Amelia the Zombie

Ooops, first name.

I haven't slept for more than four hours a night since I started high school.

Really.

I have permanent dark circles under my eyes.

Yuck, and my skin is even paler than usual.

Guess I look like a sexy chubby white vampire babe.

I have been a lazy-ass blogger.

A really lazy one.

I got this assignment in Creative Writing; What I Want My Words to do to You.

I like using gorgeous metaphors, and these are some of my favorite lines;

I want my words to awake something deep and forgotten, like a dollar in a an old pair of jeans or the puzzle piece beneath the couch.

I want them to deglaze your rhinestone eyes and pop the bubble around your mouth.

I want my words to sink you and fill your mouth with grit, and I want them to raise you up, till you catch stars like fireflies and kiss the clouds.

Guess Who Grew Some Metaphorical Testicles?

I played guitar and sang at Coffeehouse tonight. I was decent, I was cheered for, and I was complimented by people I never expected to compliment me.

I love being onstage, but singing makes me want to vomit.

A person I know wrote two poems, and a short story, and she read them, and I loved them, but I'm too much of a pansy to say that to her face.

All in all, pretty good day. We also got cable, and my dad made pizza.

Awesome.

Sleepover tomorrow with my ex-bestfriend and Youthgroup on Sunday morning, then full day of boyfriend. Life's pretty good, I just never get to sleep.

Trophy Husbands and Halloween

I love Halloween more than anything.

Seriously.

I would sell my soul to have Halloween once a month. Any takers?

You are Never too Old for Halloween.

It's my favorite holiday, more than anything.

Really.

Zombie Bride and Groom with Boyfriend.

I LOVE HALLOWEEN.

That is all.

Zombie Boyfriends FTW.

That is all.

I Wanted to Write a Poem

I wanted to write a poem

About butterflies in stomachs

And clasped hands

And details only I notice

I planned out all the metaphors

And similes

And beautiful language

That flows like water

But when I sat down to write

Your beautiful poem

I lost all the words

And all the similes

And metaphors

And everything I had so carefully planned

To take your breath away

I had to wing it.

And this is what I have to offer

Words that other people use

But still mean the world between you and I;

I love you.

Dammit, I missed the boobies.

Have you ever seen Bram Stoker's Dracula? Jesus Christ.

We had a movie night for play practice yesterday because we had today off, and we had a vampire movie marathon.

SO MUCH SEX.

And breasts.

And weird kinky werewolf sex.

We had to cover my friend's eyes, and I cheered every time there was a boobie.

Most epic play rehearsal ever.

High school is definitely not middle school.

Bloooooooggiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnngggggg.

Oh. That's kinda sad.

Have you ever made like insta-friends? That you automatically think are like, the shit?

And then lose them over the shitty thing?

Yep. That's what happened to me.

It sucks.

Really bad.

And nothing else has happened.

Except first trumpet is still a prick.

Another Fiddly Little Poem. Thing.

Love songs suck.

So do cheesy metaphors

and flower petals

and rotten cliches

that stick in your teeth.

So do

expensive necklaces

and late night phone calls

and dramatic tears

and kisses in the rain.

But I won't lie,

I love every

single

nauseating thing

you do.

And I just thought you should know.

Agh.

I've been violently ill for like, four days. And by violently I mean projectile vomiting, and pulling a muscle in my stomach from puking so much.

And once I had successfully gotten food out of my system I got to sit on the edge of the tub and dry heave bile for hours.

Gross.

That was the worst stomach virus I have ever had, in my life.

And it also sucked, because I missed Jazz and Java (free coffee and combo plays on Friday mornings) school pictures, my creative writing elective (which I really like), and a jam session that combo was hosting on Friday night.

Big ball of blow.

Seriously.

Because that was going to be awesome, and I really wanted to go. That's not just me being a huge band loser.

But I'm a Unitarian Universalist Humanist. Uhm. It's confusing. Look up Unitarian Universalist because I can't explain it in anything less than an essay, but a humanist is someone who believes that you don't need a higher power to govern what's right and wrong; you should be able to figure that out for yourself.

