tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68408822702415868942024-03-05T04:10:10.220-06:00Custom Made Mindsdesigned to be weirdRachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.comBlogger186125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-33351560502056205972011-10-10T19:33:00.002-05:002011-10-10T19:41:02.664-05:00MovingI've come to the (obvious in hindsight) conclusion that building an audience only works if my audience will recognize my name when I publish my writing.<br /><br />I don't plan to publish under the name Peaches.<br /><br />(I don't want people to expect a cookbook or a canning manual or maybe a gardening guide and get upset when they get a story about wizards and dragons and and political intrigue instead.)<br /><br />So I'm starting a new blog under my own name, also on Blogger. It's right <a href="http://racheldiane.blogspot.com/">here. </a><br /><br />I know I haven't been posting. I'll change that, as much as I can. (Four courses this semester. Also working. Also about to be out of a job. Ugh.)<br /><br />I'll put something up on the new blog tonight.<br /><br />Thanks for sticking with me!Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-11151739386109325382011-05-31T21:04:00.002-05:002011-05-31T21:20:45.243-05:00Green Nail Polish!<span style="font-family: arial;">My empire grows...<br /><br />Last week, on Tuesday night, I joined my (semi) local Toastmasters club.<br /><br />Tonight, I gave my Ice-Breaker (4-6 minute self-introduction). It was terrifying. My dad recorded it, and my voice sounds an octave and a half too high. Think bath squeaky toy.<br /><br />It was wonderful. I loved it. It would be impossible to find a friendlier audience than an amateur speech club. I was able to give most of my talk without looking at my notes, and when I made eye contact everyone I looked at was smiling or looking right at me. I was able to put my nerves aside and do what I've read speakers should do (like walk around, and vary your tone of voice, and actually have fun).<br /><br />I got three ribbons! Best Speaker, Enthusiasm Award, and Best Humor. (It's unusual for one person to get more than two.) My wonderful wonderful wonderful evaluator gave me her ribbon for Best Evaluator so that I could say I got four. (Did I mention that she's wonderful? So kind! So clear! So encouraging!) The ribbons are very shiny. I've stapled them into my Competent Communication manual so that I can enjoy the shininess forever.<br /><br />While I was riding the high of nervous relief and discharged stage fright, I signed up (in a moment of madness) for my second speech. At the end of June. I suspect that I won't get three ribbons for that one, but I'm certainly going to try! (Want more.... Wants it...)<br /><br />As an extra super bonus, the Teacher semi-pressured me into signing up for Toastmasters and then into speaking the very next week, so I was able to leverage her (minor, since I kinda wanted to anyway) guilt into a bottle of nail polish. I have three colors now! Seven more, and each toe will be a different color!<br /><br />(I don't paint my fingernails. I chew my fingernails when they grow too long, and nail polish tastes bad. I trim my nails twice a week to keep them to a comfortable length, which doesn't give me much nail to hone my inexperience on. And most importantly, I don't like the feel of polish on my fingernails. But I have none of those problems with painting my toes. I'm sure you feel better now that I've cleared up that mystery for you.)<br /></span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-25322014281002577152011-02-24T16:37:00.003-06:002011-02-24T16:39:27.691-06:00I'm a Genius<span style="font-family: arial;">Today as I was walking past my coworker, she called out to me "By the way, I sort of accidentally hit delete on your open document in the office."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">In my most soothing tone, I told her, "Don't worry about it, I'm a genius. I'll find a way to kill you and get away with it."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">My semi-coworker, (the owner's son), overheard this and said "Nice!"</span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-12525375806065127122010-09-09T16:06:00.003-05:002010-09-09T16:10:30.991-05:00Doom....I have to get a root canal.<br /><br />This is why you should never, ever mention that your tooth still hurts almost a month after your dentist visit.<br /><br />In fact, you should probably keep your mouth shut when it hurts, whatever it is.<br /><br />The Teacher would say I'm drawing the wrong lesson from this.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-71392881795508910312010-08-03T12:48:00.001-05:002010-08-03T13:10:10.808-05:00The AtlasI have a driver's license. This means that if I ask my mom to drive me into the scary big city, she mocks me. Mercilessly. So this morning I struck out towards courage instead of fear and claimed the Austin atlas (okay, Mom gave it to me). I located my (two) campuses. I marked them with x's. I chose the safest and most uncomplicated route to and from school. Mom highlighted it with yellow, because she wanted to color too. I highlighted the long edge of every page that had part of that route on it. (Think seminary mastery scripture.) I highlighted it with pink. Because I hate pink, so I won't use it for anything else. (Following this same logic, purple would have been a very bad choice.)<br /><br />I, Peaches, WILL NOT BE LOST. Even if I have to memorize the entire atlas.<br /><br />I hope I don't have to. It's pretty thick.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-30499869817695950662010-07-31T08:19:00.002-05:002010-07-31T08:58:48.953-05:00Children (Part 1): Did you know?(Context: I was called by one of the women in my church and she asked me if I had found a summer job yet. I said no, I was unemployed but still looking. She promptly asked me if I would babysit two of her sons for two and a half days while she took her daughter to girls' camp. After saying that I was looking for employment, how was I supposed to say no? How do you explain to someone's ear (since we were on the phone it wasn't really to her face) that you never, ever, in a thousand years ever, babysit? <span style="font-style: italic;">Ever. </span>Then she said she would pay me a hundred dollars a day and I was suddenly much less anxious. I accepted the job. I told the Teacher, who had been not-so-subtly hinting that I should find a job. I expected her to be ecstatic and congratulate me on my bravery and determination to Do Hard Things. She did not. She told me they would bake me in the oven and gnaw on my bones. In not exactly those words. I told her they couldn't possibly have an oven big enough for me (I'm six feet two inches) and I'd be fine. In not exactly those words.)