Doom

i hate writing papers the night before they're due. why do i do this to myself?!

the inner voice in my head that speaks wisdom is telling me that i should stop writing this blog post right now, and get back to my school work, but my fingers just keep moving, and i can't seem to stop them. the peach cobbler and ice cream all converted straight into nervous energy, and now my fingers are twitching and quivering, rather like 'Twitch' in the book/movie "Holes". that is a good movie. and a really good book. although it is slightly juvenile. still entertaining. i love mr. sir. with a name like that, what's there not to love? other than the fact that he is one of the main villains, perhaps... anyways, i do need to go. and write more about the trail of tears, and the tragic saga of john ross and his inability to gain control of the cherokee people before the gods deem them unfit to walk the earth, and OH! sudden inspiration!! *goes back to write more story*

Flies

I loathe them. Loathe here meaning something along the lines of abhor, despise, hate, detest, and any other words that are missing from that entry in the thesaurus. I had a very personal experience with them today, sadly, which i shall chronicle here:

it all began innocently enough. it was a beautiful sunny day, and very warm. i, being the wonderful procrastinator i am, decided that i would wait until eleven pm tonight to start my seven pages of writing assignments, and go for a walk. heading out, armed with music and a smile, i began my walk around the block. technically, i probably only walked half the block, but as this half a block was already five miles long, i decided i didn't need to go the full length.
with a spring in my step, and music in my ears, i jauntily began my sojourn. soon, however, the spring was gone. the sun began beating rather heavily on my poor out-of-shape body, and i was wishing for some breeze, or anything to protect me from the scorching heat.
thankfully, a breeze did pick up, and that made it much nicer. the spring back in my step, i cheerfully waved at an elderly couple tottering along the other side of the road. i was rewarded with a pair of scowls, and a muttering of, "kids these days!"
slightly chagrined, i soon shook it off, as i carefully stepped over a very squashed snake. the roadkill was amazing on these roads. there was a bird every fifty feet or so, and the occasional cat, possum, and as previously mentioned, snake.
about four miles into my trek, i grew weary. no breeze could replace the spring in my step, so i decided to seat myself somewhere. now, out in the county, there really isn't that many places to respectably seat oneself. benches do not flourish abundant, and sidewalks are far and few between. so, i settled for the next best thing: the ditch.
i discovered a shady little spot near trees, where there were few houses, and i sat down in the ditch, after discovering a newly discarded car mat, quite happy.
settling back, i inspected my newfound utopia. small ferns curled up about my feet, and trees grew tall and shady. canary grass shot straight up all about my head, creating a nice shield for my body, from the unwanted eyes of curious passer byers, who wondered why there was a strange girl in the ditch.
i remained there for quite a while, completely unaware of the time, until a squirrel overhead became quite agitated. squeaking like crazy, i couldn't understand what it was so worried about, until i heard my phone ringing. once i turned it off, the squirrel went quiet, but by then, the mood had been ruined.
wearily, i dragged myself up out of the ditch, and resumed my walk home. i was now on the last leg. staggering forward, i slowly gained momentum, as i avoided the cars, bikes and dogs that suddenly had sprung out of the woodwork to haunt me and my pedestrian habits.
mostly successful, i was abruptly taken over by a swarm of flies. they began slowly at first, to get my guard down. one would dive in my left ear, and then leave as soon as i swatted at it. then, another one would dive into my right ear, buzz about a bit, and then take off. soon, i had a squadron of the insects dive-bombing me all about my face, neck and arms. twitching and swatting alternately, i became somewhat crazed in my irritation. succeeding in killing only a few, i considered sprinting the remaining mile towards my home, where i would at least be safe. quickly shunning this idea as my knees began to buckle underneath me, i persevered in swatting at the flies.
when my home was finally in sight, after a long and agonizing fifteen minutes, i had succeeded in the annihilation of approximately ten flies. five more still remained, buzzing about, being their annoying, grimy selves. i gave up, and let them crawl on me, let their germ-infested feet acquaint themselves with my earlobe, let their many faceted eyes gaze at my hand, vanquished, hanging at my side in defeat. i lulled them into a false sense of security, very successfully. suddenly, i was on them, smacking left and right, half mad with revenge. just as i reached my house, i killed the last one, and roared in triumph. as i announced my coup to my mother, she looked quizzically at me, and simply said, "congratulations."

slightly deflated, i soon got over it. i am now enjoying a newly acquired CD, and thoroughly recommend hawk nelson's song "something on my mind" to all you fans of rockish music. now, it's off to microsoft word, where i shall be busy trying to write pages of an epic myth.

oh oh! i remember what i was going to ask all you faithful readers: i have a history project due soon, what should i do it on? 18th century american history is my topic, what should my project be?

k, that's all now.

