Monday, October 12, 2009

Operation October

Dear Reader,
It’s that time of year. No, not the holidays, jeez, as if any seniors have time to celebrate. (This isn’t a family Holiday Card, you know.) It’s COLLEGE APPLICATION TIME! I am turning all of mine in on the 23. Of this month. October. Period. The End. I won’t ever look back again. I will send them in, and just like that, all my preparation will be over. After that Fate will be Out of My Hands and into the Hands of Perfect Strangers.
I don’t like not being in control.
But while I am still in control of this whole mess of a process I have a plan.
Thank God and Jesus and Allah and the Wind God or whom ever for plans.
My plan is called: Operation October. And it goes like this

-Week One: Teacher Recommendations.
Status: CHECK MARK COMPLETED

-Week Two: College Essay. Start Filling In Apps.
Status: Facing It Head On From The Corner It Backed Me In To

-Week Three: Finnish Apps and Send In
Status: In Progress

-Week Four: Look Into Scholarships. Eat Lots Of Candy.
Status: Candy Eating In Progress Full Steam Ahead

It’s Week Two. That means: The Essay. The Essay About Me. The Essay That Will Determine My Future.
This begs the question: What on earth shall I write about?
My English teacher says we need to be ourselves. Yes, well what if myself doesn’t exactly believe in proper grammar? My Counselor says I need to write about my life. Yes, well what if my ENTIRE life doesn’t exactly fit into a neat and tidy essay?

I’d adore you forever if you gave me some ideas.
Love,
A desperate ElleBee.

Coffee Makes Teen Worlds Go 'Round

Last week, during Coffee Hour at my church, my friend, “Gray” was having a conversation with his mother. It’s our ritual that every Sunday, after church, Gray and I always grab a cup of coffee and leave Coffee Hour to sit in a little room with overstuffed chairs and talk about our week. If one of us is busy, the other gets the coffee. One black and one with too much cream and sugar, hilariously called Candy Coffee, only imagine saying Candy Coffee and pretending you are a sketchy guy leaning out of a van and going, “HEY! You wan’ some candyyyy?” Do you now see the humor? Maybe not.
Anyway, as per usual, I went for the coffee, but when I got to the coffee station, I found a serious flaw in the routine: they only had decaf.
Decaf? What was I supposed to do with decaf?
Gray and I are just as busy as the next teen, and you would never ask the average teen to go off and do something without first giving them a proper morning jolt. Without a cup of steaming hot candy-coffee, I am useless.
I can’t go out and write that essay that’s due third period.
I can’t go forth and command an entire corps of overly excited JROTC kids.
I can’t even stop drooling on my desk long enough to explain to my teacher there was a lack of caffeine in my morning.
Okay, well maybe I’m not that bad. But it can be pretty serious sometimes.
So, I went back to Gray.
“Um. Oh, hey there, erm, uh, bud. What’s, ah, going on with your mum?” Gray stared at me like I was a complete fool. Which, lets be honest here, I did sound like, so you can’t blame him.
“Nothing really. Is something wrong? Did you, like, hit your head when you were getting coffee… hey, where is the coffee?”
Imagine me smiling my biggest smile and putting on my best impression of a saint, so I could break the news of the devastating tragedies at church to him in the kindest way I could think of.
“Would you like decaf?”
Imagine that deer in the headlights look. Yes, that one. Only now make your imaginary deer friend having a huge personal crisis and perhaps trying not to cry.

Fact of the matter is coffee makes people better, kinder, more enthusiastic people as a general rule. So, a reminder to all those parent-like types out there, and especially the people in charge of Coffee Hours:

A life will be in ruin, if it’s not brewin’, so don’t be hated make caffeinated!

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Letters Home



Dear Grand,
Today, in church, I witnessed a ten year old dressed in velvet crush pants with a long skirt and a checker blouse with a denim vest and a sock on one hand. She looked like that. ----->
As you can see, I’ve inherited none of Mom’s Artistic Skill. I was worried for the poor “special” child.
“Is she…‘special’?” I asked Mom. Just to make sure. Turns out, no. She is not “special.”
“Erm…is her mom around? Does her mom not love her?” I asked next. Obviously there is something very wrong in that child’s life. But again, Mom pursed her lips and shook her head and said, “No, Elle. There is nothing wrong in her life except that her, and her family, don’t care.” I had a moment of stunned silence, which is a Sunday miracle for me.
There is a point here, Grand. And that point is thank you for caring and passing that lovely, charming and chic care down through the family females.
Love,
Elle

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Pre-Judging

I, for one, cannot stand law shows. I think they are horrible and I hate them and I wish they would get off the air and make room for proper shows like Desperate Housewives, Scrubs and That 70’s Show, all of which I am helplessly in love with.

