Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo

I wish I had a bubble that followed me around.

Since school started today, I am reminded now more than ever how heavy-laden I have once again become. You'd think, with three years of college behind me, that I'd've learned to pack lightly but no....

Because experience has proven that:

A) If I don't take my umbrella it will rain.

B) If I don't take my webcam, power brick and cell phone charger, I won't be able to call home about not being able to webchat on my dying laptop. (Which is amazing because I don't even take my laptop to class.)

And eventually,
C) If I don't take my deck of '52 Fun Things to Do in the Car', I will most definitely be stuck in an obnoxiously long car ride with absolutely nothing to do.

See the dilemma?
I'm a glutton for punishment.

Which brings me back to the point.
I wish I had a bubble that followed me around.

You know. An invisible storage compartment that drifted with me everywhere I go. Fairy Godmother-esque.



I'd be walking around campus, not a care in the world, free of all purses, backpacks and other such contraptions when, suddenly, someone would ask:

"Do you have a pen?"

I'll check my pockets and look around quickly. Then realize something.

"Oh!" I'll exclaim, "I forgot. I put it away."

Then BAM. I'll pull whatever I'm lacking right out of thin air.
It'll be genius.

Oh, and P.S.
As long as we're on the Cinderella train of thought, I found this comic a while back and thought it was hilarious.
And kind of ironic.
And kind of sad.

But mostly just hilarious.

And plus, the prince looks like Raj (aka. Rajesh Ramayan Koothrappali) from BBT. And he has googly eyes. You can never go wrong with googly eyes.

Well shoot.
Dang me, dang me. Ya' better take a rope n' hang me.

I keep forgetting about the pictures I've taken until, one day, I'm randomly sifting through my phone's memory and find this.

These were my second attempt at Champagne Cupcakes, except not quite so naked this time. I made them for my ex-co-worker's last day together on the job.

Good news is: our Scrabble tourney ended in a dead tie.
And therefore, we parted on amicable terms.
(I can say amicable if I dang well want to you stinky maintenance workers! hmph.)

Bad news is: I'm all alone now. Just a sad, miserable little desk attendant with no one to whup in Scrabble. :( Plus, now I have to do all of her work. Curses....

But allow me a last hurrah.

Farewell Em!
I miss you more and more every day!

And that's not just because I have a stack of paperwork from here to Timbuktu waiting for me.
Except kinda. But not really.

This womps.
To make matters worse, the Blue Screen of Death is back again.

Did I kick a puppy or something accidentally?
Must be karma.

Random Thoughts...

Where to begin, where to begin? Ah.
First off...

Thought #1: My family is perverted.
Well, more specifically, my mom n' pop.

Yesterday, I was loading stuff into the back of Dad's truck, bent over just minding my own business when suddenly... I was ASSAULTED.

By the time I'd realized what had happened, Dad was already half way up the drive.

After climbing back out of the pile of boxes I had just fallen through, I marched inside to loudly announce my displeasure.

"Did you SEE what Dad just did!!?", I charged.

"What?", Gem responded listlessly, not even looking up.

"He pinched my bum!", I declared, trying to emphasize the seriousness of the matter.

"So?", she yawned.

"My behind! My derriere! My fanny! My posterior! My tush! My very own, personal bum!", I cried dramatically.

"So that's why he just walked in chuckling to himself.", she surmised.

And then, as if that weren't enough, later that night, when I tried to get some sympathy from mom, do you know what she said?

Do you, KNOW what she said!?!

"Bum-pinchers have been in existence for hundreds-of-thousands-of-years."

And, ya know what? I should have seen it comin'.
There hasn't been a bum-pinching opportunity, in my lifetime, that Mom hasn't taken advantage of.

You have no idea how alarmingly terrifying going up the stairs in front of her can be.

I eventually had to learn to either
A) block her jabs
B) insist that she go first
-or-
C) run like the wind, Bullseye.

Let me repeat. Perversion. Everywhere.

Thought #2: My dad is a fibber.

Do you know those quintessential moments as a child, where you look up into your parent's face, unabashedly waiting for them to explain life's wonders to you?

Because, of course, parents know everything, right?

I have recently come to the conclusion that such a concept is a big heaping pile of BS. I mean a really big, stinky load.

