Saturday, December 20, 2008
Um, ok, never mind that. In my old age, my memory is failing me.
It snowed last night. By morning, we had a foot. Anyway, I went to go outside in the evening, and then when I got to the door, I turned around and asked my mom, "Mom, where did I put my glasses?"
Her reply: "They're on your head, aren't they?"
Me: "Um, yeah, right."
I kid you not. I'm getting old. And speaking of that--I'M 16!!!!!!!! And have been since the first of this month...and didn't tell any of you...haha.
So, a while ago I heard some people complaining that they didn't like the colors, & thought they were too conservative, not crazy enough.
Satisfied now? If not...how about bright green? Really, really bright green, the shade that makes your eyes scream in agony the instant they behold it? And really, really bright blue to match? With the text in really, really bright orange, of course. ;)
I'm really tired, so this isn't gonna be a very funny post, just a random one. Saaaawwy. I was out snow shoveling for three hours this morning.
So, Bridget spent all of November writing frantically, and ended up writing a huge amount of words--um...how many pages, Bridget? A few hundred? Lol--while I barely wrote anything that month. And then, come December, and just in the last several days, I have written two really long scenes on my main story, two short stories, a song (which actually has a tune! Astonishing--only a few of my songs ever have a tune to go with the words), probably a poem or two, or fragments of several poems, anyway, and--last, but by no means least--I started writing a new story. And it's a vampire story. Yes, you heard me right. I, Lanta/Sara/whatever other name you know me as, am writing a vampire story.
However, no decent, self respecting, average, run-of-the-mill vampire fiction will assosiate with it. Not even Twilight. And why, you ask? Why is my poor story scorned and degraded by all its kin? I will tell you, my readers. Be patient, and soon all shall be revealed to you.
For one thing, the only thing it has in common with its relatives (yes, even Twilight) is the whole drinking-blood thing.
All the decent, self-respecting vampire stories I have ever read (which is actually only a very few; vampires are just not my thing) have a few key things in common with each other:
1. They are set in this world, or in a world that's close enough to this world to be nearly identical in every way to it.
2. Vampires are always the strong, the powerful, never the weak. Being a vampire is a good thing. Except for the whole drinking-blood issue, it's acutally worth it, when you think about it--I mean, come on. You've got superhuman powers, strength, abilities, etc. You're better. Being a vampire is never (or rarely) shown as a bad thing--the vampire character rarely regrets it, and even then (in cases like Rosalie) it's not because of being a vampire, it's because of some of the unwelcome side effects.
Now, the reason my vampire story is shunned by all its kin is because it has neither of those two elements mentioned above. In my story:
1. It's not set in this world. Vampires don't belong in this world. I actually rather dislike most fantasy-set-in-this-world because, no matter how well-written, it's always just a little (or more than just a little) weird.
2. Being a vampire is a weakness. It doesn't make you stronger. It doesn't make you better. (And actually--I'm thinking there will be only one character who's a vampire, and it's not something that can be passed on by a bite.)
When the vampire lady (who regretably lacks a name as of yet) craves blood, it's like an addiction. it makes her weaker. She loses control over herself. Unless she drinks blood, she grows so weak that she can barely stand. Another idea I'm toying with--she doesn't crave blood all the time, only during certain times, or after she does something or other, I need to think this idea through more, though, before doing anything with it. And--drinking blood isn't nessasary. She doesn't live on blood, like the vampires in Twilight. But, unless someone else intervenes, she can't stop herself. And that's where the Guard comes in. They are people who are bound to her her, they owe her absolute loyalty & absolute obediance when she commands them using the bond. And, when she is overcome by the BloodCall, they are the only ones who can restrain her.
So, that's my story. I haven't even gotten to 10 pages on paper yet, but I'm totally hooked by it already. And yes, I admit it--I was somewhat (well, acutally, a lot) inspired by "Lord of Snow and Shadows", a book I read a few days ago. I started writing my story the same night I read that book.
Haha, you wanna know another funny thing?
Ok, so I write a short story. Bridget reads my short story, and than has a dream inspired by it, and starts writing a story based on her dream. So I read her story-that's-based-on-a-dream-that's-inspired-by-my-story, and I'm instantly inspired to write a song. So, I'm talking to Bridget on the phone that night (seriously, it was after 11 when I finally got off the phone with her) and I sing my song for her, and she gets inspired to write a song of her own. So, I read her song-that's-inspired-by-my-song-which-is-inspired-by-her story-that's-based-on-a-dream-that's-inspired-by-my-story, and I'm inspired to write a short story like, 10 minutes later.
I wonder what will happen when Bridget reads that short story. Oh, dear.
Well, I shall leave you to ponder in the depths of your heart the terrible image of Bridget and I writing stories and poems and songs inspired by each other's poems and stories and songs until the very day of our death. (It is actually quite a scary thought!)
To help rid your mind of that horrifying image (and believe me, this works), don't say more, say Mordor!
