What is an adventure?

We're back. 

Baby got back. 

Back in black. 

Back to Bedlam. 

Baby back ribs. 

Back in the USSR. 

More back than the Backstreet Boys. 

We're back. 

Take this all with a grain of salt though, because the topic for this week is not exactly something I am proficient in. It's a topic about our grandest adventures. 

#IDon'tUsuallyGoOnALotOfThem

Had this been a topic three months ago, I don't think I would have even posted. Maybe I would have thought if something, but I don't think it would have been anything other than a stream of pretentious consciousness.  (See, aren't you glad I didn't continue with alliteration?)

I think that before I started thinking about adventure from a more…zoomed out perspective, I'd have said "No!"  Or something similar, then excusing myself for a lack of "adventure."

That doesn't really cut it. 

I mean, if you take your lens of life (Dear Lord help me, I sound like a self-help book.) and zoom it back in, you'll focus on things that are a little bit smaller, and in a lot of cases, this is a good thing. 

I think I was originally going to make this post about my trip to Kansas, but I'm already doing a series of posts about that over on my personal blog, attemptingadventure.tumblr.com 

So that sort of rules that option out, even though it was probably my biggest adventure to date.  

But then, there's also little adventures. 

One time last summer I went to the skate park with some friends and I would consider that an adventure, because of the little adventures it contained. 

Another "adventure" is when my friends and I would go up in the woods behind where we had our homeschool co-op and take the ladders and chairs that used to sit up there. (The woods back there have long since been cleared, but I bet the ladder and chairs are where we left them, nearly 10 years ago!) 

I think what I am trying to say, is that adventure is what you make of it, and that typing this could possibly be my biggest adventure, because I have no way of knowing where it's going to lead me. 

Thanks for reading and making this blog awesome. 

See you next week!

-Ranger

we'll be back on july 1st

-Ranger :3

My Day. 6/16/13

Hello, thoughts from people!

This week I don't think you're going to see much from us, as Nate, Elizabeth and I will be chillin' like villains in Kansas, for the One Year Adventure Novel Summer Workshop.

If you're wondering, this is the first time I have actually met them IRL, so needless to say, I am extremely excited about this, as well as being nervous. 

I'm writing this while sitting in the car, with about 8 hours of the trip remaining.    

The last time I took a car trip this long was in 2009 when I was 11, so I am not accustomed to this at all. And my legs are longer. And they hurt. 

So, to relieve my boredom and to take my mind off of the fact that my neck hurts because I thought I could carry 5 packed bags at one time, I will be logging this journey every so often here, for you to read, since I've nothing better to do. 

Yay. 

9:00am-ish  

We're leaving Nashville! 

10:00am 

Okay, so we're now in Kentucky, and will be entering Missouri soon.     Back in Tennessee, our styrofoam plates flew out of the truck, as they weren't tied down. 

That was funny and scary and depressing, as we had been on the road for less than eight minutes.

10:17am.  We've been on the road for about an hour, and not much has happened.  A kayak almost flew off of the car in front of us, and now it's behind us, so should it fly off, I will miss that potentially life changing experience.  

There's also been a lot of Wheat, Silage (The corn used to feed cattle and such.), and horses.    

It's also flattened out a lot.   In Nashville, where I live (Well, just outside of it.) we have a lot of hills, and I've really only ever been to Alabama, Mississippi, Southern KY, and Indiana, so I'm not used to a different landscape.  

You can probably tell that I don't travel a lot.   I'd like to in the future though, if I could get over the incessant need to bring absolutely everything that I have owned ever.   

10:32am 

Parents are fighting about something related to Indiana.  Not sure what though. 

I have a lot to look forward too though, so I'm not going to let it bother me.   Besides, this happens every trip, with the usual angry swerving of the truck, and the throwing of maps.    I just turn up my music and write or something so I don't have to acknowledge that it's happening.    It doesn't make me mad or anything, because it shouldn't.  I just don't like thinking about anything remotely depressing while in the car, because for some reason it magnifies it.  

11:06am 

I just saw the water tower for Paducah Kentucky after taking a short nap.      I've been filming a bit out the window here and there, for car footage if I make a video about this trip. 

11:41am

We're leaving Paducah, and I got some pictures of the world's most adorable car on the face of the planet. I'm serious. It is.    

We've only been in Illinois for about 5 minutes and it's already what you'd expect. It's really flat and uneventful.    I mean, if we happen to find a convention of corrupt politicians, I might change my mind, but as it is right now, I don't think I will. Besides, we'll be in Missouri soon anyway.   

12:09pm

I think we're still in Illinois, but I could be wrong. 

We have an incredibly hard to endure audiobook playing. My brother seems to enjoy it though, which keeps him happy enough to be a tolerable little being. 