And it all comes back to Dad. The world's greatest fabricator.
You can never tell whether or not you're being lied to. He's that good, the turd.

Seriously. I have no absolutely no idea what's true anymore.

Many a time, I have shared some of my Dad's vast knowledge, with those around me, only to be shot down instantly.

"Did you know that emu's legs bend backwards while ostrich's legs bend forwards?", I'll share with bright eyes.

"No they don't.", the person will say.

"Uh-huh!" I'll insist, "My dad told me so!"

"No.", they'll confirm succinctly, all the while shaking their head in pity and backing away slowly.

Then I make a sad face.
Because this happens often. Too often if you ask me.

So, a word of advice from one who knows.
Though my Dad may put on a good front of supernatural mind-power and all-omnipotence,

He's a FAKE. A FAKER I SAY!
But a really smart and talented faker at that.

Thought #3: Everyone thinks their feet are normal.

Scratch that.
After recently voicing my opinion on the matter, I was shot down immediately.

Apparently, I was wrong.
Everyone thinks their feet are abnormal in some way.

I guess I'm the odd-ball out then. Up to this point, I always thought my feet were perfectly proportioned. Now I am forced to re-evaluate.

*looks at feet*

But, hey. I just thought of something funny.
When I was camping (you know, the infamous scooter victory trip) my sister came up with her family for the day.

We were by a stream which meant that everyone was naturally inclined to play in it at one point or another. So it was no surprise that, as soon as they were released from the confines of the van, my sister's kids shot into the water followed closely by their mom.

Several minutes later, she emerged soaking with a dripping schnauzer in tow.

Noticing her muddy and waterlogged sneakers, my dad comically commented on how, exactly, they had come to that point.

"It was no easy feat!" she voiced loudly.

And, you know me, I couldn't help it.

"Pfft... Feet." I giggled immaturely.

(Feat. ----> Feet.)
Geez. Get with the picture.

How many idiot's we got in here?

All I know is that, when people's middle toe is longer than the rest, I feel like I'm being flipped of. Foot style.

K. I've decided to change thought #3.

Revised Thought #3: My feet are normal.

Too bad, so sad for the rest of  you.

Thought #4: I forgot to post pictures of our Craft Day!

We made paper plate masks, bead & noodle necklaces and crepe paper art.

I did a flower. It was purdy.

What?!? I can't be included in the fun?

Thought #5: Wait... what was my thought? Oh, right.

Thought #5: I am forgetful.

Because I also forget to post pictures of my Box Fort Activity!

Are you oh-so impressed?
I know, I know. I should have gone into architecture.

Except for the fact that after only twenty minutes of playing, their fortress collapsed on them. But minor detail, right?

I'm blaming it on faulty duct tape.

No Time for Losers.

As soon as I'd crossed the finish line in a victorious blaze of glory, Queen's 'We are the Champions' began playing on an instant loop in my brain.

I knew that I had redeemed myself from all those failed attempts at successfully maneuvering any type of motorized vehicle in the world's vast assortment of video games.

Here, while camping with my family up Hobble Creek Canyon I had finally triumphed.

Here, surrounded by dense undergrowth and a babbling stream I had fulfilled the means of my creation.

Here, three times around a blacktop loop at the dead end of a deserted campground I had gained personal fulfillment, laud and honor.

And it was all thanks to the scooter race to rue all scooter races.

Let me take you back...

'Da Twinneh', Gem and I sat around our fire pit while the exorbitant sun shone down through gaps in the trees and smoldering logs spewed noxious gases directly into our eyes.

"I hate broccoli monkeys, I hate broccoli monkeys, I hate broccoli monkeys." Gem repeated as it continued to spiral her head.

We did our best to ignore her.

"Wanna race me on the scooters?" 'Da Twinneh' suddenly brightened, sitting upright.

"Yah!", I enthusiastically responded in such a way as to surprise everyone, including myself.

Instantly, the possibility of bodily harm triggered Mom's paranoia sensors. As if it were from a invisible portal amidst the trees, she appeared instantly.

"Oh no ya' don't!" she declared, "I've bandaged way to many wound from such tom-foolery!"

"Cool it, ma." we re-assured her, "We'll be safe. Promise."

We jumped up excitedly, dragging the rusty play toys of our childhood behind us.

"Woah!..." Gem enthused while turning in wobbly circles, "It's even harder than I remember left footed!"

