Ladies and Gentlemen: A Return from Mediocrity.

Instead of whining about how I never have time to post anymore, I'm going to tell you a story.


Despite all the controversy around babies, I have never heard an entirely convincing explanation for their existence.  I find it terribly difficult to believe that upright and respectable Mr. Stork would voluntarily do the lowly grunt-work necessary to transport each and every baby to their respective owners. Equally unbelievable is the theory that a man and a woman share some sort of "special hug". I've given hundreds, maybe thousands of hugs; to my family, my friends... everyone! And I've yet to encounter a child. I felt, that for my sake, no, the WORLD'S sake, it was my duty to discover the true origins of babies, no matter what the cost.

Rather than beginning my quest by asking adults (who are naturally prone to lying), I decided to ask children, for they are young, and would probably remember the most about the mysterious circumstances surrounding their being. After listening to several versions of the propaganda stories fathomed by adults to mask the truth, I realized that my interviewees had been tainted; I had to get even closer to the source. So, as any dedicated journalist would, I borrowed a baby, put her in my bicycle basket, and began pedaling around town, making notes about her various grunts and motions, and thus discovered the true origins of children.   

To acquire a baby, one must first choose a fitting partner, and develop a trusting relationship. After this has been accomplished, the couple must go to the DMV, and fill out an application to obtain a child. After the application has been reviewed, the order is sent to a very special ToysRUs, located in the north pole. ToysRUs manufactures the baby, then freeze-dries it and sends it to the local hospital of the recipient parents. When the baby has arrived, the parents are notified, and they come in to get their child. The parents, however, are often unawares that they will have to re-hydrate their child (as at this point, it looks something like a dried apricot) before taking it home. This process almost always sends the mother into hysterics, and leaves the baby covered in sticky glue left over from the freeze drying process.

And that, my friends, is how babies are born.

  

I am going to win High School.

You know why? Because I'm great. When I'm 87 and pooping in diapers, I'm going to look back and say, "HEY! I HAVEN'T ALWAYS POOPED IN DIAPERS. I WAS EDITOR IN CHEIF AND DRUM MAJOR AND I GOT MY GOLD AWARD AND I WON HIGH SCHOOL".

Hopefully, unless I don't actually do any of those things, or I don't live to be 87, or I get alzheimers.

Sorry I haven't posted for like 50 years,

but my life has gone from overwhelmingly busy to nightmarish. But it's alright, because I am going to be happy someday.

Today someone asked me if I participate in all these activities to get into college. I am sort of proud to say that I honestly don't. I really just want to get the best out of my talents and youth, so hopefully when I'm old I'll have some fond memories to look back on.

Spring Break...

Cannot come soon enough; seriously, this week feels like it's taken a thousand years already, and it's only Wednesday. On the plus side, I get to go on a college road trip with my best friend and her awesome mother over break, and I'm stoked. I don't want to sound negative, because good 'ol Alta Loma will always be my home, but I really need to get out of here. Like really.

I haven't had an illustrated post in awhile,

primarily because I'm lame and life keeps being like "Hey, let me give you excellent ideas for blog posts when you either have no access to a computer, or when you have under three minutes to type something up!" So now I'm sitting here void of any awesome post ideas, except to inform you guys that I think the lump I got on my head from running into a pole last week is almost definitely turning into a nasty tumor.

I met Mrs. McBride! In real life!

And she is one cool human being. I don't know how old she is, nor will I venture a guess, but I can say I hope I'm as awesome as her if I get to be that age. Not that I'm not planning to get to that age, but you know, I could get hit by a bus or a meteorite or something.

If you're into mixed media type art-y stuff,

Check out my new crafts blog!
So far, there're a lot of pictures of school projects, as well as my in-progress poetry book,
as well as some of my other crafty things.
There are also instructions on how to make things!
Check it out :)

chloescrafts.tumblr.com

Some days I feel like I want to rip my face off.

Today was one of those days, until I had a cup of this amazingly wonderful double-dark-chocolate gelato.
And now, I probably wouldn't be opposed to not ripping my face off.
It's like the gelato is saying, "hey, everyone around you might suck, but you might marry a chocolateer!"
It makes me so happy, I could hug a bear....




...but I probably won't.

I've been told that my internet self is basically the same as my real self.

I'm glad I'm this awesome.
Just sayin'

I have a nasty case of Teenage angst.

I'm likely to go on a rampage tomorrow.

Sunday is Khaki Day.

        Khaki: the neutralist of all the neutrals; to me, khaki says, "Hey, I have no real opinions on anything! I'm basically Miss America, but too fat."
        Khaki is the girl in my English class that thinks Global Warming is a myth, because Glenn Beck told her so. Khaki is white bread with no butter. Khaki can't tell you her opinion about the economy, but she will tell you about how she loves Apple Pie, and America, for that matter. Khaki isn't even a color, it's a lifestyle.

Today, I am Khaki, because I'm a Girl Scout, and it's part of the uniform.

A Unicorn Story.

