Queen Maxine's Blog

About Me...

2010-02-20T09:00:00.001-05:00

So, I've been writing a lot on here. You know, here and there, maybe a few laughs. But I've been getting some requests to reveal who exactly is hiding behind that screen. Here goes.

Hi, my name is Maxine. I enjoy fine dining and taking long walks on the beach with my dog.

Hahahah not really. Fa seriush, now. I love mogul skiing. I'm a USSA Eastern Freestyle mogul competitor. Sounds fancy, eh? (Yeah, I've been to Canada too.) Umm...la la la...I like tacos. I write a lot. My favorite color is purple. I have two giant dogs named Porkey and Cloie. (Note to anyone who is thinking of purchasing a large dog: large dogs go to the bathroom. Largely.) I love sweatpants but wear jeans more often than not. I wear three necklaces at all times: my Best Friends necklace (I have the Best, she has the Friends), a piece of coral tied to a string (the wish I made when I put it on is supposed to come true when it falls off), and a fancy heart necklace my grandparents gave me. I loove Diet Coke, but hate regular Coke. It makes me mad when I order a Diet Coke and the waiter asks, "Is Pepsi okay?" No, Pepsi is NOT okay! Did I ORDER a Pepsi?!

Who even drinks Pepsi anyway? Neanderthals. That's who.

So there ya go. Can I get back to writing now, please?!

Plight of the White Dress

2010-02-16T12:42:00.001-05:00

Walk into any department store and you'll see racks of dresses. Red dresses, yellow dresses, blue dresses, green dresses, dresses with stripes, dresses with dots, halter-dresses, strapless dresses, dresses with built-in bras, see-through dresses, dresses your mother would forbid you to ever wear, dresses your grandmother would absolutely die if she saw you wearing, dresses your boyfriend would sweat if he saw you wearing...the list goes on.

(Actually, those last three might fall under the same category. Just saying.)

But there's no white ones.The request seems simple. A WHITE dress. W-h-i-t-e. Not black. White. I mean, brides wear white dresses. La, la, la, here comes the bride...in a white dress.

A few months ago, I had to purchase a white dress for an event I was going to. (Yeah, I'm cool. I go to events.) Anyway, THERE WERE NONE. The only white dresses I saw were of the potato sack variety. Honestly, it looks like someone took those shapless straw bags straight from the farm, slapped a coat of white paint on it, and threw it onto the racks.

The other ones were glorified sheets: long, drape-y and gauzeish. Sounds kind of ethereal, right? Sure. If you're making an ethereal ghost costume for Halloween by cutting two holes out of your bedcovering and throwing it over your head. Boo.

So, here's a missive to the mall: get some lightly hued dresses in stock, and then we'll talk.

Ooh, Ahh, GaGa

2010-02-16T12:26:00.000-05:00

America is obsessed with Lady GaGa, that pop sensation who wears rediculous costumes, fixes her hair into out-of-this-world styles, and shocks the nation time and time again. (Two words: The Grammys). Here's the real version of perhaps her most popular tune, Just Dance, written by none other than moi.

Just Dance
(Or Else)
By Lady GaGa Ft. Akon & Colby O'Donis
And Queen Maxine

RedOne, Konvict
GaGa, oh-oh, eh
It's best if we just tell you our names now. We'll be too wasted to remember them by the end of the song.

I've had a little bit too much, much
Jagerbombs! Jagerbombs! Jagerbombs!

All of the people start to rush, start to rush by
Ugh, am I gonna puke on my date again?

How does he twist the dance?
Do the hokey pokey, and turn yourself around...

Can't find a drink, oh man
WHERE'S THE BARTENDER?!

Where are my keys? I lost my phone, phone
I'm going to be locked out, fall asleep on the porch with my skirt around my ankles, and get woken up when the newspaper delivery boy hits on the head with the morning Times.

What's going on on the floor?
Lost my shoes again.

I love this record baby but I can't see straight anymore
What? Britney Spears?!

Keep it cool, what's the name of this club?
Mom will take away my wig if I forget where I am again!

I can't remember but it's alright, a-alright
Don't worry, girl. It's happened before.

Just dance, gonna be okay, da da doo-doo-mmm
Just dance, spin that record babe, da da doo-doo-mmm
Just dance, gonna be okay, d-d-d-dance
Dance, dance, just, j-j-just dance
I'm not really sure what's going on, so I'm gonna flail around wildly and spin in circles.
Yay!

Vivid Vocab #1: Letters

2010-02-15T23:28:00.007-05:00

My English teacher once told us that poetry is the "perfect words in the perfect order." At the time, I thought that was the most profound statement ever. It was one of those sentiments that hits you like a big yellow schoolbus (Cady from Mean Girls..) and makes you soak up every letter in silence until true meaning is uncovered. Ever since, I've been forming my own personal collection of Wordly Wise-worthy words (alliteration. whew) to create a very cool personal dictionary. Have you ever seen the Princess Diaries movie when Mia's choir sings the song "I catch a falling star and put it in my pocket...never let it fade away..."? Well, I do that too, but I catch words, not stars.

I'll share them every so often.

Because this is all about nifty ABCs, the first edition is letter-themed.

missive: I saw this word written on someone else's blog and fell in love with it. It means letter or note. But to me, I think this is a kick-butt kind of note. Like, "Yeah, I'm writing you a letter, but if you don't respond? So what! I'm cool enough to not care, because I'm cool enough to use the word missive in the first place."

billet-doux: This was the Dictionary.com Word of the Day on Valentine's Day. I thought it was cute because it means love letter. ("Billet" in French means ticket or note). French is a romantic language, Paris a romantic place, billet-doux a love note...it just fits.

The Worst Blogger Ever?

2010-02-12T09:17:00.004-05:00

Oh, hey there!

Well, I'm a terrible person.

Yes, that may be hyperbole, but no, I 'm not exaggerating that much. It's been a while since I've written a blog post. I know, I'm sorry! I've left y'all hangin'...and I feel bad.

The truth is, I've been doing some amazing things in this several month span. (You know, besides saving the world and all that.) I've teaveled to different states and even different countries; I've started another year of school (which is just riveting, believe me); and I've even managed to finally buy a new cell phone

So, please forgive me, and look out in the future for some upcoming things I've been concocting underneath my very large forehead.

Right now, I'm writing from Sugarloaf, ME, where I may or may not have torn my left ACL in a freak shmelting accident.

(Yes, shmelting accident IS from Austin Powers Goldmember. I'm not sure what it is, but it sounds cool, and I had an accident, so I'm using it.)

At least one good thing has come out of this. I spent $17.01 on cookie dough. Just cookie dough. Of the sugar variety, to be exact. (Which I don't plan to cook first before eating, mind you.)

