Have I mentioned we have A LOT of dogs?

Well I am now several days into my Spokane family vacation, where I have unwittingly found myself drowning in a very fluffy ocean of dogs, dogs, and MORE DOGS. Yes, that's right- I may have thought that the three rather smelly canines I left at home (excluding the deaf one, Taffy, who has tagged along) were overwhelming, but I was sorely unprepared for my arrival in Spokane where my aunt has recently added a fourth to her eclectic collection of dogs, and my grandparents have cast off their dog-free ways with gay abandon in favor of a darling Scotti terrier by the name of Dudley. Now, as I am residing at the dog-ridden abode of my Aunt (made all the more hectic by the superfluous presence of Taffy) and making frequent visits to go see Dudley (Dursley) in all of his slobbering glory, I fear I may soon reach the point of actual INSANITY.

Don't get me wrong, I am as big of dog fan as the next individual, but even dog-lovers such as myself are prone to psychotic fits of anxiety when forced into the contact of 6 different dogs in one day. Even the most passionate of dog fanatics has her limitations, after all. And as I have not quite reached the point in my affections of accumulating strays like trading cards or clearing a space in my trophy cabinet for a collection of ceramic dog figurines, I do not think I am prepared to handle such an obscene number of dogs in just one day.

At this point in the game, I am starting to think that the odor of canine has actually perforated through my clothing and into my skin... The doctors say my only hope of recovery is a vigorous routine of tomato baths and consecutive skin peels to restore my more-or-less human aroma. In addition, all of my clothing must be burned... a tragic misfortune as I am not insured for dog-related detoxification losses. If worse comes to worse, and the horrific odor cannot be contained, I fear that I (like many unfortunate dog-lovers before me) may be stopped on my return trip by the Seattle border control and quarantined in an underground cell until the infectious odor has subsided. Truth be told, I have heard nasty roomers about the cells reserved for dog victims, but I suppose a year or two in solitary confinement might do me well... an excellent opportunity to drive the dog-induced madness from my veins.

On that happy note, I will end my discussion of dogs here.... I sincerely desire that whoever is reading this cannot at all relate to my pain.

A Personal Review of Inception...

Today, I finally made it to the movie theater (a few weeks late, unfortunately) to see Inception with my family. Though generally I would keep my thoughts to myself, I feel that the current trend set by the social norms of facebook demands that I give it a hearty review via the internet. And as I am all for conforming to the social norms (!!!), here is what I have to say...

The ending was... well... UTTER CRAP. I left the theater less than an hour ago, and I am still more or less seething at the producers for cutting the movie 2 SECONDS short and not showing us whether that darn little dreidel keeps spinning or falls. It just wobbles. WOBBLES. What the heck?!??? It wobbles?? What in the world is that supposed to mean? Is poor Leonardo still stuck in some sort of dream? ...Or is he in reality??

The world will never know... And you know why...? It is because the movie writers hate us. A board of purely sadistic and embittered men made this decision.... They were sitting at a team meeting and reviewing the ending for the film (complete with dreidel either spinning or falling), and then one particularly disagreeable old man with a childhood dream of causing psychological torment to entire theaters of people raised his fat and greasy hand and said, "Hey.... why don't we cut the movie two seconds short? Wouldn't that be a funny practical joke?"

And the board loved it. And this cantankerous, old man, who in my mind's eye is obscenely ugly with three heads and an infectious rash, received a hearty promotion for his efforts. He is now lounging on a beach somewhere in Jamaica, laughing to himself as hoards of unsatisfied movie-goers settle their unsettled plot disputes with vehement arguments and the occasional gunfight to the death. Terrific, isn't it?

On the bright side, the rest of the movie was action-packed and really very thrilling! And that one stylishly-clad guy who spends all that time hopping about with no gravity was very good looking, as was (from a man's perspective), the dead wife/complete lunatic. So all in all, I would have to give Inception a positive(ish) review. I would heartily recommend this film to anyone seeking to self-inflict themselves with a great deal of psychological chaos... also anyone with a masochistic adoration of incomplete conclusions.

And that is what I think.

I Actually Might not be a Wizard

Today I realized that another birthday has come and gone, and I am grieved to report that my Hogwarts acceptance letter has still failed to arrive. I am nineteen years old now and have been anxiously scanning the horizon daily for owl postage for about seven years, but I’m afraid my hope is beginning to dwindle.

When my Hogwarts owl didn’t arrive on my eleventh birthday as planned, I was certain there had been some sort of mix up. My life’s ambitions at this time did, after all, involve working a steady job at the Ministry of Magic and purchasing a comfortable home in Hogsmeade with my lovely wizarding family. My hope was not extinguished, however, and I was forgiving of the school’s rather rude delay. Another year passed, and I, under the impression that I had been weight-listed to the class of 2010, waited in eager expectation of my fateful next birthday.

But my twelfth year came and went, and still Hogwarts failed to contact me. At this point I was excusing their delay with an inconvenient mix-up in the postal system. Owls, though intelligent, are really no match for the complex layout of Seattle, after all. Especially, European-born owls. So I waited patiently, graciously allowing the owls time to recoup and gather their bearings in the foreign city before successfully delivering me the letter I was sure they held.

After several years of waiting in this fashion, however, I could no longer excuse the owls’ delay. I was now 16 years old, an age almost unheard for a first year at Hogwarts. But I was still determined. There were other explanations for the setback, of course. My last name, for instance, is spelled with an “A”, but pronounce with a distinct “I” sound- a simple flaw that could easily lead to a holdup in finding my location. Or perhaps dark wizards were monitoring my house and intercepting all attempts at contact. Or maybe my parents (being the embittered muggles that they are) were stashing my letters away, but Hogwarts, too busy recruiting other students, had failed to notice my absence on the school train. Anything was possible, really....