“Whatchya watchin’ Daddy?” I once made the mistake of asking.
“Boston Legal. It’s actually pretty good.” My Uh-Oh Alert was screaming alarms in my head. It was yelling, “RUN AWAY ELLE! HE SAID LEGAL… CAN’T YOU TELL IT’S A LAW SHOW!?” But it was too late. Dad had patted the bit of floor next to his bit of floor (Dad is a floor sitter, no body knows why) and he looked up and smiled. Awwwww Dad Invites are the sweetest. You can’t resist them. So, I sat my sorry butt down for the long haul watching what was sure to be another dreadful law show.

WRONG. Wrong wrong wrong. It was amazing. Humorous and witty and not in the least bit dull. I will never again hate a law show before I watch it. I advise you sit your own sorry butt down for a viewing right now.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Life Style Choice # Vegitarian

I just came back from buying about nine pounds of vegetables. I am determined to eat them before the turn into kim chee.
Also I’m learning German. Cheers!

Saturday, August 22, 2009

The Truth About Cats and Dogs


If you want to know the truth, I wanted to be a vet when I was little, but I started shadowing a vet and after I saw her put down a dog I changed my Probable Profession right then and there. I just couldn’t do it, even if it was best for the sweet little doggies. So, why, my neighbors are sure to ask, are there huge quantities of dog fluff floating peacefully across our post-stamp size back yard? I do not make a business by murdering small, fluffy, very hairy dogs in my back yard and selling what is left to Cruella DeVil for her booming career in dog coat fashions. That is a fact. I don’t even shave them and have their fur made into yarn and the yarn made into hats. This is another fact. Click away if you don’t believe me. Not that there is anything wrong with knitting dog fur. It’s just not for me.


My backyard looks like the site for a Dog Murder Mystery Movie, and sadly there is no interesting story behind it except Mom hates when they shed in the kitchen and make the kitchen look like the site for a Dog Murder Mystery Movie, so we brush them outside. Make sense? I swear officer, if you look in the garbage there will be no bodies or blood, but if you look inside, you will see what appear to be a big dopey golden retriever and a little yappy corgi, both impeccably groomed. Double Pinky Promise with a Kiss and a Spit. (Incase you didn’t know that is more intense then swearing on a bible in kid land.)

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Happy Endings

My freshmen physics teacher, Mr. Physics, had a great way of dealing with dumb stories.
A kid would come in say, “Mr. Physics! Mr. Physics, last weekend my dad took me fishing and we didn’t catch anything.” And Mr. Physics would stare that poor freshman down for thirty seconds and say, “…And then you found twenty dollars?” Which was his kind way of saying, “That may be the crappiest story I’ve ever heard and it won’t be worth anything unless something excellent happens at the end.” And that poor freshman would say, “Erm, YES, Mr. Physics. How did you know? Has my sister been through already?” and then scamper off to their seat. Mr. Physics had an amazing way of making lame or pointless endings much happier.
I’m a firm believer in a happy ending. If you’re not smiling it’s probably not over yet. I am a super fan of all things Disney. Cinderella, The Little Mermaid, Anastasia, Beauty and The Beast, you get the point. A couple of days ago I caught the middle of the Hunchback of Notre Dame on the Disney channel, so I decided I would read the book. I ran to the library, sat down out side in my mothers Adirondack chair and went to town. I’ve got to hand it to Victor Hugo; he’s quite the intelligent guy. It was a super book and a half: romance, dancing, weird guys, fights, the things to make a classic, albeit nothing like the Disney movie. Imagine, if you will, the child in the picture above, throwing garbage at Quasimodo, while Quasimodo growls and tries to protect La Esmeralda, who is cowering from Quasimodo but lusting after Phoebus, and Phoebus the Golden knight, drawing his sword on all of them. That is a more accurate portrayal. Anyway, super book, except the end… I’m not sure if you have read the Hunchback of Notre Dame but let me tell you. It is not a happy ending. I don’t remember how Disney finished it because I was about six when I saw the ending, but the book has a CREEPY ending. It’s like one of those tragic “My Platoon Went to Battle and Everybody Died, It’s Great That I Kept A Diary To Document The Tragedy Otherwise Nobody Would Know What Happened” books.
The last sentence reads as such:
“When they tried to detach the skeleton which he held in his embrace, he fell to dust.”
Cheery image to leave a reader with at 1:27 AM, wouldn’t you agree? Me neither.
In my head the last sentence reads:
“When they tried to detach the skeleton which he held in his embrace, he fell to dust. And underneath they found 20 livres. They bough a baguette and some wine and put the rest into their child's college fund. They all lived happily ever after, especially the child who went to college and became very rich off of the 20 livres in his fund.”
Obviously dollars weren’t the main currency back when and would’ve been useless to find, in which case, it still would’ve been a tragedy.