Salmonella, be afraid. Be very afraid.

Facebook Shenanigans

2009-12-26T22:33:00.001-05:00

Face it: without Facebook, no one would have any friends. People everywhere would be forced to revert back to the dark ages or maybe just the 2002 pre-Britney Spears’ baby days. Oh boy. That means inconveniently picking up a telephone-like device to converse with friends or even talking with them in person. What a nuisance. Really, without Facebook’s little handy-dandy applications, like that strategically placed calendar on the homepage, how would anyone ever remember that 7/11 is Free Slurpee Day or that next Tuesday is that kid in math class’s mom’s boyfriend’s birthday?
Speaking of that boyfriend guy, nowadays it seems everyone is on that website, including parents, grandparents, aunts, milkmen, and that homeless guy down the street. The fastest growing demographic of Facebook users is people aged 35 years old and older. Ever receive a friend request from your best friend’s dad and feel a little leery accepting it? That’s okay. Tons of teenagers admit they’ve used the sneaky little “Accept then Remove” trick. Ah, those sly foxes.
And what about the relationship status? If someone’s profile says “In a Relationship” everyone who sees it is like “Oh man, another boyfriend?!” Some daring individuals go about in crafty ways trying to discover who the new romantic companion is without being overly forward, but anyone who witnesses these tactics are enlightened to the real motives behind them. For example, anyone who comments the change saying something like, “Who’s the lucky guy?” is really saying “WHO?! AND WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!!!”
On the other hand, if someone’s profile says, “In a relationship with…” then everyone who sees it knows they’re off limits. If you see that, here’s some fair warning: paws off, pal. Don’t even think of commenting that profile picture.
With the new addition of the “Live Feed”, it seems a new status update from someone is posted every three seconds. More than 45 million status updates each day are posted on the site from its 300 million active users. Additionally, it was estimated that in the past year, 2344564566 statuses about Twilight were posted.
(Alright, I admit it. That was a lie.)
(But really …NEWW MOOOON <33333!!!!)
I’ve noticed that a nice little pattern has emerged on the site: every two days Facebook is “fixed” with a “crucial change” to become “better”; then, two days later, everyone joins a group like “1,000,000 People Against _______! Facebook told us if we get 1,000,000 people join this group then they will change it back to what it used to be!”
Well obviously, Facebook lies.
Everywhere I turn someone is being labeled a Facebook stalker. Every first period, little choruses of “You looked at my picture? Creeper!” harmonize. Since more than 2 billion photos are uploaded to the site each month, why do we even put pictures up if we don’t want anyone to look at them? That stupefies me.
Then again, so does Farmville.

Things I Hate

2009-03-31T15:00:00.004-04:00

You know those horrible moods? Those I-hate-the-world, I'm-going-to-burrow-in-my-bed, cry-for-no-reason, watch-large-amounts-of-Grey's-Anatomy-and-eat-a-lot-of-Ben-&-Jerry's-Chunky-Monkey moods? Well, for a greater part of this weekend, I was stuck in one of those negative spirals. However, it wasn't all bad. It inspired me to create the "Top 5 Things That I Hate List."

1. When people think you are younger than you actually are. Recently, one of my friends asked me to do some damage at the mall with her, but when she asked her dad for a ride, he said no. He said he "didn't want to be responsible for me" because "I was young to go to the mall alone." However, he would happily bring his daughter instead. His daughter and I are the same age and perfectly capable of shopping together.

2. When my parents continue take control of things I'm fully capable of handling as a mature adult. This morning, my mom journeyed with me to the local deli, where I proceeded to order a turkey sandwich. She said, "Please make it small, she doesn't eat a lot." Then, she decided to comment on the health benefits (or non-benefits) of my mayonnaise choice. I felt like shouting, "Mom! I've been making sandwiches for the greater part of two decades! Step off!"

3. When people judge you at the grocery store. Stop staring at me as I coast through the baby food aisle, people; I'm not a teenage mom, I'm just taking a shortcut to the milk aisle. Okay?

4. When guys try to hit on girls, and fail. At said deli counter, I also ordered a half-pound of Swiss cheese. As I walked away, the semi-cute-but-lacking-in-IQ butcher said, "Goodbye, Muenster." Did he forget that I ordered SWISS only seconds ago?! Then, I realized I was wearing a shirt that said "Monster Energy Drinks." Either someone can't read past a third grade level or has way too much cheese on the brain.

5. When you do something embarrassing and it seems nobody can forget about it. Sure, everyone has embarrassing moments, but it's a real bummer when my crew won't stop discussing how "it made their day" because it was so "hilarious" when I...um...hmmm. Maybe I won't share said embarrassing moment here, to save myself in a distant future when I decide to run for public office...

Well, that's one way to get free food...

2009-03-29T19:33:00.007-04:00

In this economic recession, it is important to save money wherever possible. The country has already observed some steadfast citizens taking this to the extremes - after all, last year there was that guy trying to sell a piece of burnt toast on eBay. But, there must be some way to save a little cash without enduring public humiliation and receiving invitations to appear on embarrassing talk shows, right?

Well, I think I've found the Solution to All Solutions.

Last night, while dining at a local Japanese restaurant, the soft, melodic Asian tunes playing softly throughout the establishment's speakers suddenly changed to extremely loud gong banging. I was enraged at this disturbing distraction from my seemingly peaceful meal. However, I quickly realized that the gong was used to celebrate a fellow diner's birthday! The birthday boy’s waiter appeared from the back holding a lit candle...submerged in a dish of ice cream. Boy, was that chocolate mess tantalizing...

Suddenly, I got an idea. If I pretended it was my birthday, would they give me a free ice cream desert too?!

I decided to try out the idea. One of the people I was eating with opted to turn it into a prank. We alerted the waiter it was my brother's "birthday" - without telling my brother, of course. You should have seen his face when he started to courteously sing happy birthday to an unknown stranger...then realized the unknown stranger was, in fact, himself and that dish of ice cream was headed towards his placemat.

The restaurant even brought out a birthday hat and balloons for my fuming brother, but he couldn't speak up. Even he was mesmerized by that chocolate sundae's super sweet taste.

For all of you who decide to try out this idea, I suggest bringing a video camera to capture the moment. And remember, don't spend your saved $3.99 all in one place.

The River Experience

2009-03-02T20:55:00.008-05:00

I've been known to trip and fall. A lot. (See "Diaries of a Ditz.") Usually, I can keep these instances contained...kind of. For example, when I concentrate really, really hard I can stand up in my high heels for a long period of time without swaying. Or carry a lunch tray throughout the cafeteria without making the nearest student a victim of Meatloaf Surprise and chocolate pudding. However, when I'm alone in the real world, things can get pretty Japanese game show-ish.

