DOES THIS EVEN COUNT AS AN UPDATE?

What do I even say on here anymore? I thought once I had started my summer vacation that I would have plenty of things to write about and then, well, here we are. Postless. And writing about nothing? What is that. Oh yeah, that's my life.

I was laying in bed last night, unable to fall asleep, and all my brain wanted to do was write. But my computer was in the living room and that was just too much work - so I stared at the ceiling and invented dialogue for a fiction story.

///

"Come va?" he asks, in Italian. How are you?
"Cosi-cosi," I reply. Alright. This has become our little game. "Y tu?"
"Molto bene!!" he says with a certain gusto. Very well. All five of his fingers on his right hand are pinched together and he's making a sweeping motion with his arm that is so stereotypical of Italian non-verbal communication. We crack up and fall backwards, landing softly beside each other on the bed.

His dark eyes sparkle as he looks over at me, his face wrinkled with heavy laughter. He shifts his gaze away and then back to me, the expression of his features changing suddenly, becoming more serious than I had anticipated. I expect him to kiss me, but instead he says, "MOLTO BENE!" again, almost at the top of his lungs this time and then collapses back into a deep laughter.

///

But that's all I can remember before I eventually drifted off to sleep. It's been a good long while since I wrote anything story-like. Mostly I just cover the non-events of my life and actually those just go by unnoticed most of the time.

I'm tempted to write posts like my cute little almost sister-in-law. The Highs and Lows of recent times. Or maybe just the highs. Then every paragraph is about its own event and there you go. But even though it works so wonderfully for her, my brain does not post like that.

So you're stuck with this nonsense. Hashtag sorry not sorry.

This is the life of a girl who cleans a lot and doesn't write about the things she does when she's out of the house. Did you know there is an event here called Car D Lane (a play off Coeur d'Alene in case you were confused) and it's an antique car show. Also, I went there with Nathan and my roommate and her boyfriend. We took our picture by this beautiful Stingray and then posted the picture on Facebook saying "look what we just bought!" as a joke.

I'm fairly certain most people think we actually bought the car and the humor was lost on them. Which actually made it funnier for me, because I'm a teacher and Nathan and is a teller at a bank. A new car? Especially an antique new car? HAAA. But then I remember what kind of country America is and maybe it's actually a believable story anyway? Who knows.

Well, my coffee is cold now. Natalie out.

a shout out

Oh my gosh, where do I start?

I guess I could start with the first day that we met. It was a bleary January day, overcast and gray. I was sitting at a large table in the front of the classroom of my elementary art methods class with two guys who were high school art ed majors like myself and three slightly obnoxious sorority elementary ed majors. We were an...interesting group, to say the least.

Joel was hilarious and witty - which is something that I admire in other people and strive for in myself. Once, when our class went on a field trip to a bunch of different galleries around town I just palled around with him and the other high school art ed major, Mark. I don't think I did a lot of talking, but I thought the two of them were stinking funny. If memory serves me correctly, we all exchanged numbers at the end of that class period for strategic group project purposes and pairing myself up with them was a really smart decision on my part.

Talking about our shared interest in art and spending time working together on projects, Joel and I also discovered that we shared the same faith in an awesome and mighty God. I don't think it was until SVI and I split up tho that Joel and I really took our friendship a step farther. And by that I mean he dragged me to church with him and his incredibly awesome family and forced me to help him paint a mural. We spent a few late nights in front of a bright white brick wall that we were slowly transforming into a work of art confiding in each other our struggles and our triumphs.

Once I fully involved with the initial steps of helping to plant a church alongside Joel and all the new friends I made there, the adventures just kept coming. I took a step of faith and offered my services as the children's leader which was a new and exciting experience. I spent a lot of time painting, decorating, discussing curriculum, planking, dancing and eating delicious food.

Joel has turned in to one of my very best friends and no matter how hard I try to keep this post funny it always takes a turn for the serious. Which I think is a good representation of the relationship that I have with Joel. He's basically a comedic genius in my opinion, but then he's also chalk full of good Godly advice just when I need it most. It's hard to believe that this time last year we were both living in Moscow finishing up school and now we're both graduated and trying to move on to bigger and better things.

Some friends that you make in college are your school friends and once you leave town you all kind of move on to different things. Other friends you make in college will undoubtedly last for the rest of your life, and I believe that Joel and Mandy and their cute kids are going to be part of my life for years and years and years to come. They are the greatest. So there you go, a shout out to a really good friend.

Thanks for caring and for calling and for being there for me every step of the way. You have no idea just how important you guys are to me and how much I love you. There aren't good enough words in all the world to correctly express how grateful I am to have met you and spent time with you. And I can't wait until spring break when I finally get to come hang out with you all! 

Nat The Bat

I can't say that life is slowing down at all. I can't say that I'm not as busy this week as I was last week, and I can't say that it looks as if things are going to come a full stop any time soon. I'm hardly in my own room since I spend a lot of time with Zelda and Prince Charming. Or I'm at work. Or I'm print making. Or I'm out buying art supplies for print making. Or I'm with Prince Charming at his friend's apartment.

I've been so busy, I feel like I should post more, but just taking time to sit and read all the blogs I have to catch up on after not being at my computer for a couple days, and checking email - I just get tired, and then I have nothing to write about because my brain is on sleep mode.

I don't even update my facebook status that much anymore.

Le sigh.

What I have been doing though, besides math homework, printmaking and sleeping, is colored my hair. Instead of my delicious blonde locks, I've gone brunette for the winter. Prince wasn't so keen on this idea at first and I had to bribe him with a chocolate milkshake and French fries before he finally consented. But now he doesn't hate my dark hair anymore, so it's a win/win for me.

Also, today I bought my Halloween costume. For eight dollars. It's just bat wings, a headband with bat ears and these weird arm glovette thingymabobbers. I was originally going to pick up a similar package, but with ladybug designs because my nickname forever and ever before I was even all the way born was NatBug. My oma calls me Bug, some of my friends call me Bug, my parents, although rarely now, still call me NatBug.