But we had a lock-in at my church, for youth group. We just ate junk food and played ghost in the graveyard all night, and it was pretty sweet. And we got strawberry shortcake for breakfast.

AWESOME.

Boyfriend went, and I fell asleep on him during the movie, and he didn't shove me off or anything. He's so sweet.

We watched the movie Seven Pounds, and even though I missed the ending Boyfriend told me, and I bawled my eyes out.

Seriously.

Anyway, that's it.

I Miss My Old Classes.

I got my schedule fucked around with due to the super shitty thing, and I miss the classes I had before. I still have all the same classes, with the exception of being bumped up to honor's American history, but at way different hours.

I don't like it.

Before my classes were pretty small, but all my new classes are over crowded and nastily loud.

It sucks.

And I miss my middle school.

Especially writing. Cough cough.

American lit. is all about grammar. Like finding prepositional phrases. I HATE PREPOSITIONAL PHRASES. I hate fiddly grammar and I hate writing essays and I swear to god that's all we've done since school started.

It sucks, so bad.

I want to go back to middle school, but only for English. EH, take me back?(:

Ruth's Best

This is a short poem based on the name of a color swatch; Ruth's Best. It was dark, faded cranberry.

Ruth's Best, laid out on the bed, all vintage lace and yellowed pearls

Ruth's best, all faded and fading, floral prints that Nobody wears

anymore

Ruth's skin, sallow and white,

And lined with the worries of too many years

Ruth's hair, used to be thick, auburn, voluptuous,

And is now thinning, and gray, and pulled back with clasps

Ruth's locket, old rose gold,

Now faded to bronze and tarnish

Filled with a photo of she and Him,

When they were young and beautiful

Ruth's Victrola

that she could never let go of

Warbles cherubic choirs

And deep, throaty soul

From atop her vanity with a broken mirror

Ruth pulls on her faded best

and beige pumps that rub her heels

But make her feel

Like dancing

Ruth sings softly in an

old cracked voice,

Arms wide in an embrace

Feet shuffling to the rhythms of

the Greats

Her breath catches as she catches

the scent, of chewing tobacco

and that Certain Cologne

of Him

as she dances

The world fades away,

as she cradles his blazer

and remembers

Remembers

Remembers

As her eyes close

And her breath fades

Away

to

Nothing.

Meh.

I should sleep more.

I slept for four hours today, curled up with Boyfriend. I only sleep well when I'm with him.

We watched live music and ate rice crispie bars and drank raspberry iced tea, and I put his can's pulltab on my necklace.

My necklace, at this point, has the original pendant, which is a bronze lotus, a pink pull tab from his iced tea, a silver one from a Pepsi we shared, and a kiss token from at least a year ago.

I have a star, made of a Hershey's kiss wrapper he gave me, applied to the body of my guitar with clear nail polish.

I don't have much, but what I do have means a hell of a lot.

Awkward Phone Conversations and Generic Frosted Mini-Wheats

Mmmmmm. Awkward.

I've been having a Mythbuster's marathon so I don't have to think.

My day was awesome besides one, disgusting, weak, horrible, shitty thing, which I will not talk about because it was the worst experience of my life.

Oh my god I love Mythbusters. And JP. She's a close second to Mythbuters :P But only just.

She has been fantastic, regarding the horrible, shitty thing. So I just want to say, even though I'm awful at feelings, that it meant the world, seriously. And that I will probably take her up on the midnight call.

So thank you for being an awesome-pants.

My worst grade is a C, which is a big deal for me :) which means I'm beginning to suck less, and I am not failing a single class.

And I'm writing a lot more.

And painting, and playing more music, and doing what I love.

And despite the horrible, shitty thing, I'm pretty damn happy.

I Wish

That I were short

and slim

With long,

dark hair

that smelled like almonds

That I were average,

and unexceptional,

in every

single

Way.