            Once upon a time there was a Unicorn named Neilse who lived in Sweden, where (as I'm sure you all know) all Unicorns come from. His golden mane danced in the wind, and all of the lady Unicorns wanted to have his foals, but Neilse was not interested in making foals with these lovely lady Unicorns, because the sordid truth was that Neise did, and always had, wanted to be a human.
            I think it's about time to let you in on a little secret: there are no humans from Sweden. Any Swedish person you may have met in your life is really an exilled Unicorn wearing a shameful human suit. The issue is, these suits aren't meant to be permanent, they're meant to give their fellow Unicorns a scare by showing them how beastly and mundane life as a human is, but some Unicorns find that they actually enjoy being human.
           For most of his young life, Neilse controlled his urges to live with the barbarian humans, satiating himself with banned sit-coms and magazines. This, however, could not keep into his adult years, after he finished school and most of his friends had already settled down with a nice mare and started making foals. Once he heard the whispers around him, he knew he had to act fast; he quickly married a beautiful, and inordinately stpuid mare, but still held off on making foals.
           A few months into their marrige, Neilse begain to lose control; his wife had begun to wonder why an upstanding stallion such as Neilse would want to hold off on having foals for so long. His troubles finally came to a pinnicle when she found his human magazines, and he was forced to explain his facination with humans. Needless to say, she was horrified and disgusted; she went back to live with her parents, and Neilse was left to bear the scandal alone.
          After many months of isolation, Neilse began to lose hair in odd places, within a week his whole underbelly was bald. Another week, and his whole body was nearly bald, save the top of his head, some near his muzzle, and a few other choice places. His bristly skin became smooth and blotchy; he also found that he was losing weight rapidly, and his forelegs were shortening. After a month of agonizing transformation, Neilse was human.
         Under cover of night, Neilse slipped out of his house, and travelled several nights thereafter before finally reaching Norway, where he slowly worked up enough money for a plane ticket to California. He earned a decent wage in California, working for Ikea, married an American human named Mary-Sue and fathered a few children. By the time he reached old age, he had saved a considerable amount of money, and planned a journey around the world with his wife.
           Alas, when the time came, his wife became too weak to make the voyage, but she insisted that Neilse  should make the trip alone. Initially Neilse refused, but after many arguements, he found himself on a plane to Switzerland. Upon landing, Neilse boarded a train to Bern, Switzerland, which (as I'm sure my well-travelled readers know) is famous for bears, who, upon smelling the reminants of a Unicorn (their favorite snack) promptly devoured him upon his arrival.

Happy Birthday Talbot.

Oh, and thanks for not telling anyone. >:|

The Breif and Exciting Adventures of Chloe and Johnathan (Edit: Chloe is an awful person)

            The other day (two Thursdays ago, to be specific) my good buddy Johnathan and I went for a hike up in Cucamonga Canyon. As you may remember (assuming you all live in Southern California, and do not have amnesia) the week preceeding our adventure was quite dreary, but I woke up that morning with high hopes.
           So I got up at 7-something on Thursday, got dressed, ate some breakfast, and waited for Johnathan to treck the mighty 200 feet or so to my front door.

I was supposed to write a story about the awesome adventure my buddy Johnathan and I had a couple weeks ago, but I'm a terrible person and only wrote like three sentences before quitting. Basically, we went up into Cucamonga Canyon for a nice hike, but the river was super deep and wide from all the excess rain, so we didn't get very far in, and we (re: Johnathan) spent a good portion of the day building a bridge across the water, with the eventual help of a couple young men filming a "documentary" and a friendly asian family.
        Had I actually written the story, it probably would've had some nice imagery, and at least seven synonyms for "majestic"; so maybe it's a good thing it never really happened. On the down side, I have probably lost any credibility I had, which is a pretty terrible thing to lose if you think about it (I suppose that's why I included the chunk at the beginning, to show that my intentions were good, I just wasn't very interested). So Johnathan, if you're reading this, I'm sorry. But (to rebuild my credibility) I'll write you a story about a unicorn. Well, I can't guarantee it will be about a unicorn, but there will at least be a unicorn in it.

Love Chloe :)

What's with all these Debbie Downers? ( This is not about Jamie)

So I'm not exactly the school-spirit type, but there's been a plethora of people (three cheers for* alliteration!) complaining about our school's Kingsball (aka Sadie Hawkins) dance. Yeah, I think it's a little over-rated to stress for weeks about who you're going to ask, but you have to give these girls credit for the creativity they put in to asking people! And just because you don't want to ask anyone (for whatever reason) doesn't mean you have to "hate on" everyone else. And not everyone with a date to Kingsball was cute about it either; personally, I was just like "Hey, want to go to kingsball?" and he said "sure"".  Plain and simple. So please, if you hate it that much, don't go. It's really that easy.




*Yeah, I'm bringing it back. Deal.

I am woman: Hear me complain!

Well, this post was going to be about how I don't really enjoy hanging around girls because all they do is complain (about boys, their body, their hair, school, blah, blah, blah), then I realized how ironic me complaining about their complaining would be. So I'm just going to title this "I am woman: Hear me complain!" as a spin off of something Ingrid says in White Oleander. Because I enjoy that book.

How to optimize bed war, and other unpublished works.

Rather than doing something productive in my free time, I half-start new posts that never make it to the good graces of publishment. I would love to finish them, but some are irrelevant now, and most I simply can't remember the point of. My favorites are:

• "I have awful things"
• "It's a bird! It's a plane! It's... the flu shot"
• "What to do in an encounter with a Muccubus"*
• "How to optimize bed war" **

But my all-time favorite was titled, "Ode to the final days of break". Obviously it's irrelevant now, but I just can't get over the first sentence, "Okay, so this isn't an ode, it's more like an eulogy written by an extremely intoxicated porcupine for its dear old grandfather who has yet to die." Rest in peace, dear unpublished posts....




*male version of a succubus
**I REALLY wish I could remember where I was going with this one...

Top 5 reasons why I love my dog

1. Her growl sounds like a lion, which is useful for scaring off hungry wild animals (except bears; a hungry bear is unstoppable).
2. She is part dingo, which is also useful for scaring off animals, but mostly hikers.
3. She is unbearably soft
4. She can store an uncanny amount of dirt in her fur
5. She is not a bear.

If anger were pennies, and I was only allowed to have one dollar, I would probably have 75 cents by now.

My grandmother is my favorite person in the whole entire world.

She makes brownies with me and radiates greatness.
Her closest contendors are my mother and Rachel Riehn.