PREVIOUSLY, ON LE BLOG TITLE....

Writing, writing, writing. I feel like writing this evening.
Of what I shall be writing, I am not sure, but I certainly do have some words I would like to spew all over the Internet's face. If the Internet has a face. Clocks have faces, so why not Internets?
I haven't written for, what, a few months now? Does anyone even read this thing? Does anyone wish to read the words I plan to spew in the possibly non-existant face of the Internet?
Probably not, at this point, but it matters not, for I am going to write anyway.
I kind of feel like starting this off with a TV drama opening.
"Previously, on Le Blog Title: blah, blah, blah, bloobity-blah-blah!"
However, since my life, and consequently my blog, is not at all like television show, I shall not be writing it like as such.
Instead, I'll just say that back in January, I partook in a writing contest. Nothing too big, really, just a local contest hosted by a community college. And it's not as if I was expecting to win.
I was, however, at the very least, expecting to see some results by this point.
You see, instead of physically mailing my entries along with contact information/general ways to reach me, I gave them to my English teacher who works part-time at said community college.
Makes sense, doesn't it? She works with the english department, the ones what are hosting the contest, so it only seems logical that she would know of the progress of the judging, no?
HOWEVER. I had asked her of this just the other day and the woman looks at my like I had suffered massive brain trauma by way of repeatedly smashing my english text book against me skull.
"Oh, they didn't contact you about it? Well, I don't know anything about it because it's totally not like I work at the english department, LOL. Now go write an essay or something, kthnxbai."
Asdfghjkl.
It's really not as if I'm asking a lot. It's not as if I'm saying, "WOMAN, you'd best be getting me that first place prize or I'll resurrect Shakespeare only to stab him right in front of your very eyes, GOT ME?"
All I want to know is who won and whom I can go congratulate! That's all I want, argghhh!
Whyyyyyyyy.
...
In other news, I shall be graduating fairly soon. Stangely enough, I am feeling rather apathetic about the whole ordeal.
Anyway, that is about all I am going to spew in the face of the Internet for this evening.
Adieu, sweet Blog.

FLASHHHBACK.

When I was in fourth grade, we had this reptile handler come to our school.
Being that us elementary students were not nearly important enough to have our own auditorium, we all sat on the floor in front of him on the gym/lunch room/all-purpose room floor.
The handler came out, holding a baby crocodile up high, so the kids in the back could see.
While he was off prattling random facts about the crocodile species, using large words no one understood and stating things about the crocodile family no one cared about, all of the sudden, it unleashed a torrential downpour of urine. It just kept coming and coming. Nobody said a word, neither the kids nor the handler. There was only the sound of urine splashing, droplets hitting the children unfortunate enough to be in the front row.
The only thought that was in anyone's mind, (except, perhaps, for those in the front row, thinking something along the lines of, "I wonder if crocodile urine comes out. I've never really needed to know this information until now.") was "I had no idea a creature's bladder could possibly contain so much."
Eventually, after what seemed like ages, the waterfall ceased.
Everyone continued to be quiet, not really registering what had just happened.
Teachers exchanged looks, unsure of what to do or say in this situation. Understandable, really, it's not something the teaching handbooks much covered. The handler continued to stand there, holding the crocodile at a somewhat awkward angle, facial expression showing both disgust and embarassment, as if he had been the one urinating all over the gym floor/children, not the crocodile.
He was the first to speak, saying, "Well! At least he won't have to go for a while now!" with an uncomfortable little titter.
The teachers joined in, awkward laughter ringing throughout the gymnasium. The children chimed in as well, figuring any bodily function to be amusing, and the show continued on as normal. After a short while, a janitor walked in with a mop, cleaning up the considerable amount of urine, and we all returned to our classrooms.

This event is one of the many reasons why I am what I am today. Had that overgrown lizard not done what it had done on that fateful day, I could be an entirely different person.
Somethin' to think about.
Anyhoo, that's enough for today.
Adieu, blog!

Blah.

So, I've recently acquired my driver's license.
I suppose it should be a good thing, but really, all it has been doing is making me feel old.
I can't imagine why, considering that a piece of plastic with an unfortunately unflattering picture of myself is not a magical aging device that sucks the immaturity out of a person, but I feel like perhaps it has. Or rather, it should.
I feel as if someone with a driver's license, job, checking account, debit card, etc., should not still be laughing, and quite hard I might add, at the word "duty."
I feel like, at this point in my life, I should be a bit more, I don't know, grown-up. But I'm not.
Although, I am led to believe that it is often not a bad thing to be young at heart. I can't imagine what it would be like to write if my sense of humor was not nearly as childish and silly as it is now.
And, were I to listen to Spongebob, adults have to grow sideburns and acquire a taste for freeform jazz, which hardly sounds fun at all, so I think it would be a fine idea to remain immature for a while longer.
Anyhoo, I think that is about all I have to say for today.
Adieu, all.

Newspaper time.

Writin' stories for the school newspaper. For every month, I am re-doing an old fairy tale, which is proving to be quite fun thus far.
Now, this one is meant to be next month's story, but since I am so terribly kind, and since none of you (so far as I know) have access to our newspaper, I shall post it here for you to enjoy or, if it so suits you, spit at.
It is not entirely finished, but I like what I have so far.

