Every year (since they began a few years back. So really only for three years), the Civil Rights Team at my school puts on a Post Secret. Don't know what that is? Go here.
So they run a Post Secret drive sometime in November, and in January, they take all of the accepted ones (as in, the best/ not inappropriate ones) and put them on a giant poster in the hallway. I can never get enough of Post Secret, so I absolutely love this. Everytime I pass the poster, I find a new one that I didn't see before! It's crazy.
The best of the best this year include (pictures soon):
"My ex is still in love with me" (as opposed to the thirty ones that say, "I'm still in love with my ex")
" I always overuse the school's paint. It's my way of saying thank you."
"I think I would look best with a beard."
And my personal favorite...
"I crashed my parents car into a pole."
How is that a secret? No, seriously. How the hell do your parents not know this?!
Friday, January 28, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
But I don't want to go outside. I want to bake cookies.
Last Friday was a justly called snowday for our region. It snowed hard all day and left us with upwards of eight inches. So, naturally, because of the snowfall, I had to cancel my plans with friends to go ice skating. Little did I know that ice skating (which soon changed to, "Let's go have a snowball fight!") was just a ploy to get me out of the house, because my friends threw me (an awesome, incredible, super fantastic) surprise birthday party! I completely wasn't expecting it, to the point that when they tried to drag me outside, I refused, and then was carried out of the door into the snowy abyss.
I have the greatest friends in the world, I'm pretty sure.
Monday, January 24, 2011
It's So Flipping Cold Out.
It's always around this time of year that I begin to hate winter. It's not entirely that I'm out of things to do. No, there's plenty to do. In fact, I've comprised a list of things that I could do:
-Cross country skiing.
-Snultimate
-Ice skating
-Walking around aimlessly and see how much feeling I can lose in my extremities
-Hibernating with cocoa
-Studying
-Leveling up in the Frostbite game.
Clearly, most of these, with the exception of four, five, six and seven, are extremely limited when it gets to, say, below ten degrees.
There are all of those great public service people who come onto the morning news to talk about children's health and how easy it is to find great outdoor exercise for your kids, even in the winter. They lie. Unless you want your kids leveling up in the Frostbite Game. With the windchill today, it is thirty below. Owie. My hands felt crystallized after less than a one-minute walk from the door of the car to the door of the school.
When I was in eighth grade, I walked to and from school. In the spring and fall, I would even rollerblade the few winding blocks between my house and the school. In the winter, I would trek through the snowbanks, but only when I couldn't beg a ride from my parents (who, according to legend, were forced to walk to school with bare feet, uphill both ways with all of the neighborhood children on their backs). One day, unexpectedly, I was without a ride home, and so resorted to walking. Unfortunately, by some stroke of a universal loathing, this also happened to be the coldest day of the year. Twenty five degrees below zero, with the blistering windchill. And unfortunately for me, I not only was without mittens or a hat, but I also had to carry one of those big, bulky, tri-fold posters home. The idiot in me refused the offers of mittens from concerned teachers, and I trotted off in the direction of home. Well, halfway down the first street, the skin on my fingers clutching the posterboard were aching and pinching with the awful frigidness of the day. For another street or so, I transferred my hands, one holding onto the poster while the other balled up to try and regain warmth. This stopped working after awhile, and halfway between the school and home, I began to get frantic. Remembering that the air from my mouth is obviously heated more than the air outside, I began alternately stuffing as many of my fingers in my mouth as I could while trooping on, every step surging with a pinch of pain, because, of course, I also had no boots. To make matters worse, I didn't realize that as I was sticking my fingers in my mouth, I was also getting them wet, causing the cells in my finger tips to freeze more quickly. And so, as I embarked onto my home street, the home stretch, the final leg, I began to cry, certain that I wouldn't make it. My legs were tired and tingled with the cold, my feet numb, my fingers on that painful verge of numb that haunts nightmares- except for my thumbs, which sent me over that crying edge, because I couldn't feel them at all. I considered more than once just throwing my posterboard into a snowbank and fleeing home, but it was a very important project, and I wasn't about to let it go to waste.
