(Metaphorical) Rainy Days

(Marissa)

I broke my wrists this week. Both of them. They're in splints right now, white and scratchy and I have to dictate all of this to my mom. That's why I haven't written.

I got amnesia.

I went to Disney World and Mickey Mouse stole my computer.

He looked so innocent!

I've been in a coma.

Aliens abducted me, ran tests on my blood, thought process and eye color and then dropped me down in Idaho.

President Obama called and asked me to dedicate all my time to a top secret assignment which I'd tell you about... but then I'd have to kill you. And my licence to kill hasn't come in yet.

I want to tell you why I didn't write to you this week, but I didn't feel like it just didn't seem good enough.

The truth is that I've gotten on several times to write. I started two posts. But I am deep, deep in writers block. You know, I've always thought of writers block as a blockade that writers run into, but this week it's felt more like a box. You're inclosed: top, side and bottom. You can't just run around. You're trapped.

Blah.

It's been a really bad week to have writers block. I've got four essays to write today. That I should be writing right now instead of blogging.

Blegh.

So that's why I haven't written to you. It's not because I don't love you. Promise.

I am now eighteen. I have been a senior citizen (get it?... don't look at me like that, bad puns run in my family) for two days and two and a half hours. I don't feel very different. It was a nice birthday, though, one of those days where you wake up feeling good and that feeling somehow survives school. I unwrapped a Grace Kelly dress at breakfast, and that might have helped keep my spirits high.

(For those of you who are so unfortunate as to not know who Grace Kelly is.... don't worry about it. If you don't know who Audrey Hepburn

 is, though, I don't think we can still be friends. Quick! Run out and rent Roman Holiday. But stop it ten minutes before it ends and just listen to me: They all live happily ever after. Really.)

So my birthday was amazing but most of the rest of the week was... it was... it was one big rainy day.

You guys know I love rainy days. I live for them. But on the metaphorical rainy days (the ones where rain drops are made up of troubles the way lemon drops are in Somewhere Over the Rainbow, the ones where stress crushes my head and I wish that the world would just take five while I remind myself how to breath) I have to employ happy tactics.

Happy Tactic Number One:  Think happy thoughts. Peter Pan

(remember him?) inspired me on this one. On sad days I break out my happy thoughts with full force: Ice cream. Rain. Mushrooms. The beach. Creme brule. Grace Kelly dress. Lit class. Pride and Prejudice. Fluffy pillows. Whisks. Earphones. Claire de Lune. Chinese. Cream Puffs. Electricity. Plumbing. Pony tail holders. Jeans. Bubbles... You get the idea.

Happy Tactic Number Two: Happy songs. King of Anything, I Need A Hero (Shrek version), Accidentally in Love, Waka Waka (thanks Sis. Frampton), and You Make Me Happy. Songs to soothe the heart, my friends. Or just give me something to jump up and down to. I find jumping up and down a very good stress reliever. When I don't sprain my ankle or break something.

Happy Tactic Number Three: Youtube. Have I mentioned how much I love youtube? I love youtube. I love it with all my heart and most of my soul. My list of happy hits is You're the Voice Merlin, Peter Bishop Just Being Generally Awesome and Kim Yu Na. Unless you live with me or live two houses down and are named Katie Orr, then you probably don't understand why I love these videos. That's OK. You can find your own videos. Youtube has something for everyone. My dad watches videos of snow in Central Park and how to cut a chicken. Each to their own.

Happy Tactic Number Four: Go to Flickr. Click on Explore and then Last Seven Days Interesting. And you thought the world was a bad place. Psh. How could you have doubted? Look at that little girl's chubby cheeks! Observe the stars and grass and that kid with a dragon fly on his face! I love Flickr. Even though it still likes Katie better than me.

There you go. These are my umbrella's for a rainy day. It disturbs me a little bit that all of them except number one involve the computer. I read too. I just don't have a specific recipe for those. I grab a book off the shelf and open it. Over Fall Break I opened Gone With the Wind and, just like you said, Grandma, I liked it a lot better the second time I read it. But it still frustrates me. The first time I read it I despised Scarlet and would have walked out way before Rhett Butler did, but the book just kept going. The second time I sympathized with her and when Rhett walked out I was upset (even though I knew she deserved it). Does the third time solve this somehow?

I really have to go write essays now.

Over.

Katie... TaDA

Today I’m introducing you to Katie. EverybodyKatieKatieEverybody.

I’ve been sitting here in my (dad’s) office, fiddling with the pencils in the blue cup next to me, looking at the New York times, checking my email and writing back to all of those people who emailed a long time ago but didn’t.

Basically I’m doing anything I can to not write this post. Because I have no idea what to tell you about Katie.

Katie is something like 5’4 or 5’3. All I know is that she is shorter than me and it had better stay that way. She has really long shiny hair that goes a long way down her back, and even when it is messed up it looks beautiful. Oh! My fingernails are starting to tint green. Excuse me while I go wash the envy off.

Alright. I’m good again.

So I thought about a list of adjectives (cool, awesome, smart, amazing, straight-forward), but that’s a bit too abstract for me. What would really know about her when I was done? You’d really just have a general idea of my vocabulary, and that disappointment can wait for later.

I could tell you about her accomplishments. She has a lot so we could get impressive here. This year is her second (third?) going to National History Day, she just finished starring in a production of Twelfth Night down in town (town, for anyone who doesn’t live around here is the general term we use for anywhere not within twenty or thirty minutes of our house). She probably is going to end up with a 4.6 and get full points on the SAT and ACT. She sings, dances, plays the piano and wii.

Yeah, that’s not cutting it either.

Ideally I would tell you a story that would reveal Katie’s innermost soul and then you would think, “Oh! I get it! Katie is totally amazing!”

I don’t have a story like that. I’m sure one exists. I might even know it. But I can’t think of it. Even if I could, I’m not sure Katie would like her innermost soul displayed for the world to see.

So I’ll tell you about Adam Popcorn, since it’s one of our more current adventures and the stupid thing of the year so far. It was my idea. I admit that fully and upfront. It was my really, really stupid idea. It came in News Writing, which is where a surprising number of ideas come.

Adam Popcorn is popcorn with melted starbursts (the tropical kind) and krazy kore skittles and peanuts. We knew it was going to be gross, but we figured in might be gross in the same way that potato chips are when you’ve eaten too many.

The starbursts wouldn’t melt. They just glopped, sticky clumps of blue-green gooiness sticking to the bottom of my butter pan. Katie and I were undeterred, however. Sometimes determination isn’t such a good thing.

We poured in the starburst, tossed the skittles and peanuts and went for it. We chewed for a while, feeling the enamel of our teeth eaten off.

“This is terrible,” I said, after I’d unstuck my teeth.

“Yeah, it’s really bad.”

But we kept putting the popcorn into our mouth in an almost mechanical motion. Headaches, stomachaches and general aches followed. We tried to go on a walk, but we just didn’t feel good enough. So we slumped on the couch and groaned for an hour or so.

“You know,” Katie said, rolling over. “I think our friendship has moved up to a new level now. Like, now when I’m in jail, you’re going to be the one sitting next to me instead of baling me out.”

“Uhh.”

After that we made a recipe from Mark Bittman (http://video.nytimes.com/video/playlist/style/the-minimalist/1194811622323/index.html#1247467711482).

I’m not sure how enlightened you actually are by this. I guess what I really wanted to say is that Katie is one of those people I can do stupid things with and say stupid things too, not because she won’t tease about it, but because when she does I can tease her back.

Happy birthday, Katie. Love you. You rock my socks. You deserve a billion marshmallows. Over.