Mom, followed closely by Dad, decided to observe the action close-up, ever on hand in the event of some strange freak accident. She stood at the start line, passively wagging one hand in the air.

"No!" I challenged detestedly, "You have to stand like Cha Cha Digregorio at the beginning of the big race at the end of the movie Grease."

She leaned one hip and a good part of the same leg ever so slightly to the side.

"Give it a little attitude!?", I begged.

"Wait, wait!" Gem interrupted, "What's the finish line?"

"Uhh..." I scrambled, looking frantically for an object that could serve such a purpose, "How about the first one to touch Dad, wins!"

"What, you wanna kill him???", 'Da Twinneh' questioned incredulously.

"Right, right." I conceded, "Probably not my best idea."

"And what about rules?", she added.

"No cheap shots!", Gem demanded, clearly having no experience in the subject.

Eventually, we came to consensus that, above all, we would strive to maintain civilized decorum and maintain the rules of good sportsmanship.

"Oh, and you may want to hold your breath around the backside of that outhouse." I suggested, "It smells like death back there."

All agreed gratefully.

In the meantime, our aged parents dozed where they stood.

"Marks. Get sets. GO!" Mom yelled, dramatically flailing her arms behind her.

Which brings us back to the present.

"Ha, ha!" I laughed exultantly, "I could just feel the wind in my hair as I crossed that finish line."

"Little did you know, I was that wind." Gem boasted from her spot of shame among the leaves, "I was so fast, you didn't even see me win."

Truth was, she had given up mid-lap 2.

"I can't believe you won." 'Da Twinneh' whined incredulously, "It doesn't make any sense."

"Yah!" Gem piped in, "How is that even possible??"

"Hey!" I verbally assaulted them, "Stranger things have happened!"

The thrill of victory had been lost on Mom.
"You guys wanna go for a walk?" she asked.

We looked from side to side at each other.

"We'll go for a 'scoot' with you." we grinned cheesily.

As we progressed down the trail, each of us took turns circling Mom, racing to the front or demonstrating our best jumps.

Suddenly, a war cry filled the air.

"Duh-dun. Duh-dun-duh-dun. DUN. DUN.", 'Da Twinneh' recited in her most ominous 'Jaws' theme music tone all the while darting towards me.

In a moment of sheer panic, I held out my arm and cringed as a last effort to stop, or at least deter, her impending attack.

The next thing I knew, she was lying face first on the pavement, legs twisted around the scooter in a gruesome display. Motionless.

"Ah!!!" Mom shrieked, her worst fears confirmed as she shot to her side, "Are you okay!!??"

Unfortunately, this concern was lost amid the uncontrollable laughter seeping from our very beings.

"Wait, wait! Don't move!" I gasped while pulling out my flip-phone, "I've just got to document this moment!"

(Notice Gem's pointing, jeering finger.)

Suddenly, the lump of flesh began to revive. This, noticeable, due to mumbling half-sentences interrupted by hyperventilation and random wailing.

"AOoww..." she moaned, rolling over, "Why'd you have to go and do THAT?"

"I'm sorry!" I prickled offensively, "Clothes-lining you was my only defense mechanism!"

"But you didn't have to completely flatten me." she protested while dusting the dirt from her knees.

"I fully expected you to successfully dodge me! If you were quicker on the scoot, then we wouldn't have this problem." I sneered.

Much playful bickering ensued. Followed by false injury charges and a quick inspection to garnish a 'no damage done' report.

(The liar tried to convince us that this was from our little 'scooter' incident.

We later came to know that it was a carpet burn that had been incurred a week earlier during an arm wrestling match. Pansy.)

After slowly limping back to camp, we once again willingly settled around the fire to inhale ridiculous amounts of smoke and lazily stare into the black embers.

I was roused from my reverie only for a brief moment as I watched Mom slowly stroll on non-chalantly, her hoodie hanging like a shawl about her shoulders.

*Update*: 'Da Twinneh' totally deserved what she got.

My designated, self-labeled plastic cup (waste not, want not)
started of like this...

And ended up like this...

Hmm... Who coulda' done it?...

But no worries.

To add insult to injury, I later schooled the offending party in a Nerts Battle til' the Death.

That's right. Final score: Corinner-Elly, 255. 'Da Twinneh', 168.

