Sundays.

I love them. No doubt, Sunday is the best day of the week.

Today, which is a Sunday, was no exception. Church was awesome, and the sermon was super encouraging. And encouragement, in my opinion, is the best export of a church service. Every now and then, we need those humbling, break-down messages that knock us out of the pew and onto our knees. But I'm not gonna lie, I love days like this when you leave church happy to be alive and feeling unbelievably blessed.

And I'm so so very blessed. Have I mentioned that? Because I am.

Anyway, the only setback about a Sunday is the following day. The day we have to resume our daily routine of school, work, and/or crap in general.

And that? Makes me feel like this.

*Yes, you have to click it, and make sure your volume is turned up.

Slalom: Part Two.

Sequel time. Where was I?

Oh yes, slopes...

So, my friend and I mastered the bunny slope, and determined that we were skilled enough to take on the next level: the blue circle. DUN DUN DUNN.

Actually, the map made the slopes bearing that shape out to be gently rolling snowbanks with wide open clearings. Great for beginners! The map...was a crap-dirty liar.

So, yeah. Let the DUN DUN DUNNing commence.

Nevertheless, we tumbled onto the ski-lift and began our ascent. Our LONG ascent. We were on that thing for the majority of the day. Seriously. That's how they make their money at these places, they give you a four-hour pass and lift takes three and a half hours to reach the top.

Better rush to the bottom to renew your pass! Actually, for me, the most reckless skiier on the planet, this wasn't much of a problem. Ultimately, we reached the top where it was probably a good fifteen degrees cooler.

But what my friend and I had failed to realize up until this point is that the reason it was a day's journey to reach the summit is because we were on the wrong slope. Indeed, the sign at the edge of the cliff...er...hill bore a navy square. This is yet another time in my life when the acronym "OMG" was truly appropriate.

I hated that sign. I wanted to burn it really, but it was too cold to light a match. So, I just glared at it and thought nasty thoughts.

Honestly though, we were at the top, and we had to get down somehow. So, we did what we had to and we learned. I learned that your skis should never go above your head. That, my friends, is a no no.

Yes, I know, "Lindsey Vohn does it!" Okay, I get it. Just shutup.

Olympians are just insane or drug induced or both, but somehow I respect them for that. Let them do their own thing. Those commercials and signs that say, "Don't try this at home" are there for a reason. They're actually not as accurate as they should be. They should really say, "You'll die." or  "Eminent doom." Either of those, I'm sure, would be more effective.

Anyways, we both survived with no injuries...no major injuries. And really, praise the Lord for that.

Sleep Deprivation and You.

It's one thing to be lacking free time or spending money.

Lacking Oxygen or vital nutrients?

Eh, you'll live.

But sleep....sleep, I have determined, is necessary to function, and the lack thereof will result in your eminent death and/or a general feeling of crappiness. In that order, quite possibly.

I know this because for the past 7 months I've been rising up at 6 and falling, rather abruptly, at 11. Granted, waking up might not be as difficult if I wasn't going straight from my bed to Calculus. Yes, Calculus. The most ridiculous mathematics course ever created, or imagined, or scribbled on a napkin while drunk at Crusty's Tavern off east Magnolia. The latter, I'm certain, was how it came to be.

Newton should be shot. If he was still alive, I would shoot him. Does anyone know the ramifications for shooting someone who's already dead? If so, please let me know.

Honestly though, for the past four years, I've worked my tail off to get to where I am now. To take this imaginary Calculus course in hopes of impressing some swank college.

And you know what? It's paying off.

That just goes to show that a little intelligence and alot of praying can take you places. Places that you never even considered going to...or ever thought you could.

Not a Sequel.

Nope. I haven't even begun writing about the rest of my ski trip. I'm not sure when I will, or even if I will. But if I do, it won't be today. My fingers are tired.

I'm trying something new though, and I have to say, it's turning out MUCH better than I ever expected it to. I might be completely overespeculating, and it might turn out to be a total load of suck, but on the other hand, it might be the best thing that's ever happened to me...or something like that.

Oh, and before you ask? No, what I'm trying is not in sold small plastic bags on street corners.

I might share it sometime, or I might not. I'm feeling indecisive today, but I'm okay with that. Of that I am sure.

Good things are yet to come.


P.S.  Friday marks 100 days 'til my Disney Graduation Trip! Whoot!

P.P.S. Yeah, I know. That countdown is a liar. I'll fix it eventually, or maybe I won't.

Slalom: Part One.

Skiing was the most fun I've had in a very long time. It was rough at first, but I have no doubt that I could be headed to the next winter Olympics...

...to watch from the crowd.

Honestly though, it was an amazing experience. One that I won't soon forget.