~m.r.p.

Civil War Re-enactments: Entertainment or Torture? You Decide...

as you may guess from the title, i witnessed a civil war reenactment thingy today. i guess it wasn't really a reenactment as much as it was a soliloquy from a guy pretending to be gen. george e. pickett, the infamous confederate general from the battle of gettysburg. it was really quite interesting for the first hour, although i periodically nodded off to sleep while he ranted against the injustices of irish immigrants in the mid-19th century, but after that, i just couldn't sit and listen anymore. somehow, i dragged myself away from him, as well as the banjo playing ecopsychologist, and instead spent the afternoon walking around downtown with my mom and sister. that was really fun. it was warm and sunny, and i introduced them both to an ice cream parlor i myself was just recently introduced to. i have to say though, that it wasn't quite the same the second time around... the ice cream was still good though.

i love sun.

~m.r.p.

Front Porch

a new addition to our humble family abode, our front porch is something i am rapidly becoming fonder and fonder of. today, as the sun beat heavy on it, the porch soaked it all up, so when i laid down on it, i was instantly rewarded with a flood of warmth. speaking of the warmth of the sun... go here: http://www.myspace.com/matthewthiessenandtheearthquakes tis a spiffy song, the first one.
anyways, back to the porch... sighing in pleasure, i curled up in a ball, and prepared to nap.
sadly, this preparation was a wee bit immature. immediately, a swarm of children came and began clawing at each other, directly over my head. now, why they couldn't have tried to kill each other two or three feet away is beyond me, but apparently, they just needed to make sure they were murdering each other whilst being supervised. swatting at them to go away, i curled up tighter, and managed to ignore them enough to fall asleep. i woke up a little while later to a grinning face, smeared with peanut butter and crumbs. eager to show me his latest 'magic trick', the owner of the aforesaid face downed two pieces of toast in record time. i was apparently not impressed enough, so i was punished for this insolence by getting dandelion fluff blown on me for a goodly length of time. still not wanting to move, i remained in my fetal position, until the dog came and began licking my face with great vigor. i then sat up, shedding a fleet of fluff as i did so, and listened to my companion as he began to speak.
he told me lots of things. he first told me the life stories of every one of his chickens, all of whom he missed, because they had just been sold. he told me their names, their personalities, each and every one of their peculiar habits. my heart broke for him, because he misses them so much. then, somehow, the subject got switched to bears, and he demonstrated how he would run from them if they came for him. his plan was to hide behind the screen door. i informed him that the bear would probably be able to get to him, but he was undeterred. i hope he never meets any bears.
after a while, he stopped talking, and began a competition with someone else. now this competition was quite unlike anything i had ever seen before, yet strangely familiar. they would spit into the air, and then run right underneath it, and somehow catch it in their mouth. i have no idea how they did that. personally, it would splat all over my face if i tried that, but they seemed mostly successful.
anyways. sailing right along...
i successfully unearthed my concert tickets that i previously thought i threw away. about three weeks ago, i completely gutted my room and threw EVERYTHING away. it was a good thorough job, and now i know where nothing is, but hey, at least it is (was) clean. however, much to my chagrin, i realized i couldn't find my tickets! now, this would typically not be such a big deal, but these suckers cost me a lot of money, so i was getting pretty agitated. after looking through all my remained stuff items, i was ready to give up. then, i had a sudden inspiration. i descended into my sock drawer, and sure enough, there they were!! remember, if ever in doubt, look in your sock drawer, strange things end up there.

and with that parting piece of advice, i shall take my leave.

~m.r.p.

