Mondays

Technically, it is still Monday. *triumph*

Mondays are interesting. I don't have any particular problem with them myself, except for the fact that they mean the end of nice, relaxing, writing-filled weekends. Sometimes I love them, sometimes I hate them.

Some Mondays are fantastic (like today, for example!), and you hang out with your awesome and amazing chibi buddies.



"Yeah, it's time for some fencing!"
"Zis should be fun, Hikaru." *adorableness*



"Captain, I fail to see how this is a good idea."
"It just is, Spock. Trust me." (Don't trust him, Spock!)

Some Mondays, you may or may not attempt to Vulcan nerve pinch anyone who comes too close.



Some Mondays, we wonder about the sanity of our friends (and yes, that friend would generally be me).



*serene grin*
*concerned look* "..." (Haha, don't worry Neal, Mozzie's just been into your wine again.)


Some Mondays make us so happy, our grins fill up half our faces and we leap for joy!



(Isn't Chibi Neal adorable? *sighs happily*)

And some Mondays, well...



The coffee just isn't caffeinated enough.

Delerium.

My mind is not functioning properly.

Yes, yes, I know what you're asking. "Really? Does it ever?"

As a matter of fact, it does function properly on occasion. Just not necessarily in a normal fasion. Facion. Fasoin. Fascion. Fashion. Thank you. Alright. That thing. Fashion. See, case in point.

The English language is so dang inconsistent! I mean, really! In Spanish, if you know what sounds the letters make, you can sound out any word because it's always the same! Grrr... Stupid english.

But anyway. I've been up since five and I went to bed last night a little after twelve. Good times. (But 27 got even less sleep!)

I went to the Homecoming football game.

The beginning, anyway.

I almost fell off the bleachers, and everyone around me was taller. Even the people who were standing (we were all standing) on the bleachers ahead, several inches below. So I was in a weird little box. It was odd. I couldn't really see. But I sort of understand football, so that's good! And we revisited the site of my... accident... And it was incredibly loud at the game. Incredibly. They handed out these weirdie noisemaker thingies and everyone was screaming and cheering and I honestly couldn't even hear myself think. If I was thinking in the first place. My head, predictably, started to protest quite strongly. And luckily 27 is better at decision making and so we went to her house to watch Ocean's Twelve.



Yeah! George Clooney and Matt Damon and Brad Pitt in his awesome younger days!

But sad day, we didn't actually end up watching it.

It was still fun though. Playing at 27's house late at night is mashed potatoes!

Very, very entertaining. And they fed me good food, which is also quite a plus. Good food is good. Very good.

Anyhow, we entertained ourselves for quite some time and then I came home, which is where I am now. In my wonderful, swively chair.

Before I sat in my wonderful swively chair, though, I had to preform the customary "my siblings are having sleepovers with their friends, I must go bother them!" routine. The older two were lucky enough to be first. My sister highly objected to my presence and she opened a pen to prove it. The ink spurted all over me and my arms are now blue.

Another example of delirium: When you look down at blue stuff smeared all over your arms and have forgotten why you were going to wash it off, so you lick it to test.

My tongue is also blue. And it won't come off.

Back to home.

The younger two were next. I spoke to them for a moment and then went to half-heartedly attempt to remove the blue again. On my way back, I was informed by a higher power that the children needed to lower their volume. The older girls consented. The younger girls... Were less than thrilled.

Wiiide awake there.

"PLEASE don't make us be quiet!"

"I can't possibly sleep, how could I sleep?"

"Can't we go play upstairs or something?"

"PLEAAASE?"

So, I did what any rational being would do. I sat on the foot of their bed and made up a story.

What a wonderful story it was.

There was a kid named Joshua. Joshua Perkins. He was eleven (gotta play to the audience you have) with black hair and blue eyes and palish skin. He lived in Iowa. He lived on a farm in Iowa, so he had to get up early to wait for the bus. One morning, he got up like he always did, but this morning was special. It was the first morning of sixth grade. He stood by the bus stop and waited, until a pair of headlights came toward him...
Long story short, it turns out to be a freakin' awesome alien ship full of really small aliens with huge, pointy ears and white hair called the Jang. They need his help. So he is pressed into helping them, 'cause they're the last of their kind that hasn't been destroyed by the evil alien Zarr. Joshua goes with them to the planet and they exploit weaknesses to get rid of all the enemy ships except Zarr's. Somehow, Joshua sneaks on board and the guards can't see him. He confronts Zarr and accidentally bumps a button that calls up the portal to send Zarr and his ship back to their dimension.
Joshua barely gets away in time to see them be sent through.
The Jang thank him and take him home, where he arrives somehow just in time for the bus.

