Yeah, uh, I think I just ...like...the post is already done because the title says it all.
So...uhh...
I made steak (with caramelized onions), french fries, Brussels sprouts, and since it's my dad's favorite, biscuits and gravy. The biscuits and gravy was a little too much. Gaudy, you know.
Yet my dad was having a GREAT birthday. He explained to us that he's lived his entire life struggling to survive for this day. He "kicked his way out of his mom" and "changed his own diapers on occasion." Then my mom said, "That's when you were five, right?" He said, "SHUT UP! I've survived my whole life, living, struggling to exist until this day! The first good birthday of my life!"
Then we ate, then I got the cake. When we sang happy birthday, I played it on my guitar. That was nice. Then we ate some cake, then I got the presents. My dad opened his cards.
By 'opened,' I mean he followed family tradition and ripped them open and held the card upside-down for the money/checks to fall out. If you ever get me a card, tape the money in it, or else I won't read the card. I keep the birthday candles burning so I can burn the cards that don't have cash in them as I open them. (That may or may not be true; feeling lucky?)
Actually, it used to be that you could "candle" the cards like you would a chicken egg to see which ones had cash in 'em, but they got wise to me and started making the cards thicker. Jerks.
Anyway, I was ever the clever and put a piece of paper in my card that said "Sorry, no cash." He picked it up greedily..."WHAT?! NO CASH?" His day was officially turning bad.
Then the presents arrived. I mean, I brought them. They're not...magical presents. That'd be c-...uhh, where was I. Oh yeah, he picked up the big present. "Oh maybe I should start with this PILLOW!" he spat. It was a pillow; can't disguise a pillow well.
I'm getting much better at wrapping presents. I can't get too good, though, or else it'll be one of those "Wow, only a gay man would be able to wrap presents that goodly...hmm..." things, and I don't like those. So I have to inject a little thorn in the flesh and use Christmas wrapping paper on his birthday present. Aren't I just so humble.
So then he proceeded to open his non-pillow presents; the first was four socks.
The second was four more socks.
The third was two socks.
The fourth was two more socks.
The fifth was one sock.
The sixth was one more sock.
The seventh was one more sock.
The eighth was one more sock.
My poor dad. It frustrated him to no end, but it serves him right; remember in this post when he delighted in giving my brother the 10 individually-wrapped Sailor Moon tapes? That's what I call karma, baby.
Karma courtesy Kev.
Showing posts with label Brother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brother. Show all posts
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
A Good, Rotten, Good, Rotten, Good Day (And It's Only 5 PM)
Good
It started like any other day.
It was actually great until I ventured out of my room. No one was around. Ahh, a perfect day, I thought to myself. Then I got to wondering just what on Earth my dad was doing outside.
Rotten
Turns out, he had begun work on Mick Lock's Chevy Maxima. Yeah..."Chevy." So I went to help him. That's when my day turned rotten.
I'll detail that later. My dad drove the car to the shop (we couldn't do one of the three things we were contracted to). I was alone.
Good
Life began having purpose again. I began pondering. I washed dishes. The lights in the kitchen were bright and beautiful. I sanitized the counter. Life was good.
I fried up the hamburger for tonight's dinner, Hamburger Burros. They're good. I'll detail that sometime. [Here's the recipe in short: cream cheese, tortillas, 2 pounds hamburger, 2-4 cloves garlic sliced in rounds, 1-2 cans tomato sauce, 1 4-oz can green chilies; brown and cook hamburger, add rest of ingredients, stir until garlic is barely tender, then put in tortilla with cream cheese.]
Then there was a lull in the action, so I decided I should take a shower.
Oh, how my fortunes would turn.
Rotten
I emerged from the bathroom to a darkened kitchen. My dad always turns the kitchen lights off. He claims they make it so hot his eyes cook like poached eggs. I turned the lights on...and a light was blown out. I replaced it, cursing all the way. My parents were home.
I cut up the garlic (6 cloves), and opened the green chilies (sp?); they weren't very good. God be thanked that my aunty Sissy gave me four 8-oz cans of green chilies (sp?) in exchange for the bagels I made her (spoilers!). Those are probably the greatest green chilies (sp?) ever. We've used three so far.
My dad entered the kitchen to get the dog a bone. He gets them frozen sometimes, and he has to break them apart using a cleaver and "hammer"...let's just say that we are no longer possessors of a beautiful young $7 meat mallet. I will put it in cryopreservation until I can bury it. If not for Romans 12:17 ("Rom 12:17 KJV Recompense to no man evil for evil...") he would...well, he'd have one less favored tool, let's say that.
To make matters worse, the can of green chilies were gone. I can only assume that that Corinthian fool of a rotten baser jerk of a brother of mine took and violently slaughtered the beloved green chilies. His ways of death, menace and cruelty are terrible to behold.
Good
...but boy, when he says "Here we go again..." sarcastically when my parents start conversing about finances...priceless! I FORGIVE him! There, there's your happy ending to an organ recital! *tearing up*
It started like any other day.
It was actually great until I ventured out of my room. No one was around. Ahh, a perfect day, I thought to myself. Then I got to wondering just what on Earth my dad was doing outside.
Rotten
Turns out, he had begun work on Mick Lock's Chevy Maxima. Yeah..."Chevy." So I went to help him. That's when my day turned rotten.
I'll detail that later. My dad drove the car to the shop (we couldn't do one of the three things we were contracted to). I was alone.
Good
Life began having purpose again. I began pondering. I washed dishes. The lights in the kitchen were bright and beautiful. I sanitized the counter. Life was good.
I fried up the hamburger for tonight's dinner, Hamburger Burros. They're good. I'll detail that sometime. [Here's the recipe in short: cream cheese, tortillas, 2 pounds hamburger, 2-4 cloves garlic sliced in rounds, 1-2 cans tomato sauce, 1 4-oz can green chilies; brown and cook hamburger, add rest of ingredients, stir until garlic is barely tender, then put in tortilla with cream cheese.]
Then there was a lull in the action, so I decided I should take a shower.
Oh, how my fortunes would turn.
Rotten
I emerged from the bathroom to a darkened kitchen. My dad always turns the kitchen lights off. He claims they make it so hot his eyes cook like poached eggs. I turned the lights on...and a light was blown out. I replaced it, cursing all the way. My parents were home.
I cut up the garlic (6 cloves), and opened the green chilies (sp?); they weren't very good. God be thanked that my aunty Sissy gave me four 8-oz cans of green chilies (sp?) in exchange for the bagels I made her (spoilers!). Those are probably the greatest green chilies (sp?) ever. We've used three so far.
My dad entered the kitchen to get the dog a bone. He gets them frozen sometimes, and he has to break them apart using a cleaver and "hammer"...let's just say that we are no longer possessors of a beautiful young $7 meat mallet. I will put it in cryopreservation until I can bury it. If not for Romans 12:17 ("Rom 12:17 KJV Recompense to no man evil for evil...") he would...well, he'd have one less favored tool, let's say that.
To make matters worse, the can of green chilies were gone. I can only assume that that Corinthian fool of a rotten baser jerk of a brother of mine took and violently slaughtered the beloved green chilies. His ways of death, menace and cruelty are terrible to behold.
Good
...but boy, when he says "Here we go again..." sarcastically when my parents start conversing about finances...priceless! I FORGIVE him! There, there's your happy ending to an organ recital! *tearing up*
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Kev Goes Bowling And To The Movies (guess which one he fell down at)
Well, we had decided a few days ago to go see a monster truck show or something (Father's Day, and all). When we discovaried (sic) that the tickets were approximately $400 a piece, and that parking (defined as sections named "Dehydration, "Heat Sickness," "Organ Failure," and "Pork Rind Sunburn") was $50, $40, $30, and $15, respectively, we changed our minds. The outrage of the parking really got us. Who charges for parking? Jerks, that's who!
...instead, we set out for a fun-filled day of bowling. The movie idea came later. My dad said "Mom hates us, and wishes us death; let us not provoke her slumber, for she desires not to roll balls down an alley like we men do; and likewise also, your brother does not desire these things." I said, "O rly?!!" and I woke my brother up. He told me, "Thanks, Kev. I completely forgot!"
My dad stood corrected. My mom woke up before we were off, and apparently she really didn't want to go. I decided that, since Matt wanted to see The Incredible Hulk anyway, we should have that as a backup plan if bowling didn't work out (i.e. if there were too many people there).
Off we went. La-de-dah, we were there. Not too many people. We got our shoes- a 13 is a bit small for me- and the balls. I got me and my dad a XL finger size, and my brother a L. The guy was pretty helpful. I wonder how he knew Matt (he has down syndrome) would need a light ball? I barely knew that. Those things get heavy after an hour of missing the pins.
I stepped to the plate. Mistake one, it isn't called a plate. I don't know what it's called. I type with two fingers, and hit the spacebar with my thumb, and shift with my right pinkie...I have no idea what a bowling stand is called.
My dad showed me the basic form. I've only been bowling two or three times and that was more than ten years ago. (I think I did win a game at a birthday party. Mom, can you confirm?) I thought you held the ball with the middle and index fingers.
I took too many steps on the first shot. My dad, ever helpful, was SURE you only take two steps. I released the ball. It wasn't a gutter ball, I don't think. I went off balance.
My feet slid around. I fell.
I caught myself on some invisible, ethereal object and managed to catch what I will define as a "temporary, impossible balance." Then I fell again. Before I hit the floor (I was falling very, very, very slowly) I accepted my fate. There were five parts:
#1: Slip
#2: Fall
#3: Somehow regain balance
#4: Falling again
#5: Accepting my fate and landing on my back. (I accepted it before I landed.)
Yep. Five parts. There I was, after my first um, pitch...on the floor. Looking at nothing in-particular. I got up, then proceeded to take the most difficult second bowling pitch of my life. I took half a game to learn not to fall (it came pretty quickly from my "learning to skate on cement" days), then one and a half games to fail to learn how to throw the ball straight.
Remember how my dad said to only take two steps? Turns out, HE takes three. And others take four or five. Yeah, way to know how to play the game, Pa. Funny thing is, he argued me...the proof was manifest at his next throw. "Oh, I do," he said. Then I said, "And they do, too." And he said, "No they don't," as the guy next to us took five steps. I think I got the order messed up, there...it happened, but maybe not in that order. OK? OK.
On the second game we played, he got four strikes in a row, then proceeded to not hit anymore strikes. Once I said, "You win a prize if you get a perfect game," he began missing.
Way to not win a prize, Pa. All coin-operated machine efforts were thwarted...
I can't spell tonight. I have to go. I'll post the movie review in another time. We went to see The Incredible Hulk, and my review is abbreviated as thus follows: Um...yeah...what's your point?
...instead, we set out for a fun-filled day of bowling. The movie idea came later. My dad said "Mom hates us, and wishes us death; let us not provoke her slumber, for she desires not to roll balls down an alley like we men do; and likewise also, your brother does not desire these things." I said, "O rly?!!" and I woke my brother up. He told me, "Thanks, Kev. I completely forgot!"
My dad stood corrected. My mom woke up before we were off, and apparently she really didn't want to go. I decided that, since Matt wanted to see The Incredible Hulk anyway, we should have that as a backup plan if bowling didn't work out (i.e. if there were too many people there).
Off we went. La-de-dah, we were there. Not too many people. We got our shoes- a 13 is a bit small for me- and the balls. I got me and my dad a XL finger size, and my brother a L. The guy was pretty helpful. I wonder how he knew Matt (he has down syndrome) would need a light ball? I barely knew that. Those things get heavy after an hour of missing the pins.
I stepped to the plate. Mistake one, it isn't called a plate. I don't know what it's called. I type with two fingers, and hit the spacebar with my thumb, and shift with my right pinkie...I have no idea what a bowling stand is called.
My dad showed me the basic form. I've only been bowling two or three times and that was more than ten years ago. (I think I did win a game at a birthday party. Mom, can you confirm?) I thought you held the ball with the middle and index fingers.
I took too many steps on the first shot. My dad, ever helpful, was SURE you only take two steps. I released the ball. It wasn't a gutter ball, I don't think. I went off balance.
My feet slid around. I fell.
I caught myself on some invisible, ethereal object and managed to catch what I will define as a "temporary, impossible balance." Then I fell again. Before I hit the floor (I was falling very, very, very slowly) I accepted my fate. There were five parts:
#1: Slip
#2: Fall
#3: Somehow regain balance
#4: Falling again
#5: Accepting my fate and landing on my back. (I accepted it before I landed.)
Yep. Five parts. There I was, after my first um, pitch...on the floor. Looking at nothing in-particular. I got up, then proceeded to take the most difficult second bowling pitch of my life. I took half a game to learn not to fall (it came pretty quickly from my "learning to skate on cement" days), then one and a half games to fail to learn how to throw the ball straight.
Remember how my dad said to only take two steps? Turns out, HE takes three. And others take four or five. Yeah, way to know how to play the game, Pa. Funny thing is, he argued me...the proof was manifest at his next throw. "Oh, I do," he said. Then I said, "And they do, too." And he said, "No they don't," as the guy next to us took five steps. I think I got the order messed up, there...it happened, but maybe not in that order. OK? OK.
