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insalubriouslyperspicacious
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Name: Amanda
Birthday: 4/13/1900
Interests: inspecting dehydrated cow nostrils, smashing zucchini, eating rotten tarantulas, and playing with hungry piranha.
Expertise: everything, invading the guys dorm, putting eyeballs in salad, saranwrapping-oiling-tping-babypowdering-soaping-forking vehicular methods of transport, hacking into other people's websites and email addresses, the list goes on.
Occupation: Retired
Industry: Nonprofit
Message: message meEmail: email me
Yahoo:  phantasmagoricallyme
Yahoo:  crosseyedalwayz
Member Since:
7/25/2005
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| I'm glad you all love short boring posts. It's so handy that way.
I'm leaving for Nicaragua at 4 am on Wednesday for 10 days, then I get to be at home for a whole day before I go to Choral Camp!
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| Okay, I'm updating. Simply for Renee.
My senior flute recital is this afternoon at 3 at Rosedale. I am just about scared to death. Ooh, that would be nice -- if I died I wouldn't have to do it! :)
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| Well kids, it's been a week. Not that I didn't expect it to be; that's
generally how long it takes for seven days to pass. Except that I lied
and it's actually been a week and two days, consequently totaling nine
24-hour periods. The words that come to mind are "blood, sweat, and
tears." But we all know that's not what Winston Churchill actually said
-- on the contrary, he verbalized the verbatim verbalization of "blood,
sweat, toil, and tears." I don't think my break had a whole lot to do
with those aspects, but they bring to mind the other well-known
passed-through-the-ages on-the-lips-of-every-intellectually-minded-citizen
emblazoned-in-stone phrase of "blizzards, school, toilets, and trash."
(Please note the professional usage of allusionary alliteration for
your reading enjoyment.) Let me elaborate (also for your reading
enjoyment; although if that does not result, please dismiss any and all
references to such perceptual pleasure). Blizzards, although mini-such,
are not Aprilish possibilities. I believe that's all I can bring myself
to discuss at this particular moment; perhaps after my counseling
sessions I may be able to think more on this subject. School is that of
the home type, considering I would appreciate being fit to graduate
this spring as most of my age attempt to do; therefore, my endeavors
have existed of me pseudo-diligently completing a couple weeks worth of
American Government, with a smattering of Literature a la carte.
Toilets are subjects worthy of much consideration, especially after
cleaning 20 of them in the time span of one Circadian rhythm (24 hours,
to those unacquainted with such eruditish terminology). I love my job.
Trash, the latterliest mentioned of the Big Four. In addition to the
general amount located in my room, and the normal socialization with
those of household and cleaningish duties (accompanying aforesaid job),
I was also graced with the privilege of heroically aiding my youth
group in a roadside waste management fundraiser. In the 27 degree
weather. With snow. And wind. And coldness. And a portion of 42 miles.
Not to mention lots of beer bottles (not always empty....). I guess
there is a bright side to everything. Six hours later, I remain amazed
at the truckloads of trash procured from the ditches, and, of course,
possessing the insurmountable reward of the pride and satisfaction of a
job well done. Ooh, although through my labors I also did get a court
summons (for someone else, fortunately), a cadillac something or other,
and a plastic ninja turtle. Ooh, and let me not forget, a very beneficial Professional Bull Riders' glove.
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| I must say, judging from the last few days activities, I highly doubt that I could be classified "normal" even on the most gracious scale. Considering that I ate a crayfish eyeball (but at least it wasn't rubbery like the rest of poor Heinrich), called those cool juncos (little gray birds) junkets (a type of puddingish ice-creamish nosh), became inherently thrilled at concretely learning the words pogonotrophy, hirsutulous, and piliferous (AWordADay -- good stuff), ate entirely way too much Applebee's pizza sauce (more officially titled marinara, I believe) with a lilliputian black plastic sword, and ran into a wall (I do have a cool bruise -- unfortunately, I already had one there so now they complement each other nicely), not to mention those other unique pastimes I didn't mention, I think all aspirations for normality have fled in terror. Oh well. Life is exciting this way.
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