This morning, after an extreme snowstorm in the northeast that left schools closed (and mothers of five begging for them to be re-opened...), my brother and I decided to go snowshoeing in our white-blanketed backyard. This was fun until we realized a circle around our 2-acre yard was about as fun as the kiddie Dragon coaster at the carnival (you know, the one that even your Grandma Mae can outrun?) Plus, our moss-covered chimney was not exactly exciting scenery to hike around. So, we began the daunting hike up Ramapo Reservation. (A very big hill.) I hiked all the way up said hill on my feet with no wounds, punctures, lacerations or injuries. I didn't even have any falls threatening a twisted ankle. I was extremely proud of this rare accomplishment.

However, after we were finished hiking up, we started to descend. This was where things got ugly.

At the bottom of the hiking loop, my brother and I saw a frozen-over river. We were familiar with this - it was on the other side of our neighborhood . As a responsible, mature older sister, I warned my younger brother not to go near it. After all, too many newspaper clippings of Ice Fishing Gone Bad had caught my attention over the years and I was terrified of plunging into the water.

He promised he wouldn't jump on top, that "he just wanted to go to the edge and look in". I agreed, and we hiked over to the river, sat on the edge and peered out. Suddenly, I heard an ominous cracking sound (just like in the movies right before the little ice skater with the plaid scarf sinks into oblivion), and realized the "land" we were sitting on was actually the river - just snow-covered! I freaked out and plummeted onto the edge of the the ice-cold (literally) water. Luckily, it was only about 2 feet deep, and I just walked out. Phew!

Despite the fact that I was okay, I know I should take safety more seriously. I haven't exactly been a good girl recently...my mom wasn't exactly "proud" when I mentioned that I hitchhiked last weekend...

Diaries of a Ditz

2009-02-26T18:23:00.005-05:00

I have blonde hair.
This is not a bad thing. Actually, it's kind of a good thing. It's naturally light in some places and dark in others; with Sun-In, I think it looks pretty nice in the summertime.
Except, I get stereotyped by strangers. A lot. I mean, obviously a girl with blonde hair must be dumb, get sub-par SAT scores, and have a rough time speaking the English language properly. Right? Oh, of course!
To all the blonde girls out there: I feel your pain. Whenever someone starts off a sentence with "Hey, did you hear the latest about that blonde girl that (insert dumb action here)..." I want to run away screaming. I have common sense! I really do! I mean, it's just...I'm smart. I'm in honors classes. I can speak English fluently and have a firm grasp of Spanish. Just because I'm a blondie doesn't mean I'm going to fall off of a mountain or grab a backpack instead of a parachute when skydiving.

So, for your enjoyment, here's a list of the ditsiest blonde things I've ever heard of. (Warning: do not attempt unless your hair is nearing the strawberry-golden range of hues, otherwise you WILL be questioned about your true hair color and the reason behind your actions.)

1. At a ski area, accidentally get lost and end up in the backyard of a southern-VT farm, 30 miles away from your original point. Hitchhike back to the mountain on the back of a man named Old Grizzly's dirtbike.
2. Accidentally throw a pack of gum in with the laundry, thinking it's a dryer sheet. Have bits and pieces of your clothes stick together. (R.I.P. black tank top!)
3. Send a text to your cousin saying "Sorry I can't hang out tonight, I have to go to that disgusting diner with my family. It's my cousin's birthday. I can't believe he likes that place!" Then, realize your uncle actually owns the restaurant.
4. Answer the door with only a towel on without realizing your best friend's older father was at the door. Panic, and quickly bend down so he can only see your head through the window on the door. Instead of smoothly fixing your blunder, end up looking 3 feet tall and naked.
5. Write a poem making fun of your English teacher and her poetry assignment. Accidental hand that poem in instead of your real one. Act confused when "See me" appears at the top of the paper.
6. Throw snowballs at cars passing by on a snowy day. Realize that the line of cars wasn't slow moving traffic; it was a funeral procession.
7. Call your bad-service waiter names behind his back. Do an impersonation of his funny accent. Discuss being scared of spit in your food. Realize he was behind you, overhearing the mockery.
8. Get mad at friend in hallway at school. Hit him with backpack. Run away, but trip into garbage can, Mean Girls-style.
9. Break the belt loop on your brand new pants. Wear a long sweatshirt to cover it. Get dared into doing pull-ups on a metal bar over your friend's doorway. Have sweatshirt rise, revealing broken belt loop. Belt falls off. Pants fall off. You stay on the pull-up bar.
10. Type a long, personal IM to a close friend. Post it as your Facebook status by mistake.

Ugh, I guess blonde jokes CAN be kind of funny...here's some more good ones. http://www.coolblondejokes.com/

What To Do When You Are In a Situation Where Spanish Conversation Is Expected But You Don't Speak Spanish Very Well

2009-02-19T18:08:00.006-05:00

Last year, my friend's Spanish class was a light breeze moving slowly through the autumn air. This year, it is a fierce winter wind threatening to destroy her handsome snowman standing tall in the backyard. While her last two semester grades were A's, that hasn't been due to her super sick flashcards or 3:30 a.m. study sessions. Her loco teacher's rather, er, "unconventional" ways of open book tests guaranteed an easy 100. Except, when the foreign language department supervisor came into the class and started quizzing her on the current lesson all about traffic lights and stop signs, she quickly asked me, Advice Giver of All Advice Givers, for an escape plan.
What To Do When You Are In A Situation Where Spanish Conversation Is Expected But You Don't Speak Spanish Very Well

1. Breathe deeply and stare intently. This will make it look like you are conjuring up a cunning, witty, intelligent response with verbs in the correct tense and perfectly matched adjectives. (Really, you could be checking out some guy in front of you with an intense, "intellectual" gaze. The listener does not have to know what you are actually looking at.)

2. Smile. The person may become transfixed by your mirror-like, sparkly, snow white teeth, slip into a trance, fall onto the floor, and you will be saved from ever uttering "Me llamo Maxine" ever again.

3. Throw the word "bano" into the conversation at random intervals. "Bano" means bathroom and you may convince the listener you are about to explode and need to exit the encounter immediately, for whatever washcloset-related reason.

4. Break down crying and repeat the phrase "Mi gato! Mi gato!" endlessly. The listener will think something deathly horrific has happened with your cat because "gato" translates to "cat". He or she probably begin conersing in your known language (English!) for the full story. I mean, who doesn't want to hear about the trials and tribulations of kittens?