Thursday, December 11, 2008
As of long last, I am finally back. (Or else someone has figured out how to hack my account.) For so long my life has been slowly wandering through a meadow, picking flowers, making shapes of the clouds and what not, but its gotten really busy of a sudden. It kind of started with NaNoWriMo. I pretty much lost my free time during November in an effort to get something written. Which I did, actually. I had around 45,000 words at the end; not enough to win, but enough to make me happy. I got myself grounded from the computer the last few days of November and into December (I had been a lazy bum, lol). The day I was able to go back on the computer, it was time to go to a retreat! I had been to one of the same sort last spring, so I had met some of the people before. The whole experience is really difficult to put into words, but I honestly think it was the best thing that's ever happened to me. All the people were really friendly and crazy, the talks were super great, (I started crying during like three of them, and I almost never cry in public) and Mass and adoration were just beautiful.
Like I said, no idea now to put it in words, but it was really moving. It was like I could actually feel God there, and see Him in the stories the people shared of their lives. I made a completely new friend, and we were pretty much inseparable for the weekend. I came home Sunday night, and I didn't even want to listen to the secular rock/hard rock music on my computer, which I've pretty much been listening to for 2 years straight. I'm down to some old Kutless, Third Day, and Casting Crowns, LOL. Go figure. >.> I'm trying to shape my life up a bit now, prayers are always appreciated. ;)
Two days after I got back, I got this random urge to make, get this, candy canes. We've never made them before, either. I roped my dad into it, and we finally started in the evening. My mom had to help since the candy was setting up before we had twisted the colors together. But we did get some pretty canes, though we ended up with a few broken ones, and some random bits and pieces. Now I want to make fudge and toffee, too. o.o Oh, and cream puffs.
And that brings me up to Thursday, today! Mom is going to Wisconsin for a week on the train because a friend of hers is getting her doctor's or bachelor's or something like that in.... something. Physcology, maybe. Which means I, poor little ol' lowly Bridget, have to cook FOOD and do the LAUNDRY for an entire week. And do all my normal school, I might add. Macaroni and chili beans, here we come...
Then in January, I'm leaving for a week or so on the March for Life. First time I'll ever be farther east than Duluth, Minnesota. And I might even have a teen bit of a chance of meeting Lanta there! *starts to hyperventilate from excitement*
Yes, readers, fear for your lives! It is one of the signs of the apocalypse, is it not?
So all this is kind of putting a crunch on my school, and I might not get so much time to be online. I'll try my best to keep up with the blog here, though. *salutes*
But if all else fails, readers, just remember, don't say more, say Mordor!
Friday, December 5, 2008
My dear readers, it grieves me deeply to have to imform you of this sad news. Bridget is grounded, in a cruel twist of fortune. Why, I know not. But she shall not come here until many long ages (until Sunday, i believe she said, since she's then going on a retreat), and when she comes--who can say how this terrible ordeal may have changed her? Why, she might not post anything for weeks!
And as for me--I, who am your last remaining hope!--my computer was hacked, not once, but twice! and is now offline only until it is fixed, and who knows when that shall be. In the meantime, we are using our old, semi-retired computer which hates anything google and kills it on site. Once and a while, like today, the two ancient foes relapse into indifference towards each other, but those days are rare, and few and far between. So--don't expect to hear from me frequently. I am so deeply grieved at the pain I must surely be causing you. Please, do not die! I want you all to be alive and healthy when I return in triumph!
In the meantime, have fun trying to force Bridget to post :P And--don't say more, say Mordor! (Believe me, it will bring much peace to your tender hearts!)
Thursday, November 20, 2008
A Poem on the Random, Profound Subject of Random Profound Thoughts
Random Profound Thoughts
Dance upon my nose
But what if it blows?
Away they'll go
I'd better not blow my nose!
Random Profound Thoughts
Curl around my toes
But what'll happen, who knows
If I wriggle my toes?
I'd better not wriggle my toes!
Random Profound Thoughts
Are eating Spagetti Os
So I picked up a hose
And turned it on low
And won back my Spagetti Os!
Random Profound Thoughts
Are pondering arrows and bows
They lined up in rows
I said to them "Woe!"
And threw at them Edgar Allen Poe!
Random Profound Thoughts
Hunt me with balls of snow
They won't cease and go
They only shriek "No!"
Why didn't I blow my nose?
Or wriggle my toes?
Oh, upon me is woe!
And don't you dare say "Lol!"
Sunday, November 9, 2008
My dearly beloved readers, we have an iguana for an Antichrist.
Now, some of you may ask (and perhaps disappear mysteriously soon after asking) how I know that Obama is an iguana. The answer is simple. I have deduced it. From what, you may ask (if you live long enough to ask a second question). And, if you manage to blurt out a third question as you are being dragged away, I imagine it would be “How can you prove it?”
Logic, my dear readers, is to be shunned. Logic is cold, hard, icy, and impenetrable; an unreasoning leap of the mind to a conclusion that may or may not be the correct conclusion. For instance, say I were to pick up a bar of chocolate as I wander beneath a grim forest where the sun barely shone, and say to myself, “This is chocolate.” How would I know it was chocolate? Because my eyes told me so, and I believe my eyes. Because my heart told me that what I held in my hands was chocolate. But say I instead sat down, stared at the bar of chocolate very hard, and proceeded to reason logically to myself whether or not what I was holding was, in fact, chocolate, until sheer fatigue overtook me, and I fell into a deep, dark sleep, waking to find myself holding a fistful of sand. Logic would tell me that it had not been chocolate all along, whereas if I had just believed the evidence my eyes and heart showed me and disregarded the doubts of my brain, I would have happily consumed a delicious bar of mouthwatering chocolate!