Piano Recitals

amazing things, these are. if you've never been to one, i assure you, you will. sometime, someplace, in any random walk of your life you will be called upon to attend, (or perform in), a piano recital.
i had the privilege of both attending and performing in one tonight. 'privilege' is used very loosely here, it was more of an arm-twisted privilege.
so, i went. i was rewarded for my attendance with the opportunity to play first. i wasn't quite sure how this was going to happen, as i had developed a peculiar case of the ague, along with an incredible knotting in my stomach. feverishly, i glanced around the room. at piano lessons, this room had seemed rather spacious and roomy, now i could see that i had been seriously mistaken. with fifty odd people stuffed in there, this room was downright tiny. carefully tucking my legs sideways under my metal folding chair, i heaved a sigh, and began emptying my mind of all intelligent thought as the moment grew nearer.
soon, my piano teacher perkily went up to the front of the room and announced with a big smile that i, the mighty rainbow panda, would be performing first. my breathing, previously shallow, now stopped completely. faintly, i smiled and went up to the piano. doing my best to avoid eye contact with the fifty pairs of eyes staring at me, i muttered my name and the title of the song that i was going to attempt to play. however, my fears were soon dissuaded, once i began to play, it went pretty well, as i was able to lose myself in the song and forget about the people staring at me. finally finished, i endeavored to curtsy, but failed rather miserably. i scuttled back to my seat, my head low, and face red.
i tried as hard as i could to gracefully seat myself, but that soon fizzled out, as i awkwardly stumbled past the people in the beginning of the row. ultimately, i ended up sitting down, in my own chair, thankfully. some of the details between the piano and the trek back to my seat are kind of fuzzy, but since no one is in a body cast, and there are no phone calls, i assume that everything went ok.
i settled myself down to listen to the other students. rather uncomfortable in my chair, i experimentally tried crossing my legs. unfortunately, this wasn't quite possible provided with the close proximity of the row of metal folding chairs in front of us. saddened by this strange turn of events, i contented myself with crossing my arms, and began to study the people around me. in the front row, there was a little boy. he looked kind of cute and little-boyish, with his nice shirt and pants on, and his slicked back hair. as i continued watching him, i noticed that he was doing something to face. whilst trying to decide if he was merely tapping his face in rhythm to the song, or picking his nose, he stuck his finger in his mouth, and i realized with chagrin that he was performing the latter.
quickly changing subjects, i looked at the little girl directly in front of me. she squirmed around for a while until her parents shushed her with a warning glance. she sat perfectly still, which was no fun to watch.
bored, i shifted my gaze back to the performer. he was a rambunctious little boy with quite the staccato. he would raise his hands about a foot off of the keys and then bring them down with a thud. i always thought he would hit the wrong note, but he never did. i was quite impressed. while being thus impressed, i heard an elderly voice come from the back of the room, "wow, will you look at that kid! he's sure a character!!"
for some reason, that set me off into a torrent of silent snickering. shoulders heaving with noiseless laughter, the girl next to me whispered, "yep, that's my grandma for ya. she can't figure out how to whisper!"
i abruptly stopped laughing outwardly, although it entertained me for several minutes inwardly.
after another long hour, it was my turn again. i got up and said my name again, which i felt slightly foolish for doing. i mean, i had just told them my name for crying out loud! so i told them that i was still the one and the same mighty rainbow panda. this set my dad off in gales of laughter, so i quickly sat down at the piano and began my song. it went well, not great, but not too bad. then i played a duet with my teacher so that was fun.

then. the big moment. it was composition time. all us students were supposed to have written a piece of music and then perform it tonight. well, i sort of composed something, and i am really rather fond of it, it chronicles the bittersweet story of my personal romance. however, because my bittersweet story is only partially finished, so was my composition. but my teacher had insisted earlier that it be played. finally, in exasperation i told her that if she really wanted to, she could play it, but i was definitely not going to. much to my surprise, she agreed, and played my half finished piece of music. however, i didn't want to claim the piece as my own, cause that would be weird, asking her to play it for me, so she put me down as anonymous, which promptly set my family into laughing fits. they told me all the way home, "i didn't know your name was anonymous!!" erg. but it was ok. all went well. and i am FINISHED!!! no more recitals ever!! oh the freedom...
ok, i'm all finished now, i realize this is freakishly long, and for that, i most sincerely apologize. au revoir.

~M.R.P.