But the sad part is, when I went to the store to retrieve the kit, they were all sold out! I rummaged around the store crossing my fingers and hoping that something else would strike my fancy. I marveled at the spider headbands, and the spider earrings. The skull hair clips. The necklaces. They were all very wonderful and Halloween-y, but they just weren't me, you know?

So after being fed up with the masses of inconsiderate mothers (yes, mothers. I was so mad! You'd think grown women would behave like grown women but I find that is not case), I booked it down the mall to a different store.

Hot Topic. If you don't know what Hot Topic is, then let me explain a little about it. I hardly go in there because they always play death metal screaming music that gives me the utmost of headaches, and also because they have a lot of goth-y vampire trend items that I don't really care for. But whenever I do decide to venture in amongst the hipster emo wannabes, it's usually because I'm looking for some more nose studs. Or in this instance, a costume.

There in the front of the store was a rack of little simple costume kits - just what I was looking for. I didn't figure they would have a cute little girlish one that I had been after because of the type of store I was in, but I figured they would have something. And they did. There was a panda one that looked absolutely nothing like a panda but was still cute, a raccoon, the stereotypical 'dead bride' ensemble, and a bat one.

Strategically placed in other locations were costumes of more expensive get ups like princesses, nurses, and Alice in Wonderland variations, but none of those interested me. Some were too slutty, some were too expensive, some were just too....weird.

So back to the simple kits I went. Raccoon? No thanks. Panda? Doesn't even resemble the cute fuzzy animal, so that's a no. The dead bride? Just wasn't feeling it.

And then it hit me. You see, I was going for the "NatBug" look with the idea of the other costume, but then, admiring the purple sequined stripes on the black bat wings inside the clear plastic bag, I remembered another nickname that was given to me.

NatBat.

The only person who calls me that is Prince Charming. We are on, and have been on, much better terms for the amount of time that I want to say equates to a month, give or take. We've had one little upset in the entire month of October and it was only for a less than a day, so yes, I would say things are in a much better place than they have been in months.

And also today, at 11:34 in the morning, while I was work I received a test message from dear Prince-y Poo that made me smile to my core, so in the end, I just had to go with the bat costume. For sentimental reasons as well as the fact that the costume was A) not too expensive, B) not too overdone since I'm only buying it because I'm working Halloween night and I have to dress up, and C) I was quickly running out of other options.

So, costume in hand, I waded through the massive amounts of college students to the back of line, where I stood for a good fifteen minutes before making it up to the counter to pay.

Now if you'll so kindly excuse me, it's getting late and I still need to do laundry. I've been wearing this same pair of socks for days and it's driving me crazy.

Someone Pass Me The H2O Before I Die of Exhaustion

It's Thursday morning, I lazily woke up around 10:30 because not having a job and staying up until 1 in the morning will do that to you. I knew it was my last day of freedom. I knew it was going to be busy. But I'm a professional procrastinator. A lackadaisical lazy-face. Why rush in the mornings, anyway? I mean, I'm barely awake, groggy, and still warm under the covers. There's no reason to change that sooner rather than later. I loves me some sleeps, you know. I'm a college kid, so of course I catch the Zs like a pro, but don't you? 

Anyways, I finally dragged my unwilling to start the day butt out of bed and lounged around the house talking with my mother in the kitchen while we tried desperately to figure out what we should eat since both of our stomachs believed that our respective throats were, in fact, cut. 

I had leftover chicken tacos and she had leftover Spanish rice and some home-made hamburger helper dish that looked positively revolting, but I'm biased towards anything that even remotely resembles hamburger helper. To each her own. 

Then around 12:30 I hopped online to check in the boyo who I seemingly am attached to at the hip, since we are often everywhere together. Our family and friends have even combined our names together, not unlike how we refer to Brad and Angelina, you know? Matalie, they call us. But you know, they're just jealous that they aren't entirely as awesome as we are, it's true. 

At 3 o'clock Prince and I drove out for a mutual friend's graduation party. What a life to be explored after the graduation of high school! And we talked and talked and talked with friends that I haven't seen all school year who are near and dear to my tired little heart. I was sad to leave them when time came, but I'll see them either tomorrow or Saturday because they too are camp staff and can't escape me whether they wanted to or not. They don't. :) 

Six thirty rolled around and we met my parental units at the new Texas Roadhouse for barbecued supper of sorts. Absolutely delicious food. Absolutely. Prince-y had a chicken fried steak, I had BBQ pulled pork, my mom and dad both got ribs with pulled pork and BBQ chicken respectively. It was really good food. They play country music, the waiters and waitresses line dance for you, they serve peanuts to snack on so nutshells cover the floor, and I got to play with crayons while filling in all the activities on the sheet of paper they bring to the table for small children. 

I'm super duper awesome, I know. 

It's really loud in the restaurant too, which isn't always a bad thing, but it sure makes it hard to hear. And I don't know what it was about today, but everybody and their brother was having a birthday it seemed. So of course the servers would yell and sing and dance for every birthday and it seems they couldn't go more than a couple of minutes without going through birthday withdraws and therefore belting out in song and dance about someone or another's wonderful birthday. It was nice at first, but got pretty old pretty fast. 

I'd go back on a day when there weren't so many birthdays. 

After thanking Dad and Mom for paying for dinner and saying goodbye in the parking lot, Prince and I waddled to my car and headed to Jack's house. I laid on Prince's chest while he played with my hair and he watched Jack and his girlfriend play Little Big Planet while I pretended to fall asleep.

 (Was that sentence long enough for you? I'm tired, can you tell?) 

At 10:00 we bid them farewell since tomorrow we are supposed to awake bright and early for work. I drove Prince-y home so he could finish packing for camp and then I arrived home to do the same thing. 

My jungle bedroom was filled with unnecessary tote piles and cardboard boxes that are simply ubiquitous in meaning. I opened up our storage compartment underneath our landing. My room is in the basement of our split level entry house if that clears anything up for you. Ahem. And then I went to town. 