And so, I cannot imagine what my mother might have thought when I finally arrived home. Unable to move my fingers enough to manage the doorknob, and too frozen to knock without pain, I pounded my forehead against the pane of the door.
What I must have looked like to her, a little fourteen year-old girl in a skirted uniform, nose and ears bright red, snot and tears running in tracks down my face that made hair stick to my skin, and fingers immobile, clutching a posterboard with the title, "Forensic Entomology".
So now you see, unless I find some remarkable change in personality that causes me to crave another level-up in the Frostbite Game, I have no other option but to hibernate inside.
Forgive me Play 60. But there's no way in Hell that I'm going outside...to Hell.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Ouch! Ouchie, Midterms, Let Go!
Haiku for Midterms
Oh midterms how I
hate thee and thine stressful days.
please, please let me go.
To diffuse the stress, I've found that this (Combined with stumbleupon) is an excellent way to study french and spend my (few) free hours:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtgmreAhqPs&feature=player_embedded#!
Oh midterms how I
hate thee and thine stressful days.
please, please let me go.
To diffuse the stress, I've found that this (Combined with stumbleupon) is an excellent way to study french and spend my (few) free hours:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OtgmreAhqPs&feature=player_embedded#!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The Rat and Boot adventure.
Yesterday, my most wonderful parents drove me down to Amesbury, Massachussetts to pick up my rats from their foster home. We left around eight, supplied with enough Harry Potter for eleven hours, and a kennel full of fleece. I still can't believe my parents are crazy enough to do this for me.
Yes, Amesbury is just over the border from New Hampshire. But it's still a good three hour drive. Three hours!
After much consideration, I had decided to go with the two rats that had initially caught my eye, Madeline and Pimento.
The foster mother was a tiny middle aged woman named Ruth. Madeline and Pimento had only been there for one night, transported from a town just south of Boston. As we walked to the door, cat kennel in hand, I could hear what sounded like a full pack of wolves barking. It was terrifying to find out that this woman not only had several rats, plus the fosters, but perhaps four dogs, a new cat, and Heaven only knows what else. I didn't doubt her ability to take care of them, and indeed, she seemed very able, and very caring. But I couldn't imagine the time she must have had to put into these animals. After we came inside, past the door for the designated "rat room", Ruth opened up the door to the top cage, where I could see a recognizable dumbo-eared head poking out from inside the hammock. I had looked at the pictures of Maddy and Pimento so often that I could tell them apart with ease. They were much fatter in person- the pictures must have been taken when they were quite a bit younger. Ruth picked up Pimento, who isn't as shy as Madeline, and she handed her over to me. Pimento sniffed curiously, and then scampered up to my shoulder, where she burrowed through my hair and then sat, balanced. Rats like shoulder rides, and they'll stay there for awhile. Soon Ruth handed Maddy over to me, too, who was a little slimmer than the plump Pimento. She also sniffed, and ran up to my other shoulder. Soon they were both sitting together on my shoulders, while my parents signed a form. We pried them from their perch and put them into the fleece- filled kennel. The ride home seemed significantly longer than the ride down. It's always that way with road trips. As soon as they were outside of the foster home, Maddy and Pimento both got shy. I kept their kennel door open, assured that if they decided to roam out, there was no place for them to really go. For the most part, they stayed sleeping in the fleece at the back of the kennel. They did seem to like the oranges I gave them, but they didn't care for me too much.
On the way back, we stopped in Freeport at the L.L. Bean factory outlet for some hiking boots, my intended birthday gift from my parents. I've been having some serious ankle problems on and off for a few years, and they've gotten worse since the Acadia Challenge. And as I've been planning on doing a significant amount of hiking this year, my parents thought some mid-height boots were in order. I settled on these, eventually. They're lightweight, have super ankle support (wearing them feels so nice. I don't even need my brace), and are waterproof. Bad. Ass.
Back in the car, the rats were friendlier. I fell asleep at one point, and was startled awake when they both crawled out tentatively onto my lap.
