or seven seconds. (Or six.)

Then, after stirring a bit more, you put the diced peppers into the sugar-syrup mixture. Swirl it around a bit, put a bit more sugar, put it in the microwave for six more seconds, whatever.

Then, you take a small spoon that will fit comfortably inside the cup, and scoop out just three or four of the diced peppers and place it gently on top of the deviled-egg yolk mixture (which should be in the white-egg thing). Maybe press it down gently to make sure the peppers don’t fall off.

And if there’s some syrup left, just take an eighth of a teaspoon, a very tiny bit, and put it on top of the peppers, just to make it more shiny and sweet.

And walah! Your deviled egg is done.

Credits go to: http://allrecipes.com/recipe/deviled-eggs-2/detail.aspx?event8=1&prop24=SR_Title&e11=deviled%20eggs&e8=Quick%20Search&event10=1&e7=Home%20Page

And the video:
http://allrecipes.com/video/526/deviled-eggs/detail.aspx?prop24=RR_RelatedVideo

Here are my finished pictures:

I especially love the second picture because it’s using macros and I love macros. And it looks so appealing and perfect.

They look so pretty!

Okay, I’ll stop self-complimenting my pictures.

Macros makes everything bad look good. I guess when you look close up, things aren’t as bad.

(Or maybe sometimes if you look close up, things aren’t as good.)

O: THOUGHTFULLLLLL.

 

…have a nice day!

TY A HAND!

Post Pi Day

Of course, although it may be a bit late, here it is.

I was told, by a friend, let’s say, her name is E. Well, E told me the day before, that she was bringing two pies. TWO WHOLE PIES. Key lime, and peach. The wonders!

And it was also known that another friend, let’s say, J, was supposed to bring a cookie pie. (Yes, human beings of this world, there is such thing as a cookie pie. I just found out on Tuesday or Wednesday. Don’t worry, you’re not that behind in modernization.)

So just then, I knew that there would be three pies at the Pi Day Party. That is—if Mr. V would allow us.

We did not care. Bring pie to class, watch our teacher shake in rage, fume, and break out into a spasm—a spectacle!

Bring pie to class, watch our teacher look at us helplessly, give in, and eat pie—a wonder!

So either way, it was a win-win sort of thing. Only… the second win was a bit more winnier.

 

The thing was—there was no plates.

What were we to do—eat off the table? eat with our hands? Paper plates—literally?

With this in mind, I went to school. I then, came up with a sort of brilliant idea—to take plates from the school cafeteria!

Only—I couldn’t just take eighteen plates off the table-thingy. It would be kind of--

strange.

So what was I to do?

The only way to get plates without being noticed, was to buy pizza.

Only—if I put the pizza on the plate, it would be a dirty plate.

So—could I ‘accidentally’ take another plate, under it?

But could I ‘accidentally’ take eighteen plates?

This raced through my mind on the bus ride to school.

At school, I realized, that with a few of my friends, we might actually achieve this ‘accidental’ stealing of plates. If they all bought pizza, that is.

So at lunch, we did just that. We casually walked over to the pizza place thingy majiger, took six plates, and put pizza on the topmost plate.

We passed by, buying the pizza, with no suspicion.

It was hilarious, because the lunch person who was looking at our pizza, thinking, ‘Buoy, these kids are loving pizza today,’ don’t actually realize that there are five plates under the plate she was looking at.

And then we found that we were four plates short. Obviously, we couldn’t just go up and buy another pizza, and neither could we go up and just take the plates and walk away—could we?

So, we found that a table away, another classmate was sitting with his friends—only he wasn’t exactly the best of friends with us, you know…? It would be awkward to ask him to take four plates.

But of course, one of our friends is very—socially unawkward, to put it that way, and just shouted, (let’s call him ‘JL.’) "HEY JL! JL!”

And he turned around.

“HEY JL, GET SOME PLATES FOR PI DAY! GET SOME PLATES! OVER THERE!”

Obviously, if you hear someone you barely know (not even in your math class) to steal plates from the lunch line, you don’t suddenly oblige. Obviously.

So most predictably, he did not.

She then caught his attention again, and shouting again, “JL! JL! GET PLATES! JUST PLATES! FROM THE PIZZA LINE!”

And the whole time, I was saying, “Comeon, that’s mean! Don’t make him do that.”

And suddenly he got up, went over to the lunch-place-thingy, and seemed to go in the direction of the lunch line thing, and walked over to the pizza-area where the plates were--

and walked by, went to the line, and bought chips.