12:53pm 

We're only halfway through the Illinois leg of this trip.    So far we've seen a prison and some corn, which I guess is better than nothing.     My camera fell on my face when I fell asleep, and that didn't feel all that great, mostly because of the fact that I almost broke my microphone.  Hopefully I didn't screw up the audio levels or anything, because I don't have enough money for another one, and I can't get one for another few weeks anyway, meaning that the audio at this workshop would then be rather…tinny. 

1:53pm

It's an hour later, and in that time we entered and are now leaving Mt. Vernon Illinois.  While there we stopped off at the world's most ghetto Hardees, with a kitchen that had a film of nastiness that was at least two inches thick.  

Thankfully my gluten intolerance, and my old pal Celiac disease came in handy, subsequently preventing  me from partaking of their sad excuse for a food like substance. 

My dad just said we'd be in Illinois for another hour.    This is going to be a long hour. Plus it's raining.  I really hope nothing bad happens, because I don't think I'd forgive myself.  I'm already feeling guilty about dragging my family halfway across the country for this trip anyway, and that certainly would not help matters at all. 

3:12pm

I went to St. Louis. 

A city with a crime rate higher than Brian Jones at his swimming pool.  

It was nothing more than a pass through, so I had just thought that there might be a rough district or two giving me reason to believe that yes, it really DOES have a high crime rate. 

When we got close to the edges of the city, with the fame inflated arch in sight, I saw nothing more than run down industrial parks and a boarded up victorian home here and there.   

Nashville, (TN, not IL) has those too, and I think every remotely large city has that. 

Here though, they just got closer together. The more we drove the more depressing it got.

We hit the bridge into downtown, and most of even the biggest "nicest" buildings were covered in vines, and the city seemed dead. Huge, but dead.   I had always thought that Nashville was little more than a few honky tonks and some other tourist-y attractions, until I took a closer look, when I found out that it was a town that was bouncing back from its time as a bit of a slum

, in order to become something good, and fresh. 

In hopes of seeing this, I put on glasses as rosy as they could possibly be, but it didn't help. 

There were rows of old houses, and old warehouses that looked like they were made at the turn of the century. Potentially beautiful homes and former businesses now home to squatters and people who could care less about the endless cycle in which they live. 

It hurt to see it as miles passed and nothing changed. The rows of houses kept on, now becoming sparser, not from their construction, but because 2 out of 3 units had been burned out or torn down.   

Finally we passed over a small hill that gave way to little post WWII salt box houses as far as the eye could see. Some strips of them looking well kept, but most looking as if they hadn't been painted or even thought about as anything more than a roof in 40 years. 

Maybe my judgement is too harsh. Maybe it's because I don't know the people that caused this. Maybe if I did, I would have a different opinion, but I didn't get to stop, so all I have is the ability to take things at face value, and to use my better judgement. 

4:06pm

We're in traffic, of people from the surrounding factories getting off of work, and I can say that the surrounding towns outside of St. Louis aren't all that scenic.  

I have to keep reminding myself that this isn't a scenic trip. 

According to the GPS, we'll be pulling into Overland Park Kansas in about 3 hours. 

5:31pm

Still on the road.  .___. 

6:16pm

Stopped off at a rest stop, and we had a nice leg stretching, bladder releasing session.  Sadly it was one of those rest stops filled with people that 

Also, if you run over a road worker in Missouri, it's only $10.000.00 but if you run over one in Illinois, it' $15.000.00

So if you need to run over a road worker in those two states, run over him/her in Missouri.  

We also keep passing this one Jeep that we think was at Bonnaroo, so if we stop again and see them, or see where they are from, I'll let you know.   

We saw them at the rest stop, but never got a chance to ask them anything. If I had remembered to, I would have, but I didn't, because that's how I roll. 

7:25pm

We passed the Jeep about an hour ago, and the tags on it said Florida, which kinda rules out Bonnaroo as a possibility for where they had been. 

Right now we have about 30 minutes to go before we get to our hotel. 

I can't wait to get out and walk around, and maybe explore the hotel a little bit, as well as have internet access. 

I guess that's when I'll post this, since I'm going to be busy all morning. 

So far everything has gone okay, and I am happy.      

I have to wonder if this is going to be the longest blog post I have ever made. Like, ever. 

7:49pm

We're in Independence Missouri, and if you've ever seen me play Oregon Trail, be it on Windows XP or on AppleSoft Basic, you'll know that driving through here is a very traumatizing experience for me. 

8:56pm

We're in Kansas!  We've made it here, and had a safe trip!   Currently off to explore the hotel!

FAREWELL!

-Ranger :3

Something that means so much to me.

