Saturday, January 28, 2012

Sharing Is Not Okay Anymore

I've decided that my siblings are no longer allowed to use the family computer. We all share a laptop, and we have Netflix.
My brother always shuts the computer during his movies, making the computer completely freeze up.
Both of my brothers download a bunch of crap that screws up the computer even more. My dad is a computer technician, so it's all good and he can fix it. But it takes DAYS to get rid rid of everything.
Another thing is that they're boys, so they are gross. They get all kinds of gunk on the screen and the keys and the track pad (mouse thingy for laptops). The worst is when they get spit on the screen and just smear it. Because then IT DOESN'T COME OFF.
And then there's my sister. You know, EYEBALLS! So she opens 5 million tabs and windows so she doesn't forget ANYTHING. And then we come to all the popups. Anything and everything from 'Hot Singles in Your Area' to 'You are today's hundredth visitor! Claim your free iPad now!' and even 'Hot Girls live on cam'.
Ew.
On top of all of that, they drop my baby constantly. I call the laptop 'my baby' because it's a Mac and I love it.
They have broken 1 power adapter, they cut another one in half. The plug part of our current one is completely messed up.

So I've decided the laptop is now only for me, my mom, and my dad.
Sharing is NOT for caring.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Who thought this was a good idea?

Today in gym class, we had a substitute.
Now, don't get me wrong, my school hires some wackjob substitutes. But I'll talk aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaall about that. In another post.
But I digress.
There was nothing wrong with the sub we had, he's actually the entire grade's favorite.
It's the game we played. I'm gonna warn you, it has danger in the name. Ready?
Swatball.
How does one play Swatball, you might ask?
Here. Lemme esplain.
There's this ball. Its similar to a volleyball but bigger and lighter. The goals are two walls, each protected by a line of players. Let's get into the technicalities of this wonderful game.
The actual procedure is what you get from dodgeball+soccer-feet+volleyball+DEATH.
As the name entails, you swat the ball. Said ball is full of air and goes FLYING across the gymnasium, where it then ricochets off the wall... then the ceiling... then the ground.... etc. It continues like that until someone else hits it.
I, being uncoordinated, was a magnet for the ball. It whizzed over my head, back and forth, eight times in a row. By the end of the game, 1 person's glasses were broken, 2 fingers were sprained, another got a nosebleed, and I got 4 consecutive swatballs to the face.
You can definitely call me Cinderella, because I kept trying to run away from the ball. But one thing's for sure: THE BALL KEPT FOLLOWING ME.

So I have only one question.
The name should have been a tip off.
Who the hell thought this was a good idea?

Special Milk

I am lactose intolerant. I drink soymilk. If at all possible, Silk is my first choice. So that's what my mom got at the grocery store this week. It was sitting in the fridge this morning when my sister came down for breakfast:
 Grace: Amme, why do you drink your **finger quotes** 'Special' milk?
 Me: Because I'm lactose intolerant. Milk makes me gassy.
 G: Ooooooh is that because you ate so much cheese?
 M: Um..... no. That's what made it so you went 3 days without pooping.
 G: Oh, right! I remember that! Um was it because you ate 2 cans of beans every day?
 M: The hell? When did I ever do that?!?!?!
 G: I don't know! I JUST WANT ANSWERS! **clutching face**  EYEBALLS!





And at about that point, my neighbor knocked on the door to tell me the bus was down the road and I better get my ass in gear.
NOTE: My 10 year old sister has ADD ( Attention Deficit Disorder), and although this conversation took place before she took her pill, I still don't know what happened. I think maybe she had taken some other pills as well.......

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

How The Bathroom Works

As a dancer in a studio company, I spend most of my time at the studio.
All you dancers out there know what it's like: You eat, nap, work, and hang with friends there. I have morning classes, so I pretty much run around in my pajamas before class; derping around and whatnot. I even babysit there. It's safe to say I practically live there, as a home away from home.
 But the age of dancers there range from 2 to 20.
 And 8 year olds don't understand the basic concepts of using the bathroom.
So here's a rough outline of how it's supposed to work:
1) You go up to the bathroom door and knock.
2) If you hear, "Somebody's in here", you walk away and wait.

 This is how they think it works:
1) If one bathroom is occupied and the other is empty, you go to the occupied one first.
2) Knock. Listen.
3) Hear nothing. Proceed to try and open the door.
4) Upon finding the door is locked, you keep trying to open it.
5) Ignoring all shouts of "OH MY GOSH SOMEONE'S IN HERE!", you then proceed to unlock the aforementioned door with your fingernail.
6) When you walk in on a girl trying to get changed who is now screaming at you, just stand there staring.
7) Run away, leaving said door opened to the entire studio.


 So thank you. I really love that.





The best part is that the 2 year olds get it.

Oh Look I Made a Blog.

MOMMY MOMMY LOOK WHAT I MADE!
That's great hon'....... what is it?
 A blog!
 A what?
 A blog! It's where I tell people about my strange life, teach them how to do stuff, and tell stooooories!

 And here we are. My first blog post.
 I can't honestly say that I will be updating consistently. A life as strange as mine is quite busy, thus the ensuing insanity.
 XOXO,
               Amme