<br /><br />Did you know that kids aren't capable of processing detailed instructions? You can't say "Pick up the towels, wipe down the table, and sweep the floor, and you'll be done." They just look at you like you're Miss Hitler and say "But that will take <span style="font-style: italic;">forever</span>!" <span style="font-style: italic;">However, </span>if you say "Pick up the towels," and wait, "Wipe down the table," and wait, and "Sweep the floor," by amazing chance they've cleaned the entire room all by themselves and- shocker!- it didn't take more than half an hour!<br /><br />I think children are like robots. They will do what you want them to do, but you have to explain it in extremely simple language that cannot be misunderstood or misinterpreted. And they have no long term memory, so you have to give them one instruction at a time.<br /><br />Of course, they have an extremely good memory for things like "You can have a snow cone after lunch."<br /><br />Did you know that children measure things in minutes? I do not have the patience to support and encourage this habit. Whenever they asked me how many minutes until their mom came home, after I had already said tomorrow, I told them "Lots."<br /><br />Did you know that even though they're in middle school and you're a college freshman, you're actually extremely stupid? And if their mother clearly told you the day she left that they are allowed ONE half hour EACH on the computer, you won't notice when someone who already had their one half hour charges up the stairs to the computer like a rampaging elephant when they hear that the other boy finished his turn. And if you do happen to notice this, and remind him that he already had his half hour, he will assure you that what his mother <span style="font-style: italic;">really </span>meant was that they were allowed unlimited turns on the computer, and each turn was half an hour long. And you're so stupid that you won't wonder why it slipped both their minds to mention it for the last two days. It would have been insulting if it hadn't been funny.<br /><br />Did you know that even though kids ask you to be mediator, they don't actually need a mediator? They are fully capable of figuring it out themselves. Case in point: I was watching them swim. They kept coming and telling on each other: He's shoving me. He's cheating. He's winning too much. And each time I reminded them that they were thinking creatures with the agency to choose to walk away whenever they wanted to. Okay, not really. What I actually said was "When you stop having fun, you can get out of the pool. Are you still having fun?" They didn't get out of the pool.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-5693495357194176452010-07-30T10:48:00.002-05:002010-07-30T10:53:23.657-05:00Hello AgainAfter such a long blogging silence, I feel like I need an icebreaker.<br /><br />My favorite icebreakers are the questions that make people's eyes kind of bug out. I'm not really the gentle chisel and saw approach kind of person when it comes to ice. I like dynamite.<br /><br />So a question I asked the Teacher this morning, which was completely out of any spoken context but made sense to my own convoluted way of thinking: "Why does a woman become a prostitute?"<br /><br />So now that you know what my mother has to be ready for every day, here's my question for you: Aren't you glad you don't have to actually live with me?Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-5878346830213452112010-06-20T15:51:00.002-05:002010-06-20T15:57:40.177-05:0014.5Wow.<br /><br />My family went on a 14.5 mile bike ride yesterday. It took three hours. According the Principal's GPS, our fastest speed was 30 mph (that was for maybe three or four minutes on an awesome downhill stretch).<br /><br />The amazing thing to me is that I'm not dead today. I should be. A year ago I would have been. But I'm lazing around doing slow Sunday things, and the fact that I rode half a marathon just doesn't seem to matter.<br /><br />I'm still so flabby (weight loss to date: 30 lbs; somehow, I don't think I'm going to make the 100 in one year goal), it's hard to remember or even realize that I'm actually in better shape than I've ever been.<br /><br />The Principal and I are planning on riding a century sometime in early December. A century, for those of you who haven't caught the cycling mania, is a 100 mile bike ride, usually done in one day.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-91336384723152276532010-06-16T12:28:00.002-05:002010-06-16T12:49:01.428-05:00Ambition for WealthThere are some books I shouldn't like that I read for fun. The most recent example is <span style="font-style: italic;">The Millionaire Next Door</span>. I can tell as I'm reading it that it's on the dry side and the authors certainly didn't have me in mind as their audience, but it's interesting and (to me) enjoyable.<br /><br />Other books I've not-so-secretly read include <span style="font-style: italic;">The Courage to be Rich </span>(so-so) and <span style="font-style: italic;">The Total Money Makeover </span>(awesome!).<br /><br />And from these books, I've drawn certain conclusions.<br /><br />1-I'm poor.<br /><br />2-I would like to be rich.<br /><br />3-Becoming rich is hard.<br /><br />4-Staying rich is harder.<br /><br />5-It's easier to look rich than it is to be rich.<br /><br />6-Most things you have to do to become rich are boring.<br /><br />7-So are the things you do to stay rich.<br /><br />8-Writers usually do not become rich.<br /><br />9-Sadly, I want to be a writer more than I want to be rich.<br /><br />10-Rich people usually act poor, especially during the becoming rich stage.<br /><br />11-Writers traditionally are poor, so no problem there.<br /><br />12-It would be cool to live in an RV park, wouldn't it? It would be like living in a nomadic village. And Jane Austen said that a small village is just the thing for a writer.<br /><br />13-Sorry. Sidetracked.<br /><br />14-I'm going to be a writer <span style="font-style: italic;">and </span>rich. So there. Feel free to call in forty years to ask how it's going.