I told my little brother what to say to ask a girl on a date.
In his defense, he knows perfectly well how to ask girls on dates. This particular girl needed to be asked in a particular way, and he came to me for help.
And let's face it. My conversations are awesome. Of course he would like a bit of awesomeness in his invitation.
I scripted every word and carefully formulated every response. He had veto power if he felt something was unnecessary, but, as is obvious, he never exercised that right. And now this lady is totally twitterpated. It's now his responsibility to not screw it up on the date.
First I help my sister respond to boys. Now my brother asks for help with girls. I can only come to two conclusions based on this evidence:
1. I need to make a business out of this. I might as well be earning money for my services.
2. I am a genius.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
New Thing Number Thirty-One
I finished my business card!
It was a requirement to include color in the design, which I was very hesitant to do. I thought it was professional enough in grayscale. But as far as colors go, I think I done good.
It was a requirement to include color in the design, which I was very hesitant to do. I thought it was professional enough in grayscale. But as far as colors go, I think I done good.
New Thing Number Thirty
I slaughtered Russian--intentionally--in front of Russians.
I may have marred my reputation forever.
So what happened, my little brother came home from Moscow. All while he's been out I have been so excited for him to come home, because we both know Russian really well and the rest of America pretty much doesn't. We'd have soooooo much fun speaking a "secret language" and making people think we were plotting their deaths when really we were talking about watching a movie later. The possibilities are endless. >:]
So my little brother came home from Moscow. And of course he needed a welcome poster at the airport. So of course I made him one.
I wanted to be clever and to make him laugh after a long day of travel (seriously--you leave at the crack of dawn, essentially stop time for 24 hours, and arrive home later that same night). So, with all my clever genius, I made him a poster that would be understandable only to someone who speaks both English and Russian (or at least is familiar with the Russian alphabet).
I wrote уйeлком хоум which literally spells out welcome home, but with Russian letters. Then I excitedly stood at the airport with my gobbledegook poster and waited for my little brother to come down the escalator.
What I wasn't anticipating was that there was a score of Russian babushki and dedushki also waiting at the airport, also expecting friends to arrive from Russia.
They saw my sign.
At that point I didn't even bother trying to tell them that I speak Russian, very well, in fact. I just watched them as they frowned at my sign. And cocked their heads. And frowned at my sign. And frowned some more.
Well, so much for helping to promote international benevolence.
I may have marred my reputation forever.
So what happened, my little brother came home from Moscow. All while he's been out I have been so excited for him to come home, because we both know Russian really well and the rest of America pretty much doesn't. We'd have soooooo much fun speaking a "secret language" and making people think we were plotting their deaths when really we were talking about watching a movie later. The possibilities are endless. >:]
So my little brother came home from Moscow. And of course he needed a welcome poster at the airport. So of course I made him one.
I wanted to be clever and to make him laugh after a long day of travel (seriously--you leave at the crack of dawn, essentially stop time for 24 hours, and arrive home later that same night). So, with all my clever genius, I made him a poster that would be understandable only to someone who speaks both English and Russian (or at least is familiar with the Russian alphabet).
I wrote уйeлком хоум which literally spells out welcome home, but with Russian letters. Then I excitedly stood at the airport with my gobbledegook poster and waited for my little brother to come down the escalator.
What I wasn't anticipating was that there was a score of Russian babushki and dedushki also waiting at the airport, also expecting friends to arrive from Russia.
They saw my sign.
At that point I didn't even bother trying to tell them that I speak Russian, very well, in fact. I just watched them as they frowned at my sign. And cocked their heads. And frowned at my sign. And frowned some more.
Well, so much for helping to promote international benevolence.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
New Thing Number Twenty-Nine
I'm using this post to give a shout-out to my amazing mom. I have expressed my love and gratitude many times before, but for this Mother's Day I want to let a few more people know how incredible my mom is.
To my mom:
Who spends over 60 hours per week babysitting students in her English class, grading their work, and adjusting lesson plans to suit their needs better.
Who puts up with crap from her students all day, then comes home and puts up with crap from her children.
Who refuses to cut out the writing assignments in her curriculum, because having these kids learn to write well is more important to her than four hours of free time each day.
Who writes to and calls her mother on a regular basis, even though she knows that all she will hear is insult in reply.
Who acknowledges the existence of mysterious entities that keep putting junk food in her shopping cart.
Who readily participates in "I love YOU!" battles--it's the aggression that makes it meaningful.
Who is unashamed of her love of "nerdy" things: Firefly, Dr Horrible, Star Trek, etc.
