I'm not a Freshman, I'm a Ninth Grader!

No lie. A kid on my bus said it. I just about died.

I have decided to devote this post to school. Not something I'll do lightly, because I see it as more of a burden then a blessing. But in order to understand me, school is a big part of my life, mainly because it takes up most of my time. I'm a junior, as previously stated, and I have this giant book of 2,500 colleges that I have currently narrowed down to 2,500. Procrastination is the key to my sucess. But, I'm still in high school and still have to suffer through nine periods a day with an wide assortment of teachers and classes.


1st and 3rd period I have AP Bio with Mr. R. He likes to call himself a 'marine bio buff'. No joke. But the worst is double period notes. Labs are okay, except during the respiration lab where he had to blend up cow liver and called it 'liver-colada'... It's a seriously erratic class, because some days we're totally into notes and work past the bell, and others we just sort of hang out and make up on old labs. Today, for instanse, we were discussing fungi. Yes, fungi. Anyway, he was talking about the few species that aren't saprophites and are actually parasites. And he says 'here, I have it on the Proxima!" (the projector). And behold, a giant picture of athletes foot right up there on the big screen. Next to my head. Yeah. Also, I sit about 3 feet from the boxes label "Pigs '09". I am totally sickened just walking into class.


2nd period I have AP US History with Mr. J. It's a fun class, as in interesting, but there's a lot of notes. I'm not exactly good at history, but I'm actually doing well this year. There's really not much to say about this class. I don't dread going there, but I personally am not a big fan of history. Still, Mr. J has a lot of stories about pretty much anything that relates to history and they're actually generally intresting to me.


4th period I have lunch.


5th period I have 'Math 12X' (also known as PreCalc) with Mr. S. Shoot me. Yeah, yeah, he might be a great teacher and all, but his strategy is absolutely horrific. He leaves 10 minutes at the end of class to teach the lesson, then I don't understand it and screw up the homework, then he complains that we should know it from last year. Umm... no, we didn't. And even if we did, it was last year, and our 'tiny brains' can't comprehend it now. My parents keep saying 'then you need to tell him!" Again, not going to happen.

6th period I have English 11 with Mr. F. Not really much to say, but Mr. F sort of freaks me out a little bit. Other than that, not much to say. Oh, and it's mad boring.

7th period I have French III with Mr. B. Fun class. I mean, we learn and he's a really tough teacher, but it's still fun and we actually learn. This class has been together since eigth grade, because there's only 1 class of it, and a bunch droped but there's still a lot left. One time Mr. B whipped a steak knife out of the filing cabinet. And then proceeded to hold it up to his wrists and say 'Je vais eplucher ma main'. Translation: I'm going to peel my hand. WTF. One day, he asked me where I was when my parents died. Then quickly added, 'they are alive, right?' (in English). Appalled, I nodded and answered the question anyway.

Then 8th and 9th I have gym and study hall.

So that's my school life.
And I haven't posted anything in a while, but I've been busy... or haven't and just didn't feel like it. The latter is more probable.

The Return of Madison!

As I have shared previously Madison, my second Australian Labradoodle was off doing her thing as a puppy mama. She had 8 puppies, 2 of which are still looking for their forever homes, and after two long months she came home today. She's been next to my mother like white on rice since she came home, so there were few chances to cuddle, et cetera. But, with the assistance of a treat, the pups spared a few moments of their time to get photographed. Not in the photography-esque way, in the aww-my-dogs-are-cute-lookit-them way. All are in Black and white because the wall is an ugly color and they just look cuter that way.

Just lying on the floor (next to mom, of course!)

RAWR!!!Who can resist that face?

Sisters!

In other news: I'm funny! I really am funny!

Huzzah, I'm a generally anti-funny person (spoken, not written) so I was very proud of a couple recently. Whenever I do actually do something funny I always feel the need to retell it, so I figured that this would be a suitable place:

"The heat is on only from 6pm when my mom gets home to 9pm when my mom goes to bed and that's it." - Discussing my dad's cheap habits.

Mom: "You're a good egg, Sarah"

Me: "I know, I'm not one of those yucky salmanella ones."

While looking at On Demand list, we saw 'Run, Fat Boy, Run' as a title:

Friend: "Brother, that's the story of your life!"

Friend's Brother: "No, it's a funny movie, he finishes a marathon at the end!"

Me: "Please, you don't even need legs to finish a marathon."

I'm so proud of myself. I don't know why. After reading them, they're not even funny. You don't get the full effect after reading them on a computer screen. Ehh, whatever, they were great at the time!