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-27820916700709897982010-06-11T18:14:00.002-05:002010-06-11T18:48:36.435-05:00An unProfessional OpinionI <span style="font-style: italic;">plan </span>to be professional, which is why I capitalized the p instead of the u.<br /><br />Last night after reading most of Stephenie Meyer's new book, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner </span>(I think that's right) (and it should be against the law to be forced to leave the bookstore when you only have a quarter inch left to go), I informed my parents that the Twilight Saga is an unfortunate blip in Stephenie Meyer's career but that with time she'll overcome it. (I'm assuming that she wants to. I could be wrong. I don't think I am. We'll have to wait and see.)<br /><br />They laughed at me. How serious I am is directly proportional to how hard people laugh at me. (But someday they'll be sorry... they'll <span style="font-style: italic;">all </span>be sorry.)<br /><br />But seriously. By a random fluke of chance, Stephenie Meyer's first book (and its sequels) hit it big time, not only making it onto the bestseller list but gathering a cult, fans, and establishing a firm place in pop culture.<br /><br />This is not a good thing.<br /><br />I've already talked about how awesome <span style="font-style: italic;">The Host </span>is. Possibly the difference between <span style="font-style: italic;">The Host </span>and the Twilight Saga is that <span style="font-style: italic;">The Host </span>is adult fiction. The Twilight books are YA fiction. Have you skimmed the YA section recently? Do I really need to go farther? (If I ever, of my own free will, write YA fiction, by law I'll have to scratch the 'of sound mind' part out of my will.)<br /><br />But I think it's more than that. <span style="font-style: italic;">Twilight </span>was Stephenie Meyer's first book. A very good first book, but still a first book. That <span style="font-style: italic;">Twilight </span>was published and basically won the lottery (so to speak) is an unfortunate fluke. The Twilight Saga is basically Stephenie Meyer's learning curve, out there for the whole world to see. And like any learning curve, it went off the road in places. (I know about going off the road even if I'm note technically qualified to give a Professional Opinion.)<br /><br />I was worried that Stephenie Meyer would never overcome this. Sure, she wrote <span style="font-style: italic;">The Host, </span>one of the best books ever (yes, I am aware that it's a romance; shut up) but that was a while ago. I had nightmare visions of an endless series featuring Bella and Edward and their kid (what was her name?). I mean, all the main characters are immortal- there's no reason the story ever has to end. Besides the fact that, you know, stories that don't end lose everything that made them good when they started.<br /><br />It's happened. Look at Anne McCaffrey and her Pern books. If you watch anime, remember OnePiece and Bleach. None of those stories were allowed to end because they hit it big, won the lottery, whatever, and success strangled all the good out of them.<br /><br />Having read most of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Short Second Life of Bree Tanner </span>puts my Stephenie Meyer fears to rest. Because I <span style="font-style: italic;">know </span>how the book ends. Bree dies. There isn't a happy ending for her. Knowing that should make it easy to say 'oh, it's time to go? I'll put this down then'.<br /><br />They practically had to pry my fingers off of it. My parents have their evil moments. (Sure, I could have bought it, but I let go of money even less willingly than I let go of books. I'm going to wait for it to go to paperback. And you just lost all sympathy, didn't you? I can tell these things.)<br /><br />But if someone can write a book about someone who's going to die, and <span style="font-style: italic;">you know </span>they're going to die, and still make it next to impossible to walk away- well, that person knows how to <span style="font-style: italic;">write.</span><br /><br />Which is far more important than any number of fans or movies. I'm glad that Stephenie Meyer isn't going to let the bestseller list get in the way of success.<br /><br />(But I hope she branches out more. I'm getting just a little tired of vampires. Why doesn't she write something about witches? Or vampire hunters? I would totally buy a book about vampire hunters. Especially if it's about the hunter that kills Edward. I don't like him, Sam I Am.)<br /><br />(On a not completely unrelated side note, there were parts of the later Twilight books that I enjoyed. They weren't completely evil. I liked Jasper. And Seth. And Jacob, right up until the last half of the last book. I don't hate you, Stephenie Meyer! Write more awesome books! End of side note.)Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-7220222421702169492010-06-02T09:52:00.002-05:002010-06-02T10:24:11.587-05:00My Poor BabyThe more I get to know Bayan the more I love her. We went to the park this morning, and enjoyed an idyllic ride on the (mostly) flat stretch of road. And then we turned across the dam to face my enemy together for the first time.<br /><br />The Hill.<br /><br />The Hill looks harmless. Hills usually do. But The Hill is crooked, so it looks soft and gentle and then you turn and all there is in front of you is more stinking hill. I've gone up The Hill on Old Busted. The bike came to a grumbling stop about fifteen feet from the top, and I had to fight my way the rest of the way up. Old Busted doesn't like hills. At all.<br /><br />Bayan mocks hills. She laughs at them until they droop in shame. She doesn't walk up hills- she <span style="font-style: italic;">dances </span>up them. She chews them up and spits them out and jumps up and down on them.<br /><br />I don't dance up hills. I wheeze and puff and wonder if I'm about to have an asthma attack. But Bayan is a nice bike to have on hills, and someday I'll be able to dance up with her. (Clarification: I never got off the bike. I never felt like I had to, or was about to have to. I just wasn't dancing.)<br /><br />But then tragedy struck (and it didn't even strike on The Hill; life has no sense of appropriate setting).<br /><br />I took a wide turn, wobbled (have I mentioned that I'm an inexperienced cyclist? it would be hard to find someone who knows less about what they're doing than I do), went off the road, tried to get back on the road because Bayan is a road bike and I was given dire warnings about what would happen to her offroad, but nothing very bad happened because at that point I fell over. Happily, I was next to a nice paved road and landed on some nice soft pavement. Bayan mostly fell on me, and I'm softer than the road, so that's good.