They settled in pretty quickly at home- they've found the litter box, and love the hammock. I think I made it a little bit too comfortable, actually, because now they won't come out. They'll both need a couple of days to warm up, as they're quite shy around me or any other people.
All in all, it was a very successful rat and boot trip.
Yes, Amesbury is just over the border from New Hampshire. But it's still a good three hour drive. Three hours!
After much consideration, I had decided to go with the two rats that had initially caught my eye, Madeline and Pimento.
The foster mother was a tiny middle aged woman named Ruth. Madeline and Pimento had only been there for one night, transported from a town just south of Boston. As we walked to the door, cat kennel in hand, I could hear what sounded like a full pack of wolves barking. It was terrifying to find out that this woman not only had several rats, plus the fosters, but perhaps four dogs, a new cat, and Heaven only knows what else. I didn't doubt her ability to take care of them, and indeed, she seemed very able, and very caring. But I couldn't imagine the time she must have had to put into these animals. After we came inside, past the door for the designated "rat room", Ruth opened up the door to the top cage, where I could see a recognizable dumbo-eared head poking out from inside the hammock. I had looked at the pictures of Maddy and Pimento so often that I could tell them apart with ease. They were much fatter in person- the pictures must have been taken when they were quite a bit younger. Ruth picked up Pimento, who isn't as shy as Madeline, and she handed her over to me. Pimento sniffed curiously, and then scampered up to my shoulder, where she burrowed through my hair and then sat, balanced. Rats like shoulder rides, and they'll stay there for awhile. Soon Ruth handed Maddy over to me, too, who was a little slimmer than the plump Pimento. She also sniffed, and ran up to my other shoulder. Soon they were both sitting together on my shoulders, while my parents signed a form. We pried them from their perch and put them into the fleece- filled kennel. The ride home seemed significantly longer than the ride down. It's always that way with road trips. As soon as they were outside of the foster home, Maddy and Pimento both got shy. I kept their kennel door open, assured that if they decided to roam out, there was no place for them to really go. For the most part, they stayed sleeping in the fleece at the back of the kennel. They did seem to like the oranges I gave them, but they didn't care for me too much.
On the way back, we stopped in Freeport at the L.L. Bean factory outlet for some hiking boots, my intended birthday gift from my parents. I've been having some serious ankle problems on and off for a few years, and they've gotten worse since the Acadia Challenge. And as I've been planning on doing a significant amount of hiking this year, my parents thought some mid-height boots were in order. I settled on these, eventually. They're lightweight, have super ankle support (wearing them feels so nice. I don't even need my brace), and are waterproof. Bad. Ass.
Back in the car, the rats were friendlier. I fell asleep at one point, and was startled awake when they both crawled out tentatively onto my lap.
They settled in pretty quickly at home- they've found the litter box, and love the hammock. I think I made it a little bit too comfortable, actually, because now they won't come out. They'll both need a couple of days to warm up, as they're quite shy around me or any other people.
All in all, it was a very successful rat and boot trip.
HowohHow Does A Tournament Go?
My birthday was Saturday, meaning that I spent it at a debate tournament. Not as altogether bad as it sounds. I pretty much spend most of my time with the debate team anyways (more than twelve hours every Saturday, plus an extra, I dunno, four hours during the week). It must have been the birthday mojo or something, but I slept especially well on the bus and woke up feeling refreshed. For those of you who don't know, this is an unusual happening. We all (about thirty of us every week) clamber into our uncomfortable seats on the bus around five in the morning, give or take a half an hour, come rain, come sleet, come snow. Only some of us bring blankets, and the Freshmen haven't figured out what sleep means yet. Sometimes the bus doesn't have enough heat. Sometimes, like last week, it has way too much. Other times the bus driver is dangerous, or someone throws up, or... the list goes on and on. But I think you might understand my point. The debate bus, while a wonderful forced-bonding experience, isn't the most comfortable of places.
