Name:Rerchel Location: Manhattan, Kansas, United States Birthday:12/24/1986 Gender:Female
Interests:What if people's faces tasted like ice cream. That doesn't give you license to lick a stranger's face though.I'm interested in thinking.Sometimes I ponder the meaning of life. Be my friend, because I wanna be rich in friends, not that I'll deal you out like currency or anything.I'm artsy and there is no limit on my imagination. My imagination is like an endless pitcher of lemonade. Let's face it, I'm gonna make you laugh, whether it's a chuckle or guffaw, you can't resist the laughter.I could love you. Anything is possible?Except for time travel.... Expertise:Cheese and Teen Girl Squad. Qualified expert. Occupation:Artist Industry:Media
I had a thought today. I haven't seen a lot of people from high school in many many years--and it struck me as weird because memories of them are still fresh, the laughing, the sheer awesomeness I felt toward them. So I stalked a bunch of them on Facebook and yet am too shy to write something to them. what's the point of being friends on Facebook if I don't say anything to them?
You know up until a couple years ago, people who went to high school together had no idea what was going on with their classmates until a reunion, before Facebook or even the internet, you had find your classmates through a registry or never see them again (you know, if you wanted to see them at all). I should be taking advantage of the fact I can immediately say 'yo' to people I went to high school with.
I don't feel like listing those things so enjoy my crazy epic dream I had the last night in short story form:
"Your grandparents are moving here," My mom said. "But, they've always lived in Wisconsin. Don't you think their old people bodies couldn't handle the skitzophrenic weather here?" I asked. It was a very hard concept for me to gras--the parents of my mother moving here. "If they can handle 70 frigid Wisconsin winters, then they can withstand the tornado warnings, next day blizzards and a week of ice storms only to have the fifth day of January nice and 70 degrees." I blinked at my mom. I think she was making a joke. I didn't know if it was funny. So withing the next week my old grandparents were moved into a duplex in Manhattan. It was over by the hill, on some made up street next to Bertrand and Ratone St. I biked over since I happened to live on Bertrand. My grandma was watering flowers and my grandpa had just steeped out and saw me. He waved at me. The door to the other side of the duplex opened and HOLY WOAH, my web design professor from last semester, Mike McMann, steped out and waved too. "You guys are neighbors?" The irony or coincidence in that fact was that Mike McMann went the University of Wisconsin, the state my grandparents had moved from. I asked him about web stuff, told him about the Russian spammers and we all played Euchere, because only people from the northern states know how. The next morning, I was on my way to high school. It must have been lent because some woman with ashes on her forehead gave me the finger as I blocked her off, trying to paralell park on Juliet St. My mother was out for a walk. "I'll see you at high school!" she waved and crossed the intersection. She must have taught there. I crossed the intersection too. I was waiting for a walk signal with a young black man. We were crossing but then when I got to the other side he grabbed my arm and said, "We got to move, hurry woman!" I started screaming real loud. "Why you screaming?" "Because you are gonna steal something or molest me!" Out of the corner of my eyes I saw two shady white dudes break out of a house. One had a little box. "No I ain't!" "I need to call a friend," I said and dialed 9-1-1. He waited impatiently while I heard the operator pick up. "I am being held hostage by a black man and there had been a robbery on Bertrand St." Then the guy took my phone as the two shady white guys aproached. I recognized one as 'Timone' or Timothy, a guy I had gym class with in middle school or high school. "Timone? I went to middle school with you. What are you doing, breaking out of that house, and what's with the package?" "I tried to get her away so she didn't see you break out," the black guy said. "Oh Yeah. Rachel. I remember you. Well since you had gym class with me I'll tell you what I did." He was surprisingly open with me. He told me he wanted the 1960 Ford pick up in their yard, and offered to buy it and fix it up, but the couple who owned it refused, saying it would be worth more if they sold it for parts. Timone then broke into the house to get the key but the man caught him. He beat the man over the head and then stabbed the wife to death. I was appalled at his behavior. Cop sirens sounded in the distance so they grabbed me and booked it. We walked along a wall and ended up at a giant bonzai tree near the high school. I was late for class anyway. Timone thought I was too much baggage so they left me in the tree while they fled Manhattan. "We're leaving you here, but don't tell anyone anything because we'll be watching you!" "Okay..." I said, not believing him. I had to climb my way down the damn bonzai tree, and made it to high school in time for gym class. I suited out and started blowing up giant ass balloons as a 'lung workout'. My gym teacher aid, Pauly Shore had killed a guy once and gotten away with it. I was gonna ask him something about that but I saw a human skull roll by under the balloons. Pauly shore was wearing neon pink shoes. "Didn't you kill somebody?" I asked. "There's a tornaddddoooooo coming girl." he evaded the question. I thought he was lying but then the tornado sirens/fire alarms went off and all the girls had to run to the lockerroom to take cover. As I found out, John Cleese and Mike McMann were my gym teachers, and they were joking and laughing while taking cover. The locker room had these ridiculous bay windows and all the stupid girls were taking cover in front of them, and talking to each other. Screw that. I took cover in a nook under the stairs. A girl next to me had the better cover place. The storm outside was really bad, we could see a mile wide tornado followed by a smaller one coming straight at us. It hit and we heard the freight train noise and were all screaming. The lights went out and it felt windy. Then it was over, but that damn small tornado had to hit right after, and it shattered the windows so all the rain and debris blew into the locker room. I was really shaken u about the whole thing. I crawled out of my cover place and saw all the stupid girls were gone. I hoped they all got sucked out, but another girl informed that after the first tornado, they moved behind the stairs. Eh, so much for that thought. I found my mother, as she was taking cover in the same locker room since she was at the high school anyway. I crawled into her lap and hugged her and cried about how I hated tornadoes. I wonder how grandma and grandpa handled the weather?
It's about that time again. My summerly pilgrimage to Wisconsin. How can one not love Wisconsin? I mean, it has cheese for one thing. I love cheese. Also, it has good landscape and temperate summers. So does England, I hear. I've never been to England though so I'll just go to Wisconsin. They at least have lakes, but not as many as Minnesota.
I woke up at 5:15 this morning. That is not normal by any means Waking up at 7 a.m. is not normal by any means Neither is 9:30 a.m. For me anyway.
11:00 is the norm, and the only reason I sleep so late is because I'm having wild and fantastical dreams that entertain me enough not to wake up and end them.
I went through a bunch of notebooks in my parents' basement. They were notebooks I drew pictures in from 6th to 11th grade. Sometimes My sister would yank them and add in her own drawings when I was long done with them. A majority of the pictures were various boy/girl faces making out/getting ready to make out. The second prevalent theme was fairies and renaissance people. Then I had an odd habit of drawing people and then getting bored, leaving them without some of their limbs. Sometimes, my sister would follow through and add the limbs and it looked bizarre because we had different drawing styles. I drew a lot of playboy bunnies too (That is, girls wearing sexy leotards and bunny ears with bow ties.)
EH. Something happened. I got an email from xanga in the junk mail area of my email, the hotmail one, the one I made up in 7th grade when I used words like 'cuz', 'anywaz', and 'luv.' As in "It doesn't matter anywayz cuz I luv him!"
Which reminds me that I have a word document buried on my computer entitled 'Love Stories,' that chronicles my 'love life' or rather 'boy obsessed infatuations' from seventh grade on. I re-read some of these 'love stories' (which, by the way all are titled, have 'morals' at the end, plus a follow-up epilogue) and the grammar is ridiculous, the way I write is absolutely cheese.