At this aggravation, my socially unawkward friend said, “HEY JL! WHY DIDN’T YOU GET THE PLATES?”

And he replied, “There aren’t enough for eighteen.”

She said, “We only need four! Four! Four! Just four!”

And suddenly, he got up, went to the line, took four plates, and just walked back.

I guess the lunch aids are nearsighted. And so are the lunch clerks, because he came over, unnoticed, with four plates.

Wow, did I even think that he would be the one abetting us in this sort of deed.

Well, point being, we had our eighteen plates.

We then continued on our “Operation Pi,” which I appropriately named just as we were on our plan B.

Plan B, was that a friend and I would ‘sign out’ to ‘Band.’ (We’re allowed to do that.) We would be the ‘usual band-geeks’ who go to band nearly every day (well, before the audition, anyway).

We would then walk outside with the eighteen plates and ‘go to Band.’

The question was, would the lunch aids question the number of plates at hand?

Why, I brought it from home!

And what could they say? “YOU STOLE THEM FROM THE PIZZA LINE!”

Obviously not. It would be absurd. They wouldn’t dream of that.

So we confidently signed out to band, me holding the eighteen plates, trying to look as innocent as possible. We then left the lunch room, turning left, which is the direction to the band room. When it seemed that it was ‘unsuspicious,’ we crawled under the windows of the lunch-room doors (so the lunch aids don’t see us walk the other way), and ran full-speed to the lockers. (There was a teacher there, walking down the hallway. I wonder if they suspected anything. Oh well.)

On our “Operation Pi,” my friend and I casually walked over to another friend’s locker, who was also part of “Operation Pi,” and had the closest locker to the lunch room.

Having memorized her combination, I opened her locker, stuffed the plates in, and then we ran back to the lunch room, prepared to say “The band teacher didn’t want us there—he had a high school band lesson” if the lunch aids ever questioned our return.

Operation Pi—DONE!

Well, the first part, anyway.

 

Ninth period, during math, I walked inside, and Mr. Vallo was helplessly handing out the plates (how funny was it that just five periods ago, we were taking them from the pizza line thingy), and handing out the cookie pie that J had bought.

Now, my other friend E, as I said, had brought in two pies in consideration of the wonderful occasion, but our wimpy math teacher said, “No, no, this is more than enough. More than enough.”

He looked all bewildered and scared.

It was strange.

 

AND AN OUTRAGE! THINK OF THE POOR KIDS IN AFRICA, WHO DON’T EAT PIES!

And think of M, who did not get to eat pie!

So, this occasion was a half-success (in stealing plates, which was actually fun), and a half-fail (we did not eat the TWO WHOLE PIES.)

So the half success and half fail cancel each other out, so today was an ordinary day.

 

whew- I got that story out.