<br /><br />I scrapped my palms and my elbows but other than that (and the embarrassment) I'm fine. But Bayan's chain popped out of the gear or whatever it is, so she's temporarily out of commission. If I knew anything about bikes I could probably fix this in ten minutes. I don't know anything about bikes. The Principal knows about bikes, so I'll ask him to fix it.<br /><br />And the next time we go to the library, we're getting books on bike maintenance and repair. I need to know how to take care of Bayan.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-72832485954613940792010-06-01T21:00:00.003-05:002010-06-01T21:39:06.948-05:00All About BikesI have a new roommate. Her name is Bayan, which means 'rich with beauty and goodness', and is from <span style="font-style: italic;">I Rode a Horse of Milk-White Jade</span>. She's a beautiful white and black road bike, a Trek Pilot 2.1.<br /><br />The Principal has been excited about biking since early this year, but I wasn't really all that wild about it myself. A month and a half ago, he rented a bike for me to ride and see what it's like to ride something that's the right size, and honestly, it was like riding music. This morning the Teacher took me to the park to learn how to shift, which moved my opinion of biking from about a four to a seven.<br /><br />And then about two hours ago I met Bayan (I hadn't named her that yet) and after three laps around the parking lot, seven became a nine, and then after six more laps it became a nine and a half. (I would say I'm at a ten, but I'm still an extremely inexperienced cyclist and there's always more room to love something even more.) Bayan weighs fourteen pounds. (At a guess.) Bayan goes fast (I can already tell she doesn't believe in speed limits- you <span style="font-style: italic;">can </span>break the speed limit on a bike- especially this one).<br /><br />Bayan is my graduation/birthday present. She's beautiful.<br /><br />When the Principal was strapping Bayan into the back of the truck I told him he had to treat her nice because she's a lady, and after that, I <span style="font-style: italic;">had </span>to pick a name for her. It was that or have everyone calling her Lady, which is okay, but really not original, and I value originality.<br /><br />I'm not usually the type to name inanimate objects (calling the Teacher's purse the Purse of Authority doesn't count), but it didn't seem right to call Bayan it. She's definitely a her, and moreover she's definitely a high-class her. But after I started talking about naming her, the Principal decided he needed to name his bikes too.<br /><br />He declared that his road bike was now Old Busted and his recumbent was New Hotness. The Teacher also has a bike (acquired yesterday in Houston) which is red and yellow and cute but she's just calling it the trike.<br /><br />I kept looking over my shoulder to admire Bayan on the way home. It was twilight and she seemed to shine out in the darkness, but I'll stop this sentence before I humiliate myself. On the way we went over a rough low water crossing that rattled the truck hard. I whipped around to check on the bikes (okay- really just on mine) and breathed again when I saw that Bayan was still there.<br /><br />The Principal said "The bikes are still there."<br /><br />I said, "I know, I just checked."<br /><br />And then they laughed at me. Some people have no respect for a girl and her bike.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-70093831667428853092010-05-31T18:39:00.002-05:002010-05-31T18:55:33.822-05:00How I KnowThere's a certain turning point in my learning process that I'm coming to recognize.<br /><br />When I stop concentrating solely on what on earth something is supposed to mean, (and why textbook writers never explain anything with one sentence if they can use five, and why does it matter whether I learn this or not?), (all of these are important questions, but I've never found an answer to the second one), and start thinking about how I would explain it to someone else, then I know I'm beginning to get it.<br /><br />This shift from learning to teaching never marks the end of learning. Usually when I ask myself how I would teach this principle or that idea, I don't have a good answer. This is good, because when I keep studying in order to teach, the textbook seems like it's been rewritten in a way that actually makes sense. I think there's a secret dimension of knowledge in every book that hides in the binding and only leaks out when you read the book as a teacher and not a student.<br /><br />I think it's this shift in perspective that let me do as well as I did in College Algebra this semester. The girl who sat next to me somehow got the idea that I knew what I was doing and asked me questions about the material before every class. I usually didn't have a good answer, but she kept asking me, and so it was like being kicked right into that turning point. I don't know if I actually helped her, but I'm certain that she helped me.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-85347330726617196202010-05-27T08:49:00.002-05:002010-05-27T08:54:19.624-05:00Bwahahaha!I have a friend. She is short. (You know, relatively speaking. I guess normal people wouldn't think she's short, but who cares what normal people think anyway?)<br /><br />Last night was my seminary (and high school) graduation. This friend found me waiting for things to start, and marched up to me. She commanded me to arise, because she was wearing heels and was no longer short, and wanted to see if she was my height or not. (Neither of us have ever worn heels before.)<br /><br />Guess what pair of shoes I was wearing?<br /><br />I just about died laughing. Serendipity makes the best jokes.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-36575877527152704562010-05-25T18:03:00.003-05:002010-05-25T18:48:44.234-05:00A Very Nice DayThis was a pretty amazing day.<br /><br />For instance, this morning in seminary I was told that tomorrow they're having an end-of-the-year party, full of eggs and bacon and sausage and pancakes and eating... and I made it politely but FIRMLY clear that I won't be going. That felt pretty amazing. (I'm very defensive of my twenty-seven pound weight loss. I'm building thick walls against chocolate and all things fried. And if you know anything about me and m&ms, you know those walls have to be high.)