Needless to say, the last day of school was veerrry interesting. More than one thing happened.
Well, firstly, the morning. We didn't really do much exciting in the morning: we had to build a bridge out of newspaper and staples. I was partnered with someone who I really despise, but we ended up with the winning bridge anyways, holding twenty grams of weight. Ha ha.
I had a physio appointment at noon. There is nothing interesting at all to say about physio.
When I got back, my class walked over to the high school and seated ourselves at some tables for the hypnotist. We were all really jazzed; we'd never seen hypnotization before. (is hypnotization a word? it should be.) Anyhoo, half the school scrambled up on stage when he inquired about volunteers. They hypnotist guy, Sebastion or something, asked: "Has anyone here been hypnotized before?"
Numerous hands went up.
"Good. If you've been hypnotized before, your subconscious mind remembers it, and it makes it easier." He walked up to Jacklyn, whose hand was raised. "What's your name?"
"Jacklyn."
"And have you been hypnotized before, Jacklyn?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. Look into my eyes-- deep breath in, deep breath out, SLEEP." he snapped his fingers and she immediately slumped over forwards. The seventh graders, the amateurs, gaped at each other in shock. It looked fake...but it wasn't.
He started out with a stageful of people, but some of them couldn't go under, so they grudgingly picked up their chairs and walked off. He was left with a semicircle of hypnotized students. He made them sit on a hot beach, while they fanned themselves frantically. They showed off with sexy poses for someone walking past them. They got dumped, and they then were sent to the North Pole. They huddled up there, freezing, and he told them that the person next to them was the warmest person in the world. The hysterical result was curling up and cuddling with people that they didn't really know. When they snapped out of it, they crawled away from The Warmest Person in the World with disgust.
Another funny one was when he told them that the number two didn't exist. Then he told them they were all quarantined because of this virus that made you grow extra limbs.
"Has anyone here been in contact with someone with extra limbs?" He asked. Shelby raised her hand. He called on her, asking who.
"My cat has six toes," She told him. He brought her up to the front.
"Shelby, do you pet your cat?"
"Yeah."
"And he has six fingers, right?"
"Toes."
"Okay. I'm going to point to your fingers, and you count them out loud, okay?"
"Okay."
So, in turn, he pointed to each finger and she counted them aloud.
"One, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten..." big pause. In a tiny little voice--"Eleven."
(If you skim read, go back and read that to make sense.)
Everyone started screaming, and Shelby started crying. He told them to count their eyes.
"One, three. AUUUUUUGH!"
"Count your nostrils!"
"One, three. AUGH!" Screamed the whole stage.
"Count your buttcheeks!"
"One, three. AAAAUUUUUUUUUGH!"
And so on, and so on.
"Now, now, guys, you may not have gotten the virus from Shelby..."
"YES, WE DID. SHE'S FROM SIMPSON!" A guy named Travis bellowed.
Which was really quite hysterical.
The show ended with strutting around and striking a hot model pose. The song was the one that goes, "I'm too sexy for my car, too sexy for my car, too sexy by far..." It was hilarious.
We all went to dance...which is another incident...for later.
22.12.08
14.12.08
Preparations
Ah, Christmas is coming! Baking cookies, rustling gift paper, peals of merry laughter saturating the air!
God, I sound like a bad commercial.
Anyways, everyone knows that the real Christmas is a time of stress, usually. AFTER Christmas is usually fun, cause then you have piles of crap to keep you entertained. BUT-- the Pre-Christmas season is always full emptying wallets and straining to complete projects on time before the relatives arrive. I mean, I do like Christmas baking and shopping. Seriously. (In my family, this year we drew names to see who would buy stuff for who. I got my little sister-- Kloey-- and I have her stuff, but I will not say it here. The kid's not stupid.) I have stuff for two of my friends as well (I won't say them, because again-- they are not stupid and can find this post) but I don't have stuff for:
My aunts, my uncle, my cousins, my grandma, my brothers, my parents, my other friends, or my teacher. I haven't the faintest clue what to get some of them.
Our school Xmas concert is next week, hoo-rah, and half the cast don't even know their lines. I memorized mine, of course, but I blanked out on one of them during rehearsal.
Lots to do, lots to do.
God, I sound like a bad commercial.