I pulled out all the stuff I wanted to take to camp with me and put it outside my room on the floor of the family room. Then I pulled out boxes from under the landing, put away suitcases that had been out since I moved home for Moscow, and replaced certain boxes before I combine elements from different boxes, emptied another box and placed all the full ones back in the storage compartment. 

I'm just tired reading that sentence. 

By the time the whole ordeal was over, I'd repacked the box I'd earlier emptied with necessary items for camp life, packed my duffel bag with clothing items, removed the unnecessary road blockage from my jungle room (who knew my carpet was blue?), and chatted with Prince online before he retired to checking his eyelids for cracks. 

I should be sleeping, too, but I wanted to just pop in and bid you farewell for a few days, since I don't know when I'll be back here. Trust me when I tell you that I'm not disappearing for the entire summer, but my activity level will be way down. Poop. I know right? 

Seven o'clock will come super fast and my eyelids are in need of toothpicks to stay open. My poor body is tired, tired, tired, but on the bright side I will be starting work, and we all know what work means. 

Money. 

And we could all use more of that. AmIright? Right! 

Happy Sunday

It's been a long day, you know. I've been fully functioning since 7:30 this morning and I just don't honestly know how any sane person does that day after day. I absolutely love sleep and waking up well rested, you know, somewhere around noon.

Except today was Sunday so we piled into the car and raced ourselves to church. I love church. I do. Really. But today I was excited for going out to eat after church. We never go out to eat after church anymore. Partially because it's so darn spendy, and well really, how do you come up with that kind of cash every week to treat 7 people, possibly more, to brunch on Sundays after church?

We're not millionaires, unfortunately. And it's just too bad that money doesn't grow on trees because really, let's face it, that would solve a lot of problems.

Anyway, after our horrid waitress conned us out of more money than we wanted to spend by conveniently forgetting to tell us that some things cost more money in addition to the money you're paying for the meal, like side dishes and extra large drinks that totaled fifteen more dollars than necessary, I left the restaurant in a despicable mood, in desperate need of something fluffy and happy to come my way, and Prince Charming kept reminding me "Happy Sunday" at least three times before I pulled in our drive way. 

Well, we puttered around the house doing extravagant things like laundry and yard work. Princey and I left for a time to see one of his friends who lives down the road and across the street from me. We ended up in serious want of chocolate cake, the lot of us did. And Jack being the awesome chef that he is offered to bake us a veritable dessert delight.

He pulled a package out of the Betty Crocker box and mixed in the ingredients, but we all thought it looked downright soupy and perhaps he had added too much oil? I mean really, the batter just dripped off the fork and it wasn't at all that creamy thick brown chocolate goodness that even the least skilled cake bakers know it is supposed to look like.

Chalking it up to a measuring mishap, Jack poured out the thin consistency and retried with another packet of powdery wonderment, this time measuring extra careful so that we wouldn't end up with the former result. But the second packet turned out the same as the first, and we wondered if perhaps this was a different kind of cake mix. Maybe it was just a really runny liquid batter instead of a creamy luscious batter?

No matter. We placed it in the oven believing with our heart of hearts that it would turn out tasty and delicious the way that all good cakes are supposed to be. While the cake batter was placed in the oven to change forms and become moist and spongy, it was time to start on the frosting portion.

Jack pulled out one of the remaining packets. "Cake Mix" was written on the side. He pulled out the other knowing for sure this one would be the frosting packet, but no, it too read "Cake Mix." Oh the horror! He pulled the empty packet out of the trash can, the one he had used to make the 'cake batter' that was now baking in the oven, and it read "Frosting." Can you imagine?

We had added oil, water and eggs to the frosting mix! Wonder of all wonders that it wasn't thick and creamy! We all felt very bright and perhaps also worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize for our amazing display of outrageous intelligence. Jack pulled the frosting "batter" out of the oven before it has started to solidify and then mixed together the right batter.

Unfortunately, we had wasted both packets of frosting mix and were forced to make it from scratch. But the cake was melt in your mouth chocolaty and savory delicious.

I came home to DP sleeping on the couch and TheMechanic watching the end of one of the Star Wars movies. It's now 1:30 am and I need to go rest my brain parts and eye sockets so tomorrow I wake up ready to tackle the day that is feasting on BBQ at Grandma and Grandpa's for Memorial Day.

San Diego Day 1

I'm at my grandmother's house in California. I was catching up on blogs reading about all the latest drama, including the 7 yr old girls dancing to Single Ladies in slutty outfits. If you haven't heard about it, Google it for more information. It's horrifying that parents think it's okay to dress your 7 yr up as a skanky ho and let her gyrate her hips to funky Beyonce music. I'm disgusted.

A little more disgusted than getting mud in a cut and a little less disgusted than when I think about the 40 yr old mothers who are obsessed with Twilight. Yuck.

Anywho, my flight was really ridiculously uneventful. I drew a model in a magazine in my sketchbook and played Tetris while listening to Owl City and drinking Ginger Ale. I always drink Ginger Ale on flights. It calms my stomach. I've never been airsick, because well, I've been flying basically since I can remember, but Ginger Ale has always been my drink of choice to just calm the nerves. Whatever little nerves I have. And it always works. Ginger Ale hasn't failed me yet.

My cousin and I stuck to each other like glue until she left Oma's to go sleep in her own bed. She could've stayed here, but she opted for a comfy mattress instead of a fluffy futon. I don't blame her, but that futon seriously isn't that bad. It's way better than the awful hide-a-bed that used to be in the den.

The bar really thought that it needed to gouge into your shoulders while you slept so that you would wake up achy and sore with a kink in your neck. How positively thoughtful of that awful bar, wouldn't you say?

But tomorrow I should wake up rejuvenated with no kinks in my neck ready to face the day. We're painting tomorrow. Landscapes with acrylic paint. It should make for an interesting time, experimenting with painting scenes I've never attempted before. I'm up for the challenge though. I do love a good challenge.

The only thing that's missing is Prince Charming. I need a hug right now, in the worst way!