There are so many things that mean a lot to me, but there are just a few things that I can never replace, and make me feel all warm inside. I'll go through the list: 1- A drawing from Sara: This is at the top of the list for a number of reasons. It was hand made, it includes the lyrics to our favorite song, and she gave it to me on the day that we had been together for 2 months. 2- My guitar: I just pour my emotions into the music. When Im happy I'll play something like Radioactive, by Imagine Dragons. And when I'm sad or angry I mostly play stuff by Disturbed, like Down With The Sickness or Asylum. 3- My bed: Any time I just want to be alone, I just shut my door and lay on my bed. That's all I got. Sorry my posts are so short, I just don't have enough time in my day to make a long post.

Life, The Door Of

I'm still unsure about this post, since [call me conceited] I like to think of my room as a little treasure cove of quirky washed-up artifacts of The Life Of Nate.  So, actually, choosing something was quite a challenge.  I was debating whether I should write something on the paper lantern I got in Belgium when I went to the Festival of Lights.  But, since I was seven then, I don't think I could do the story justice.  It's mostly just fuzzy images of a great bonfire full of dead Christmas trees and a plethora of pyromaniacs.  Or I could write about the little trinkets I have from all over the world, the statue my friends sent me from Turkey, the stuff my sister brought me from New Zealand and Belize, my bracelets from Africa and Haiti.  But most of these stories are short, or, to be honest, boring.  So I have decided to write about the favorite aspect of my bedroom.  That would be my closet door.  Which, to be fair, is not exactly 'one thing.'  I like to think of it as a mini-art gallery of The Life Of Nate.  Which is the reason I call it my Door Of Life.
I cannot rightly remember when I started the Door.  It started with a few pictures from my travels in Belgium and a picture of Medusa in gold pen my friend had drawn me [bless her].  It evolved from there, until it is what it is today - a mini reflection of me, and the people I love.  Basically, if you've ever given me anything remotely meaningful - a picture, card, token, etc - that can be stuck to a door, it's on my Door Of Life.  Poems my friends have written, quotes I love, pictures people have drawn me, post cards, photos, Doctor Who fanart.  A stamp with Audrey Hepburn on it my grandmother gave me.  The receipt I got when I purchased a print of the Mona Lisa from the Louvre.  Business cards I've collected from various places.  Magazine clippings.  The eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg preside at the top, a tribute to my favorite literary metaphor.
I think the reason I love my Door Of Life so much is because it serves as a statement of how I view life.  Life is a door, splattered with meaning and friendship and images all held together with some kind of earthly sticky tack.  But what's behind the actual Door Of Life is not my closet.  I think I find it beautiful how no two people really believe the same thing about what's beyond the Door (obviously, as a Christian, I believe it's Heaven), we all have ideas, hopes, and expectations for what we'll find there.  What we'll find behind the faded items that cover our souls.

A rather blurry image, I apologize, and it doesn't really do it justice, but I hope this gives you an idea.  Cheers!

So, yeah, that's me trying to be deep while talking about my closet door.  I realize it's probably not all that interesting to anyone, so I'm keeping it short. ;)

Hope you all have a fantastic weekend.

Ciao!

^(OvO)^           

Lilly'sday (Interesting Acquisitions)

        HELLO EVERYONE I MISSED YOU THIS PAST WEEK <3 <3 <3 I would like to apologize for for being sooo late to post, right now i am in the middle of packing up my home so that i can move. This involves many steps that are... basically taking up all my time. In between packing, saying goodbye to my friends,what feels like stalking my soon to be home, and trying to keep any fraction of my sanity, i am a little busy. in fact i am writing this post in the middle of a booth at Panera, with an iced chi tea latte, stopping to breath for the first time in two day.


So, trailing BACK to our topic, Something in our room that means a lot to us. I thought this would be really hard for me because basically everything in my life is packed up into boxes that currently reside in a storage unit. Then i realized that i hadn't packed the things that where really important to me yet.

-The stuffed elephant (Ellie) that I was given the day i was born by some family friends. That poor little dude has been through so much and i dont know how he hasnt lost any limbs.

-A Dream Catcher My friend Ellen had made for me for my 13th birthday, I had posted a DIY I really wanted to do on FB, but i never had anytime to do it. Then on my birthday she made me one that was 2,000 times better then one i could have EVER made!

-A GIANT (perfect size for hugging) stuffed hello kitty (She is my favorite) given to me by my best friend Virginia for Valentines Day. I almost cried when she gave it to me, i know thats stupid, but it meant the world to me.

-A Scarf she made me as a going away present (made of my favorite colors). It gets pretty cold up there (Burr)

- And There's A box full of little things (Ticket stubs, pieces of art from friends, little gifts) from the past 6 years. (THE BOX IS HUGE AND ITS JAMMED FULL OF STUFF!!!)


All of those things mean more to me then my record player, my tv, my type writer, and maybe even my beloved bed.

But OBVIOUSLY not as much as my computer ;P Just Kidding!!!!! (Kinda)

Lilly <3

My One and Only Brush With Fame

I won't lie.

I've got some kick-butt stuff in my room.

Including but not in any way limited to: posters, useless knick-knacks, a giant stuffed cow, a typewriter, etc. 