<br /><br />And then we went swim-suit shopping. (If you hate swim-suit shopping and you know it, clap your hands! Sorry.) We picked out six to try in different sizes.<br /><br />Two of them were too big. (My heart just broke.)<br /><br />One of them fit but wasn't modest. (It wasn't very cute anyway.)<br /><br />Two of them fit <span style="font-style: italic;">and </span>were modest <span style="font-style: italic;">and </span>were cute. I got to <span style="font-style: italic;">choose. </span>And it actually was a choice- they were two actual different swim-suits, not just two different colors.<br /><br />I walked out and told the world that for the first time <span style="font-style: italic;">ever</span> I felt happier after swim-suit shopping than I had when I started.<br /><br />A passing shopper heard and muttered "You're the <span style="font-style: italic;">only </span>one." Which did its part to make my day that little bit brighter.<br /><br />Then we went shoe-shopping. Just a quick back-story synopsis for you about me and shoes and my size twelve feet: I have literally gone to seven stores in one day and found only one pair of church shoes <span style="font-style: italic;">that worked </span>for forty dollars. The question of 'cute' or 'flattering' never came up. I can only vaguely remember a time when my church shoes didn't resemble some variant on the foot canoe. (Too bad there's no diet for your foot size.)<br /><br />We went to Avenue and I tried on every pair of size twelve shoes they had. This didn't take long. There was one pair of shoes that, aside from being the most hideous things on this earth, were perfect, and another pair that I <span style="font-style: italic;">really </span>wanted to try but they didn't have in my size. We asked them to call a store at another location and see if they had those shoes in my size and the right color.<br /><br />They did. We drove there. I tried them both on, and aside from technical problems like wobbling wildly, they made me look like a princess. Do you have any idea how hard it is to feel like a princess when you're six foot two inches tall and every half-way nice guy you know is a) immature and needs to go on a ten year mission (I did say <span style="font-style: italic;">half-</span>way nice) or b) shorter by about a foot and a half or c) totally uninterested? (Hint: it's not easy.) I wavered a little bit about getting heels when I'm already so tall, but I hated all of the flats that they had, and it's not like <span style="font-style: italic;">not </span>getting them would make me shorter.<br /><br />So we bought both pairs. Again, they were <span style="font-style: italic;">different shoes. </span>Not the same shoe in different colors, and yes, I've done that. One of them is a four inch wedge with black interlacing straps; very classically casual. The other one has bronze straps and a buckle that looks like they realized that someone with big feet also has big fingers and those microscopic buckles are of the devil. And it has a three inch wedge on a one inch platform with flowers painted on it. It sounds hideous but it really is cute. The Teacher is convincing herself that bronze is my black (goes with everything) because black really isn't a friendly color for me (makes me look like a corpse without makeup- you didn't know funeral homes put makeup on bodies? they do). She might even be right. I just like the shoe.<br /><br />Two stores for two pairs of different church shoes. That's better than my shoe-shopping experience has been since, um, ever. And the second pair was ten dollars because we just happened to go on the last day of a sale. Heh heh.<br /><br />But the true cherry on top? We were meeting the Principal for lunch and I put the casual black shoes on and practiced walking in them while we waited for him. And in these shoes, there is no doubt: the dream I've dreamed since, I don't know, four years old, has finally been realized.<br /><br />I am taller than my father.<br /><br />He says I needed prosthetics to pull it off and it doesn't count.<br /><br />I say taller is taller, and it doesn't matter how, nyaaah.<br /><br />We have such a mature relationship.<br /><br />(So I'm seventeen and eleven twelfths before I get my first pair of heels? Is this weird, or what?)Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-46268639562370869142010-05-24T08:18:00.002-05:002010-05-24T08:26:02.527-05:00The (End?) of the Math CrusadeI just got my report card back for this last semester.<br /><br />(School ended a little over a week ago. Can you say speedy?)<br /><br />You may recall my decision to stop hating math. It was hard. And not entirely successful. I'm still not very fond of polynomials, and I wouldn't kiss a logarithm if you paid me. (And possibly not even if books were involved.)<br /><br />But the math crusade was successful enough that I want to take an accounting class.<br /><br />And I got an A in the class.<br /><br />Not that <span style="font-style: italic;">anybody </span>cares about <span style="font-style: italic;">that.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>(They're taking me out for lunch tomorrow.)<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /></span>Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-6892532404443936212010-05-20T09:01:00.003-05:002010-05-20T09:23:12.497-05:00A Mellow DignityWe now know that we have the most mellow cat in the continental USA. Deuteronomy is a long-hair, and a few weeks ago we had to shave him for summer. I held him while the Principal shaved him, and not once did that cat bite, scratch, or even make any serious attempts at escape. He definitely wasn't happy, and tried to hide inside my armpit, and began to yowl a little towards the end, but he didn't tear my face off, which is what other cats would have done.<br /><br />When we were done, Deuteronomy's head and chest was fluffy; his tail and hind-quarters were fluffy; and everything in between looked like a mowed down cornfield. However, he's much happier now. He's jumping on things and pricking his ears every time something moves. He looks so bad it's almost cute, because he has no clue of just how awful he really looks.<br /><br />Yesterday we went into town for our own haircuts and told the hairstylist about it. She sided with the cat.