Happy late pi day! Let’s hope Mr. V won’t stay a wimp his whole life! :D

PI DAY

Here is the long history of Pi. On March fourteenth, also the birth date of the great EINSTEIN, is the day to commemorate, remember, and acknowledge the wonders of Pi.
Pi is circumference divided by diameter.
This wondrous definition not only defines what it is, but it was also a subject in which we learned in Math class. Yes, human beings, we are in Honors Geometry.
Here is a nice statement, derived from a few others, and concluded through transitive property of equality.
Geometry=shapes.
Shapes=circles.
Circles=diameter and circumference.
Diameter and circumference=Pi.
Pi=Geometry.
Geometry=Pi.
Therefore, would it not make the most sense to celebrate Pi Day, on March Fourteenth, in Math class? IMEAN—The Algebra class is celebrating it, and they’re learning polynomials! (This very good argument and reason was stated by Rachel X. Must give credit.)
Then why, why, Mr. V (Let’s just use this letter, V, to represent my math teacher’s surname. To keep his and our privacy at the utmost restricted-ness.), are you refusing to celebrate pi day?
Is it not relevant? Had we not all failed the circles test a chapter before?
Are we not good students? Do we not deserve a nice day off, with some Pi, circumference, and diameter? And pie?
Of course, our beloved teacher Mr. V, says in the most monotonous, humdrum voice ever—“No.”
(Actually it was more of a bewildered, nervous ‘No,’ but I’d like to keep things at a dramatic level.)
We were aghast—devastated by this reply. We had only been expecting one of two answers—maybe even both—either “OF COURSE!” or “Why not?”
“No” was not an answer we had thought of, at all.
Yet, the truth was bleak, and we were to have no day reserved to worship Pi and its wonders.
But we did not give up! I, proud student of Geometry class, decided to make a PROTEST. A PEACEFUL PI PROTEST for Pi Day. What we would do, is create picket signs, and march down the hallway to the front of Mr. V’s room with our signs, chanting “PI DAY! PI DAY!” Like they do in football games, or when you want someone to go up in front of the class and do something, and everyone starts chanting his or her name.
With this wondrous dream in mind, I went to my Band Lesson, ignored the meaning of the term ‘Band Lesson,’ and gathered supplies. I took my band teacher’s stapler, and his sharpie, and some paper. My two friends and I dutifully marched into the lunchroom (not seen, thanks to the Lunch Aids’ nearsightedness), grabbed a whole bunch of plastic spoons off the rack thingy, and then marched outside and ran at full speed to the band room. Spoon-stealery is not the best of crimes, you know.
We then unwrapped twelve spoons, decorated and created the signs on paper, stapled them to the spoons (actually, we folded the paper in half and stapled the edges so that the spoon, which was in between the folded-paper-halves, would not fall out). We created twelve magnificent Peaceful Pi Protest Picket Poster Signs, full with reasons, demands, and wishes on them. Creativity, determination, and hard-work.
We then took more of the band teacher’s items by asking for a plastic bag (which, was initially a joke, but it turned out he actually had one), and putting the signs in the plastic bag to use on the glorious day of the protest. I then informed (almost, except for the obnoxiously arrogant genius match peoples, who did not seem to care whether they had class or not) all the Geometry Students about the Peaceful Pi Protest and the Picket Signs.
They seemed halfheartedly delighted, so I was happy.
Word spread around the school (among the nerd-Asians in my grade), and soon, most of the people knew of the Protest. I then passed out the signs we had created, gave them the directions on how to execute our plan, and then hoped for the best.
The following Monday, I walked out of Physical Education Class with anxiety and hope. I was late.
All of the kids participating in the protest were dutifully standing awkwardly outside of the door, not sure whether to go in or not. They all had their pathetically small signs with sharpie scribbled over them, and they were laughing nervously and awkwardly, asking “Where’s (My name here)? Where’s (My name here)?”
And upon seeing me, they were ready to PROTEST. It was just in time, because Mr. V, who was wondering where three fourths of the class was, came outside to see us standing awkwardly, waiting for directions from a protester.
Seeing Mr. V, I nervously said, “Pi day protest……?”
And we were all half-heartedly, laughing-ly, un-seriously saying, “Pi day. Pi day. Pi day… Pi day…. Pi day….?”
We were laughing, because it was so awkward, and the voice was not strong. It was weak. For our math teacher asked, “What is this?”
I was horrified. Did he not recognize this act of peace and negotiation from his students? How could he not recognize a simple protest? Was our protest that weak and bad?
The bleak truth was that, yes, it was. It was awkward, and quite unorganized. We were awkwardly crowding around the door saying “Pi day.”
He then asked, “Are you guys coming inside now?”
Then, after a moment of hesitation, a protester said firmly (with a slight giggle) “No!”
“Do I have to give you the answer?”
“Yes!”
“…I’ll think about it.”
“No, that’s not an answer!”
“Guys, you have to come in!”
“No!”
But we went inside anyway.

This was the Pi Day Protest.

And Mr. V did not keep to his word. We planned the Pi Day celebration, yet he did not keep to his word. (Today, 1/4 of the class was gone, because of a field trip, so we agreed to celebrate it on Thursday.) Today, he said, “We’re not celebrating pi day.”
Because we had taken some food and Pie from another teacher, who, even at the end of the day, had two whole unopened pies.
Can we believe it? This rash act of betrayal and ignorance? How important is Pi Day to us Geometry Students?
VERY.
(It means missing a period of class, for food. :D)
So, we secretly agreed to bring the food tomorrow anyway, because we already bought the food.

I will tell you how it goes tomorrow.

Rubik's

I am not good at it.
I mean, I can solve it.
But slowly.
With the manual.
XD

But it's fun,
so I tried memorizing it,
which I did,
up to the last step,
where the cube's being stupid and won't let me solve it accordingly with the manual.
MERRGHHHHH!

Anyhow,
I saw some videos,
speed cubing, apparently it's called.


O: Reminds me of speed stacking!
:P 40 seconds or something like that. (with those red outside, white inside, plastic cups they sell at Costco)

ANYHOW,
I saw this:
http://cube4you.com/lanlan-2x2x2-cube-nib-black-p-155.html
Which is absolutely AMAZING.
Which I want, because it's easier.
XD

People suggest Cube4You cubes, so yeah.