TheKeeper Locks His Truck

I went to my cousin's wedding on Friday night. And besides the fact that it was totally beautiful and I absolutely adored my cousin's wedding dress, I spent 14 hours in the car with my three sick siblings.

This really only means one thing. 

I. got. the. bug. 

So now it's the end of the semester, classes are wrapping up and I have loads to do - and I'm sick. Coughing, aching, sore throat kind of deal. My voice is all scratchy and cool sounding when I talk, but the more I talk the drier my throat gets and the more it hurts...so I should probably give up talking for a little while.

Plus, tonight at dinner I started to feel not so great and now I have a headache. So I'm thinking maybe no class tomorrow? I'm not sure, so I'll just play it by ear. I don't necessarily want to miss class, but I don't want to go if I'm not going to be able to focus. I think that's worse than not showing up at all.

However, I have to tell you about my morning. Because I think it's kind of funny. 

Here I am, sick little me, can hardly talk, standing with the congregation trying to worship but I can't hardly sing at all. I'm standing with my mom because DP goes to the middle school service and Dad and TheMechanic are ushers. TheKeeper was supposed to drive himself to church this morning because he had a soccer game right the service got over.

But he wasn't there.

Mom didn't have her phone and mine was turned off. Noting TheKeeper's absence, I thought it might be a good idea to turn my phone on and text him.

"Where are you?"

"Tell Mom to call me." 

Well, mom doesn't have her phone and I figure whatever it is I can probably answer his question, so I take the phone out of the auditorium and dial my brother. "Give the phone to mom" a VERY irate voice growls at me. 

"What's wrong?" I pry. I had to pry it from him, too. He didn't want to talk to me. Eventually I got him to tell me that he had gotten halfway to church, realized he didn't have his goalie gloves, turned around and drove back home. He'd left the truck running while he ran in to grab his gloves, but as he shut the door behind him, he realized that he had locked himself out of his running on fumes truck.

He was not a happy camper.

Well, I walked back into the auditorium and there was my dad standing right in front of me. I figured honestly that he would be of more help than mom since he probably actually knew where there were spare keys and mom would have probably just told us to go ask dad.

Sure enough, dad calmed TheKeeper down a bit and told him to quit stressing out. These things happen, it will be okay. It will even be alright if the truck runs out of gas, just quit worrying and relax! Then it was my job to get him, take him to the office of dad's work, grab the spare keys for the truck, and drive him back home so we could both come back to church. 

I went and grabbed my purse and told mom what was going on and then I left service to go rescue TheKeeper. He wasn't very happy when I came to get him, but at least he didn't sound as angry as he hand when I talked to him on the phone.

We drove to the office and had a fun time figuring out which key unlocked the door into the lab, then we grabbed the spares out of the lock box that was in the clean lab and headed to gas station to fill up a little five gallon tank so my brother wouldn't be driving on fumes into church. 

There were about fifteen minutes left of the sermon by the time we arrived at the church.

I've locked my keys in my own car plenty of times, but never while the engine has been running. I guess there's a first time for everything, you know?

When I Was Little I Was An Indian. Fact.

When I was little we had a tree in our backyard that we called 'the naked tree.' It was so dubbed because occasionally we would get some heavy gusts of wind, and every time we would get some wind this tree would drop branches. 

It was slowly becoming naked.

We collected the branches from the naked tree and made a wikiup. A wikiup is a Native American form of housing, like a teepee but made from the branches of a tree. We were really proud of ourselves for knowing this,  and consequently played 'Indians' in the backyard because we weren't interested in being politically correct. 

In the corner of the yard there was a current berry bush, and in the summertime it was always full of little red sour berries. They weren't that great to eat on their own, but crush them up and douse them in sugar and you have some fine jam.

Steal a few slices of bread on a Warrior Indian Raid and you have yourself a meal.

And also, cool names were a must. I remember coming up with things like "Blooming Flower" or "Purple Lilac" or "White Wolf" etc, etc. There was always a Chief who had to have a Squaw because we were equal opportunity tribe leaders.

This is code for the simple fact we got to be 'in a relationship' with our secret neighborhood crushes without making it awkward. 

But sometimes tribe members would get too rowdy. Naturally we were forced to exile them. The rebels would congregate in the corner of the yard opposite the current berry bush so that they would have to pass our tribe in order to forage for food.

This allowed for us to attack them for entering our territory. Some people would be wounded and some people would die. But the dead ones just came back as other warriors, so no one was really damaged. 

We would play this game a lot, pretending to be Indians. Especially when I was in 4th grade because that's when you learn about Idaho history and Lewis and Clark and Sacajawea.

And you know, it was either that or baseball in the front yard. But we always played with a tennis ball that got lost in the prickly bushes until one of us went and found it and the pitcher always sucked.  

I Believe It's Okay To Be Lazy

Since I've been home on Spring Break, I've been taking pictures. I like experimenting with the different things my camera can do. 

Monday we rescued my grandma from an overflow of brownies before we cleaned her twelve windows, inside and out. We also saved a few trinkets from a life in the landfill. 

I brought my camera over to show it off. My grandpa wanted to hide it from me so I would conveniently 'forget' I'd brought it over. But he had no such luck. However, it started feeling frisky after being cooped up so long in its bag, so I took it out and let it capture some pretty pink flowers that inhabited the kitchen table. 

Today I kidnapped my sister against her will and made her pose for pictures. I wanted to experiment with different lighting. Some of it worked, some of it didn't. Here's a sample of what I captured:

She was kicking and screaming the whole time, doesn't it show? Actually, she was game for having a lens shoved in her face, and she was glad to have some new profile pictures for her Facebook account. My whole family is on Facebook. And by whole family I mean aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, great aunts and uncles, second cousins, first cousins once removed, cousin's spouses, etc, etc. There is no escape.

But honestly, I kind of like it that way. Shhhh don't tell them that though. I try to keep my affections for them a secret. If that information got out in the world, there's no telling what might happen.