And this light switch.

But I've acquired most of these things from rather mundane places. Wally World. Mail order. Random antique stores and flea markets I stumble into.The only thing with an interesting story behind it is wedged between the books on my shelves, inside the front cover of Walk Two Moons.

Firstly, one of my favorite authors of all time is Sharon Creech. I've read nearly all of her books, and as a wee tot, lived and breathed her stories. Her characters are brilliant and everything naturally intertwines in simple and lovely ways. One day, struck with a chronic boredom that hung over me as darkly as the plague, I decided to take action and take my day into my own hands. Which meant I did some hardcore research on the internet in the form of consulting the almighty Google “what to do when bored”. And benevolently, the search engine bestowed answers upon my weary soul. “Write a letter to your favorite author!” And I was all like mmkay. So I did.

I said all the usual things. Ur books r gud. How do u write gud? Ur kewl. Write back plz kthxbai. I slapped a stamp on that piece of practical literary genius and shipped it off into the unknown, completely unsure if the hour or so I'd spent constructing it would be a total waste of time.

Several months later on a similarly dreary, boring day, I received a response in the mail. Lo and behold, heavens above, my name was on the envelope and hers up in the left hand corner, written by hand with the same fingers that had typed out some of my favorite novels of all time. I tore it open with mad fervor, disbelieving that this could actually be happening, someone I really admired and who had won various Newbery awards had written a letter to me, some random kid who was really bored and had nothing better to do but hope for it, man I was excited.

To be honest, I was a bit let-down when I gutted the envelope and frantically looked over its contents. It was a form letter, a generic response to the fan mail she received, covering all the basic answers to the regular things a little kid with a pen might have to say/ask of her in a letter. Everything I asked her. But I was  overjoyed nonetheless, because she signed all the little papers inside and wrote me a little note at the top of one page:

“Hi, Elizabeth-

Thanks so much for your great letter—I hope this and the enclosed sites answer your questions. Good luck w/ your writing!”

So. Pretty good, for an eleven-year-old kid.

Months passed. I got bored again. But a couple of Sharon Creech books fixed an afternoon of that, and her book The Castle Corona gave me so many happyfeels all I wanted was a sequel. I was desperate for one. So I was all like “POWER TO THE PEOPLE” and wrote her again, asking if she would ever consider expanding her fantastic book in the form of a continuation in a series? I highly suspected it was not to be, but at least I would know, if she decided to answer this annoying little kid who kept pestering her.

Less time than before passed before I received a response in the mail. It wasn't another hefty envelope, but a postcard with a cute little polar bear stamp, and it felt more personal this way because everything had been written by pen this time. By “everything” I mean my address and the couple of sentences she scribbled down, but that was enough to make me explode with joy.

“14 Dec '11

Dear Elizabeth-

Thank you for your beautiful letter. Although I hadn't planned to write a sequel to Castle Corona- you never know!

xxSharon Creech”

So yeah. This is the closest brush with fame I've ever had. I keep all of the papers inside their original envelope and in the front cover of the first book of hers I read. Hey. Could be valuable, someday. Not that I'd ever sell my precious correspondence.

Have a fantastic week,

Elizabeth

P.S. The only other real interesting thing I have with 

something of a little backstory are these two posters. One my dad rescued from being thrown out in Quebec City, and the other came from a tiny little festival in Florida. They look pretty similar, don't they? I think they're really awesome. XD

I tried to be deep. I really did.

So today is Monday and I completely forgot that one of the things I must do on Mondays is write a blog post. 

That just exudes responsibility doesn’t it.     I mean, I took Monday as my day thinking I could be okay with kicking off the week like a boss.   HAHA. 

So this week, the topic is for us to write about the most interesting way we acquired something that is in our bedrooms. 

This, of course, has caused me to spiral downward into a pit of questioning just how interesting the things that are in my room might be. 

I mean, I can usually trace everything in my room back to a wal-mart, a mall, or to a gift shop from somewhere... or Amazon.com.   

I am also afraid of making my post, and then three days later finding something in my room that is actually interesting. It’s like when you see a word for the first time, and then start seeing it everywhere because you are now self aware of the fact that it exists or something. 

That is what I think is going to wind up happening to me here. 

I have to wonder if I don’t have exactly what every other person on this blog has. 

There are the expected knick knacks, and other things I have collected over time...you know, being a human and all. 

I have things from family, from friends, and things whose origin has all but slipped my mind. 

I have things I wish I didn’t have, as well as memories of others that I wish still had a physical embodiment. 

My glances around this space from the perch that is my bed leave me to assume that maybe the lack of stories behind these items says more than actually having a story about something, because if we have something, shouldn’t we be able to justify it by its stories. Maybe it doesn’t even posses the stories. Maybe it just is like a vessel for them to float upon until we pluck it up out of the pond that is our shelves to retrieve the tale for a bit.