Rapunzel Redone.
Once upon a time, there lived a young man and woman who had wished for a child but had been unsuccessful in producing one. “Honey,” the young wife wheedled her husband, “I have been wishing with all of my might for a baby, so why is it we do not have one yet?” Her husband rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples in an irritated way. “Darling,” the man said, struggling to keep the agitation out of his voice, “I have explained over and over again that one cannot simply wish for a child to appear. Must I explain the birds and the bees again?” The young man was just about to get out the puppets and demonstrate for what seemed like the 50th time, when his wife inadvertently stopped him by gaping like a moron out of the window. (Well. A bigger moron, that is.) “What is it?” the young man asked cautiously, squinting out of the window as well, “Is that squirrel back again?” The young woman continued to stare blankly past the neighbor’s tall wall and into the garden. “I bet,” she said slowly, “if we got some of that delicious-looking rapunzel from that garden, we’d get a baby in no time.” Now it was the husband’s turn to gape stupidly. “What the-?” he thought, confused. “How on earth did she come up with that? Why would eating a salad of all things produce a child? Maybe I should have made her take an IQ test before marrying her.” The young man took a deep breath before responding. “And how, dear wife” he said through clenched teeth, “do you think the rapunzel will help?” His wife smiled pleasantly at him, completely dissipating his annoyance with her (for the moment, anyhow,) and said, “I just know it will. Please?” She batted her eyes repeatedly for effect. Her husband sighed loudly and dramatically, saying, “Fine.” He sighed again, even more obnoxiously this time, and stomped out the front door.
Several hours and many bruises later, the young man had successfully scaled the high wall surrounding the neighbor’s property. He took a moment to catch his breath and to really think about what he was about to do. “Okay, Tom.” (For that is his name, you see. It seems I’ve not mentioned it up until this point, and for this, I apologize.) “Let’s think about this for a second or two. You have just, quite awesomely might I add, scaled the neighbor’s wall in order to steal some sort of cabbage that you could have just gone down to the market to get. And now you are about to trespass on the property of, if the rumors are correct, a particularly cranky and vegetable-obsessed witch just because your wife batted her eyes at you. Is that about right?” Tom nodded in response to his own question. “Just making sure. Well, we’ve already gone this far, Tommy ol’ boy; might as well finish the job.” He nodded once more and jumped down off the wall into the garden.

DUN DUN DUN.
That's all for now, I suppose.
Adieu.

We can dance if we want to, we can leave your friends behind, 'cuz your friends don't dance, and if they don't dance, well, they're no friends of mine

...
So, I have joined the school newspaper. Or at least, I am in the process of joining.
I am a bit disappointed, however, that the student editor did not read the massive stack of stories/writing samples that I thrust at her during French class.
She claimed that the newspaper will accept anyone without examples of their writing, but I am certain she just didn't want to read my gargantuan pile of papers.
PSSHAW.
I will not stand for lazy editors. One cannot edit a person's writing if one does not read it beforehand, yes?
I digress.
In other news, my mom is shaving the puppies in the living room.
I was debating on using the dog hair strewn about the carpet to make fur coats for them, in case they get cold due to the fact that they now look like shorn sheep, but I figured it would be too much effort, and have decided against it.
It will grow back eventually, I suppose.
Anyhoo, with that, I shall bid you good bye for this afternoon, dear Blog.
Adieu.

College, college, college.

College essays.
College applications.
College campus visits.
Collage.
Collies.
Cauliflower.
...
I am rather disliking this whole college process.
Though, really, I cannot fathom meeting anyone who would enjoy it. Save for my english teacher, who seems to get some sort of sick, twisted joy out of reminding children that they are all going to have an emotional breakdown due to stress this year. How perfectly marvelous.
And then she goes on to tell us that she likes our class and that we're going to have a fun senior year together.
I am not sure when the fun will be, though, as she was not very specific. I am guessing it is either after my crippling psychological breakdown or sometime before it.
Or maybe the fun will be during my breakdown. I have never experienced a breakdown, so who knows? It could be a rousing good time.
Perhaps that is why my english teacher was so excited about it.
Of course, I will not know for sure until I actually experience this breakdown, so we shall see.
Anyhoo, I think that will be all for today, dear Blog.
Adieu.

The worst spy you've never heard of.

It occurs to me that I've been seriously slacking on blogging and story-writing.
SO, in order to rectify this, I'll post this lovely part of a story that I am working on with a good buddy o' mine.

Adrian Harper is probably the worst spy you've never heard of. Mr. Harper works for a tiny agency downtown which is cleverly disguised (at least, the head of the agency thinks it's pretty clever...) as a bakery. They used to use the baked goods they sold as means to spy on their customers, who, according to Adrian, were almost always enemy agents. Adrian oftentimes placed micro-cameras into the chocolate chip cookies, but the cameras were always destroyed by the customer's molars and stomach acid before they got to record any possible suspicious activities. The customers usually came back, brandishing both hospital bills that needed to be paid and the middle finger. The idea was quickly scrapped and Adrian was smacked upside the head for being slightly more stupid than usually. He deeply regrets ever listening to Adrian in the first place about that idea, and for weeks afterward, you could hear him grumbling to himself and kicking potted plants over.

That's it so far. :I
So, that is all for today, yes.
Adieu.