Logic is, in fact, much as it pains me to say this, for fools. Smart people are simply not logical! Logic is unfashionable, unpopular, obsolete, ostracized, detested, out-of-date, old-fashioned, behind the times, archaic, superseded, outmoded, passé, hated, out of favor, old, antiquated, ancient, defunct, reviled, loathed, abhorred, insufferable, despicable, disgraced, disfavored, aged, antediluvian, olden, prehistoric, redundant, primeval, useless, intolerable, primordial, unendurable, unspeakable, bygone, insupportable, unbearable, appalling, dreadful, contemptible, wicked, shameful, dishonorable, vile, loathsome, superfluous, disused, unneeded, revolting, unnecessary, un-called for, primitive, ineffective, primal, of no use, excruciating, a waste of time, futile, ineffectual, inadequate, worthless, agonizing, disgusting, terrible, long-gone, in the past, ignominious, depraved, base, low, ignoble, detestable, and simply not accepted!
I hope I have convinced you of the truth of this, my dear readers. I have tried my best. However, you are probably wondering what all that had to do with Obama, and I will answer.
Because I trust in my eyes and my heart to tell me the truth, I do not need logic. Logic tells me (or tries to) that Obama is not an iguana. However, it is quite fortunate that I do not rely on logic to tell me what is, and what is not. I value the evidence of my eyes and my heart far above logic, and they both tell me unhesitatingly that Obama is an iguana. My eyes tell me that he looks like an iguana. My heart tells me that he talks like, acts like, and, in short, is an iguana.
Obama is an iguana. I am sure you agree with me, my dear readers (or what is left of you, anyway), for how could you not? Have I not laid out in a clear, precise manner the proof of his being an iguana, and showed you why the evidence against it is unfashionable, unpopular, obsolete, ostracized, detested, out-of-date, old-fashioned, behind the times, archaic, superseded, outmoded, passé, hated, out of favor, old, antiquated, ancient, defunct, reviled, loathed, abhorred, insufferable, despicable, disgraced, disfavored, aged, antediluvian, olden, prehistoric, redundant, primeval, useless, intolerable, primordial, unendurable, unspeakable, bygone, insupportable, unbearable, appalling, dreadful, contemptible, wicked, shameful, dishonorable, vile, loathsome, superfluous, disused, unneeded, revolting, unnecessary, un-called for, primitive, ineffective, primal, of no use, excruciating, a waste of time, futile, ineffectual, inadequate, worthless, agonizing, disgusting, terrible, long-gone, in the past, ignominious, depraved, base, low, ignoble, detestable, and simply not accepted?
Therefore, Obama is an iguana. (From now on, I will refer to him as “the Iguana” or “Obama the Iguana”) Let us move on to my second statement.
Obama the Iguana is the Antichrist.
How can I prove this, you ask? My dear readers, I thought I had already explained very thoroughly that proof is unnecessary! *sighs and shakes head mournfully*
However, if you insist, I shall do my best to please you. The Iguana is the Antichrist, and the numbers back me up. When I took the Iguana’s full name, after a lengthy and difficult process, it came out to 666.666666. And, my reader, if that is not proof, then what is?
We must prepare ourselves with great fortitude for the time of woe and tribulation that is to come. And, my dear reade—oh, dear, there goes the last one—the best way to prepare your heart is by this: Don’t say more, say Mordor!
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Saturday, November 1, 2008
"This is a novena to the Infant of Prague, a novena for an urgent need. Our country is in a very urgent need. It is permissible that: In cases of great urgency, a novena of hours may be made instead of days. The prayers should, if possible, be repeated at the same time every hour for nine consecutive hours. I strongly encourage each and every one of you and your families, to pray this novena on election day, November 4th. Every single prayer counts and is needed!
I can attest to the power of this novena, it once saved my family from
bankruptcy. PLEASE pass this novena along and urge everyone you know to pray it on November 4th as well! Our prayers DO count, and we must storm heaven with them! Suggested intention:That this election day, our country may elect a holy, wise, pro-life, pro-family president and other political leaders.
Powerful Novena in Urgent Need to the Infant of Prague
O Jesus, who said, "Ask and you shall
receive, seek and you shall find, knock and it shall be opened to you," through
the intercession of Mary, Your most holy Mother, I knock, I seek, I ask that my
prayer be granted.
(Mention your request)
O Jesus, who said "All that you
ask of the Father in My Name He will grant you," through the intercession of
Mary, Your most holy Mother, I humbly and urgently ask Your Father in Your Name
that my prayer be granted.
(Mention your request)
O Jesus, who said
"Heaven and earth shall pass away, but My word shall not pass," through the
intercession of Mary, Your most Holy Mother, I feel confident that my prayer
will be granted.
