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Showing posts with label can opener. Show all posts
Showing posts with label can opener. Show all posts

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Fish 'n' Chips with a Side of Madness

-Whew!- I'm just taking a quick break from my flurry of cooking to write up this post. The chips (fries for you Americany people) are toasting in the oven, fish are waiting to be cooked (they're dead and breaded anyway, they can wait a few minutes) and the various side dishes, sauces, and silverware is set out on the table. I'm afraid that there won't be any fruit because we're too busy to buy it fresh and the can opener is trying to be aloof and elusive. Mission accomplished, can opener, i've even looked in my sister's bedroom and I can't find you. I did find the scissors and my lil' 4 year old sister yelling, "MY THUMB! BABY JESUS IS ON MY THUMB!"

Welcome to my mad, yet marvelous, life.

Right, back to the subject of this whole thing-a-ma-blog. Time I explained why I have a blog in the first place.

I started writing emails to my friends telling them (whether they wanted to know or not) about my school frustration, thoughts, problems, and bizarre stories. Apparently there was something entertaining about the ramblings of a strange teenager, so they sent the emails to their friends, and pretty soon I had a pretty big group. As someone with a silly name once said,

"The insane, on occasion, are not without their charms."-Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

Just to make things more convenient plus be able to add pictures, videos, and links I set up this blog. That way anyone, not just those who hack my email, can see my ramblings. Usually most of the people who do read my blog are friends, family, and people who google "suave mustache pictures" (?), and some stray Canadians. (Really, the second biggest demographic behind Canada is India. Weird, huh?)

Anyway, my french fries are hissing and my sisters have set up what sounds like a MMA fight in the garage, so i'd better go and resume my duties as eldest sister. Oh, see, I can hear one of them crying right now. For a bunch of little kids they hit hard. And bite hard. I should know.

Fishsticks and Custard,
Hannah