Anyhow.
Yeah.
The end.

Midterms

EEWWWW.
Midterms.


I HATE YOU.

The worst day of 2012 so far. D:

Because of the unexpected half-day-scheduled-whole-day, I was starving. If it was just a half day, I would have come home at like one o clock and eaten. If it was a whole day, I would have time during lunch, so I wouldn't starve to death.
But it was an unexpected half-day-scheduled-whole-day. It was the most unexpected of days. Imean, I didn't even know they existed! A mutation of the combination of a half day and a whole day. It was a whole day, alright, but the periods were scheduled as half days. Meaning, all the classes would be thirty minutes long (or however long the half day periods are), which would result in two hours left of nothing after last period, because usually, on half days, they would let us out late, but today was a half-day-scheduled-whole-day.
/
Those two hours of nothing, we were each assigned classrooms to go to, based on what period we had whom for social studies, and we would force some school spirit out of our tired minds.
For about ten minutes, the teacher, (whom I do not know, which is kind of difficult, considering I keep forgetting her name) looking at the unresponsive class, asks for the umpteenbillionth time, "Seriously? No ideas to how to decorate our school banner? Team banner, I mean. This is for our team! We're in competition against the other teams!"
Which makes us all the more lazy, because honestly, who heard of teams versing each other? This is teamwork we're going for, and the team is the school. Making divisions among the population of our school will create only diversion and hatred. And pride. And shame.
But of course, the teacher whose name is easily forgotten, decides to force some school spirit out of our "boring minds." She draws this hawk on the board (which, if you look at it, looks more like a hot dog with bat wings) and a square around it, and tells us to each go up to the board and add our ideas.
OUR NONEXISTENT IDEAS, SCREW THIS.
/
/
Then, she goes, "OH! Why don't we try doing __________?" And says some decent idea, and we all nod, because it's better than that hot dog bat on the board. She does this two more times within the time of fifteen minutes, with a five minute span in between the three "ideas."
She then looks at us and says, "Come on, guys. You can't be this boring. I can't believe from this big a class, you can have such little ideas!" (We're the smallest social studies class our social studies has. Seriously?)
WE ARE THIS BORING, WOMAN. WHAT DID YOU THINK CHILDREN WERE? HYPERACTIVE CREATIVE CHILDREN WITH IDEAS TO HOW TO DECORATE SCHOOL BANNERS ON THEIR MINDS?
And so went the two hours.
But actually, we came up with pretty good ideas and made a pretty good hawk with a pretty good decoration and pretty good drawings. So overall, it was pretty good.
/
/
But not the starvation.
Godsh, I thought I was dying by the end of the day. Three o clock or something around that, and I can't hear anything because my stomachs screaming nonstop.
Even better! I have to stay after school. Meaning all I'll have since nine o clock is nothing, besides the scraps of chips I gather from friends who (cleverly) brought money to buy stuff from the vending machine.
/
/
I stay until five thirty. Meaning I went from nine to five thirty with six chips. One Sun Chip, one Lays salt and vinegar, two Hot Fries, and one nacho Doritos. Or was it two Doritos? I'm not sure.
Either way, that was not enough to satisfy my ravenous mood.
Then, as psychology often proves, everything looked like food. Not literally, because how can and drill suddenly look like candy, or wood and styrofoam look like--pizza, I don't know. Just small things. This really cutely decorated basket full of green fluff fuzzy stuff looked like ice cream (the sort in the bowl, yaknow? Like Breyers ice-cream?) all of a sudden, and I kept thinking of that kind of stuff.
Then, my stomach hurt, which did not help at all, because I then knew I couldn't steal any more junk food (anyhow everyone ate their's, so...).
/
/
Then, at five thirty, I went outside to wait for my mom, except it was FREEZING. I didn't feel like being alone next to all of those annoying basketball boy peoples yelling at each other and jumping around inside, so I stayed outside when my friends went outside to get picked up by their moms and dads.
/
Then, I saw this boy who was yelling at someone, and I thought it was my brother, so I ran over to the car with the boy sticking his head out the window, only it turned out it was some other dude. So I looked over the car, pretending I thought the car behind it was the car I thought my mom was in, and then casually turned around and walked back, my cheeks redder than they already were.
I was in an extremely terrible mood.
And so as I was waiting, I was more and more and more angry, and when my mom did come (after all of my friends left), I was fuming, except it would have been nice if I were literally fuming, because that would mean there would be some warmth in my body. So I was freezing fuming.
Anyhow, I climbed in, and said, "why did you come so late? I was freezing."
/
/
And, the rest is history, as some people may say.
I got yelled at.
/
/
Well, adding to my more terrible mood, I stomped to the basement, and didn't even stop for goldfish, because I'd have to cross my mother on the way to the goldfish, and she would ask why, and then I'd have to tell her about the unexpected half-day-scheduled-whole-day, and then I would feel better. But I didn't feel like feeling better, so I didn't get goldfish, and I didn't cross my mom until dinner, where I shoveled the food down my throat because (1) I was so hungry, so hungry I could eat my mom and brother in two bites (half a bite for my brother, one and a half for my mom), (2) I was so mad, because not only was I yelled at, but I had this annoying half-day-scheduled-whole-day, and I was starving and I was cold, and (3) I felt like it.
/
/
And now, my stomach feels all cold and weird, probably because I stuffed too much food way too quickly down my throat, swallowing at mouthfuls at a time.
But it was SO GOOD. Imean, it was delicious. I was so hungry, but all of that food--omnomnomnomnom.
Food is best. C:
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/
Moral of the story: Today was the terriblest day of 2012 so far, and the dinner was AWESOME.