On the second game we played, he got four strikes in a row, then proceeded to not hit anymore strikes. Once I said, "You win a prize if you get a perfect game," he began missing.
Way to not win a prize, Pa. All coin-operated machine efforts were thwarted...
I can't spell tonight. I have to go. I'll post the movie review in another time. We went to see The Incredible Hulk, and my review is abbreviated as thus follows: Um...yeah...what's your point?
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
The Symphony of Annoyance and Yuck
Ah, listen to it. Creak.
CREEEAK.
HACKH, PTUH!
Tap tap, tap tap.
Flies are everywhere. My mom's newest idea for saving money: leave the doors open all day on cool days. Shamefully, the flies are in season, so before we knew it, they all rush in like they just found the barn of their dreams. I dread to think what it may be like in the actual barn outside. Let's put it this way: The rain, over the last few days, have made it worse.
HUURGH, PTU, HACHGKCK, FLAGHZPLUH! My brother spits and hacks and flaghzpluh's at a steady cadence. I think that, since my dad's going to start playing an instrument now, that my brother is going to play his mucous membranes. HIGGH, PLAGH! PTUH, PTUH. HAAAACK. HIGGH, PLAGH! PTHUH, PTHU!
AACGH, SPL!
Ting. Ting.
Flies are everywhere. The fly swatter is missing. I will soon use my guitar to fend the beasts off. It amazingly keeps them away from me with its vibrating, but only in a two foot radius.
He reemerges from his room. He sighs the sigh of the person who goes HACKSH PTHUH BLAGH! after every breath.
God, take me now, I think.
HAGH, FL-AAGHPLUH! Sidle. Sidle. "Brother? Are you alright?" NO, NO, NO! I shriek inwardly. "Oh yeah, I'm just fine" I say outwardly. The serenading continues. Crinkle, crinkle, CRINKLE, CRINKLE CRINKLE, CRINKLE...
I really can't say I don't deserve this.
HAGH, PLAGHUHTHUP!
I become conscious of ever [removed] I ponder if [removed for potential gross-out of the humble fools] Maybe it would be sentient by that time.
Well, I've got to go. I would include an audio clip, but...no. Just...just no, I wouldn't want to put you through that. Because, it's time to make shrimp gumbo and Manhattan Clam Chowder. Who likes Manhattan Clam Chowder? Well, we know this old humanist vet, and he requested it. I sent him some old split-pea stew (yes, stew) and he apparently loved it enough to request I make something I've never tasted.
My dad got the ingredients. He got the bell pepper. And the parsley. And the clam juice- 24 oz of it. And he got bay leaves.
He forgot the clams.
For the clam chowder. And he's home with them now, so I need to go get those.
CREEEAK.
HACKH, PTUH!
Tap tap, tap tap.
Flies are everywhere. My mom's newest idea for saving money: leave the doors open all day on cool days. Shamefully, the flies are in season, so before we knew it, they all rush in like they just found the barn of their dreams. I dread to think what it may be like in the actual barn outside. Let's put it this way: The rain, over the last few days, have made it worse.
HUURGH, PTU, HACHGKCK, FLAGHZPLUH! My brother spits and hacks and flaghzpluh's at a steady cadence. I think that, since my dad's going to start playing an instrument now, that my brother is going to play his mucous membranes. HIGGH, PLAGH! PTUH, PTUH. HAAAACK. HIGGH, PLAGH! PTHUH, PTHU!
AACGH, SPL!
Ting. Ting.
Flies are everywhere. The fly swatter is missing. I will soon use my guitar to fend the beasts off. It amazingly keeps them away from me with its vibrating, but only in a two foot radius.
He reemerges from his room. He sighs the sigh of the person who goes HACKSH PTHUH BLAGH! after every breath.
God, take me now, I think.
HAGH, FL-AAGHPLUH! Sidle. Sidle. "Brother? Are you alright?" NO, NO, NO! I shriek inwardly. "Oh yeah, I'm just fine" I say outwardly. The serenading continues. Crinkle, crinkle, CRINKLE, CRINKLE CRINKLE, CRINKLE...
I really can't say I don't deserve this.
HAGH, PLAGHUHTHUP!
I become conscious of ever [removed] I ponder if [removed for potential gross-out of the humble fools] Maybe it would be sentient by that time.
Well, I've got to go. I would include an audio clip, but...no. Just...just no, I wouldn't want to put you through that. Because, it's time to make shrimp gumbo and Manhattan Clam Chowder. Who likes Manhattan Clam Chowder? Well, we know this old humanist vet, and he requested it. I sent him some old split-pea stew (yes, stew) and he apparently loved it enough to request I make something I've never tasted.
My dad got the ingredients. He got the bell pepper. And the parsley. And the clam juice- 24 oz of it. And he got bay leaves.
He forgot the clams.
For the clam chowder. And he's home with them now, so I need to go get those.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Life with the New Thermostat
10:15 PM, the day before:
"This is great, it's FREEZING! I can't feel my toes! We need to turn it up at night, check."
5 AM, current day:
"Oh, you turned it off, because it was too cold? Figures, you cowardly DOG! At least it's great in here right now."
11:15 AM:
"Whew, it's heating up, for sure."
12:00 PM:
"Agh, I can't take this much longer..."
12:30 PM:
"OH, GLORIOUS LORD THERMOSTRATO, PLEASE HAVE MERCY! MERCY ON US FOOLISH SINNERS! WE OFFER YOU GIFT OFFERINGS OF HOMEMADE GOAT CHEESE! PLEASE, MAY WE BE BLESSED BY YOUR FROSTY-LIVING, LIFE-GIVING BREATH OF COLD!"
12:45 PM:
"Don't worry, brother! Heheh heh HAH! Only a short while, only a short while, oh, it'll hurt, don't be scared, death is a glorious, bright future when you're sacrificed in honor to LORD THERMOSTRATO! I sure am glad I sharpened this knife yesterday, ahahhehh! NOW HOLD STILL, AND DON'T GET BLOOD ALL OVER MY PRIESTLY GARMENTS! LORD THERMOSTRATO, I OFFER UNTO YOU THIS SACRIFICE OF MY VERY OWN BR..."
1:00 PM:
"Man, that was close. Sorry I almost sacrificed you, brother. I'm glad that air conditioner kicked on, if my sacrificing rituals took any less time, you'd be a goner. That was miserable."
1:40 PM:
"I OFFER UNTO YOU, LORD THERMOSTRATO, THIS FELINE NAMED LIONEL!
ACCEPT HIM AS YOUR EVERLASTING SERVANT AS LONG AS HE SHALL LIVE! HAVE THIS SACRIFICE, AND BREATH YOUR FROSTY-LIVING, LIFE-GIVING BREATH OF COLD ON HIM, AND HE SHALL SERVE YOU FOREVER AND EVER UNTO ETERNITY, UNTO..."
1:44 PM:
"...YET STILL LIQUID, AND DIE A THOUSAND DEATHS, BUT NOT BEFORE THE FROST LEAVES THEIR LIPS! NOW, AS THE BLOOD-"
"Kev, what the hell are you doing?"
"Oh, hi, guys," I said, realizing I was holding the knife I recently sharpened and seemed to have on a crude, eye-burning face-paint of mustard and ketchup.
As I looked around, holding Lionel down with one hand and having the knife held up in my right, the scene reminded me of some weird version of The Lord of the Flies. I had apparently amassed a pile of offerings/sacrifices to the great "Lord Thermostrato" on the makeshift alter of a VCR tape cabinet positioned directly in front of it, and I'm sure I engaged in all sorts of devotion and worship, trying to get this great idol-god to cool down the air so that my suffering could end. My brother seemed rather shaken by the events of the day.
I forget how the movie ended, but suffice it to say, this version ended on the thermostat being turned down three degrees and a unanimous familial decision not to allow me to test thermometers without adult supervision.
DARE to not test AC thermostats without adult supervision. Here is the link to the goat cheese.
"This is great, it's FREEZING! I can't feel my toes! We need to turn it up at night, check."
5 AM, current day:
"Oh, you turned it off, because it was too cold? Figures, you cowardly DOG! At least it's great in here right now."
11:15 AM:
"Whew, it's heating up, for sure."
12:00 PM:
"Agh, I can't take this much longer..."
12:30 PM:
"OH, GLORIOUS LORD THERMOSTRATO, PLEASE HAVE MERCY! MERCY ON US FOOLISH SINNERS! WE OFFER YOU GIFT OFFERINGS OF HOMEMADE GOAT CHEESE! PLEASE, MAY WE BE BLESSED BY YOUR FROSTY-LIVING, LIFE-GIVING BREATH OF COLD!"
12:45 PM:
"Don't worry, brother! Heheh heh HAH! Only a short while, only a short while, oh, it'll hurt, don't be scared, death is a glorious, bright future when you're sacrificed in honor to LORD THERMOSTRATO! I sure am glad I sharpened this knife yesterday, ahahhehh! NOW HOLD STILL, AND DON'T GET BLOOD ALL OVER MY PRIESTLY GARMENTS! LORD THERMOSTRATO, I OFFER UNTO YOU THIS SACRIFICE OF MY VERY OWN BR..."
1:00 PM:
"Man, that was close. Sorry I almost sacrificed you, brother. I'm glad that air conditioner kicked on, if my sacrificing rituals took any less time, you'd be a goner. That was miserable."
1:40 PM:
"I OFFER UNTO YOU, LORD THERMOSTRATO, THIS FELINE NAMED LIONEL!
ACCEPT HIM AS YOUR EVERLASTING SERVANT AS LONG AS HE SHALL LIVE! HAVE THIS SACRIFICE, AND BREATH YOUR FROSTY-LIVING, LIFE-GIVING BREATH OF COLD ON HIM, AND HE SHALL SERVE YOU FOREVER AND EVER UNTO ETERNITY, UNTO..."
1:44 PM:
"...YET STILL LIQUID, AND DIE A THOUSAND DEATHS, BUT NOT BEFORE THE FROST LEAVES THEIR LIPS! NOW, AS THE BLOOD-"
"Kev, what the hell are you doing?"
"Oh, hi, guys," I said, realizing I was holding the knife I recently sharpened and seemed to have on a crude, eye-burning face-paint of mustard and ketchup.
As I looked around, holding Lionel down with one hand and having the knife held up in my right, the scene reminded me of some weird version of The Lord of the Flies. I had apparently amassed a pile of offerings/sacrifices to the great "Lord Thermostrato" on the makeshift alter of a VCR tape cabinet positioned directly in front of it, and I'm sure I engaged in all sorts of devotion and worship, trying to get this great idol-god to cool down the air so that my suffering could end. My brother seemed rather shaken by the events of the day.
I forget how the movie ended, but suffice it to say, this version ended on the thermostat being turned down three degrees and a unanimous familial decision not to allow me to test thermometers without adult supervision.
DARE to not test AC thermostats without adult supervision. Here is the link to the goat cheese.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Hours and hours and hours of Sailor Moon
Well, as you may know, I ordered the entire first season of Sailor Moon for my brother's birthday. His birthday was on uh, Friday. Yeah.
He was eh, so-so about them, because there were 10, and they were all wrapped individually. He thought he got 10 movies, but it was all Sailor Moon, LOL. He got sick of opening the gifts. My dad made a show of saying "Here's another" and "Only three more!" Hilarious.
Before that time, I had watched the first few to see how the sellers were. I don't...exactly trust people, OK, especially and uh, OK, and shut up, please, OK.
I have never said "Oh my God" so much during a theme song. My flesh burned. My skin crawled. Embarrassment ebbed. The world turned to ice. I think it was the first time in my life I have blushed. My eyes were bloodshot afterward, I'm sure of it.
I cringe looking back. It was sort of like that time that I almost needed my mom to hold my hand for the moral support to not try to gnaw my own arm off while Metroid Prime 3: Corruption loaded for the first time.
What's wrong with me?
Anyways... once I got through the first theme song, I started remembering why I like Sailor Moon so much. She/it's very endearing. It was my favorite cartoon at a point, if memory serves. It was the one ray of golden light in my troubled, troubled, carefree world.
First, she's the ONLY, and I repeat ONLY, entity that I have ever seen pull off pigtails. Pigtails, they bother me. I think it was one-too-many kids stories as a kid. Second, she's psychotic, and you know how me...uhh, and Kane, like psychotic blonds.
Then there's the completely moronic, so-bad-it's-good,-but-oh-man,-come-on,-that's-just-lame...-but-still-good-somehow fight scenes. MERCURY BUBBLES! is my favorite. LOL. Then there's the theme song. It's perfection! In fact, my brother is singing off-key and failing to form coherent words to it right now. Oh, and then there's the point where Sailor Moon tries to teach us kids a lesson. Kids, don't play with too many knives.
So anyways, my brother has been watching Sailor Moon for the past five hours. No end in sight.
Happy birthday, brother.
He was eh, so-so about them, because there were 10, and they were all wrapped individually. He thought he got 10 movies, but it was all Sailor Moon, LOL. He got sick of opening the gifts. My dad made a show of saying "Here's another" and "Only three more!" Hilarious.
Before that time, I had watched the first few to see how the sellers were. I don't...exactly trust people, OK, especially and uh, OK, and shut up, please, OK.