Bag It All Up

Ranger, as most of you know, has flown the coop. Bib has left for leadership camp. Dad is off visiting Ranger but cleverly disguised his visit as a business trip so he can be paid for frolicking. That leaves Mom and I at home. All aloney on our owny, playing Single Parent, Only Child. Which can only mean one thing: A Massive House Cleaning combined with a Throwing Out Everything We Own While The Others Are Out And Later Noticing How They Don’t Miss It and Never Will and Laughing At Them For Keeping It All These Years Even Though They Don’t Need It.

While Bibsicle and I were out gallivanting in California, Mom took it upon herself to throw out the majority of our books. We noticed there were less when we returned but we’d be hard pressed to tell you which ones went missing. Props to Mom for downsizing with grace.

When Ranger went to boot camp, the Family Females went to his room under the pretense of “moving his things to storage so Bib can move in.” We tossed out things we were sure he wouldn’t need or miss. Ranger has yet to come asking for the walkie talkies he used as an eight year old or the smashed skateboards he promised he was going to make into shelves… as a sort of useful trophy I think. But who knows? As I often say, boys are so weird.

I went to Virginia for all of three days to visit some old family friends, when I came back the piles of “keepsakes” in the basement went missing. What were we keeping again? And for what sake?

Lately our throwing out has been more intense because we are moving and God save us all if we bring something we don’t need. Today, while Mom threw away all the shoes she thinks people won’t miss; my job was to clean out the refrigerator. After many a mishap I think I’ve gotten it down to a near art. Anything in a bag is tossed with a grimace and without opening. Anything a day past its “Sell By” date gets its lid tightened an extra bit and carefully placed into the bag so as not to break and spill or drip toxic waste and burn a hole through the already crappy kitchen floor.

The Family Females aren’t really big on cooking and when we do bother, we eat what we want and toss the rest. Dad, however, is a big one on saving food. Famous Dad Quotes include: “Oh, I’ll have those ribs for lunch tomorrow. Don’t toss them.” “HEY it’s only past it’s SELL BY date Elle, not it’s eat by date.” “A little mold on the bread never killed anybody, just peel it off.”

Now that he’s out its time to throw out anything he took it upon himself to save. Withered carrots, gone. Chunky milk, washed down the sink with cold water. Rice frozen forever in the shape of Tupperware, thrown out with the Tupperware. Beans that could easily be mistaken for a fifth grade classes prize winning science project, plopped into the garbage bag. Bagged kim chee? We don’t buy kim chee. Oh NO that’s a vegetable mix he saved now rotting in a plastic bag. Lovely.

When I get my own place I will never save left overs. That is a fact.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Thankful Thursday

This morning, my Mom came into the bathroom as I was blow drying my loooooong princess hair, applying mascara with my feet in the air so that the blood would rush into my face. You know, so my eyes aren’t puffy and wotnot. Anyways, my mother asked me, “Do you know why women wear makeup and men don’t?” Now she had asked me this before a long time ago and at the time I had replied instantaneously, “Why Momma, it’s so we can look prettier.” It was a tragic response because I got a four hour ear-full. Today I was ready.
“Uh-Mom,” I said in my teeny way, “women wear make up because it looks like we are turned on by mediocre men. They luuuuuuuuuuurve the way our mascara makes our eyes look bright and inviting like they are the only man in the room. They luuuuuuurve the way our lipstick looks like the blood is coursing through our bodies with desire. AND they have the indecency to trick us into thinking it’s just so we look pretty. In short they are testosterone filled sex craved assholes. Duh.”
It was a summary of Mom’s four hour Make Up Talk.
But once again, I was surprised.
“No, ElleBee. We put on make up because men are stupid visual creatures. One day you will find one that is less stupid than the others. That will be the man you marry.”
This Thankful Thursday I am thankful for my mother and her great “who gives a shit if you broke up” bathroom pep talks.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

Ahh Memories

Today, my sister Bib and I have found our long lost diaries. Oh. My. God.
1. We were awful writers.