Besides harassing my sister and invading her personal bubble with the lens of my Canon Rebel, I also violated the clock, my mom's bell collection and a basket of pine cones in the living room. None of us will be the same again.

To top off my epic beginning to Spring Break, I learned that The Keeper broke his thumb. He decided that it would be a really superb idea to jam that sucker into the ground just to see what would happen when he dove to save a soccer ball from certain death in between the goal posts. 

So the picture I'm going to show him when he gets back will be this one so that he smiles.

Genuine Disreguard For Organizational Patterns of Writing a Blog Post

I have seriously typed out like fifty intros to this post, and I keep erasing them. They sound good in my head and then my fingers turn dyslexic and make the things I type sound dumb and not at all what I wanted to convey. So inevitably I delete my previous words and write something new. 

I don't even know if I really want to post anything, but I feel like my blog has been so depressing lately and I want to share something happy. My problem is that I just don't know what to say that's happy. Everything has been depressing lately. 

My job, some aspects of school, my "friends" etc. You all read me. You all know. 

I thought about maybe sharing some information about Chuck Close with you all because I have to give a presentation on his artwork tomorrow, but I don't know really how interested you would be in that, and I'm still rooting through the loads of information I've uncovered about him so my post would likely be unorganized. 

But I think most of my posts are unorganized due to the fact that I don't post premeditated ideas. I just click the 'new post' button and then type whatever flows into my pretty blonde brain. Sometimes there are things that have been weighing on my mind and consequently they come out in my blog. Or other times I report about my weekend and the things that I do. 

I really don't think those posts are my best work. Actually I think that sometimes those posts are the most boring, so when I write about them I make sure to include lots of pretty pictures to hold your attention. In a way I'm bribing you to read my blog. 

I'm not above bribery. How does it feel to be bribed into reading a post? 

And proof of my lack or organizational skills is that I was going to go in a whole different direction and talk about how I don't know what my 'best' posts would be, but then I started talking about bribery and didn't know how to fit the 'best' ordeal back into the post layout. Hence this paragraph. 

That was supposed to be transitional, but I'm not sure how well it worked. Sometimes my brain takes the weirdest routes to come to a conclusion. 

One time I was thinking about Twilight and how much it bugs me that leaders of the high school youth group endorse a book that completely goes against things that the Bible has to say, and I was thinking of bringing it up to my Pastor and then I imagined that he asked me to speak on stage about it to increase awareness of this issue and then I thought about what shirt I should wear onstage. I decided I would wear one that I saw at Sower's which is a local store. It was black and was a spoof off of the Twilight font. I thought it would make the biggest impact. 


Obviously that never happened.

And I'm going to kill Prince Charming if he keeps reading over my shoulder. No, I won't kill him actually. I'd miss him. But seriously. I hate that. It makes me feel obligated to write something incredibly witty and hilarious and insightful so that I will increase the wonderment and awe other people hold me for me as they watch my genius unfold, but then that sort of stresses me out and the cortisol my body produces makes my brain and fingers cramp so then I freeze and just sit in front of the computer not typing anything while impatient onlookers await the awesomeness to take on word form. 

My heart rate increases. If I ever suffer from a debilitating heart defect I will blame Over The Shoulder Readers and their impatience to wait until I've typed out my feelings instead of eating them and edited my thoughts into some sort of coherent sentence instead of just a bunch of hob gobble that no one understands except me. 

Hey now. Einstein was all sorts of smart, but the man wore penny loafers until he died because he didn't know how to tie his shoes.

I'm entitled to incoherent sentences. Especially when I'm tired and my spoken vocabulary is on a kindergarten plane at best. By that time I usually just need to curl up under a blanket and shut my eyes for about eight hours or so. Longer if I can manage. 

I think if I start off by telling you that I couldn't decide what to write in this post, I feel better about it because I took the pressure off of having to perform like a monkey in a cage and dance for all of you because I have to be awesome and made of epic win. Although I'm just naturally that amazing all the time. Psyche. 

Haha. Psyche. I haven't used that word in a long time at the end of a sentence to let the reader/listener know that I was faking them out. 


Listener? Here's where my brain went when I typed that word:

Listener? Like podcast listener? I don't do podcasts. I don't even do vlogs. Mostly because I hate the sound of my voice. Should I do a podcast? Should I post a vlog? Would my readers like that? Do they want to become listeners? I don't know. I'll type my thought process and see what kind of feedback I get. Maybe that will sway me one way or the other. Sway...as in persuade...is that even how you spell it for my intended meaning? I have no clue.

Whatever.

It's time for me to leave you know so you can soak in all of this important information. Also probably you are annoyed that I typed this much and want me to just stop typing so you can go read about how to solve world hunger, obtain world peace and cure cancer. You know, big important stuff.

Monday Madness

Mondays make me want to puke. I hate them. They are awful. If I could find out a way to successfully off Mondays without making Tuesday the new Suckday I totally would. 

I woke up this morning and by the gut feeling I received of 'I-just-want-to-stay-in-bed-all-day' I could just tell that it was not going to be my favorite of all favorite days either. But I examined myself in the mirror before I left for class and was impressed with what I saw. 

Because I'm narcissistic and I know it.

Anyway, I was all hippity hoppity down the stairs with my portfolio and pink backpack in tow, and then I looked outside, sighed, and pulled my hood over my head. So much for my straightened hair and shoes that matched my belt. Welcome soaked pant legs and disgruntled wavy strands of stringy fine hair. 

I was starving because I'm all sorts of cool and don't eat breakfast in morning. My half thought out plan was that of heading to the coffee shop in the Commons, but the line was like DisneyLand the day after Christmas and I thought "No way in heck am I waiting here."

So I jetted myself all the way over to the Admin building where I work because I know that the lines are never near as long and the coffee is way better. I ordered a croissant that I promptly stuffed in my face and slurped down my 24 oz iced white chocolate blackberry mocha with four shots so that I would wake up. 

I was late to class by a few minutes, but no one noticed. We listened to some presentations (I have to give one on Wednesday!) and then we drew.

