Because it's 10:18 on Thursday the 12 of March, and I decided that I'm going to put off my essay for another few hours. I haven't decided what I'm going to write it on... in fact I don't know whether it's going to be on the merits of phrasal verbs, or the American President's Role as a Great Communicator or the wonderful world of Shakey's The Tempest.
I'm just playing around you see and I feel like telling the world. Have you ever wondered why people spill their guts on the web? I was just reading something yesterday about a guy who had to give his cat an enema. Now is that the sort of thing you illustrate and put on a web page? Well I suppose my life isn't as exciting as all that but I'll try.
So where should I start? Oh that's always the problem. You get motivated enough and for some strange reason open up a screen and start typing but don't know where to go from there. Shall we start off with my day? I did something today. Everyone is going to laugh.
I finally finished off a series of postcards I was writing to friends and family right before my lecture (yes that's the sort of thing I do before lecture... and the lecture is an entertaining story of it's own. Shakespeare and Klingons...) and I forgot to bring my friends address with me. So I wrote down her name... actually I was being silly and wrote it "The Illustrious Liz and Larissa" and skipped a line and wrote Los Angeles, CA and the zip and USA... it already had a stamp so I put it away, went to lecture and then on my way back to my room, I dumped all the postcards into the royal mailbox... (that always strikes me as funny. Royal mail... as someone put it, it's as if the Queen personally hand delivers your packages.) Of course I had forgotten to fill in the rest of the address so some mail clerk in LA is going to have quite a laugh over my profesor's Klingon and Alanis Morrisette jokes. Sigh...
And yes, I have an annoying habit of hoarding jam and Flora (margarine) packets from breakfast. Today I just shoved them in to my backpack and went on my merry way... until I accidently sat on my backpack... of course I didn't think anything of it, until during a lecture I reached into the pocket to retrieve a pen. I was slimed with apricot jam just as the prof started lecturing. It was icky. I think that I was having my Friday the 13th a day early.
Yes, it's Saint Patrick's Day and I think I'm the only one in the computer lab who's wearing green. I suppose the British aren't awfully found of Irish holidays though Melissa told me over breakfast that it's one of the most widely celebrated holiday around the world. I think Americans just love their holidays. You name an event and we want an excuse to dress up and pinch people. We want the right to stick up tacky paper decorations of jolly little green guys and plants that don't really exist. We want the chance to eat green food like cookies and lime punch during our lunch break. We want the ability to send tacky cards to everyone we know wishing them a good time. And we won't forget the liberty to actually try and match the Irish penchant for alcohol. ;). Americans need these little diversions to help keep them trapped in the nice little illusion that they have roots, that somewhere deep inside they are a lasting part of history that doesn't begin a mere 300 or so years ago.
Did I forget to tell you that I'm a little random sometimes? ooops. hehehe....
My roots... When people ask me what I am I sort of give them a little sigh... sigh Well. My family says I am related to the following people.
so much for roots huh?
Why is it that my profesors seem to be the largest source of humor in my life? I recieved an e-mail from my Shakespeare prof (no it wasn't about Klingons) yesterday. It was about his unexpected journey to Scotland (yes, he's Scottish)last week. He tried to grade my essay there but didn't have a copy of Hamlet so he waited till he got back. okay7 not so funny... but I mentioned to Melissa this afternoon that my essay has been to Scotland and back. It's more well traveled than I am! Funny thought. I'm not going to Scotland for another 2 weeks. I asked if they wanted anything from Scotland this afternoon. "some Scotch scotch?" You know these UK people have the largest ability to drink that I have ever seen! Okay... so this isn't as entertaining as I was hoping it to be. I can't be funny all the time. Like dinner yesterday... I tried to be a mooning buffalo... nobody got it. I got strange looks all around.
Tonight is Kareoke Night in Rutherpants! Yeah! I get to sing my broadway and Barbra and Bette songs, because they are the only things I can sing well. The last time I went Kareoking was in December when I wanted to sing a Christmas song and they didn't tell me till I was up there holding the mike that they didn't have the song I wanted and to pick a new song. On a whim I chose "I Could have Danced All Night" from My Fair Lady. It was an amazing experience to sing that song in front of a drunken British audience that had just finished a rousing full bar sing along of "Yellow Submarine." I got hooting applause after each verse. I think that they were just pleased to have some non drunk person singing. I thought that song would never end. I won a beer shirt in another Kareoke in Eliot. I love that shirt... my prized British souvenir. hehehe...
So what now? It's April Fool's Day and I really can't think of anything to do that's silly. I still have a guilt complex about a trick I played in the fourth grade that I thought was really cute. I mean it was April Fool's Day so you'd think they'd have figured it out a little earlier.
I had just finished working on my first aid badge in Girl Scouts (I was a really cute little Girl Scout... I know lots of songs that I start singing. People give me strange looks when I start singing about Polar Bears or Jelly Beans). Well, we had cut up sheets to make little makeshift bandages and I stuck one on and went to school. I told everyone I fell down the stairs. Okay, so maybe I was a child who was eager for attention, but no one seemed to think it was funny when I took the bandage off at lunch. They didn't like it at all. And poop little Jenny was made to feel very horrible because she played an April Fool's Joke and no one caught on. sniff sniff... on to happier memories.
I've come up with this theory that all ducks understand English, they just don't have the proper organs to reciprocate our kind of speech and we're too stupid to understand a system of quacks. My theory developes daily. The different kinds of ducks are very separated into their own societies. The white ducks don't hang out with the tan ones, and the mallards don't hang out with the white ones. They stick to their own kind. Now why is this? Are duck incapable of crossing that you-are-how-you-look barrier, as most humans are? Do humans and ducks have more in common than most people give them credit for?
We've got names for the ducks now. The two white ones are Carl and Sagan, the mallards (or at least four of them) are John, Paul, George and Ringo. Ringo has very good eye beak coordination. He catches anything you throw at him. And then there's Ferdinand, the jumping duck. Did you know ducks could jump up in the air. Well, Ferdinand can. The Canadians (the tan ones that aren't mallard) got their name from the Canadian geese, even though I know their not Canadian and they're not geese either. But they can be mean. They like to chase Ringo and Ferdinand. We've also got a herd of about 7 little ducklings. Awww... ducklings are cute. Anything that is little and a baby is cute... well maybe just babies. For instance, an elephant isn't little when it's a baby, but it's cute. A chihuaha is little when it's not a baby, and no matter what anyone says to me, chihuahas are cute.
And if you send me a message saying I've misspelled chihuaha I'll have to ring your neck. At least I KNEW it wasn't Chiwawa... or Chewbacca... hey, had to throw a Harry reference in there somewheres.