Potatoes

i was told to blog about hot tubs, and really, it was a good idea, but i decided instead to write about potatoes. don't ask me why. i just decided that writing about a person's decision to willingly boil themselves slowly was odd, and rather creepy. speaking of creepy, this video
is very creepy. it scares the absolute crud out of me, but it's strangely catchy, and got itself stuck in my head. arg.
ok, back to the task at hand. potatoes are strange things. really, what else has multiple eyes, yet cannot see? or grows in the dirt, and sprouts little green things if you leave it in the sun? amazing i tell you, amazing... buuuut, maybe that's just me and my easily amused mind. "simple minds, simple pleasures!" as one good friend often chirps at me.
digging up potatoes is another amazing venture. i did that once. actually, more than once, but i'm only going to tell you about one single time that i did. my maternal figure plopped a plastic bag in my hand and said, "Fetch!"
being an obedient child, i did. rummaging around in the dreaded garage, i managed to unearth some sort of digging utensil. uselessly tugging some more buckets, i discovered a mouse-chewed glove, and decided that was all i really needed to get my potatoes.
the garden was in a box. one of them boxes that rested on the ground, but the wooden edge was ten inches high all around it. now, while these boxes look aesthetically pleasing for the most part, they're really most uncomfortable to pick potatoes in. awkwardly, i knelt on the ground, wincing as the gravel cut into my unprotected knees. i leaned over the box ledge, and winced again as splinters dug into my stomach. i fumbled around for a couple minutes, and then finally gave up, and just sat in the box. too late, i realized that sitting in the box also meant sitting in the dirt, but thankfully, i was wearing shorts that allowed for this kind of gross negligence.
settling into my potato picking position, i began the search. now, potatoes are kinda tricky, they don't show themselves willingly. you must begin at the green stem that shows above ground. then, slowly, you must dig at the base, searching for the clusters of hard red vegetables.
i began this process as a true novice. yanking at a green stem, i was astonished when i found myself seated heavily in the dirt with only a forlorn handful of leaves. approaching the broken stem, i poked at it, and realized that these potatoes did not want to be pulled. adamant, i firmly told them that i was in charge, and that they were only dumb potatoes, that needed to be pulled. apparently, they didn't believe me.
i changed tactics. it was time to get down and dirty with these vindictive vegetables, so i jabbed my trowel viciously in the dirt. *gasp* what is this? i felt something!! jabbing a little harder, i skilfully fished my trowel out of the ground, while still keeping my prize on at the end.
holding my trowel aloft, i crowed in triumph as i unspeared the potato firmly lodged on the end. tossing the golf ball sized root in my bag, my elation subsided a bit as i noticed that i had a long way to go before my bag was filled.
with a new determination, i dug harder and faster, only to be rewarded with fierce struggles. exasperated, i threw down my trowel, ripped off my holey glove, and flung my freshly painted nails to the wind. clawing my way through the dirt like a mad woman, i snatched potatoes off of the root with a fury like none they had ever seen. after several long and grueling minutes, my sack was finally full, and i was able to bring them back for further accolades.
and now, i shall abruptly end. because i have six pages of writing due in nine hours that i have failed to do as of yet.

~M.R.P.

Sugar+Peanut Butter+Bread=Pure Genius

i love peanut butter sugar sandwiches. especially after a long evening of standing in a dimly lit room with lots of loud music and sweaty people jumping around for three hours.

tonight i had the wonderful opportunity to see my all time favorite band, relient k, in concert. live, even!! but really, it was some of the most fun i have had in a very long time. probably the most fun since the last concert i was at...
unfortunately, relient k was not the only band performing. after standing in the midst of several rioting teenagers for forty-five minutes, i was very ready for the music to start, so at least then they would have a reason to be rioting. slowly, bushy-haired men began to fill the stage, each occupying a microphone/instrument that had been previously set out for them. puzzled, i noticed that these strange men did not look at all like the incredibly cute guys that make up relient k. in fact, the appearance of these men was downright frightening.
those were my thoughts, until the music started playing. eventually i grew to love and appreciate the band known as sherwood, although the synthesizer cracked me up. (i prefer to think of him as the organist, though, because that was his main instrument, but since he was the one who made all the other weird noises, i suppose his correct title would have to be 'synthesizer'.) anyways, he would spontaneously burst into wild eruptions of dancing, (and i use that term very, very loosely). leaping three feet into the air, he would descend with a thud onto his organ, bringing his face perilously close to the edge, so close that several times, i feared he would smash his face in. soon after his organ-crashings, he seemingly tired of that dull pursuit; there was just no thrill anymore in face-smashings. clambering on top of the drum set, he stood posed for several seconds, as a ballerina, or a fountain, i never could figure out which. twirling suddenly, he flew off the drums and began playing the tambourines while whirling in a mad dervish about the stage. now, typically, i would have no problem with a performer doing this, but, he had hair in his face, sweat literally dripping off of him, and his eyes were closed!! i was very afraid for his well-being, as well as the well-being of his band-mates who came close to being collided with. thankfully, though, tambourine-man survived his performance, and really did quite well.
the second band i was not so fond of. needless to say, i was ready for relient k to come on stage, and they were still painfully absent. the second band screamed a lot. which is fine, if they sing well, but alas, they did not have a handle on this second, key ingredient to a successful band. sadly, they played about twice as long as sherwood did, so by this time, i had been standing for about two hours, firmly squished in the throngs of moshers.
finally, they were finished. i breathed a huge sigh of relief, and eagerly awaited the coming of relient k. ten minutes passed by, and then twenty, and thirty. now slightly annoyed, i wondered just how long it took to set up microphones.
then, the moment we had all been waiting for. deafening cheers shook the halls of the center as the 'hunky' matt thiessen sauntered onto the stage. as he smirked his hello, every girl in the auditorium visibly swooned, as their boyfriends looked on, frowning.
however, soon, the hunkiness of thiessen was forgotten as the music began. 'must have done something right' at 120 decibels is an experience that everyone should have at least once. when one's jaw is shaking with the force of the bass, you know the music is finally loud enough to truly enjoy it.
i think i shall bring this post to a screeching halt now. i just realized how late it is, and how early i have to be up tomorrow. so if i wanna write more about how awesome relient k is tomorrow, i shall. if not, listen to them for yourself. :)