2. We were awful at remembering to write.
3. It is amazing how very different Bib and I really were.

4. It was hilarious to read.


Here are the first (and only) two passages in my "My Little House Diary." Enjoy...





January 1, 2000




Hi. This is my story of my unfair life. I won't always write, because I'll only ask questions, with hard answers, or sometimes I'll just write about life in the 22nd century. I'll start with today.





April 27, 2002





I wan't to intruduce you to my friends Liz, and Iris, also tomy sister Bib. My name is Elle. I live in Gorgia. My Parents names are Capt. Dad W. Bee, (call him Capt. Dad) and Mary Alice Bee (Mom), my brother's name is Rescue Ranger, but we call him Ranger. Today I was behind because today so happened to be Iris's Birthday part, and we hadn't baughten her a presen't. So at about ten in the morning we went to target, and baught her a present, while my siblings got there team picture's. (Bib play's softball on the Slamers, and Ranger play's base ballon the Rockies.). Then we went to Iris's B-day party. When we came home we had to clean the house for the dreaded tomorrow my self and yonger sister were cleaning the bath room. We had to walsh the floor. W didn't, unfortuntly, know how to washt the floors without mom makeing the soapy water. She told us to use 40.9, or Tilex. We didn't hear the or, so we used both. Neather of us knew we could die, but mom sure did! As soon as she smelled in there she ran to the kitchen took a soping wet spunge, sent me for ther shoes. I ran to get her shoes. I flew past the pearents room I soard through the kitchen, dining room, and living. As I reached the front door I picked up her shoes and ran, by the time I came in she was on her fith round scrubing the floor she then stuck her feet into the shoes non stop scrubbing! She then holard "find the mop." We ran in circles looking high and low, but not finding it. I will now intruduce the pet's, Yappy is the family dog, Flash is my turtle, and Mr. Fish is Ranger's Fish. Now since I have told you how I ran to get shoes for my mom I will draw you a picture of my house.-


- and tha't's a quick scketch of my house.


Back to the mop. We ran around the house even asking the Welsh Corgi, Slider turtle, and the Gold Fish! We didn't find it but mom finished anyway. and I am finished writing for tonight for my hand is quite soar.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Thankful Thursday

If you read Mom’s blog, you will have seen that one of my closest friends, Ryan, died two weeks ago. I’ve been having a very hard time dealing with it.
Last week was February Vacation and I went to California for some college visits and family fun. Keeping busy kept Ryan off my mind for the most part. I don’t think I fully believed that he had died.
But coming back home has made it more real. All that time just sitting gives you a lot of time to think. I’ve spent that thinking time thinking about Ryan, which makes me sad. Sad is the understatement of the millennium.
My best friend here, nickname: Tris, has been very supportive, he’s always ready at a moments notice to drop everything and make me feel better, as is his duty. Boyo P has tried being supportive, but I don’t think he really knows how to. The principal, codename: Mr. Mario, and my guidance counselor, codename: He Who Listens, have both been really helpful to me. But that is their job.
The other day in math I was very upset. I was feeling lost, alone and vulnerable. Moses, codename for math teacher, was pushing me to answer some stupid question about something I wasn’t paying attention to and didn’t ever want to pay attention to, seeing as it was useless information that I will never need or feel inclined to use. And I told him so, which was probably not a smart move, but he was disrupting my mourning process and that is rude. Then this girl, DirtySkankHo, (that is a well earned name, as she is, in fact, a dirty skank ho, and a queen bee which is the pleasant way to say rich b***h) says in her snottiest tone to me: Why are you in such a bad mood?
But she said it like, “Why don’t you go back to Hickville where you belong?”
And I said back: Why are you so nosy?
Except for I said it like, “You wanna go? Because I will rip out all of your perfect hair Hickville style.”
I hate DSH. Really. Anyways, she still had me fuming in Spanish.
That’s when this boy, Jamin, that I barely knew and have hardly ever spoken to, sat down next to me and said, “ElleBee, are you okay? You seem really stressed and upset. And you don’t usually act out in math like that. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Jamin doesn’t know but just coming to ask me what was wrong was enough for me. Where I live you’d be hard pressed to find a stranger to comfort you when you’re upset. This Thankful Thursday I am thankful for Jamin, for being the stranger that noticed, that means the world to me.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Lenten Vows