The Facts

I am six feet tall

and too many feet wide

I cannot paint my own nails,

and I have never had a manicure

I have short hair,

in a color I hate

I play too many instruments

and collect marbles and the pull tabs

off soda cans

I like the smell of sharpies,

and gasoline, and rain,

and grass

I collect memories,

and sift through them,

only remembering prize specimens

I watch PBS

when I'm home alone

I am not a virgin,

and I haven't been for a long time,

for better or for worse

I smell like tea,

and roses, and cat pee,

and coffee, and freshly baked bread

My feet are bigger than Boyfriend's,

and twice as ugly

I'm mediocre at a lot of things,

and talented at nothing.

Oh Broken Hearted Hoover Fixer Sucker Guy

I just spilled blue nail polish all over my nasty white carpet. Shit. Looks better though :)

Promised myself I'd blog daily and I'm afraid that I'll end up exclusively bitching about school. Oops, language.

My basecamp teacher and play director called Boyfriend's brother my brother in law, and I turned a million different shades of red.

Me, playing a deeply sexy vampire vixen in the play, get to lick the side of Boyfriend's face. Apparently I get to be the dirtiest because we're dating. "Hey mum! Guess what! I went to third base with Boyfriend on stage!"

Maybe I should tell my family not to come.

But I love him to death, even though there are now two other guys professing their love and limitless supplies of candy corn to me.

I'm Boyfriend's till he breaks up with me.

And till then I'm just a sucker, of a guy.(:

And I Just Realized That My Last Update Had Nothing to do with the Title

I rode the bus home today, and I had Skittles and a bloody nose.

I saw a man with longer fingernails than mine, with three or four glittery rings, and eyeliner.

And I saw a man with dreadlocks that smelled like pot.

Skittles and Bloody Noses and Angst, Angst, Angst.

You meet really awesome people in high school, but you also meet complete fuck heads, that make your brain want to explode.

First trumpeter.

Agh.

AGGGHHHHH.

But other than him, high school is great, I'm in the play (with a tiny role, STILL COUNTS) and knowledge bowl, and jazz combo. And I've met some awesome people, and I'm nearly socially accepted. Which is pretty sweet.

And I love Boyfriend, much to the nausea of everyone who's friends with me on Facebook. It's not my fault we're so damn adorable!

We hung out yesterday, and it was wonderful. We went to the flammable fort, except we couldn't find matches. Ah well.

Lovin' The Fallopian Way

I just thought it'd be great to have that as a title. But this post is dedicated to the writer of that blog, and is also my new favorite poet of all time. Take note, JP.

I got into the creative writing elective at my high school, and right now we're working on poetry.

This is my 'I am From' poem. I really like these.

I am from places where the grass reaches past your knees and water rises above your head.

I am from yellow linoleum in an old, old house on the corner of a busy street.

I am from smooth round pebbles and chipped nail polish, and feelings that no one can name.

I am from indescribable love and indescribable loss.

I am from the moment before dawn and the moment right after dark.

I am from the smell of Halloween and stage make up, and the rustle of the curtains before they open.

I am from socks with holes in the toes and ripped Converse that you can't let go of.

I am from crappy blue ballpoint ink and forgotten puzzle pieces.

I am from pieces of broken mirror and necklaces hung with pull tabs and bottle caps.

I am from sentimental love notes slipped into lockers and kisses stolen in hallways.

I am from the sound of the waves around you and stones skipped into the sea.

I am from lies and half truths told in darkness and forgotten in daylight.

I am from sand between your toes and the wind in your hair.

I am from the sound of a pen on paper.

Got Into Dracula

Barely, because I don't have a single line.

Boyfriend has a lead part and has to pretend to be madly in love with a senior.

Today I found out that I get really, really nastily jealous if he says the phrases 'darling, soulmate, sweetheart, or I love you' to anyone besides me, even if he doesn't mean it.

I'm not kidding; it really makes me want to cry.

Oh dear.

