Angels, Tutus, and-Ouch!

Actually wrote this on Sunday and have been to preoccupied to do anything with it until now:

I have spent far too much time today trying to come up with something to post. Everything has either been too personal, too impersonal, too lackluster, too wild, too toodles to simply post. Something that has been difficult about writing about me for other people to see being honest but not brutally so. It can be, depending on what i'm wanting to talk about, like trying to drive a steam-roller through a Wall-Mart aisle and not run over any fingers and toes. As in I could very well end up banned from Wall-Mart, revoked of my imaginary steam-roller licence, and be sued by all my friends. The real question is, if I were as tactful as possible, what in the cupcake would there be left to write about? Nothing. Well, nothing and mathematics. (And that would be offensive to me.)

On to today, which is (was) a glorious Sunday. This means we get up at the crack of 9:00, pile into the van, and zoom off to church for a morning of worship, fellowship, and maybe even a real ship. I wonder if God ever gets a kick out of how we hold our hands up when we are praying or singing. I mean, really. From his point of view it looks like we're all holding our hands out for sweets or waiting for a heavenly high-five. Maybe, unawares, angels are high-fiving us during worship. I don't know how i'm going to keep a straight face next Sunday.

I really, really need to go do other things right now (Surprise! Schoolwork!) but I will leave you with this lingering question;

Question of the Day: Why do some guys think wearing their pants on the ground is attractive? For the love of all things covered in rainbow sprinkles, WHY?

Look'in Like A Fool,
-Hannah

So that was Sunday. And today is Wednesday. And every muscle in my body hurts like chewed bubblegum.

This would be due to me starting a lyrical dance class. Or, rather, re-starting since I took dance for the majority of my midget years. It was great to get back into a dance studio and join the ranks of fools in tights leaping, twirling, and twisting myself into pretzels. I just didn't anticipate waking up the next morning and falling out of bed and having to roll up the stairs I was so sore. (Does not help that my bed is 5 feet tall.)

Alas, math will mot finish itself so I must fly like the wind! Er, hobble like a wheezy breeze.

Cheshire Clocks,
-Hannah

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

Is This A Banana I See Before Me?

Things are simpler when you are exhausted from a day of school and haven't eaten anything but inhaled chalk dust all day. If there is a banana laying on the table, you eat it. That's just the way it is. Even though you don't know where it came from or why it was on that table. Or where that table came from. After so many classes i'm lucky enough to remember what a banana is.  My day was quite eventful. I adopted an felted owl-penguin crossbreed, was taught by my circus friends how to juggle (we're working on sword-swallowing next week, i'm sure), and...and...ok, so a busy day with a few interesting highlights. The only other unusual thing I can think of is observing my friend Laurel (um...I mean, Laura) eat a can of asparagus. Swallowed whole. Without chewing. And drink the juice afterwards. Come to think of it that isn't too unusual for Laurel... This happens every time I don't blog for a few days. One minute i'm prolifically inspired by milkshakes and crickets, the next i'm resorting to telling you in detail about eating a banana. If I keep waiting too long in between writing you might just get post entitled things like "101 Ways to Painlessly Remove Nose Hair", "An Essay on the Difference Between the Phthagoream Theorem with Negative Integers", and "I Can Believe It's Not Butter: How Fake Dairy Saved My Life." If you've ever read the classic-worth-reading "The Little Princess" where the servant girl awakens every morning to find her dingy attic filled with lovely things and an almost magically appearing meal, you have a somewhat-similar example of what has been happening since school started up and Dad has promised to make dinner every Tuesday Night. We come home, dragging ourselves through the door like tube socks that have been through the wash (and the little ones are just as teary) and there, unexpected before us, was a feast of Little Princess proportions! Only Dad wasn't wearing a bedraggled gown and holding a porcelain doll.(Thank goodness. I'd be mighty suspicious of the chicken if he was.) Sure, the chicken was a rotisserie chicken from Sams. And yes, the creamy potato salad had been poured from a plastic tub into the porcelain serving dish. And Dad didn't bake that crispy French bread, just had it sliced and arranged. But when all you've had to eat all day was a mysterious banana and you expected to be dining on cereal and past-date milk? It was heavenly. The herb butter sauces (yes, he DID make that) and frosted donuts didn't hurt, either. Watching all that Food Network on vacation has finally payed off. I'm sure i'll be struck with new literary inspiration to write on something very soon, like staplers. Or pineapples. Until then you'll just have to live a while longer in the depressing, hopeless state that is without-Hannah's-Emails. Keep calm and carry on, mate! As for me, i'm going to go fold myself into the my warm, fluffy bed and sleep like a very happy rock. Well, until my mom turns on the lights and we stumble outside to go running at 6 a.m. I'd rather not think about that right now. Custard-Filled Clouds, -Hannah