And a belated Happy Thanksgiving!

In the Land of El Grande

Necessary disclaimer: I love my grandma, even more than I love to make fun of her, but that doesn't mean making fun of here isn't up there on the list of hobbies.

There would be mountains of mashed potatoes and soda with her name written on it and no evil son-in-law. But what would I do without her? I cannot say. So let's get through the sad part quickly: El Grande weighs about four million pounds, has cancer (currently presiding in her pancreas), only has nine toes left (due to the cancer), and a mean granddaughter who blogs rude things about her. Alright, pity pity pity. Yes, yes, I know it's terribly rude and all but it's absolutely hilarious living with her and I cannot contain myself. Now, I'll begin with her horrible English, and create a glossary!

The Abridged El Grande - English Dictionary:

• 'A Movies' - movie
• 'Didjokovitch' - Djokovic (as in Novak)
• 'Fridgerator' - refridgerator
• 'Lieberry' - library
• 'Sparagis' - asparagus
• 'So-ee Sause' - soy sauce
• 'Spoom' - spoon

And more will eventually added when I'm not so lazy.
Anyway, she is obsessed with people who have money. "ooh, Chris got Janet this, and Joey got Heidi that..." and it annoys the heck out of me. Seriously. Then she goes and buys us a television for Chritmas, even when she has no money, and is going on a cruise next year. She also has a bad habit of hiding food in her room (most of which I have found because it is in generally easy access for her large round figure to get at) and writing her name on items that reside in the refridgerator.

Also, she's really dumb. We wrote down a list of continents, and threw in other things like her home town, a state, and some countries. We asked her to circle the seven continents. Who knew that North America, South America and America were all continents! And I learned a fun fact talking with her: there are 52 states, one of which is Puerto Rico. Listen to your elders, children, because they know wayyy more than you. Yeah. She thinks that we 'turn off' the heat at night. No - it just goes to 60. Then she wakes up and puts it at 67 to heat her montrous blob of a body. One time, she was in the wheel chair and my dad was pushing her up the ramp to a restaurant. He hit a rock or something because then there was her whole body tumbling out of the chair. It ended with my dad catching her, but he grabbed her boob in the process. And he didn't even know it, so she started to yell and complain about him and his comment was that 'it felt the same as the rest of her body'.

And finally, in this fairly short (for me) post, her wardrobe is conducted of sweatsuits and t-shirts. The occasional sweater, like for Erin's conformation last week. It was pink with a black trim - fine enough. But I noticed her sweatpants were navy blue. So I commented on it and she was like 'No they're not!', so I droped it. At the service, my dad's pants were really black and he sat next to her. So I commented again on it and the response was "oh yeah, I guess they are". They're black when I say it but when there's proof they're not black. Psh.

Touchback & Other Mounts

I figured I'd take this time to talk about the horse background of my life, because I often find myself babbling about how CP did a flying change with me and actually didn't buck, but I didn't ask for it. But... why would CP buck you ask? I have no idea, but he does. So I'm going to talk about all the equines I have the pleasure to ride (mostly) right now. I'll eventually talk about the past mounts, but today I'm going to keep it contained to Timber, Lucky, Calvin, CP, and BJ. Although, I don't ride Calvin or BJ anymore, I still feel they're important enough to put up there with the commonly ridden horses.

Please remember I don't own any horses, I lease Timber, so these are all lesson horses at my barn.

BJ
He's the old man. Ironically, the first time I rode him the fell off and he ended up being one of my favorite ponies ever. He's not exactly push button, but he was an excellent pony hunter back in the day and is now treated like royalty, but not spoiled. I had the pleasure of being the last one to consistantly show him at the ripe old age of 26. Although, two years ago my trainer's daughter did show him once just for the experience of saying 'I showed BJ!'. I don't ride him anymore, but I wish I did. Now he's still being ridden, so he's still in shape (fugly IS right - a horse can be old and healthy! It's like magic!). On the occasions that he gets loose he gallops around the barn with his tail up in the air and the young'ns who go out with him following him around. This pony is honestly amazing, 28 years old and getting jumped once or twice a week. Only two foot, but he's being jumped nonetheless. He's one of those rare ones you can just chuck the reins up his neck and you know you'll both look good. He taught me a lot, because he is by no means push button, and by the end of his career he has accomplished so much that he deserves that extra carrot at the end of the day.