Anyways, everyone knows that the real Christmas is a time of stress, usually. AFTER Christmas is usually fun, cause then you have piles of crap to keep you entertained. BUT-- the Pre-Christmas season is always full emptying wallets and straining to complete projects on time before the relatives arrive. I mean, I do like Christmas baking and shopping. Seriously. (In my family, this year we drew names to see who would buy stuff for who. I got my little sister-- Kloey-- and I have her stuff, but I will not say it here. The kid's not stupid.) I have stuff for two of my friends as well (I won't say them, because again-- they are not stupid and can find this post) but I don't have stuff for:
My aunts, my uncle, my cousins, my grandma, my brothers, my parents, my other friends, or my teacher. I haven't the faintest clue what to get some of them.
Our school Xmas concert is next week, hoo-rah, and half the cast don't even know their lines. I memorized mine, of course, but I blanked out on one of them during rehearsal.
Lots to do, lots to do.
5.12.08
New Look and Christmas Concert
First of all...NEW LOOK! Is it not glorious?
I mean, I did like the other one, but you could TELL I got it off a cheap (well, more than cheap...FREE) site on a download, but this one actually looks real. Professional. Lol, that's me.
I am trying to decide if inserting a pic into the top would work well... I kind of like the leaves.
GREEN...that brings me to our school's Christmas Concert.
Oddly, this concert is called, "SANTA GOES GREEN." When we heard that, we didn't try to pretend that it wasn't the weirdest thing ever. I mean, since when does Rudolph have an LED nose?
But I have warmed up to the fact some considering we are the oldest in the Elementary school, so we get the honor of being in the musical. Our Christmas concerts are a play that are three quarters singing, but they give us parts and costumes and lines to make us think it's a play, even though the choir does all the work. I am one of the three main parts...RUDOLPH!
I don't know why, but apparently Santa going green involves Rudolph with a Texas drawl. I have no idea what Rudolph has to do the southerners, but oh well. I actually tried out for Mrs. Clause, who has more lines, but I had to read a few Rudolph lines and the teachers liked my drawl so much I am now Rudolph. I'm kinda glad about it now, though, because Rudolph doesn't have as many lines, but he requires more acting. Mrs. Clause just spouts wisdom about global warming.
Speaking of Rudolph and Mrs. Clause, she rubs my nose, like, six times throughout the play! It's like, wow, Mrs. C, keep your "clause" to yourself!
Ha ha ha ha ha ha, my dad's a comedian. I guess it shows. He published a book of puns with his partner, Mark, and every seventh word out of his mouth is a pseudo pun. (Usually every fourteenth word is a real pun.) I have to occasionally remind him that a pun is the lowest form of humor.
I mean, I did like the other one, but you could TELL I got it off a cheap (well, more than cheap...FREE) site on a download, but this one actually looks real. Professional. Lol, that's me.
I am trying to decide if inserting a pic into the top would work well... I kind of like the leaves.
GREEN...that brings me to our school's Christmas Concert.
Oddly, this concert is called, "SANTA GOES GREEN." When we heard that, we didn't try to pretend that it wasn't the weirdest thing ever. I mean, since when does Rudolph have an LED nose?
But I have warmed up to the fact some considering we are the oldest in the Elementary school, so we get the honor of being in the musical. Our Christmas concerts are a play that are three quarters singing, but they give us parts and costumes and lines to make us think it's a play, even though the choir does all the work. I am one of the three main parts...RUDOLPH!
I don't know why, but apparently Santa going green involves Rudolph with a Texas drawl. I have no idea what Rudolph has to do the southerners, but oh well. I actually tried out for Mrs. Clause, who has more lines, but I had to read a few Rudolph lines and the teachers liked my drawl so much I am now Rudolph. I'm kinda glad about it now, though, because Rudolph doesn't have as many lines, but he requires more acting. Mrs. Clause just spouts wisdom about global warming.
Speaking of Rudolph and Mrs. Clause, she rubs my nose, like, six times throughout the play! It's like, wow, Mrs. C, keep your "clause" to yourself!
Ha ha ha ha ha ha, my dad's a comedian. I guess it shows. He published a book of puns with his partner, Mark, and every seventh word out of his mouth is a pseudo pun. (Usually every fourteenth word is a real pun.) I have to occasionally remind him that a pun is the lowest form of humor.
Miriam's Isle
Miriam's Isle, Miriam's Isle.
It is a poem. It is a short story. It is an unfinished novel.
It is all written by me.
Do you know how some people (Stephenie Meyer, for example) write, like, a whole freakin' novel, then sweat over it and name it? Not me. It's like I need the title in place for the characters to speak up. Except for Clarabelle, of course. It could stay the same, but I probably need a new one. (Just a fun fact-- did you know that Clarabelle was originally supposed to be called, "The Lightning Driver"? My dream was a vampire that dressed up in a long blonde wig and a fake name, Beth, and was a racecar driver. It was a warped combo of Herbie Fully Loaded, Hannah Montana, and Twilight. I wonder what kind of Kool-Aid I had the night before.) Anyways, the name Miriam's Isle fell into place before Miria got her say and developed her fiery persona.