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-29356180923341423342010-04-27T20:57:00.002-05:002010-04-27T21:19:55.277-05:00I Can't Decide if it's More Satisfying to Freak Them Out Accidentally or On PurposeYes, I really said that today.<br /><br />I was in Spanish today (shock! I've only been in that class twice a week every week since the beginning of eternity!) and feeling bored because I love Spanish, so I study ahead, so when the teacher covers the material it's difficult to give her my riveted attention. (My life is hard.) Also because at this point in the class everyone was going up to look at a print-out of their grade that she had put together for us. I was first, so I had about fifteen minutes of nothing to fill with boredom.<br /><br />Boredom should be transported in armored trucks and labeled with warning signs. It always gets me into trouble.<br /><br />One of my classmates, a semi-friend I will never see again when the semester is over, was standing in front of my desk. I was staring at her. Not on purpose to see if she would stare back (I do that sometimes, but not with semi-friends), but just because she was there and I was bored. She finally looked at me and said "What are you thinking?"<br /><br />Usually I think about what I say before I say it. But if you hit me with a question when I'm bored, all my self-editing sub-routines are turned off and I'll automatically tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in all its nude glory.<br /><br />"I'm thinking that you have very pretty eyes."<br /><br />(Did I mention that there should be warning signs?)<br /><br />Everyone (okay, only the few people who sit near me- everyone else is smart enough to be on the <span style="font-style: italic;">other </span>side of the classroom, in case I turn out to be contagious) shouts "What!" Including this classmate that I just (I think) complimented. She mumbles something like "Okaaaay" and holds up her planner as a shield between us. Definite freaking out going on.<br /><br />At this point I am definitely not bored, and I go into emergency damage-control mode.<br /><br />"Well, I've noticed that blue eyes are usually shallow, but yours are dark on the edges and pale in the middle and it makes it look like they're glowing, and I like that." Damage-control is successful; she lowers her planner and thanks me and then tells me about her children's eyes, and how she thinks my eyes 'have character'. My eyes are occasionally pretty when they feel like it, so I thanked her, and then it was over, and despite this stern lesson I went back to being bored. (Maybe warning signs wouldn't be effective after all.)<br /><br />I told the Teacher about this, and she laughed at me. Then she pointed out that 'you have really pretty eyes' is actually a classic pick-up line, and she probably thought I was lesbian. Which totally didn't occur to me until she told me.<br /><br />It's very hard to appear normal when you've missed out on all the childhood training everyone else gets in the public school system.<br /><br />The Teacher asked me if I was going to ever tell a woman again that they have pretty eyes. She should know better than to ask that kind of question by now.<br /><br />"Maybe. It depends on whether I actually think so."<br /><br />Random Post-script 1: I resisted the siren call of m&ms three<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>times today! I feel like I should get a medal of weight-loss honor or something.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-84528841759154245942010-04-26T09:41:00.003-05:002010-04-26T10:27:06.149-05:00Snakes!<span style="font-style: italic;">(WARNING: If you are chronically allergic to tales of horror, woe, mismatched gardening gloves, mighty and fearsome hunters, and, yes, snakes, skip this post.)<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>The title is slightly exaggerated. It was only one snake.<br /><br />But it was four feet long and as thick around as my thumb, so I feel entitled to some exaggeration.<br /><br />This epic tale begins with our two mighty and fearsome hunters, Macavity and Deuteronomy. They used to be two cute orange kittens, and now they aren't. Funny how that works.<br /><br />A few weeks ago, Macavity actually caught a garden (non-poisonous) snake and brought it to the porch where he could play with it and it couldn't get away. (This is a very cat thing to do. One of my cats once brought a baby barn owl into the house for the same reason, and seemed surprised when we didn't praise him for it.) There was a flaw in his master plan: we have a gap under our front door that's about three-quarters of an inch wide. Where do you think the snake went?<br /><br />So five days later I'm walking down the hall and I see the Principal's belt in the middle of the floor. That's kind of strange because he either wears it or keeps it on his dresser, and anyway I thought his belt was wider than that. So I slow down to look at this belt but I'm still walking. And then my brain finally gets its shape-recognition act together and lets me know that's a snake.<br /><br />I stopped walking.<br /><br />The snake was watching me very carefully, with its head raised up in the air to make sure it could dive for cover if I turned into a cat. To summarize, I called the Teacher and we spent half an hour trying to chase that snake out of the house. It did not want to go. She tried to lift it on a hoe, but snakes are somewhat slippery and they twist around when you lift them up so the snake just fell right back off. (We decided that if you ever see someone carrying a snake towards you on a stick, you shouldn't be impressed because it's a dead snake.) In the end the snake disappeared behind the bookshelves in the hall.<br /><br />You don't realize how many snake-sized cracks are in your house until you start looking for them, and then you wish you hadn't looked. For two or three days we had no clue where it was. I kept my bedroom door closed at all times, even when I was only going in for half a minute to get something, and I turned the light on before I got out of bed. Even when your mind knows a snake isn't poisonous, your body doesn't care.<br /><br />We located the snake in the main bathroom before it disappeared again, and I put a sign on the door saying "SNAKE IS HERE" just so people would keep it closed. We shut the cats in there, and when we let them out they looked smug and there were smears of snake blood on the floor, but no actual snake. This was a problem because the main bathroom is the one with the laundry and the shower. The snake never attacked me while I was in there, but I don't think I've ever been so alert that early in the morning.