I have never said "Oh my God" so much during a theme song. My flesh burned. My skin crawled. Embarrassment ebbed. The world turned to ice. I think it was the first time in my life I have blushed. My eyes were bloodshot afterward, I'm sure of it.
I cringe looking back. It was sort of like that time that I almost needed my mom to hold my hand for the moral support to not try to gnaw my own arm off while Metroid Prime 3: Corruption loaded for the first time.
What's wrong with me?
Anyways... once I got through the first theme song, I started remembering why I like Sailor Moon so much. She/it's very endearing. It was my favorite cartoon at a point, if memory serves. It was the one ray of golden light in my troubled, troubled, carefree world.
First, she's the ONLY, and I repeat ONLY, entity that I have ever seen pull off pigtails. Pigtails, they bother me. I think it was one-too-many kids stories as a kid. Second, she's psychotic, and you know how me...uhh, and Kane, like psychotic blonds.
Then there's the completely moronic, so-bad-it's-good,-but-oh-man,-come-on,-that's-just-lame...-but-still-good-somehow fight scenes. MERCURY BUBBLES! is my favorite. LOL. Then there's the theme song. It's perfection! In fact, my brother is singing off-key and failing to form coherent words to it right now. Oh, and then there's the point where Sailor Moon tries to teach us kids a lesson. Kids, don't play with too many knives.
So anyways, my brother has been watching Sailor Moon for the past five hours. No end in sight.
Happy birthday, brother.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
My Brother's Birthday Wishes
OK. His birthday is in mid-April; he just told me what he wanted.
A copy of Dragon Ball Z: Budokai Tenkaichi 3...
(It's tradition to buy the new version of Super Smash Brothers for my brother's birthday, so we'll get a copy of Brawl, too. Hopefully the price will be down by then.)
And a DVD box set of Sailor Moon. He likes Sailor Moon a lot. I forget most of it; I would kind of like to watch it again. It appears expensive; here is an Amazon.com list. The going price seems to be around $30 for 6 episodes. That's just great. There's lots of episodes. If we start saving now, we could have the $50,000 needed to purchase every episode ever made in English...what the...what the hell is a-
So that's the wish list. Yes, this is just a cheap, quick blog post...but it's a wishlist nonetheless, and useful nonetheless.
I'm off to milk.
A copy of Dragon Ball Z: Budokai Tenkaichi 3...
(It's tradition to buy the new version of Super Smash Brothers for my brother's birthday, so we'll get a copy of Brawl, too. Hopefully the price will be down by then.)
And a DVD box set of Sailor Moon. He likes Sailor Moon a lot. I forget most of it; I would kind of like to watch it again. It appears expensive; here is an Amazon.com list. The going price seems to be around $30 for 6 episodes. That's just great. There's lots of episodes. If we start saving now, we could have the $50,000 needed to purchase every episode ever made in English...what the...what the hell is a-
So that's the wish list. Yes, this is just a cheap, quick blog post...but it's a wishlist nonetheless, and useful nonetheless.
I'm off to milk.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
That Desk is really Mine
Remember when I said I needed a desk? What? You don't?
...
Don't you pay any attention at all? I mentioned it in my post on the 20th, when we were at church, and had brought the refreshments.
Anyway, I need one because there's no place for me to really listen to sermons. In my room, at least- there's 2 or 3 places in the living room. I could just listen and take notes and read verses (and there's probably a "bathroom break" application as well) on my computer, but...well, that's just not the same. I don't memorize where the verses are in my Bible, and I can't, in a futile manner, scribble notes I won't use ever again, on and on.
My conclusion is, I need a desk. My brother has two. I went into his room to scout them out today. Here's the first one.
Yes, that is a 4-bottle gift box of hot sauce. And yes, that is an unused litter box. And yes, that is a 19.2 volt cordless drill that should be in the living room, and yes that is an unused SpongeBob lamp, and yes that is a penny, and, yes, that is the platinum/silver Gamecube we got a while back that clicks ominously to replace our old black Gamecube that got bricked somehow (I think something burned out, actually- not a software bricking). I don't think I'd need a desk this big.
Now, below is my old desk. I used to sit at this desk years back, and me and my brother would play SSB (N64), Battletanx, and Donkey Kong 64. I remember we had to get the...RAM upgrade, I think, for DK64.
If you didn't know, the DK rap owns. Remember that post I mentioned it in? I remember it, too.
There it is, in all its glory. It used to have a chair to go with it, but bad things happened to it.
You see, I figure, if you put something outside, and it is destroyed, God does not want you to have it. Cars. Cars don't get destroyed from being outside, God wants us to have cars. Chairs? They get waterlogged and die. God does not want us to have chairs. Dirt? Dirt is made to live outside. God wants us to have dirt.
Now I've just got to figure a way to take it from him while he's not looking and blame it on Wall Smurfs...or I could just go check a Savers or a Goodwill and see if they have one I can have in exchange for some inky paper.
I guess you could call this post a Desk Update. Thus the Updategrade tag.
...
Don't you pay any attention at all? I mentioned it in my post on the 20th, when we were at church, and had brought the refreshments.
Anyway, I need one because there's no place for me to really listen to sermons. In my room, at least- there's 2 or 3 places in the living room. I could just listen and take notes and read verses (and there's probably a "bathroom break" application as well) on my computer, but...well, that's just not the same. I don't memorize where the verses are in my Bible, and I can't, in a futile manner, scribble notes I won't use ever again, on and on.
My conclusion is, I need a desk. My brother has two. I went into his room to scout them out today. Here's the first one.
Yes, that is a 4-bottle gift box of hot sauce. And yes, that is an unused litter box. And yes, that is a 19.2 volt cordless drill that should be in the living room, and yes that is an unused SpongeBob lamp, and yes that is a penny, and, yes, that is the platinum/silver Gamecube we got a while back that clicks ominously to replace our old black Gamecube that got bricked somehow (I think something burned out, actually- not a software bricking). I don't think I'd need a desk this big.
Now, below is my old desk. I used to sit at this desk years back, and me and my brother would play SSB (N64), Battletanx, and Donkey Kong 64. I remember we had to get the...RAM upgrade, I think, for DK64.
If you didn't know, the DK rap owns. Remember that post I mentioned it in? I remember it, too.
There it is, in all its glory. It used to have a chair to go with it, but bad things happened to it.
You see, I figure, if you put something outside, and it is destroyed, God does not want you to have it. Cars. Cars don't get destroyed from being outside, God wants us to have cars. Chairs? They get waterlogged and die. God does not want us to have chairs. Dirt? Dirt is made to live outside. God wants us to have dirt.
Now I've just got to figure a way to take it from him while he's not looking and blame it on Wall Smurfs...or I could just go check a Savers or a Goodwill and see if they have one I can have in exchange for some inky paper.
I guess you could call this post a Desk Update. Thus the Updategrade tag.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Church This Week: January 20th, 2008
Today, we brought "snacks." I guess that's what it's called. OK, actually, they're "refreshments." See picture. Following, pictures will be posted after food is named. (I.e., "These are muffins," then the picture.)We brought Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Muffins, which I baked last night (enough to feed a shipload of pirates! Or at least half a shipload! Depending on the size of the ship, of course, and which meal they were being served for)...
And pinwheel sandwiches (that's what I call them, at least; I don't have a better name thought up)...
(Note that you spread cream cheese on the tortilla, then only put meat and cheese on half of it, and they're very difficult to roll if you skimp on the meat, and you're going to lose 1-1.5 inches on either side- that's the preparers reward!)
...sugar cookies (my mom attempted to upstage Manny, the Hitman's wife, who brought sugar cookies baked with love and frosted with joy and peace; my mom has most likely started a war with her which may fare badly for both parties. Did I mention that I recently discovered that Manny is not evil, but instead is just shy?)...
And Celery Marrow Bites. I guess it's celery cut in half to look like a split bone with marrow in the middle. She's weird. Why on earth she would want to copy an animal product (split marrow leg bones) with vegetables and peanuts, I will never know. Only God knows what the raisins and craisins are. I guess maybe marrow has lumps in it. Picture below.
The muffins fared well, but they'd fare better around Halloween. The celery marrow bites all disappeared. Oh, my mom just informed me, that the celery marrow bites are in fact called "Ants on a Log"...well, I've been wrong before. This is a second time. OH, NO I DIDN'T!
The pinwheel sandwiches did very well as the main push. People filled up on them, then went to feast on the muffins, and as an afterthought, the cookies and the ants on a log. Why my mom would want to call them ANTS on a log is beyond me. Why not just call them "large pregnant cockroach bites?" Seriously, mom, call them something appetizing- like celery peanut raisin bites. Or celery butter raisin smackers, or something good, not sugar coated locust crunchies or octopus ink encrusted lobster brain bites.
Someone tried to upstage us. A man named "John," if I remember correctly. OK, I know who that is. There's 12 people named David, 17 people named Don (one of them has a blog), and 15 people named Suzie, yet only one person named John. I am going to overnight him a fist in the mail (it's like blowing somebody a kiss, but it hurts like hell), and I'll mark it "For John's Face Only." He won't know what hit him, as fists, even when overnighted, tend to evaporate quickly when opened, and aren't always visible! Hahaha! Take that!
[John, if you're reading, thanks for bringing those donuts! We'll have to start supplementing our refreshment days with donuts, as the hoards seem to like those a lot. Foolproof contention of the masses. I think "contention" is akin to "contentment."]
After Sunday School and the main sermon- i.e., at the end of the church day- the Hitman asked me if I have any questions. He knows I'm attempting to work my way through Romans (I asked him for some help last week), and I got obliterated by Romans 1:17- to Romans 2. The whole chunk there jabbed me like a spearthrower (from the Latin, one who throws spears) in heat. Yeah, I guess spearthrowers go into heat. How else do spearthrowers reproduce?
Speaking of reproduction, I asked him to introduce me to (tell me who they belong to) the short stops running all around there, and in a roundabout way, asked him where babies come from. I had earlier told him that we neutered a baby male goat with a rubber band (whew, that's a mental image), so I should have some grasp of it. My mom says it's just like a goat reproduces, but I understand it completely different. I guess it could go down like that, but typically human females give birth in hospitals or at least indoors, not on a bed of their own feces with some jerk with a camera hovering over them and telling them to "Just push harder, stupid! You can do it! Push! Heave, ho!" But it may be that that's just my limited understanding. Was that sacribirtial?
He said, "Look, Kev, I know you're going to pull that verse on me and tell me I have to be your slave because I am a dishopon, but why don't you just let me bring you some DVDs I have which go through Romans?"
I am pretty sure I didn't pee my pants. "Wow, shiny DVDs?" I asked. "Things that show thousands of pictures in only a few minutes of time, strung together with AWDEEO?" "Yes, Kev, you don't need to say 'audio' like that, what's wrong with y-" "Wow! That'd be fantastically, monumentally webstratificatic!" (web-stratifeh-catic) He's funny; you can make up stuff and he assumes it's computer terminology. Heh heh heh, sucker. He asked if I could burn DVDs, I said, "My computer is the bomber, and 'perfectly furnished unto all good works!'"
There was a pause.
No, a longer pause.
That's about how long.
"...so, it can burn DVDs?" "Uh, yeah." "OK, then you can just take the originals and burn yourself a copy." "Sounds great! Thanks, Hitman! Very much! Btw, you should know, I do have this nasty habit of snapping discs in half anytime I take them out of a drive of sorts when I'm excited, but aside from that, I can copy them and give back the originals." "Uh, Kev, don't break the discs in half." "Yeah, I probably won't, I only do that if I'm really stoked." "Yeah, OK, make sure you're not really stoked before you take them out, alright?" "OK. Otherwise, you'll kill me, right?" "No, Kev, you'll just get a pie thrown in your face."
But what kind? A gunpowder pie with a lit fuse?
In other news, Kile II is starting a blog! I don't know what he'll blog about, but it scares the festering bear blood out of me. (It's a long story, one that I made up; when you're in the forest, and you need a blood transplant...)
After Sunday School (I bold those so you know when these conversations occur, because they're not all in order, as this is one long post), we had a good long conversation about it. I don't have his email and I'm not sure when he'll start blogging, but I think we gave him enough guidance. We're very eager to
In other other news, at least one church member is just sure that I'm gay, and...actually, that quite sucks! THAT'S IT, I'M GOING DRESSED AS A COWBOY NEXT WEEK, JUST TO SHOW THEM! That'll never backfire due to Hollywood! Those fools can't ruin my plan this time!
Hey! My brother just acknowledged that I am a man. He has this mindset that if I am a man, then he is a boy, and if he is a boy, then I am a man. I don't really consider myself a man yet. When I'm able to rear a family, then I'll consider myself a man. Pastor taught on how mothers and fathers are supposed to train children today. Man, I got like, everything wrong. Apparently, TV does not raise children or teach them morals. Who knew?