To those of you who have never experienced a debate tournament, this is how it goes (at least for us...):
Of course, as I explained above, we all get on the bus around five thirty, on average. After a half an hour of driving, we stop in Newport for Dunkin' Donuts. This is half because we need sustenance, and half because at this point, those who haven't written cases should start writing them. Just kidding, we really just need our caffeine. Add another two hours of driving, and we've arrived. By this time it's light out and most of us have woken up. We arrive at the school, and those of us who wear our pajamas on the bus scurry to a bathroom to change. It's usually about this time that I get a stomach ache. I don't know what it is, and I've tried everything, but I almost always get a stomach ache at debate tournaments. After this, there's a few things that could happen. If you're feeling diligent and motivated, you might work on your cases or go "talk to a wall" (Practice your speech by..well, talking to a wall). But more often than not, a group of us from our school and other schools will scavenge up a deck of cards and begin fierce games of President, ERS, or MAO. This goes on until postings. To be short, postings are just the printed pairings. As in, who are you going up against, in what room, what side you're arguing, etc. As soon as they go up, everyone hurries off to their rounds. It's something of a lather, rinse, repeat cycle from there. We usually have four rounds in a tournament, dispersed with cards, apples to apples, or attempting to *break the schematic. Somewhere in there is a longer break for lunch, and after the fourth round is a long period of waiting while Tabulation tallies up scores and determines placings. Awards usualy come in about an hour, sometimes not for an hour and a half, depending on the complications of the tournament. After awards, we change back into bus clothes and board back on for a long ride home, broken up by an hour stop for dinner at a sandwich shop or Whole Foods.
All in all, it's a good day, if a long one. My team's day is a bit different and a bit longer than others, because we're one of the northern-most teams. Other teams only have to travel a half an hour to most tournaments, if that.
We tend to do pretty well- we're currently the leading school in our state, but we're closely followed by Cape Elizabeth. They do speech. Lots of it.
We swept on Saturday, claiming first in Congressional, a second in Public forum, and a first in Lincoln Douglas (that was me! I still blame birthday mojo).
*Breaking the Schematic is a term for when a student (or someone else) takes the postings, and off of a few base conjectures, figures out the results of the matches and the scores of everyone involved. It's addicting, and highly logical.
To those of you who have never experienced a debate tournament, this is how it goes (at least for us...):
Of course, as I explained above, we all get on the bus around five thirty, on average. After a half an hour of driving, we stop in Newport for Dunkin' Donuts. This is half because we need sustenance, and half because at this point, those who haven't written cases should start writing them. Just kidding, we really just need our caffeine. Add another two hours of driving, and we've arrived. By this time it's light out and most of us have woken up. We arrive at the school, and those of us who wear our pajamas on the bus scurry to a bathroom to change. It's usually about this time that I get a stomach ache. I don't know what it is, and I've tried everything, but I almost always get a stomach ache at debate tournaments. After this, there's a few things that could happen. If you're feeling diligent and motivated, you might work on your cases or go "talk to a wall" (Practice your speech by..well, talking to a wall). But more often than not, a group of us from our school and other schools will scavenge up a deck of cards and begin fierce games of President, ERS, or MAO. This goes on until postings. To be short, postings are just the printed pairings. As in, who are you going up against, in what room, what side you're arguing, etc. As soon as they go up, everyone hurries off to their rounds. It's something of a lather, rinse, repeat cycle from there. We usually have four rounds in a tournament, dispersed with cards, apples to apples, or attempting to *break the schematic. Somewhere in there is a longer break for lunch, and after the fourth round is a long period of waiting while Tabulation tallies up scores and determines placings. Awards usualy come in about an hour, sometimes not for an hour and a half, depending on the complications of the tournament. After awards, we change back into bus clothes and board back on for a long ride home, broken up by an hour stop for dinner at a sandwich shop or Whole Foods.
All in all, it's a good day, if a long one. My team's day is a bit different and a bit longer than others, because we're one of the northern-most teams. Other teams only have to travel a half an hour to most tournaments, if that.
We tend to do pretty well- we're currently the leading school in our state, but we're closely followed by Cape Elizabeth. They do speech. Lots of it.
We swept on Saturday, claiming first in Congressional, a second in Public forum, and a first in Lincoln Douglas (that was me! I still blame birthday mojo).