Today is Ash Wednesday. The first day of Lent. You know, when Jesus goes to the desert and doesn’t eat and gets tempted by Senor The Devil for forty days and nights? Right before Easter? Well that’s what happened. Anyways, in honor of Jesus’ struggle out in the desert, we (of the Christian community) think that we should also struggle, so we give things up or take them on as necessary, like cigarettes, alcohol or rollerblading are all great examples of giving up and reading the Bible would be a taking on. This year I am giving up/taking on (depending on how you look at it) a lot of things. Here is my list:
1. Taking on The Gym. This can be a very scary thing, but I hear it is good for you. Somehow I do not see how sweat will release endorphins and make you happy, but I suppose I will find out. I’ll let you know if the rumors are a lie.
2. Taking on Church. I already go most Sunday’s. But I plan on going every Sunday, plus Youth Group. Which is not something I particularly enjoy, but apparently this is also good for you. Well, maybe not you, but me. Plus, my late friend Ryan was very into church and I think he would like me to go more.
3. Giving up Candy. This is a very sad thing, because I do love lollipops. A lot. But it wouldn’t be a Christ-like struggle without giving up the pops.
4. Taking on Cleaning. But just my room. Don’t want to take on too much all at once, sorry Mom. =)
5. Taking on Writing. Lots of it. More of the Blog, journal, notes, whatever. I’m actually finding out that I like it way more than I thought. Under certain circumstances. Such as, it cannot be graded, it cannot be assigned, and it cannot come with a rubric.
6. Taking on Brushing The Dogs. This one is for you Mom! And Bubba and Yappy. YAY for less sweeping, hopefully.
7. Taking on Yoga. I’ve discovered it is very peaceful and comforting.
8. Taking on At Home Homework. As in, doing homework at home and not in school the day it is due. Which is a terrible, awful habit to be in. I should be ashamed. I am a little bit. Speaking of, I actually should go and do that.
Kwa Heli!


(PS. Kwa heli means buh-bye in Swahili.)

Friday, February 13, 2009

Check It Out

This is my brother's fiance and my very best friend. She's new to the Wonderful World of Blog as well.

Drivers Ed. (The Jake Story, Part 2)

First off, I would like to explain that Jake is a hired man, from the driving school and not my neighbor. Mom thinks that a few people may have been confused on this point. May the confusion stop and only enlightenment continue.

Anyway, enough with the suspense. You must understand that I did not… I cannot make these stories up…
Jake, The Rude Story Teller.

On the first day of driving with Jake, there were no stories. He mostly just yelled at me. It went like this “GET YOUR SPEED UP ELLEBEE.”
Me: okay
Jake: ELLEBEE, GET YOUR SPEED UP. YOU HAVE TO GIVE ME SPEED!
Me: I am driving the speed limit.
Jake: GIVE ME SPEED, ELLEBEE, GIVE ME SPEED, is this not English? GIVE ME SPEED ELLE. THAT’S THREE TIMES. Listen, Elle, if you’re not going to do what I tell you, YOU CANNOT DRIVE WITH ME… GIVE ME SPEED.
Mental Me: I’m sorry I cannot help you with your drug problem, that would be two broken laws in one car and I do not approve.
Real Me: okay.
Jake: LEFT ELLEBEE LEFT! YOU HAVE TO SLOW DOWN BEFORE THE LEFT TURN, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
Me: I guess I had given you too much speed.

It just went on like that forever. It was really terrible.

On the second day of driving with Jake, I got my first odd conversation:
Jake: So, how ‘bout that military, eh? I mean, what the hell are they doing over there? I’ll tell you: NOTHING. Killing babies, that’s what.
Me: My father is deployed.
Jake: *moment of stunned silence* See that hotel?
Me: Yes.
Jake: It’s haunted, you know that right?
Me: I didn’t know that.
Jake: It is. Gawd, I’d love to see a ghost. What a life altering event.
Me: Mmm.
Jake: I just want to shut myself up in a haunted place and wait ‘til something comes by.
Me: Shall we head back to the high school then?

