Technology Woes and Whoas

I've had my Blackberry for Lord only knows how long.

I had a flip phone before that, and I really wanted a full keyboard for texting, since I don't really talk much on it.

When our contracts ran up, my dad upgraded me to a Blackberry.

He'd had one of the old-school ones, with the wheel on the side and all. Very hard to play BrickBreaker with. (The newer ones are better for that in case you're wondering.)

It's not a touchscreen, but I didn't want one. Still kind of don't.

But I was afraid I'd have to get a new phone because mine started glitching and freezing and generally acting buggy and such.

A few days ago, I decided to change my alarm tone to the Ghostbusters Theme.

. . . Don't ask. ANYTHING is better than preloaded stuff. You know that.

I plugged it into my laptop, but it wasn't even showing on the hardware. It was charging, and that was it.

I figured it couldn't hurt to try downloading the Blackberry Manager, since it was kinda, y'know, made for that.

Well.

Well.

Well.

Well.

Turns out there was an update for the OS.

Like, a big time update.

Like, 5.0.3 to 6.0.7 or something.

Yeah.

Oh. My. Gosh.

It's like having a new phone, I swear.

Burnt Hair: It's Actually Funnier than It Looks

So, if you've seen this, you know what I'm talking about.

If you haven't, enjoy:

Now, this is the part where I say something snarky about this, but I'm actually not going to.

I will say that having a heated tool in your hair for ten seconds is a rather long time and it's not a good idea, but that's about it.

But I've actually been in her boat before.

A friend - who shall remain nameless for the sweet sake of dignity - was drying my hair once with a  hair dryer and a round brush.

She was doing everything right as far as I can tell.

Suddenly, there was this AWFUL stench, and my first thought was "Oh no, my hair's broken her hair dryer".

Nope.

She pulled the brush away, and a chunk of hair came with it.

Omigosh it STANK.

She was horrified.

Now, I've gotta say that it was from one of the bottom layers in the back.

I mean, it was really no big deal.

I think she was expecting this:

She got this:

I thought it was hysterical.

Seriously, it was so funny.

I kept telling her it was fine and that no one would be able to tell, but I couldn't get over the fact it had happened. 

I mean, that's the stuff of movies, right?

It couldn't possibly happen in real life, right?

See video above.

Though, I do have to admit . . . that's the second time a round brush has had a part in destroying my hair. . .

Oh my word . . .

Sometimes that's all you can say.

Sometimes that's all you need to say. 

Like when your exhaust pipe falls off twice in one day, once when you're pulling out of the driveway to go to class and once in the Chick-fil-a drive through.

Like when your professor doesn't email the class that your 8 AM slow, painful death Crossfit aerobics class is cancelled and you could have slept in another hour.

Like when you have all these great ideas for stories but can't write them because you've just painted your nails and they aren't dry yet and then you forget them.

Yeah. . . 

Oh my word. . .
Good thing Somebody knows what's going on, right?

My (Mis)Adventure in the Realm of Cuisine - Part II

So. 

Y'all thought I would only have one (Mis)Adventure?

Nope.

Ha.

NOPE.

And here's the whammy - this one's a twofer.

So, me and my mom tried to make Peasant Bread.

It's supposed to rise, be punched down and separated, then rise again.

Well, the second time, it didn't rise. Like, at all.

We were stumped. 

It tasted perfectly fine, but it looked funny.

Remember that - it's important later.

So, the day after that, we tried making Amish Country Bread.

Pretty similar, all things considered.

So I was measuring and combining things when I realized we didn't have enough salt in one container. I asked my mom to get another one down since my hands were full. She asked how much I needed, and I said three tablespoons. She kinda made a face and was like "That's a lot" and she looked at the recipe.

Well.

All the measurements but one had a "t" or a "T" with them, so I thought they were all tablespoons. 

I learned to cook thinking "T" was tablespoon, and "tsp" was teaspoon.

My mom started laughing.

"Sissy," quoth she, "you know, you're a smart cookie . . . But sometimes you're really clueless."