OH MY GOD I LOVE CORGIS :D :D :D :D

So I'm just going to post links to a bunch of super cute pictures :)

http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&global=1&q=corgi+puppy#/d1ocjuz

http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&global=1&q=corgi+puppy#/d2gcw3n

http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&global=1&q=corgi+puppy#/d15j7ac

http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&q=corgi#/d16euwv

AHHHHHH DIES OF CUTENESS :D :D :D :D :D

My Eyes Hurt and My Face Might Fall Off

I'm been playing trumpet for four days a week, 2 hours straight on three of those days. My mouth and cheeks are swollen and it hurts to talk.

It's like trumpet bootcamp for the rest of the year.

It's awful.

I auditioned for Dracula on Wednesday, which has like 4 girl parts. I seriously acted my ass off and actually earned myself a compliment from a senior, who's actually going to college to be an actress.

I probably won't get in, because there's a group of three or four senior girls that the director absolutely adores, but it was fun, and there's always next play.

At least I've earned someone's respect.

And my American Lit. teacher absolutely despises me, and I can't figure out why. I complete all my assignments, pay attention in class, and participate, but I still can't shake the feeling that she loathes me. Blegh.

I'm so tired.

*Does Victory Dance*

At my high school, there's a jazz combo that meets in the mornings. It's composed of the elite musical talent of my high school, and there are no freshman. Well, there's one.

ME!!!!!!!!!!!

Nobody else is going to care but this is a fucking huge deal :D

I'm also in Knowledge Bowl, and trying out for the play Dracula next Wednesday. Maybe high school isn't so bad after all :)

I'm a Freshman

With glasses. Blegh.

I wish I had an older sibling that was already popular at my high school, like Boyfriend does.

I don't want to have to make a name for myself all over again, like proving that I'm smart. I have glasses, teachers should just look at me and know that I'm intelligent. Grrr. And now I'm not even the artsy kid, because we were assigned classes and I got chamber ensemble, not art, so nobody knows how great I am. (Insert shameless self promotion) But I'm mostly kidding.

And the first trumpet in my chamber ensemble is a Senior, so he thinks I'm musically impaired. He literally took my music and wrote in all the note names and circled dynamics and crescendos. Prick.

But I guess I haven't been at school long enough to decide whether I like it or not yet, so I'm not really in the position to hate it yet.

Boyfriend turned fifteen yesterday, and his family threw him a massive party at a pizza place he loves, and it was an absolute blast :)

He has the cutest cousins in the world.

And sorry for being a blogging bum lately, nothing has happened.

I've Dyed My Hair as an Act of Rebellion.

My bangs are purple and so is most of my forehead. Still pretty sweet.

Nothing else of note has happened.

Glasses

I'm getting them. Fail on my part. Mostly just for reading but they help a lot, it's still awful for my ego.

And I only got 3 out of 5 of the advanced classes they have at the high school I'm starting.

We didn't pick the classes, we were assigned them. I have honors English, geometry, and Spanish 2.

I didn't get honors History or honors Biology, and I don't know how you could make either advanced. I am so confused.

And I also don't have base camp (?) with Boyfriend, or a single actual class together, which is pretty much 85% of the reason I chose to go to this particular high school.

This is going to blow.

Oh My God Teenage Angst and Hickies

Gross right?

And is it weird that no one should be able to kiss or hug or cuddle or do anything like that besides Boyfriend and I?

Because I think it's weird that Boyfriend's Brother can walk in on Boyfriend and I cuddling and watching a movie, in nothing but boxers, scratch his ass, then walk back out.

And then hear him having loud unabashed sex with his girlfriend like two hours later.

I understand that at this point I just sort of blend in at Boyfriend's house but c'mon, really, a little dignity? It's not like G walks around with nothing on when Boyfriend's over. Well...

Anyway, hickies are gross, like monumentally, and that's all I'm gonna say about that.

It rained today, and I was going to make Boyfriend go swimming with me, but the rain ruined it.

Stupid rain.

Yeah, I don't really have anything else to say.

Kittens and iPhones and Flammable Forts

Boyfriend came back last Saturday :) Two weeks isn't a long time compared to five months, but it still sucked.

Anywhoo, I got an iPhone on Friday, so now I'm an iPhone person, which is both awful and awesome at the same time. Because iPhones are freaking sweet, not gonna lie, but it's still gross that I have one. And I didn't get the kind that just came out, I got the $100 version, which makes me marginally less disgusting.