*Breaking the Schematic is a term for when a student (or someone else) takes the postings, and off of a few base conjectures, figures out the results of the matches and the scores of everyone involved. It's addicting, and highly logical.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
More OBE, or, Rosie the Riveter, or, You are Sixteen, Going on Seventeen.
I'm still filled with a good bout of OBE.
But it's not entirely detrimental to my state of being- in fact, it can be put to relatively good use. Which is why, on a Tuesday morning, I'm sitting with a list of eighteen places to apply for jobs. I'll be a big kid soon, it's time to enter the work force.
But it's not entirely detrimental to my state of being- in fact, it can be put to relatively good use. Which is why, on a Tuesday morning, I'm sitting with a list of eighteen places to apply for jobs. I'll be a big kid soon, it's time to enter the work force.
Yeah, Rosie, sure we can. But only after many hours of rigorous application filing and looking clean and professional and practicing firm handshakes (which, by the way, is something I've never gotten the hang of. It doesn't mean I'm a flimsy person- it just means that my fingers hurt). Yesterday at Petco (looking for a few rat supplies. More on that later), I went up, attempting my, "I am professional. Can't you read the words 'hire ME!' stamped across my forehead?" ploy for the first time, and asked, I thought very maturely, if they had applications available. The cashier looked at me for a second, and then informed me that it's all online, and, "You have to be eighteen to work here."
Oh. 'Kay then. Is it really that easy to tell that I'm not eighteen? It's not like as soon as I turn eighteen I'll magically be an adult, and capable of the rigors of working at Petco. Yeah, yeah, I know all of the legal stuff. There's probably some liability there just in case you get your head pecked to a nub by some parakeet (one of which, by the way, was loose at the time of my visit. They were running around with a net trying to catch it). But seriously. One year? When he said "eighteen", I almost threw myself on the ground and stomped my feet and almost shouted, "It's not fair!". Maybe that's the difference between sixteen and eighteen. Or sixteen and seventeen, take your pick. Oh well. So far, Tim Hortons looks like a good option. Also, Dunkin' Donuts and Charlotte Russe. I don't think I'm prissy enough for a job at Charlotte Russe, but it's worth a shot anyways.
Here goes nothing. Dive, dive, dive!
**On another very exciting note, it looks like my rattie adoption has been approved! Yaaay! I'm waiting for the official e-mail, but all signs say go. Hooray, for Madeline and Pimento!
Friday, January 7, 2011
Hey, Chemistry. Screw You.
Supposedly we had a vaction about a week ago, but I don't remember it.
Only one week back, and I've been swept up enough that I honestly cannot remember vacation clearly. This has been, by far, the longest week in months. Not that it's been horrible, although Chemistry (The Bain of My Existence) has been giving me a run for my money. Actually, it's sort of kicking my butt right now.
Supposedly this thing they call chemistry is the basis for all of life. But seriously. I've been breathing, running, and certainly alive without having to know any of this for the last seventeen years. I'm not concerned about the synthesis reactions that oxygen causes. My heart doesn't race for lewis structures, except sometimes out of fear.
They always say that as long as there are tests in school, there will be prayer in schools. Well, as long as there is chemistry in schools, there will be prayer, but also rage-inducing frustration, and rage-induced murder.
Not that my teacher isn't great. She's fabulous. But...significant digits? Why didn't you just say "Walk the plank"? It's so much more straight forward.
Only one week back, and I've been swept up enough that I honestly cannot remember vacation clearly. This has been, by far, the longest week in months. Not that it's been horrible, although Chemistry (The Bain of My Existence) has been giving me a run for my money. Actually, it's sort of kicking my butt right now.
Supposedly this thing they call chemistry is the basis for all of life. But seriously. I've been breathing, running, and certainly alive without having to know any of this for the last seventeen years. I'm not concerned about the synthesis reactions that oxygen causes. My heart doesn't race for lewis structures, except sometimes out of fear.
They always say that as long as there are tests in school, there will be prayer in schools. Well, as long as there is chemistry in schools, there will be prayer, but also rage-inducing frustration, and rage-induced murder.