Flying down the mountain uncontrollably is, for the most part, how I skiied. I gradually gained control, but you see, I had to teach myself. This was my first time skiing, and per Tennessee state law, first-timers must go through training. So, my friend and I, falling repetitively, manage to make it over to the training area in an attempt to learn.

Unfortunately, the lesson had already started, but we just figured we'd learn along the way. No sweat, right? Wrong.

The first thing we found out is that the man who was teaching the course was also the man who created the sport back in the dark ages. He was ancient. Seriously, we were prepared for him to die, right there, on his skis. But hey, no worries. He obviously has experience.

Too bad he wouldn't share that experience with anyone other than himself.

His "teaching" was basically a ceaseless barrage of mutterings under his breath and random spastic movements which were apparently the techniques we were supposed to learn. I suppose if you were standing within 4 feet of him in a completely silent room and he had a bull horn, MAYBE you would be able to hear him. But I couldn't promise that you would learn anything at all other than how to convulse and have leg spasms.

Needless to say, we left Methuselah to his ramblings, and decided to learn on our own. It was a corporate decision, one with which I was ultimately pleased, but the road was definitely rough...and cold.

The bunny slope was our starting point. If we could make it down that without falling and/or hitting someone, we could make it down anything. The first time was difficult, and over the span of twenty feet, we had to have fallen at least ten times. Second time, still shaky, but only one or two falls. Third time's the charm, and we both successfully navigated the semi-slope. The Hallelujah Chorus resounded, and Etta James appeared to sing a rendition of "At Last" specifically for us. Well, that's how it played out in my head.

Anyways, on to the slopes...

Swarmed.

I'll be gone all day tomorrow skiing (Whoot!), so I decided to go ahead and post for tomorrow too. Enjoy.

Of the many hilarious people in my family, my youngest brother is, by far, the funniest. I recalled this story about him the other day, and after the uncontrollable laughter subsided, decided to write about it...

Over the summer, our basement was assaulted by an enormous swarm of bees. It was the most bees in one concentrated area I had ever seen in my entire life. And bees...aren't exactly my BFFs. Needless to say, our family quickly became accustomed to their presence, and we, more or less, perfected the art of bee slaying. It was really more of a sport than anything else. Each family member had their own particular style of attack.

Mom was the tactical, aggressive type. She would strategically place "bug bombs" throughout the room and detonate them as she ran out of the room. Breach and clear, mom. Breach and clear.

Dad, much like myself, doesn't care for bees, and preferred the sit-back-and-watch-mom-do-it approach which is actually more effective than you would think...

My brothers and I tended to be the mercenaries of the group. We would venture into the basement on solo missions, armed with only our wet towels and at least half of our sanity intact. If you can picture Bruce Lee with a wet towel instead of nunchucks, I'm sure that's pretty much what we looked like. Although most of the time, we hit ourselves rather than the bees.

Anyway, my youngest brother, returning from one of his missions, dashes up the stairs, slams the door behind him, and immediately reports his findings. Gasping for air, he yells something to this effect at my dad:

Brother: "OH MY GOSH, DADDY. There are bees EVERYWHERE downstairs."

Dad: "What? I thought we'd killed those things. So, how many are there? Ten? Twenty?"

Brother: *pauses in deep thought* "Ummmm...maybe five, a little bit."

You've gotta love that kid.

Volunteer.

For my final semester of high school, I decided to try something different. In place of my fourth period, I now work in a volunteer program called ACTS. No one knows what the acronym means, but it gets the point across.

The program consists of four "sites" where we volunteer on a weekly basis. It breaks down like this:


The first site, "the Villas", is basically a home for older people who aren't all there. I'm still not convinced it's entirely safe as several of the residents classified as "unstable" know the SUPER TOP-SECRET CODE that unlocks almost every door on the premises. Most of the doors are actually in place to keep them in...alot of good that's doing.

But if you can get past the disturbing lack of security, the residents' occasional outbursts of anger and the overwhelming smell of soap, the Villas is the place for you!


The second place is a local elementary school which is truly a refreshing change of pace from the other sites. Most of the staff has it together and they're very accomodating when it comes to our schedules. In fact, they have everything so under control, I could swear they have a hidden surveillance system. From their records, they can tell you each child's full name, blood type, grandmother's maiden name, what side of the bed they usually get up on, and the bathroom stall they frequent the most...it's scary.

"Could you tell me where..."

"Robert Gaton Call is? You're his mother, we know. He is currently in Ms. Jay's room, third row, forth seat from the front writing his name with a blue Crayola marker on the top of his worksheet. Their class is doing a lesson on the lifespan of amphibians, page 83 in Glencoe Science. Do you need him?"

"...actually, you would probably do a better job keeping him than I would."


The third site is a local middle school where the kids from the previous site usually end up when they're old enough. Here however, security is much like the Villas in how there isn't any. Kids come and go as they please, and the teacher's mainly serve as babysitters...very neglectful babysitters who are too busy texting to pay attention to anything.