(And she's right.)

Apparently, "T" can stand for tablespoon, and "t" can stand for teaspoon.

I assumed it was poor internet grammar.

And the thing is, I was measuring them all out with a tablespoon and since I needed three teaspoons of it, that would've been one tablespoon.

Well, we remembered that right after we poured it back.

Yep.

And while we were measuring, we decided to make sure one packet of yeast was two tablespoons, as we assumed it had been the day before.

Alas, it was not.

Therefore, the bread the day before had not risen a second time because there was only enough oomf for once. 

Yes.

This is me in the kitchen.

But everything still tastes good, so really.

(I FINALLY FOUND A USE FOR THIS!!!!!)

Fool me once . . .

Okay Beaufort girlies, listen up: I don't know where you do your shoe shopping, and on some level I don't really care, but I've got to tell you about this one store (which is kind of ironic, because I don't plan on actually naming this store). 

There's this store in Beaufort that has really cute shoes. And at good prices, too.

No, it's not Wal-Mart.

However, something weird happened the last two times I was there, probably within the same two weeks.

Allow me to start at the beginning: I wanted some brown flats, so when I saw a cute pair, I got the box that said 9 down because I (usually) wear a 9.

I tried both the shoes on, and they both fit.

That would be a given, except for one small factoid: one was a 9, the other was an 8 1/2. 

And my feet are normal, by the way. 

I put the bottoms together, and they looked exactly the same to me.

I figured the 8 1/2 was a misprint and took the box to the register to check out. 

They wouldn't sell it to me because (logically) if I had two sizes, somebody else had two sizes, and if they returned one, they'd need the other.

I ended up leaving with 8 1/2's (which fit perfectly fine), and thought it was a freak occurrence. 

Wrong. 

I went today for some black flats and wanted a 9. 

Once again, there was a 9 and an 8 1/2!

And once again, I ended up leaving with an 8 1/2!

So, for those of y'all in Beaufort . . . check your shoes before you buy them!

(Also because they might be two different - but similar - styles. That's happened to me before too. And yes, that was at Wal-Mart.)

NaNoWriMo

NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow and I am sooooooooooooooooooooo excited!!!

Last year, I fell epicly short of 50,000 words by about 47,500 words.

Yeah . . .

But this year I have new hope!

No, not Star Wars I/IV. 

Hope that I'll get ahead in my school work and crank out a 50,000+ word novel!

It's Official: I'm Allergic to Cats

sniff

Yup. It's official.

I'm allergic to cats.

That's rather unfortunate, because I'm currently house-sitting a dog (who doesn't bother my nose and sinuses) and a cat (who is wreaking HAVOC).

And cats are cute.

And the long haired ones are beautiful.

I can be in the same house with them, even the same room.

But God forbid I try to pet one.

Oh my . . .

See . . . I don't mind sneezing so much . . . but I can't breathe very well, not around the cat. And she was practically on my lap for about 15 minutes.

And when  I do sneeze, I have this rather obnoxious sneeze.

Expectation:

Reality:

sniff

Yeah . . .

Already scared of next semester . . .

I just want to sit down and cry -- I don't know what to do about school. 

I thought I could handle 6 classes in one day and maybe I can . . . But 5 classes in a row? 3 English classes, 2 of which are 400-level? A sociology class, a history class, and a business? 

What the heck was I thinking, signing up for that? Oh . . . I probably wasn't thinking at all.

Come to think of it, I bet I know why this is.

I bet God's teaching me to not procrastinate.

He's teaching me to be diligent.

He's teaching me to take assignments seriously, although I already do. More seriously, I guess.

I just pray I can learn the lessons in time.

My (Mis)Adventure in the Realm of Cuisine

This summer, my mom, sister, and brother went on a mission trip to Ukraine.
That left me and my dad home alone.

Um, no, really, it wasn't exactly like that.

The two main issues were laundry - which I can do - and cooking, which I can also do.

Here's the problem with cooking, though:

I really like food.

Japanese food . . .

Mexican food . . .

American food . . .