Not that my teacher isn't great. She's fabulous. But...significant digits? Why didn't you just say "Walk the plank"? It's so much more straight forward.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
LBC 2011: Day 1
Goal: Start out easy. Spit out of a second story window.
Check.
Not arrested.
Felt daring, and so decided to climb the stairs and spit out of the third floor window.
Still not arrested, but I'm pretty sure I heard it freeze and shatter in the air.
Check.
Not arrested.
Felt daring, and so decided to climb the stairs and spit out of the third floor window.
Still not arrested, but I'm pretty sure I heard it freeze and shatter in the air.
The Law Breaking Challenge of 2011
It's kind of a funny story...
In ten days, I will be seventeen. It turns out that you don't actually really get anything awesome when you turn seventeen. Y'know, like, when you're fourteen, it's the legal age of consent. When you're fifteen, you can have a permit, when you're sixteen, a license. When you're eighteen you can vote and actually be a citizen and buy cigarettes and porn. But seventeen? Nothing. Nonetheless, it seems so much cooler than sixteen that I'm bursting with Obnoxious Birthday Excitement (hereby referred to as OBE).
Last night at debate, we were discussing the new resolution (In the United States, juveniles charged with violent felonies ought to be treated as adults in the Criminal Justice system), and it came up that in the United States, most seventeen-year-olds are treated as adults already. In response to this fact, I burst out with OBE, saying "HEY! I'm seventeen in ELEVEN DAYS. Or, ten days and five hours..." And then, after a minute of thought, I made up my mind.
It went something like this...
"Guys! Let's go do illegal stuff! I have ten days and five hours before I'm treated as an adult LET'S GO!"
A: "Or we could just work on our cases."
B: "What kind of illegal stuff did you have in mind?"
I immediately blurted out, "Drugs!"
But not actually, because somehow, I don't think I would fit well into the role of heroin addict.
But all of this led to some interesting mind bubbling and brewing. I decided to fuel my OBE with a challenge. A good challenge, because I like them.
Welcome to the Law Breaking Challenge of 2011.
Haven't heard of it? That's because I made it up. In the next ten days, I will try to break as many laws as possible.
These may include, but won't be limited to:
-Not bringing a shotgun to church (in case of Native American attack)
- Driving (no license!)
- Walking outside naked at four in the morning
- Walking a dog on a leash more than eight feet long.
-Spitting out of a second story window
In ten days, I will be seventeen. It turns out that you don't actually really get anything awesome when you turn seventeen. Y'know, like, when you're fourteen, it's the legal age of consent. When you're fifteen, you can have a permit, when you're sixteen, a license. When you're eighteen you can vote and actually be a citizen and buy cigarettes and porn. But seventeen? Nothing. Nonetheless, it seems so much cooler than sixteen that I'm bursting with Obnoxious Birthday Excitement (hereby referred to as OBE).
Last night at debate, we were discussing the new resolution (In the United States, juveniles charged with violent felonies ought to be treated as adults in the Criminal Justice system), and it came up that in the United States, most seventeen-year-olds are treated as adults already. In response to this fact, I burst out with OBE, saying "HEY! I'm seventeen in ELEVEN DAYS. Or, ten days and five hours..." And then, after a minute of thought, I made up my mind.
It went something like this...
"Guys! Let's go do illegal stuff! I have ten days and five hours before I'm treated as an adult LET'S GO!"
A: "Or we could just work on our cases."
B: "What kind of illegal stuff did you have in mind?"
I immediately blurted out, "Drugs!"
But not actually, because somehow, I don't think I would fit well into the role of heroin addict.
But all of this led to some interesting mind bubbling and brewing. I decided to fuel my OBE with a challenge. A good challenge, because I like them.
Welcome to the Law Breaking Challenge of 2011.
Haven't heard of it? That's because I made it up. In the next ten days, I will try to break as many laws as possible.
These may include, but won't be limited to:
-Not bringing a shotgun to church (in case of Native American attack)
- Driving (no license!)
- Walking outside naked at four in the morning
- Walking a dog on a leash more than eight feet long.