In the middle of the Sunday Sermon, I had to get up during the service to get my mom some Kleenex. I had to walk right by Pastor. Apparently, he felt his territory was threatened, because he leaned over sideways and shook real violently and spread his arms; his jacket made him look like a bat of sorts. I can only assume that he was trying to puff himself up to appear more of a threat. I got the Kleenex- he watched, stone cold- then he went through the same routine after I passed him on the way back. Apparently, he was trying to keep me from the pulpit or something on it, as he circled it in an arc keeping himself between it and me. He then put his balled fists on the side of his ribcage and proudly walked/pranced around in a circle pawing the ground.
That's probably the weirdest thing I've ever seen him do. [Btw, did I mention, this post gets a "I probably made that up" tag.]
I also saw something incredibly cute today, before Sunday School. Little kids- small things, like 2-3 years old- amaze me. They're so stupid, but they're cute, so they make up for it (keep in mind, I've never changed a diaper in my life.) I am unsure of who the child belonged to, but a 2-3 year old was carrying something- distracted by it- and smashed, forehead first, into the wall. "She just ran into the wall!" I exclaimed. I don't know if that causes brain damage or what. "Yeah, they're little, they do that," Pastor said. "Wow...they're like those robotic carpet cleaners," I marveled.
Next Q&A, they'll be hosting a soup dinner/crockpot potluck. Wiggy. Pastor says that I can't cook for it, and I don't get any soup. Hah hah, he's so silly! I'll bring some gumbo with white and brown rice. They'll be so happy. I better bring our biggest pot full of it. "Wow, Kev- we brought potato soup, chicken soup, and you brought spicy gumbo soup" and I'll be like, "Yeah, all praise be to God, for I have double-jointed thumbs which I can bend more effectually than other fellows of the lewd baser sort!" (I'm hearing this terminology, and it takes me a while to learn to use it correctly.)
Pa and my brother stayed home today. They either hate bringing
Curse his bones. OK, fine, bless his bones. Man, is this just a long post...or is it my imagination?
Monday, December 31, 2007
My Brother. On my nerves again.
So, my brother is getting on my nerves again. I am unsure why. I think it is because I am more or less blamed for him having the dishes in his room, and around dinnertime there has been an increase of shortages (what?) of either forks, spoons, or plates the last 1-2 weeks.
As you know, this has caused "burn out" for me in the past (warning: clicking the link will cause loss of respect for our family like my mom's post here (Master Bedroom Cleanup), via this recent post here (Six Days of Freedom)), and I've stopped cooking or cleaning for as much as a week.
To remedy the situation, I will start barging into his room at odd hours to retrieve the dishes. We also need to get him a box spring for his bed (his current box spring is connected to his bed stand, and that allows dishes to weasel their way under his bed). That should hopefully motivate him to set his dishes outside of his door to hopefully stop the intrusions.
I will also be restricting his access to large bowls; he'll either have to eat smaller portions, or take two smaller bowls. He will have access to bowls no bigger than 2 quarts...and if he needs more than two quarts worth of food (which he does), oh well.
Now if only we could have a "you have to eat the vegetables on your plate" rule.
Apparently, New Years is not today, but tomorrow, so the mail will be running today, which means it may be lawful for me to ponder if FF1&2 or AoE:AoK will get here today. That makes no sense to me, but like my mom said the other day in church in front of EVERYONE, "Kev isn't allowed to look at calenders. He figures out how long it is until the next major holiday and he gets so excited that he wets himself sometimes."
THANKS A LOT, MOM.
As you know, this has caused "burn out" for me in the past (warning: clicking the link will cause loss of respect for our family like my mom's post here (Master Bedroom Cleanup), via this recent post here (Six Days of Freedom)), and I've stopped cooking or cleaning for as much as a week.
To remedy the situation, I will start barging into his room at odd hours to retrieve the dishes. We also need to get him a box spring for his bed (his current box spring is connected to his bed stand, and that allows dishes to weasel their way under his bed). That should hopefully motivate him to set his dishes outside of his door to hopefully stop the intrusions.
I will also be restricting his access to large bowls; he'll either have to eat smaller portions, or take two smaller bowls. He will have access to bowls no bigger than 2 quarts...and if he needs more than two quarts worth of food (which he does), oh well.
Now if only we could have a "you have to eat the vegetables on your plate" rule.
Apparently, New Years is not today, but tomorrow, so the mail will be running today, which means it may be lawful for me to ponder if FF1&2 or AoE:AoK will get here today. That makes no sense to me, but like my mom said the other day in church in front of EVERYONE, "Kev isn't allowed to look at calenders. He figures out how long it is until the next major holiday and he gets so excited that he wets himself sometimes."
THANKS A LOT, MOM.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Kev makes a fool out of himself. Again.
Last night, as you hopefully know, I found out that my Twilight Princess disc (Wii) no longer works. It looks as if the Wii scratched the disc, but that makes no sense, as it never stopped working, so it was probably Satan trying to ruin my celebration of Christ's birth (which was totally December 25th!), or God trying to teach me something for sure! I hope I can find out if it was God trying to teach me something or Satan doing an attack on me. Gee, I sure wish I could tell.
Or...it's possible that it may have scratched the disc a year ago, and since the Wii's optical sensor was newer, it worked. How should I know? I don't specialize in optical sensors.
I'm going to have to invest not only my own cash into purchasing a new copy, but also some guilt-credits with my parents. I always build up guilt-credits right before Christmas: "Oh, but he's such a good son, let's get him this bar of gold!"
I have been milking the last week or so and I've been such a good son that I'm holding their faces to the figurative guilt wheel. It grinds their faces with guilt, leaving them looking something like Umagon in Tiberian Sun (complete with that suicide trick the Forgotten do).
I even cleaned our bathroom, which is probably not my mom's most looked-forward-to chore on her chore list- see her blog post, Six Days of Freedom.
So I'm covered as far as a new copy of Twilight Princess goes. I'm fine. But my brother? Ooh. His horror is just beginning. He cannot find any tomato sauce, and he's in a depressive slump because of it. Poor joker.
"I've had a ho-horrible, bad day Kev. No talking to me OK?" he says. "OK, brother." I says. Keep in mind that the only thing that happened to him was that he woke up and found out there was no tomato sauce. Enough to ruin his day. OK, brother...sorry about that.
Back to me. My mom called today and asked me if I wanted them to stop (there's the guilt-credits at work!). Well, since they offered, sure...yes, yes...all working into my master plan. Here I come Santa. Yes, we will get him. He will be ours. I'm hoping to get a copy of Twilight Princess used No, no, get it new, for the glory therein; I certainly do not want to spend $50 again. So I called around to 3 Game Crazy's. I've always shopped with them for used games...that is, used games that I need in a hurry. Otherwise I use Half.com.
I called the first one. The guy was cool; very clear voice, and typically they do their speech so fast you can't understand it. Anyways, I asked him, "Hi, what time are you guys open till?" "9 PM." "OK, and do you guys have a copy of Metroid Prime 3: Corruption for the Wii on sale?"
I meant to say "used," but I said "on sale." What a dork. What a dork he was. You are amazing. He said, "It's $50 new, and $37 used with MVP card." "Do you have one used?" "Uhh...let's see...wow, no. It should be pretty easy to find if you look around at the other Game Crazy's." "OK, thanks." "You bet." (click)
I called the second one. He rattled through his speech about how they have the greatest holiday games. "What time are you guys open till?" "10 PM." "OK, and do you have Metroid Prime 3: Corruption for the Wii in stock?" "For the Wii, for the Wii, for the Wii, let's see...yes. Would you like us to hold it for you?" "How much is it?" "It's...$50." "Oh, no, I wouldn't like it held." (click)
He seemed like he wanted me to go to Hell.
I called the third one. "Hi, what time are you guys open till?" "10 PM." "OK, good. Do you guys have a copy of Metroid Prime 3: Corruption used?" "Let's see...nope. It's new for $50." "OK, thanks." (awkward pause) (click)
I was about to call the 4th Game Crazy, when I lost my nerve. I found it again whilst I was considering that if it's new, it may come without packaging, but that's good, because I already have a Twilight Princess package box kit...
If you have not realized by now, dear reader, might I suggest you take some advice I could have used, and get some coffee...as I have been calling around for a copy of Metroid Prime 3. Metroid Prime 3 works fine. I need a copy of The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess, not Metroid Prime 3!
Oh, where did I go wrong. You did not. Where did I folly? You did not. What caused me to err? You have not. Tiredness? You are never tired. You never sleep. Stupidity? Idiocy? Dimwittedness? What could it have possibly been, this force that made me make an idiotic display out of myself, and even still pushes me to blog about my embarrassment? It's so natural to say Metroid Prime 3: Corruption, I suppose.
Now I have to call them all back. I will wait an hour, and by then...hopefully they'll have forgotten. Ooh, embarrassment of embarrassments. And you know how much trouble I have with calling places! (Nintendo DS (Lite) Update -- the NDS will be getting some attention here shortly.) But now I know how late they are open, so I can just ask if they have TP on sale. They'll make no connection!
I'm sure more of them have TP used. It's a year old...MP3 is not. Ugh. Idiot!
I guess I can call the final Game Crazy I was going to call out of desperation; hopefully word has not yet gotten around to the other Game Crazy's of my stupidity. It's about 5 miles out of my parent's way.
Oh, drat. Their phone is not working. I'll call the first Game Crazy I called. Oohgh. Embarrassment. On hold...on hold...his computer isn't working right...they don't have one, but it would be $41 used. Weird.
My mom suggests that instead of feeling the awesome, glowing shame of calling the other two back, we should just get it new. They decided to stop by a game store to avoid going to Walmart. It was...a Gamestop. She called me to make sure I wanted a used one, and by the time I had called her back, it turned out that she had already bought the game new, despite the fact that they had the chance to buy it used (to their credit, it was only $8 more new, and they were trying to do good.)
So now I'm back on schedule...and seeing's how they stopped by Frys just for my brother, he'll be back on schedule by tomorrow as well.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to clean my room, then I'm going to play Twilight Princess. And attempt to kill Santa. If he is real. Which he isn't. Here, come get the cookies, Saint Nick...
Fresh goats milk...
...and gunpowder...
Or...it's possible that it may have scratched the disc a year ago, and since the Wii's optical sensor was newer, it worked. How should I know? I don't specialize in optical sensors.
I'm going to have to invest not only my own cash into purchasing a new copy, but also some guilt-credits with my parents. I always build up guilt-credits right before Christmas: "Oh, but he's such a good son, let's get him this bar of gold!"
I have been milking the last week or so and I've been such a good son that I'm holding their faces to the figurative guilt wheel. It grinds their faces with guilt, leaving them looking something like Umagon in Tiberian Sun (complete with that suicide trick the Forgotten do).
I even cleaned our bathroom, which is probably not my mom's most looked-forward-to chore on her chore list- see her blog post, Six Days of Freedom.
So I'm covered as far as a new copy of Twilight Princess goes. I'm fine. But my brother? Ooh. His horror is just beginning. He cannot find any tomato sauce, and he's in a depressive slump because of it. Poor joker.
"I've had a ho-horrible, bad day Kev. No talking to me OK?" he says. "OK, brother." I says. Keep in mind that the only thing that happened to him was that he woke up and found out there was no tomato sauce. Enough to ruin his day. OK, brother...sorry about that.
Back to me. My mom called today and asked me if I wanted them to stop (there's the guilt-credits at work!). Well, since they offered, sure...yes, yes...all working into my master plan. Here I come Santa. Yes, we will get him. He will be ours. I'm hoping to get a copy of Twilight Princess used No, no, get it new, for the glory therein; I certainly do not want to spend $50 again. So I called around to 3 Game Crazy's. I've always shopped with them for used games...that is, used games that I need in a hurry. Otherwise I use Half.com.
I called the first one. The guy was cool; very clear voice, and typically they do their speech so fast you can't understand it. Anyways, I asked him, "Hi, what time are you guys open till?" "9 PM." "OK, and do you guys have a copy of Metroid Prime 3: Corruption for the Wii on sale?"
I meant to say "used," but I said "on sale." What a dork. What a dork he was. You are amazing. He said, "It's $50 new, and $37 used with MVP card." "Do you have one used?" "Uhh...let's see...wow, no. It should be pretty easy to find if you look around at the other Game Crazy's." "OK, thanks." "You bet." (click)
I called the second one. He rattled through his speech about how they have the greatest holiday games. "What time are you guys open till?" "10 PM." "OK, and do you have Metroid Prime 3: Corruption for the Wii in stock?" "For the Wii, for the Wii, for the Wii, let's see...yes. Would you like us to hold it for you?" "How much is it?" "It's...$50." "Oh, no, I wouldn't like it held." (click)
He seemed like he wanted me to go to Hell.
I called the third one. "Hi, what time are you guys open till?" "10 PM." "OK, good. Do you guys have a copy of Metroid Prime 3: Corruption used?" "Let's see...nope. It's new for $50." "OK, thanks." (awkward pause) (click)
I was about to call the 4th Game Crazy, when I lost my nerve. I found it again whilst I was considering that if it's new, it may come without packaging, but that's good, because I already have a Twilight Princess package box kit...
If you have not realized by now, dear reader, might I suggest you take some advice I could have used, and get some coffee...as I have been calling around for a copy of Metroid Prime 3. Metroid Prime 3 works fine. I need a copy of The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess, not Metroid Prime 3!