My friend went to see her family in Texas and she found a kitten on the side of the road, and she was going to give it to me. But, turns out her family had to pay like a bajillion bucks to get it de-wormed, and her mum got attached to it, and so they kept it. Which was really disappointing because it was like three weeks old and tiny and fuzzy and black and beyond cute. So when Boyfriend came over I was extremely depressed but still having an awesome time with my iPhone, so we bought S'mores Poptarts and I ate my deliciously sugary feelings.

When Boyfriend came over we went to the woods and we decided to build a fort. Which is crazy awesome, but also involved me lifting moldy logs for an hour and a half. But now it's built, and it's our own little spot, which is crazy adorable. We carved our initials in a birch tree nearby, and while I was making the walls sturdier he carved a heart around them and wrote 'always' underneath it. Awweeeeeeee. But to get to the flammable part, we have like a million little candles all around the inside that we light when we go there, which probably isn't intelligent at all but it's really, really, horrifically romantic. :)

And Boyfriend bought me a 'Viva la evolucion!' sticker (with an ape on it), a Niagara Falls coffee mug, and a giant Geico Gecko figurine while he was on his trip. Awesome, right?

He also gave me a vase full of wildflowers when I picked him up.

Guilty Pleasures (Yay for Crappy Psuedo-Posts)

My posts are turning into unorganized lists because I don't have a life during the summer and Boyfriend's still gone.

Playing music really loud, really really really loud, and screaming the lyrics.

Futurama.

Red lipstick and sixties eyeliner.

Cellphones.

Technology.

Florence and the Machine.

Stumbleupon.

Really long hugs that seem like they'll never end.

Expensive headphones.

Humming the bass line.

Pulling all nighters and watching the sunrise.

Cooking.

Netflix.

PBS. Don't laugh at me.

Nail polish.

Lots of books.

Cheesy romance novels that I'm embarrassed to own.

Baking.

Fine tip sharpies.

Gorgeous music videos.

And Converse.

I Hate People Who Are Better at Crap Than Me

I want to be the best at something for once.

I hate going on youtube and seeing people that are better than me, and I hate artists that are better than me, and I hate writers that are more talented than I am.

Not that I like actually hate the people, I just hate the fact that I'm not as awesome as they are.

I just want to be like, you should suck more, so I can look more awesome. Because I'm too lazy to actually improve myself so I'm going to bring other people down to below me.

I also wish that I was more original. I can't think of anything new, ever. Everything's recycled, or me trying to imitate someone else.

AGH. So all of you try and be less amazing so I can feel better about myself.

I Have a Youtube.

It's not vlogging or anything, sorry to disappoint. It's me playing guitar, singing, and making weird faces.

It's pretty freaking sweet.

But not really.

And the sound quality is crap because Mac microphones are terrible.

Oh crap yeah and my username is obsessedwithjazz. The name is from two years ago, don't judge me.

Things That Make Me Uncomfortable

That definition pretty much describes everything that exists.

Talking: I'm horrifically shy. When I want to say something I usually agonize over it for like twenty minutes before I say it. I only talk to my friends because when I don't they think I'm sulking.

Making Friends: Oh my god. I can't talk to people I don't know. I just freeze up and my voice cracks up and conversation fizzles after a few awkward comments about the weather.

Talking to Boyfriend's Family: AAAAHHHHHHH. Especially family dinners, when Boyfriend's Brother's Girlfriend is there. She's extremely talkative and charming and attractive and I look thoroughly inadequate compared to her while I'm perching awkwardly and refusing to speak. Blech.

Drawing Pictures of People: Just don't ask me. I'm bound to offend you. I can't make you unattractive, but in some cases I make you too attractive and then it doesn't look like you. So much pressure that ends in definite disappointment.

Playing Guitar/Singing in Front of People: I hate being criticized. It's really bad for my ego. And I like singing and playing guitar for fun but in front of people I freeze up and want to vomit.

