Debate is life...

Everything else is just prep time. Or:
Debate is prep time for life. Which is more profound?
I don't know. Well, the second is more profound. But I don't know which one I like more.
Anyway, I had debate class today, and since last night was spent doing my debate homework, I was actually prepared for it. And it was really fun this week. I mean, it's usually fun, but this week the other novices *gasp* TALKED! Wow! Well, two of them (other than Edison and me) talk somewhat, but the other ones did, too! Isn't that ama-za-zing?
Now I have more homework. Tougher homework, actually. But I don't really have much other homework (other than Algebra) so I'm pretty good. I mean, I have two weeks until my next chemistry and women's history class, so there isn't so much pressure. And I'm not going to be NEARLY as busy as I was last week. I guess I should talk about the Shakespeare play I went to go see.

Ahem. It was really really funny. A Midsummer Night's Dream. And the actors were REALLY good. Plus they did some really interesting things. First of all, they weren't in Elizabethan costumes (the fairies were in fairy costumes, of course) they were in business suits and stuff like that. That's because in Shakespeare's day they just wore what nobles in their time usually wore. They usually didn't wear clothes that the actual characters would have worn in their time period. Another thing was that they had a thrust stage, meaning that three of the four sides of the stage were surrounded by audience, so you could always see what was going on. In addition, they left all the lights on so not only could you see the actors, the actors could see you. In fact, since I was in the front row, there were a few times when the actors were delivering their lines TO ME. It was pretty nifty. And the last thing was that the actors went out in the audience sometimes and did stuff. Like when one of the actors had something good happen to him, he ran around the people in the front and got high fives.
Before the play some of the actors came out and played music. They were really funny, and when one of the younger actors started playing that one song that goes "Gimme one reason to stay here and I'll turn right back around" on the banjo and singing, he said, "This is to all the girls out there." And he winked at me! I laughed. Afterwards there was a question and answer session, and I got up the moxie to ask if it was hard for them to keep a straight face. One of the women said that it was really hard for her because she laughs at everything and has a really loud laugh. I could totally sympathize. I am the queen of loud laughs at everything.

Anyway, it was a lot of fun, and if you ever getthe chance to see a Shakespeare play, I suggest you go see it.

The Saga of the Singing Busboy

I will now relate to you, dear reader, the epic tale of what transpired last night.

It was Monday night, to those of you who are in another time zone or calenderly impaired, and so I had choir practice. The practice went by with few out of the way happenings, and afterwards my family and I journeyed to Cici's Pizza to consume various vitals. During this time my mother and father discussed the serious issue of Charlie Sheen's resemblance of his father, sparked by the appearance of said star on the television set in the corner of the ceiling. My other family members were unusually silent, most likely on account of the presence of another device in the other corner of the eating establishment. This other brain-remover--ahem, television set was currently playing some vapid program on Cartoon Network, a.k.a. The Channel of Death.
While these events occurred around me, I sat peacefully consuming my salad and pizza, and describing to my parents the horrors of a certain long-haired male in my choir with whom I am not on speaking terms (At the moment. Usually I am.). When we arrived at this food emporium there was a sports team of young men, but they departed after mentioning many times exactly how many plates of food they had consumed, and trying to calculate how many plates of food the entire party had masticated.
In the relative quiet of their absence it became apparent that the busboy who had the massive task of cleaning up after the sports team (Probably football players, if I'm any judge. Those scary football players...) was actually singing along with the music playing in the restaurant. This cleaner of floors and wiper of tables was quite attractive, and I found it cute that he was singing, since that's something I wish I had the guts to do at work. (Actually, the other day one of the women I work with caught me lipsyncing in Greenhouse Number Three and had a nice little laugh at my expense.) First he performed his own rendition of Landslide, then finished off with This is How a Heart Breaks. The most interesting thing about his solos is that they weren't the quiet, muttered half humming people usually chose to use in public. Even when he was almost on the other side of the room I could perceive his dulcet tones.
Shortly after the singing busboy was dispatched to tidy up the dining area, my family decided that it was an opportune time to leave, because the stupefying cartoon, called by the announcer "Camp Lazlo" and starring a pink Elephant with a retainer, a monkey-type creature and some other animal that had been so heavily anthropomorphically changed that this writer could not recognize it as anything the Good Lord had created, was over. I walked with leisure toward the door marked "exit." My family, heathens that they are, used the other door, marked "entrance." You would think that I would be rewarded for my contentiousness, but alas, that is not the case. My family, when I tried to exit, blocked the door so I could not leave. I was going to compromise my leaving places of eatery beliefs and use the other door, but when I tried that one, my family was blocking it as well. I stood and stared at their laughing faces in puzzlement. Why would they do this to me, their eldest daughter? When I turned to re-enter Cici's pizza from the glassy hallway, I found the Singing Busboy was, in fact, laughing at me. I gave him a sheepish grin, and considered saying something funny and intelligent, (Do you think I could live here for a while? I seem to be having a bit of a difficulty in leaving.) but changed my mind. I went to another door and, my ultimate humiliation being accomplished, my family let me escape.
The best bit was when I locked them out of the car for a while, but the Singing busboy wasn't paying attention then, so it didn't make me look any smarter to him.

Read it this time, kay?

To all you people on BlogExplosion.

READ THIS. I know you're basically just trying to get more traffic on your site. But you could take a little time to actually read. And comment. I think that would be cool.