I produced these:

They're not so bad, eh? I actually like the last one. His face pleases me. And it reaffirmed my love of drawing fabric with charcoal. I got it all over myself again though. So this time I was black and white and red all over, not unlike that bad joke that either ends with the punch line of a zebra with a rash or a newspaper. Whatever, I'm still awesome.

Design Processing II is a class I would love to just ditch, except that I need to go because I can't risk the absences and if I don't go then I would never do the work because I hate it so much that having homework is just not an option unless absolutely necessary. 

We are painting. I loathe painting. I mean, it would be fun if I wasn't out to recreate something exactly to every minute detail like we're doing here:

The one on the left is my painted version of the one on the right. One of the hardest, most time consuming things I've done in my life. I'm pretty sure I could have baked three cakes in the time it's taken me to mix every color just so. And they don't even all match! It drives me crazy. Absolutely bonkers. And I'm most of the way there on a good day, so it just pushes me farther over the edge. 

Besides that, the stools in that class make your poor little butt cheeks so sore. Every so often you have to stand up and stretch your back from being hunched over while trying to nonchalantly massage your buttocks because they've decided to fall asleep and refuse to wake up. 

It makes for some pretty good times. I had to work to keep from falling asleep. 

I left class at 5:20 so I could come home and eat dinner. I got in line to get a pretzel and an Italian sausage because it just sounded so delicious and Prince Charming was working, so my pretzel would be handed to me with love. 

Bob's keeps their silverware in these round black cylinders next to the food stations for easy grabability and convenience. I was in dire need of a fork and a knife, so while I attempted to balance my tray full of food on one hand and grab the important utensils with the other, an impatient young lad came up behind me. He seemed to be in all sorts of a hurry, as if maybe he was on fire or something was on fire or flooding and he desperately needed to grab a fork to help pry open a container housing an extinguisher or maybe the book with all the answers to life's big questions in it and his timer was running dangerously low. 

I'm not exactly sure. 

But whatever the reason behind his maddened speed, he knocked my tray out of my hand and before I could successfully utilize my mad agility skills yo the tray had fallen on the ground food side down of course, because landing food side up would have been too much to ask entirely.

Mustard and liquid cheese splash on the floor. The boy just huffed and kind of rolled his eyes. He looked conflicted, like maybe he should help me out, but then he remembered the fire or flood or time emergency and darted off. 

Snarky remarks flowed in my head, but who was I going to say them to? Then I just looked around with that all too familiar deer in the headlights look on my face as I knelt down to pick up the fallen food. Managers stopped and told me not to worry about it. They were super nice, and saw what happened so they didn't speak to me with blame filled voices which I greatly appreciated. 

I hopped back in line and was redistributed my allotment of dietary sustenance. Prince Charming was confused why I was back in front of him, so I had to quickly explain myself. I took the wasted food to the trash can and proceeded to nom my deliciously tasty Italian sausage dipped in mustard.

I do love mustard. It's yummy.

The rest of my night has been filled with homework like this:

And I'm working on my presentation for Wednesday on the artist Chuck Close. His stuff is pretty awesome, and when I learned that he can still paint after becoming a quadriplegic his awesome factor went through the roof. It's dangling somewhere around the outer atmosphere. It would be higher, but I have to present him to my class, which I will hate doing.

I think it's time for bed now. Tomorrow better be awesome or I might just cry.

The Name Of The Game Is Tuesday

Tuesdays are very odd days. It was once upon a time that Tuesdays were the most ignored day of the week. "What's up Bill?" "Oh nothing, it's only Tuesday after all."

But I like Tuesdays. They're right after Mondays - which I hate. Mondays and I aren't really the best of friends. Mostly because Mondays like to be devious and pretend they are sneaky when they pop out from behind Sundays and end the weekend so unceremoniously. Mondays. Bleh. 

Now Tuesdays, Tuesdays do not pretend to be something they are not. Tuesdays are perfectly happy in their Tuesday ways. They don't care if you ignore them. They don't care if you don't love them as much as you may love Friday. Friday is a snobbish day. He is all excited to be the one leading you into the weekend. He's also payday for a lot of folks. Friday is a good day. Lots of people love Friday. But sometimes all that lovin' just goes to his Friday head and then he's on his own agenda all weekend. Whatever.

I work on Tuesdays. Very early on Tuesdays. At 7:30 in the morning whichisnotmyfavoriteatall. Humph. However, some way or another Tuesdays always manages to have fun. I don't think my ratio of good to bad Tuesdays is more in favor of the good Tuesdays than the bad. One Tuesday I came home from work with a ten dollar tip.

And getting a ten dollar tip on a Tuesday is like walking away from the coffee as a millionaire. It just doesn't happen. But hey, I'm not going to complain. I'm a poor college student. I'll take all the money I can get! (Donations accepted. If you are wondering where to send the millions of dollars of pocket change you have taking over your house, just shoot me an email!) Kidding. Ish. 

Tuesdays people are usually a little more relaxed. They're coming off of their Monday-Get-Back-To-The-Grind feelings and as a general rule, I've discovered, seem to care a little bit less about the little things. They pay less attention to detail and are just grateful for a smiley face full of conversation. They're less snarky on Tuesdays. 

I love Tuesdays. Wednesdays are Happy-Hump-Days and Thursdays are almost Fridays but better. Saturday and Sunday are just lazy and Mondays are mean. But Tuesdays, those are grand. Tuesdays are days spent with Morrie. "The culture we have does not make people feel good about themselves. And you have to be strong enough to say if the culture doesn't work, don't buy it." -Morrie 

Not all people think Tuesdays are rockin' though. To the Greeks, Tuesday was an unlucky day. And also to the Spanish - who neither wanted to marry or begin a journey on a Tuesday. And to both Greeks and Spaniards, it's Tuesday the 13th that's unlucky. (Don't let Friday read that okay? It'll just give him yet another ego boost that he doesn't need!)

