In order to become a real blogger, one must have a blog. Second, one must write things on that blog. Third, people must read those things. Fourth, other bloggers must nominate one for blog awards. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s how it goes.
I have a blog. (This is it.) I write things on it. (This is one.) Some people read these things. (You are one, and my mother is also one. So that makes two at least.) And, last, the lovely Emma just passed on a “Sunflower Award” to me. I took a logic course in highschool, so I’m pretty sure that it’s logical to state that I am now a real blogger.
From what I can tell, this “Sunflower Award” entails giving y’all 11 facts about myself, answering 11 questions from Emma, and then passing it on to as many other bloggers as I choose. Let us commence. Continue reading
(again, song source = bonus points…which I should probably update, hmm?)
So many things are going on at the House of Brown. (You know, when we moved, I really wanted to name our home. Elizabeth Bennet lived at Longbourne…Mr. Rochester lived at Thornfield…Mr. Darcy lived at Pemberly…why do we just live at “our house”? Anyhow, my suggestion was “Browncastle,” but that never caught on, so it’s still merely “the House of Brown.”) Anyhow. I’m talking about radical stuff, here.
Firstly. Sleeping habits. Back in the day when I was a youngster, I was most definitely a night person. Last summer, before I went to China, I would regularly stay up past midnight. After I came home from school this spring, I couldn’t force my eyelids open past like 10:00. And then I woke up early…well, relatively early, for me at least. I’m not numbering numbers because I’ve always felt touchy about that subject. Right now, it’s 9:30…and I’m seriously planning on going to bed when I’m done with this post. What happened to me? Am I getting old? Continue reading
I have a lot of questions. Bonus points if you can answer them for me.
- Why am I addicted to saving dryer sheets? Seriously. I can’t seem to keep myself from re-using them. Mom got me an entire box before I came to college, and I’ve barely dented it. Someone help me. I’m a dryer sheet hoarder.
- Why is the white crayon the most used crayon I possess? That makes absolutely zero sense. You could say it’s because I colored a wedding picture for Jenna, but it was while getting my crayons out to color that picture that I noticed this strange fact. Twinsie #2–bless her heart–sent me the crayons in the mail, which means they were new last semester, which means that at some point in the past few months I rabidly used a white crayon. What am I, crazy?
- Who designs air freshener to look like yogurt? On a related note, who designs air freshener to smell like cough syrup? On another related note, who put a sign on the bathroom door warning library patrons not to eat the yogurt?
- What happened to the legs of Jenna’s pinata?
- What’s written on the inside of the box in which we keep the International Bulletin of Missionary Research archives, and who wrote it?
- What happened to that stick of butter I had in the freezer?
- I want to make brownies. Real ones, not brown letter “E”s this time. Though that was pretty fun. Ok, so this isn’t a question. It’s just how I’m feeling.
- Why do those guys sit at that table in the corner all the time? I feel judged whenever I get ketchup refills. Which happens whenever I get ketchup fills. Because I always underestimate my love of ketchup, and that is a fact.
- Why am I so mean to Katie? I actually like her a lot.
- Why do I do whatever anyone tells me to do?
Example A, an evening in the library
Kristen: Betsy, take Matthew’s wallet and put it in that drawer! Quick, while he’s not looking!
Me: Uh, yes Kristen!
(Twenty seconds later)
Me: Wait. Why on earth did I just do that? That’s stupid!
Kristen: Too late.
Example B, an evening in the dining hall
Me: Oooh. Ice cream. I want ice cream. But I’m not eating any.
Tim: You should eat some.
Me: No I shouldn’t. That is bad for me.
Tim: Get some ice cream. (stares judgementaly until I feel terrible for not listening to him command)
Me: No! Who even asked you to sit at this table?
Tim: (walks away dejectedly)
Twenty seconds later
Tim: Betsy, since you made me feel bad, you have to go get ice cream now.
Me: Fine!!!! Okay! Whatever!
Twenty seconds later
Me: Wait, why am I eating this?
Tim: Because I told you to.
Please, folks, I need a lot of help.