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
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.
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.)


-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)


-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.)


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.)