this, my friends, is Yarni the Sheep. 

(Yarni has always been known throughout the herd for his piercing green eyes and aggressive nature. ewes warn their young, "don't let Yarni's car salesman grin fool you. if you look straight into his eyes, he'll think you're making fun of them and bite you.")

he is here today to give us a lesson in stalking.

(it's funny 'cause sheep are basically the least predatory animals ever.)

this is Yarni's cousin, Blanki.

(he is known for his lopsided nostrils and fat legs, as well as his retiring disposition. although he is kind and never wishes to cause anyone harm, he is also somewhat thick-headed and does Yarni's bidding very trustingly.)

he is here to...well, he's just here.


::4 days later::
i'm sorry, but the stalking lesson will have to wait until another day.
Yarni and Blanki had to rush away to see their grandfather who is currently recovering from...you know.
they will join us again someday.

dear mr. man,

- - - i hope you like love {among other things} - - -

all my best friends

good music

tasty asparagus

singing

green

sheet tents

old movies

art films

picnics

the mountains

creamy mashed potato goodness

rain 

dancing
color

bicycles 

musicals

fishing

chick-fil-a

the weepies

staying up late

going places

motorcycles
roller coasters

church meetings

italian arias

sunshine 

vintage clothing

breakfast

music to fit the mood

scotland

hiking

driving with the windows down

going to art galleries

good smells

and me.

with love,

girl

stupid cupid...quit pickin' on me.

if this bike were a person and i met it, i think i'd marry it.

OR...

if i were a boy bike, and i was driving my person along the beautiful streets of Helsinki, and all of a sudden we collided with this bike and its person...i'd pull a Pongo-and-Perdita and get our people married so that we could get married too...and have adorable little bikelets.

OR...

someone could buy me this bike for Christmas or my birthday. 

that'd work, too.

wouldn't it just be too perfect for riding around campus? ::sigh::

{happy loveliness found here}

Re:

They Call Me Thumper, yes, I did actually do #9. I wish you could've seen it---you would've appreciated the amazing end result. 


Brian Regan is a comedian. I must educate you, Ceridwen.


I meant...Logan...but you're wonderful too, Pearl and Gwen! Just not over-protective. Or paranoid. Most of the time, at least. I'm just going to be quiet now.


Pearl, the chance to meet one, the chance to use one, the chance to eat ice cream with one, the chance to jump on the trampoline with one, the chance to marry one...that's what I meant. Just don't pass one up. Period.


Katie..."dimply mouth?" You make it sound as if I've got cellulite on my lips or something. Not a very pretty thought.

Julia's new t-shirt: "I save ducks."

One fine spring afternoon while walking around Blue Mountain College campus, I and my friends, Julia, Rachel, (with her dog Colby) and Vivian, visited the college pond on which a brand spankin' new dock had been built.

We dillied for a while, and then we dallied some and watched the ducks swim pleasantly along.  

 (they were mostly mallards like this fine fellow)

All of a sudden, the one closest to us spazzed out! He began violently flapping his wings and lunging in the water. 

 (kind of like this, but...not...'cause he was deep in the water. not a very effective swimming technique)

Immediately, of course, his friends swam for shore, quacking like it would save their lives. He tried to follow them, but made little headway, and Julia and I began to laugh. 

"Stupid duck. He's trying to fly practically underwater. He's probably mental."

Then we saw it. 

A huge, loathsome snapping turtle had caught the poor duck's foot in his mouth and was holding on with his powerful snapping turtle jaws!

(ok, so maybe it wasn't this big. but it thought it was. i know it did. he had that smug look on his grimy face. (and you'd best be fearin' the mullet. this guy is intense))

Then we started spazzing out.  

"Holy cow! That poor duck!" 
"It's prolly gonna be lame for life!" 
"What is the turtle trying to do, eat it??"
"Run for help! Call PETA!"
"Throw the dog in, maybe it'll go into underwater attack mode and take the turtle out!"