5. When all else fails, make the super sick flashcards. After all, your Spanish teacher will be proud, that A of yours will become an A+, and you will always be prepared for any surprise trips to Tijuana.

Death by Research Paper

2009-02-17T21:04:00.007-05:00

Two words. 13 Letters.
One big, fat, disgusting, in-your-face meaning.
Research paper.

Whenever teachers across America dare to utter those two words, cars beep, windows shatter, eardrums split, and students quiver in their seats. When the words "due date" and "MLA format" are hooked on to the end of that same sentence, I suggest one should always bolt out of the building at once.

This year, my world history teacher assigned a research paper, just like my middle school teachers had done. I didn't think much of it until he covered my once-innocent school desk with an endless amount of packets discussing proper notecard size, parenthetical citations and (worst of all!) the 6-8 page required length. You couldn't even see the tattered, faux-wood varnish under the pile of wasted paper.

For a college graduate or high school upperclassman used to banging out useless busywork, 6-8 pages on Louis Pasteur might easily be compared to a slice of Carvel ice cream cake.

For me, a freshman who likes to spend her time texting her Facebook friends and training for mogul competitions, 6-8 pages is compared to running a mile on a track of spikes.

Sure, I love writing. I mean, I'm writing this in my spare time. One of my electives is creative writing, and I'm taking honors English. One day, I'd love to see myself pictured on the back cover of a published novel. But right now, babbling on about how we can safely drink our milk without choking on fermented bacteria due to Louis Pasteur's amazing discoveries in science isn't on the top of my to-do list.

It isn't even on my personal priorities list.

So, in my waning hour of procrastination, I've conjured up a definition of "research paper" to suit everybody's practical needs. Maybe it will inspire you to crack open that Word document and add a few sentences that hopefully sound somewhat intelligent. Or, maybe it will inspire you to head downstairs with a pint of Ben & Jerry's and catch up on Grey's Anatomy. Who knows?

research paper (n): an extremely Satan-like task assigned to high-schoolers by teachers who believe in torture. (antonyms: fun) (see also: daunting tasks, endless assignments, boring work)(synonymous to death.)

Supergirls Speak Out - READ IT NOW!

2009-02-10T20:19:00.006-05:00

Recently, I became in contact with Liz Funk, a 20-year-old college senior who is publishing her debut novel. Isn't that cool? 20 years old and a published novel. I totally admire her. This amazing girl helped me get started in the writing industry. (Look at me now! Writing on a blog! Who would have ever imagined?)

Look out for her book, Supergirls Speak Out, which discusses the pressures on young girls on today's society, appearing in stores March 3. It tackles difficult topics such as depression, eating disorders, grades, colleges, boyfriends, friends, and the "hook-up culture" we live in. It's an awesome read, and extremely thought-provoking. I urge all of you to check it out! You'll be surprised about how much her observations affect your own life.

Check out Liz's website at LizFunk.com
Watch a a clip of her on the February 10 Today Show episode, plus read a sneak-peek excerpt of the book, at http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/29103520/#storyContinued

Eyes Wide With Fear?

2009-02-05T20:34:00.004-05:00

Recently, the new semester started at my high school. We all know what that means...new classes! Yay! (This is great news when you are switching from AP Calculus to Off-Campus Study Hall. Or from Honors US History II to Painting & Drawing. Sadly, this is the kiss of death when you are changing from International Cooking to AP Latin V.)
Luckily for me, I am now taking creative writing second period. Woo-hoo! Some may roll their eyes and think, "Wow! Who would ever think a teenager would like to write more than absolutely necessary? 'Teenager likes essays' sounds almost sounds as strange as 'five-year-old boy enjoys taking long showers and eating spinnach.'"
Well, I like writing. So ha. Right now, in class, we're working on writing poetry. I thought I might try and frighten you with a bit of scary verse. Enjoy!
(But please, Ned, only call your mother if you are really, REALLY scared. Like if it is an absolute necessary emergency. She got a little bit upset the last time you inturupted bingo when you called her after you got spooked when your favorite sweatshirt shrunk in the dryer. Okay?)

Darkness

glistening moon

casts a milky

pathway

on the clearing

midnight sky

illuminated

wind crackling

gravel crunching

underfoot

trees trembling

in agony

the figure steps out of the shadows.

Worst YouTube Video. Ever.

2009-01-26T17:49:00.003-05:00

I'm getting old.

Alright, alright. I'm not old. Like, old-old. At least not in that cane-and-walker, Depends diapers, false teeth that fall out in your soup kind of old. Not even in that gray hair and "ah! my achin' back!" kind of old.

But I'm growing up.

The other day, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I'm aging. Aging! Me, invincible Maxine, is growing older. Wow. Now I know what my mom always complains about. Well, this stinks.

I was sitting casually in my fraying desk chair, contemplating my procrastonated English paper, when my little brother suddenly ran in the room with a grin ear-to-ear. He was more off-the-walls than a Mexican jumping bean on crack.

"Maxi! Maxi! OMG! You GOT to see this!" he excitedly screamed.
"What now, Myles? I've got to do stuff."
"Let me just show you! Please!"

He led me to YouTube where he proceeded to excitedly type in "Salad Fingers." Just from the title, my stomach began to churn. (Never eat a super size salad from a McDonalds with ranch dressing. Don't even think of mashing the fries into the ranch dressing. Ever.)

The obviously homemade cartoon began to play. Instantly, my brother cracked up. He proceeded to laugh hysterically throughout the entire 2-minute waste of my life. He thought it was so funny. Like, actual laugh out loud, rolling on the ground, stomach-aching funny. The kind of laughter you get after watching one of those Japanese game shows where people fall off logs.

I found nothing even slightly comical about the strange emo figure finding pleasure in touching rusty spoons. "The feel of rust against my salad fingers is almost orgasmic?" What the heck? Rust is not orgasmic. ORGASMS are orgasmic. (Or ice cream.)

When I saw there were multiple episodes of this nonsense, I began to scream! Who would actually want to follow along with these schenanagans? They must be extremely sexually deprived or temporarily psychotic. Or both.

So, I guess I'm old, then. I don't find childish humor the least bit funny anymore. And I'm scared. What's next? I'll scoff at Spongebob?

No! Not the sponge.

In case you missed Salad Fingers, check it out here. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M3iOROuTuMA

8 Weirdest Places to Straighten Your Hair

2009-01-22T18:22:00.005-05:00

Alright, alright. I guess I'm a teeny, tiny bit too obsessed with primping. Not really in a bad, Barbie girl, two hours with the blow dryer kind of way. But after spending the majority of my life as a awkward, dumpling-shaped basketball-head (complete with braces!), I'm just happy to have gotten a little bit of pretty dust from the puberty fairy. So, when I ski, I straighten my hair to avoid nasty tangles in my naturally curly, blonde locks. (I'm a competitive freestyle skier. Pretty sick, eh?) (Yeah. I've travelled to Canada too.)