(Mention your request)Amen.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Probably the least random thing I can come up with about myself is that I've been a hopeless literary addict from before I was in school. At age 12, I read Lord of the Rings for the first time, and I can't remember how many times since. Once when on a 5 day trip, to most people's absolute amazement, I read both LOTR and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. And I didn't even read one day. 1,000+ page novels aren't the only thing I read, however, nothing is safe. If there is no hope of reading anything else, even school books will suffice. I've read nearly half the Bible (Leviticus was really boring), a bunch of Shakespeare, and then at the other end of the spectrum, I've read a couple of Star Wars books. Poems go over good, too. Horatius at the Bridge (HOOWWW come every time I type "bridge" I write it "Bridget?" I keep popping up everywhere =P), The Highway Man, The Song of Hiawatha (all 253 pages of it), all help to appease my desire for literature. Of course, such a deep set addiction is hard to keep from the people around me. Currently, there are 4 or 5 books hidden under my bed, and one Mordor under the clothes hamper in the bathroom. I also find an outlet for my addiction in writing on my score or so of stories (none of which have ever been finished) and a somewhat constant stream of poems.
Since both blog meme's I've ever seen have mentioned the Civil War, I'll go along halfway and voice my history loves. One word. Hannibal. No matter how many times history books say that the fall of Carthage was a necessary step for Christianity, I still love Hannibal. *sighs* He only lost ONE battle of the 2nd Punic War, but he still lost it. Lemme at those mercenaries!!! DOWN WITH ROME!!!!
*ahem* Along with Hannibal, I like (but not nearly as much as him), pretty much all ancient history: Egypt, Greece, Alexander the Great, and (shockingly), I even like Rome a little. (Octavian is cool) I have always liked medieval history, also, (I loathe William the Conqueror) and mythology is a big hit.
This is getting too profound. Time to throw in something random. FEET!!! *evil laugh*
Actually, though, I have strange feet. =P They are like size 11 (I can wear my dad's shoes, haha), and have rather long toes. I can even open doors with them. Its quite handy when I'm carrying something and don't have an extra hand. I can also play "Ode to Joy" on the piano with my big toe. I can even hold a pencil with my toes. I'm still working on trying to write with my feet. It doesn't make a difference which foot I use, either. Oh, that reminds me, I'm almost ambidextrous. *another evil laugh* I can do nearly everything with my left hand that I can do with my right, except shoot a gun. When I write with my left hand, though, its extremely tiny, instead of being just regularly tiny. Its virtually microscopic. =P Let's move on, shall we. . .
Numero quattor, eh? I am having fun. =) Another random thing about me is that I love languages. (I can swear in three, be very jealous =P) I've taken high school Latin for 2 years, and I occasionally go around muttering random sentences from my book. (The people who wrote it had a macabre sense of humor. "Translate to Latin: There were many bodies on the hill and in the river" ? =P). In addition to that, I know some rudimentary Quenya (one of Tolkien's Elvish languages) When I (finally) finish Latin in a couple of weeks, I'm planning on starting to learn Esperanto! :DD Can't be still, I guess. Oh, oh, oh! I nearly forgot to mention that I'm working on a language for one of my stories, too. It has a crazy number of genders.
It also might interest you to know, that after studying a couple of languages, I think English is very stupid. =P
Only two Mordor left! =D One rather important thing that I haven't mentioned before is that I'm homeschooled (Sara is too). I take my school through a very annoying Catholic correspondence school in Virginia called Seton. I've only been doing Seton for 2 years, before that I was doing a hodge-podge of other curriculum, but I have been homeschooled all my life. We shan't dwell on such a disheartening subject any Mordor, however.
I could do something profound like Catholicity or animals, but nahhh, this needs Mordor randomness. How about NaNoWriMo? =D For those of you who don't know, November is the National Novel Writing Month. (http://www.nanowrimo.org/) The goal is to write a 50,000 word (NOT page like I wrote the first time O.O) novel in the month of November, which boils down to less than 2,000 words a day (not pages), which is roughly twice the length of this meme. Every year I hear about it, but this year, I'm finally going to try it. I'm going to cheat a little bit and use the story I'm already writing, but its only 5,000 words long as of right now, so hopefully they won't kill me. *looks innocent* That goal is a *cough* little ambitious for me, but I shall try!
So if you don't see me around quite as much, its either that or I've been killed (most likely by Sara) and my ghost is having a hard time typing.
And always remember, DSM,SM (Don't say more, say Mordor!) [Though I doubt I will in my story, hehe]
I hereby tag Delaney, if you haven't been tagged already, triplet. =)
Oh, and have a frightfully fun Halloween! *laughs evilly/insanely*
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
(Haha, I wrote this, the review, and the post before that, all yesterday.)
I am deeply sorry if this long awaited post is disappointing to you, my readers. I fear I am quite unable, at the moment, to give you many specific details. However, do not despair! There is a good deal of important information I am able to impart to you.
First of all, let me give you, my readers, a challenge. For a day or two, or even a week, whenever you would say “more” in an average sentence, no matter who you are talking to, say “Mordor” instead. Now, the person to whom you are speaking may be confused and ask you what you mean by saying “Mordor”. If that happens, you have several options.
1. Lean toward then, looking around suspiciously to make sure no one else is close enough to overhear you, and whisper in a confidential/frightened/threatening whisper “Don’t say more, say Mordor!” and then hurry off before they have time to ask further questions. This is the first and best response, but if there are other people within hearing distance, one of the following options is advised.
