Swimsuits and Storms and Disbelief

This weekend was an escape.

I got three new swimsuits ("THREE???" you all gasp . . . yet, consider: 1) I WEAR these in the summer. These are my CLOTHES . . . and, 2) I have worn the same three or so swimsuits since 8th grade. I am seriously popping out of them). Yet I am so happy with my new ones. One is printed to look like jeans (and the top is psychodelic paisley-ish, which reminds me of the '70s, lol . . . ) and I could have gotten boyshort bottoms that REALLY looked like jean shorts, but, well, I hate boyshorts . . . but it's still cute. Another, which I wore today swimming in Tiffany's backyard, is a halter-tied one that's just blues and periwinkles, and the bottom has a little belt on it, and it reminds me of the '60s. The last one was the one I wore on Sunday, while riding around the boat, getting a tan (well-- I at least got some color! I don't GLOW, anymore! Lol . . . ), which is the most revealing. My mom says she is jealous of my bust. This is a stupid thing, really, but she's gone MOST of my post-pubescent life telling me I'm fat, and yet telling me she envies my waist and my bust. *Sigh* I guess, though, if I flaunt the bust area, no one will notice the bit of the fat foll on my belly, lol . . .

I also got a pink top with a big bow on the side, pink with white polka-dots, that reminds me of the 1950s, and a white skirt with little pleats at the bottom, which I wore today. A lot of people said I looked cute. I enjoyed myself, lol . . . I am such a girl.

The storms last night were crazy. It was so hot, and so humid, and it did not surprise me at all that it ended up like that. It's always the best days that turn into the worst storm days (plus, hey, you KNEW there had to be some tornadoes, since there were practically none in April and May, lol . . . ).

I felt bad for that guy who died, though. It was nice that it was only one, but still . . .

I also came to the realization that I still think of 50 years old as "old" (I pictured the man being an old white-haired guy puttering around in his barn), but my mom's turning 50 years old this November. That's crazy. She's not an old, white-haired, puttering thing. Ahh, well . . . that's perception, for you . . .

I think I need to be a certified storm watcher when I grow up . . . you know, keep a radio or whatever and call in to the National Weather Service to keep them updated on what is going on with the weather in my area. It'd probably be more useful if I lived out in the country, which I don't think I will, and in the tornado belt (otherwise, I don't care, lol-- I'm a tornado freak, only a mild nerd about everything else in the natural disaster scale, lol . . . ), but still . . . I keep tabs on everything that goes on as a storm progresses, every time. When they said there was going to be damaging winds and possible tornadoes, I put Piggy, Bunny Long Legs I, Bunny Long Legs II, Pink Floyd, and Yukata Bunny down in the basement with my blanket, story, and yearbook (Sherlock Holmes was right: in a disaster, a woman runs first immediately to protect that which she values most, lol . . . ), and I opened up several windows on the upper floor of the house to reduce pressure and prevent the risk of our house being lifted up off the ground in a tornado.

I am going to built myself a storm shelter when I get older . . . a storm shelter/bomb shelter, so I will always be safe. I may be more pro-liberty than pro-security, but, hey: I'm not stupid. I know when to build myself a wall and get in it, lol . . .

. . . plus, I can't trust the government not to get us bombed, anyway . . .

Anyway, it was nice for Sarah's party when I went, but when I went home to meet up with Mom and Dad and Tory and Neil for Braxton's party, it was BAD. The storm came up really fast, and Dad was like, "Let's leave," and Mom was like, "HAVE YOU LOOKED OUTSIDE???" So we waited about half an hour, and when we finally did leave, the roads were deserted and covered in debris, driving to Middlebury. We passed two firetrucks and several police cars blocking off roads. I felt bad for Braxton (and I'm sure Sarah had trouble for the last hour of her party, too )-:), for they had moved everything inside into the crowded garage to get it out of the rain, out even from under the tent, which they feared would collapse. Still, it was a fine party.

It all seems so unreal, there really being only one real day of school left. I'm afraid of not getting everyone to sign my yearbook to sign it. Of all things to be afraid of . . . that's what I'm afraid of.

I'm with Kristina: When people say, "Keep in touch," do they really mean keep in touch? I wish everyone in the world was required to keep a journal, just so that I could keep tabs on them-- just because I'm so afraid of actually having to break out of a shell to talk to them. If you don't do it regularly, you can't do it at all . . . and so it all just dies. With the journal, it's more laid-back . . . you can read if you want to, and comment when you do.

I was so glad that Alice spoke to me at lunch. There wasn't a lot, but it was nice.