People Who Get REALLY into the Music They're Playing/Listening To: Just awkward. Especially when it's men in their forties who look like they're having a personal moment.

People Reading my Writing: Ironic I have a blog. But when I write something weird I think when people read it they think I need therapy or something, and I'm not fucked up, I promise.

Mostly.

Oh My God Baby Rabbits.

Oh my god baby rabbits.

They are THE cutest things on the planet, including kittens and puppies and human babies and fire (according to Boyfriend).

They're tiny, as demonstrated by the picture of my dad holding two of them. I took the picture. The one on the left is named Yeti, because it's the runt, and the one on the right is named Oatis, after Boyfriend's dog.

My neighbors found these and two others in their woodpile, abandoned by their mum. They dug a burrow for them and sat around for a while, waiting for the mum rabbit to show up.

Then the neighbors brought them over and I fell in love.

My favorite was named Wendell, who had really big ears and no white splotch. (The other rabbit's name was Milo, which has no correlation with the fact that one of the others was named Oatis.)

Today I spent five hours in the back yard cuddling them, and tomorrow my neighbors are bringing them to an animal shelter.

My heart has been broken.

I have literally been crying and eating ice cream for like fifteen minutes. This is tragic, and Boyfriend's visiting his grandparents like five hundred miles away.

Boyfriend is gone and the bunnies are leaving and I am a massive, massive drama queen.

*Sigh.*

'Fetching Profile Picture'

I just changed my profile picture on my blog, and when I clicked update there was a little icon of the page loading with the phrase 'Fetching Profile Picture.'

Damn right it's a fetching profile picture.

Other than that I didn't really have anything to say.

Klondike Bars and Heavy Metal

or, My Not So Subtle E. E. Cummings Fetish, or Sun Burn and Capos, or Painting Rainbows on the Morbidly Obese.

It's a party right?

I went to the Boyfriend's house yesterday and we went to the store, with his older brother driving. We bought Klondike Bars and listened to heavy metal. That is, incidentally, the first time I have ever eaten a Klondike Bar. Why are they so delicious? They're made of ground up kittens.

I've fallen in love with E. E. Cummings. Especially his poem, 'i carry your heart with me'. I want it tattooed. I love it. A lot. I wish I was that talented.

Boyfriend won't take me seriously because he has a funny name.

Crap, I totally forgot to blog about my issues with capos.

This is a capo -> http://www.johnnykeys.com/images/lost_and_found/capo.gif

It changes the key of the song you're playing (on guitar) up or down.

And that's actually the one I just got today. But before I got this one, I was constantly losing my old one. Which was really, really shitty. Like ten bucks at Target and sponsored by boy bands shitty. But it was cheap and I needed one really badly.

I lost the thing maybe four, five times a week. It was absolutely impossible to keep track of, and each time I'd lose it I'd have a minor melt down because most of the songs I play require it.

But I brought my guitar (and old shitty capo) to Boyfriend's house a couple of days ago, and we went to the local beach. And I forgot it there.

I had to spend four painful days capo-less.

But today I got a new one which sucks less, so maybe it was fortunate after all.

Today I also had to go to my mum's work picnic and paint faces, which was absolutely miserable. I spent five and a half hours sitting outside painting the cheeks of morbidly obese people in wheel chairs on respirators. My mum works in health care.

Now I'm extraordinarily sunburned. It's quite impressive.

But because I suffered, I got a slushy coffee drink with an unmentionable amount of calories and a new capo. Which rocks.

This is Gonna Get Mushy.

I mean it. It may be nauseating. Seriously. If you're that intent on reading this then prepare a garbage can and go purchase saltines and ginger ale.

I love Boyfriend. A lot. We've been together for over a year. Fourteen months yesterday actually.

He puts up with all of my crap. And there's a lot of it.

He's really supportive, all the time. I'll be fucking around on guitar and being awful and he'll applaud and say I'm brilliant. He has most of my paintings and every story I write he reads, then raves over.

He texts me good morning every single day, and goodnight every single night.

He's a dork with me.

