18 September 2012 @ 09:12 pm
I have a story.

I know, I know, since I quit working I haven't had any good stories. This is sad. :( School doesn't leave much room open for stories...except maybe the weirdo story*.

So there I was in the bath, soaking up the heat, possibly reading a history book, when I see a spider crawling on my towel.

Damn you, spider, I thought. You will not win.

After my shower/bath, I checked each side of both towels (one for my hair), shook them out--no spider. HAH, I WIN, I thought.

So I towel off and pick up my panties and think something like: Dammit I think these are too small for my ass, and I kinda stretch them out to see if maybe I can make them fit, when



Spider: 1
Manna: 0

You win this time, Spider. You win.


*My friend at school, Katie, was coming in one day. We had Joe Biden speaking at the school so she had to park in the middle of nowhere. A guy was parking out there with her, so they walked in together. They just chatted it up, had a lot in common, et cetera. So he asked for her number so they could stay in touch (even though she is married-- he mentioned this). So she says okay, gives it to him. When they part, he REACHES OVER, GRABS HER, AND KISSES HER HEAD.


He wasn't foreign. Some weird random nerdy guy. Just. WHAT. WHO DOES THAT??

Later that day I heard a girl in my history class talking about a guy who walked with her partway to class and asked for her number despite only knowing her for four seconds. Just. What. Same guy? MAAAYYYYYYBE.


Also I need to take a picture of the Mannadon that Neal sent me. That shit still cracks me up.
17 February 2012 @ 08:42 pm
I am so damn tired, it's not even funny. Zzzz.

Anyway, I never really considered myself a clumsy sort of person. I never really thought I was accident-prone. And when people told me I was, I basically told them to shove off because I honestly didn't think I was.

And then I stopped to think about it, and I guess I'm not as big a badass as I thought I was. -_-

Okay, in the last week I have nearly fallen down the stairs well over ten times. You know the feeling you get when your foot slips on the step? When you step too far and only the very edge of your heel catches the step? FFFFFF. That is a HORRIBLE feeling. It usually comes right before pain.

If you can't tell, I have fallen down many times in my life. I've been lucky in that I haven't really broken anything, but I had pretty strong bones as a little punk.

So there I'm remembering my joyous mishaps throughout my life, from start to finish, and I think, holy crap, I am a lot klutzier than I thought, but I will never, ever admit this IRL. Because seriously, it's sad.

If people added up the record they would know, but usually people don't get the full picture. Here are some memorable fun ones:

-Thought I'd be a brilliant little kid and I wanted to show my daddy this frog or toad or something I caught. Hell, maybe it was a rock. I don't even know. I was a dumb kid, always dirty and rolling in dirt/grass/whatever, so my weird obsession with animals began early. And with rocks, because I was bitter I couldn't collect them. ("We have plenty of pets, you don't need rocks!")(I secretly kept sparkly rocks in a box ANYWAY.) So I have great timing as always and show my dad whatever it was...while he's on a ladder. Maybe walking under it to get his attention was my downfall. Either way, the ladder, the paint, and my dad...all fall onto me. I was five. It hurt. Tore open my arm pretty spectacularly. I totally deserved it. And I learned that Epson salts hurt a lot when you have to soak a bloody appendage in them. Ouch.

-Ice and I do not get along. And this started when I was little. (Rain, snow, sleet: These things are also things that I do not get along with.) I live on a hill, and the bus always stopped at the end of our driveway. When I was very little we had nothing blocking our view of the road, so I could wait until I saw the bus about 1/4 mile away and then I could run down the hill. This was great because I didn't have to wait in the cold for the bus. Except I ran and slid/crashed/rolled down the hill a lot. This particular time I pitched over right in front of the bus...with everyone, including the driver, Barb, watching. She felt bad for me and asked me if I wanted to go back to the house. I said my mother would kill me if I did on to school I went. Now that I think back on it (I can still remember how that felt-- my nose smashed right through some of the ice at the bottom of the driveway, after all) I'm pretty sure I broke my nose that time. Holy crap did it hurt. I mean, wow.

-Playground equipment and I also did not get along. I was the type who always had scraped something-or-another, and I've always bruised easily, so I have spent most of my life rather banged up. No, really. Swinging from the metal monkey bars on the side of our backyard (actually: sideyard, but whatever) my hand slipped, I fell, busted my arm something good, and had to wear a sling to school...though the PhysEd teacher made me dribble a basketball anyway. :| We couldn't afford to go to the doctor, but we think it was sprained. Took weeks before I could use my arm right again.

-My first bicycle (training wheels that eventually came off, it was not a small bike, large for a kid who never hit a growth spurt) ended up with me doing a dive off into solid concrete. The scabs on my knees were a glistening yellowy-pink for months.

-Despite my bookish phase (that lasted a long time), I did spend a lot of time outdoors gardening and stuff, but when my brother got a new bicycle with HAND BRAKES I was more excited about it than he was. (I still had This hand-me-down Huffy, faded badly by the time I got it given to me by my cousin when she got a shinier bike.) I sped madly around the yard and when I got to the driveway I wanted to come to a badass skidding halt. ...Sadly nobody told me that pressing only the right brake would stop ONLY the front tire, and sure enough, I did a magnificent double-flip face-first into the gravel. Joy. My face/back/legs/arms have never forgiven me for that moment of derpidity.

