Sunday, April 27, 2008

The funny things people say

     I have had so many embarrassing quotes thrown at me in the last few weeks!!! It has been insane! Some of them are funny, so I'll list them here in really short versions.

     Okay, quote one... This was at a stake dance, and over and over again people asked me why I didn't go to the bigger and more ominous "Regional Dance." I replied rather awkwardly to everyone that asked, "Because, nobody ever asks me to dance... It makes me feel a little left out." Until finally one of my best friends asked me the same question. When I replied to his question, he gave me a surprised look and said, "Well, if I had been there I would've asked you!" It was rather funny, but lots of people laughed at me for that comment.

     This quote is going to take a lot of confusing explanations. The quote? "Beth, stay away from knives!!!" So one time I was just sitting at lunch, and I was bored to the extreme. For some reason I just started playing with my utensils, twirling them in between my fingers, poking things around on my plate. And somehow it has become the joke that I have turned emo, just because I was playing with the knife! If you've heard a rumor that I'm emo, it's not true!!!

     Next quotes are from a kid who likes to poke fun at me when I'm doing the Student Government announcements... One day (when I was doing the announcements over the speaker phone,) a kid in Mrs. Cobia's science class blurted out, "Hey, I recognize her voice! It's that Sleepy Hollows girl!!" That same kid made another funny comment about me earlier in the year in Mr. Thompson's English class. As the kids were reading "The Pigman," they came across the word "Transylvanian." Quizzically a student asked, "What is a Transylvanian?" And little Mr. Joker says, " Like Beth!" Well that was mean, but I can't help that I'm white...

Those are just silly quotes I've heard other people say lately, but just for your sake, I'm going to post funnier quotes.

Age to women is like Kryptonite to Superman. -- Kathy Lette

As you get older three things happen. The first is your memory goes, and I can't remember the other two... -- Sir Norman Wisdom

In olden times, sacrifices were made at the altar, a practice that still continues. -- Helen Rowland

Women will never be as successful as men because they have no wives to advise them. -- Dick Van Dyke

Give a man a fish and he eats for a day. Teach him how to fish and you get rid of him all weekend. -- Zenna Schaffer

The pen is mightier than the sword, and considerably easier to write with. -- Marty Feldman

I can resist everything except temptation. -- Oscar Wilde

I am free of all prejudices. I hate everyone equally. -- W.C. Fields

Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT'S relativity. -- Albert Einstein

Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most. -- Mark Twain

Last week I stated that this woman was the ugliest woman I had ever seen. I have since been visited by her sister and now wish to withdraw that statement. --Mark Twain

Denial ain't just a river in Egypt. --Mark Twain

I like pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals. -- Winston Churchill

A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on. --Winston Churchill

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Locks of Love (Good Karma)

When I turned seven years old, a crazy idea popped into my head. What if I could somehow help people who had cancer? My Grandma had uterine cancer earlier in the year, and seeing what she had to go through made me want to help other people who had cancer. Sometimes I would sit and brainstorm, my tiny little seven year old cogs spinning in my brain. Finally after a few weeks of deep thought, I came up with an idea. Lots of people who had cancer ended up with no hair, they were hurting internally, and their pride was hurt on top of everything else. What if people with cancer got wigs? That might help their self esteem! I told my mom about my brilliant idea, what if people with long hair (like myself) cut it, and donated it? Then a manufacturing company could turn it into wigs, and finally they could give it to the needy patients with cancer, free of charge. My mom just laughed, "Beth, they already have that program. It's called "Locks of Love." I was a little down cast from having my brilliant idea already be taken, but I was excited that people were already giving up something they loved for people they loved. After finding out that a program was already in progress I told my mom that I wanted to donate my hair. She was rather surprised, as if she didn't expect her little seven year old to be so grown up already. My mom reminded me that to donate my hair, I would have to give away at least ten inches. That didn't really sink into my brain, I wanted to donate my hair. For two years I grew my hair out, to the point where I would not be offended if people started calling me Rapunzel. When I was nine years old, felt like I was ready. Secretly my mom was worried that I would be cutting off more than twelve inches of my hair. Stubbornly I had refused to get my hair cut those two years, how could I be so selfish to cut my hair when people needed it? Little did I understand that I had four inches of split ends would not be sufficient for people who needed hair. I was driven to an old man's house, clear in Ogden. The ten minute drive seemed much too long. When my mom walked me up to the house and read the sign that said, "walk-ins" I knew that this was serious business. We walked in to a small parlor, everything around seemed to be made of wood. There were vertical wood panels running along the walls. On the walls, there were pictures with all sorts of old fashion criminals on them. "Wanted, Jesse James: Reward 2,000 dollars." "Wanted Billy the Kid: Reward $500" It was a little surprising to see all the faded yellow wanted posters on the wall, it was quite a collection. There was a tall old man standing in front of me, he must've been at least 6"5. He told me to sit in his huge black chair, which he had to lower all the way to the floor. Quietly he talked to my mom so that I could not hear him. He told her that my hair was extremely damaged, and that if I had any chance of being able to donate my hair that day, I would have to have a bob. My mom worriedly told me that my hair would be up around my ears. Knowing how short that was, I was a little disappointed, but I never faltered. I had waited two years for this, and I didn't need my hair as some poor soul with cancer. There was no way in the world that I was going to back out now, I was doing this. So yes, all through fourth grade I had a bob. My hair was nearly as short as a boy's! Nowadays it would be considered the same length as a boys. Still, I hated my hair cut, but I loved the feeling that I felt from giving up my hair to the needy.