But the moment of truth finally came. We knew it was up to us to save this poor duck's life before the monster ate it...er...mauled it to death...or whatever it was trying to do, or it died from exhaustion.

 We quickly left the dock and ran (more like slow crawled. i'm tellin' you, this duck was not going anywhere fast) and tried to help it. We threw rocks at the turtle, we shouted, we tried to reach out and grab the duck and pull it to shore...nothing worked. 
Finally, the duck flapped its way over to a sand bar that was sticking out, and we took our chance. I held Julia's hand so that she could lean out further, and she took my shoe...

(something akin to this lovely jelly sandal, but red and not as ugly)

...and started hitting the turtle hard!

"Julia, Aim for the neck!  The shell is there for a reason!"

Wham!

She brought the now muddy jelly sandal down with all her Jones might and hit the turtle square on its scuzzy neck.

It promptly let go and rolled over in the water


"We don't think that's cute, idiot. Rolling over is only cute when dogs and babies do it."

Without stopping to say "Thank you" or "What a bit of luck you happened along, chaps, or I'd have been duck soup," the duck waddled quickly up the bank to join its comrades, who straightaway began peppering him with questions about his adventure.

"Dude! That was epic!"
"How did you survive??"
"Are you ok??"
"What was it like?!"

He very calmly ruffled his feathers, and if he had had fingernails, he would've blown them off and rubbed them on his vest...if he had had one.


"Psh, it was nothing. I've taken on snappers twice that size. All it takes is strong leg muscles, perseverance, and...strong leg muscles."

The ingrate.

All we got out of the deal was wet clothing and muddy shoes.

Oh. And joy that we had just saved...a duck. 

And kept a turtle from doing something that he would have doubtless regretted for the rest of his life. Now he won't have to lay awake at nights and struggle with his guilt. 

'Cause that's all we cared about, really.

Recently on WECG

“I was chipping a piece of your father’s paint from that lovely Van Gogh when you loomed up in your nighty and shot me in the arm.” - How to Steal a Million

“Shh, or I’ll cut your hair in the night.” - Bright Star

“Biological whooping cough warfare.” – Tommy explaining how Hannah was killed by the Mafia.

“I don’t like calling them moles. How ‘bout uplifted freckles?” – Julia

“If I ran that place, it’d have to be called Monotone Hill.” – Justin about Harmony Hill.

“I’m pretty sure you throw parties for your eye-skin when nobody’s looking.” – Ethne because I kept telling her to quit stretching and pulling the skin under my eyes like a piece of pie dough.

Shafer (enthusiastically): “Look, Dalton! This guy has been feeding birds out of his hands for 25 years!”

Dalton (incredulously): “Nonstop??”

“You’re the flower of the family---a bloomin’ idiot.”

Finally...

I have joined the ranks of People Who Eat Sandwiches Alone.

I used to observe these people. It's a messy process.

This is the outermost region of social Siberia.

Come back to me, Katie.

Courtney and I miss you.

Angelic Visitation of George Grant

18 years old.
Do you think 18 is old?
I don't.
I think it's pretty dang young.
Or at least, I thought it was until my teacher said something about a "palm pilot" and half the sophomores in my class went, "huh?"

Yes. You heard right. Palm pilots are dinosaurs. They're from the Stone Age.
And I remember them. Very clearly.

Suddenly, I feel very old. Like, I think I'm feeling some wrinkles appear on my face. Hang on, lemme check.
...yep. 4.

and he's not even wearing cowboy boots...