<br /><br />Finally, almost a week after I first saw it in the hall, the Teacher found it in the open in the bathroom, and this time she called me to take care of it. I put on my closed toe shoes and a pair of mismatched gloves and went in to take care of it.<br /><br />It's surprising how philosophical you can become when you're looking at a snake. For instance, I came up with a way to prove that we have a soul separate from our bodies, but I'll go into that some other time. Mostly I was trying to persuade my left hand to grab the snake before it went into one of the snake-sized holes I mentioned. The snake started to slide backwards away from me, which I didn't know they could do. I made a grab for it, and I would have had it because it pinned itself against the toilet, but it's very hard to grab something when your hand is being insubordinate and refusing to touch it. The snake was moving very fast now, and ended up cornering itself in our towel shelf, and this time I did manage to pick it up because the idea of another week of constantly looking for a snake under my foot bothered me more than just grabbing it.<br /><br />After that the story gets boring. The snake didn't bite me. I took it outside and released it into the wild far from our cats. The next morning I was able to take my shower in my habitual mostly-asleep daze. And after the Principal heard that the snake was gone, he awarded my bravery with an Amazon purchase of my choice.<br /><br />And see, if I'd known that <span style="font-style: italic;">before</span> I had to go stare down the snake, it would have been much easier to do. As in, I'm wondering if I should take the cats to where I put the snake to see if they can catch it and chase it into the house again so that I can get more free books.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-45543776996997209232010-04-19T12:36:00.002-05:002010-04-19T12:49:28.036-05:00We're All CrazyIn case you didn't already know.<br /><br />The Principal acquired a beautiful nature picture a few years ago at a company white elephant Christmas exchange. He's had it hanging in his cubicle, but he brought it home a few days ago because he no longer had room for it.<br /><br />The Teacher and I hung it this morning. She told me not to hang it too high, so I immediately held it as high up the wall as I comfortably could- about six inches from the ceiling. Then I lowered it, but it was too low. We played this game until she took over and showed me where she wanted it. Then I hung it .<br /><br />It's very nice. Our living room is full of brown and cream, and the picture is full of neutral colors that somehow break up the sameness of the wall without clashing or looking blah. We all like it.<br /><br />Too bad it's a picture of two mushrooms growing out of a large animal dropping. It will be interesting to see how many people actually notice what it is when they visit.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-55565653525309313992010-04-11T17:42:00.002-05:002010-04-11T17:59:09.075-05:00Uncomfortable PremonitionsOne of my cousins is getting married. Since she's been boy crazy from about, oh, age thirteen, I'm really not surprised. It's sort of funny to listen to the waves this is causing in our family because she's only eighteen. (Wow. Never thought I'd put 'only' and 'eighteen' in the same sentence.) I'm not so concerned about it, because honestly, it's her problem and not mine and it's better to get married young than not to get married at all.<br /><br />Pretty much during the same time period my cousin was boy-crazy, I was very firmly in the boys-have-cooties camp. (Disclaimer: I no longer believe boys have cooties. At seventeen, I'm a little past that. Now I just think they're from a different planet.) Over the years, I have made certain statements that could be construed as hurtful (if you were a boy and took me seriously, in which case you obviously don't know anything about me), dumb (if you were an adult listening to me) or absolutely hilarious (see last parenthesis.)<br /><br />I wouldn't be too worried about this because I'm almost certain that whoever I marry won't be someone who knew me then. Except that I have a certain immature aunt (honestly, we don't have enough maturity between us to make one grown-up, responsible person, so we share and take turns being the adult; it works for us) about whom I have some suspicions.<br /><br />I suspect that she has been keeping a not so little list over the years of all the anti-boy, anti-romance things I've said. I suspect that she's hoarding these innocently-spoken words of mine to turn against me when the time is right (ie, when all the planets are in alignment and I somehow get a boyfriend).<br /><br />On this list are things I said when I was eleven. And twelve. And thirteen. And fourteen. And, cough, maybe fifteen. Perhaps, cough cough, when I was sixteen as well.<br /><br />I <span style="font-style: italic;">furthermore </span>suspect that on that list will be this particular misquotation: "I think love makes your brain rot because look how <span style="font-style: italic;">stupid </span>all these people are acting." (Spoken while watching a romance. I don't recall which one. There may have been more than one.)<br /><br />I think my aunt is a menace and ought to be locked up. For her own good, of course.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-53400547677243960662010-04-03T14:27:00.002-05:002010-04-03T14:40:38.911-05:00A Lone Survivor Returns to Tell the TaleSadly, it is not a tale of success. The last time I did a 24-hr comic challenge I deliberately chose to tell the story of Eddie the Combat Worm, because there's no way to mess up drawing a worm. (Hey, if people can tell stories about rabbits and frogs, why not worms?) This year I took the challenge to the next level by drawing (gasp) people. With hair.<br /><br />Hair takes <span style="font-style: italic;">forever. </span>If it's black, anyway. White or blond hair isn't too bad.<br /><br />Anyway, I burned out at 17 and 1/2 pages. And watched lots of silly anime. And had conversations with my friend along the lines of "Wouldn't it be so cool if someone got brain damaged in an accident so that they couldn't make new memories so they got a computer chip planted in their head to record everything for them? What if someone hacked your memories? That would suck" and "What would you do if you were a cannibal vampire and all the other vampires were after you?"