I just brutally slaughtered a baby Tentacool.
Well, I guess it doesn't count as slaughter if they only faint, but I thundershocked the shit out of that thing! Poor little baby Tentacool. It was a girl. I was in a level 20+ area and she was only level 9. Strikes me as a sad, sad glitch that leads to child abuse.
Plus, I got almost /no/ experience from that.
When seeking out a tiny notebook to secretly write down the levels of evolution for about fifty Pokémon I have...well, I started that sentence badly. I found a notebook, and in the front was a page with a list of funny things written down on it - or things I certainly thought were funny when I wrote them down. I seem to remember taking the notebook to school and planning on jotting down story ideas, but only ending up jotting down things I wanted to remember.
Here is what it said. (Sic, including lack or abundance of capitals.)
"BLASPHEMY
I almost cried yesterday when my alarm went off
secret yellow belt
french vegetarian army
my mom called to tell me she was thinking about me. when I asked her why, she said 'because you're wasting your potential.'
Girl scouts come to door selling cookies, she's on the couch in PJs, her dad brings them inside: 'here's the bathroom...come see the basement, it's a disaster!' her: 'who are these people?' "
Now allow me to explain. Some of these just aren't funny, although they were to me at the time, but others only sound ridiculous in my freshman-year-of-highschool shorthand.
IN-DEPTH EXAMINATION TIME.
"BLASPHEMY"
This was me writing down a word I wanted to use more often. I, of course, meant it in terms of "They're out of chocolate milk!" "Out of chocolate milk?! BLASPHEMY!" And I still think this is funny, and good thing, since I use 'blasphemy' all the time when I'm unhappy.
"I almost cried yesterday when my alarm went off."
Someone said this to me - in art class, I think - and I remember thinking it was hilarious. Well. Opinions change.
"secret yellow belt"
I'm relatively sure that the story here was that I was play-fighting with a friend, or even just making really clichéd, slightly racist Asian fighting stances, and them saying that I wasn't very threatening (I'm not, you know. About 5'3" on a tall day, and just over 100 pounds. I'm actually...not dangerous at all. As much as I wish I could be.) and me responding with a defensive "How do you know I'm not secretly a blackbelt?" My friend must've said something derisive along the lines of "You'd never make blackbelt." I probably conceded and said, "Well...secret yellow belt?"
Then I undoubtedly laughed uproariously and wrote it down for posterity.
"french vegetarian army"
I really wish I could remember the story behind this one. As it is, we shall have to leave it to speculation. I still like this one, though, I feel that I must create a story behind it. Perhaps I will some day.
"my mom called to tell me she was thinking about me. when I asked her why, she said 'because you're wasting your potential.' "
Someone really did say this to me. I don't know if I'll ever be quite sure whether or not he or she ripped it off a comedian. I can't even remember who said it to me. But if I'm thinking it's ripped off of a comedian, that means it's pretty funny. The only problem is, I can't ever use it. It sounds too canned. Hmph.
"Girl scouts come to door selling cookies, she's on the couch in PJs, her dad brings them inside: 'here's the bathroom...come see the basement, it's a disaster!' her: 'who are these people?' "
So, with her name replaced with simple the letter 'K', here is the full version of this little story that a friend told me.
"The other day I was lying on the couch in my pajamas, watching TV, and the doorbell rings. My dad gets it and it's a girl scout selling cookies, and her mom. I go back to watching TV, and next thing you know they're in my house and my dad is giving them the tour. I hear him say 'Here's the bathroom...come see the basement, it's a disaster!' (and the way she told the story, he sounded incredibly cheerful about that) and K sat up off the couch and said 'Who ARE these people?' "
Again, I think it's one of those stories that's much funnier when you're telling it. But if you want to be a hit with your friends and have a bunch of nonchalant funny stories to keep people laughing at parties, act like this stuff happened to you and tell it. Trust me, no one's gonna suspect you of lying, it's just a pointless funny story. Bonus: you get to make fun of your father to your friends, which might make up for that time he showed them all video of you taking a bath at age two.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Mirrors
So I just had the strangest moment, where I got up to go brush my teeth after watching three episodes of Gilmore Girls (I only planned on watching one, but so it goes with Gilmore Girls, it seems) and look in the mirror and find myself totally shocked to see...well, my face. It isn't that I was expecting someone else's - it's just that I subconsciously had an image in my mind of what my face looks like, and my face didn't look like that.