This straightening is not a big deal. Usually. Except when I'm doing it in a ski lodge in Upstate NY and a group of gaggling pre-teens enter the smelly bathroom and notice my straightener plugged into the wall heating up. And audibly make fun of it.

"Hahahah! Who brings a STRAIGHTENER to a SKI LODGE?! What a freak! Woowww."

I hid in the stall until they left. (And this was not a short amount of time, mind you.) Then I exited, completely humiliated. My face was red as a wheezy tomato...(ah, back to the basketball-head days.)

I contemplated this interaction for the longest time. Then it dawned on me...there are WAY weirder places to straighten your hair than a ski lodge. Ha! Take that bratty snowplowers! (I bet their hair was messy as a rat's nest, anyway.)

8 Weirdest Places to Straighten Your Hair
8. In an airplane. (Are there even outlets in airplanes? Next thing you know, it will be on the news, "A 747 Delta jet landed in a Minnesota family's backyard...just moments after the season premiere of Lost. It was reported that a passenger on the plane was straightening their hair in the closet-sized lavatory.)

7. While on the toilet. (I stand by the general rule that some things just shouldn't be mixed. Like oil and water. Or toilets and hair straighteners.)

6. In the mall. (Ugh...dirty diapers, sweaty french fries and the dingy smell of perfume from those make-up ladies lined up like toy soldiers in Macy's can't be too healthy for your mane. Plus, those pesky mall cops might get agitated at bathroom loitering. Personally, I think the Paul Blarts of the world need to take a chill pill, but that's just me...)

5. While in the middle of a date in a pitch-black movie theater where no one can see your hair anyway.
("Sweetie, I'll be right back. Two seconds."
"Where are you going? You'll miss the movie!"
"Uh, to the bathroom. I just need to do a quick touch-up..."
twenty minutes later
"You missed the good part of the movie! I knew you would. What took so long? I thought you said two seconds...Ow! A wire hanging out of your purse just smacked me!"

4. At a coffee shop. (I'll have a venti caramel no-whip macchiado with steamed soy milk. Oh, and can I have a side of straight hair with that?)

3. While riding a motorcycle. (Ah, the wind rustling through your, er, semi straight hair.)

2. In the middle of an intense air hockey tournament. (Nobody is paying attention to your hair anyway. They're all wearing NJ Devils hats and focused on the intense 6-6 score at hand.)

1. In a ski lodge. (Because without my little incident, this list wouldn't have been written!)

AHHH OMG OMG!! Look at me...freaking out over nothing.

2009-01-11T19:14:00.005-05:00

This is an actual story of one of those girls on the new MTV show True Life: I Have Nothing to Do With My Time Besides Waste It.

She was just hanging out with one of her friends, trying on make-up and stuff, when her Blackberry Curve buzzed ominously on the table. She figured it was another friend texting her about some party or whatever.

Her friend slid the phone over the countertop without missing a beat, not even looking up from straightening her hair. They had practiced the same exact drill so many times before, by now it was just muscle memory. Thumb here, press there, message sending, sent.

She glanced down at her phone, expecting maybe an ever-fowarded "If you send this to 10 people tomorrow you will meet Prince Charming, you will be able to read minds and your father will buy you a pet unicorn..." But, no!

OMG! Wait a second. Was this for real? It was him! HE texted her! AHHH! Why? OMG! It was the best day of her life. HE actually texted her. She was freaking out. She started jumping up and down screaming! AHHH OMG OMG OMG! Why did he text her? Did he like her? Does he know she likes him? AHHH!

She was so over-the-moon excited about this text. OMG! This, like, never happened ever.
The screen flashed along with her excitement:

1 New Message
From HIM

She didn't know what to do. Should she open it? Should she read the text? Should she pretend she didn't see it, building the anticipation on her (almost nonexistant) relationship? What should she say if she did respond? Should she use all capitals? All lowercase? Some caps and some lowercase? Mostly lowercase with a few caps randomly thrown in for affect? TaLk LiKe ThIs? Only capatalize every other Q? Every other E? Every other Y?

She turned to her friend, who still didn't know about this earth-shattering, ground-breaking, unprecedented, amazing, super-awesome, freak-out worthy event and was still dabbling away at her already perfectly pin-straight locks.

"OMG! OMG!"
"What?!"
"You will NEVER guess what like just happened. Like I'm like so excited right now. Like, you have no like idea."
"OMG! What is it? What happened?"
"HE texted me!"
"Like what do you mean HE texted you?"
"HE like texted me!!!"
"AHHH!"
"AHHH!"
"Are you going to like respond?"
"What should I say?! Should I use capitals? All lowercase?..."

She was contemplating what to do. If she texted right back, she could seem eager. But she didn't want to blow him off. She could open it, but decide not to text back right away. Maybe she would never respond. Maybe she would call him! Respond on Facebook wall to wall! Facebook pop-out chat! IM! IM to his cell phone! Oh, the possibilties were endless.

After much deliberation, (because 34 seconds is so long, you know?) she slowly slid her phone over in the palm of her hand, feeling the smooth, hard metal covering twirl against her lotioned and perfumed skin. Her friend looked over her shoulder curiously, because duh, that's what friends are for. Then, she squeezed her eyes shut...first the left one, then the right. She quickly clicked the necessary buttons on her phone to go to the texting menu before she could change her mind. (After all, she had done it so many times before, she really could do it with her eyes closed. Left, left, right, center.) It only took a second for the text to open.

She opened her eyes. The screen read:

hey.

Ode to PB&J

2009-01-06T21:03:00.008-05:00

Ah, there's something refreshing about all the food I used to consume as a child. Reverting back to the days of PB&J, mac n' cheese, Granny Smith apples and chocolate milk (pretty much all the foods I ate in kindergarten) somehow brings on a type of nostalgia unrecognizable anywhere else.
Hence, the ode to PB&J.

Ode to PB&J

PB&J

What can I say?

I love you,

Like I love my left foot.

(And I love Edna a lot.)

Turkey, shmurkey.

Who knows what goes on with those?

One of those grown-up 'wiches will never pass my lips.

I want to keep you around forever, PB&J,

Even if you are only popular with nerds.

I'll be a nerd,

Only if I can savor your creamy legume-ness

Mixed with the sweet smell of artificial berries

And the soggy twist of Wonder bread.

Ah, and your cousin,

Mac.

Mac Cheese.

I love him.

I doodled on my notebooks "Mrs. Cheese."