2. Glance around nervously, write the web address of this blog (http://www.randomprofoundthoughts.blogspot.com/) or simply “Don’t say more, say Mordor” down on a piece of paper, fold it into as small a shape as you can, whisper to the person “Pretend you’re looking at something else!” and then slip the piece of paper into their hand and hurry off, shooting wary, suspicious glances at the nearby people, and wondering to yourself in a threatening mutter if they suspect anything.
3. This option is advisable only if you harbor a deep distrust of the person who asked you what “Don’t say more, say Mordor” meant, or if you suspect them to be actively working against our cause. (I’ll get to that in a bit.) What you should do in this situation is to stare at them blankly as if they must be criminally stupid to ask such a question, and say very slowly, emphasizing each word, “I said Mordor. What did you think I said?” and then immediately start talking about hornets in a loud voice before the person has time to say anything. (And yes, talking about hornets is important. Other subjects simply will not do!)
Part two coming up, and that will, I assure you, contain more information. Meanwhile, while you wait in impatience, don’t say more, say Mordor!
The main problem I have with Breaking Dawn and Twilight is that in the books, when you love someone, they become your replacement for God.
Let’s start out with Breaking Dawn. When Jacob imprints (I returned the book to the library already, so I can’t quote directly from the book), we’re told that everything that held him to the universe—his love for Bella, his love for his father, his loyalty to his brothers and to the tribe, and whatever else is snipped away, and the object of his imprinting (I am trying not to give away too many spoilers, for the sake of those who haven’t read BD) is the center of the universe for him. Now, if Jacob was religious at all, and believed in God, guess what would have been added to that list of things which became less important than who he imprinted on?
On to Bella. We all know that Edward is far more important to her than God (in fact, she doesn’t even really seem to believe in God at all); we’re repeatedly informed that she’d trade her soul to become a vampire, that Edward is more important to her than her soul, and that her idea of Heaven is wherever he is—even if that’s Hell?—and that she wouldn’t be happy in Heaven unless he was there.
As for Edward? None of the books are told from Edward’s point of view, so we don’t get a look inside his head, but I don’t doubt he’s with Bella on most of the things I mentioned above (though he does value her soul more than she does). The only thing I can really think of for Edward is that Stephenie Meyer repeatedly mentions that Edward speaks of Renesmee the way religious people speak of their God.
Ooh, and did any Catholics besides me catch the mistake Stephenie Meyer made when Jacob was thinking briefly about the Immaculate Conception? The Immaculate Conception refers to Mary being born without sin, not to her conceiving Jesus while remaining a virgin.
Ok, review over. Note: this was by no means a complete review of Breaking Dawn. And please don’t get the impression that I hated the books—there were a lot of things I liked about it, and the same with the whole Twilight series.
I think I may do another review on the Twilight series sometime soon. In the meantime, readers, occupy yourselves: Don’t say more, say Mordor.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
So get this. In my stories, I can go into detailed description of a forest by moonlight that is eerie and creepy and beautiful. But if I were to go into a forest by moonlight myself, my best description would probably be “Oh, yeah, it was really beautiful.” Seriously!
(Though actually, I’d probably end up being so creeped out by it that I’d run home screaming. Then I’d say, “Oh, yeah, it was creepy.”)
It’s the same with a lot of other things. I can look at a forest of trees turning color, I may be speechless for a moment at the beauty of it, and then I’ll say, “Oh, look at the pretty autumn leaves!”
So… *cough* profound.
Yeesh, if I was suicidaly depressed, I’d probably say, “Yeah, I’m kinda sad today.”
(Spell check says suicidaly is not a word. Spell check shall die.)
To deviate from the topic for a moment, it is really hard to think of anything to say when your brothers are giggling and wrestling with each other two feet away from you. One’s nearly 30, the other’s 13, and they’re both at the same maturity level. Sigh…
And they would have to open and close doors every 5 seconds. I do really hate it when people constantly open and LEAVE open doors near me. Closing doors has become my latest obsession—all doors MUST be closed!
All right, back to subject (well, sort of).
I have issues with being serious. (Though don’t get me wrong, I can be serious at times, [though boredom is my most common form of seriousness]).
This problem is caused by my first problem. I won’t be able to put what I feel into words, so, though I might want to, I won’t be able to think of anything rational to say that’s serious, so I’ll fool around or make a joke instead.
I didn’t used to be able to explain things clearly, either. I’d start to stammer, and the English language would fly out of my head, never to return until I had thoroughly humiliated myself. I’ve improved since then, I am happy to say. Now, when I am explaining things to other people, when the English language deserts me to my cruel fate, I start speaking in Elvish.
(See what I mean about being serious?)
You know, it’s easy to go from being serious to being funny, but it is only with the greatest difficulty that one may go from being funny to serious.
I shall leave you to ponder this deep, profound insight into life, my dear readers.
And, lest you forget, you must always remember this: Don’t say more, say Mordor!
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Link to the person who tagged you, list the rules, write six random things about yourself, tag six-ish people by leaving comments on their blogs and let the person who tagged you know that you've written the post.