I don't know what it was, but I felt like my face looked rounder, and my eyes looked bigger, and my lips were all red like I'd just been eating a Ring Pop or something, but all I've had to eat since dinner was an apple, and that had nothing to do with it. Anyway. That's unrelated.
The point is - have you ever had one of those moments? Where you look in the mirror and just have to stare at yourself for a second, trying to make sense of it? I don't know if that's normal, having moments like that. And I don't mean in a philosophical way - like 'wow, I'm not the person I wanted to be' - but I mean honestly, like you're looking at a body double who's almost perfect.
And who looks awfully confused.
I don't know what it was, but I felt like my face looked rounder, and my eyes looked bigger, and my lips were all red like I'd just been eating a Ring Pop or something, but all I've had to eat since dinner was an apple, and that had nothing to do with it. Anyway. That's unrelated.
The point is - have you ever had one of those moments? Where you look in the mirror and just have to stare at yourself for a second, trying to make sense of it? I don't know if that's normal, having moments like that. And I don't mean in a philosophical way - like 'wow, I'm not the person I wanted to be' - but I mean honestly, like you're looking at a body double who's almost perfect.
And who looks awfully confused.
People-Passing: A Study in Awkwardness
Today I will tell you all about something I hate.
What I hate is when you're walking down a long stretch of path, or a hallway, or a street, and there is /nobody/ there, and you're all alone, and then, then you see that tiny speck of approaching person in the distance. And you think to yourself: "Oh, shit. Here it comes." This is the point where you start worrying about how to interact with this person. There are a lot of options. You can wave, you can smile, you can speak, or you can not interact at all. If you're really awkward you can just make eye contact and then make no gesture at all. So as they approach, you're thinking about all the other awkward people-passing encounters you've had, which is setting you up for awkwardness in this one just by worrying about it, but you can't help it. It's just so awkward. By this point they're far enough away that you can see their eyes, but not close enough to talk to each other. You aren't sure whether or not to make eye contact, so you keep flicking your eyes up and then down. They're usually doing the same, so sometimes you meet eyes, which is terrible because you're too far away to say anything. So you could just quickly look away, or you could nod or wave or smile, but if you nod or wave or smile, then what do you do for the remainder of the time before they reach you in the hallway? Do you maintain eye contact? You can't try talking yet, they're too far away. Has your greeting been completed and now you just walk past them? What if they want to say hello? Does that make you rude?
And the worst part is when you're just about to pass them and you're thinking "phew, almost over," and then they reach up to brush their hair away from their face or something and you think it's a wave, so you fling your hand up into the air and wave, and they look at you like you're a lunatic and almost never wave back, and by that point they've passed you anyway, so you can't even see their face and know whether or not they think you're a lunatic.
And then they tell all their family and friends about this awkward girl they walked past on campus today, and give a physical description, and put out fliers, and no one talks to you ever again.
Don't you hate that?
What I hate is when you're walking down a long stretch of path, or a hallway, or a street, and there is /nobody/ there, and you're all alone, and then, then you see that tiny speck of approaching person in the distance. And you think to yourself: "Oh, shit. Here it comes." This is the point where you start worrying about how to interact with this person. There are a lot of options. You can wave, you can smile, you can speak, or you can not interact at all. If you're really awkward you can just make eye contact and then make no gesture at all. So as they approach, you're thinking about all the other awkward people-passing encounters you've had, which is setting you up for awkwardness in this one just by worrying about it, but you can't help it. It's just so awkward. By this point they're far enough away that you can see their eyes, but not close enough to talk to each other. You aren't sure whether or not to make eye contact, so you keep flicking your eyes up and then down. They're usually doing the same, so sometimes you meet eyes, which is terrible because you're too far away to say anything. So you could just quickly look away, or you could nod or wave or smile, but if you nod or wave or smile, then what do you do for the remainder of the time before they reach you in the hallway? Do you maintain eye contact? You can't try talking yet, they're too far away. Has your greeting been completed and now you just walk past them? What if they want to say hello? Does that make you rude?
And the worst part is when you're just about to pass them and you're thinking "phew, almost over," and then they reach up to brush their hair away from their face or something and you think it's a wave, so you fling your hand up into the air and wave, and they look at you like you're a lunatic and almost never wave back, and by that point they've passed you anyway, so you can't even see their face and know whether or not they think you're a lunatic.