<br /><br />Oh, and I had chorizo with egg (con huevo) because my friend's mom is Hispanic and amazing. And there was a cookie. With sprinkles. And maybe pizza, but I admit to nothing.<br /><br />It was a very happy 24 hours.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-23764735943531251032010-04-01T19:08:00.003-05:002010-04-01T19:36:40.572-05:00The Challenge: Will Any Return Alive?I don't know about Any, but I plan to.<br /><br />This is your prior notification that tomorrow, at 10 o'clock, I will sit down to wrestle demons and angels (angels are wrestlers too; just ask Jacob) and drive the gentle muse before me with iron-tipped pen as I embark...<br /><br />That sentence is way too long.<br /><br />I'm doing a 24-hr comic tomorrow. If you don't know what that is, it's where you draw 24 pages of comic in 24 hours. I'm going over to a friend's house to do it with her. I wouldn't be at all surprised if my main character murders her main character in the process. 24-hr comics strain even the best relationships. Besides, it'll be my best opportunity to avenge that time she wrestled me off the couch <span style="font-style: italic;">three times in a row. </span>I can't wrestle and am therefore obviously not an angle.<br /><br />On a side note, <a href="http://jetreidliterary.blogspot.com/2010/04/new-submission-guidelines-for-second.html">read this</a>. If you don't get it, look at the date. If it's still not funny, that's okay. I'll love you anyway.<br /><br />On a more urgent side note, <a href="http://jetreidliterary.blogspot.com/2010/04/this-just-cracks-me-up.html">watch this</a>. For context, Suzie and Joanna both work for Janet Reid, a literary agent as interns (I think that's right). And really, it's the soundtrack that makes this movie. Especially the last four seconds.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-26243339969080065652010-03-30T15:36:00.002-05:002010-03-30T15:58:51.032-05:00Will the Circle be Unbroken?<span style="font-style: italic;"></span>I've discovered two circles currently happening in my life that are important and pertinent (to me, maybe not to you) and definitely not boring because it's happening right now.<br /><br />The first circle is the good one. It goes like this:<br /><br />Enjoy something. Spend more time studying it. Get better at it.<br /><br />Basically you enjoy what you're good at, and because you enjoy it you work more at it, and because you work at it you get better at it and that leads to, what do you know, enjoying it more.<br /><br />This is the dark side of that circle:<br /><br />Hate something. Don't study. Suck at it.<br /><br />You can probably agree that when you hate something you spend less time on it, which means that you don't do well in it, which means your feelings of hate are validated and strengthened and it starts all over.<br /><br />I'm currently stuck in the dark circle with math. I'm trying to break out of this circle because<br /><br />1) life is too short to spend time on something I hate<br /><br />2) but life is too long to go through with no math skills<br /> 2a) especially in a country like this, where you can't do anything without math<br /> 2b) and anyway the Principal will disown me if I don't do more math than just college algebra (he's an engineer)<br /><br />3) I actually have, for very brief moments, enjoyed math<br /><br />4) but only when I was good at it<br /><br />5) which reinforces my circle theory.<br /><br />So anyway, my logical conclusion (be aware that my logic is a completely different brand of logic than what anyone else uses) after considering these points is that if I can't ditch math (where would I go for free food on Thanksgiving if I was disowned?) then I need to ditch hating it.<br /><br />I have therefore decided to stop hating math.<br /><br />I'll give you an update at the end of the semester on how well it worked. My teacher is talking about rational fractions, which is a polynomial on top of a polynomial and is graphed like two boomerangs who aren't talking to each other, and I'm having some (very small) doubts that this is going to work.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6840882270241586894.post-35412036933728401382010-03-24T07:42:00.002-05:002010-03-24T07:55:35.361-05:00t3h 3vil<span style="font-style: italic;">(Note for the un-l33t among you: this is a shameless Megatokyo reference; if you don't feel like digging through more than five (probably way more than five, actually) years of archives to understand this, then just pronounce those threes like delinquent e's.)<br /><br /></span>The Teacher has a cruel and sadistic personality. She knows that while, in a moment of weakness, I enjoyed Twilight-the-book I despised Twilight-the-movie. When I wasn't hysterically laughing at Edward's hair I was howling at Bella that she was an idiot and deserved to die. Funny how things seem okay in books are really, really stupid in movies. "Oh, Edward, someone just told me that you're a vampire, and you've been hinting that you want to kill me, so come with me into these conveniently placed dark woods where no one will hear me scream because, sigh, I just can't stay away from you..."<br /><br />Ahem. So you would think that a kind mother, a loving and considerate and above all compassionate mother would NOT put New Moon in the Netflix queue, would NOT put it at the top as soon as it came out and most of all would NOT sit on her daughter and make her suffer through the agonizing stupidity. (Twilight was bad. I'm telling you now, New Moon is worse.)<br /><br />And you would be quite right. No kind, loving, considerate and above all compassionate mother would do anything of the kind. The Teacher is not that kind of mother, so she had no qualms about committing the crime above mentioned. I howled to the Principal to save me, and he did eventually, but he took his own sweet time doing it. The only reason I escaped the whole movie is that I had school and needed to leave.<br /><br />I did enjoy the part where the camera circles around Bella sulking her chair and flashes the months on the screen: partly because it was a nice device to show time passing, partly because the music was nice, partly because it was beautiful, and mostly because I enjoy watching people <span style="font-style: italic;">suffer. <span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>I'm vindictive that way.Rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11791050450162597081noreply@blogger.com3