Oh, where did I go wrong. You did not. Where did I folly? You did not. What caused me to err? You have not. Tiredness? You are never tired. You never sleep. Stupidity? Idiocy? Dimwittedness? What could it have possibly been, this force that made me make an idiotic display out of myself, and even still pushes me to blog about my embarrassment? It's so natural to say Metroid Prime 3: Corruption, I suppose.
Now I have to call them all back. I will wait an hour, and by then...hopefully they'll have forgotten. Ooh, embarrassment of embarrassments. And you know how much trouble I have with calling places! (Nintendo DS (Lite) Update -- the NDS will be getting some attention here shortly.) But now I know how late they are open, so I can just ask if they have TP on sale. They'll make no connection!
I'm sure more of them have TP used. It's a year old...MP3 is not. Ugh. Idiot!
I guess I can call the final Game Crazy I was going to call out of desperation; hopefully word has not yet gotten around to the other Game Crazy's of my stupidity. It's about 5 miles out of my parent's way.
Oh, drat. Their phone is not working. I'll call the first Game Crazy I called. Oohgh. Embarrassment. On hold...on hold...his computer isn't working right...they don't have one, but it would be $41 used. Weird.
My mom suggests that instead of feeling the awesome, glowing shame of calling the other two back, we should just get it new. They decided to stop by a game store to avoid going to Walmart. It was...a Gamestop. She called me to make sure I wanted a used one, and by the time I had called her back, it turned out that she had already bought the game new, despite the fact that they had the chance to buy it used (to their credit, it was only $8 more new, and they were trying to do good.)
So now I'm back on schedule...and seeing's how they stopped by Frys just for my brother, he'll be back on schedule by tomorrow as well.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to clean my room, then I'm going to play Twilight Princess. And attempt to kill Santa. If he is real. Which he isn't. Here, come get the cookies, Saint Nick...
Fresh goats milk...
...and gunpowder...
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Things to do, things to do
OK, first on my list is edit the wedding for Bess. The (editing) program arrived yesterday, and tomorrow will be my first free day. I will attempt to chronicle my experience with the program and with editing the wedding to the best of my abilities, as it is the duty of I, the Supreme Camcorder Bearer. In fact, I was the only Camcorder Bearer, and like Obi Wan to princess Leia, I am their only hope.
But tonight I have more pressing matters. First things first, I need to eat. I had a great breakfast (my mom made pancakes, and I had peanut butter on them for the first time in a long time, and they were good, despite my ill-conceived complaining!), but that was 14 hours ago, and now I'm hungry. I will heat up some enchiladas that she also made. My mom makes good enchiladas. How? I don't know. She just does. It's one of those things that moms do. Or, my mom at least.
Oh, that burned my tongue. Ouch. OW!
OK, time to let them cool. I use a "three ouch" method for determining if a dish is too hot. Darn. I know, I'll "surf the channels" to see what's on. Fine, I'll settle on an episode of "Cops." I'm sure that says something about me, like I enjoy basic brutality or realistic suffering, but right now it's the only thing on and I learn stuff I can use everyday (like "don't do drugs" and "don't carry illegal weapons").
OK, that's done. Now to read my mom's blog.
Done. Now I know what a..."crying poormouth" is.
Firefox does not recognize "poormouth."
Troubling.
OK, now to make a post about []. Away to the next blogger window!
At right! OK, you can't see. Now it is 11:08 PM.
OK, the TV is annoying me. Off it goes. OK, the lights are annoying me. Off they go. One light on. Me and my mom's favorite light. It's a dandy little dude with a light blue finish who sits aside from the couch and provides excellent ambient light. But this is not the window I should be in. It is 11:14 PM.
11:56 PM. I am still working on it.
I smell dog poop. Darn it. Agh. It's noxious. Eh.
It's 12:35. Buh. I am going to find the source of the horrid stench. It is driving me batty.
OK, so far I've determined that it is localized to my chair. There's two possible sources; the horrible, filthy garbage can next to me (a defiled "recycle" can that my brother throws other garbage in), or the cat box (though, the box is 6 feet from my chair).
Having removed the garbage can, I no longer smell the noxious odor. Praise God!
Darn brother sabotaging me with his garbage can antics. "I know, I'll do this on purpose to mess with Kev!", he said to himself. (Kev clenches fist).
It is now 1:14 PM, and I do not have the post even halfway finished. It's a hard post that I had to reword 3 times (the biggest problem is that the "Painless Guide to Writing" arrived, and its advice seemingly kills most sentences- they claim it'll help you to *not* sound mechanical! It must've been written by a human-hating robot, or I need to read it more).
Goodnight. I am going to go sleep like a man gone mad. Don't you hate (there's that overpowered word again, let's use "dread" next time) it when you have to combine two large subjects into one post (a backstory and story), and you have to whittle it all down until it's short enough to be a post? I dread it. There, I did it!
But tonight I have more pressing matters. First things first, I need to eat. I had a great breakfast (my mom made pancakes, and I had peanut butter on them for the first time in a long time, and they were good, despite my ill-conceived complaining!), but that was 14 hours ago, and now I'm hungry. I will heat up some enchiladas that she also made. My mom makes good enchiladas. How? I don't know. She just does. It's one of those things that moms do. Or, my mom at least.
Oh, that burned my tongue. Ouch. OW!
OK, time to let them cool. I use a "three ouch" method for determining if a dish is too hot. Darn. I know, I'll "surf the channels" to see what's on. Fine, I'll settle on an episode of "Cops." I'm sure that says something about me, like I enjoy basic brutality or realistic suffering, but right now it's the only thing on and I learn stuff I can use everyday (like "don't do drugs" and "don't carry illegal weapons").
OK, that's done. Now to read my mom's blog.
Done. Now I know what a..."crying poormouth" is.
Firefox does not recognize "poormouth."
Troubling.
OK, now to make a post about []. Away to the next blogger window!
At right! OK, you can't see. Now it is 11:08 PM.
OK, the TV is annoying me. Off it goes. OK, the lights are annoying me. Off they go. One light on. Me and my mom's favorite light. It's a dandy little dude with a light blue finish who sits aside from the couch and provides excellent ambient light. But this is not the window I should be in. It is 11:14 PM.
11:56 PM. I am still working on it.
I smell dog poop. Darn it. Agh. It's noxious. Eh.
It's 12:35. Buh. I am going to find the source of the horrid stench. It is driving me batty.
OK, so far I've determined that it is localized to my chair. There's two possible sources; the horrible, filthy garbage can next to me (a defiled "recycle" can that my brother throws other garbage in), or the cat box (though, the box is 6 feet from my chair).
Having removed the garbage can, I no longer smell the noxious odor. Praise God!
Darn brother sabotaging me with his garbage can antics. "I know, I'll do this on purpose to mess with Kev!", he said to himself. (Kev clenches fist).
It is now 1:14 PM, and I do not have the post even halfway finished. It's a hard post that I had to reword 3 times (the biggest problem is that the "Painless Guide to Writing" arrived, and its advice seemingly kills most sentences- they claim it'll help you to *not* sound mechanical! It must've been written by a human-hating robot, or I need to read it more).
Goodnight. I am going to go sleep like a man gone mad. Don't you hate (there's that overpowered word again, let's use "dread" next time) it when you have to combine two large subjects into one post (a backstory and story), and you have to whittle it all down until it's short enough to be a post? I dread it. There, I did it!
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
I don't feel like posting.
No, not at all. My teeth hurt, the top of my mouth hurts, and I blame this Orbit sugarfree gum. Everything was fine until I chewed a few pieces. Worse, I want to drink some water, but my mouth is now so sensitive due to the mint I can't drink my water. Every time I do, my mouth hurts for about 25 seconds. Curse this gum! Curses, welcome the Curse Them tag! For cursing both individually and corporately. CURSES!
On top of that, I have a headache. I had one last night, too, as I discovered whilst I was editing some pictures from Bess' recent wedding (and laughing really hard; I was putting captions in the pictures). Ah, here I go. I'm blogging. My Mom ordered some video editing software (it was marked down from $75+ to $25 on sale), and I'm waiting for it to arrive so I can make this wedding movie. I also got an external hard drive from my mom's job, as the miniDV tapes are (up to) 11 gigabytes each. Yikes. Unless I got rid of the 40 GB operating system backup for my computer (that'd be hard as it won't let me burn the recovery discs for some reason!), I need the external HD.
Q&A is this week, and I am not entirely sure what I will ask. I'm certain of one thing, however: I do not want to ask a question I don't know the answer to. Sure, I could ask "how tall was the average human during the tower of Babel", but come on, I really don't care. I think I'm going to ask about the one another's of Paul (I'll try to listen to the audio files, that way I'll know the material ahead of time). Example, in Romans 12, verse 10:
As for tonight, I think I'm going to mention Ask the Pastor (it's a TV show where a panel of pastors answer viewer questions; the panels change often). Someone sent a letter saying "Oh my oh me help me please, my wife left me for someone on the internet and now I don't know what to do!"
They began, of course, by sharing in a warm fit of laughter ("The internet just has too much power LOL!"), then suddenly became very solemn (as if they were laughing at someone who has a heart-wrenching situation occurring or something! Imagine that!). They couldn't hold back their glee, it seemed. They continued to have laughing bouts throughout answering the question.
What jerks.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to let Little Jihad off of the porch. He's been very depressed lately...he wouldn't even leave the porch and he wouldn't go inside the house. I didn't call him or anything, he just wanted to lay there so I let him. His ears are permanently in a frowning position.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to con something up for dinner. Uhh, crud, what to make. I know. Chinese fried rice, OH WAIT MY BROTHER ATE ALL THE HAM. Oh well!
On top of that, I have a headache. I had one last night, too, as I discovered whilst I was editing some pictures from Bess' recent wedding (and laughing really hard; I was putting captions in the pictures). Ah, here I go. I'm blogging. My Mom ordered some video editing software (it was marked down from $75+ to $25 on sale), and I'm waiting for it to arrive so I can make this wedding movie. I also got an external hard drive from my mom's job, as the miniDV tapes are (up to) 11 gigabytes each. Yikes. Unless I got rid of the 40 GB operating system backup for my computer (that'd be hard as it won't let me burn the recovery discs for some reason!), I need the external HD.
Q&A is this week, and I am not entirely sure what I will ask. I'm certain of one thing, however: I do not want to ask a question I don't know the answer to. Sure, I could ask "how tall was the average human during the tower of Babel", but come on, I really don't care. I think I'm going to ask about the one another's of Paul (I'll try to listen to the audio files, that way I'll know the material ahead of time). Example, in Romans 12, verse 10:
Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honour preferring one another;(italics mine, and I'm not sure if this is the true old KJV or the newer KJV). There are something around 25 of these verses in Paul's epistles, if memory serves. Don't stab each other, don't backbite each other, don't do this, don't do that, do this, do do that, on and on. I'll tell ya, that Paul can ramble something fierce!
As for tonight, I think I'm going to mention Ask the Pastor (it's a TV show where a panel of pastors answer viewer questions; the panels change often). Someone sent a letter saying "Oh my oh me help me please, my wife left me for someone on the internet and now I don't know what to do!"
They began, of course, by sharing in a warm fit of laughter ("The internet just has too much power LOL!"), then suddenly became very solemn (as if they were laughing at someone who has a heart-wrenching situation occurring or something! Imagine that!). They couldn't hold back their glee, it seemed. They continued to have laughing bouts throughout answering the question.
What jerks.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to let Little Jihad off of the porch. He's been very depressed lately...he wouldn't even leave the porch and he wouldn't go inside the house. I didn't call him or anything, he just wanted to lay there so I let him. His ears are permanently in a frowning position.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to con something up for dinner. Uhh, crud, what to make. I know. Chinese fried rice, OH WAIT MY BROTHER ATE ALL THE HAM. Oh well!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Pecan pie, my sweet -- Thanksgiving post #7
It is Thanksgiving! Rejoice, brethren! Accolades delivered on high to the Most High! Give thanks, stuff like that. Do good unto all men, yadda yada.
Today, I made two pecan pies. Recipe here (this is the first time I got to follow a recipe from my blog; I need recipe scribing classes, apparently; I did edit it a bit just now). Hahah! One is for my family, and the other is for me. Since they stay so long in the fridge- and taste so awesome chilled- I'll have pecan pie for weeks. My family doesn't really care for pecan pies. They're jerks.
One thing I do with pecan pies is cut slices (at random) in the crust before I add the filling. It lets the filling seep out and then caramelize. Below is a picture of how it looks. It becomes all chewy and good and adds a huge world of texture. Thanks to the Pyrex pie pan for...letting us see through it.
Note that the puddle of filling in the bottom was most likely caused by the very thin pie crust and NOT because I cut into it to cause the filling to crystallize. I fused together 3 pie crust rounds to form the shell; sometimes, I get a craving for "poptarts," but the ones you buy taste ...well, terrible, so I made up a batch of pie dough, rolled it into rounds, made myself a few "poptarts," then froze the rest of the dough (Alton Brown provided the inspiration with his recipe for "poptarts"). I fill them with apricot preserves or strawberries boiled with sugar or whatever.