MI is the novel I began writing for NaNoWriMo, which I now believe is for desperate people with no jobs who can sit at home all day, type 23/7 and survive on coffee and chocolate. I couldn't do this because a) I have to go to school, b) I need to sleep, eat, shower, etc., and c) I'm not even allowed to drink coffee. It will stunt my freakish growth. (I am twelve years old and 5"5! And still growing, too!)
Anyhoo, NaNoWriMo went down the drain. So I gave up on the whole intriguing novel-in-a-month. Like, did I think that a stupid novel was gonna just pop out of midair? I was going to have to invest some serious work in that sucker. I was gonna have to make sacrifices.
Which is really not my thing.
So, instead, I did what any child would do: I whined to my mom. She did what any mom would do: gave me advice. (Except for the moms that give out punishments.) I took it gladly.
So, here's the deal...
Miriam's Isle is divided into five sizeable chunks. I sat down, invested an hour of sleep, and planned each chunk. Underneath the paragraph explanation of the section is STATUS and DEADLINE. I gave myself about two-and-a-half to three weeks per chunk. I know that sounds like a lot, but I do want a good-sized, well-written novel. And I am fairly incredible at procrastinating. Chunk #1 was completed three days ahead of sched, with about 7000 words. If I can do that five more times, that's like 35000 words! That is really not bad. I mean, NaNo pages were 50000 for a 175 page book. You know what? I'm only twelve. I wanna finish the dang book. Shut up.
It is with the blossoming petals of renewed hope in my heart that I set forth on Miriam's Isle with eager fingers and a fiery glint of determination in my eye.
Actually, my eyes are drooping. I should hit the sack.
(Anyone wonder where that stupid saying came from? What sack? Why do you hit it?)
See ya, fellow novelists. May all your characters be renounced.
It is a poem. It is a short story. It is an unfinished novel.
It is all written by me.
Do you know how some people (Stephenie Meyer, for example) write, like, a whole freakin' novel, then sweat over it and name it? Not me. It's like I need the title in place for the characters to speak up. Except for Clarabelle, of course. It could stay the same, but I probably need a new one. (Just a fun fact-- did you know that Clarabelle was originally supposed to be called, "The Lightning Driver"? My dream was a vampire that dressed up in a long blonde wig and a fake name, Beth, and was a racecar driver. It was a warped combo of Herbie Fully Loaded, Hannah Montana, and Twilight. I wonder what kind of Kool-Aid I had the night before.) Anyways, the name Miriam's Isle fell into place before Miria got her say and developed her fiery persona.
MI is the novel I began writing for NaNoWriMo, which I now believe is for desperate people with no jobs who can sit at home all day, type 23/7 and survive on coffee and chocolate. I couldn't do this because a) I have to go to school, b) I need to sleep, eat, shower, etc., and c) I'm not even allowed to drink coffee. It will stunt my freakish growth. (I am twelve years old and 5"5! And still growing, too!)
Anyhoo, NaNoWriMo went down the drain. So I gave up on the whole intriguing novel-in-a-month. Like, did I think that a stupid novel was gonna just pop out of midair? I was going to have to invest some serious work in that sucker. I was gonna have to make sacrifices.
Which is really not my thing.
So, instead, I did what any child would do: I whined to my mom. She did what any mom would do: gave me advice. (Except for the moms that give out punishments.) I took it gladly.
So, here's the deal...
Miriam's Isle is divided into five sizeable chunks. I sat down, invested an hour of sleep, and planned each chunk. Underneath the paragraph explanation of the section is STATUS and DEADLINE. I gave myself about two-and-a-half to three weeks per chunk. I know that sounds like a lot, but I do want a good-sized, well-written novel. And I am fairly incredible at procrastinating. Chunk #1 was completed three days ahead of sched, with about 7000 words. If I can do that five more times, that's like 35000 words! That is really not bad. I mean, NaNo pages were 50000 for a 175 page book. You know what? I'm only twelve. I wanna finish the dang book. Shut up.
It is with the blossoming petals of renewed hope in my heart that I set forth on Miriam's Isle with eager fingers and a fiery glint of determination in my eye.
Actually, my eyes are drooping. I should hit the sack.
(Anyone wonder where that stupid saying came from? What sack? Why do you hit it?)
See ya, fellow novelists. May all your characters be renounced.
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