Swimsuits and Storms and Disbelief

This weekend was an escape.

I got three new swimsuits ("THREE???" you all gasp . . . yet, consider: 1) I WEAR these in the summer. These are my CLOTHES . . . and, 2) I have worn the same three or so swimsuits since 8th grade. I am seriously popping out of them). Yet I am so happy with my new ones. One is printed to look like jeans (and the top is psychodelic paisley-ish, which reminds me of the '70s, lol . . . ) and I could have gotten boyshort bottoms that REALLY looked like jean shorts, but, well, I hate boyshorts . . . but it's still cute. Another, which I wore today swimming in Tiffany's backyard, is a halter-tied one that's just blues and periwinkles, and the bottom has a little belt on it, and it reminds me of the '60s. The last one was the one I wore on Sunday, while riding around the boat, getting a tan (well-- I at least got some color! I don't GLOW, anymore! Lol . . . ), which is the most revealing. My mom says she is jealous of my bust. This is a stupid thing, really, but she's gone MOST of my post-pubescent life telling me I'm fat, and yet telling me she envies my waist and my bust. *Sigh* I guess, though, if I flaunt the bust area, no one will notice the bit of the fat foll on my belly, lol . . .

I also got a pink top with a big bow on the side, pink with white polka-dots, that reminds me of the 1950s, and a white skirt with little pleats at the bottom, which I wore today. A lot of people said I looked cute. I enjoyed myself, lol . . . I am such a girl.

The storms last night were crazy. It was so hot, and so humid, and it did not surprise me at all that it ended up like that. It's always the best days that turn into the worst storm days (plus, hey, you KNEW there had to be some tornadoes, since there were practically none in April and May, lol . . . ).

I felt bad for that guy who died, though. It was nice that it was only one, but still . . .

I also came to the realization that I still think of 50 years old as "old" (I pictured the man being an old white-haired guy puttering around in his barn), but my mom's turning 50 years old this November. That's crazy. She's not an old, white-haired, puttering thing. Ahh, well . . . that's perception, for you . . .

I think I need to be a certified storm watcher when I grow up . . . you know, keep a radio or whatever and call in to the National Weather Service to keep them updated on what is going on with the weather in my area. It'd probably be more useful if I lived out in the country, which I don't think I will, and in the tornado belt (otherwise, I don't care, lol-- I'm a tornado freak, only a mild nerd about everything else in the natural disaster scale, lol . . . ), but still . . . I keep tabs on everything that goes on as a storm progresses, every time. When they said there was going to be damaging winds and possible tornadoes, I put Piggy, Bunny Long Legs I, Bunny Long Legs II, Pink Floyd, and Yukata Bunny down in the basement with my blanket, story, and yearbook (Sherlock Holmes was right: in a disaster, a woman runs first immediately to protect that which she values most, lol . . . ), and I opened up several windows on the upper floor of the house to reduce pressure and prevent the risk of our house being lifted up off the ground in a tornado.

I am going to built myself a storm shelter when I get older . . . a storm shelter/bomb shelter, so I will always be safe. I may be more pro-liberty than pro-security, but, hey: I'm not stupid. I know when to build myself a wall and get in it, lol . . .

. . . plus, I can't trust the government not to get us bombed, anyway . . .

Anyway, it was nice for Sarah's party when I went, but when I went home to meet up with Mom and Dad and Tory and Neil for Braxton's party, it was BAD. The storm came up really fast, and Dad was like, "Let's leave," and Mom was like, "HAVE YOU LOOKED OUTSIDE???" So we waited about half an hour, and when we finally did leave, the roads were deserted and covered in debris, driving to Middlebury. We passed two firetrucks and several police cars blocking off roads. I felt bad for Braxton (and I'm sure Sarah had trouble for the last hour of her party, too )-:), for they had moved everything inside into the crowded garage to get it out of the rain, out even from under the tent, which they feared would collapse. Still, it was a fine party.

It all seems so unreal, there really being only one real day of school left. I'm afraid of not getting everyone to sign my yearbook to sign it. Of all things to be afraid of . . . that's what I'm afraid of.

I'm with Kristina: When people say, "Keep in touch," do they really mean keep in touch? I wish everyone in the world was required to keep a journal, just so that I could keep tabs on them-- just because I'm so afraid of actually having to break out of a shell to talk to them. If you don't do it regularly, you can't do it at all . . . and so it all just dies. With the journal, it's more laid-back . . . you can read if you want to, and comment when you do.

I was so glad that Alice spoke to me at lunch. There wasn't a lot, but it was nice.