My 13 year old brother is just lame enough to walk around the house with a juice cup of Coca Cola, sipping it, sighing, and smacking his lips like he's drinking a quick one over the rocks, straight, no chaser.

i had to change the title of this post because a few people freaked out at my choice of words in the last one.

today i interviewed a sweetly mcgee girl.
most of you know her.
she is beatrice.
and she has a very cool blog.
and some seriously rad mental chickens.
and she gets out of bed on the left side.


me -- what is your idea of perfect happiness?
beatrice -- in my head i picture it sometimes, and it's beautiful... married, with happy children running around our woodland cottage catching fireflies in the twilight like sprites in pom-pom hats, as mysterious-future-husband and i sit on the porch and shell peas.

me -- what is your favorite food to snack on while you study?
beatrice -- if i'm feeling healthy, frozen corn or an apple... unfortunately, though, i normally go with Twizzlers or chips (BBQ... i know, i know, they're guy chips. sorry. :) )

me -- what is your most treasured possession?
beatrice -- the beautiful antique wedding ring from the 40s that my Grandma Bruce left me.

me -- what is your greatest fear?
beatrice -- hmm... snakes. oh, and leprechauns (due to a horrific viewing of Darby O'Gill and the Little People. SCARY MOVIE!). oooh, and being deserted. so, i guess my biggest fear is being deserted by all my loved ones after i failed to ward off a herd of angry snake-throwing leprechauns.

me -- what is your current favorite song?
beatrice -- I Don't Know, by Lisa Hannigan. she's so authentic, and her music is amazing!

me -- which talent would you most like to have?
beatrice -- either Jazz piano, unicycle riding, or tap dancing skills. because those would be awesome!

me -- name one of your style muses and what it is about her that inspires you.
beatrice -- any way you could reword that? 'cause i don't like everything about any one person's style... but i could give you three people who each have a specific reason.
me -- go for it.
beatrice -- one: Chuck from Pushing Daisies, for her adorable retro put-togetherness. two: Maggie Gyllenhaal, for her amazing style weirdness and subtle fearlessness. three: Zooey Deschanel, because... just because. she is amazing.

me -- what do you value most in your friends?
beatrice -- their unbounded and unbridled compassion, love, and devotion... and the ease with which they show it.

me -- if you could go anywhere in the world and live there for a year, completely immersing yourself in the people and the culture, where would you choose to go?
beatrice -- i'd go to the Czech Republic. Odd as it may sound, that culture and language has always held an inexorable fascination and enchantment for me, and i would love to get to know it better. it's such an odd mix of Polish, German, and Portuguese influence.

me -- what motivates you? it can be a verse, a saying or quote, or even just a thought or idea.
beatrice -- i am motivated by this incredible life God has given me... by the speed of it, by my own need to find all of it and understand God by experience His gift and His creation. life flies by so fast, and i've just figured out that the speed isn't meant to be scary, but to be exhilarating, exciting, like a carnival ride. i want to use every day and every second for adventure and the sparkle of life.

so there you have it.
one small glimpse into her mind, and i'm sure you're hooked already.
there ain't no way you ain't checkin' out her blog.

If I lived in a neighborhood...

I'd definitely pull these pranks on Halloween trick-or-treaters that came to my door.

I'd...

...Give away something other than candy like toothpicks, golf balls, or bags of sand.

...Fill a briefcase with marbles and crackers. Write "Top Secret" on it in big letters. When trick-or-treaters come, look around suspiciously, say, “It’s about time you got here,” give them the briefcase, and quickly shut the door.

...Get about 30 people to wait in my living room. When trick-or-treaters come to the door, say, “Come in.” When they do, have everyone yell, “Surprise!!!”

...Open the door dressed as a giant fish. Immediately collapse, and not move or say anything until the trick-or-treaters go away.

...Answer the door dressed as a pilgrim. Stare at the trick-or-treaters for a moment, pretend to be confused, and start flipping through a calendar.

...Answer the door with a mouthful of M & M’s and several half-eaten candy bars in my hands. Act surprised, and close the door. Open it again in a few seconds, and insist that I don’t have any candy.

Welp, I got a haircut today.

Here's what I wanted---

Lots and lots of choppy, shaggy layers in the back and on the sides, and then blend them down so that the front would basically be all the same length. Slightly, slightly longer in front than in back; not inverted, but just a tiny, tiny bit longer (I'm terrified of anything even remotely resembling a mullet). And I wanted my bangs to be angled and blended into the rest of the layers.