I think that at some point, in putting these tales back, we muddle them up just enough so that when our next visitor comes ‘round, we’ll have a slightly refreshed version to tell.  

I do have a stuffed butterfly named Flitter that I got at a Wal-Mart McDonalds when Beanie Babies were the craze, and then I lost it at a Wal-Mart for a few hours not long after.    Still have it. About 2 feet away from me.    

That’s all I can think of to post. 

Trying to be deep and thoughtful isn’t fun when you have a headache. 

-Ranger 

Oh Snap!

I'll be honest, I'm actually kind of embarrassed I don't have a better embarrassing story.  But apparently, looking back, my life has been a simple montage of minor mishaps - misspoken words, accidental handshakes, dumb misquotations, awkward trips, etc - but nothing as dramatic as, say, a fail cedar [CURSE YOU ELIZABETH AND YOU'RE AMAZING SCOOT TO SUCCESS xP]
However, I think the dug something out of my brain - that still makes me wince - that is somewhat worthy to be posted here among such genius embarrassment.

It was last Christmas Eve, really late at night.  Since I can never sleep at Christmas - anyone who tells me I'm too old for such practices will get bad reps with The Clause - I was chatting with my friend, Hannah.  Since we were both kind of drunk on tiredness we were sending each other weird Christmas anagram poems, which didn't make much sense but hey, they were amusement.  Hannah sent me this really funny one, so, not to be out done, I spent a good hour trying to come up with a really, really awesome one.  Upon finishing it, I thought it quite stupendous.
And, being so thrilled with my poetic creation, I ecstatically sent it off in an email to my friend.
Or so I thought...
[You can probably see where this is going xD]

So, in my contacts, beneath Hannah's email address is my other friend's mom.  Now, let me tell you a little bit about her.  She was the Chair of the Philosophy Department at the University of Rhode Island at this point in time, but she's taught at other universities too.  She's basically helped my sister thrive in life.  She's won national awards for being super smart and brilliant and stuffs and she's basically just like a real life genius who happens to be my friend's mom (so the only reason I actually have her email is because we were making plans one time xD).
So, yeah, I accidentally clicked her email address.

 
   
 So, yeah.  Here it is, here's the Christmas anagram poem I actually spent an hour of my life on.  Here's what I sent to the Chair of the Philosophy Department of University of Rhode Island.  I can only imagine her face when she received an email subjected, "HA HA HA THERE YOU GO" from her daughter's friend... which contained this wonderful message:

Cheerful Children Chat.
Hungry hippos have hats.
Restful reindeer ride ravens.
Igloos irk idlers. 
Santa sups soup.
Trees top truffles.
Merry-makers mop mountains.
Aviators avenge antlers.
Santa saves slippers!

~~~~~~

I did email her after I realized my mistake though and apologized, and at least she was understanding, so this ending is slightly anticlimactic.  Still, that was the time I sent a brilliant college professor the best of my poetical abilities.    

Not pretty.

Not pretty, at all.

See y'all next Friday and have a fantastic weekend!

^(OvO)^ 

P. S. I realize now that that poem is not in fact an anagram, it's an acrostic poem/alliteration.  I apologize for the derp.  Kthxbaii.  xD

Lilly'sday (Embarrassing Stories)

Disclaimer Before We Get Started-

I would like to say that, in all honestly, i do not remember Ranger’s embarrassing moment in the least. Infact, i don't remember much from that night at all. I remember my birthday, and i remember sitting on the floor and skyping them, all the details however are extremely blurry. I laughed so hard though at his story.

Ok, moving onto my embarrassing story. I spent the past three days searching my memory for an embarrassing story to share. Most of the stories i came up with where to short to turn into a blog post, but there was one that i felt like i might be able to share. I think the first thing you should know for this story is that i am the baby of my family. The youngest, with a sister and a half brother. This story takes place when I was six, and during that time i didnt have the pleasure of having my older half brother around to tease me and provoke me. So my sister must have subconsciously taken that as a challenge. My sister and i would bicker and fight to no end (and still do), and i praise the lord that in the past year we have grown up tons, and now have a relatively good relationship. However, when i was six..... things were different.

On this particular day, my family and I had ventured out to the country to visit my old pastor’s house. I LOVED IT THERE, they had four wheelers and horses, not to mention a huge family of older kids who LOVED to play with me. I remember i was wearing jeans and my red sweater  that had a little black yorkie terrier on it. Anywho, we arrived at there house and i played and had a great time until, my sister decided to play a trick on me. In their house, out friends had a indoor sauna (dont ask i dont even know why) that was in their basement. I never played in their basement. I hated it. I mean, IT WAS A SCARY BASEMENT. So, My sister decided she was going to lock my in the sauna. She grabbed me by the arms, and one of our friend’s sons (who was about my sisters age) grabbed my feet, and they carried me........ into the basement. They put my in the sauna... and locked the door.

Many things were going through my mind, fear, anger, and embarrassment. I stood in that sauna and screamed, cried, and hammered at the door. As a six year old, I felt like i was in there for hours, but in all honesty it could have been 10 minutes, I have no idea. My face was covered in tears, when our friend’s oldest son found me in the sauna crying my eyes out. He unlocked the door, picked me up, and carried me to where our families where. I explained what happened, still teary. Honestly, I never realized until just now, writing this, that there is NOTHING in this story i should be embarrassed about. That being said, that is the only feeling i felt after the fact, more than angry, or afraid, i was ashamed that i had been so helpless, that a 17 year old boy had to come and save me from that scary corner of the basement.

I think there is something to be said for embarrassment. I mean, it does a lot of good, despite being embarrassing. It keeps your pride in check, and it gives you something to relate to other people about. Whereas emotions like, lets say fear, in my opinion have only one purpose. In fears case thats negative, but even some positive feelings dont do you that much good.

Idk.

Just My Feels.

See Everyone Next Wednesday!  ^.^

Lilly

I Scooted My Way to Victory

Oh goodness, embarrassing stories.

One of the first things you will found out about me if you start talking to me, not so much on the internet as Real Life although it still applies to the former, is that I am the living embodiment of the metaphorical concept the Awkward Turtle. I often don't know what to say, when I do speak say offbeat and awkward things, accidentally repeat the same word too many times because I have subconsciously latched onto it (the week or two it was “epic” was particularly painful), etcetera. Sometimes I mentally labor over saying something for minutes at a time and when I do eventually say it and people don't react the way I want, my insides silently shrivel in hot waves of regret and shame. 

These kinds of embarrassments are the most common I have. I suffer them on a daily basis. Not the kind of theatrical blog-worthy thing that is at all interesting to recollect.

But last night I did manage to come up with a memory. Lucky you. Aren't you in for a treat.

So my friend Megan (Psalm118 of OYAN, for those who know what that means) was gracious enough to invite me along with her sister Anna and a girl named Maia to a water park hotel for the weekend a couple of months ago. After a car ride during which feelscreys were shed (yes, we watched a girly movie), we pulled up to this super awesome building complex with some kick-butt water slides sticking out the back, all neon and twisty, shining like a colorful plastic mirage in the afternoon sun. We checked in, settled into our epic (D'OH) suite and donned our swimwear for a day of poolside frolicking. 

Now, no offense to my friends as this is not a put-down toward them but a shameless exaltation of my own Rad Skills, but I was ready to ride everything there, no sweat. I have practically no fear when it comes to thrill rides, so these were going to be a cakewalk for me nerves-wise, albeit a super fun cakewalk. But perhaps my friends have a finer-tuned interest in preserving their well-being because they were more cautious. It took us quite a while to work up to the funnel slide, and this was only through deceiving Maia into thinking it was not That Sort of Slide of Which I Have Spoken. I rode backwards on it without holding on just to freak them out. 

