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.