fun games you can play when you're sick

Sickness has a way of limiting one's recreational activities, and when one is on spring break, limited recreation is not good. Thusly, one has to get a little creative with one's activities in order to have fun. It is, however, possible.

1. How Long Can I Balance This Cup Of Tea On My Head Without It Spilling. Your parents may not approve of this one, boys and girls, but let me tell you: if you can get away with it, it's ridiculously entertaining!

2. Butler! Butler! This kind of only works if your household contains more than one computer and both you and a parent have facebook or instant messaging or something. If you do, however, here's how to play: Wait until a parent has signed on to some kind of social networking site. As soon as they're on, run and get on the other computer. Log on, wait a few minutes, and then message them and say: "Hey! I'm kind of thirsty. Could you please get me a glass of water or maybe some tea?" If they ignore you, don't give up. Message them again, boys and girls! This time, specify that you want sugar in your tea, and it has to be KOSHER sugar (is there such a thing? Heck if I know, boys and girls. Your parents probably don't know either. You will rely on this) and you also want 3.5 tablespoons of milk. Good luck with this game. It can have alarming results if you do it too frequently, so only once per sickness is pretty good.

3. Kleenexball. In this indoors alternative to basketball, contestants take turns shooting wadded-up Kleenex or generic tissue into a wastebasket. Can YOU make a three-pointer? (Solo play is also possible.)

4. What Are You Talking About? I'm Doing Just Fine. Only play this if you need to go somewhere that would not be ordinarily permitted under your parents' Where My Child Can Go When She Is Sick rules. This game is difficult, and involves cheery smiles and subdued coughing. Try not to blow your nose within range of parents. And whatever you do, DON'T hold that thermometer by a lightbulb! In fact, you may want to take it out of your mouth and blow on it to cool it off a little while the parent involved is not watching.

5. Help! I'm Being Held Hostage. If #3 fails to get you out of the house, try calling friendly neighbors. For best results, start it off with a good throaty scream. Then say, "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry but I just barely got away that time! Mrs. [Insert Neighbor's Name Here], they've been holding me in the cellar for days now! They're not feeding me, and I swear I can hear things scuttling around me in the dark. It's so scary! You've always been so nice to me. Can you come get me? PLEASE?" If it's working so far, end it off strong. Scream again and then say, "They've come for me!" and hang up. If your parents don't permanently ground you, it'll make a great story to tell the grandkids.

That should get you started! Let me know how these work out, incidentally. Obviously, some have more risks than others. :))))))

cookies

Not the computer kind. I'm talking about real, honest-to-goodness, chocolate-y, goodness-inducing cookies. The kind that cure PMS and other bad moods.

I have decided that everyone needs at least four cookies per batch made. Here is why.

1. You need two cookies minimum to have the opportunity to savor the pure, unadulterated flavor of the cookie itself. Lick the melted chocolate off your fingers. Smack your lips loudly.

2. One cookie (at least) should be dipped in cold milk. You can have more if necessary, but AT LEAST one.

3. One cookie, after you've sworn that you've eaten too many cookies already and you're done, should be secretly split with someone. You can pinkie-promise to not tell anybody else if it makes you feel better, because cookies are the quintessential comfort food and not to be taken lightly, but eaten with great joy and occasionally secrecy.

Cookies are a wonderful thing. Possibly God's greatest culinary gift to mankind. As such, they're really like potato chips: you can't have just one.

in which my brain is even weirder than we thought

This comes to you in two parts that join together in the end.

Part the First:

Ever since I was a very small child, I've thought of numbers in color. 1 was yellow, 2 was blue, 3 was orange, 4 was blue/green, etc. Odd numbers were warm colors, even numbers were cool colors. The only exception to this is 8, which is very distinctly pink. I don't consciously imagine colors this way, they just kind of...are. I don't know how to explain it.

BUT WAIT! I'm not crazy.

Part the Second:

This January, I read a book called The Name Of This Book Is Secret. Aside from being fabulous, it featured a synesthesete character. Synesthesia, I discovered, is when one's senses get all joined. When a synesthesete sees a skyscraper, he or she might taste strawberries or hear bells. A certain smell might evoke an image or a color.

The Joining of the Parts:

I was discussing this with my mother one day, and began to wonder if I had a mild form of synesthesia. Today, I finally looked it up.

Seeing numbers or letters in color is one of the most common forms of synesthesia.

So I have synesthesia.

Who knew?

0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

chicken chasing and one-track minds

I know, I know--I already posted this as my facebook status so this post might be a little redundant. But I want to examine the scene of Carson's attempted killing in closer detail. (Not like GRAPHIC GORY BLOODY detail, though. Don't worry. You can keep eating.)

All right. There we were. By the sheep pen. A small flock of chickens was in front of us. (By "us" I refer to myself, Sandy the Intelligent, Thoughtful, Pacifist Dog, and Carson the Idiot Puppy.) We continued in relative peace as I reached the sheep pen and cooed at the widdle lambkins. Goochie goochie goo.

And then Carson saw the chickens in a new, predatory light. "It's prey, you fool," I'm sure her survival instincts were screaming at her.

She listened to the instincts.

One minute there we are, calm and collected and playing with the lambkins, and then

WHOOSH

she's off like a rocket after those chickens.

"CARSON!" I'm screaming, flying after her. She is quite a bit in front of me, and gaining distance. "CARSON! NOOOOOO! NO! STOP!"

She does not hear me. (Quote-unquote. I think she didn't hear me like I don't hear my mother when she tells me to do some cleaning.)

I run after her for several minutes, screeching at the top of my lungs as she chomps down on what I keep thinking is the chicken but is apparently only chicken feathers. (The poor thing's probably bald by this point--kinda like the picture.)

Finally, the chickens manage to escape and Carson bolts over to the barn, where I follow her and berate her heavily.

And we go home.

I am tired.

That is all.

excuses for not blogging

Not that it's been AGES and AGES, but I haven't posted in close to a week, and besides, excuses come naturally to me. ;) Without further ado:

1. I Was Busy. (Oh come on. This is a perfectly true excuse of course, and a reliable one, but in terms of interest and originality, it ranks pretty low. I mean, I use it as much as the next guy. Just sayin'.)
2. I Dropped My Computer Down The Laundry Chute By Accident. (See what I mean? Vastly more interesting. Though I admit to never having actually used it before.)
3. The Men In White Coats Came And Threatened Me. (Apparently they do not like my blog. :'( )
4. My Cat Ate Both My Hands And I Just Got Prosthetics. (...really, what more can you say?)
5. My Teacher Told Me That I Couldn't Blog Until I Finished The Rough Draft Of My Essay Which Is Due On Monday. (I guess you all know what I'm supposed to be doing right now.)
6. I Was Reading A Fantastic Book In My Spare Time Rather Than Blogging. (This is true too, but much more exciting than number one. Any of you read The Lost Conspiracy by the fabulous Francis Hardinge?)

Aaaaaand that's all I can think of for now. More later!

Katie