So when we walked to the outside section of the park and there was this giant loopy-majigger thing forebodingly titled “The Vortex”, they were less than eager to join me on it.

 

But I knew I had to go. 

It was my destiny.

How was I supposed to return home and report back to my brothers that there had been a Big Slide there and I hadn't taken up the opportunity to conquer it? The prospect was more shaming than anything.

But perhaps not so shaming as what was to come next.

So there we were, all shivery and cold, staring up and hearing the drop of the platform and watching the figure plummet down the 80 degree angle hearing the screams of pure delighted terror (...perhaps just plain terror), and I knew I wasn't going to convince any of them to come with me. I tried, but eventually I did coerce Anna into joining me in climbing the ladder to to the top wherein I would be sent to my fate. Executed, from the way they were treating my endeavor.

Though truth be told, I was a bit apprehensive myself.

The thing about the Vortex is that the tube is really narrow. You could barely sit up in it, and you go without a tube, on your back with your arms crossed across your chest. The floor flops out from underneath you on a hinge and you fall/slide down this incredibly steep drop, and the resulting momentum is supposed to carry you over the next steep hill, around and down again. I couldn't fathom how you could make it up that far just sliding, but it seemed to be working okay for all the other riders, so I dismissed this fear. 

We climbed the climb. We stood at the top. It was quite tall. We waved to the ants that were my friends at the bottom. 

I made idle chat with a previous rider, watching person after person step into the scary little cylinder and have the floor dropped out from underneath their feet. They slid up, around, and landed in the splash pool, one by one.

Up came my turn. There was only a girl in front of me in line, now.

She stepped into the cylinder. The clear little concave hatch thing closed shut with a hiss like blast doors. The electronic voice came forth: “Three... Two... One.” And she did fall.

Except she made it neither up nor around.

She slid back and forth like a skateboard between two slopes, horrified and panicked, grabbing at the sides and trying to do anything to get control. An employee ran over, keys in hand, to unlock a hatch on the tube and manually evacuate her. 

The girl climbed out, and speed-walked quickly away with her face firmly smothered in her hands. Everyone at the top of the ride was peering over the side with some sympathy. But mostly curious amusement at her incredible failure, who-was-that-girl, and man-am-I-glad-I'm-not-her-right-now. I could only imagine the unparalleled shade of red her face must have been.

Then it was my turn, and all of the sudden, I felt a bit less confident, and my knees were a bit more wobbly under my weight. 

I stepped in. The round plastic platform was wet, slippery. The clear hatch hissed sealed, and with it, my fate.

“Three... Two... One.”

 

I dropped.

It was so hectic, I can't describe it, with water gushing over me and and practically free-falling and screaming in horrified ecstasy. The current smashed over me, roared and rushed and I didn't even have time to register how icy frigid it was. I slid up, and up, and up.

But not over. 

I felt my momentum slip to a crawl, there at the near-top of the incline, and to a halt. I was sliding back and I was going to fall backwards and be manually evacuated and run off with my face in my hands I knew it and gosh I was never ever ever going to live this down why the HECK did I decide to ride this thing help.

I flung both of my hands to the tube walls and held myself there. No. I would not fall. I would not. I was going to save myself, darn it.

So there, in the clear plastic tube which everyone on the ground watched and everyone above observed, I began to scoot. 

I clung to the wet, smooth sides of the slide with my fingertips and I scooted myself up and forward, with increasing confidence, until I made it over the peak and to victory, and with the kind of relief that can only come from a successful scoot I slid down to the end.

The splash pool was so glorious.

“Are you okay?” asked the employee at the end of the ride. “Are you okay?” asked so many people I encountered after that, alerting me to the facts a) that I had obviously had quite a struggle and b) everyone had seen me and c) that I was identifiable as the One Who Had Scooted. 

“Wait, I think she's scooting!” Megan's mom reports that one of the onlookers had cried.

Well, I do suppose it could have been worse.

I had a successful failure.

I was a Succailor.

A Failceeder.

Suck Sailor.

Fail Cedar. 

Yeah.

You can't touch this.

'Twas the day I scooted my way to victory, and no, nobody present shall ever let me live it down. 

Kthxbai.

~Elizabeth

Monday, in your pants...My pants.

This is where I question the logic involved in my choosing Monday as the day in which I post. 

Hello. 

Are you glad to see me?  If you are, you shouldn't be here, since you aren't going to actually see me. Just the words I typed out late on Sunday night because the week's theme was decided two hours prior. 

This week's theme is embarrassing stories. 

This is where I am completely qualified to speak. 

I am the epitome of embarrassment, particularly to those that invite me to things.   I should probably be more specific, since said things could be counted upon the digits of my appendages, but I felt a generalizing term would boost your perception of my popularity. 

A lot of my embarrassing stories are rooted in my multiple flops at violin performances.   You can picture how that goes, stumbling on stage, nearly falling, skipping portions of pieces, playing the wrong parts at the wrong times, etc.  

But there are also times where my general existence is embarrassing enough. 

This especially happens in social situations when I am with my friends. 

Every few months I usually throw/attend an all nighter of video games and internet with my friends Zane and Zealun.  (Zane is our Thursday poster, if you didn't already know.) 

One of the more embarrassing times in which we did these things. (Yes, that was poorly phrased, I am awware.  I am also aware that I spelled that was two Ws.   It was a typo. A sticky of hand. It's like a slight of hand, but where my hand stays on the key until I remove it.  Making it a sticky of hand…which definitely does not sound right at all. Moving on.) 