Oooooh... What Now?

Yayh.

And Yet, Some More...

The Ever Evolving List of Corinner-Elly's Pet Peeves, Part III.

It just gets longer and longer, dudn' it?
Oh well.

#21- 'Poor Picked Ons'.

Believe me. We've all been there.
But consistently? Every second of the day, every minute of the week and every hour of the year? No. Not so much.

Nothing is as pitiful as someone who consistently reminds those around them that they're not thin enough, not pretty enough, not smart enough and never appreciated enough.

Instead of letting us know all day, everyday how nobody likes you, everybody hates you and you're just gonna eat worms, why not just head out back and start.

In fact, I'll eat worms if you'll just cease and desist.

#22- 'Poor Picked On' Facebook Rants

Let's just clear something up here and now.

It may be 'your' Facebook page to do whatever 'you' would like with it, but WE are the ones who read it and have the FULL right and responsibility to mock your drama-filled status updates.

So get over it.

#23- Wads of Hair.

I'm gonna have to make direct mention of my next oldest sister, Katerina Cupcake.

Without fail, to be next in the line up after that girl's shower time guaranteed that you'd be forced to stare at clumps of dark curly hair stuck all over the shower walls.

Believe me, it was not pleasant.

However, I've come to realize that this is a widespread phenomenon. Everywhere I look, there seem to be a various assortment of hairballs all determined to undermine my efforts at cleanliness.

But, ya know.
Sometimes I miss my older sister's wads of hair.

No, wait. Who am I kiddin'.
I just miss her.

#24- Gobs of Toothpaste.

Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. EW.
Come on now. Just wash it down the drain.

Or better yet, practice your aim.
From tube to toothbrush or toothbrush to mouth, doesn't matter.

Just get er' done.

#25- Canker Sores.

Curse you too much pineapple and Crest toothpaste.

#26- Disappointers

I've decided that disappointment is the worst feeling in the whole wide world. Don't you agree?

You just can't feel any more terrible than when you've been let down by something or someone you love.

*tear*

#27- Paranoid Drivers.

So... I'm thinkin' that your over analysis of every slight movement, flicker or noise is more of a hazard to other drivers then getting behind the wheel blindfolded.

Not to mention that it makes me carsick.

#28- Speed Bumps.

Ah, those little mounds of Hell.

I'd rather pull off all of my fingernails, one by one, with a pair of rusty pliers than go through a line-up of them.

#29- Swearing.

Is it really necessary?
(Please note that the above mention of 'Hell' was in reference to the place not the profane.)

Isn't it just as easy to say 'aw, pickles' and get on with it?

However, I do reserve the right to sing 'Gives you Hell' by The All-American Rejects. My friends hate it because he sounds too 'happy' to be swearing but I think that's what makes it just so perfectly naughty.

If it makes you feel any better, I'll replace some of the 'damn's with 'dang'. But also be prepared for when it comes on the radio because, I may just crank it up and sing/vent along.

It is my one guilty pleasure.

#30- Indian Givers in Reverse.

You know what an Indian Giver is, right?
(No offense to the Native Americans.)

Well, what I'm talkin' 'bout is kinda similar... but not.

What I'm talkin' 'bout is someone who throws the wrapper, from the piece of gum you just self-lessly shared with them, back at your un-suspecting head. It then falls down your shirt, destined to be hopelessly lost and irritating, to places where you'd never be able to retrieve in civilzed society.

So...
The moral of my story:

While going over speedbumps, don't complain about how horrible your life is with canker sores in a room full of hairballs while swearing about the toothpaste blobs an Indian Giver in reverse left to disappoint a paranoid driver. On Facebook.

'Yup. That about sums it up.

Do Da Dippity.

I think I feel a song comin' on...

Here dey' come yo, here dey' come.

This or that? This or that? This or that?

Yah, Cum' ON!

The choice is yours...

You can get with this,

or you can get with that.

You can get with this,

or you can get with that.

You can get with this,

or you can get with that.

I think you'll get with this,

for this is where it's at.

Well.
Glad that's out of my system...

This song plays in my head when I wake up every morning.



That and Katy Perry's 'California Gurls'.
But let's not even go there... it is far too grammatically painful.

I spent the weekend in the Uintas at Moosehorn Lake with my family. Well... except for the lame ones who never showed up. (You know who you are.)