Now, Miss Teacher is in a freeze.

She sees where I write Mrs. Cheese

And says, "Maxine, erase that at once, Mac is mine!"

No! Mac, don't leave me.

I'll have to resort to pesto pasta.

"Ew," as everyone would agree.

Granny Smith is the second-best.

(The apple, that is.)

Not Grammie, the white-haired wrinkly lady who knits too-big sweaters.

(She pinches my cheeks until they just need a rest.)

Oh, and choco milk, choco choco milk!

I think of you before I fall asleep at night.

You are the drink of my dreams.

"Choco milk all around but not a drop to drink"

Is my worst nightmare.

So, foods in my fantasies, stay with me.

Don't venture off my [breakfast, lunch and] dinner plates.

(Until first grade, that is.)

Poles + Tongues: A Non-Sexual Story

2009-01-01T14:18:00.005-05:00

Boy, did I have an interesting time on my winter break ski trip. Very interesting. Never mind the fact that it rained, then went up to 60 degrees, then froze...(pretty bad conditions)...then snowed while we were leaving. Actually, never mind the actual skiing at all. My interesting experience occurred on the chairlift.

Now, I know what you're thinking. No, this little incident didn't involve anyone falling off the lift, nor did it involve anything sexual. I was with my family, after all. However, it did involve my little brother. And a bet. And my dad eventually stepping in to our little disagreement, causing the Great Demise of Maxine's Tongue.

It all started when my brother and I got into a debate on whether or not tongues actually stick to cold metal poles. He said they would, and I said they wouldn't. I knew it was just an old wives tale passed on from generation to generation, but not factual at all. Right?

We decided to test out our conflicting theories. It wasn't that cold out...maybe about 35 degrees F. I pressed my tongue to the side of the chairlift. Nothing. I left it there for a few minutes. I even wiggled it around. Still nothing. It didn't even stick to the pole for a mere second. Triumphant, I exited the chairlift, once again beating my little brother in a meaningless squabble. Little did I know that the only reason it didn't stick then was that the temperature was above freezing. This incident would come back to haunt me.

The next day, we were riding up the same chairlift when my brother raised the tongue/pole issue again. My dad clarified our question by saying, "Oh, your tongue won't get stuck!" Of course, I believed him. Ugh. Bad move, Maxi, bad move.

Oblivious to me, they were both retaining extreme amounts of laughter as I pressed my tongue to the pole. It was an ominous sign of the danger to come. Instantly, my tongue stuck, numbing it. I tried to pull it off. It wouldn't budge. We were nearing the top of the mountain. Aaah! I began to worry. I couldn't ride back down the chairlift with my tongue still stuck. I felt like the little foolish schoolboy that is the butt of all his town's jokes in one of those Laura Ingles Wilder books. I started screaming.

"Daaaeey! Daad! Hewp! Mah tung ith sthuk to da pole! HEWP!"
He cracked up.
Way to go, family.
Such a huge help in my time of need.

I had to get the job done myself. But how? I took my still-gloved hand, raised it to the pole, and drew in a deep breath. I knew what I had to do. I ripped the tongue off and shook my head side to side to free it. Ah. Safe at last.

Unfortunately, my tongue freedom came at a price. Some tongue stayed frozen to the bar. My tongue bled for the next 4 runs and was sensitive to everything I ate that day. (Especially mustard. Don't ask.) Plus, it hurt. Badly. Very badly. It was still sore all throughout my New Years Eve celebration and still feels a little hurt today. Poor tongue.

So, if you were at Hunter yesterday and saw a girl in a lime green coat all over the place down the hill spitting red blood, sorry.
And, if you rode on chair 1 on the Hunter Quad and saw a mysterious white blob stuck to the pole, I am extremely sorry.

10 Worst Gifts of 2008

2008-12-26T14:28:00.007-05:00

Ah, the day after Christmas. The day families across America clean up those mountains of wrapping paper and tissue strewn about their living rooms. The day kids everywhere finally relax those smiles of glee from amazing gifts they received and forced, fake smiles of glee from the gifts Aunt Pearl didn't exactly get right. This year, my family did pretty good compared to years past. (I never want to speak of the 2 knit turtlenecks I got two years in a row three sizes too big. Sorry Ma, I never "grew into them.") Maybe it's the bad economy. Maybe my family is just finally opening their eyes to my wardrobe choices. Even so, there were a few flat liners...

10 Worst Gifts of 2008
10. "Ski" pants. Seems fine, right? Yeah, until you peer closer to the label and read "Saltwater Fishing Pants."
9. How to Use Your George Foreman Grill by Judd Mackerel. Uh, I don't own a George Foreman Grill. And I don't cook, period.
8. Granny panties from Fruit of the Loom. You know, the ones your mom always bought you before you discovered Victoria's Secret. With the elastic. And the little bow. Size XL.
7. One-year paid subscription to African Birds and Birding. Oooh! Ahhh! Not.
6. A cream colored lampshade. No comment.
5. Cat toys. First of all, I don't have a cat. Second of all, they aren't even the squeaky kind! Ugh.
4. Brown colored contact lenses. I don't even wear glasses, and I already have brown eyes. Can't wait to test these out, Uncle Merv. Woo hoo!
3. One striped sock. Just one. Not the other. Oh, I adore this gift! I just can't wait to match this striped sock up to my polka dot sock! Then I'll be a real winner.
2. A birthday card, complete with clown, that read "Dear Louise, Hope you enjoy a wonderful Easter." Note to Aunt Betty: My name is Maxine, and it's Christmas, not my birthday or Easter.
1. The back to the Voyager. Not the whole phone, just the back piece that keeps the battery in place. Wow. I can't even begin to fathom how you managed that one, Dad. Way to go. What am I supposed to do, ask someone who has the Voyager (which I really wanted in the first place) if I can borrow their phone just to test out my cool new back? Yeah!

My Christmas Present to You!

2008-12-26T00:49:00.005-05:00

Uh, just in case you hadn't noticed (if you are suffering from temporary farsightedness and/or haven't eaten any carrots in the past three years) some changes were made to the site. We've got some new colors and a new gadget titled "Queen Maxine's Useless Knowledge". Also, I've updated my blogger profile to actually say stuff. (About time, huh?) Play around with it and let me know what you think. Merry Christmas, Feliz Navidad, Happy Hanukkah, Amazing New Year, Blessed Kwanzaa, Fun-filled Ramadan, Sugar-high Halloween, Celebratory Independence Day, Lovely Valentine's Day, Awesome Birthday, Great Groundhog Day, and happy any other holiday you may think of. (Grandparents Day, anyone...?)