He's musical, and horribly tone deaf, and it's amazing.

He says I love you first.

He makes moments, and then he ruins them.

He always makes me smile, and I mean always.

He likes old cheesy movies.

He's polite, he opens doors for me.

He laughs really, really loudly.

He loves awful jokes.

He has horribly red hair.

He holds my hand in public.

He shows me off.

He calls me beautiful.

He's absolutely convinced that we'll be together longer than eternity. I have to say I'll agree.

I Broke My Toe Yesterday.

Sounds like a party right?

I was at the boyfriend's house last night, (I'm always at his house) and I decided that we should go swimming for like, the fifth time that day. I have yet to discover why he's dating me, even I piss myself off.

And he hates swimming. Like, he'll go into his knees and then sit on shore and watch me splash around like an overweight otter. Yay for metaphors! Or similes. Or whichever, I was always a bit hazy on which was which. But doesn't the phrase overweight otter just put an awful picture in your head? It looks about as bad as it sounds.

But anyway, while I was trying to pull boyfriend into the 30 degree water for like the eight hundreth time I slipped on the nasty slime-y whatever that covers extraordinarily pointy rocks at the bottom of the lake. I then got the middle toe of my left foot caught between two minor boulders and fell backwards and was submerged in murky water up to my eyebrows.

Which was deeply unpleasant, incidentally.

And I had to limp all the way back to his house in 3 dollar flip flops, in a soaked sundress. Which is like 3 miles away from the beach.

But the same day he happened to be having a family reunion which he conveniently forgot to tell me about. Hmm.

So I was introduced to great uncles twice removed and his great aunt Mildred, or whomever, in soaking clothes and a toe that had grown to twice its natural size. Sexy, right?

But it was adorable when Boyfriend's two little cousins, ages 6 and 3, ran in and gave him a huge hug, then saw me and gave me a bigger hug than they gave him.

Because I'm awesome.

And I'm mostly kidding.

But anyway, when I got home that night my dad (a male nurse, don't laugh, it's awful, I know) prodded my toe a couple of times and told me it was broken. (I could have surmised this from the interesting purplish color and the fact that it was now about as big as my big toe and throbbing mercilessly.)

He then told me to take a couple of ibruprofen and suck it up.

And that, my friends, is why America has the best healthcare in the world.

And you know what the worst part is? This is my first broken bone. What a rip off.

Blue's a Food Group, Right?

I went to Despicable Me today with The Boyfriend, and it was absolutely fantastic. Even though I'm not a little kid anymore I reserve the right to act like one. We had a Skittle fight (technically Reeses Pieces vs. Skittles) before the show started, much to the chagrin of the surrounding parents, but I thought I was going to die laughing.

I got a blue icee. Screw the diet, bumming around by the lake with a giant blue slushy is one of the best things in the world.

I brought up the brilliant idea that we should go "wading", so I hiked up my leggings and he rolled up his jeans and we exposed our glowing legs.

He went in to just above his ankles and I ended up soaking wet, and it was fantastic.

And to his credit, he dealt with my whining about being soaked and bought me another icee.

The End

The next night we were supposed to go camping again at a National Park near Bozeman, Montana, but my father finally broke down and let us stay in a hotel, because there was another thoroughly nasty front rolling through.

Bozeman is exactly like the town I live in.

It's a college town, extremely liberal, and has lots of funky stores. Nasty, I just said funky.

Anyway, there was this cute little jewelry store in the downtown area, run by a cute little old man and his son. It was populated by lots of blown glass, two cats, and a dog.

One cat had three legs and the other had a third of a tail.

I got a cool necklace.

I bought a bunch of books and then we ate.

And then we drove home. 18 hours.

The End.

Yellowstone (the Second Middle)

The same day we went on a huge hike. Like, 7 miles round trip in thin mountain air. But we saw Fairy Falls at the end of it, which, despite the girly name, is absolutely gorgeous. But crowded with tourists. Later we found out that there was a 1 mile walk from a parking lot that'd get you there as well.