I'm not Greek or Spanish though. So I guess I'm allowed to love a Tuesday. Because Tuesdays are days I spend almost entirely with Zelda. We have Ed Psych together, we have Comm 101 together, and she shows up at the end of my shift at work. Sometimes hoping to partake in downing a Caramel Macchiato and sometimes hoping to become involved in excellent conversation - which always happens when I'm around. You know it does. Shut up.

Tuesday is also the day that we elect the President. Freaky. And well admittedly I'm not a fan of the current President, my favorite President is Abraham Lincoln. Who apparently had a dream that he was going to be assassinated the Tuesday before it actually happened. How weird is that?

So now that you're all educated about Tuesdays, I'm going to go enjoy what's left of mine.

An Army Of Gnats

Remember when I told you all my name was Natalie? (Oooooh, you missed the memo? Well check out this post and you'll be all caught up. Go ahead. I'll wait.)

*waits*

*waits some more*

*thinks that you read very slowly*

*waits a little longer*

*gives up waiting*

Okay, well I'm assuming that by now you have already known this, you have finished reading the post, or you skipped the post and just want to see what the heck I'm gonna talk about and how it relates to anything. Right?

Blog hopping is one of my favorite things to do ever. You know, besides FaceBook stalking people and robbing banks. Because I love doing those too. They cheer me up enormously. Especially because mentally I am exhausted from this past weekend and all its high school crazy psycho drama that it held for me.

Anywho, I come across a lot of blogs. And I love love love following people named Natalie. And throughout my experiences, I've found a plethora of blogs written by Natalies. But what I think is beyond funny in its own right is that none of these other Natalies are my age. They are older than me.

I mean, there's this Natalie, and this Natalie and still this Natalie. There are even more Natalies out there. I just came across this amazing Natalie today! I know I've seen more than just these four too, but since I don't follow those ones I can't go back and provide you with links to their cute blogs.

I kind of feel bad about that. But only kind of. Just like I'm trying to kind of feel better since this weekend. I'm avoiding Prince's suite like it's the plague. I told him it was enemy territory and I won't go there. Until this situation with TheOther is resolved, I'm staying put. Especially because I don't want to agitate him further and make a bad situation worse.

On the plus side, I've heard that TheOther has decided he would much rather enjoy moving himself out of the suite. Right now we're just waiting for something final through the Housing Office. Once this is all resolved I'm sure Prince, LadiesMan and I will be back to terrorizing the hall just like normal.

And by terrorizing I mean hibernating in the dorm playing the PS3 and watching ridiculous movies like Fame. (Which I actually liked. The new one, not the old one. I haven't watched that one...but I've heard it's ummm...not so family friendly ha, ha.)

But you know what else? I kind of want to go by Natalie instead of Cinderella. Because I think Natalie is a really pretty name. But you know what? It's only a thought right now...

Mighty Morphin Power Pictures

Belle posted a picture on the legendary FB webpage where I spend too much of my time, especially on the weekends. This picture was of the face of a potential child that was 'morphed' from a picture of her and a picture of Zelda.

Inspired, I quickly went to the same page and uploaded a few pictures to see what potential children I could create. Because I am all sorts of awesome and copycat like.

Using a picture of me and a picture of your ever lovely Prince Charming we created this lovely angelic face:



So then we decided to see how accurate this website was by uploading pictures of our parents to see what the computer would come up with. Let me just say, none of those pictures look any of the children that were actually created. But here are the results:

Prince's Parents: (To be fair, we're not quite sure why this one turned out the way it did...)



My Parents:

If you're curious now about what your babies might look like, just click here and keep an open mind...

Those Comforting Voices

This is my mother.

In 1975.

She's cute, huh?

I know. And she still makes that same expression too. Her hair is just a lot shorter now than it is in that picture.

She posted this picture on the ever legendary authority on everything from relationship statuses to people innermost thoughts they share through their status updates and picture captions, Facebook.

This photograph is what led me to find out that I am now on dementia medication.

Me: it's weird to imagine that that's you in this photo. i only know you as mom. this is an alternate identity, i'm sure of it.

Mom: Yeah, this is before I became a fun sucker!!!

(Let the records show my mother is NOT a fun sucker. Actually she's awesome and Prince told me that he thinks I'll be just like her whenever I become a mom. Just sayin')

Then my uncle decides to add to our conversation, sparking a whole different direction of dialog.

Uncle Droll: Your mom looks like my sister to me, oh yeah, she is my sister, Natbug looks like her... just not as good looking, hehehe

Me: psh uncle droll. whatever. i look like a good blend of the best features in both of my parents. therefore i am beautiful and mom is beautiful and we are a beautiful family. except, i don't know what happened to you... :)

Uncle Droll: you're off the dementia medicine again...

Me: you know it. i can't stand that stuff. it steals my creativity...

Uncle Droll: it disturbs my voices from comforting me too...

(Don't look at me like that Mom. He's your brother!)

And Just Exactly WHAT Is The Burning Ball Of Gas In The Sky?

Wait? It's the sun?

Noooooooooo. You're lying.

Wait? Really?

Well, can you tell it to stop shining in my eyes and giving my heart false hopes about when exactly Spring could be on its way?

Kthnx.

Seriously. It's January. Say it with me - all together now - jan-you-wear-eeee. January. It is not springtime. It's actually still the middle of winter.

So tell me then, why dear, dear Prince Charming was walking around outside without a jacket on and he wasn't freezing to death. Last year you couldn't even think about going outside without getting frostbite.

Last year it looked like this outside.

So tell me please, because I'm still confused. What is this sun, and why is it here so early?

The Gnome Named Rufstig

It's no secret that I work on campus as the best barista ever. My drinks are all made of awesome, there is absolutely no doubt. So when my friend emailed me about what it was like to be a barista to see if it was something maybe he would enjoy doing, I didn't hesitate to tell him how awesome my job is and some of the perks of being a barista.

I don't think you will fully appreciate my extreme comedic hilarity unless you yourself read our conversation. Then and only then will you understand anything about the title of this post as it seemingly has nothing to with becoming a barista. Or so one might think...