~M.R.P.

Cross-stitch, Candy Eggs, and TFK

they're simply amazing. that's all i can say.

Gender-Neutral Monkey

some of my faithful readers will know exactly what i'm talking about when i utter the words "gender-neutral monkey". others will stare quizzically at the heading, and then slowly develop a glaze over their eyes and shake their heads in bewilderment as they 'x' out the window and go instead to spiffy websites like youtube, or homestarruner.com. however, i implore those of the latter sect, don't go!! the gender-neutral monkey surely is a thing of rare and natural beauty, in it's own silent, pink-and-yellow way. the gender-neutral monkey is an object that has received much love and affection from both yours truly and several generations before me.
to fully appreciate the gender-neutral monkey, one must first understand what it looks like. formerly known as alice, this small stuffed monkey has small black eyes, inset in a delicately seamed yellow fabric. sadly, this monkey has been so well loved, that the yellow is not really so yellow anymore, but more of a golden brown. moving right down, it has a squat neck firmly placed on an entirely magenta colored body. it's small feet and hands are yellow, and it's tail has been resewed back onto its body several times, as it's been used for activities that i shall soon describe.
as a small child, i loved using this monkey for various positions. i had first dubbed it 'alice' as my favorite movie at the time was 'alice in wonderland'. however, as my games in which the monkey was always a lead role went on, i realized the usefullness of having an interchangeably male or female character. so, the name alice went flying off into the trash, and i instead just called it 'monkey' for a long period of time.
this name worked quite well for a long while, but as i grew into my young teens, i realized that 'monkey' just wasn't cutting it for this dear little pal that had been so faithful to me all these years. what it needed was an epic title. thus, the cognomen 'gender-neutral monkey' was born.
ah, i promised to enlighten you all as to the fact of why its tail had to be resewn on multiple times, didn't i? well, here's the story. or stories.. not sure how much of my childhood i want to divulge here...
as a child, i had sleepovers. they were fun, innocent get togethers, a bunch of giggling girls, staying up later talking about guys, and things like that, right? not so, my dear readers. at my sleepovers, someone would inevitably find the gender-neutral monkey and begin whapping anyone that was not fully shielded by her pillow. sadly, for my poor monkey, the main handle would be its tail, so after a few dozen sleepovers, the tail would begin to break right off its poor mutilated body.
i have finally retired the gender-neutral monkey from its position of lead role in games, being the official sledgehammer in sleepovers, and its various other duties it performed for me over the years.
party hearty my dearies

~M.R.P.