Allow me to document the most memorable moments.

Look how gorgeous the place is?

Mom always says that it must be one of the most beautiful places on earth.

I'd have to agree.

Yes. I wore pink sneakers.

and a black-satin-bow headband.
and I put on makeup.

Everyday.

So shoot me.

My niece Lil' is adorable.

Every time I see her come running towards me, arms outstretched with the most ecstatic look on her little round face I say,

"Can I just keep you forever?"

and she always says 'yes'.

Campfires.

Where else can we all be stinky together and not give a darn?

Wanna see the grossest thing on Earth?
I think you just did.

I call it the giant-spider-leg, cricket-abdomen, hairy glob of scary grossness.

That's G.S.L.C.A.H.G.S.G in acronym.

I painted a rock. It's for my Canadian.

But shush! Don't tell her.

It's a surprise.

And please notice my newly painted cutsie-tootsy-wootsie-pootsie fingernail polish. (Yes. I did just say that.)

I cooked a dozen perfectly golden breadsticks on a... stick?

Don't use those pictured as an example. For some reason, everyone else massacres them...

Then Livie-Lou begged me to go on a walk down by the lake.

Which reminded me of a life's lesson one must forever remember:

If you always take time to stop and smell the flowers, sooner or later...

you'll inhale a bee.

Must'a Done Somethin' Good

I love green arrows.
They're a sign that God loves me.

You know what I mean. When you're trying to get to somewhere that requires you to drive through a gazillion-billion-trillion stoplights? And then, to your horror, you realize that you'll have to make a left at the next intersection and the light just plinked to yellow!!!

*Commence screaming.*

But no, wait! A shaft of light has broken through the swirling darkened clouds, to illuminate the most beautiful thing on God's green Earth.

An arrow. (Which also happens to be green.)

Breathe a sigh of relief because it is quite evident that some all-omnipotent power is watching over you.

Know what else is proof?
The DI.

Where else can you sort through piles of seemingly useless stuff in hopes of finding a real beaut'?

I love thrift shopping. Love, love, love. Gem will try to persuade you never to accompany me to the Dollar Store or DI. Don't listen to her. She's so full of it her eyes are turning brown.

And just as proof, here are just a few samples of my treasures.

I've decided that this is my color. (In case you were wondering after viewing my blog background theme...) I must have at least three articles of clothing in a variation of the exact same hue.

The only problem is that this jacket in particular must've been made in a box factory. Cuz' the thing was square as can be.

Well, not any longa'! Heh, heh.

I added two wide pleats on either side of the main structural back seam and now it's a fitted jacket in the prettiest color ever invented. Woo baby!

I also picked up this white blouse with gold and platinum pinstripes. I knew it had real potential from the moment I laid eyes on it.

Since the beginning of my TLC watching days, Stacie and Clinton from 'What Not to Wear' have advised me to accentuate the waist with wrap dresses & tops and to elongate the torso with vertical stripes.

Done and done.

The only problem was that it had nasty long cuffed sleeves which were anything but flattering.

But that didn't scare me one bit.
I used the fabric that was removed to make a wide button-less cuff for a short sleeve variation that turned out rather well if I do say so myself.

In fact, I am wearing it now.
At this very moment.

And by Jove, it looks good!

But let's not forget the last, and probably most important, way that I know God loves me.

After the laptop doctor did all that he could possibly do, aside from mountain-moving miracles, my laptop was still malfunctioning.

That was, until it decided to fix itself.
Crazy, I know.

After hard-shutting it off for the ump-teenth time, it decided to correct various system errors. Yes, tis' true. It will survive.

I'm just glad that I was finally given the Blue Screen of Life for once. "What's that?", you say?

Only just about the most thrillingly joyful appearance.

The Blue Screen of Death is much more ominous. Observe.

Dun, dun, DUHN!

See? Didn't that sound terrifying?
Ya know. Life would be so much better with sound effects.

'Da Twinneh' and I have discussed it many a time.
We're not talkin' personal theme music, although that, at times, is extremely entertaining.

We're talkin' eye plinks, shoe squishes and thought bubble pops. Spongebob style.

With screeching halts (literally), percussively intense death glares and un-realistically loud gestures.

The whole SHEbang.

*sigh*

Maybe someday...
If I'm really good.