Tuesday, December 27, 2011

A Christmas Concussion

Christmas is now gone and has left me with wonderful gifts, platters of Christmas cookies, and possibly a concussion. All in all, its been a pretty fantastic Christmas. Now if only the room would stop spinning...

Christmas morning moves at the speed of a drunken snail at our house. Staying up 'till 1 a.m. on Christmas Eve eating chicken wings (you can only have so much ham and figgy pudding) and playing Appletters might have something to do with sleeping in to 9:45, but its my parents who are mostly to blame. Every Christmas they insist on performing their usual morning rituals before letting us dive under the tree. Over the years this has included getting dressed, making coffee/tea, making their bed, doing dishes, EVEN SHOWERING. The whole time the children of the household are groaning and looking at the gifts like a kindergarten class of weak bladders looking after a restroom. 

This year was better, I must admit. Coffee and tea was made, a ham basted, dishes washed, and some breakfast bread sliced but we made it to gifts before the it had become Christmas Noon.

Some of the worst and best gifts come out of letting my little sisters shop with little direction or assistance. Emma, for example, has learned how to read just to the point where she can recognize our names. How excited Jonmark was when he opened his gift, a candle holder with holly leaves and the name, "Jennifer", painted on the side. The cherry on top was that it doubled as a trinket box. My parents barely managed to top that gift with a Droid, Emma is a hard act to follow after all. Last year she gave him earrings.

Glory's gift to Jonmark was even better. She actually found two gifts, one for Jonmark and his roommate, Stony. Wrapped under the tree this Christmas was Scented Malibu Party Ken and Glam Beach Ken. I'm sure they will make lovely targets for explosives when he gets back to school. That or a new friend to go into their pet fish's tank.

Personally, I loved everything I got for Christmas this year; the sleek Canon digital camera, assorted goodies, makeup brushes, and of course good old money. One of my favorite (and most painful) presents would have to be my new poi flags.

Apparently back in the ancient mists of New Zealand, the tribal Maori people (sort of like our Native Americans) had their warriors practice with poi to make their arms stronger and to develop wrist-flexibility for using weapons. Poi are two chains or cords with a weight at one end and a handle at the other. A poi dancer will swing the weighted poi around their bodies in geometric patterns while dancing. But enough words, you can see it for yourself:

Poi with weights and streamers:

Poi with veils (voi):

Poi with flags:

And when you are really good, poi with fire:

Oh, and there is also glowstick poi. Yeah.

My Conclusions So Far on Poi:

1. Its not as easy as it looks.
2. Getting hit in the forehead by an iron poi weight hurts like the dickens. And draws blood.And multiple bruises.(The really ironic part is that the poi veils I got were called "Healing".)

Now, I must go play with my new toys. Asta la vista, baby!

Merry Late Christmas and A Happy New Year,

Sunday, December 18, 2011

The Girl Who Played With Fire

Hey, you! Yes, you! Check out this trailer for the upcoming movie "The Hunger Games". Almost always the movie isn't as good as the book (Percy Jackson, anyone?), but that doesn't mean that every Hunger Games fan won't be sticking to movie theater floors everywhere in march to see the movie spinoff:

Still not convinced? Fine.

Katniss and Gale...


Did I mention Peeta?

May The Odds Ever Be In Your Favor (And read the books first!),

You're On Your Own, Rapunzel!

What do fat men, mysterious packages, and bankruptcy have in common? Thats right. It's Christmas.

It certainly doesn't feel like it, though. Wheres the snow? The surprise relatives? The carolers to use as moving targets in our snowball fights? For that matter, WHERES MY HAIR?

Sorry, its been a weird week. Since I was a wee muffin of a child I've had long hair. Of course I wasn't born with long hair and looked much like Dora the Explorer as a kid minus the backpack, and the map, and the fox and the Spanish heritage... Anyways! Since I was planning to be a princess when I grew up I decided that I must have long, Rapunzel-esq locks or lore. And I did. It just grew and grew like a brunette chia pet until it was here this summer (after I had cut off a few inches): 

I guess every princess has to grow up some day. Plus I was sick of getting tangled in my hair and waking up bound in a cocoon of hair in the morning. So was Laurel, Steph, or Victoria whenever they slept over. Oh, and of sitting on it. Besides choking thugs or pulling princes up towers, there wasn't much I could do with my super-locks. So, yesterday, it all came off. 

Let me rephrase that. I didn't go bald or bobbed, but I did cut off more than i've ever done before. Some people would say I still have long hair. I feel like a newly shaven monk, ready to don my scratchy robes and move to the nearest monastery. You know when people who have lost a appendage through accidents/war/freak golfing accidents explain how they can still feel the limb after its long gone? Same with my hair...only a lot less serious. I'll reach for my braid to twiddle with it during math and meet thin air. Oh, its so weird.


I've been wondering about why people grow so attached to their hair? (See what I did there? Ha ha- oh, forget it.) A scientist would say that it is "Any of the cylindrical, keratinized, often pigmented filaments characteristically growing from the epidermis of a mammal". A romantic would say it is a woman's crowning glory, the first thing people notice about you. The Bible talks about hair quite a lot. About not being vain about hair, Sampson and his miraculous hair, and all sorts of steamy similes in Song of Soloman. One such example is : 
"Your head crowns you like Mount Carmel. Your hair is like royal tapestry; the king is held captive by its tresses." - S o' S 7:5  
(They don't call the Bible the greatest love letter ever written for nothing. Also possibly the longest one.)

Whatever the ultimate reason for the value of hair, men don't seem to particularly notice hair. Guys might notice a girl's hair from time to time but as to their own they seem to think of it as a bothersome bush that needs to be pruned from time to time and largely ignored. Well, American boys anyway. In Europe one of the things that set the men apart (besides their flawless fashion sense, buttery accents, and "handbags") was their hair. These were men who actually had a hairstyle. Who used products other than 2 in 1 Dandruff Shampoo. Who cared what their hair looked like. On the con side, i'm pretty sure they spend more time on their hair than I do. 

The more time that passes I like my new haircut more and more. Plus my family's hair grows super fast. One thing is for sure though; if I ever get locked in a tower i'm going to have to find my own way down.

Beware of Portly Men Sliding Down Your Chimney,

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Building a Dream

My mom told us this story when we were little. It was a rainy day at Grandma's house and we were trapped upstairs while my cousins were taking naps downstairs . The story was about this grand old house with hidden doors, revolving walls, and secret rooms. I was enchanted.

Little kids have a lot of ideas about what they are going to do when they are adults. Sleep in, watch TV all day, drive cars like Batman after a FourLoko; the list of dreams goes on and on. Me, though? All I wanted was to grow up, make money, then spend it all on building my dream house.

Something  a bit like this...

To Be Continued...

Love and Other Forms of Chocolate,