Since it was so thin it (most likely) bubbled up and created a pocket of air during the blind-baking, which filled with filling. Also note that since it was old (at least 3 months) and frozen, it didn't seal properly. I would not make slices that big for the caramel crystallizing...stuff. It just didn't seal. So don't make ugly 3-inch slices in the crust. Please. Use a light touch and don't make the cuts too wide. 1/2 to 1 inch.
...well, that was exhaustive. Aside from make the pies, I cleaned the kitchen (including the oven! That thing was DIRTY! I've never cleaned a fireplace, but IT WAS LIKE CLEANING A FIREPLACE!), went shopping with my Mommy for Thanksgiving stuff (we went by a Fry's I know of that is typically abandoned, and I was right; despite it being the night before the big T, there were few people there).
Then we went home. We also visited a Waffle House and sampled their food. They have...well, their waffles need to be thicker, more golden, and crispier. They're very good in that they're airy, but they're not crispy enough. And the color is bad. Sorry, waffle house. Don't feel sad. You've still got good hamburgers. Or, patty melts, I think.
Happy Thanksgiving! As for me, I am going to go die for 10 hours. My Brother just let out a demonic growl from his room. Great. This should...I should get out of here.
Today, I made two pecan pies. Recipe here (this is the first time I got to follow a recipe from my blog; I need recipe scribing classes, apparently; I did edit it a bit just now). Hahah! One is for my family, and the other is for me. Since they stay so long in the fridge- and taste so awesome chilled- I'll have pecan pie for weeks. My family doesn't really care for pecan pies. They're jerks.
One thing I do with pecan pies is cut slices (at random) in the crust before I add the filling. It lets the filling seep out and then caramelize. Below is a picture of how it looks. It becomes all chewy and good and adds a huge world of texture. Thanks to the Pyrex pie pan for...letting us see through it.
Note that the puddle of filling in the bottom was most likely caused by the very thin pie crust and NOT because I cut into it to cause the filling to crystallize. I fused together 3 pie crust rounds to form the shell; sometimes, I get a craving for "poptarts," but the ones you buy taste ...well, terrible, so I made up a batch of pie dough, rolled it into rounds, made myself a few "poptarts," then froze the rest of the dough (Alton Brown provided the inspiration with his recipe for "poptarts"). I fill them with apricot preserves or strawberries boiled with sugar or whatever.
Since it was so thin it (most likely) bubbled up and created a pocket of air during the blind-baking, which filled with filling. Also note that since it was old (at least 3 months) and frozen, it didn't seal properly. I would not make slices that big for the caramel crystallizing...stuff. It just didn't seal. So don't make ugly 3-inch slices in the crust. Please. Use a light touch and don't make the cuts too wide. 1/2 to 1 inch.
...well, that was exhaustive. Aside from make the pies, I cleaned the kitchen (including the oven! That thing was DIRTY! I've never cleaned a fireplace, but IT WAS LIKE CLEANING A FIREPLACE!), went shopping with my Mommy for Thanksgiving stuff (we went by a Fry's I know of that is typically abandoned, and I was right; despite it being the night before the big T, there were few people there).
Then we went home. We also visited a Waffle House and sampled their food. They have...well, their waffles need to be thicker, more golden, and crispier. They're very good in that they're airy, but they're not crispy enough. And the color is bad. Sorry, waffle house. Don't feel sad. You've still got good hamburgers. Or, patty melts, I think.
Happy Thanksgiving! As for me, I am going to go die for 10 hours. My Brother just let out a demonic growl from his room. Great. This should...I should get out of here.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
My Brother and Sam the Wedding Cake.
Meet Sam. Sam is a slightly twisted wedding cake. His life began- as all cakes do- in the planning stages. He was made by my Dad over 4 days. He was to be white. Then pink.
Now purple, white, and pink. Sam does not like himself. His self-image has been shattered- imagine growing into your teens being black/white then switching colors. It would be freaky, wouldn't it? Well, that's what Sam went through. Sam...not to be confused with Samus Aran, the greatest Bounty Hunter in evar, or Sam Fisher, the all-console whore, who...uhh, I think that's a bit graphic. It has to do with blenders and...uhh...so...yeah.
Now that you know Sam's name and Sam's struggle, and who not to confuse Sam with, imagine being platooned (lol, I'll replace that with "showcased" in editing, like a man) in front of 100 people who all want to eat- AND digest- your flesh?
Not fun. Anyway...Sam was delivered around 11 AM. We set him up right away. Then my Brother walked up.
My Brother.
Matt the Meininger.
They called him "flame boy" when he was a child, because he would cause more devastation than a fire. Except he cannot control his raging destructive powers as I can...and his hatred consumes him. It's a real Darth Vader thing. Except, instead of a light saber, he has pure rage and inferno-hate.
He waves happily. He's waving really fast, as the camera is fast enough to pick up flying helicopters' blades with minimal (if any) blur...so...wow.
Now...if you'll notice, he took the statue off the top. He considers the cake (below pic). Its delicate beauty. Its delicate deliciousness. Its delicate delicaciness. That's definitely a word. Did I mention Sam has the texture of cornbread?
With corn in it?
A pang of evil crosses his mind. A hateful, mischievous streak of rueful mal-intent.
He knows what he'll do. But can he do it?He can. He knows he can. He fixes his stare ahead (below pic)...imagining the grandeur. A wedding cake...all to himself...yes, yes...if he...cannot eat it all...then he will destroy it...any then none will take his...precious from him...
Yeess...let the evil flow through you, his mind whispers, which he hears only faintly... as a sly coat on the fell wind blowing through the open doors of the reception hall. He is lost in his paranoid, destructive fantasies of evil. Evil. His mind melts and folds as the ocean, with crashing, endless waves devouring whole any helpless, shipwrecked thought of niceties...or peace...
Suddenly, like an alligator, he springs forth!
OH NO!!!!
Yes! Yes! Devou-[end transmission, static]
Monday, October 15, 2007
My Laptop and guarding it and how I can do better.
My brother.
Oh, what can I say about him. I know what I'll do. I'll lament about how horrible his cooking (and eating) habits are.
He has a messy way of cooking, and every single day of his life he eats the same thing. A type of macaroni and cheese with added Pizza ingredients (ham, pepperoni, mushrooms, tomato sauce, and others). He does not stir it when he cooks it over high heat, so it burns very badly, and I have to clean it. I'm pretty sure I've complained about it before.
He completes his horrible mess by leaving the dish in his room for a week with two cups of leftover "noodle vomit" until it condenses into a cheesecake-like brick of stinking, occasionally moldy mess. If I attempt to make him clean either the bowl or the pan by, y'know, not cleaning it so he eventually has to, he breaks down crying.
Don't siblings like that make you angry? It reminds me of my Dad's Worst Sister, Aunt Punface. You just can't help but make up zany puns when you're around her, usually about her face. Typically...they're not so much puns but insults. Regardless, that's her nickname. They used to play baseball together when they were young, and she would take the outfield. She'd get the ball and not take it in. Then when they got mad, she'd tell their dad, and they'd get in trouble. They had a belt-and-switch dad who beat them regularly and practiced witchcraft, so trouble was bad.
His parents had four children, and only two turned out alright; my Aunt Desnee, and my Dad. The other one, my Uncle Inderb, is currently living on an Indian war veteran camp doing marijuana with the Indian war veterans. That is his...occupation. I've never spoken to him, as far as I can remember...yet I've seen him naked. Funny world we live in, isn't it?
Anyways, back to my brother. Cheese all over the floor. The living room floor. Ohoho, it is horrible. It makes me sad. It is unfair. You'd think that, when making macaroni and cheese, you wouldn't be able to spill pre-grated cheese all over the place. I would morally allow block cheese to be spilled while being grated, but how hard is it to hit the pan when you have shredded cheese? Not hard at all if you're a careless slob, apparently! Dammit!
Then there's the ham he leaves all over the place. He thinks it's cute to give the animals scraps as he cooks, just like my Dad (do fathers always pass on bad manners?). Yet, I only give them scraps if they eat them. That's the difference between me and them. It ends in the animals eating them and them not laying on the floor to ebb grease.
Anyways, what's my point? Somehow, a month or so ago, I found my laptop's CD drive was nonfunctional. "Oh, Samus' visor!" I exclaimed, as I felt my heart compact. By the way, that's more a "scared" expression than a "damn" expression. 70% scared, 30% damn.
After crying for several minutes, I decided to take the CD out. It was...Command and Conquer: Generals, I think. That is, I know. I have a memory, after all.
My CD drive had been acting funny for weeks prior. It kept- for no reason- ejecting itself. Now, I don't know about you, but I do not appreciate having my computer do things I do not approve of it doing. Because...the next step is murdering me in my sleep. It's happened before. Just search for "computer killed me in my sleep," and see how many results come up! Almost 1.8 million people dead because of disobedient, murderous computers. I will not be a statistic.
I took the CD out, only to discover a piece of cheese lodged in the CD drive, pushing against the CD, stopping it from spinning. Aha, I thought. I have no idea how he managed to stand over my laptop and grate cheese into it...but he did it. After I removed the piece of cheese, it worked flawlessly, and did not eject sporadically any more! VICTORY!
Except that...recently, my SD card drive stopped working. That is not good at all. Upon further inspection, there was...chocolate inside my card drive. I have absolutely no idea how. Chocolate isn't even that popular around here! Drat! How could it be! After I removed the chocolate, the drive worked fine.
Then, I discovered the reason that certain keys on my keyboard get jammed. Apparently, things get underneath them. Things that I don't have any idea how they got under there. Pieces of plastic, mostly. From where? I do not know. God knows.
On Sunday, we stopped by a Walmart, and...my Mom got a glue gun.
Today, I found a drop of hot glue lodged under a laptop key.
So, to strike back, I'm going to get a laptop case as soon as possible to stop these relentless attacks before something serious happens. If a drop of hot glue can travel 15 feet and wedge itself into a closed laptop, then weasel its way under a key...I fear to think of what else could do the same. Plus, I need somewhere to put my mouse, now that I have one. Then I can take my laptop with me places and get robbed. Let's see how long it takes me to acquire one, shall we?
Oh, what can I say about him. I know what I'll do. I'll lament about how horrible his cooking (and eating) habits are.
He has a messy way of cooking, and every single day of his life he eats the same thing. A type of macaroni and cheese with added Pizza ingredients (ham, pepperoni, mushrooms, tomato sauce, and others). He does not stir it when he cooks it over high heat, so it burns very badly, and I have to clean it. I'm pretty sure I've complained about it before.
He completes his horrible mess by leaving the dish in his room for a week with two cups of leftover "noodle vomit" until it condenses into a cheesecake-like brick of stinking, occasionally moldy mess. If I attempt to make him clean either the bowl or the pan by, y'know, not cleaning it so he eventually has to, he breaks down crying.
Don't siblings like that make you angry? It reminds me of my Dad's Worst Sister, Aunt Punface. You just can't help but make up zany puns when you're around her, usually about her face. Typically...they're not so much puns but insults. Regardless, that's her nickname. They used to play baseball together when they were young, and she would take the outfield. She'd get the ball and not take it in. Then when they got mad, she'd tell their dad, and they'd get in trouble. They had a belt-and-switch dad who beat them regularly and practiced witchcraft, so trouble was bad.
His parents had four children, and only two turned out alright; my Aunt Desnee, and my Dad. The other one, my Uncle Inderb, is currently living on an Indian war veteran camp doing marijuana with the Indian war veterans. That is his...occupation. I've never spoken to him, as far as I can remember...yet I've seen him naked. Funny world we live in, isn't it?
Anyways, back to my brother. Cheese all over the floor. The living room floor. Ohoho, it is horrible. It makes me sad. It is unfair. You'd think that, when making macaroni and cheese, you wouldn't be able to spill pre-grated cheese all over the place. I would morally allow block cheese to be spilled while being grated, but how hard is it to hit the pan when you have shredded cheese? Not hard at all if you're a careless slob, apparently! Dammit!
Then there's the ham he leaves all over the place. He thinks it's cute to give the animals scraps as he cooks, just like my Dad (do fathers always pass on bad manners?). Yet, I only give them scraps if they eat them. That's the difference between me and them. It ends in the animals eating them and them not laying on the floor to ebb grease.
Anyways, what's my point? Somehow, a month or so ago, I found my laptop's CD drive was nonfunctional. "Oh, Samus' visor!" I exclaimed, as I felt my heart compact. By the way, that's more a "scared" expression than a "damn" expression. 70% scared, 30% damn.
After crying for several minutes, I decided to take the CD out. It was...Command and Conquer: Generals, I think. That is, I know. I have a memory, after all.
My CD drive had been acting funny for weeks prior. It kept- for no reason- ejecting itself. Now, I don't know about you, but I do not appreciate having my computer do things I do not approve of it doing. Because...the next step is murdering me in my sleep. It's happened before. Just search for "computer killed me in my sleep," and see how many results come up! Almost 1.8 million people dead because of disobedient, murderous computers. I will not be a statistic.
I took the CD out, only to discover a piece of cheese lodged in the CD drive, pushing against the CD, stopping it from spinning. Aha, I thought. I have no idea how he managed to stand over my laptop and grate cheese into it...but he did it. After I removed the piece of cheese, it worked flawlessly, and did not eject sporadically any more! VICTORY!