Who not only accompanied me to Comic Con, she bought the tickets.
Who is adamantly reliving her childhood the way it should have been by leaving crumbs in the tub of butter.
Who allows herself time enough for a nap before conquering the mountain of papers on the table.
Who writes a different Shakespearean insult on the whiteboard every day, so her students will insult each other the "right" way.
Who prides herself in her ever-expanding classroom collection of toy weaponry, including (but not limited to) a "blood"-stained battle axe, a mace, several swords, and even a viking helmet.
Who is openly obsessed with regency romance novels.
Who still has a cork board full of dorky crafts we gave her decades ago. She keeps the board on the wall in her bedroom.
Who communicates using subtle allusions that only the well-informed can understand and appreciate.
Who understands and appreciates my twisted sense of humor.
Whose idea of a great vacation is enjoying the peaceful quiet of home without any obligations to worry about.
Who understands that people make mistakes.
Who is itching to have her own Jayne's hat.
Who thinks steam punk is COOL.
Who is the first to admit her faults and, in the right situations, laugh at them.
Who treats a trip to Walmart like an opportunity for adventure.
Who takes the time to know what she believes, and who then never parts from it.
Who is a terrible morning person. In the best way, of course.
Who knows all the rules of English grammar and takes great pride in breaking them.
Who has tolerated--and even assisted in the preparation of--countless parties and get-togethers, which parties tended to be themed, required costume, and which transformed the house into a pirate tavern, Wonderland, or something of the like.
Who spent hours upon hours digging and raking and planting and watering in the back yard. After many years, her efforts have produced three beautiful willows that shade the yard, a vegetable garden with green onions that grow even if we don't want them to, and a long line of beautiful flowers and bushes that wrap around the yard and return in full bloom every year.
Who gives tins of cookies to the garbage man, recycle man, and mail man every Christmas without fail.
Who didn't raise us to be flawless. She raised us to be ourselves.
I will never be able to thank my mommy enough, but I can let her know how much I love her.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom.
To my mom:
Who spends over 60 hours per week babysitting students in her English class, grading their work, and adjusting lesson plans to suit their needs better.
Who puts up with crap from her students all day, then comes home and puts up with crap from her children.
Who refuses to cut out the writing assignments in her curriculum, because having these kids learn to write well is more important to her than four hours of free time each day.
Who writes to and calls her mother on a regular basis, even though she knows that all she will hear is insult in reply.
Who acknowledges the existence of mysterious entities that keep putting junk food in her shopping cart.
Who readily participates in "I love YOU!" battles--it's the aggression that makes it meaningful.
Who is unashamed of her love of "nerdy" things: Firefly, Dr Horrible, Star Trek, etc.
Who not only accompanied me to Comic Con, she bought the tickets.
Who is adamantly reliving her childhood the way it should have been by leaving crumbs in the tub of butter.
Who allows herself time enough for a nap before conquering the mountain of papers on the table.
Who writes a different Shakespearean insult on the whiteboard every day, so her students will insult each other the "right" way.
Who prides herself in her ever-expanding classroom collection of toy weaponry, including (but not limited to) a "blood"-stained battle axe, a mace, several swords, and even a viking helmet.
Who is openly obsessed with regency romance novels.
Who still has a cork board full of dorky crafts we gave her decades ago. She keeps the board on the wall in her bedroom.
Who communicates using subtle allusions that only the well-informed can understand and appreciate.
Who understands and appreciates my twisted sense of humor.
Whose idea of a great vacation is enjoying the peaceful quiet of home without any obligations to worry about.
Who understands that people make mistakes.
Who is itching to have her own Jayne's hat.
Who thinks steam punk is COOL.
Who is the first to admit her faults and, in the right situations, laugh at them.
Who treats a trip to Walmart like an opportunity for adventure.
Who takes the time to know what she believes, and who then never parts from it.
Who is a terrible morning person. In the best way, of course.
Who knows all the rules of English grammar and takes great pride in breaking them.
Who has tolerated--and even assisted in the preparation of--countless parties and get-togethers, which parties tended to be themed, required costume, and which transformed the house into a pirate tavern, Wonderland, or something of the like.
Who spent hours upon hours digging and raking and planting and watering in the back yard. After many years, her efforts have produced three beautiful willows that shade the yard, a vegetable garden with green onions that grow even if we don't want them to, and a long line of beautiful flowers and bushes that wrap around the yard and return in full bloom every year.
Who gives tins of cookies to the garbage man, recycle man, and mail man every Christmas without fail.
Who didn't raise us to be flawless. She raised us to be ourselves.