1. I seriously just wrote an exclamation point instead of the letter one….um, ok, never mind. Let’s see, one random thing about me…
I have no blood related sisters, but I have four extremely annoying brothers, three of whom are older than I am, and NONE of whom have moved out yet! (Though one is going to. Now, why can’t the others follow him???? They range from 19 to nearly 30, and they all have loud voices…sigh…. But my younger brother has the loudest (or squeakiest) voice of them all, and is also the most annoying. And HE won’t be moving out any time soon.)
(Note: I have one ‘sister’: my best friend who I adopted. :) That’s why I said “blood-related”, since I consider her my sister.)
2. I write. A lot. Stories, poems (I might post some on here if you beg really hard… =P), songs, blog posts (haha. Like this one…), diary entries (though I really don’t do that anymore, and I always used to forget, anyway…). Writing is not so much something I love doing (Do you love your arm? Your leg? Your fingers?) as much as it’s something that’s a part of me. Just recently, I have started to renovate my main story—a rather frightening figment of my imagination that was born several years ago, and has grown to a bloated size (and threatens to become a trilogy, though I haven’t even finished book 1 yet…) and only continues to grow.
3. I love horses. Not necessarily riding them, since I haven’t ridden for probably around a year or more (though I’m going to be taking riding lessons again starting this Saturday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yea, I’m excited. ), but just being around horses and working with them. I volunteer at a therapeutic riding center (I was just there today, actually) which I enjoy doing. (In case you don’t know what that is, it’s a stable where disabled people take riding lessons.)
I don’t get to ride, but when I’m there, I get a lot of experience (as well as having fun) working with horses: grooming them, tacking them up/untacking them after the lesson, taking them in from the pasture/putting them back out… And, of course, leading the horse during the rider’s lesson, since often, some of them don’t use the reins during the lesson, or if they do, they need help steering the horse.
(Note: Leading isn’t the only way you can volunteer at therapeutic riding place, you can also volunteer as a sidewalker—that is, you walk beside the horse, next to the rider, during the lesson, and support the rider if they need the help. Some of them do not have a lot of balance.)
4. I am catching the Civil War bug… (Though I think now I could be classed as having officially caught it.) It’s all my ‘big sister’s’ fault. (Lady Sarah of Shalott, for those of you who go on FTN, and just Sarah for those who know her IRL.) During our many phone conversations after we remet (long story…) last summer/fall (which of those IS August, anyway?), one of the also many things we discussed was the Civil War. Now, Sarah is obsessed with the Civil War. She has told me that she was born in the wrong century (and I believe her, haha), and I’m guessing (since I can’t remember if she actually said it or not, as I have a terrible memory) that the Civil War era is probably when she would have liked to have been born. Or the Jane Austen era. (Haha, Paul actually thought she was British—oh dear, I nearly typed Bridget instead of British…)
And then recently, Lady Rose made me recatch the bug, just as it was starting to fade a bit!
So, anyway, GO SOUTH!!!!!!
5. I LOOOOOOOOVE YOU, YOU RANDOM PEOPLE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :-D :-D <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
Haha, bet you didn’t know that. :-D Ok, *cough*, must think of something serious… (I am really making an effort to remain serious, can’t you tell?)
Ok, got it. Haha, you elusive thought you, no escaping this time! Wait—what was I gonna say? (J/k =P Oh dear, what was that about being serious?)
Crocheting is my latest craze. The pros: It’s fun, simple, you can get tons of books out on crocheting at the library with millions of patterns, you can do it when you’re stuck in the car for a long ride, you can do it (Or I can, anyway…) when you feel like doing nothing but want to feel productive while not doing your chores or your schoolwork… (I do so hope my mother is not reading over my shoulder. Not you, Elena. =P) And last, but not least, you can (though I can’t) make many useful things! (I never do or make anything that’s useful… Not much of an idea why…)
Now, the cons of crocheting: your different colors of yarn ALWAYS get tangled together, you ALWAYS run out of yarn at exactly the wrong time, your rows stitches are only on rare occasions even, you can’t (well, I can’t, anyway) follow a simple pattern without losing track of which row you’re on, not mention what stitch!, your colors always clash instead of blending, and end up looking weird together (Hint: nothing goes with green, and everything goes with blue…), your finished fabric never looks like the picture, and is always lumpy, your ends won’t stay woven in, and stick out at exactly the worst spot…. and whatever other nightmarish crocheting disasters you can think of. (I can think of a few more, but I wouldn’t want to frighten you… Think horror movie stuff. Now why hasn’t there ever been a horror movie on crocheting? I’m shocked at movie producers…)
6. I saved the best for last. :-DDD (that’s an extremely happy grin, in case you’re confused.) I have a wonderful and mildly to extremely crazy online family on the fairy tale novels forum, one—perhaps a second soon!—daughter, an uncle and a brother or two, aunts and cousin galore, including my beloved, lovable and huggable cousins Ella and Grace, my new aunt, Lady Victoria, who may soon receive a second-to-most-awesomest-aunt-ever award from me if she’s not careful, and my absolute favorite aunt ever, online and in real life, Auntie (Lady) Rose (whose parents mistakenly named her Amanda…But she’s so not an Amanda! She’s far too lovable and unique to be an Amanda!), too many sisters to count, including my evil twin/triplet, Bridget, and my good triplet, Delaney, and my crazy and lovable little sister, Lady Lucy… And last, but certainly not least, my lovely mother, Elena, who remains—mostly—calm under the stress of managing an entire forum as well as the Rivendell family (she’s only fainted a few times…) and hundreds others whom I feel terribly guilty for not mentioning!