CP

The second old man. He's a tad thin, but he's the 25 year old TB, which is pretty much defined as hard to keep weight on. But he's still super athletic, he jumps 2'6" with me and a few others (obviously only once, maybe twice, a week). I honestly can't remember what the hell CP stands for, but I know it's something 'Prince'. He deserves the title, except for a few major quirks. For one, you have to close the barn door before taking him out of his stall unless you plan on falling and watching do his TB run to get outside. He loves to be loose, if he sees other others loose (accidentally, of course!), even while he is in the feild, he will whinny and whinny constantly. Another one of his problems is that he doesn't do lead changes. He did to me, once, but it was during a straightaway after a jump and he did it without me asking. But I always know to half halt and trot that one step for the lead. He also has a habit of ignoring me and choosing to take off long, but this problem has gotten much better. Eh, he's ancient and can probably make better decisions than me anyway. Usually after he does that I get the point and fix it the next time around, anyway. I've only ridden him this past year and now this year, so we still haven't really clicked like some of the others, but he's buddy to me.

Lucky

Ahh, Lucky. Where to begin. For one, she is the first 'horse' I ever rode. I'd like to point out that she is not the best horse for a newbie, but I had already ridden for about four years by then, so I figured I could handle her. After trotting her funky baby-step trot a couple times around, my trainer turns around to me and says 'I think she likes you'. WTF. She tried to bite me tacking up (as always), won't stand still, and now has this weirdass trot and she likes me? Unfortunately for me, she has an even more awkward canter and likes to rush jumps. It's what every fifth grader wants - a wacko horse to ride. Turns out, she likes me because I have soft hands and am very light while posting because she has the back of Quasimodo. Okay, not really, but she's sensitive. Anyway, after so far it's been six years of riding Lucky, now 25 years old. She's taught me an absolute ton. For example, to relax when they spook. Just tell them to stop. It's that simple. Also about getting them to slow down when they love to take off after the jump. And finally, that even when the girth is tightened and an angry face is made, it doesn't mean that they don't love you, it means they hate the girth. She always makes a pitiful face after she tries to bite me or something, expecting me to forgive her.

And I always do.

Calvin

My dearest Calvin. A loving horse that in reality is completely usless. A long time ago, he was boarded at my barn, rode western. Then one day they just stopped coming. An absolutely horrible thing to do, but their foul decision made my life all the better. My trainer and her sisters switched him to English, and he was pretty good at it. There are pictures of him in the tack room going over 3'6" oxers, something that he dreams of today. My best friend's older sister leased him for the longest time, and I would accompany them to horse shows and always supported them. Then she went off to college, and another girl leased him, while I leased BJ. Then I outgrew BJ, the other girl moved, and it was finally my chance. My chance to get on the fat dun warmblood and waddle with him around the arena. The funniest thing about Calvin is when you finally get to that jump, after pressing and pressing, find that perfect distance, he chooses to through in that extra little step, just in case he can't heave his gigantic body over that tiny crossrail. I got one precious show summer out of him. Rode him three times before our first show, but I didn't care. I trusted that damn horse with my life. I continued to ride him after my lease was up, but less and less. He was stiff, sore, and just unconfortable at the young, compared to others, age of 23. I rode him one week in April, and he was stiff and was even tougher to push around the ring. The next week, I rode Timber for the first time, and got that fateful news: It is imposible to keep him sound. I was all ready for show season '08 on my trusty steed, and suddenly he had been demoted to walk/trot lessons. I went to his stall that night and cried. He's still there, on the right side, inbetween CP and Sunny, eating his hay. Enjoying himself, enjoying retired life. But he always gets a carrot and a hello from me. Occasionally I'll see a little kid with stubby legs struggling to get him past that one last corner at the trot, but he looks content (he thanks the person who invented bute). As long as he is a happy, I am happy. He is the second horse I have had the pleasure of taking through their last show season. That dammed Calvin, Calvin with the palomino heart as a star, Calvin who loves food. Calvin who has always been there, since day one at the barn and watching him show.