Of course, the whole thing was told in a very choppy, long-winded form like the beginning paragraph. It was about a half hour long and they were fast asleep by the time it was over. But I finished it anyway. It was strange. But I was really out of it, so I just kept going even though it was cliché and ... special. So that was interesting.

And then I went into my room and opened my computer and saw new pictures of Matt Bomer on his website!

That's not one of the new ones, but it's super nice anyway. The new ones are amaazing!

...but that's a story for another day.

I think I'd better get some sleep, or at least breathe deeply. Good night.

Discombobulated.

Life is full of confusion for... uhm.... people like me.

For instance, LA is not, in fact, in Florida, as I found out sometime last year. Good times there. Ah, how the children laughed with me in celebration of my discovery.

Another common misconception is that "making up" is what you do when you fight with a friend (it was a pretend fight, granted). However, when you use this phrase, your friend may, in fact, whack you and say that's gross. Because, apparently, "making up" is what couples do. Another revelation!

Also, it is not a good idea to tell people outside of your close circle of friends that you named the pole you eat next to (Jaques) or the filing cabinet in your Sunday School room (George). They will then proceed to flatter you by imitation, skipping gleefully around the nearest pole and proclaiming their love for it. Such lovely days.

Today, I learned something new. DIY is not meant to be said "dee." It actually stands for something. Is that not completely insane? In any case, it apparently means "do it yourself." Why they do not just say that, I will never know.

And I learned that discombobulated is actually a real word. I thought Bolt made it up! But no, it means confused. Which is me.

On a completely unrelated note (maybe one day we'll have a related one), January is altogether too long away.

What happens in January, you ask?

Well, there's the customary New Years' drinking party, if you're into that sort of thing and have high alcohol tolerance. Or perhaps the wonderfully irritating slush that accumulates on the side of the road. Or even the joy of scraping off your car windows each and every glorious morning.

While all of these are simply delightful, that's not what I'm excited for.

January is when White Collar comes back.

White Collar is amazing.

That is all.

Glee.

No, not the tv-show.

Yesterday I got halfway to thirty. As a consolation prize, I received a Chekov action figure.

This is Chekov, Pavel Andreievich. He is "sewenteen" and adorable.



This is the action figure. Or a picture of someone else's, at least. Not a perfect likeness, but good enough.



It brings me great joy.

Ramblings.

It has been a while since I have visited the hypothetical plane of existence. Hello. I have many topics on which I want to touch tonight. The first is one I didn't expect to be addressing.

Charlie St. Cloud.



It was actually a surprisingly good movie. The plot was good, I thought, and it kept me interested. He was adorable, devoted, and cute. Adorable and cute do cover two different aspects, by the way. Adorable is more personality, general likability, cute is physically "cute." He fit both. I liked the movie, it was fun to watch with my dear friend Watson.

Secondly, White Collar. Again.



This is one topic I never tire of. Ever. The new episode tomorrow looks highly promising; Neal impersonates an assassin, which definitely is not him. He's nice. So far this season has been good, but they have this sort of air of invincibility built up that is getting a tad monotonous. Also, Neal needs a real grieving moment. Not sobbing or breaking stuff, but just... we need to see how he's feeling inside; the cracks in the facade are there, we see glimpses occasionally, but the facade needs to drop completely. Just for a moment.

Thirdly, sort of related to White Collar, but partially just related to my ever-decreasing amount of sanity.

I hallucinate occasionally. Well, more than occasionally. But it's nothing concerning, no alien bugs crawling on car windshields, and no pink elephants. But the other day it was very, very odd, and much more vivid than it typically is. I'm attributing it to tiredness, an overactive (and unstable) mental state, and chocolate. I was just about to go to sleep, when I saw this strange scene play out in front of me. It was short and very detailed.