-For 6th grade phys ed, we had to run a mile. Which would have been great, if people from our class could run to the mailbox without running out of breath. I was having a jolly old time and I finally finished but was so dizzy from all that running (we had played games all year instead of actually exercising but whatever) that I tripped right up the concrete steps to the gymnasium stage and cracked my knees on the edge of a step. Well, that was fun. It took four years for that pain to go away. Every time I forgot that my knee hurt I would crack it right into a wall, into the tire swing, into the sharp metal edge of the dog house's shingled roof, et cetera.

-I learned too late that one must be careful when walking down the stairs wearing socks. With no carpet runner or anything, wooden stairs are slippery...and splintery. There was the time I cracked my head really spectacularly going down, the time I landed on my face going down, the time I slid down on my back and it looked something like roadkill filled with splinters, and the numerous times I fell into a crumpled heap of horrified embarrassment at the bottom of the stairs. Oh, and all the times I just fell on my ass. Not my shining moment, I'd say.

-There was also my wonderful moment of putting my hand up in front of an airbag as it deployed. Not to mention my many other car accidents. Hitting The Old Lady when I drove the Blazer, hitting the golf course fence in my Cavalier knocking the alignment off but not noticing until five months later when my tires were almost shredded, almost running into another car right before a long trip in the Cavalier, hitting every curb EVER in the Cavalier, going off the road in the Cobalt, which was my lovely brand spanking new car, totaling the Cobalt before it was even seven months old, going off the road in my Equinox, getting into an accident that broke the axle on my Equinox, going off the road again in my Equinox knocking the alignment off, blah blah et cetera.

-All the times I've run into doorways, into doors, almost stepped on cats, tripped over dogs, tripped on tree roots, faceplanted, slid down the sidewalk, fell on my ass in Honda's parking lot, got my foot stuck under the assembly line edge (stupid big ass feet), got my head rolled up in a window, got my head slammed in by the hatch of my own car (once was my fault, the other time my sister did it to me, it hurt just as bad both times), shut my hand in a car door, play-fought with my brother and busted my head clean open against a wall, stepped on thorns, fell into raspberry bushes, got attacked by roosters...ahh. The memories.

I guess deep down I am somewhat of a klutz. And this is multiplied by a billion if I just woke up, because I will walk sideways and stumble into, over, and through things. I have run headlong into more solid objects than I care to admit when I first have woken up. HOWEVER, that does not excuse the amount of objects I've knocked over, the dishes I've broken, the times I've run straight into doors trying to leave because I THOUGHT THEY WERE PUSH DOORS, et cetera.

So, to make up for this ridiculous information overload that I personally find amusing and worth recounting just for the sake of recounting... have this picture of CiCi from a long while back (she's rather chubby a cat, now) stuck in a window.
Current Mood: Amused
Current Location: Ohio
Current Music: Silence
09 February 2012 @ 06:39 pm
I'd like to think that usually I'm not a perv. But.

Holy crap. HP fandom. Why must you always describe Remus as having:

long fingers

EVERY OTHER LINE? My thoughts take a dumpster dive before spilling straight into the nearest gutter. I mean, what is the point to mentioning the length of someone's fingers every other line unless you're trying to make the reader read too much into it, right?! Maybe I'm going insane. Mention it once, sure. Mention it every time the character uses their hands for anything, like scratching or drinking tea or turning the page of a book? I MEAN COME ON NOW.

But then...I am reminded of Sausage Fingers, this guy I used to work with on A Shift who had huge thick long fingers, like fucking sausages. I can't remember his name ffs, but I can't forget those fingers. THEY WERE NOT NORMAL.

He was an idiot, he sucked at his job, he was dull, he wasn't very attractive...yet he had a hot wife. We figured she married him for his hands. Buh dum tsshh.

...But no, seriously, I'm totally not a perv. Even though I was the one who started the Sausage Fingers nickname. I couldn't help it, though. He was doing a job right across from me, failing at it, but his fingers were right on top of the car doors RIGHT AT EYE LEVEL FOR ME TO SEE. And my first thought was, "Holy shit those aren't natural!" My second thought was, "Oscar Mayer."
05 February 2012 @ 11:25 pm
More random thoughts, skip if you wish. ;P

Talk about hair. )

But still. Can't decide if want longer hair or shorter hair or or or.

I just keep telling myself, oh God, shorter hair would be soooo easy to take care of!

But then I'm like

what if it looks bad D:
05 January 2012 @ 10:41 pm
Dad: You need to write down the mileage on your car.
Wendy: What?
Dad: You need to write down the mileage on your car.
Wendy: Huh? I don't--
Wendy: But I don't understand what it is you want me to do!
Dad: >:|
Mom: Don't listen to her, she's being a troll.

^Happened this morning.

Mission: Teach parental units internet slang and make sure they understand it.