On the third day of driving with Jake, my dear friend BabyDoll (she is little like a BabyDoll. BabyDoll isn’t her real name because that would be odd and maybe a little on the stripper-ish side…no offense if you are in fact a stripper or named BabyDoll) was doing an hour of observation.
BD: ElleBee, isn’t the ROTC ball tomorrow night?
Me: YES I’m sooo excited!
Jake: We used to do square dancing in gym.
*another moment of stunned silence at the image of Jake, THE Jake, all three hundred pounds of him dancing*
Jake: There was this girl that always used to try to dance with me. But, ehhh, I never wanted to dance with her. Ya know? She had those things on her hands, bad stuff.
Me: Warts?
Jake: YES! That girl used to trick me into dancing with her. Awful, awful class. I liked the football better, star quarter back, and she kept trying to dance with me, gym teacher fell for it too.
Mental Me, and surely Mental BD: WTF?
*my phone began vibrating in my pocket as BabyDoll’s breathing became uneven from holding back laughter*
Jake: But that’s where I got all my confidence. After high school I started clubbing. I found it wasn’t as much fun when I didn’t get out on the floor. Never went home alone. Used to bring my buddies out. They didn’t have as much fun as I did. They never wanted to put themselves out there and ask a girl. What’s the worst she’ll say, NO? LEFT ELLEBEE.
BD: Ahhh. *cough cough cough hack*
Jake: One of my buddies got reaaaal mad at me for no reason. Got jealous. He was tired of going home alone when I never had to.

It went on like this for an hour. By the end of the hour, my phone had vibrated under my butt seventeen times. All of the received text messages were from BabyDoll. Most of them didn’t make sense, I think she was blinded by tears of humor and couldn’t type out what she really wanted to say. But I got the point; it was “what a load! I CANT BELIEVE HE THINKS WE WILL BELIEVE THIS! WE HAVE A LOT TO LAUGH ABOUT IN BIO TOMORROW!!!!”

On the fourth day of driving with Jake he told me about his dog, Licorice. When Jake was eight he had Licorice, and he loved Licorice. I was surprised that he had a pet that he loved. I was surprised that he had, could, or even ever bothered to love. Anyway, there was this guy that used to speed through the neighborhood and Licorice, poor Licorice, loved to chase cars. One day Licorice chased said Guy. Said Guy swerved to hit Licorice and Licorice died.
I was so sad to hear about Licorice. What would I do if that happened to my own dear Bubba, or Yappy? It was a touching story. Until he finished it.
The end goes like this:
But then, a couple of weeks later said Guy was speeding down the road, ran into a tree and died. HA HA HA.
Jake began to make me uncomfortable.

On the fifth day of driving with Jake, I had a surprise double lesson with him.
He yelled at me for two hours.
I do not get yelled at. I live with Reasonable Adults that will explain with adult words if I have done something wrong. And I will understand and fix it.
Jake is not reasonable.I don’t think he is an adult either.
He yelled at me when I squinted, so I wouldn’t be blinded by passing headlights.
He yelled at me when I paused too long as a stop sign.
He yelled at me from the moment I got into the car until the moment I got out.
The only time he wasn’t yelling at me was the fifteen minutes when he had me stop in a parking lot in front of a scary decrepit building. I thought surely it was the end of ElleBee. But no, it was just Dinner Time. And he got out, got dinner and crunched noisily in the passenger seat until we got back to the school. I got out of his car and into Mom’s and cried. It was terrible.
Mom bought me Cheer Up Sushi that night.

My next lesson was with Mr. Driving School Owner himself. I liked Mr. Driving School. He was cheery and listened to me and explained to me with reasonable adult words when I did something wrong… not unlike a real, live, Reasonable Adult. He asked me and BabyDoll about Jake, and we told him all about his weird stories and his yelling and pit stops at decrepit buildings and making young school girls cry. Mr. Driving School nodded wisely and chuckled, you know, like Santa Clause might, or perhaps any kindly and not angry elderly man with a beard. The angry bearded gentlemen don’t usually chuckle, they prefer a few choice swear words and a violent poke or random stabbing movement through the air, this movement is usually done with an index finger, or if the elderly man is lucky enough to own one, a cane; the movement can also usually be found coupled with a catch-phrase, like Grandpa’s “LOOK!” But you know the kindly sort that I was originally talking about before I so rudely interrupted myself.