And then they tell all their family and friends about this awkward girl they walked past on campus today, and give a physical description, and put out fliers, and no one talks to you ever again.
Don't you hate that?
Friday, August 21, 2009
Connections
My father travels a lot for business. Well, not so much a /lot/ anymore, but still...some. Well. He was on a plane from...a city to a city, and something interesting happened.
He gets on the plane, and an older man is in front of him, giving a guitar case to a flight attendant. He thinks to himself about how strange it is that he gets to carry his guitar on, since his son (my brother) always has to check his. Then he puts it from his mind and goes to sit down, and finds that he's sitting next to the man who had the guitar. He sits down, and the flight attendant comes back with the guitar and says to the man, "Why don't you play us a song?" He looks at her and looks at the guitar, and says "I don't know how to play that thing." The flight attendant gives him a funny look, but goes away. My dad says to the man, "I could've sworn you had that guitar when we were getting on the plane..." "Must've been someone else," the man says. My dad makes some offhand comment about how funny it is that the flight attendant seemed to think he was some kind of a rockstar. The man then said something like "You never know who's a rock star." My dad, being male and thus quite dense, didn't catch anything, and they proceeded to spend most of the flight talking about environmental issues and eco-conscious...things, since that's what my dad does.
He also at some point shows the man a picture of me and proudly explains that I'm a singer. Which you will see the irony of in a moment, when I reach the climax of this story.
Finally, at the end of the flight, he thinks to ask the man what /he/ does for a living. The man points to his hat, which says 'the Beach Boys' on it. "I'm with the Beach Boys," he says. My dad gapes at him for a moment and says something along the lines of "I'm not a /huge/ Beach Boys fan, but I know there's Brian Wilson, Mike Love..." He sticks out his hand to shake and says, "Mike Love. Nice to meet you." He then proceeded to point out the other four band members, who were all on the plane. Flying coach.
My dad not only met Mike Love and chatted about eco things, but told a member of the Beach Boys that I'm a singer. Good lord. It's really too bad they didn't become besties and exchange phone numbers or something. I'd have a really massive in into the music world. Instead of all my measly semi-impressive jazz connections.
He gets on the plane, and an older man is in front of him, giving a guitar case to a flight attendant. He thinks to himself about how strange it is that he gets to carry his guitar on, since his son (my brother) always has to check his. Then he puts it from his mind and goes to sit down, and finds that he's sitting next to the man who had the guitar. He sits down, and the flight attendant comes back with the guitar and says to the man, "Why don't you play us a song?" He looks at her and looks at the guitar, and says "I don't know how to play that thing." The flight attendant gives him a funny look, but goes away. My dad says to the man, "I could've sworn you had that guitar when we were getting on the plane..." "Must've been someone else," the man says. My dad makes some offhand comment about how funny it is that the flight attendant seemed to think he was some kind of a rockstar. The man then said something like "You never know who's a rock star." My dad, being male and thus quite dense, didn't catch anything, and they proceeded to spend most of the flight talking about environmental issues and eco-conscious...things, since that's what my dad does.
He also at some point shows the man a picture of me and proudly explains that I'm a singer. Which you will see the irony of in a moment, when I reach the climax of this story.
Finally, at the end of the flight, he thinks to ask the man what /he/ does for a living. The man points to his hat, which says 'the Beach Boys' on it. "I'm with the Beach Boys," he says. My dad gapes at him for a moment and says something along the lines of "I'm not a /huge/ Beach Boys fan, but I know there's Brian Wilson, Mike Love..." He sticks out his hand to shake and says, "Mike Love. Nice to meet you." He then proceeded to point out the other four band members, who were all on the plane. Flying coach.
My dad not only met Mike Love and chatted about eco things, but told a member of the Beach Boys that I'm a singer. Good lord. It's really too bad they didn't become besties and exchange phone numbers or something. I'd have a really massive in into the music world. Instead of all my measly semi-impressive jazz connections.
Storytime: Squirrel Staredown
"Welcome back, Ginny!" you all cry happily! Yes, I know. I know. But I'm here now. Everything is going to be alright.
Allow me to regale you with an epic saga that I like to call "The Squirrel Staredown." This all went down last year, but I recounted it to someone yesterday and thought you crowd of nonexistent followers of my blog would like to hear it. So here goes.