Winter Break Complaint

I would like to file a complaint to the guy who just made my winter break pass by so quickly?
Yes?
YOU MEANYPOO.

It's terrible. Imean, I had all these wonderful plans--to wake up early, to do all of my stuff (homework, math, piano, whatnot) before lunch, and then do whatever I want for the rest of the day.
Whatever I want meaning: reading, writing, watching some Asian TV, cooking (cookies), drawing, going on the computer, sitting and lolling about, you know.
But, no. The minute I wake up, it's already Monday night, and I'm going to school tomorrow, and I feel as sick as a bunny (if bunnies are sick, anyhow). It's terrible.

Here is the official complaint:

Complaint title: Winter Break Complaint (Creative, eh?)

Complaint to: Mr. Time

Complaint message:

Why did you make time go by so quickly? Why do you always take that time away just when I'm having fun? Why do you always have to take things away from us?

Complaint sent.

SCREW THIS.

Time might take things away, but time will also bring about the new.

WHATEVER.
The sole meaning of me living is now deprived from me--those hopes, dreams, and aspirations of what-to-do during winter break--gone.
Just flew away, like time does.
All that is left of my life now is school. School, school, school. Study, study, study. Rip your head out because of tests, projects, and essays. And homework. Sleep at twelve, sleep at twelve, sleep at twelveandanhourpastthat. AAAND wake up early, early early. Until I fall dead one day, and everyone will finally say SCHOOL IS BAD FOR YOU, but it won't be use to me, because I'd already be dead. So everyone will have fun after I die.
No point in life, no point in life, no point in life.

Yes there is!
WHOSTHAT.
Oh, yes there is!
WHOSTHAT.
Want me to prove it?
Whoever you are, prove it all you want, but it'll still be over. Over.
SPRING BREAK!
GOOD POINT! :D

In case you're not Korean, (which most cases, you probably aren't), don't use google translate. It's terrible.
The grammar and sentence structure is different than that of English grammar and sentence structure, so it messes up the program. Use it for words--and not even then.
The title just says 'I like Pepero<3333'
Anyhow.

So I came up with this awesome idea. No. Wait.
Actually, it's not too awesome, and I didn't come up with it.
My dad did.
So you're probably disinterested now, since I said the phrase 'my dad', and that immediately makes about 78.2% of you go somewhere else. Or worse yet, 'X' the screen out and run away from the computer in fear. For the 21.8% of you who are still reading this, congratulations.
Anyhow.
It's still an okay idea, I guess.
Since I'm so mean to my brother--wait. I take that back. Since I'm rarely kind to my brother, my dad came up with this okay idea.
He made a point system.
It's called "칭찬포인트" which in English is "Compliment Point."

So if I compliment my brother kindly and truthfully, I get a 'Compliment Point'.
If I get ten points, I get a small prize.

And the prize is....
dododododododdodrumrolldodododdodododododododo...
You guessed it.
Pepero. 빼빼로! :D

And I'm eating a box right now.
:D
Aren't you proud? I complimented my brother TEN TIMES this week.
Three points so far, back from square one. Seven to go! :D
Gotta get those boxes of Pepero off that shelf into my mouth! O:


Here's an awesome picture:

Awesome. Yes. I told you.