I'm concerned for my mind.

Ah. Fourthly. Artemis Fowl.

I had NO IDEA that the seventh book came out already. It has not been very long. I. need. to read it.

It is called Artemis Fowl and the Atlantis Complex.




The second picture is the "New" type of cover art. The first is the traditional variety. I much prefer the first, but sadly, they don't have that at my local friendly book store. This saddens me greatly. I am, however, extremely excited to read it. It sounds very exciting, and I love Artemis Fowl. I need to add him to Team Amazing, I think. I must consult Watson.

Lastly, and this is shorter, I must speak on the topic of mutual. I have mutual tomorrow at seven (which, as always, conflicts with WCN, but that is alright). It promises to be very fun, but also holds possibilities of... interesting moments. It could go either way, and we will just have to see. I thank you, hypothetical plane of existence, for hosting my ramblings.

Camp.

I spent today getting ready for camp. I leave tomorrow.



This proves that while procrastination is not a good idea, it can be worked around. I am all done with all my pre-camp tasks. Finally. And now I need to write and eat chocolate. We'll see where that goes.

But anyway, on the subject of camp. It sounds like it will be fun.

Pros:
We'll get to do all kinds of fun stuff.
My awesome buddies will be there!
I have lots of chocolate to eat while there.
It will give me a chance to get out of the house for a while.
We will have campfires.
My cute cousin is going for the first time, so we will see her.
There will be stargazing time.
I have awesome glowsticks.

Cons:
I am going to miss watching White Collar the night it airs.
I am going to have to wear sunblock. I hate sunblock.
There will likely be time spent in the lake. This one could go either way.
I don't know how much I'll see of my ... extra friend.
I am going to miss watching White Collar the night it airs.

So, there are definitely more pros. I'm super psyched for it, it'll be great fun. I won't be here all week, but I'm sure we'll have lots of ponderficating to do when I get back. See you then!

I concur.

As my dear friend Crazy Cookie has mentioned, Comic Con 2010 is in San Diego right now.

So. Jealous.

I wish I could go. Psych, White Collar, Star Trek, Castle, TBBT... ah, sounds so fun. All the people there wouldn't be, though. Crowds and I don't always get along well. But it sounds amazing/awesome nonetheless.

The pictures I found have only increased my pain.







Last, but by no means least, this one is just for you, Crazy Cookie.



I love it! I laughed madly when I saw it, hope you like it too.

Switching topics rapidly, we've discovered yet another reason to be worried for my mental health/physical coordination. Last night, I was walking out on our back porch to go sit in the grass with my family. I weaved through a veritable minefield of toys, bikes, empty boxes, and trash cans. Without any difficulties, I made it to the steps. They were completely free of debris, mind you. I took one step up...

And then I tripped. Resulting from the Fall of Fun was is a strangely colored bruise/scrape on my left leg. It's wonderful. The sad thing is is that this happens a lot. I trip on nothing at all, but can manage obstacles just fine. Hm.

The night was actually quite nice in spite of this. I stayed outside long after my family went in, and brought the laptop out for a while to write. The campfire was still going, the moon was out, it was nicely cooled down. Super fun. I wrote a lot and had a nice conversation with my ... friend.

At about one a.m. I finally went inside. Grudgingly.

The only thing that could've made the night better?

Rain.



I love rain. Love, love, love it. We don't get enough here. I especially love when it gets the pavement and grass all wet and that special rain smell goes all over. It's fabulous. Rain puts me in a writing mood.

Maybe nature will decide to love me and give me a storm soon.

Or, at least, we can hope.

Happy Friday.

Isn't it lovely? It just started, but something in the air tells me it's going to be a good day.

I would like to say, I appreciate it when my favorite tv-shows are clean. Psych did an awful job of that last season, but they seem to be shaping up so far. The episode on Wednesday was cute and made me laugh. We'll hope they continue their upward motion on the cleanliness scale.



On a completely unrelated note, I discovered something that gives me much cause for ponderfication: If I write something late enough at night, I have no memory of it the next morning. I woke up this morning to find another nearly thousand words written in my story, but I have no recollection whatsoever of writing them. This causes me great concern.