Oh, and how could I forget—my wonderful and rather wraithy husband the Witch King (well, ex-Witch King, technically) of Angmar, Cor Fearan—and no, he’s not dead, that was a helpless minion or else it was his evil twin who Eowyn killed… Not quite sure. I must ask him again, I have such a terrible memory!
Anyway, I love you all, real and imaginary! (Haha…I just had to add that…)
(As you FTNers may have noticed, FTN is where my inner craziness comes out. (Well, FTN and this blog. But FTN came first!))
WHY DO I ONLY GET TO DO 6?????????? THIS IS FUN!!!!!! *throws a temper tantrum*
Oh, well. I herby tag Elena (http://elenatintil.blogspot.com), Paul (http://masterxavier.blogspot.com) Ella (http://jansina.blogspot.com, and Trina (http://trinathecrazybigsis.blogspot.com/)
Remember, readers—don’t say more, say Mordor!
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Ack, nooo, that's not a poat, that's a queer gorilla thing that climbed on my page without my consent! Get out of here! *chases it away*
Er, sorry about that, my dear readers.
Here are some pictures!
Thursday, October 16, 2008
The Problem with Poats
Listen, my readers, and you shall hear
A gruesome tale void of cheer.
Twas afternoon and through the house
Was heard the clicking of keyboard and mouse.
It was the evil twins, chatting away,
That one fatal, singular day.
When on one private message,
One twin did not see what she wrote,
Thought it was "post," but in fact twas "poat,"
And the other twin was appalled,
For that is a mistake most insidious,
A poat is a creature most hideous,
And always comes when called.
Humans are its favorite feast,
It eats you while you're still alive,
Few there are who will survive
an attack by this awful beast.
There is no possible way to destroy it,
And only two ways to annoy it.
One is a torch that is lit,
And the other, sneezing in a fit.
Now the twins had a hunch,
That the poat on them would munch,
So off they did quickly scurry,
With the poat following in a hurry.
Bridget had a book of matches,
And she managed to set Sara on fire,
But it did no good 'gainst the poat.
Some pepper couldn't make a sneeze,
So they scrambled up two trees.
Sara was still a-burning,
And the poat was quickly learning
How to climb a tree,
So again the twins did flee.
Sara gave Bridget a hug,
For she was mad at being set aflame,
Bridget caught fire, both jumped in a river,
And the poat, on it came.
Bridget was nearly drowned,
For Sara had turned her upside-down
In the river, with an intent to kill,
And the poat came down the hill.
When suddenly, a pouce they did see
Looking wild, and noble and free,
On the breeze its hair did float,
As it charged upon the poat.
Now a pouce is a solitary thing,
Inclined to quiet pondering,
But the sight of a poat being rude
Puts it in a foul mood,
And it invariably kills it.
Sara stopped scowling
While the pouce was busy disemboweling,
And she set Bridget the right way (up).
"Sorry I tried to kill you," she did say,
And Bridget replied, "Its okay."
And the pouce was happy
Cause the poat was dead,
The twins were happy because they weren't
(Even though they were half burnt);
Thus ended the mishap(py),
(And if you must say "more,"
We request you say, "Mordor.")
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Now, about poats. We don’t quite know what they are, but they are to be feared. They cannot be defeated, though using fire against them and sneezing on them can often make them think twice about attacking you. Loud noises disturb them, so if you happen to see a poat, then (and I cannot possibly emphasize the importance of this enough) RUN, but quietly! (Quietly meaning no screaming, wailing, or tearing out hair [which hurts, by the way], all of which also slow you down while running.)
Poats, despite the popular belief among people who have heard of them, are not the same as poets or stoats. They have some characteristics in common, but they are quite different besides those few things. (I am not an expert on the lifestyle and habitat of a poat, so I do not include what those things are.)
The prickly poat
The less said about this variety of poat, the better. Fortunately, the poat Bridget and I were chased by was merely a regular poat, not a prickly poat. If you, my readers (I tremble at the thought) should ever happen to chance upon a convention of prickly poats, then — well, the least said the better. We would profoundly miss you were that to happen.
Poats can only be killed by one thing — their natural enemies and predators, who are very fortunately not hostile to humans, like poats or other such creatures.
The natural enemy of a poat is a pouce. Pouces are quite friendly creatures, though they are quite ferocious when they see a poat!
How to guard yourself against poats
Well, they are really everywhere, though they usually keep hidden well (they sleep a lot, otherwise there would have been trouble with them long before now) so there isn’t a poat-free place you could go to for an extended vacation. The best thing you could do, I’d say, is keep away from dark, shadowy corners where they like to sleep, avoid making loud noises, and, above all, do NOT deliberately disturb any place where you suspect there might be a poat!
Note — this advice is only for the regular variety of poats. Prickly poats are quite a different matter. The best advice I can give you for safeguarding yourself against the possibility of a prickly poat attack would be to get a pouce for a pet, or (if it refuses, since they are quite proud) a bodyguard. (But they demand quite a bit more than minimum wage, so that, too, may present difficulties.)