The lesson after that, there was a new car in front of the high school and I met Bob, I liked him very much. And it was Bob who told me that not long after BabyDoll’s and my stories had reached the ears of good hearted Mr. Driving School, Jake got the boot. Bob and I then spent the rest of the hour trash talking Jake. I think we will be good friends.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Drivers Ed (The Jake Story, Part 1)



In the Drivers Ed program where I live you have to go through 30 hours of class time, 12 hours of driving, 6 hours of observation and a whopping 40 hours of driving with a parent.
The class room time was stressful. Forty kids, one room, one teacher, eight bad Drivers Ed movies… You know the type. Once we got a “new” movie. It was in black and white. And not as an artistic touch.
Observation hours are a joke. We have been observing people drive since we were born. I think we get the point. So I use my six hours of “observation” for six hours of uninterrupted texting.
Ahhh bliss.

Getting 40 hours of Parental driving is actually quite the difficult feat. Seeing as Daddy is deployed and Mom, oh dear lovely Mom, never planned on teaching us to drive in the first place. That is a Dad Job. Plus, Mom is from California.
California is warm.
Here, there is no such thing. Here it is cold and snowy 9 months out of 12. Dear Mom, from California, is not used to snow, or driving in it. It scares her a little, which is okay, because it is a very scary thing. But that fear combined with the reluctance to teach children to drive... It’s a very serious matter indeed. To help with the 40 hours, we hired a neighbor.
It is the 12 hours of driving that are the most difficult for me. So far, I’ve done seven. Seven. Long. Awful. Terrible. Hours. With Jake (false name to protect the innocent, even though he's not innocent and I would not mind him being kidnapped (very difficult) as he is mean and scary.)
Anyway, in bullets and parentheses, Jake is:

-easily three hundred pounds
-in need of a a brush for his crazy hair (it needs to pick a direction to point; all of the directions is not okay.)

-loud

-a listener of awful 80’s music. (There is nothing wrong with 80’s music, I love Billy Joel and the Talking Heads, but there is a bad side to every decade, and that is what Jake likes. I think it is secretly a torture device… He is the plotting sort)

-the plotting sort

-a foot tapper (tapping is bad by itself, but combined with the bad side of the 80’s it’s the most annoying thing ever, plus he is always tapping around his built in Drivers Ed Break and it always makes me think he is about to stomp on The Break.)

-a gum chomper (go ahead, chew that gum, but do NOT chomp it, I do not need to hear your saliva, thank you very much)

-rude

-a story teller (I can not describe the stories in my parentheses. Sad, isn’t it? But I promise I will tell you. However, I have quite a bit of homework to do, so I will share with you these fantastic stories sometime in the near future. This is also a suspense tactic, because now you’ll have to come back to my blog if you ever want to know what crazy things Jake tells me about. Or I could tell you now if anybody wants to do my homework for me… Probably no takers.)

Anywhoo.

Toodle Pip

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Personality Shopping

So here is my plan. Finding yourself is hard work and you have to start somewhere. I am starting with personality shopping.
It’s like this: You go to Target (pronounced tar-jay in the French style to make it sound more OhLaLa.) or some other store and you are looking about and you see the PERFECT white silk blouse. And in your mind you are screaming “I MUST BUY IT” but then Reason kicks in and your mental self wonders “what will I wear it with?” At first, you are a little irked with Reason because Reason has once more gone and ruined the excellent HOORAY feeling you had previously been experiencing. Then you stop and think, “Reason is right, I need a blazer to go with it, and maybe a pencil skirt. Thanks Reason.” So you go forth on the quest for the PERFECT ensemble to match the PERFECT silk blouse.
On this particular shopping excursion you are becoming more and more lucky (rare occurrence, so enjoy while you can, because trust me, it will end) and you find the ensemble of your dreams. You go to the dressing rooms to try it on, the excitement is building. You do one of those things where you close your eyes so you can’t see yourself in the single full length mirror; you want to go for the big BANG in the triple mirror wotsit. The excitement has reached its peak and you cannot stand to keep your eyes closed anymore. You HAVE TO SEE THE OUTFIT.
Your eyes flutter open and...
You hate it.
The pencil skirt is too long and makes your butt look lumpy.
The blazer has those weird pockets that open and gapes too much, not unlike a hungry baby bird.
You are completely and utterly dismayed.
You almost want to cry at the failure you have just felt.
Don’t deny it. We have all been there.
Anyway, personality shopping is going to be much like that. I will try on different parts of personalities such as Zen, O.C.D. control freak, quite and timid, WorkoutWoman, studious, party girl, etc etc etc. And I will think “WorkoutWoman? FANTABULOUS! I’ll be all strong and toned and fit.” And then I will try it on and stand in front of the mirror and want to cry, because my butt will look great but maybe it will make my skin gross and my muscles hurt and so forth. I don’t really know, seeing as I am currently not WorkoutWoman, but I will try. Maybe I will even combine things from different personalities. We shall see. Hopefully, this will teach me what I am and what I am not and never want to be.
Due to a moment of psycho crazy feminism I was lucky enough to witness today, I think that is where I will start.