---
To set the scene - I had just finished taking a German test. In that class, as soon as we finished the test we were allowed to leave. That chapter I happened to be particularly prepared for, so I finished in about fifteen minutes and went to leave the building. I step outside of the doors and there's no one there, since everyone is in class - except for a squirrel, sitting on the wall.
Now, it is my habit when spotting wild animals (as much as a squirrel on a college campus can really be called 'wild') to meet their eyes and stare at them rudely until they run away. I...I just do. Shh.
So I'm staring at this squirrel, and he is not backing down. He's staring right back at me like I just insulted his mother or something. I am locked in a staring contest with this squirrel for...probably just under a minute. A long time. At this point, I'm getting bored, so I decide to walk away - but I can't stop staring at the squirrel, because that would be admitting defeat. And I refuse to lose a staredown with a rodent who is literally the size of my calf. So I start walking while maintaining eye contact with the squirrel - and the thing paces me down the wall.
This annoys me, so I keep walking until I reach the end of the wall. The thought going through my head is "Ha! When I reach the end of the wall, he'll have to stop pacing me, and I'll win!" At the end of the wall, there's a trash can. The squirrel climbs on top of it and then sticks his head into the opening of the trash can, like he's gonna get himself some lunch or something. This strikes me as unacceptable for some reason. That squirrel should not be fishing through our trash! To scare him off, I take a step forward. A threatening step.
The squirrel hops down off the trash can and takes a step towards ME. Now, keep in mind, I am not afraid of squirrels. They're little and scared and...well, they're rodents. You know. But when an angry squirrel takes a pace TOWARDS you, it's generally not wise to stick around and share some communicable diseases with him. So I take a step /back/ (not in fear! NOT IN FEAR. In...um, in self defense. Self preservation.) - right into another student from my German class, who's leaving the building.
He says, predictably, "What are you doing?" I begin to explain, saying something totally rational like "There was this squirrel, and it was threatening me-" and then I turn around to point to the squirrel...which has conveniently disappeared.
And that, children, is the story of how Ginny had a staredown with a squirrel, and lost, ending in not only defeat, but humiliation. Come back next week for another amusing story featuring Schadenfreude!
Allow me to regale you with an epic saga that I like to call "The Squirrel Staredown." This all went down last year, but I recounted it to someone yesterday and thought you crowd of nonexistent followers of my blog would like to hear it. So here goes.
---
To set the scene - I had just finished taking a German test. In that class, as soon as we finished the test we were allowed to leave. That chapter I happened to be particularly prepared for, so I finished in about fifteen minutes and went to leave the building. I step outside of the doors and there's no one there, since everyone is in class - except for a squirrel, sitting on the wall.
Now, it is my habit when spotting wild animals (as much as a squirrel on a college campus can really be called 'wild') to meet their eyes and stare at them rudely until they run away. I...I just do. Shh.
So I'm staring at this squirrel, and he is not backing down. He's staring right back at me like I just insulted his mother or something. I am locked in a staring contest with this squirrel for...probably just under a minute. A long time. At this point, I'm getting bored, so I decide to walk away - but I can't stop staring at the squirrel, because that would be admitting defeat. And I refuse to lose a staredown with a rodent who is literally the size of my calf. So I start walking while maintaining eye contact with the squirrel - and the thing paces me down the wall.
This annoys me, so I keep walking until I reach the end of the wall. The thought going through my head is "Ha! When I reach the end of the wall, he'll have to stop pacing me, and I'll win!" At the end of the wall, there's a trash can. The squirrel climbs on top of it and then sticks his head into the opening of the trash can, like he's gonna get himself some lunch or something. This strikes me as unacceptable for some reason. That squirrel should not be fishing through our trash! To scare him off, I take a step forward. A threatening step.
The squirrel hops down off the trash can and takes a step towards ME. Now, keep in mind, I am not afraid of squirrels. They're little and scared and...well, they're rodents. You know. But when an angry squirrel takes a pace TOWARDS you, it's generally not wise to stick around and share some communicable diseases with him. So I take a step /back/ (not in fear! NOT IN FEAR. In...um, in self defense. Self preservation.) - right into another student from my German class, who's leaving the building.
He says, predictably, "What are you doing?" I begin to explain, saying something totally rational like "There was this squirrel, and it was threatening me-" and then I turn around to point to the squirrel...which has conveniently disappeared.
And that, children, is the story of how Ginny had a staredown with a squirrel, and lost, ending in not only defeat, but humiliation. Come back next week for another amusing story featuring Schadenfreude!
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