Italian food . . .

You name it, chances are I might like it.

We had tacos some nights. Went fine.

We had stir-fry. Perfect.

We had spaghetti with alfredo dipping sauce like Olive Garden's . . . Um . . . PROBLEM.

Unfortunately, I didn't realize my error in its entirety until about . . . oh, I don't know, four days ago.

So, soon after they left, I started looking for recipes online.

That's dangerous, just sayin'.

I looked in my mom's bookmarks first, and I saw she had bookmarked Olive Garden's recipe for their alfredo sauce.

I was shocked.

Why had she never made this before; we love their alfredo sauce!

I decided to rectify this "wrong" and set out to make it.

My dad and I thought it turned out pretty good. It was, well, white, and Olive Garden's isn't, but I figured they probably used butter in the restaurant version, even though there was none called for in the recipe I saw.

It tasted almost exactly the same, though, so we just forgot about it.

A few days ago, we went to Olive Garden and me and my mom inspected the dipping sauce.

Then she asked me a question.

"Did you use egg whites or egg yolks?"

"Egg whites."

"Em . . . are you sure that's what you were supposed to use?"

"Yeah, I think so. I mean, I printed it out and was looking at it the whole time."

"That's just weird, because usually you use egg yolks in sauces."

We sorta forgot about that . . .

. . . Until a few days later.

My mom was looking for a recipe and chanced upon the alfredo sauce.

"Hey Sis?"

"Yeah?"

"Um . . . that alfredo sauce?"

"Uh-huh?"

"It calls for egg yolks . . ."

. . . Oops . . .

However!

This calls for a second shot!

Not Getting Off on the Right Foot, Are We?

So, I downloaded the Consumer's Preview of Microsoft Office 2013.
Yes, I am a PC.
Born and bred.
I know Microsoft has more than its fair share of bugs, but I still like it.
Kinda like how the Carolina Gamecocks have a not-so-awesome record, but us fans still like them.
Anyways, I tried to open Microsoft Word 2013, and here's what I got:

Cue the reaction GIFs:

A (Crafty) Lesson Learned . . .

So, I have this shop on Etsy.
And I've been experimenting with different projects.
Well, I haven't taken art in years, but I remember that I can't paint.
I always get way too caught up in the details and don't spend enough time on the big picture.
Well, I decided to give it another shot: I'm making a plaque for this girly that I babysit. 
It's got Psalm 27:1 on it with "Lord" and "light" in pink glow in the dark.
I briefly considered buying a stencil sheet for the lettering, but was all like, "Eh, people love my handwriting; I can totally freehand this!"
Ha.
Again, I say ha. 
NOPE.
I mean, I freehanded(?) it okay, but it looks a bit childish. I suppose that's okay, as it is for a child's room, but . . . I dunno, I had higher hopes for it.
Oh well.
Next time, I'm getting the stencils.
. . .
Ha, who do I think I'm kidding?
No I won't.

I am a horrible person . . .

So, I have a betta fish.
My parents bought him for me as a prize for losing 10 pounds. (My choice of prize.)
I named him Tikitikitembonosorembocheriberibuchipipberipembo.
Pembo for short.
I clean his tank once or twice a week, right?
No mishaps so far, right?
HA.
WRONG.
Today I almost murdered him by boiling him alive.
Bettas like warm water.
I washed his tank in hot water in an effort to kill germs.
So far, so good.
I put the solution in the water that makes bettas happy.
Still 10-4.
Then . . .
I was making lunch at the same time and forgot how hot the water was.
I went ahead and plopped him in.
He seemed to be enjoying it.
I turn around not a minute later and there he is . . .
. . . floating belly up.
Needless to say, I freaked out.
I'm rather attached to that little guy . . . my younger brother makes fun of me for talking to the fish.
I just think it would be rude not to. I mean, he is, like, right there the whole time . . .
I scooped him out and dropped him into some cooler water, and the poor guy looked like he was panting.
I felt like a horrible person.
He did perk up later . . .
And I think he's forgiven me forgotten about it, so all's good.