When I was younger, fairy tales were a huge source of confusion for me. Because as far as I knew, fairies did not have tails. Dogs had tails, but fairies did not. Horses even had tails, but fairies did not. Anyways, this random tangent is only a lead in to an even more random story.
It's the story of a princess named Gretchen.
As all good stories do, this one starts out once upon a time in a far away land. There was a queen and king of the land, and of course they had a beautiful daughter, just as there always is, but in this story, we have a twist. You see, Gretchen wasn't a normal princess. Gretchen had big dreams and big demands. She was determined that no prince would ever save her from a hundred foot tall tower, and she would never depend on one to wake her up from endless sleep. And she dabbled a bit in the art of magic.
One day, Gretchen was sitting in her chambers, determined to master the spell of a self cleaning room (kind of like those self cleaning ovens, but not really) when suddenly she heard a shout outside her window. She ignored it because it must have been her annoying brother, Marshall. He was always being, well, annoying. So on she went practicing her spell. At least until she heard the shout again, this time more clearly.
"Gretchen! Come to the window!"
She figured her room cleaning spell was not getting any better and she might as well go check out the situation. She walked to the window and saw only a horse. She looked around, rolled her eyes and muttered, "dumb brothers!" and began to turn around.
Gretchen twirled around as fast as she could and still saw only the horse. But this time the horse was... smiling. Could horses do that?
She stared down the horse, daring it to make a sound, and when nothing happened, she laughed. How silly of me, Gretchen thought. To think a horse could talk! But she still did not remove her eyes from the horse.
Suddenly, out of thin air, a man appeared on the horse. Gretchen squealed. That was impossible! Appearing out of thin air! Almost like... magic.
The magic man then smiled his debonair smile and smoothed his manly hair in a very annoying manner and suddenly Gretchen felt the very strong urge to walk away. Yet something held her in place.
"Gretchen Willow, I need you to come with me." Oh dear. This could not be good.
That's all of Gretchen's story I can tell today. I'm terribly sorry to leave you hanging like that, but not enough to tell you anymore. So check in soon if you want to hear more...
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Every time I try to write something on here, it sounds like a pimply seventh grader decided to barf up some writing. That sounds disgusting, I know, but it's the truth. That's because I'm pretty much forcing myself to write about things I really don't want to.
I mean I could write about stupid AP tests (well, test) and how I discovered I have a horrible habit of clenching my teeth together when I write essays that I'm pretty sure will ruin my mouth if I ever take another AP class that has anything to do with writing essays. And then I would talk about how I'm sick of writing essays and if I ever have to write about how the stupid post service is dying out then I will shoot someone. (Oh no! I talked about an AP question! Will my score be terminated now? What ever will I do?) But why would you want to hear me talk about that?
Or, I could talk about how I designed a shirt for Franklin Elementary School's Fun Run and it is a gorgeous specimen of a design if I do say so myself. Then I would probably show you a picture of that design and you would leave a comment telling me how much you wish you had that shirt and how cool I am. But, honestly, why would you care about that, either?
And then I might tell you all about MORP and how we went up the canyon and we played games and had a BBQ and we drew with chalk and watched Back to the Future and I had a great time with this kid:
And I could tell you how we sent each other on really random (and kind of mean) scavenger hunts to ask/answer each other for said MORP (and I could show you a really embarrassing picture of three certain friends of mine... Perhaps it had something to do with the letters Y, E, and S painted on chests? But just maybe. I think I would spare you that one, though...)
And then I could tell you about how Mr. Calvin here set my hair on fire or how I spilled a cup of water on myself trying to balance it on his finger... But they take too long to explain and you don't want to spend the next year of you life hearing about that stuff.
An finally, I was thinking about telling you that every time I push the shift key with my left pinky, there's this agonizing shot of pain that rushes up my arm because I skinned the side of my hand yesterday. Then you would feel bad for me and I would tell you that I'm done with this post.
So as you can see, I have nothing to write about. Nothing at all.