The drastic increase in freedom from the elementary school to the middle school, I have determined, affects the children mentally. For instance, one of the kids I tutor has a puppet named Peanut Butter that she uses to speak with on occasion. It's supposedly a cat, although I can neither confirm nor deny that claim, and it has a cancerous pink tumor on its face.

She's in the advanced learning program. They're our future, people.


The final site is the Boys and Girls Club. Within the first thirty seconds of our first visit, I was immediately tackled by what appeared to be a legion of children. It's honestly not their fault, and bless their hearts, I know some of them don't get any attention at home...but good Lord. I feel like I need a shower and an inhaler after being there.

In case you've never had the joy of being covered by second graders, let me save you the trouble of experiencing it. It's exactly 234,579 degrees, it usually smells like an ashtray (granted, it's their parents fault), and you will get kicked at least twice on every exposed (and unexposed) part of your body.


In the end, that's what volunteering is. It's doing something that isn't neccessarily enjoyable and most likely painful with no promise of compensation other than the mere feeling of realizing that you're doing something good for someone else.

But honestly, seeing those toothless or dentured grins, those laughing little faces, and knowing that you're the cause? That's more than worth it.

C-List Drama. (Because it's not good enough for the A-List.)

Through the many months of Craigslist dealings, I've dealt with my fair share of jerks, snobs, and spammers. However recently, I came across one...peach...who made even the worst of cyber-jerks seem like Donny Osmond. From the first email he (or she) sent me, I saw an opportunity to eloquently put an idiot in their rightful place, so I took it.

Apparently, I posted an ad in the incorrect category, a mistake on my part. Although, to this particular individual, this mistake was a matter of life and death. Therefore, this person decided to very crudely harass me about my obvious lack of education and failure to follow cyber-rules.

It went down like this:

Disclaimer: The following conversation contains somewhat-rude exchanges and has been edited for content.


Jerk:  There is an entire category on CL called "WANTED". And then try and get an education. And why don't you try to write English? Or is that above your intelligence level?


(Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed...)


Me:  Why don't you get a life? Do you seriously have nothing better to do than email me on how to use the internet? Get off your butt (which is probably the size of a house from sitting on the computer harrassing people all day) and go do something resourceful.


(Abrasive? Yes, but they deserved it.)


Jerk:  Why don't you follow CL's rules? Get an education. And lastly why don't you kiss my not fat at all lilly white rear-end!


(It didn't used to say rear-end, I cleaned up most of these.)


Me:  CL has a non-existent "wanted" community, most likely due to trolls like you who scare people away. They haven't deleted my post, therefore it's staying there. Clearly, you have mental health issues on top of your obesity because mocking my education when you can't even correctly utilize punctuation is irony at its finest.


P.S. Kissing your butt is a physical impossibility as you never get off it. Thanks for playing, but no dice.


(Good, huh? I definitely LOLed on that one.)


Jerk: Your uninformed assumptions prove the level of your intelligence. And I would not ride a horse if someone paid me to do it. You are a moron and a fool. Why don't you do humanity a favor and stick a shot gun in your mouth.


(I'm not even kidding about that horse part...seriously, I have no idea.)


Me: I would tell you to do the same, but it would take an extremely high-caliber weapon to pierce the thick coat of fat covering your entire body. Accusing me of making uninformed assumptions it frivilous. You assumed that I cared what your opinion was (And I assure you, I don't) and felt the overwhelming desire to email me, but the fact of the matter is, you have nothing better to do than harass people all day on the internet.




Slim-Fast is on sale at Walmart, by the way. If you can still fit in the car, I'd advise picking some up.


(Thanks for that last line, by the way, Mom.)




The final reply is neither relevant nor appropriate (much like the rest of this individual's emails), but nevertheless, I had my fun. But you have to admit, this self-appointed Chief of Craigslist Police had it coming...


Actually, I kind of hope she/he/it decides to harass me about another one of my ads. Making idiots look even more idiotic really brightens my day.

Return.

I need to make a title edit: TRIUMPHANT RETURN.

There. It's slightly more commanding now...and easier for old people to read.

Well, despite my long absence from this crap I call a blog, I have indeed returned. Initially, writer's block was what deterred me from the computer. That's what happens when you run out of non-interesting things about your life to completely overexaggerate and make hilarious.

But honestly, that lasted for all of a week. After that, I came down with a massive case of lazy. That, coupled with my inability to pull myself away from the TV, are what constitute for that blogless, 3 month gap you see to your right.

Winter will do that to you. It makes you stay indoors and not travel more than a mile away from your house. Then, it awakens the sleeping addiction to electronics and Papa John's that every human secretly has.

But I've gone, I've gained new experiences, and I plan to share them...

...because that's how I roll.

*To enhance your experience in reading this blog, feel free to play this optional background music.