-Spitting out of a second story window
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Ratties, or, Bicycle Around the World Day
Somehow December passed in a whirl- actually, it was more like a drive-by shooting, the way that it hit hard and sped by fast, leaving many moments gasping for more time and air.
Yeah, I finally breeched into that dreded time of adulthood when the holidays (that is to say, Christmas and New Years) are more stressful than they should be.
Despite this, Christmas was very nice. I got to see some family, sing good music, and I got a few nice things under the tree. It's funny. Every few years, sometimes two in a row, Mom or Dad will say, "I hope you guys aren't expecting a huge Christmas."
Even when they don't say it, I know that we've never had a huge Christmas. But it's okay, because I've never had a Christmas I've been unhappy with. Present-wise I tend to like practical things, so that's no big deal. And I know that it sounds trite, but I honestly like the day because it's one of the few days a year that my brother and I magically get along.
I was extremely excited to find a large wire cage, unwrapped under the tree this year. It's big enough for rats or guinea pigs or even a small bunny or a chinchilla or something. I've decided, after years of wanting them, to get a few rats. I browsed around our humane society and stumbled across the Mainely Rat Rescue. I've applied for Madeline and Pimento, a pair of rats listed there, and I'm crossing my fingers that the adoption papers get approved, because they're Sooo cute. So. Cute.
Along with that large (and inexpensive. Apparently they found it at a yardsale) gift, I also got some bike accessories, like an odometer and a bell for my bike (more on that later).
Speaking of which, today, according to my schedule calandar, is Bicycle Around the World Day. In honor of it, I would take out my bicycle...except I don't have snowtires. That could be problematic. So instead I'll just cheer on this noblest of noble days.
I have, however, found a quite spectacular way of biking in the winter...sort of. A friend of mine introduced me to the great sport of Bike Polo. There's a motley group, apparently, who play under the cover of the parking garage downtown. I haven't gone yet, because I still need to construct a good mallet (they all make theirs differently, out of broomstick handles or PVC pipes or plumbing).
So, a hoorah to those people, whoever and wherever they may be, who are biking around the world right now. You're honorable. Maybe someday I'll do it, too.
After I finish hiking the AT and saving the world.
Yeah, I finally breeched into that dreded time of adulthood when the holidays (that is to say, Christmas and New Years) are more stressful than they should be.
Despite this, Christmas was very nice. I got to see some family, sing good music, and I got a few nice things under the tree. It's funny. Every few years, sometimes two in a row, Mom or Dad will say, "I hope you guys aren't expecting a huge Christmas."
Even when they don't say it, I know that we've never had a huge Christmas. But it's okay, because I've never had a Christmas I've been unhappy with. Present-wise I tend to like practical things, so that's no big deal. And I know that it sounds trite, but I honestly like the day because it's one of the few days a year that my brother and I magically get along.
I was extremely excited to find a large wire cage, unwrapped under the tree this year. It's big enough for rats or guinea pigs or even a small bunny or a chinchilla or something. I've decided, after years of wanting them, to get a few rats. I browsed around our humane society and stumbled across the Mainely Rat Rescue. I've applied for Madeline and Pimento, a pair of rats listed there, and I'm crossing my fingers that the adoption papers get approved, because they're Sooo cute. So. Cute.
Along with that large (and inexpensive. Apparently they found it at a yardsale) gift, I also got some bike accessories, like an odometer and a bell for my bike (more on that later).
Speaking of which, today, according to my schedule calandar, is Bicycle Around the World Day. In honor of it, I would take out my bicycle...except I don't have snowtires. That could be problematic. So instead I'll just cheer on this noblest of noble days.
I have, however, found a quite spectacular way of biking in the winter...sort of. A friend of mine introduced me to the great sport of Bike Polo. There's a motley group, apparently, who play under the cover of the parking garage downtown. I haven't gone yet, because I still need to construct a good mallet (they all make theirs differently, out of broomstick handles or PVC pipes or plumbing).
So, a hoorah to those people, whoever and wherever they may be, who are biking around the world right now. You're honorable. Maybe someday I'll do it, too.
After I finish hiking the AT and saving the world.
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