That night we built a fire and started to roast marshmallows. I'm such a bad vegetarian. Mmmm. Cow hooves. But anyway, after about 20 minutes the sky turned green. Like, big freaking huge storm green. And there were massive bolts of lightning going absolutely crazy.

So we bolted into the tent, and like, 5 minutes later it started to monsoon.

Which really sucked.

But anyway, the next day we left, and got stuck in 4 traffic jams due to 2 black bears, and 2 herds of bison.

The second time we didn't see the black bear immediately, and so we pulled over to ask a guy what was going on.

"What's out there?"

"It's a baahh!" the man said, in an unfortunately thick Australian accent.

This was met with a universal "what the hell" from everyone in the car.

It took us a good 20 minutes to figure out what he meant.

Yellowstone (or the Middle)

Was beautiful, even though we had to drive 8 hours to get there. We came in at night, unsure of where our camping spot was, (literally at all), with the charming warning of the ranger at the check in that several large animals had been hit on the road we'd be traveling for the next hour, and that all campgrounds were full.

But it was absolutely gorgeous. We caught the very last of the sunset over Yellowstone lake, setting behind the mountains. The sky was a magnificent canvas of purple and pink and red and orange, streaked madly against mountains the color of twilight, and perfectly reflected in the pool below.

Thankfully we were able to find our campsite and get a tent up without a hitch, then we collapsed into bed.

In the mountains, it gets freaking cold at night.

The next day, we went to see all the attractions.

Old Faithful blows, literally and figuratively. It should be renamed Old Letdown.

But thankfully we saw another geyser erupt at the same time, admittedly a more impressive one.

The hot springs were absolutely gorgeous, so many different colors, but hydrogen sulfide permeates all of Yellowstone because of the thermal features, so pretty much everything just smells like fart.

More to follow.

The Beginning

Of the vacation that is, don't expect an 800 page novel. Jesus.

We started the vacation by going to my cousin's wedding. The fiancee's mother makes my head want to explode. I lived off orange rock candy for two days, which made squeezing into this awful dress surprisingly difficult. I was afraid I'd cough up my small intestine.

And then we drove, from 9 at night until noon the next day, through driving rain. I took a gorgeous photo; we had to drive through Minneapolis, and I put the camera on long exposure, and the picture is through the windshield. It's splatters of liquid gold dribbling down against a dark background.

At about three in the morning my dad nearly veered off the road.

And then we got to this little tiny motel in South Dakota, within driving distance to Mount Rushmore. Our room didn't have TV because it would be an extra like $15 to pay for it, and my father the stickler didn't want the extra expense.

Mount Rushmore sucks. It's patriotic and nasty. Full of chubby tourists (such as myself) taking awful pictures (like myself) of a monument to disrespect.

Lovely.

Why Vacations Suck

When your father has the mentality of a Great Depression era housewife. I just got home from this massive road trip. I live in Minnesota, fairly far up, which means that we are pretty much hours away from anything and everything. And my mother, in her infinite wisdom, decided that it would be a fantastic idea to cram four people, 2 weeks worth of clothes, 2 tents, and enough food to stock a small super market, into a five seat Subaru. Which, in hindsight, wasn't such a fantastic idea.

My father is great.

But only when he buys me Ben and Jerry's. The other day we were driving back from dropping off the boyfriend (at like 11 at night :P) and my dad and I went to the local Quickie-Mart (that sounds like a weird sex thing) and we bought Ben and Jerry's for the hell of it. And then we watched mostly-legal movies till 2 in the morning.

And then got bitched out for not cleaning when my mum found the house in shambles the next afternoon, the two of us still in bed.

I really like this background.

If I wasn't fourteen and still living under my mum's strict cleanliness regimen, this is what my room would look like. Full of big framed photos, and nicely dilapidated. My room as it is, is modern in teal and lime green, full of art supplies, two guitars and stacks and stacks of books. It's a snapshot of me in roughly 6th grade when I wasn't so deeply morbid and still thought teal was the best thing in the world.

*chews on a teal painted fingernail*

But that's beside the point. I was just too unoriginal to come up with anything else to say.