I wish you luck, my dead readers — er, I meant dear, please forgive me for my slip of the tongue — in successfully avoiding poat attacks.
One last thing, which studies have proved might have a 57 % chance of working as well as sneezing against poats, and might even have some effect on prickly poats — don’t say more, say Mordor!
Monday, October 13, 2008
Since whenever Bridget and I are around each other (online), vague, threatening allusions to Cousin Fred pop up, this blog will probably be no exception. So therefore, as deeply as it grieves me to have to impart this distressing information to you, my poor, coffee-deprived readers, it is absolutely essential. After reading this, you will no longer be horribly confused and distressed by your lack of knowledge when I mysteriously threaten Bridget with mentions of Cousin Fred!
Bridget killed her Cousin Fred. It is profoundly saddening to me to have to tell you this, my dear readers, but the fact remains that Cousin Fred is dead, and it’s all Bridget’s fault. (I’m going to have to do a post about that soon, too.)
Now, this is the sad story of Cousin Fred in full, starting at the end, and then going back to the beginning. (It makes the most sense that way, you see.)
The End: Bridget killed her cousin Fred. (And yes, I know I’m repeating myself, but it’s important for you to realize that that grievous information is the end of the story, not the start. And now that you know what the end is, we can move on to the start.)
The Start: It all happened one day on boredonline.net, the website I first met my evil twin on. Bridget and I were on at the same time, and we were bored. With nothing else to do, we were pm’ing each other, and in one of those pm’s, one of us—I think it was me—said something like “Hey, let’s switch accounts and confuse everyone.” So, a few days later, we gave each other our passwords, and went on each other’s accounts. The plan was this—to make random, weird posts to utterly confuse other people and ruin each other’s reputation. (For instance, I posted as Bridget saying I loved all music by Miley Cyrus.) We even switched avatars and signatures to further confuse people. (Though I don’t think anyone even noticed, really. Sad.)
So anyway, I posted on one thread as Bridget, saying “I think people are beginning to suspect I killed my cousin Fred.” (It later was deleted by a moderator who had no sense of humor.)
And that is how the story of Cousin Fred (and his murder) came into being.
Now, Aunt Maggie is an entirely different story. Perhaps I shall talk a bit about her later…. *evil laughter*
And, to end this post on a cheerful note: Don’t say more, say Mordor!
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Sorry about the whole not having coffee for you readers to drink thing, I drank it all. I'm tired, I couldn't help it. But we do have creamer and sugar for you, if you want. None of that imitation sugar either oh no no, we have the real stuff. Which might explain why I'm so hyper!!!!! Hehe..
*clears throat* After Sara mentioned that she might start a blog, I said, "Oh, that's cool. Maybe we could do a joint one, that would be really fun." (I have to set the story straight) We went through a bunch of names, trying to come up with one that fit, and finally decided on random profound thoughts.
A little bit about me. I'm around three months older than Sara (haha), and something like a foot taller. (please don't kill me on my first post :o ) I like reading, writing, animals, and laughing until I can't breathe (which always happens when I talk to Sara on the phone). If laughter is truly the best medicine, we should never get sick. And hopefully, we shall keep our lovely readers from getting ill, too.
And I shall leave it up to Sara to explain why we're ending all our entries with: Don't say more, say Mordor!
*Ahem* Welcome to my blog! Have a seat, if you please. Would you prefer water, soda, or tea? (We regret to inform you that we do not at the present moment offer coffee…)
I decided to get a blog for the rather unoriginal reason that everyone else had one. And I wanted somewhere besides a diary I never write in to record my random, brilliant, meaningful—in fact, profound—thoughts. At first, I was considering doing it alone, but then I decided it would be much more interesting to do it with someone else, especially if that someone else happens to be my evil twin.
Soo... perhaps I should explain the title. Whenever Bridget and I are talking on the phone, there are inevitably a few long silences, whether because we’re both laughing too hard to say anything, let alone breathe, or because we’ve laughed ourselves out of our sanity and are taking a moment to regain our minds, or simply because neither can think of anything to say. When the last happens, one of us comments “Random, profound silence.” That developed into “Random profound silence in which both evil twins contemplate the meaning of the universe/the meaning of life/whatever. (I’m usually the one who says it, though Bridget was the one to first say “Random, profound silence.”) Then (this was the first time) I shouted, “Got it! I understand it all now!” and Bridget was like, “And in under 12 seconds, too. I’m impressed.”
So that’s kind of where we (I can’t remember which it was…) got “random, profound thoughts” from.
Oh, nearly forgot—I’m supposed to say something about myself. =P Can’t remember my mother’s maiden name or social security number or phone number or home address or last name (or first name, for that matter) or what city/state/country/universe I live in… Sorry, stalkers, you’ll have to go stalk Bridget instead.(All right, I’ll be serious now…) I love reading, writing, horses, and my friends, and, of course, laughing. And you, my dear readers, had better love laughing too, or else you will be very disappointed in this blog (though we will occasionally be serious. But not very often).
And last, a final word from our sponsors--Don't say more, say Mordor!