Here's what she gave me---

Lots and lots of blended, razored layers all over (think scene hairstyle meets a pob), even in the front, except for one small strip of hair that was all the same length. My bangs are almost straight across, and they're way shorter than I wanted (she really, really, really, really, really wanted to give me straight across bangs. I guess she just couldn't get that picture out of her head). And even though it's longer in front, it's much shorter than I wanted in the back. Oh, and I guess she wanted to get rid of some hair products, 'cause she used basically every single one on her little stand and poured each one of them almost straight onto my hair. My head feels about 3 tons heavier.

Oh well, I guess I can rock it. I'll just have to embrace my scene/punk side and go crazyhead.
Here are some pictures. You can't really tell from these exactly what it's like, but here they are anyway.

(whoa, the bridge of my nose is really...straight. like...really straight.)

(Is it just me, or does my neck look really skinny?)

I'm actually growing my hair out. I was planning on this haircut being my Growing Out Haircut; the one that I get to wear for months and months while the hair goes through it's awkward stage. This is what I'm goin' for. I'll get it done like this when it gets shoulder length. And then when it gets even longer, I'll go from there. Shouldn't take too long, hopefully. My hair grows pretty fast, I think.

{last two pictures are lily allen courtesy of instyle}

Elephant vs. Donkey, Mugwump vs. Gratis Dirt Clod

Did you know that one of the presidential candidates in 1948 was named Strom Thurmond? And to add to it, this distinctive individual was a Dixiecrat. Did you know there was such a thing as a Dixiecrat? I didn't.

While we're on the subjects of presidents, today is Theodore Roosevelt's birthday. What a man. There will never be another one like him.

And while we're on the subject of what happened on this day, I'd like to announce that it is Cranky Co-workers Day. Kiss a cranky co-worker!

Addendum: Also among the parties and factions within factions that have entered America's colorful political glossary is the Mugwump party, the Greenback and Goldbug parties, the Freesoil party, and the Green and Grassroots parties.

Just died laughing. Please send flowers to Ripley Funeral Home.

Brilliant

My little baby's growin' up... ::sniff sniff::

Today is the 1 year birthday of... my blog!

I wonder where I'll be a year from now. Hmm...

Ewoks are cute

I dreamt that Uncle Eddie Jacobs and Sandra Bullock (yes, you heard right. Sandra Bullock and Uncle Eddie) sang You Are My Sunshine together at my old church. With a guitar. Both wearing shades. Standing behind the pulpit with their arms around each other and their eyes closed.

Then, they both put on those weed-eating glasses (you know, the ones with the dorky black rims at the top, and then just plastic at the bottom) and started acting out a Road Runner and Wily Coyote skit. She was Road Runner and he was Wily.

She chased him (which, need I point out? is totally backwards). And then she started chasing Dalton.

Then, out of nowhere, (well, actually, this whole dream is out of nowhere) short figures dressed in yellow robes (like the ones in The Village, except these guys were short. like Ewoks. they resembled Ewoks very strongly), came into the church in a huge army. They were in rows (like an army) and they came forward, one stomp at a time.
Then, all of a sudden, they stopped moving forward and tensed. Something had frightened them!
It was a One-They-Do-Not-Speak-Of.


And then Papa woke me up. Thank God. I did not want to see where that one was going.

So whenever people type "Mhm", it makes me think of muffins.

I passed a herd of buffalo, some zebra, and a giraffe on the way to school this morning.

I left school with Mama after lunch today to go to a funeral, and when the funeral was over, I went to meet Luke and Hugh to get the little boys. So I'm driving along, singing at the top of my lungs with the song on the radio, and it's pouring buckets outside. I love driving in the rain. Yes, it's more dangerous. Yes, you can't see very well in front of you. And yes, hydro-planing is scary as heck. But I love driving in the rain. I'd try to explain why, but I don't think I can communicate it very well. My mind is mud, thanks to my literature and civics classes.