Except that...recently, my SD card drive stopped working. That is not good at all. Upon further inspection, there was...chocolate inside my card drive. I have absolutely no idea how. Chocolate isn't even that popular around here! Drat! How could it be! After I removed the chocolate, the drive worked fine.
Then, I discovered the reason that certain keys on my keyboard get jammed. Apparently, things get underneath them. Things that I don't have any idea how they got under there. Pieces of plastic, mostly. From where? I do not know. God knows.
On Sunday, we stopped by a Walmart, and...my Mom got a glue gun.
Today, I found a drop of hot glue lodged under a laptop key.
So, to strike back, I'm going to get a laptop case as soon as possible to stop these relentless attacks before something serious happens. If a drop of hot glue can travel 15 feet and wedge itself into a closed laptop, then weasel its way under a key...I fear to think of what else could do the same. Plus, I need somewhere to put my mouse, now that I have one. Then I can take my laptop with me places and get robbed. Let's see how long it takes me to acquire one, shall we?
Friday, October 05, 2007
4 Hours to Birthday: I can wait!
Well, it's actually 17 hours (I am counting "time to party"). But let me teach you a trick.
We have a thing we do around here. My brother taught us how. He has down syndrome, and somehow he teaches us things. Not too many things, though, we're kind of slow. He also threatens to saw my head off, but well, nobody's perfect!
You simply figure in the times you will be entertained. You know- time passes when you're having fun. You learned that in Kindergarten, you obtuse, shinning (shinning in that you're dim) example of stupidity. So if I sleep 8 hours, then I will be "entertained" for those 8 hours, and they do not count.
Thus, I now have 9 hours to wait. But I'll spend 2 more hours being up (which don't count; I'll probably watch a movie), then 3 hours in the morning playing Metroid Prime 3: Corruption. I am hoping to face Gandrayda tomorrow, and I'm going to investigate that Frigate, not necessarily in that order. The...Valhalla. Yes. The G.F.S. Valhalla.
It was...taken advantage of during a training mission. The marines who were stationed on the Frigate...are currently dead. I smell zombies.
I think the most I can play Wii is 1.5 hours. After that my neck begins to hurt. My bed is too low to the ground, I think. Plus I start getting cramped. You know the drill. However, if I am hot on the trail of that louse-turned-Hunter Gandrayda, who thinks she is better than Samus, and who I am going to really, really enjoy dispatching, I could play for hours. Oh, but look at me, Carrying on Like A Schoolgirl!
Oh! And speaking of Wii, I got an email straight from HQ the other day. Apparently, they're now passing out- for free, in a wrist strap fashion- Wiimote jackets! Yes! No more losing my grip and sending the Wiimote rocketing through the window and knocking over power poles (that's a joke). It is on the Nintendo main page currently. It will not be in a while. I just need to enter the serial number, and I'll be order two...plus I need a new wrist strap for my Wiimote. Notice Nintendo is giving me a Wiimote jacket for my birthday? Oh, there is no end to their coolness.
OK, so if I then stay up 2 more hours tonight watching a movie (Scrooged, perhaps?), then play Metroid Prime 3: Corruption tomorrow for 3 hours (play for 1 hour, take an hour break, play for another hour), I only have 4 hours to go. Simple, isn't it?
It can be applied in any situation- why, last Saturday night, I figured the night did not count, so it was only 6 days, then Saturday doesn't count, because it IS my birthday, so last Friday I only had 5 days to go to Saturday. Cool, huh? I hope I explained it right.
And, now I've wasted (as in, it is now "spent") 30 minutes, so it's only 3.5 hours to go. The blog works!
We have a thing we do around here. My brother taught us how. He has down syndrome, and somehow he teaches us things. Not too many things, though, we're kind of slow. He also threatens to saw my head off, but well, nobody's perfect!
You simply figure in the times you will be entertained. You know- time passes when you're having fun. You learned that in Kindergarten, you obtuse, shinning (shinning in that you're dim) example of stupidity. So if I sleep 8 hours, then I will be "entertained" for those 8 hours, and they do not count.
Thus, I now have 9 hours to wait. But I'll spend 2 more hours being up (which don't count; I'll probably watch a movie), then 3 hours in the morning playing Metroid Prime 3: Corruption. I am hoping to face Gandrayda tomorrow, and I'm going to investigate that Frigate, not necessarily in that order. The...Valhalla. Yes. The G.F.S. Valhalla.
It was...taken advantage of during a training mission. The marines who were stationed on the Frigate...are currently dead. I smell zombies.
I think the most I can play Wii is 1.5 hours. After that my neck begins to hurt. My bed is too low to the ground, I think. Plus I start getting cramped. You know the drill. However, if I am hot on the trail of that louse-turned-Hunter Gandrayda, who thinks she is better than Samus, and who I am going to really, really enjoy dispatching, I could play for hours. Oh, but look at me, Carrying on Like A Schoolgirl!
Oh! And speaking of Wii, I got an email straight from HQ the other day. Apparently, they're now passing out- for free, in a wrist strap fashion- Wiimote jackets! Yes! No more losing my grip and sending the Wiimote rocketing through the window and knocking over power poles (that's a joke). It is on the Nintendo main page currently. It will not be in a while. I just need to enter the serial number, and I'll be order two...plus I need a new wrist strap for my Wiimote. Notice Nintendo is giving me a Wiimote jacket for my birthday? Oh, there is no end to their coolness.
OK, so if I then stay up 2 more hours tonight watching a movie (Scrooged, perhaps?), then play Metroid Prime 3: Corruption tomorrow for 3 hours (play for 1 hour, take an hour break, play for another hour), I only have 4 hours to go. Simple, isn't it?
It can be applied in any situation- why, last Saturday night, I figured the night did not count, so it was only 6 days, then Saturday doesn't count, because it IS my birthday, so last Friday I only had 5 days to go to Saturday. Cool, huh? I hope I explained it right.
And, now I've wasted (as in, it is now "spent") 30 minutes, so it's only 3.5 hours to go. The blog works!
Monday, August 20, 2007
Church This Week (August 12th, 2007)
This week is a week late. So the details will be foggy.
Me and my Mom and Brother went. Somehow, we avoided killing each other. I didn't have as much fun as I typically do- here it is important to define "fun." I'm not talking video games, I'm talking interaction and fellowship with jokepots who share my sense of humor. I didn't have as much fun because there were ELEVEN MILLION PEOPLE THERE!
The whole BUILDING COMPLEX is only like, 200' by 70'! And it's two stories! HOW ON EARTH DID ELEVEN MILLION PEOPLE FIT IN THAT BUILDING IT'S IMPOSSSIBLE YET IT OCCURRED
Everyone was a little on edge. Church was out August 5th, so we had two weeks of lookin' good to do. Everyone used twice as much moose, shined their shoes, and bleached their socks. They went to a barber to get shaved, trimmed their ear and nose hair, plucked their eyelashes, and polished their nails. You could tell some had had brace work (teeth straightening) done over the week.
I had some stupid jokes saved up for the Hitman, so I was excited to see him. As I walked back into the entrance hall, there he was. Our eyes met, and we went to shake each others hands. Just about that time, crying was heard. Someone behind us piped up, "IS THAT SOFFS?! OH MY GOSH!"
Hitman had to hurry and see what was the matter. Soffs is his daughter. He went into the nursery. Shortly after, his wife, Manny, appeared in the doorway. She leaned against the doorjam and looked at me. She crossed her arms and grinned in a self-satisfactory manner. I made a type of attempt to expose her as that one guy did on that episode of the Twilight Zone. You know, he saw a gremlin on the wing. I guess the Hitman called her, because she looked sideways to the nursery and said "Coming, honey." She turned and looked spitefully at me again, seeming more satisfied with herself. Her look seemed to say "That's right, I'm his favorite." She dropped her arms, and turned dramatically and walked into the nursery.
You know who she reminds me of? Sophie Marceau. She has the same evil, spiteful look. Has the same evil ways...evil, bottom line!
What lengths will she go to to keep me and the Hitman apart?! Why would she even care if we socialized?! If she will (presumably) injure her own daughter, she will stop at nothing! This is the second time it has happened. I wasn't sure at first if it was Soffs or Manny, but now I know it is Manny. I never discovered who it was that asked if that was Soffs from behind us. Now I'd reckon Manny has learned how to throw her voice. Or mastered the art of mind control. If mind control is in fact an art.
I forget what RJ was preaching on, but it was something, let me assure you. It's hard to get it because the constant YABBERING he's doing! Man, if he would just not talk, his message would come across loud and...well...actually, maybe...not...possibly I just need to pay more attention. I know it sticks, because I remember it later, but I can't recite subjects he preached on easily. I remember if reminded what he was preaching on. I think it's a side-effect of the goat milk.
It is probable that I also need to start listening to it a second time from the church website.
I'm joking. Laugh with me. Laugh, man!
Me and my Mom and Brother went. Somehow, we avoided killing each other. I didn't have as much fun as I typically do- here it is important to define "fun." I'm not talking video games, I'm talking interaction and fellowship with jokepots who share my sense of humor. I didn't have as much fun because there were ELEVEN MILLION PEOPLE THERE!
The whole BUILDING COMPLEX is only like, 200' by 70'! And it's two stories! HOW ON EARTH DID ELEVEN MILLION PEOPLE FIT IN THAT BUILDING IT'S IMPOSSSIBLE YET IT OCCURRED
Everyone was a little on edge. Church was out August 5th, so we had two weeks of lookin' good to do. Everyone used twice as much moose, shined their shoes, and bleached their socks. They went to a barber to get shaved, trimmed their ear and nose hair, plucked their eyelashes, and polished their nails. You could tell some had had brace work (teeth straightening) done over the week.
I had some stupid jokes saved up for the Hitman, so I was excited to see him. As I walked back into the entrance hall, there he was. Our eyes met, and we went to shake each others hands. Just about that time, crying was heard. Someone behind us piped up, "IS THAT SOFFS?! OH MY GOSH!"
Hitman had to hurry and see what was the matter. Soffs is his daughter. He went into the nursery. Shortly after, his wife, Manny, appeared in the doorway. She leaned against the doorjam and looked at me. She crossed her arms and grinned in a self-satisfactory manner. I made a type of attempt to expose her as that one guy did on that episode of the Twilight Zone. You know, he saw a gremlin on the wing. I guess the Hitman called her, because she looked sideways to the nursery and said "Coming, honey." She turned and looked spitefully at me again, seeming more satisfied with herself. Her look seemed to say "That's right, I'm his favorite." She dropped her arms, and turned dramatically and walked into the nursery.
You know who she reminds me of? Sophie Marceau. She has the same evil, spiteful look. Has the same evil ways...evil, bottom line!
What lengths will she go to to keep me and the Hitman apart?! Why would she even care if we socialized?! If she will (presumably) injure her own daughter, she will stop at nothing! This is the second time it has happened. I wasn't sure at first if it was Soffs or Manny, but now I know it is Manny. I never discovered who it was that asked if that was Soffs from behind us. Now I'd reckon Manny has learned how to throw her voice. Or mastered the art of mind control. If mind control is in fact an art.
I forget what RJ was preaching on, but it was something, let me assure you. It's hard to get it because the constant YABBERING he's doing! Man, if he would just not talk, his message would come across loud and...well...actually, maybe...not...possibly I just need to pay more attention. I know it sticks, because I remember it later, but I can't recite subjects he preached on easily. I remember if reminded what he was preaching on. I think it's a side-effect of the goat milk.
It is probable that I also need to start listening to it a second time from the church website.
I'm joking. Laugh with me. Laugh, man!
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Mr. Coffee say what? Say toilet water. TOILET WATER!
Sadly, Love's truckstop, which I so love, has a broken latte machine. The cool thing about them is, that they also have a cappuccino machine. The problem...is...that one was also out of order. It produced very runny, thin, almost-see-through cappuccino. I did not want to break the checkout man's heart, though (how could I resist those soulful, bloodshot eyes?), so I bought it with a smile.
My Dad wanted to try some Psycho Energy Drink. "HOURS OF INSANITY - YOU'LL SWEAR YOU'RE BEING HAUNTED BY LUCIFER HIMSELF!" the bottle claims, in hyperactive, weird, loud letters. Then in small letters: "May cause demon possession. " He drank it anyways, but got no energy rush. I guess it works off of "demon-indwelt child tears," as the ingredients list states...I uh...don't...
I dumped the cappuccino and got one at Circle K. They did not have my preferred (24 oz) size of refill cup, so I passed on it and got a disposable (Al Gore would be rolling around in his grave!).
That was yesterday. Today at Circle K, there was a line, so I had time to try to get my brother a hot dog. I had some... trouble locating the hot dog buns. My brother is always pining after the hot dogs ever since he saw them at Love's, and he has not had one yet. Maybe it can be his treat, as I am always getting lattes (not always). Next week. My Mom informed me that they keep them (the buns) by the microwave- to heat them up, I guess. I should have just gotten him a so-called "tornado"...yeah...
Church was great. I may make a post about it. After church, we had to stop by the store. To get food. We're having a turkey dinner...we needed some stuff. I will make a PomPOM post sometime.
