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Sep. 20th, 2004 01:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phthalombrageI wish I had more time to read. From before I started school to about 7th or 8th grade, I read at least 10 books a week. Granted, they were usually less than 400 pages, and not always what one might call classic literature, but I did get a considerable amount of reading done. And what have I become? Reading only books required for school and using online sparccnotes to b.s. my "reflective response journal" for English. Pa-thetic. All these books start sounding interesting to me... so many famous authors I've never experienced.. a burning desire to be able to hang out at Barnes and Noble.. I never even have time to go to the library anymore. I resolve to find a way. Also, after winter break, when I can finally quit my under-the-table crappy excuse for a job, I will use part of my new free time to ride the public bus downtown to the library. And.. stuff... I think I also want to explore the used bookstores, look at the sculptures, find out what I think is interesting about my city because my mom hates to be irked driving anywhere to culturally enrich her children. Plus, when the writing club starts up again, I'm joining. Sources tell me it consists of angsty kids critiquing each other's screwed-up creative writing. Sounds fun.
My faith has been reconfirmed for that crazy French cartoon. Five episodes today.. all so cute. In other news, I really like chopped vegetables. Look at them. Somebody took time to make all those little pieces from a larger entity. The loving touch of a knife. It's so fascinating to watch the chefs on TV cutting them with such skill, precision, and speed. They usually have nice sharp knives that they rock into the vegetables. All the knives chez moi are so blunt... Last year I tested them on my arm and laughed because I knew in advance that even the largest, most fearsome-looking one wouldn't even leave a mark. My left arm believes erroneously that it is impervious. An hour ago, as I was eating some form of black bean ratatouille hodgepodge made by my godfather, I noted all of the tiny cubes of green pepper, the larger diced tomato, the quadrilateral translucent slips of onion, and all the other wonderful fruits of the earth. They were just so much less cumbersome in their truncated format. They're so cuttable, and in one bite, I engulfed so many kinds of not meat- not meat is always viable. The processed cheese perpetually present in my refrigerator melted so nicely over the top.. the oozy yellow puddle. I normally don't enjoy food that much- or anything for that matter, but just thinking about somebody standing in the kitchen taking the time to increase the surface area of all of these vegetables warmed my heart and aroused much cerebral activity. The inside of a tomato is a lovely color, a lot better than the exterior. Condensed tomato soup is also pigment-ally superior to its waxy whole counterpart.
^^^Excerpt of evening chat between my parents:^^^(Ain't it funny how ^ is the same key as 6?)
M: I had Lisa come swimming today. I called her earli-ah and didn't know whey-ah she was, but then Brian told me he needed to go to band practice, so I drove him all the way they-ah, and had to come back because he left behind his box of wi-yahs ah something. So after I came all the way back home I called Lisa and she and her kids came oh-vah. [Lisa being the aerobic instructor in whom my mother has a very unhealthy interest, to the point of almost stalking]
D: Mhmm.
M: The baby dirtied a diaper and I couldn't find the lid to the barrel, so it's in the bin in the kitchen. [annoying accent dropped because it looks stupid typed]
D: Nice.
M: Lisa is so funny. She went out to her car to get her bathing suit, and left the kids unsupervised in the pool. [kids' ages are 1 and 3 or 4 or something.] Little Sam loves to splash, and put his face underwater.
D: Yeah.
M: Oh, and what was in the water bottle on the windowsill?
D: Why?
M: Chloe dumped it all over herself and said it hurt. It smelled like chlorine so I told Lisa to shower her off. But she wasn't red or anything. Lisa was putting cream on her but I told her she probably needed to shower her off. She kept rubbing her little legs -haha!-. When Lisa went to go wash her off, she just turned the water on and walked away for three minutes or so. She couldn't find any shampoo, so she squirted some dish soap into Chloe's hair and told her to wash it, too.
D: Yeah, that was muriatic acid.
M: Oh no! -haha!- Chloe gets into everything! She said it hurt. She was rubbing her legs ooh ooh mommy it burns! -haha!- It wasn't straight muriatic acid, was it?
D: Well, the pool guy said that when you mix it, you should only use a pint. So I use the water bottle.. that was about a pint of pure acid. Haha, it hurt. Muriatic acid will do that.
M: Should I tell her what it was? I said it smelled like chlorine..
D: Nah.
M: Oh and then Lisa was standing outside in her underwear, calling out to the little boys across the street. She's very friendly.
D: Friendly... that's what you call it.
Now I know the REAL reason my mom is obsessed with Lisa.
I have lost my cat's favor. She's even more antisocial than I. Everyone else's cat runs up to you meowing and snakes around your legs, getting an inch of cat hair on your pant legs. She still lets me pick her up, though. My brother can't. Then again, he's afraid of her. They're just tiny little claws and teeth... Whatever. It's funny because he likes to play with fire and has a box of illegal fireworks in his closet. Since I was little I've never had a problem with chasing and or grabbing cats. Dogs are another story whatsoever. *shiver* the dog lady the big big dogs and on top of the speaker and.. Anyway, today we decided to use the new-to-us cat carrier my mom found in someone's trash for some fun. We put Baby inside, and had the door cocked so that if she pushed on it, she could get out. Stupid cat. She was looking all around for a way out. For about 5 minutes she circled her head, whining. Then she turned around and faced the solid back of the carrier. My brother found it hilarious. Use your face, kitty! Push yout little face against the gate and you can be out! We were tapping on the back of the carrier, giving verbal cues, and eventually blowing though the slots on the side to try to coax her out. Blowing on her really pisses her off. Finally, after we faced the carrier toward her food plate and started to raise it from the ground, she got the clue and put her paw to the front gate, easily freeing herself.