Anyway, I'm driving along, not paying attention to anything, really---I guess I was on auto-pilot---and all of a sudden, my steering wheel locks up and the car starts slowing down.

I had run out of gas.

Right beside a gas station.

Aaaaah! I'll be late! It's raining outside! I'm in my funeral clothes! I'm wearing my oh-so-perfect-ballet-flats-that-remind-me-of-Cinderella that I just bought yesterday! My hair is bad enough already!

I hop out of the car, trying to act casual, nonchalant, and like I didn't just run out of gas at a busy intersection, right across from a gas station. I run across the street, clutching my cellphone, a $10 dollar bill, and the keys.

Whew, it's a lady behind the counter. And she looks sympathetic.

"Hey, I've run out of gas just across the street, and I was wondering if you have a gas can I could borrow."
"Aw, baby, I don't think so. We used to sell 'em right there on that shelf, but it looks like they're all gone."
"Oh...ok...um..."
"But you can try over at the motorcycle shop. I'll bet they'll have one."

Motorcycle shop. Right. That sounds safe and...non-threatening.

So I run across the parking lot (in the pouring rain) to the sketchy looking building with the three Harley motorcycles out front. When I walk in, the first thing I see is one of those creepizoid teenagers that has long, stringy hair and wears black clothing with studded leather belts.

Great. I'm gonna die.

But then, {Oh, thank you, God} there's this really cool looking older man behind the counter. He has really great, speckled grey curly hair, and he reminds me of...someone...I can't for the life of me remember who. I will lie awake all night trying to think of who it is.

He looks very respectable and kind. And he's wearing those really sweet mechanics clothes. Maybe I won't be slaughtered in this horror-movie-worthy edifice.

"Hey there, I ran out of gas just across the street, and the lady at the gas station said that you might have a gas can I could borrow to put some in my tank."
"Yeah, sure thing, ma'am. I think I've got a can back here that's even got some in it."

So once again, I head out into the pouring rain, followed by my kind faun (he reminded me of a faun, also, by the way). He pours the gas into the tank. "Try to crank your engine. I think it might take now and be just enough to get you to the gas pump."

It wasn't.

"Do you mind if I borrow your gas can to buy some gas at the gas station?"
"Naw, naw, that's fine. Go right ahead."
"Thank you so much! I'll bring it right back and pay you for your gas."
"Naw, hun, don't worry about it."

So I run frantically back across the road to the gas station, trying to get Luke on the phone, unscrew the gas can lid, and keep from getting run over.

I reached Luke, finally, and while I'm talking to him, I keep struggling with the gas can lid.
All of a sudden, a deep voice sounds right behind me.
"Do you need some help with that, ma'am?"

A tall, dark, nicely built wood-elfish looking man is standing there, looking very serious.

Oh my. He's seen battle, judging by the scars on his face. And he's wearing those really cool mechanics clothes. I think I can trust him. (My criteria for trustworthy looks is very stable.)

"Thank you so much! I'm late to meet somebody and I can't seem to get this to come off."
"Yeah, I noticed you having some trouble. Let me get it for you."

So he takes the troublesome gas can out of my hands, deftly screws off the lid, and kneels down to pump the gas into it for me.

I ran inside to pay for the gas and the lady behind the counter said, "Aw yeah, I knew you'd get help from them. They're really nice men. I think that one that's fillin' your gas can just lost his wife."

Oh! The poor elf! No wonder he looks so grave and other-worldly!

I ran (yes, I did a lot of running. In my new shoes. In the rain and puddles. I cringe.) back outside and followed the Sad Man to the car. He poured the gas into my tank.

"Try it now. Will it crank?"
It did!
"Oh, thank you so much, sir! I'll bring you some cookies!"

And then I saw it.
He smiled. And I wanted to cry.





God bless him, whoever he is and whatever his circumstances are. I'm sure he deserves a million cookies.