Square dances are fun

Hanging out with people you know is the best fun ever. A bunch of my friends and I went to a county fair on Sunday, and we just walked around the fair until 8:00, when the square dance started. There were quite a few incidents, including one where the John Deere guy wouldn't give us a yardstick for some reason. I mean, they were handing out yardsticks. There were billions of people walking around with yardsticks. The guy was like, "You can't have a yardstick unless you have a parent with you. Or unless you're an adult." Well, the one guy who was with us is 19, so we all pointed to him at the same time and said, "He's 19." And the guy didn't believe us. Like we planned it before. So anyway, we were mad at that guy, then we went to another vendor and got some different yardsticks. Then we all walked by the guy who wouldn't give us a yardstick. It was fun. Another good thing was when I got some really good curly chips with cheese. They were the best. Everyone had some.

Anyway, then at the square dance I got to dance just about all the dances because I would just grab one of the guys I know and say, "You're my partner." Charlesincharge and his brother both put up a fight at first, but I'm pretty sure they were kidding. I hope they were. Well, the 19-year-old one I'm pretty sure was, because then he was all, "May I have this dance?" and stuff. And I forced one of the two guys who had never been square dancing before to dance, and he actually got pretty good and even admitted that he was having a good time. So great fun was had by all. Plus we all got a HUGE scoop of ice cream for only a dollar.

Lifestyles of the poor and unknown

You know what makes me sick? Teenage cruelty. Because most of the time they don't even know what they're doing. Actually, I think I'm going to say cruelty in general. I'm not talking about teasing your friends about stuff when you know they don't care, I'm talking about slamming kids into lockers, making fun of people behind their backs, giving the girl at the register of McDonalds a hard time or anything like that. It's so much harder to be kind than it is to be mean, but it's so much more worth it. People might laugh at your witty insults, but they won't remember it in a few hours. What they'll remember for a lifetime is when you're nice. When you care honestly about how they feel. I was thinking today about how adults always make fun of people who work at fast food places, and I thought, "How much harder is it to water flowers all day? Takes about the same amount of brain cells." But when I tell people that I work at a greenhouse they say, "That's great!" What would they say if I told them that I work at Burger King? They wouldn't be impressed, anyway.
One of the guys I know was talking about how his friend is a senior in high school, and there's this freshman who always walks on the wrong side of the hallway, and one day he yelled the kid's name and shoved him into a locker. It was kind of a funny story, but I couldn't help thinking of Napoleon Dynamite, when he gets shoved into a locker. And I remember when I was a freshman, and how completely timid I was (I didn't even go to a public high school), and if someone had done that to me I never would have spoken again. And I'm SO glad that instead of that, I got a supportive choir, and a homeschool group where before people even knew my name they were trying to be friends with me. And people talk about homeschoolers being social misfits, but I've never met a homeschooler who would shove someone into a locker.

A new blog! WOW!

I'm going to creat* an alternate reality where you don't have to spell correctly. And your name is Watered Down. And I talk like this.

Okay, just kidding. I'm going to make a new blog. It's not going to be like this one. I'm still going to post on this one. Only my new blog is going to be my guide to life. So I'm going to have one life lesson for every day. Whatever I learned that day. I'm not going to explain how I learned it (although people in contact with a. my life or b. this blog might figure it out), I'm just going to put it. Sometimes it'll be funny. Sometimes it won't. The link is http://makefriendsandinfluenceenemies.blogspot.com/

Go there. Now.

The spelling was intentional. Pronounce cree-AT.

Stress

Today was a very stressful day. You might not think that scoring a job at one of the hippest places in Amish Country (no, this is NOT an oxymoron) would be so stressful, but, in fact, it is.
You see, ever since I learned that my choir is going to Germany next Summer I've been stressing about how to get the money, and I was thinking that working at a greenhouse was only good for another couple of weeks, then I'd be out of a job until next Summer. So I was looking around for a new job. I put in an application at this coffeehouse, and after a pretty awful interview, I didn't get the job. So a week goes by. And it turns out that someone just quit, and because a girl who was working at the greenhouse with me who went back to working at the coffeehouse (it burnt down and is now rebuilt) the Boss called me back. Also because I think she thought that I have nothing going on in my life, being a homeschooler and all.
Well, Mom decided to bring me there right after work to tell her yes. Looking back on this (it was only yesterday, but still) I think it was probably a bad idea, and if we wouldn't have done this I would not have been nearly so stressed. But we did, and I told The Boss that I could start next week. But she made a big deal out of how if I was put down on the schedule to work I HAD to come. And I thought, "If I miss too many rehearsals at choir because of this, I'm not going to get to go to Germany anyway." Then I talked to my boss. She's super-nice, and has been flexible with me so far because she understands that even if I'm homeschooled I am still a high school Junior, and that I'm going to be really busy with just school, let alone regular activities. While talking to her, she told me that she will need me through October and possibly part of November, and she'll need me again in February through October again. Since I wouldn't be able to work in December anyway, I'd just get January off, which wouldn't be bad at all. Anyway, I decided today that I am going to turn down the job at the coffeehouse. I think working at the greenhouse suits me more. Besides, if I worked at the coffeehouse I wouldn't be able to listen to my iPod at work, and I would have to deal with customers.

Note to Dulcea: I got my icon thing at Yahoo. You can actually click on it to get your own, I think. You can change its clothes and stuff. I really like it.