What a lot of text, and what is accomplished into which I shall pour, out of a coffee scoop, Euro.
My faith has been reconfirmed for that crazy French cartoon. Five episodes today.. all so cute. In other news, I really like chopped vegetables. Look at them. Somebody took time to make all those little pieces from a larger entity. The loving touch of a knife. It's so fascinating to watch the chefs on TV cutting them with such skill, precision, and speed. They usually have nice sharp knives that they rock into the vegetables. All the knives chez moi are so blunt... Last year I tested them on my arm and laughed because I knew in advance that even the largest, most fearsome-looking one wouldn't even leave a mark. My left arm believes erroneously that it is impervious. An hour ago, as I was eating some form of black bean ratatouille hodgepodge made by my godfather, I noted all of the tiny cubes of green pepper, the larger diced tomato, the quadrilateral translucent slips of onion, and all the other wonderful fruits of the earth. They were just so much less cumbersome in their truncated format. They're so cuttable, and in one bite, I engulfed so many kinds of not meat- not meat is always viable. The processed cheese perpetually present in my refrigerator melted so nicely over the top.. the oozy yellow puddle. I normally don't enjoy food that much- or anything for that matter, but just thinking about somebody standing in the kitchen taking the time to increase the surface area of all of these vegetables warmed my heart and aroused much cerebral activity. The inside of a tomato is a lovely color, a lot better than the exterior. Condensed tomato soup is also pigment-ally superior to its waxy whole counterpart.
^^^Excerpt of evening chat between my parents:^^^(Ain't it funny how ^ is the same key as 6?)
M: I had Lisa come swimming today. I called her earli-ah and didn't know whey-ah she was, but then Brian told me he needed to go to band practice, so I drove him all the way they-ah, and had to come back because he left behind his box of wi-yahs ah something. So after I came all the way back home I called Lisa and she and her kids came oh-vah. [Lisa being the aerobic instructor in whom my mother has a very unhealthy interest, to the point of almost stalking]
D: Mhmm.
M: The baby dirtied a diaper and I couldn't find the lid to the barrel, so it's in the bin in the kitchen. [annoying accent dropped because it looks stupid typed]
D: Nice.
M: Lisa is so funny. She went out to her car to get her bathing suit, and left the kids unsupervised in the pool. [kids' ages are 1 and 3 or 4 or something.] Little Sam loves to splash, and put his face underwater.
D: Yeah.
M: Oh, and what was in the water bottle on the windowsill?
D: Why?
M: Chloe dumped it all over herself and said it hurt. It smelled like chlorine so I told Lisa to shower her off. But she wasn't red or anything. Lisa was putting cream on her but I told her she probably needed to shower her off. She kept rubbing her little legs -haha!-. When Lisa went to go wash her off, she just turned the water on and walked away for three minutes or so. She couldn't find any shampoo, so she squirted some dish soap into Chloe's hair and told her to wash it, too.
D: Yeah, that was muriatic acid.
M: Oh no! -haha!- Chloe gets into everything! She said it hurt. She was rubbing her legs ooh ooh mommy it burns! -haha!- It wasn't straight muriatic acid, was it?
D: Well, the pool guy said that when you mix it, you should only use a pint. So I use the water bottle.. that was about a pint of pure acid. Haha, it hurt. Muriatic acid will do that.
M: Should I tell her what it was? I said it smelled like chlorine..
D: Nah.
M: Oh and then Lisa was standing outside in her underwear, calling out to the little boys across the street. She's very friendly.
D: Friendly... that's what you call it.
Now I know the REAL reason my mom is obsessed with Lisa.
I have lost my cat's favor. She's even more antisocial than I. Everyone else's cat runs up to you meowing and snakes around your legs, getting an inch of cat hair on your pant legs. She still lets me pick her up, though. My brother can't. Then again, he's afraid of her. They're just tiny little claws and teeth... Whatever. It's funny because he likes to play with fire and has a box of illegal fireworks in his closet. Since I was little I've never had a problem with chasing and or grabbing cats. Dogs are another story whatsoever. *shiver* the dog lady the big big dogs and on top of the speaker and.. Anyway, today we decided to use the new-to-us cat carrier my mom found in someone's trash for some fun. We put Baby inside, and had the door cocked so that if she pushed on it, she could get out. Stupid cat. She was looking all around for a way out. For about 5 minutes she circled her head, whining. Then she turned around and faced the solid back of the carrier. My brother found it hilarious. Use your face, kitty! Push yout little face against the gate and you can be out! We were tapping on the back of the carrier, giving verbal cues, and eventually blowing though the slots on the side to try to coax her out. Blowing on her really pisses her off. Finally, after we faced the carrier toward her food plate and started to raise it from the ground, she got the clue and put her paw to the front gate, easily freeing herself.
What a lot of text, and what is accomplished into which I shall pour, out of a coffee scoop, Euro.