P.S.: I realize I'm technically writing this the day after Christmas. It was a long day, Santa was good to me...let's just pretend it's very late at night on the 25th, okay?

My Mom Wouldn't Be Proud

2008-12-24T16:20:00.004-05:00

Do I dare enter? The entrance is blocked. I can't see in. I don't know what to expect. One can only imagine...

A tornado occurred recently, resulting in absolute destruction. Crusty foodstuffs now paper the walls in an almost patterned fashion, instead of the customary paint. An overturned, ripped, chair lies in pieces near the corner, a definate hazard. Various blankets, pillows and covers pile the floor. Who knows what lurks underneath? Pens, pencils and other sharp objects stick up from the ground. A small garbage can overflows with old yellowed paper, rotting food remains, decaying band-aids, discarded clothing and broken hangers. Many other pieces of trash are located all around, wherever the tornado decided to carelessly drop them. Crushed makeup and glitter from ancient art projects hang in the air, choking any inhabitants of this shunned place. Broken high heels and shoes litter the ground. An explosion of messy color blinds anyone who attempts looking at any of the several mountanous piles of clothes located all around. Random trinkets and tchockies sit atop a mantle-like dresser, ruling this black hole. No one has ever reported reaching the end of this bottomless pit.

Ugh. I sigh and just open the door. After all, it's only my bedroom...

Technology These Days!

2008-12-19T15:42:00.009-05:00

Ugh! Technology these days. These little inventions called cell phones, Facebook and computers are awesome. They also make everything a lot more complicated.

i woke up dis morning 2 a txt frm joe. lol. he wuz like wut r u doin 2day? i wuz like...idk. hangin out. hbu. hes like cool wanna c wat alyssa nd jay r doin? i said k. lol. thn i txtd alyssa and jay hey wanna hang out w me and joe today? alyssa txtd rite back, but jay mobile im'd me a few mins later. i guess he wuz on the comp. lol. jay wanted us 2 go 2 jeffs house but alyssa wanted us all to meet at the diner. she wuz like, ill call jeff. jeff sed idk if i can hang 2day my mom wants me 2 stay home. i txtd joe. lol. we didnt no wat we were gona do. omg! then i wnt onto fb nd saw tht joe nd jay were on. i pop out chatted them. ugh the msg wldnt go thru! i checkd my inbox(1) but it wasnt frm ne of them. lol. jays status said he couldnt go newhere cuz he didnt have a ride. i cmntd on tht. i wuz like nooo! i rly wantd him 2 hang out w us. lol. i talkd to joe for a little bit on IM but then he txtd me frm his email addy. he doesnt have unltd txting nd i guess he didnt want to use all of his txts. lol. alyssa wantd 2 bring her little sis, i wuz like ok. her sis is a cool kid. lol. a lot of time went by. no one txtd me. lol. i checkd facey but no one was on there either. i didnt even have ne notifications! i wuz so confused. lol.wut were we doing? it eventually got 2 late nd my mom wuz like..u cnt go out 2nite. ugh. lol.

Maybe if we just picked up the phone...

Air for Sale!

2008-12-19T11:43:00.007-05:00

It seems everything nowadays is sellable. Senate seats in Illinois, burnt toast on eBay...even the rights to name a child! Following in the footsteps of a certain governor's recent actions, I'm going to sell some of my stuff. It might not be exactly mine, but who cares? No one has to find out about that little neglagble detail...right?

Maxine's bLogBay

Air for Sale!

Like new. Has gone through photosynthesis. In good condition.

1 square meter

Warning - contains a small amount of pollutants. Is not pure O2.

$1,000,002 (because I really need that extra $2. I can buy a whole pack of gum with that fortune)

Truck Full of White-Out for Sale!

I was driving along Route 80 the other day and discovered an overturned tractor-trailer.

Despite the fact the driver was in critical contition, the white-out in the compartment out back was perfectly okay. I guess he was supposed to make a delivery. You know what they say...finders keepers, losers weepers!

254,682,430,169 gallons of all-purpose correction fluid. Never used before.

I'll even include one of those little brushes for easy application. Remember to shake well!

$340,000,000.01 (I just want a penny for those take a penny, leave a penny boxes at 7-11)

Cardboard Box for Sale!

I was at Sears the other day and saw them unloading a bunch of refrigerators. Those boxes can be super fun! I took one and just stashed it in my car. They won't notice...I hope.

Be like Spongebob and Patrick and use your imagination!

Box is 12 x 4 x 9.

$241

If I think of anything else, I'll let you know. Who knows what is sellable in this day and age? Green gummy bears, used baby wipes, rocks, the letter 'K' from my keyboard...the list goes on and on. And so does the rediculous audacity of greedy individuals who ought to make their money somewhere else. Say, McDonalds.

Blagojevich, this post is for you.

Snow? Yeah, if you read this...

2008-12-16T17:53:00.006-05:00

I live in an area where it's predicted that we will have a snow storm tomorrow. Yes! I've been waiting for this all year. Frolicking in the fields with my furry friends, sledding down the slippery slopes in my ski suit...the possibilities are endless.

Except, I always wish for a day off and it never happens. When I wake up every day at 6 a.m., the first thing on my mind is, "Is there school today? I hope not!" And you know what? Every single time I ever think that WE HAVE SCHOOL! I still have to drag my sorry butt out of bed, step into the scalding hot shower, choke down some excuse-for-breakfast at an indigestible hour and dash into the building (narrowly avoiding the bell, of course...) And I do this all while attempting not to fall asleep. (Taking a quick snooze on the shower floor doesn't only make for an unstretchable crick in my neck, but it messes up my entire shampooing-and-conditioning schedule. God forbid I mess up the exact times of my hair washing!)

Obviously, we need to work on our day-off tactics. Assemble the armies, girls. The silly little snow dances maybe worked in maybe elementary school, but that was years ago. We're in high school now and these games just aren't going to cut it. I'm proposing a plan. DON'T wish for a day off tomorrow. Pretend to care less on whether or not we go to school tomorrow! Everyone, take off the statuses promoting snow on your Facebook. Come on, it's just getting repetitive anyway. Refraining from doing the snowflake dance, the snow-angel dance, the snowman dance, or any sort of strange ritual that includes the words "snow" and "dance" in the same sentence.

I'm reverting to a timeless classic... the"Opposite Day" bit. It always worked in first grade.

(P.S. Guys, please wear pajamas. And wear them the right way. No more of this ridiculous inside-out nonsense. For God's sake, we don't want to see any of that.)