So you are not confused I think that men are, as Mom put it oh-so-lovingly, “gigantic ass-holes this big” (imagine putting your arms in a big circle and peeping through them to show exactly how big of assholes they really are, while trying to drive a car in a straight line with your knees. Yes, good luck with that. As I have said, Mom is amazing.)

Sunday, January 25, 2009

The First

As you may have heard, life is full of journeys (SURPRISE!). And here I am, to talk about mine.

So, I don’t actually like to write. It’s the truth, you can ask any of my English teachers. Writing is just not my strong point. What I am good at is lists. I can make a list for anything and everything. But I think a Blog could help me with the whole “who am I” question, which is actually a very big thing in the big scheme of life and all. How can you live if you don’t know who you are? I don’t know either. I feel like the more I actually put out there the more I can organize all my thoughts and feelings and ideas and questions and one day it will all fall into place and I can just look at it and tilt my head to the side (this is my thinking pose) and say, “Oh of course! That is who I am, how did I miss it?”

I am fully aware that the chances of that happening are like slim to none, thank you very much. However I’d like to give it a chance and see what happens. My mom (code blog name, Mom) and her sisters all really seem to enjoy the Blog scene, and since they are my flesh and blood and I actually do like a lot of things they like (yes, I understand it is very rare for a sixteen year old to connect with Mom and Aunts) hopefully I will like it too, even if I don’t end up tilting my head to the side and saying “Oh of course!”

These are the things you may like to know about me:

-My name is ElleBee and I am sixteen. (Blog code name, so that nobody can find me and kill me, I trust you I really do, but these are precautions I must take for my own personal safety.)

-There is Mom. We are very close. This fact seems to surprise everybody at school. She is my role model and my best friend; however I don’t think she really realizes this. She is currently trying to find her calling with me.

-There is Dad (codename, again. I bet you can’t guess how we are related). He is in the military. I can’t tell you anymore because of the personal safety thing. (His not mine.)

-There is my older brother; I have to come up with a code name for him later, because I am not feeling very creative at the moment. But as soon as I do, I will let you know what it is. He is 18 and also in the military.

-There is my baby sister, Bib (This is my newest nickname for her, I have been trying out a lot of nicknames for Bib, but this is her codename forever on my new Blog). She’s not actually a baby, she is 15, but she is younger than me (hardly) and I like to pretend she is a little girl that needs to be taken care of. Even though she is not.

-There is my dog, Bubba (codename, but actual nickname that I use quite often). He is a golden retriever.

-There is the family dog, Yappy. That is not a very original codename, but she is rather yappy, so it will do. She is a Pembroke Welsh Corgi. And every time I say that, I think back to the Green Welsh Dragon in Harry Potter. Yappy secretly thinks that she is a Welsh Dragon, or a pit-bull. But she is mistaken; she is a Corgi, and a small one at that.

-I will not tell you where I live, although I will tell you that it is very cold most of the year. Good luck figuring that one out. I’ll give you a hint, it is not Hawaii, but I did live there once upon a time. It's very important to remember that it is cold, because I will most likely spend a lot of time and energy telling you about it.

-There is also Blondie. That is my brother’s (who desperately needs a codename now that I have mentioned him twice) fiancé. I like her very much and call her sister. She is one of my closest friends and we like to joke together.

-There is also The Boy Friend, who we will call Boyo P and sometimes just The Boy Friend, and you will know who I am talking about. That codename (Boyo P) was generously developed by my dear friend, Shay (codename), because as I’ve already said, I am not feeling very creative at the moment.


You should know that I might not be very good at writing frequently, as I have said, I don’t like it much. But I will try. That’s it for now.

Toodle Pip.