Then...to my surprise...there it was. MR. COFFEE ECM20 ESPRESSO MACHINE! I did not expect that store to have espresso machines. Or a selection of 10 coffee machines...hmm...like finding a marble in a box of screws.
I knew it was the cheapest one out there. If it works, good. If not, it's so cheap, they'll take it back and burn it. No feelings are hurt. There was another model- a Krups which made coffee and espresso- but it was $100, while the Mr. Coffee was $30.
I could get a much better machine elsewhere for $100. I've learned (I hope you have, too) to NEVER EVER EVER to trust a (non-ultra-expensive) "combination" appliance. Especially if it weighs under 500 pounds.
I got half a pound of beans. I feel bad as it rang up as $5.30-or-so a pound...and I didn't correct it (actual price of $7.99/lb). I didn't even think of it at the time. What dishonesty. I am ashamed. That is something I would have done five or six years ago. I would have probably went back and gotten more, actually.
Taking it home, I (confirmed) that it does not make real espresso. I kind of knew that, and I should get an espresso shot from Tully's to see what a real one is. If I like (that is, really like) "real" espresso, I can go stupid and invest in a real machine...better than spending $2 a day at Circle K- and I can make it with goats milk. Let's see...$2 a day for espressos (me and Dad).
I am extremely tired, but it's something like $0.30...instead of $2. If we paid for the milk it would be about $4. Each. Oh, and my Dad does not know, but he loves espresso. He dislikes lattes and cappuccinos. But mix two shots of espresso into his coffee, and he'll be a happy man forever! "WHOA!" he'll exclaim. "This is...BITTER! WOOOW! OH MAN, I FEEL LIKE MY TONGUE IS ON FIRE, THIS IS SO... COARSE! Man, how do you make this stuff? Is that DIRT I taste?! Fantastic!"
In 4-5 months, depending upon how cheap the coffee we get is, we'll have paid off a $100 machine. If we get a $40 grinder and buy 1-gallon cans of beans (blah blah, only lasts for 7 days after roasting, blah blah) we'd have it paid off in mere seconds.
I still do not know if I like this stuff enough to do that yet. That's where I am in my coffee addiction. Still not too addicted is my current status. I have a HUD like Samus' in Metroid Prime. You know...I was so impressed by the ability to change the opaqueness of that thing.
My Dad wanted to try some Psycho Energy Drink. "HOURS OF INSANITY - YOU'LL SWEAR YOU'RE BEING HAUNTED BY LUCIFER HIMSELF!" the bottle claims, in hyperactive, weird, loud letters. Then in small letters: "May cause demon possession. " He drank it anyways, but got no energy rush. I guess it works off of "demon-indwelt child tears," as the ingredients list states...I uh...don't...
I dumped the cappuccino and got one at Circle K. They did not have my preferred (24 oz) size of refill cup, so I passed on it and got a disposable (Al Gore would be rolling around in his grave!).
That was yesterday. Today at Circle K, there was a line, so I had time to try to get my brother a hot dog. I had some... trouble locating the hot dog buns. My brother is always pining after the hot dogs ever since he saw them at Love's, and he has not had one yet. Maybe it can be his treat, as I am always getting lattes (not always). Next week. My Mom informed me that they keep them (the buns) by the microwave- to heat them up, I guess. I should have just gotten him a so-called "tornado"...yeah...
Church was great. I may make a post about it. After church, we had to stop by the store. To get food. We're having a turkey dinner...we needed some stuff. I will make a PomPOM post sometime.
Then...to my surprise...there it was. MR. COFFEE ECM20 ESPRESSO MACHINE! I did not expect that store to have espresso machines. Or a selection of 10 coffee machines...hmm...like finding a marble in a box of screws.
I knew it was the cheapest one out there. If it works, good. If not, it's so cheap, they'll take it back and burn it. No feelings are hurt. There was another model- a Krups which made coffee and espresso- but it was $100, while the Mr. Coffee was $30.
I could get a much better machine elsewhere for $100. I've learned (I hope you have, too) to NEVER EVER EVER to trust a (non-ultra-expensive) "combination" appliance. Especially if it weighs under 500 pounds.
I got half a pound of beans. I feel bad as it rang up as $5.30-or-so a pound...and I didn't correct it (actual price of $7.99/lb). I didn't even think of it at the time. What dishonesty. I am ashamed. That is something I would have done five or six years ago. I would have probably went back and gotten more, actually.
Taking it home, I (confirmed) that it does not make real espresso. I kind of knew that, and I should get an espresso shot from Tully's to see what a real one is. If I like (that is, really like) "real" espresso, I can go stupid and invest in a real machine...better than spending $2 a day at Circle K- and I can make it with goats milk. Let's see...$2 a day for espressos (me and Dad).
I am extremely tired, but it's something like $0.30...instead of $2. If we paid for the milk it would be about $4. Each. Oh, and my Dad does not know, but he loves espresso. He dislikes lattes and cappuccinos. But mix two shots of espresso into his coffee, and he'll be a happy man forever! "WHOA!" he'll exclaim. "This is...BITTER! WOOOW! OH MAN, I FEEL LIKE MY TONGUE IS ON FIRE, THIS IS SO... COARSE! Man, how do you make this stuff? Is that DIRT I taste?! Fantastic!"
In 4-5 months, depending upon how cheap the coffee we get is, we'll have paid off a $100 machine. If we get a $40 grinder and buy 1-gallon cans of beans (blah blah, only lasts for 7 days after roasting, blah blah) we'd have it paid off in mere seconds.
I still do not know if I like this stuff enough to do that yet. That's where I am in my coffee addiction. Still not too addicted is my current status. I have a HUD like Samus' in Metroid Prime. You know...I was so impressed by the ability to change the opaqueness of that thing.
Church This Week (August 19th, 2007)
So, this week at church, I was very nervous going in. I don't know why. Maybe because I had just gotten a new Bible cover ("new" is not the word; "a" is the word, as I didn't have one to have upgraded from a new one from), and I am concerned with people thinking we're trying to look "holy." We sit up at the very front (really, we get to interact with the Pastor- why were the seats ever vacant?). We're typically some of the last to leave. Plus, we're so darn holy. So I get nervous when I add another holy element.
I suppose it's a stupid concern...or rather, not stupid, but exaggerated. I suppose it is an exaggerated concern, and I'm sure no one notices (or even would think to notice), yet still...
I am becoming concerned for Hitman's daughter, Soffs. This is the third time- third time in a row- she has been "mysteriously" injured as I said "Hi2u" to Hitman. This time, Manny did not do anything evidently evil. In fact, I have learned that she HAS mastered the art of mind control (actually, that's not so bad...she could probably mind control her daughter into crying, so I guess I'm not that concerned for her). She was- conveniently- in another room at the time Soffs was "injured." BRAIN-WAVE MANIPULATION! She immediately rushed out. "Oh, wow, what's wrong?" she said innocently.
INNOCENTLY AS A LEADER FOX
I also had my new Bible, and, once again, did not want to seem "holy." Nervous. I said hello to RaphRa (rayfra) on the way in. I want to get to know him better. He seems cool, but you can never tell with older people. Doesn't seem fierce, at least.
To my surprise, everyone else and their dead great-grandmother had Bible covers. So once again, unfounded nervisity (it is a word!) over nothing. I guess I didn't realize they had them until I looked.
The Justice had a really great sermon this week. I'm gonna have to listen to it again and tell him that he answered/touched on 2 or 3 big questions I had. Before the service, we talked to him about a site linked to our church website. Forum preacher wrote an article. Grr.
I don't know what it is about forum preachers. You know them...the people who have flopped (in this case, they became very legalistic). Flopped, by the way, is the act of having flipped. And flipped, by definition, means to have tweaked, or been tweaking, to the point of mental collapse. This is the "Bible Shredding" point. They get in SUCH a frenzy, they just grab a Bible and tear it to pieces to cope.
That's where the phrase "shredding Bibles along the way" comes from, IE, "He wrote a really great article, shredding Bibles." It also means to be stressed out to the point of mental overwhelm, IE, "I finally finished the taxes, but now I'm shredding Bibles in my sleep." "Shredding" is also acceptable. No Bibles were shred in the writing of this sentence?
RJ also has a Q&A set up for us all next week, whosoever shall come.
"I - AM - GOING - TO STRAIGHTEN YOU ALL OUT!" he railed. "I AM, I AM GOING TO GRAB YOU AROUND YOUR BRAINS WITH ONE HAND, AND STRAIGHTEN YOU OUT WITH THE OTHER UNTIL I CAN SHOOT YOU THROUGH A BOW!" he railed some more. "SO YOU HAD BETTER BE READY ON SUNDAY -- THE 26TH -- BECAUSE I AM GOING TO STRAIGHTEN - YOU - ALL - OUT! DO YOU HEAR ME?! ARE YOU BEADY EYES SEEING WHAT I'M SAYING?!" he demanded. He paused dramatically.
"I'M GONNA STRAIGHTEN YOU ALL OUT!" he reiterated, looking crazed, and seething. He had almost paid us a visit yesterday. I think he was going to straighten us out. I told him, "Well, you can feel free to drop in anytime to straighten us out." "I'll do that," he nodded as he spoke smiling, his trademark. I wonder how stressful his life is. Surely stressful enough without straightening us out.
We picked up a hymn book today. RJ let usburrow borrow barrow take one for a somewhat-limited duration of time. Mommy is going to teach me hymns, and we are going to sing them on the way to church. That way, we can avoid the bickering. Today we sang tobyMac songs. My Mom was trying to match her singing to mine, and well, it didn't work out too good. But it kept the bickering down to a minimum.
My Bible cover came with some cool note-taking material. More on the Bible cover purchase tomorrow or sometime. I may begin to post subject outlines...we'll see. There's plenty of failure in the Bible cover story, by the way, so stay tuned!
I suppose it's a stupid concern...or rather, not stupid, but exaggerated. I suppose it is an exaggerated concern, and I'm sure no one notices (or even would think to notice), yet still...
I am becoming concerned for Hitman's daughter, Soffs. This is the third time- third time in a row- she has been "mysteriously" injured as I said "Hi2u" to Hitman. This time, Manny did not do anything evidently evil. In fact, I have learned that she HAS mastered the art of mind control (actually, that's not so bad...she could probably mind control her daughter into crying, so I guess I'm not that concerned for her). She was- conveniently- in another room at the time Soffs was "injured." BRAIN-WAVE MANIPULATION! She immediately rushed out. "Oh, wow, what's wrong?" she said innocently.
INNOCENTLY AS A LEADER FOX
I also had my new Bible, and, once again, did not want to seem "holy." Nervous. I said hello to RaphRa (rayfra) on the way in. I want to get to know him better. He seems cool, but you can never tell with older people. Doesn't seem fierce, at least.
To my surprise, everyone else and their dead great-grandmother had Bible covers. So once again, unfounded nervisity (it is a word!) over nothing. I guess I didn't realize they had them until I looked.
The Justice had a really great sermon this week. I'm gonna have to listen to it again and tell him that he answered/touched on 2 or 3 big questions I had. Before the service, we talked to him about a site linked to our church website. Forum preacher wrote an article. Grr.
I don't know what it is about forum preachers. You know them...the people who have flopped (in this case, they became very legalistic). Flopped, by the way, is the act of having flipped. And flipped, by definition, means to have tweaked, or been tweaking, to the point of mental collapse. This is the "Bible Shredding" point. They get in SUCH a frenzy, they just grab a Bible and tear it to pieces to cope.
That's where the phrase "shredding Bibles along the way" comes from, IE, "He wrote a really great article, shredding Bibles." It also means to be stressed out to the point of mental overwhelm, IE, "I finally finished the taxes, but now I'm shredding Bibles in my sleep." "Shredding" is also acceptable. No Bibles were shred in the writing of this sentence?
RJ also has a Q&A set up for us all next week, whosoever shall come.
"I - AM - GOING - TO STRAIGHTEN YOU ALL OUT!" he railed. "I AM, I AM GOING TO GRAB YOU AROUND YOUR BRAINS WITH ONE HAND, AND STRAIGHTEN YOU OUT WITH THE OTHER UNTIL I CAN SHOOT YOU THROUGH A BOW!" he railed some more. "SO YOU HAD BETTER BE READY ON SUNDAY -- THE 26TH -- BECAUSE I AM GOING TO STRAIGHTEN - YOU - ALL - OUT! DO YOU HEAR ME?! ARE YOU BEADY EYES SEEING WHAT I'M SAYING?!" he demanded. He paused dramatically.
"I'M GONNA STRAIGHTEN YOU ALL OUT!" he reiterated, looking crazed, and seething. He had almost paid us a visit yesterday. I think he was going to straighten us out. I told him, "Well, you can feel free to drop in anytime to straighten us out." "I'll do that," he nodded as he spoke smiling, his trademark. I wonder how stressful his life is. Surely stressful enough without straightening us out.
We picked up a hymn book today. RJ let us
My Bible cover came with some cool note-taking material. More on the Bible cover purchase tomorrow or sometime. I may begin to post subject outlines...we'll see. There's plenty of failure in the Bible cover story, by the way, so stay tuned!
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