24 Ways to Ditch Him

2008-12-14T18:44:00.008-05:00

Despite the fact that I am perfectly content with my love life (<3),> into the wee hours of the night from the dreaded screenname you never want to see again. The pestering "ding" of Facebook Pop-out Chat that makes you want to throw the computer at the wall. The seemingly endless buzz of your phone from repetitive text messages from this guy that just won't give up. It would be nice if we could just eliminate these creepers once and for all. Wait, what if we could? What if there was a super-easy, pain-free way to just say, "Go away, you ugly disgusting animal," without sounding like a total jerk and/or crazed psychopath? Maybe there is.

*Disclamer: Before you read, understand this is a total joke. It's not meant to be serious at all. Of course these things are dumb and stupid and would never work, but that's what makes it fun to read. :)
24 Ways to Ditch Him
1. Never answer his text messages.
2. Answer his text messages, but spell everything backwards.
him: hey
you: yeh! stahw pu?
3. Answer his text messages, but refer to yourself in the third person.
him: hey whats up?
you: maxine says hey. she is going to eat dinner. maxine is wondering what you are doing.
4. Answer his text messages, but only with one word answers.
him: hey, what do you think I should wear to the concert?
you: clothes.
him: what about my black shirt?
you: no.
5. Answer his text messages, but only through your Facebook status. Never text him back directly.
him: hey. are you going to see Twilight tonight?
Maxine is yeah, I'm going. Jen's driving.
6. Never brush your teeth.
7. Never brush your hair.
8. Only brush the sides of your teeth and hair.
9. Ask him for a ride home, then "have to go to the bathroom" on the way. Make him stop at a gas station. Pretend to be in the bathroom for 20 minutes. Instead, buy gum and check out Brad Pitt in the new issue of People magazine.
10. Ask him for a ride home, then point out every "hot" guy you see on the way. Make sure to comment on clowns, anyone wearing suspenders, balding UPS drivers and/or fire hydrants.
11. Tell him that you were born "up in the mountains" and every Wednesday you have to attend a ritualistic washing to cleanse the "city dirt" from your pores. Accuse him of being too dirty for you.
12. Tell him that you were born "up in the mountains". In everyday conversation, blurt out "ain't there nothin' like that mountain air!"
him: that's a nice shirt! i like it.
you: thanks. ain't there nothin' like that mountain air!
13. When he suggests pizza and a movie, tell him that pizza is against your religion.
14. When he asks how you are getting to your vacation spot, say Platform 9 3/4. Deny that this is from Harry Potter.
15. Be very obscure about your past.
16. Refer to your parents as "Uncle Ted and Aunt Mae."
17. When he asks where you are from, say, "I entered this world through an interstellar collision of Uncle Ted and Aunt Mae."
18. Go in for a kiss. Accidentally sneeze on his face. Blame the wind for the sneeze.
19. Go out to a fancy five-star restaurant. Pour ketchup on everything.
20. Tell him you were born with a rare birth defect where you can only walk backwards. Whenever you see him, start to walk backwards.
21. Tell him you were created in a laboratory where some of your genes were mixed with genes of a cow. Instead of laughing at his jokes, moo.
22. Randomly throw Spanish phrases into everyday conversation. When he says something about it, accuse it of being in his imagination.
him: hey. what's up?
you: hola. nothing much. y tu?
him: was that spanish?
you: no. it must have been in your imagination.
him: are you sure? i'm pretty sure i heard some spanish.
you: estas delusional?!?!
23. Go to his house. Clog the toilet. Don't tell him.
24. Follow all of the above criteria, but while wearing traditional Indian wedding gear and talking in a French accent. Insist this is a combination of your anti-pizza religion and all of the mountain air getting to your head.

Cracking. Up.

2008-12-11T16:24:00.008-05:00

Kids in high school worship Jessica Simpson with her tiny Daisy Dukes (*cough*SLUTSHORTS*cough), Derek Jeter with his supreme batting average, and Facebook with its stalker-friendly capabilities.

But, as of today, Thursday, December 11, 2008 at 4:29 p.m., a new addition has been made to the list:
Magical Trevor and his magical journey.

I was talking to my friend Alex on AIM and checked out his AIM profile. (Warning: Before you even think of looking at a sophomore boy's profile, better make sure he's updated it since 1999. If not, you might get extremely shocked and/or scared at his "interesting" ideas of cool stuff, and want to crawl under the nearest rock.)

It said:
Alex's Really Really Cool Links
http://www.weebls-stuff.com/toons/magical+trevor
Why did I put this on my cool links page? Because everyone loves Magical Trevor!

And, it's kind of true. Everyone probably does love Magical Trevor. Or, if they haven't met him yet, they will love him. Listening to his song on a constant loop is pretty addicting; I've been doing it for the past 15 minutes. Even as addicting as watching Jeter bat. (And for girls who happen to be in the vicinity of a High Def TV, that's pretty addicting.)

Check out Magical Trevor here.

Another Legally Blonde Cliche...

2008-12-10T18:36:00.003-05:00

You know those moods where you just feel like singing and dancing even though no one's watching? (Or you feel like singing and dancing just because people are watching...) I'm in one right now. I feel like jumping out of this chair and just screaming out the lyrics to Legally Blonde's Oh My God, Oh My God You Guys! song.

I'M GOING TO BE PUBLISHED!

Yeah, you heard me. Published. P - u - b - l - i - s - h - e - d. As in, something I write will be put in a newspaper for everyone to see. Specifically, an article on how the economic woes currently plaguing America affect children as well. In The Record. Soon. Yay.

It seemed like just yesterday I was making a blog on a free website...

p.s. In case you missed that Legally Blonde song, check it out here. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dXiO_a2JWmc

The Queen Has (Finally) Spoken!

2008-12-09T22:18:00.004-05:00

So, I've finally gotten a blog. After months of hard deliberation...staying up half the night, tossing and turning about the daunting task ahead...fretting about the host site, the title, the name, the byline, the header, the footer, the font, the font size, the font color (not to mention whether or not Porkey at the end of the bed would stop snoring or not...)

I did it. I finally decided enough was enough. I plomped down in the fraying desk chair and squeezed my eyes shut in fear of the big, scary blog site. I painstakingly drew out everything in anticipation of the blog looming over my head. I typed in http://www.blogspot.com/ with one finger, and slowly let go. I let one eye open first, then another. I was greeted by a big, cheery smiley face. Well, that wasn't that bad.

I knew that wasn't even the half of it though. It was going to take me forever to make some progress to even get this thing off the ground. Like my father always said, blogs don't just grow on trees.

Huh. Weird. It took all of three seconds.

Who knew? Actually, considering my family's technological background, this little incident shouldn't have come as a suprise. My mom can't even figure out "how to get the durn thing on." Don't even get me started on my grandparents.

They still think it's 1942.