Timber

And last but not lease, the Timberkins. The devil in large pony form. And this for a good laugh. Yep, my first trip to the barn, ever. Period. Now look at us, eleven years later and me growing a good fifteen feet after that picture was taken (also aquiring a fashion sense better than my parents at the time), him currently just as fuzzy, learning how to have a person on your back and that you need to listen to that person. Our story picks up basically where Calvin's story ends. That time I rode Timber for the first time ever and it was a complete failure. Actually, I rode him dismally, rode CP, then rode Timber again and jumped 2'6" (for the first time since those singles got too much for Lucky), and was then told about Calvin. Thank God for CP, because after my epic fail on Timber my confidence as a rider was pretty much shattered. Yeah, Timber did that to me. Cute little Timber destroyed my will to show that year. Then CP was good, and I felt well enough to get back on the pony for another lesson. Happy lesson that time. Lesson that convinced me that this stupid pony actually has a brain somewhere in his giant head large enough to show with me. And the rest was history. He's still a devil on the crossties, but I've been working on that. And I figure I'm done growing, so even though I'm 5'9", he's got one hellova heart girth to fit my leg (with stirrups. He tries to through me when I take them out because I accidentally slip down a little bit occasionally and poke him with my heel on his tummy).

So that's the clan. Or might I say, the recently ridden clan. I will eventually get around to writing about the non-ridden bunch. Including Cloudy. I'll probably write about him on February 5, though. In honor of him. Enjoy.

Also, I plan on doing a 'real' post tomorrow. Not one centered around me, just to prove I'm not a vain bitch.

I'm new to this whole 'blog' thing...

... so I'll give an... introduction (for lack of a better word) and whatnot. First, to answer the immediate question: Why on earth is this here? Well, I figure I have a semi-intresting life, and I plan on remembering it when I'm 85 and living in a nursing home, wearing a catheter, and taking pills via applesauce, so I should better write it all down. Also for my own enjoyment of reliving ironic things that happen with my, frankly, ironic life. I'm not a total ding-dong who lives a bad-comedy-movie style of life, but having damn funny parents and an idiot as a grandmother who pronounces simple words such as 'spoon' incorrectly, I think I'll be kind and share my humbly funny stories. Hey, friends at school seem to enjoy my stories of 'enema bags' writen on shopping lists and hiding food in bedrooms to prevent other family members from snacking away on your snacks, so I'm making them more accesible now. As you may have noticed, I spell out all my words and use proper punctuation - and the young age of 16! No, I am not in AP Lit, I'm in regular English 11, but I give myself a gold star for actually caring about my writing being legible. Though my friends find in annoying on aim when they have to wait five minutes for me to say one sentence...

Now, an introduction of the rest of my life: My family has a whoping 4 people : Mom, Dad, Erin, and Me. But the extended family just adds to the fun. My stumpy little grandma L has an afro, I swear to God. Though it is starting to thin out... Anyways, my other grandma K (also refered to as 'El Grande') sadly has cancer, but she's made it through the last 15 years with nine toes so she's a brave enough to last a little while longer, I suspect. Also, please note that no matter how many rude and unnessecary comments I make, I still love my grandmas and my entire family. The gramps is a crab, we constantly fight because no, I do not think that veal is the best meat, and the fat is the best part of said meat. My mom is a nurse and we constantly get magazines with nasty bloody images on the cover, then she makes fun of me and says, "Sarah, don't you want to be a doctor when you grow up?" Umm, no. I cry at the sight of a syringe. On television. In the next room. How on EARTH I am going to survive disecting a fetal pig in AP Bio, I have no idea. And dad, a solar-panel & HAM radio & running & Bear Grylls, fanatic. Fun stuff.

So I have two Australian Labradoodles. Get over it. You'll hear more about them later, but my fingers are cramping and I still have to write about Timber! Oh yeah, and there's Lily, the grey tabby who we adopted and is now living a lavish livestyle in the garage with the 1972 Convertible SuperBeetle (<3)>

A'ight, Timber. His show name is Touchback (Oooooooh, Aaaaaaah, yeah, not my choice). That's how I got the URL thingy (TouchbackTimber). I have pictures when he was a yearling and I was 5 in my pink fluffy snowsuit that will give everyone a good giggle when I get around sharing that. I got the blog title, 'A Tree Falls in the Forest', because of 'Timber'. Now, the age old question: Does it make a sound? Of course, we'll go into more detail on Mr. Timber later.

Finally, ze camera. My child. I don't want real children, for specific reason's I'd rather not get into, but this is my not-living-and-safely-insured child. Canon Rebel XTi. I never had a camera, then with scraping up my Christmas money last year I got some crappy point&shoot sony. Best decision EVER, because my parent's didn't want me to buy one of my own, but I did anyway. Then in... may?... my dad and I paid for the XTi, because we had some old lenses (he used to work for Canon), so we decided on it. My second best decision. I've taken over 2,000 pictures with it already, and some will eventually make it onto here. But for now, you'll have to settle for my dA.