Lets call this friend of mine Zeltor. It doesn't really matter HOW he got that name, other than it's one he's had for a while. So I'm just using it for the plain and simple reason of consistency.

Zeltor Says:
I haven't seen or heard from you in quite some time my dear Natalie. I feel a little left out. What's going on with you? How are you doing?

Cinderella Says:
lol i'm sorry. my life has been chaos lately. i'm sorry you feel left out :( but i'm fine. back at school and working as a barista again this semester. i have three studio art classes and two lecture classes. and i'm super excited about no school on fridays this semester!

Zeltor Answers:
Does being a barista pay well? No School Fridays is epic! 3 Day Weekend EVERY WEEK!

Cinderella Answers:
i make 7.50 ish an hour, plus tips - which is usually five or six dollars at the end of a four hour shift. but i love the customers that i serve, so they make my job worth it. plus the trade is good to know, because it makes you versatile - you can work at any coffee shop anywhere.

Zeltor Thinks:
I've thought about being a barista myself. Might not be a bad idea.

Cinderella Excites:
oooh! be a barista! it's not a bad gig at all.

Zeltor Innocently Asks:
Where did you get your barista license?

Cinderella Laughs Maniacally As She Types Says:
bwaha. barista licenses are hard to come by. you have to go the intergalactic space station and talk to the gnomes on planet Blonograk. The leader's name is Rufstig and if you get on his bad side he will send his army of animated sporks for your soul. On top of all of that, there is endless paperwork to fill out. You need to know your mother's mother's mother's father's last name, the year in which the world begun, how fast a rock would fall off of the edge of the moon and land on the surface pluto, and your imaginary brother's pet tiger's name (which coincidentally is NEVER hobbes).

on a more serious note, you don't need a license to become a barista. you just need someone who will hire you and give you the needed training.

GaGa In The Room

Ladies and Gentlemen, whilst gallivanting around the local Hot Topic shop, checking out the latest festivities, chasing the riff-raff, and seeing just exactly what kind of candy we could steal from poor defenseless babies, I found what appears to be Lady GaGa, in the flesh.

Just look for yourselves:

We've found that Lady GaGa hides curly black hair very well underneath her fabulous blonde wig. She also appears to be a lot tanner in real life than in her music videos. And to top it all off, she looks suspiciously similar to my friend Belle.

They could be related.

Back In The 'Scow For Take Two

Dear Moscow,

You are cold. And windy. And dark. Stop that. I realize that it's only January and my propositions might be asking a lot of you, but seriously. I've only been back a couple of hours and my toes are cold.

On the plus side, it's nice to be home in my dorm room in a space that is mine. It belongs to me until the end of this new semester.

Anyway, I'm glad you're still here even though you're cold and windy and dark. Because it means you weren't destroyed by a nuclear bomb over Christmas vacation and no one broke into my dorm room and stole all of my precious belongings that I left here for safe keeping.

So in conclusion, you are going to agree to stop being chilly and windy so this semester will allow me to not freeze my limbs off. Understood?

Signed,
The College Gal Who Is Starting To Wish For Spring

***

Dear New Semester,

Please. Don't. Suck.

Lurve,
Someone With Lazy Bones

***

Dear Rec-Center,

Can we be BFFs? I need you to help me trim down my waist size and sculpt some stellar abs this semester. I already told Semester not to full of suck, so don't worry about his course load. That will take care of itself.

But really, I need some muscle management and it's not something I can do on my own. Promise to help? Please?

Pretty please? With sugar on top? Or maybe a cherry. You know, it just depends on your preference.

Yours,
The Fat Layer That Covers My Abdominal Area

***

Dear Sunshine,

WHY do you never visit the pacific northwest during long, cold, and need I mention dark winter months? Seriously. Wyoming has clear skies, so why can't we?

Indignant,
The Fading Tan Lines On My Skin

***

Dear Readers,

Thank you for putting up with my antics. Now that I'm back at school, I believe my postings should become less sporadic. Hopefully.

No Promises,
Cinderella

Happy Holly Jolly Christmastime

Well interwebs, I have completed my very last final of the semester. Which I received an 87.5% on, so who's to complain? This is the first semester of my college career where it appears I am passing all my classes. It's amazing.

I seriously forgot how good it felt to achieve good grades in school.

It. is. amazing. I don't care what other people say. I love getting As and Bs. *ahem* I guess that's to be expected though, but last year I was too content to just get a C in everything that I let my motivation for positive work output on the back burner and let my inner procrastinator shine through like the sun.

Not this year.

This year I was still able to procrastinate (because it's in my nature) but I got everything done that needed to be and I passed everything that was important. Which was mostly everything I did.

And now, this semester is all over. Completely finished, honey I have nothing left to do except pack up all my stuff I'll need over break. And I'm really happy about that. I'm really happy about a lot of things in my life actually.

I'm really happy that school is over for the semester.
I'm really happy that my Drawing 1 teacher (TheProf) is going to continue as my Design Processes 2 instructor.
I'm really happy that the Christmas season is upon us (although that doesn't go without the 'holy crap where did 2009 disappear to? that cheeky son of a gun).
I'm really happy that I'm going to see my SoCal familia in about a week-ish.
I'm really happy my mommy's little sister who just happens to be one of my favorite aunts sent me a whopping two CDs chalked full of good and awesome amazing Christmas music.
I'm really happy that all of my dreams that past few nights have somehow involved my father and in each dream he was always really happy and smiley.
I'm really happy Prince and I have been together for just a little over a year.
I'm really happy with the amount of people who follow (and comment) on my little bitty blog.
I'm really happy that I'm just really happy.
I'm really happy that I get to go on a date tonight with Prince Charming and we're dressing up for it. He even said he'll let me have steak tonight! mmmmmmmmmm
And I'm really happy that tomorrow morning I'm going home to Hayden so I don't have to sleep in the dorms until January.

Oh happiness, how good it is to finally know you again. The end of the semester can be so stressful.