Argh

Are you kidding me?
I just spent thrity minutes typing the greatest blog entry ever.
I was putting the title.
And the screen closed.
To where I am not sure.
But it is gone.
Hater.

Anyway, here will be another blog. What else do I have to do?

The lamp hurts when you touch it because it is insane and made out of metal. The loser that is in the computer room tends to move the lamp up so that when I come in here, it is blinding. When I touch the top to put it down, my finger goes crazy. I am too stupid to use my sleeve.

There is definitely nothing better than food waiting for you, which is why I secretly love my mother's current state of unemployment.

Meaningful lyrics are good, except for when they are too meaningful. Apparently, I am not a very deep person, and I can't understand lyrics if they are too meaningful. Then, I feel stupid, so I always return to the comfortable, wonderful Frank Sinatra, whose lyrics are meaningful but not too deep for this idiot.

I have picked out my house in Switzerland because, as I have said, I own about three million books about Audrey Hepburn, and she had the most amazing house there. Canada is also really gorgeous. Nice and neutral.

The IMA would be splendid, but you should never base your schedule around anyone or anything. You should never bas a schedule, period.

I always thought that the beholder was the person looking upon it. Like, they were experiencing the beauty, almost. And that it means that something is only beautiful if you think or wish it to be. As in, I can look at this bottle of water and not find in extraordinary in any way because I already have that mindset and because I don't want it to be special. Or, I could look at it and think it is the most beautiful object in the entire world because I want it to be so. This probably isn't what the quote means, but I always liked my interpretation. It made sense to me.

A Latin tudor? Have I done this to you, or have you brought this upon yourself?

Blootie and the Hofish. That is good.

Our project will only be the best one because of you, Abby. What is this? Not only do you beat my test score (that is hanging above my bed, by the way, and my father is also proud), but you are overachieving on the project. My heart is bursting with pride.

Woah. She is screaming. Like, screaming. Like, woah. What is wrong with Katie? Oh, snap. It's over. No worries.

My favorite Christmas presents...
1. My typewriter
2. Baby Kate (my stuffed animal that I got right before Katie was born...I don't think they knew that they were going to name her Katherine)
3. My Playmobile Train (this thing is hardcore. Seriously. I love it.)

Actually, my Thanksgiving stories aren't very impressive. Other holidays would have been good. Here they go, though.
1. We always have a prayer before we eat for my grandma's sake, and my dad said, jokingly, since no one else goes to church, "Does anyone who goes to church like to lead the prayer?" My aunt likes to think she is religious, and she said "Well, sure..." My dad was like, "I mean, someone who goes more than twice a year?"
2. I always eat the turkey before it has been served. It is a personal tradition. My grandma always sees me and chuckles, but my mom saw me once and slapped my hand SO HARD. CRAZY PAIN, I'm telling you. Just imagine her screech with that. Incredible.
3. My cousins are violent, even on Thanksgiving. We were all watching The Wizard of Oz in the basement being merry when my cousin Colin punched Scottie out of nowhere and knocked his tooth out. On Thanksgiving. When you are supposed to be thankful for your loved ones. Yup.

It does get really dark quickly. It is quite sad.
How do you THINK the play is coming along?

I have taken some cold medicine and am ready for eleven hours of sleep. Good-bye.