Sickness and Family Portraits

go hand in hand, don't they? i decided to draft this blog very unconventionally, and write it down manually on paper first. this decision was made for several reasons, the primary being that i am laying sick in bed, and am rather distant from my faithful computer. which is really quite tragic. *wail* i miss it so!! however, my room does have its benefits. for example, i sure wouldn't have a stash of cinnamon rolls at my disposal anywhere else in the house. only safely tucked away under my bed do cinnamon rolls reside. also, i am in complete solitude. no one else wants to catch this black death i have somehow contracted, so they are all steering clear of me. eventually, though, they will realize they miss me too much, and they will all come and visit me in droves, as i feign sleep.
i just remembered why i prefer typing to writing with a pencil. at my home, we never can seem to keep a pencil sharpener around, so we have mostly perfected the art of peeling the wood off the pencil with our thumb-nail. sadly, however, in my feverish state, i slightly misjudged the tenacity of the pencil, and its intense desire to keep its lead safely hidden away from the world. i am now the proud owner of a shattered thumb nail, and a carpet littered with shards of wood, most of which i will find first thing tomorrow morning when i get out of bed.
today, i was blessed with the unforgettable experience of getting a family portrait taken. under normal circumstances, i would have protested mightily, raised my voice a little, maybe even shed a tear or two, but today was not a normal day. dragging myself out of bed long enough only to feed animals which i later found out i was supposed to feed last night, i wearily gathered enough courage to face the hideous monstrosity of the portrait studio. zombie-like, i stared dully ahead, wallowing in sorrow and self-pity as we drew nearer to the accursed place of squeaky toys, white sheets and strange men with wide smiles who repeatedly say, "cheese".
finally, the moment had arrived. i stumbled out of our vehicle, groggily blinking against the sun. in front of me were siblings, pinching and shoving. behind me were siblings, pinching and shoving. bewildered, i looked around for some adults, but none were in sight. scowling, i croaked at them to be nice and stop fighting with each other. they took no notice. after a few more feeble attempts, i gave up and let them pinch each other to death.
we entered the building, and from the start, i knew it would be bad. i could feel a fever coming on, and now though the siblings were not pinching each other, they had all flocked onto me. i stopped them all with a glare from my glassy, feverish eyes, though. startled at my vehemence and now very apparent illness, a rapid retreat was in order. breathing a sigh of relief, i then steeled myself for the onslaught of poses and pictures.
we were somberly led into a small room, almost as if we were about to be executed. as we stood apprehensively against the wall, a small man of nervous character came in and began studying us thoughtfully. he paced around for a while, furtively glancing at us now and then as he fidgeted with the giant white sheet that hung on the opposite end of the room. jerkily, he beckoned a few of us to kneel, a few others to sit, and some others to simply plaster grins on their faces. some ignored this last command; others took it to the extreme, displaying every tooth in their mouth with great exuberance in a most strange manner. i, personally, opted for the middle ground, attempting a smile that appeared calm and serene, yet inwardly joyful. i think i failed.
finally, the ordeal was over, and i was able to go back home, and crawl back into bed. and for that, i will be eternally grateful.
remember, my faithful readers, Anberlin is a spiffy band that should be listened to at least three times a day.

~M.R.P.

Paraskavedekatriaphobia

the correct and rather long-winded term meaning the fear of friday the thirteenth. which, coincidentally, is today. thankfully, i am not a paraskavedekatriaphobic, so i spent my day over-baking brownies, and screaming in the back of a storage building, instead of doing whatever it is that praskavedekatriaphobics do (stay in bed all day?). if i wasn't sick before, i sure am now... my throat feels as if it's been scraped with sandpaper, and then had salt water sluiced over it... but, enough about me, the evening was fun, although it wasn't really supposed to be, and ich und meine comrades froze in the wind and drizzly rain, although that fact was made slightly better by the fact that we had full access to a good-sized playground. swings and slides can't be beat. neither can those big ol' tire thingys (thingies? i can never spell that word, maybe 'cause it's slang), that when i was a smaller being i could squeeze into and hide in. after the playground, i was verbally harassed by several older men with cap guns, and then thoroughly brainwashed for a full hour. after all that, i commenced with the shrieking and screaming, for another good hour and a half. it was joyous. i enjoyed it. however, i didn't get to eat any snickers... that was a bummer. or, now that i come to think of it, any of those reeses peanut butter cup eggs!! ooohh, someone's got some serious retribution to pay. and yes, i realize that retribution is NOT at all the correct word to use, but, since i can't remember the word i want, you don't get a correctly phrased sentence. hopefully, you get the main gist of my meaning though.
anyways, sailing right along. i bought my first album that has female vocalists yesterday. i just never listen to girl singers, and i kind of remember why, after i listened to the CD for a couple of times. however, i am not capable of wording the dislike i have for the singing of female rock artists, so i shan't phrase it for you.
pot roast is tasty.
and on that note, i shall close.
farewell, mi amigos. for all you paraskavedekatriaphobics, there is hope. you can find help at: http://www.changethatsrightnow.com/problem_detail.asp?SDID=557:1757
ttfn