I will never be able to thank my mommy enough, but I can let her know how much I love her.
Happy Mother's Day, Mom.
Saturday, May 10, 2014
New Things Numbers Twenty-Seven and Twenty-Eight
I'm really starting to like this Adobe Illustrator thingey.
New Thing Number Twenty-Seven: I'm taking my first term classes. They're twice as long, they go twice as fast, and we are quizzed on content quickly enough that I retain twice as much information than usual. Spring term, where have you been all my life?
My first assignment in my design class is to create a logo, either for an existing business or organization, or we can choose to create a logo for our own purposes. Since I am already a professional writer and editor--though it's a bit hard to compete against retired professors and well-established editors for freelance work--I figured it's about time I got myself out there and wrangled myself a more permanent gig.
New Thing Number Twenty-Eight: I made my own logo.
So this is the first draft. I'm pretty proud of it, but I'm looking forward to taking it to class on Monday so my peers can help me improve it.
Update to come.
New Thing Number Twenty-Seven: I'm taking my first term classes. They're twice as long, they go twice as fast, and we are quizzed on content quickly enough that I retain twice as much information than usual. Spring term, where have you been all my life?
My first assignment in my design class is to create a logo, either for an existing business or organization, or we can choose to create a logo for our own purposes. Since I am already a professional writer and editor--though it's a bit hard to compete against retired professors and well-established editors for freelance work--I figured it's about time I got myself out there and wrangled myself a more permanent gig.
New Thing Number Twenty-Eight: I made my own logo.
So this is the first draft. I'm pretty proud of it, but I'm looking forward to taking it to class on Monday so my peers can help me improve it.
Update to come.
New Thing Number Twenty-Six
I made a book. From scratch. On Adobe Illustrator. Which I learned how to use two days previously.
Needless to say, it took awhile.
But it looks awesome. It came off the press as a softcover book that actually looks like it could be found in stores. It's a 30-page "illustrated" (that means there are pictures) book for my mommy for Mother's Day, and my little brother and I (my brother became my official picture looker-upper) were too excited to wait until Mother's Day, so we gave it to her yesterday. She flipped through the first few pages, thinking it was some cutesy thing we found at a store. Then she got to page eight, the first page that couldn't POSSIBLY have been printed for retail purposes (unless someone held a stalkerish fascination with my family). Cue the floodgates.
It was awesome. :)
Needless to say, it took awhile.
But it looks awesome. It came off the press as a softcover book that actually looks like it could be found in stores. It's a 30-page "illustrated" (that means there are pictures) book for my mommy for Mother's Day, and my little brother and I (my brother became my official picture looker-upper) were too excited to wait until Mother's Day, so we gave it to her yesterday. She flipped through the first few pages, thinking it was some cutesy thing we found at a store. Then she got to page eight, the first page that couldn't POSSIBLY have been printed for retail purposes (unless someone held a stalkerish fascination with my family). Cue the floodgates.
It was awesome. :)
New Thing Number Twenty-Five
I went to Comic Con!
I saw some awesome things and took some awesome pictures. However, because I do not have the permission of those whom I photographed, I am unable to post any of the pictures I took. I am terrified of sparking public outrage and, well, a lawsuit.
But the pictures are awesome.
I saw some awesome things and took some awesome pictures. However, because I do not have the permission of those whom I photographed, I am unable to post any of the pictures I took. I am terrified of sparking public outrage and, well, a lawsuit.
But the pictures are awesome.
New Thing Number Twenty-Three
I used a sewing machine for the first time in ten years.
I took a sewing class in school and butchered the projects so badly that I assured myself that I would never use a sewing machine again.
Then my step mum handed me a shirt and asked me to sew a few things to it because she didn't have time to do it herself.
Uhhh.....
I am very grateful that she didn't care how the shirt looked. Otherwise we would have had a problem. During the hour-long endeavor, I broke only one needle and sewed every line crooked (at least I was consistent), and I was pretty proud of myself. I remembered how to thread the machine, put in the bobbin, use the reverse button, and that the pedal means go.
Way to go, me.
I took a sewing class in school and butchered the projects so badly that I assured myself that I would never use a sewing machine again.
Then my step mum handed me a shirt and asked me to sew a few things to it because she didn't have time to do it herself.
Uhhh.....
I am very grateful that she didn't care how the shirt looked. Otherwise we would have had a problem. During the hour-long endeavor, I broke only one needle and sewed every line crooked (at least I was consistent), and I was pretty proud of myself. I remembered how to thread the machine, put in the bobbin, use the reverse button, and that the pedal means go.
Way to go, me.
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