Why Can't I write... seriously?

Now I know you may think (which in and of itself is a miracle, but we overlook this once-in-a-life-time-experience for you and continue on with my blog) that I may be talking about my inability to write, period. But, hate to disappoint you, but you got the wrong impression. This blog is here to answer the baffling question of why I can't write about serious subjects, or right seriously (although, I have to admit, we are getting a little serious here... a little too in-depth for me :) ). Now I know you have spent your life pondering this problematical problem in that tiny-little-brain-of-yours, and have yet to come up with a plausible solution. But yet, never fear - Genius Girl is here! (that, in-and-of-itself just shows my genetic material far beyond yours) :) But, to get back to the real reason we're reading this, I just can't seem to write seriously. Now I know I shouldn't be saying "Can't" as really I can, it's just that I have to try REALLY hard to write something serious, and in the end - it's horrible. It's not that I don't like serious things - I do. I even like reading about serious things. Trust me, I totally enjoy a suspense murder mystery a whole lot more than a love-sick romance. And I'm not saying I can't be serious at all- believe me, there are things in my life that I am very serious about, but english?!? Com'on, it's English for crying-out-loud! Who can be serious about that? J (just kidding mr. rich, i love english!) But for me English is more of a hobby, a past-time, not some in-depth analytical b.s. that someone wants me to write. I consider myself more of an Oscar Wilde than a Mary Shelly persona. (And I am strictly talking about their writing styles - not their personal lives!) Or maybe it's just that for years I have been told to write about certain subjects, or books, or whatever the teacher wanted to hear, and for years I have been aching to write an innovated and original piece of something I wanted to hear. I was tired of writing for other people, not really enjoying it or even liking it - I wanted to write something that was entirely mine, something I could really relate to and understand completely. And although this blog is not entirely my idea, I have personal freedom to create articles and paragraphs on whatever I feel like writing about. HAPPY DAY!!! :) So while I could choose to write about something in-depthly analytical and profound and wow you with my amazing b.s.ing abilities, I choose not to as I've done that for years and I prefer personal choice. :)

And maybe I would write seriously more often if it wasn't such fun to write humorously.

But enough of this serious subject, how about a joke. Blonde Jokes are my favorite. Here’s a great one:

The blonde test taker

A blonde reports for her university final exam which consists of mainly true and false questions. She takes her seat in the examination hall, stares at the question paper for five minutes, and then in a fit of inspiration takes her purse out, removes a coin and starts tossing the coin and marking the answer sheet: true for heads and false for tails. Within thirty minutes she is all done, whereas the rest of the class is still working furiously.

During the last few minutes, she is seen desperately throwing the coin, swearing and sweating. The moderator, alarmed, approaches her and asks what is happening.

"I finished the exam in a half hour," she replies. "Now I'm rechecking my answers."

Well, that’s all for now folks! :)

P.S. That's how I take my tests- the scores are much more interesting that way! :)

Ways people can tell you bought their Christmas present at the dollar store.

Well, to start with, its probably a pink metal flamingo, or a growing beast key-chain or some other random item. Not to mention, it will probably break with in five minutes of being exposed to the natural air. And when the cashier lady is checking you out (no, not personally), the item breaks in her hand, but she quickly says, would you like a new one, and you reply, "no", as afterall, it is only a dollar and it's not worth the calorie-burning exhilaration that only comes by running to the back of the store and digging through the heaps of incredibly diverse thing-a-ma-bobs (that is from Little Mermaid, in case you were wondering) until you find the perfect inanimate object the comes to life when you lay eyes on it. You also have to stand in line for a half an hour because everyone else is doing their Christmas shopping there, but there's only 2 cashiers, though there's 10 checkout stands. (this fact is due to the low price of their items... as their net growth is not high enough to sustain other workers). They also are one of the few stores where they have signs that read, "We have Million Dollar Brands!" Not to mention, the McDonald kid toys last longer and are less expensive.

Why Can't He Just Die?!?!
Okay, so the he in the above question is not referring to a male man (and no, that is not a mail man), it is referring to a fish. A goldfish to be exact. Well, not exactly because I don't know how to tell if it is a boy of a girl fish. But, you get the idea - we'll just call it a he. So, let me begin by telling you that we got this fish well over a year ago, and I believe we got him from someone who was sick of having him, but didn't want to kill him (my current dilemma). So basically, we got him and another fish from these people. At first we were excited that we just got two new goldfish and all was well. Well, in case you don't know all ready, it's really hard to play with fish, cause you can't take them out of their bowl with water. (It's not like a dog or something, that you can play on the lawn with!) So really they're just objects you look at (boring!). So after a while we stopped doing what good animal caretakers do. We stopped changing their water and even stopped feeding them. So you'd think they would die, right? Wrong! We even had an "accident" where some little kid was by the table they were on, and bumped them off. So splatter, they fell on the carpet, the bowl broke and all, but then, someone just had to come to the rescue and save their little lives. And I had almost forgot all about the "poor" little fish, until last night. I went down to the basement (where we had put them a month earlier), in the room people hardly go in, and to my amazement, there sitting on the top shelf of the bookcase was the fish bowl. But I didn't really think much of it, till later when my friend came over. She saw the bowl and was like "you have fish" and I was like "yeah... exciting isn't it?!?" and she gets all excited and takes the bowl down. Well, come to find out that one of the fish died, and the other one is just swimming around in the dirty death water. Ewwww! I know, it was so gross. But seriously, why can't he just die! I mean, hullo! there is no plausible reason why he should still be swimming so "swimmingly" (ignore the pun). He's lived in his poop for months, should have died of starvation long ago, and now has been swimming with his dead friend's body for who knows how long. What am I doing wrong?!? He's supposed to die with conditions like that! The only thing I've come short of doing is flushing him down the toilet. (Which, by the way, I am too nice to do!) So, I've decided that maybe the fish heaven is too full right now (since everyone else's fish seem to die so easily) that maybe it's not "his time".

What would happen if we were all positive (in our attitudes, not for AIDS!)?
Again, the answer is a poem.
Up.
I wonder what would happen,
if people looked up instead of down.
If they actually looked to see,
What the weather was like, but not on T.V.
If when it was raining they looked up and not down,
they would see my umbrella and not the ground.
They would smile and notice the beautiful sky,
And not notice the litter and half-eaten pie.
They would smile more, care more, love more and be happy.
(They wouldn't look like they've just eaten taffy.)
We'd have a lot more compliments and a lot less frowns,
If people looked up and not down at the ground.
~ written by Marie Olsen

Why does service have such a good after-feel?
Not many things can leave you feeling as good as doing service. I just recently finished doing about 2 hours of service feeding the people at a homeless shelter. It just felt so good before, during and after the service. It's amazing. I believe service feels so good for a few reasons. One being that we are just born liking the feeling of it, and so we want to do it. It probably sends really cool hormones to our brains and makes us feel good. The other reason is that it's other-oriented. I personally know that when I'm having a hard day, instead of stressing out about it, I just do service. For some reason it helps me feel calm and peaceful. It helps me realize that my life isn't that tough and the a lot of people have it worse. So, basically I guess the moral of this story is... that when you're having a hard day, just do service and it will make you feel better.