~Mighty Rainbow Panda

painting small furry animals on the ceiling while using a jump rope to tie up a chimpanzee

random, i know. talk to my friend about that one. but, since it's there, i'll talk about it. i think i'll begin with the painting of small furry animals. on the ceiling, of course. firstly, painting small furry animals is just sad. they get paint on them, and it ain't ever gonna come off. my dog stepped in a bucket of blue paint one time, and he had blue paws for a full three months. so, if a mere paw that gets wet all the time retains paint for such a long time, think of what full body coatings of paint would do... oh goodness, the power i just realized i wield... muahaha.

anyways, i don't know what else to say on that. other than it's something i would probably never do. so on to other things.. i played basketball today with some siblings and cousins, that was fun. however, after a while of playing, i grew weary of the sport, and began to walk away. a sibling decided to repeatedly throw the basketball at me until i agreed to play. needless to say, i ran. far far away. apparently though, not quite far enough. the sibling found me and began hanging on me, begging me to go back, and play. spitefully, i resisted, and adamantly stated i would never play that vile sport again. i then flounced off and baked biscuits. they're quite tasty, really. the internet is a wonderful thing, recipes abound abundantly with handy little personalized comments and everything. using other people's wisdom is wonderful.

alrightey, then, i shall sign off now, and go watch old 70's sitcoms with my cousins now. i love those things...
beware of friday the thirteenth...

~Mighty Rainbow Panda

Onions

A topic which most shy away from. I really can imagine why. Generally unpleasant, and sometimes associated with green ogres, these innocent, pungent vegetables are really given a bum rap in the sugary society that we live in.
Onions are stored in various places. For example, in my humble abode, they are kept safely dried in a small closet in the back of the family garage. This was an experiment, this "drying" of the onions. We laid them out on sheets to shrivel up in the sun for a good thirty-six hours, and then tightly corded them up on a string, and stuck them in the garage where they would be safely out of sight (and smell). Unfortunately, the door to this aforesaid closet is rather a bugger to open and close. The carpenter neglected to leave any room between the floor and the bottom of the door, so it usually takes considerable effort to get into the onion stash. That being said, one day not so long ago, I was sent to fetch some onions, and I bravely walked towards my fate. Scissors in hand, I was fully prepared to deal with whatever the garage may have decided to throw at me. A dank, dark, musty place, the garage was and still is a place that usually invokes some of my deepest fears, but I courageously ignored all my foreboding premonitions, and boldly flung open the main door. Flicking the light on, I stepped forward, only to be stopped abruptly by a box that had begun shaking and quivering in a most un-boxlike fashion. Startled, I hesitated. A cat suddenly burst out of it, and I laughed my fears off. Too soon though. The worst was yet to come.
I threaded my way through the various vehicles: motorcycles, cars, bikes, scooters, doing my best to avoid bumping into them, lest I should get a nice coating of rust and dirt on my previously clean clothes. Succeeding, I heaved a sigh of relief as I finally reached my destination: the onion closet.
I first knew there was something wrong, when I reached for the doorknob. Usually, there isn't a problem when one does this action, but in my case, there was something dreadfully wrong. There was no doorknob. Or handle. Or anything, in fact, except for a large and rather uninviting hole. I have to say, it is not exactly a fun and worry-free experience sticking vulnerable fingers into a dark void. Since wasps have been natural denizens of the garage for the past century, I carefully took all the precautions necessary to determine that there were, in fact, no insects living in that hole. After spending sufficient time on that, I decided to proceed.
Firmly, I placed my fingers in the hole and tugged. The door didn't budge. Puzzled, I tried again. And again. Finally, I put a little more exertion into it. I yanked that puppy as hard as I could, and I was treated with a door in the face. Not a comfortable experience, my readers. Definitely not one I would recommend.
By this time, I was thoroughly annoyed. But, I thought, I am nearly done. I just need to get some onions, and I can leave this awful place. I reached in for the onions. And oh the horror. Apparently, we had not allowed them enough time in the sun. Staring at me gleefully, taunting me, were rows and rows of bunches of mold hanging on strings.
And the lesson here is, my dear readers, is to always dry your onions for at least forty-eight hours, cause apparently thirty-six just doesn't cut it.

~Mighty Rainbow Panda