My mom was so impressed with me, that she decided to grow out her hair. Somehow in my family, it takes a really long time to grow out our hair. From the time I was nine, to just yesterday now that I'm fifteen, my mom grew out her hair. Yes, my mom cut her hair and donated it yesterday, and let me tell you, I was really proud. Her hair isn't quite a bob, but it was the thought that counted. The old man who had cut my hair earlier was the same one to cut my mom's hair. He questioned her about me and asked her questions like, "How old is she? What school is she going to?" My mom told him that I was currently fifteen years old, and that I would be going to DHS next year. He told my mom that I was just the right age for a job position he had opening. Being a business at home, he didn't have too much business. At least, he didn't have half as much as he would liked to have. He told her that he has hair models in all the major High Schools around D county. My mom listened intently as he told her that his hair model from DHS was graduating this year, and that he needed a new one. Darin asked my mom to bring me in so he could "interview" me for a new job. It turned out that he didn't really need to interview me. There were only a few questions, "Are you involved in school? Do you get good grades? Do you have time for this job?" I answered in the affirmative to all his questions. Darin clapped his hands and said, "Okay, we're set!" So because I started brainstorming at seven years old, I have a job at fifteen years old. What comes around goes around, so be good to those around you!

Thursday, April 3, 2008

My Substitute Teacher Phobia (Part Two)

       You know how I said I was, "scared of substitutes?" I had another fun experience today with a substitute. Want to take a guess at what class they were substituting in? Same as last time! I had a substitute bus driver. Not as life threatening as the last, but it was very inconvenient.

     My dad took my brother to school early. Before my brother left, he sprinted down the stairs and into my room. Looking at me curiously he asked, "Do you want a ride?" After thinking about the question for about a millisecond I said, "No, I'll take the bus. Can't you see that I'm still in my pajamas?" Mitch rolled his eyes and jogged back upstairs to hitch a ride with my dad.

     Hurriedly I shoved a pop-tart in my mouth and got changed into my favorite black shirt (my only black shirt.) When I was done getting ready for school, I practiced the piano until it was time for me to leave. Like all typical days, I turned the alarm system on, and then walked out into the brilliant sunlight. It had been the first time I'd seen the sun in a few days. Breathing in the fresh air, and absorbing the gloriously warm sun rays; I strolled to the bus stop. I stood at the bus stop waiting patiently for the bus. During that time I chit-chatted with a few girls, and then Jacob plucked up the courage to talk to me. He asked me if I was ready to dissect crayfish in science. Gritting my teeth I told him that I didn't want to be reminded. Right as I was thinking about the disturbing dissecting, the bus came to a screeching stop in front of us. Somehow I wasn't surprised to see my worst nightmare sitting in the front seat, a substitute bus driver! Reluctantly I trudged up the dirty black stairs, as if it was a natural instinct, I scanned the bus for seats. To my surprise, practically every seat was open! That was a first! Well I didn't think much about it, an almost empty bus seemed convenient at the time.

     A few minutes on our journey, Jacob looked at his watch and said, " I like this substitute! We're going to be early today!" Still it didn't phase us that something wasn't normal. Sitting in the front seat, I heard the static radio start to talk, " Turn back, you have missed a bus stop!" it was repeated again for extra emphasis, "Turn your bus around, you have missed a bus stop on Parkside." It was a nasally woman's voice, but the message was clear, or so I thought, apparently the bus driver had a hard time in English. "I did what?" he spluttered, "What's wrong? I missed a stop?"
 "Yes, I repeat, you missed a bus stop. Turn back now." repeated the radio woman for the third time. "Uh, okay." replied the bus driver. Angrily I covered my face in my hands. I live about six miles away from the school! We were just two streets away from reaching the school! So close, yet so far, the bus driver turned around at the city library.

"Well Jack, guess I won't have to worry about dissecting anymore." I said glumly. I didn't want to dissect, but I didn't want to mess up my perfect attendance record.
"They can't mark you tardy." he replied. Getting more frustrated by the minute I replied peevishly.
"Well that doesn't matter! I'll get a demerit in band, if I don't get my folder into the slot. That's an automatic ten points off my grade, the difference between an "A" and a "B." He looked a little sympathetic and then replied,
"Well then, it's not your fault if you get a B." I swallowed my words, trying to cheer up, I looked out at the sun shining mockingly bright.

     Eventually we drove past my neighborhood to Parkside, the forgotten bus stop. The teenagers at that stop thought it was hilarious that the bus was so late, everyone else was in panic mode.

     When we got to school it was about 8:14. Already four minutes late to class, I practically ran to my locker. I dumped everything in my backpack into my locker, grabbed the few things I needed for dissection, and shut my locker. When I reached class two minutes had passed. As I walked into the classroom Mrs. C looked at me like I was a more disgusting creature than the crayfish we were dissecting! Hastily I told her, "My bus was late." The look on her face told me that she didn't really believe me. Right then I decided to take Jacob's advice, it was Mrs. C's fault if she didn't believe me, I was telling the truth! My frustration was dissolved when I started dissecting, frustration was replaced with disgust, and soon after my disgust was replaced with a math quiz. It all turned out to be another typical day at school.

Once again, I will stick with my advice from my last report on substitutes. Be grateful for the people who take care of you! Be grateful for teachers, because you never know how awesome they truly are until they're gone.