Now I was holed up in my basement with my friends Zane and Zealun and it was late, and I was still wearing jeans that I had been wearing earlier that day, so I went upstairs to put on some sleep pants.    After applying said pants, I slid down the stairs because I am extremely mature and that's how mature people come down the stairs.   

Because I am a horrible storyteller, I am going to back this train up a bit.  Back that caboose up. 

The day on which this took place was the 15th anniversary of the date of birth for my friend Lilly, our Wednesday here, and I had decided to call her on Skype.    So while this was going on, Zane, Zealun and Lilly via Skype were in my basement at my desk chatting it up while I scrubbed my teeth, consumed some allergy medicine and applied softer pants. 

After completing these tasks, I came downstairs and decided to hop up onto the bunk bed behind my desk, in view of ze webcam, through which a female friend was viewing myself, and my friends. 

As soon as I hopped up onto the bunk bed, I decided to randomly jump in front of the camera by leaping off of the ladder, down onto the ottoman next to the desk, since my friends were occupying my beloved spinny chair.  (#ReppinIKEA) 

I took this leap of faith, so confident that it would impress both her, and Zane and Zealun, because of the mad skills I would be able to claim to possess after accomplishing this feat. 

And as I jumped, somehow these pants just slid right off… . They had hung on the ladder or something. And my underwear too. Can't forget that.  LET ME JUST HUMILIATE MYSELF EVEN MORE HOW ABOUT THAT. 

#WhyDoIExist

The best part is that since they were all bunched at my knees I crumpled silently to the floor, missing the ottoman. 

I don't think I have ever reapplied pants quicker than in that moment. 

In that moment, I swear my trousers were infinite, unlike my ego. 

There is a silver lining, though. It's that Zane and Zealun turned around just in time to make it look like I was just adjusting the waistband. No biggie. 

Now Lilly on the other hand, if she saw this, has said nothing, for which I thank her. (Thank you.) 

But if you did notice my mishap, send me an email and a check for trauma therapy of some sort, and a coupon for me to use you as a suicide hotline whenever I please. 

I could go on, you know, because I'm that awesome, but I won't. 

Happy Monday, and try to keep from dying today. 

Your loving, self deprecating blogger, 

Ranger. 

In Which I Ramble About My Soul

I'll come right up and say it: I'm bad at talking about myself.  Because, whenever I try, I either sound like one of those insecure pretentious kids who hide behind their own verbosity, or I just hurl a series of facts at an unsuspecting victim and drown them in the timid, uninteresting details of my existence.  So here I shall attempt to do neither, and by that effort I shall likely achieve both.


Hello, I'm Nate, And I'm Really Bad At Writing Introduction Posts
Right.  Another one of those tricky introduction posts to write.  Yaaaay.  [I Am Not A Frequent Participator In Sarcasm.  Please Appreciate This Rare Occurrence On Your Way To The Door.  Thank You.]
As you can probably tell, another thing I'm really bad at is humor.  [Apparently My Only Talent Is Making Fun Of Myself.]

The Basics - Life And All That Jazz
I'm a non-denominational Christian.  I don't view my Christian faith as a religion, rather as an infinitely finite journey, one I am still very much just beginning.  I believe every human soul is an Impossibility placed in a Possibility, and at the bottom everything, every muddled scientific fact and every grand Existence, is God.
I'm a 15-year-old, and an immature one at that.  I am homeschooled [Yes, I Am Antisocial.  No, I Am Not Sheltered.  Actually I Am, But I Have A Fortunate Dose Of Cynicism], and have been all my life.  I live in the puny but beautiful state of Rhode Island [I Have Been Abroad So Don't Judge Me On Borderlines, I've Seen A Thing Or Two], but would like to travel all around the world one day gathering deep and life-changing experiences and whatnot.
One of my greatest joys in life is talking to people.  [I Couldn't Get This One Weird Sentence To Fit Anywhere Else, So Yay For Random And Slightly Creepy Interjections.]

The SubBasics - Basically Doctor Who Rules My Life
As far as interests go, British TV holds on the highest slot.  Doctor Who is the paragon of television, in my opinion, with fantastic storytelling and even fastasticer metaphors.  Sherlock is also a source of joy to my heart.  Other interests include literature - Shakespeare is my hero, forsooth -, composing music and being generally nerdy and anti-physical.  [As You Can See I Don't Know The First Thing About Sports.  I Can, However, Tell You Everything You Ever Needed To Know About Hamlet.]   
I am a writer, with all it's ups and downs.  As Markus Zusak says, “...there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too. That was writing.”  I have completed one 50,000 novel set in Ancient Rome and am currently working on a fantasy novel and a realistic fiction novel about gender roles; as well as getting sidetracked by various short story ideas.  [A Very Brief Glimpse Into My Writing Credentials.  Rejoice!]
My life heavily revoles around music, some of my great inspirations including Sufjan Stevens, Daft Punk, and Owl City. 


My Goal In Life As Told By Emily Dickinson
I Shall Not Live In Vain, by Emily Dickinson
If I can stop one Heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching
Or cool one Pain
Or help one fainting Robin
Unto his Nest again
I shall not live in Vain.


Other Places You May Find Me, Yo
My Regular Blog: http://allthingsgotorecreateus.blogspot.com/ (full of Me-Trying-To-Be-Deep) 
My Tumblr: http://theowlofgallifrey.tumblr.com/ (full of fandoms and Whatever-Else-I-Feel-Like) 
My Twitter: @OwlOfGallifrey (full of Me-Trying-And-Failing-At-160-Character-Messages)
My Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/inkyowl/ (full of Whatever-I-Feel-Like-Pinning)




Thank you for reading, if you read any at all, and if you didn't, thank you for existing anyway.  Have a fantastic day, and I hope to see you more as this genius-blog-idea continues!  [I Hope You Also Found Entertainment From These Unnecessarily Capitalized Bracket Statements.]

Have a great weekend and hopefully we will see you on Monday with some brilliantly something-or-others for your enjoyment!

^(OvO)^