But this year, after yet another owl-free birthday and a wizard-less trip to London, my hope is finally running dry.

You see, I am starting to fear that I might actually not be a wizard. After all, I am now nineteen years old and can do little more than feebly levitate a few inches off the ground and willfully ripen fruit with my mind- mere cheap tricks in the wizarding world. I have done everything to attract the attention of the Hogwarts headmaster, but whether I was proudly sporting wizard’s attire, yelling “Voldemort” at the top of my lungs (in order to attract Death Eaters by my audacious disrespect to their taboo), tapping random bricks on city walls with my homemade wand, jumping vainly into fireplaces with makeshift floo powder, or even attempting to transfigure myself into a cat, my efforts have gone unnoticed. I am starting to run out of options, and I fear that I may never make contact with my wizarding brethren.

I am starting to think that I may be doomed to live out the rest of my existence as a misunderstood muggle... alone... rejected by my inferior muggle-peers and cast off by the wizarding world that didn’t want me. I may still be filled with excitement every time I see an owl fly overhead, and I may still occasionally find myself waving sticks on the ground in hopes of inadvertently casting a spell, but for the time being, I am reserved to my fate.

It looks like I may be a muggle, after all.

Onward to Spokane!

9:56 am: On the Road

Well, as of 8 o’clock this morning, I am packed up, in the car, and on my way to the unexplored wilderness of Eastern Washington! It’s just me, my father, my dearest mother, and our deaf dog, Taffy, who somehow used her heart disease and impending death as an excuse to tag along. All of the makings of a dream vacation are in order: I have been heartily filled with my daily cup of coffee, my dad has donned his customary baseball cap and cargo shorts in celebration of the vacation, and my mom has lapsed into unconsciousness in the front seat. Taffy, on the other hand, is being aggressively cuddly and constantly impeding my writing with her inconvenient attempts to sprawl out on my computer.... Ohh joy.

Anyways, our final destination, as it so happens, is still a good four hours away, so i suppose it’s time to get comfortable. In preparation for the voyage, I have downloaded a good 10 zillion Kris Vallotton sermons and also stashed away enough luna bars to sustain me for a month or so (should our car plummet off a mountainous ridge and leave us stranded in the savage forests... I would like to have an option for self-preservation besides cannibalism).

On another note, my dad has now emerged from his lapse of silence and has taken up his two favorite hobbies: feasting gluttonously on sunflower seeds and lecturing me about my future. He is a very charming and pleasant man, especially when he’s insisting I become a lawyer/ english major/ psychologist/ dictator of the world.... very pleasant, indeed. Unfortunately for my dearest father, my career is already set as a designer/ drug-dealing prison convict (as I will never be able to make a decent living off of the former), so I’m afraid his vehement lectures are in vain.

On a side note, my mom has just turned to me and said under her breadth (in a very clever and humorous sort of way), that the only one enjoying the car ride so far is Taffy, because she doesn’t have to listen to my dad’s ramblings, as she is very deaf. Ahhhahaa she is a funny one.

Well, that is about all I have to say about my trip thus far. I shall make sure to update our progress if anything noteworthy happens, or if our car is overtaken by a gang of notorious highway bandits, and (as their hostage) the only escape attempt I can muster is a speedy yet surreptitious S.O.S. post to my blog. You know....

Lost Childhood Ambitions

As I was perusing through my elementary keepsakes today, I was awakened forcibly to my immense shortcomings in life as I stumbled upon this lost self-authored cookbook:

Apparently... I had aspired to be a gourmet beaver chef.

Now I had not remembered my childhood affection for beavers, but upon pulling this book out of its dark drawer, my love of all things beaver-related came rushing back. And looking down at this rather brilliant cook book written by an inspired seven year-old self, I couldn't help but realize that I am now fully grown and have failed to ever publish a beaver cookbook... how shameful.

Anyways, I have decided to try to make up for my obvious shortcomings by publishing my original beaver cook book to this site... I may not have ever made it big in the world of beaver food, but perhaps some fellow beaver lovers out there will be able to pick up a few tips...

As my handwriting is only semi-legible, and I wouldn't want anyone to miss out on these special recipes, I am retyping them below (with special comments from my present day self).

How to make beever [not "beaver"] food

1. cut up carrots and lettuce

2. Put lettuce and carrots in boiling hot water and sit for 5 minutes and that is how you make breakfist.

How to make fish and meet [not "meat"... that would be crazy].

1. get meet and fish then bake them for 13 minutes then put it on a plate and surv it.

1. put 2 vines in hot water [... where do you even get vines? This is perplexing to me]

2. Put 3 fish in the water [out of curiosity, I just googled beaver food and confirmed my suspicions that beavers do not, in fact, eat fish.... therefore minor changes to the menu may need to be made]

4. Put the soup on the stove for 3 minutes. Then put some sticks on the side of the plate then you hav made beever [ NOT BEAVER!] food..

I think this menu is an obvious witness to my culinary genius... also my innate spelling abilities.

(Note: In case I have not been clear, it was my ambition to cook tasty food for beavers... Not tasty food made of beavers... That would be sick.)

- Brianna, Friend to the Beavers.

Well, I suppose I'm a blogger now...

Due to a series of recent events ( i.e. a bit of boredom and a vain desire to share my inner monologue with the world), I have decided to bite the bullet, drop out of school, move to Thailand, and become a professional blogger. It is a weighty decision for one so inexperienced in the ways of blogging to make, but a burning dream of loyal Internet followers, fan clubs, and Brianna-themed bobble heads has spurred me onward.

So there you have it. I am still not entirely certain what the aim of this blog is going to be, so for the time being, I have decided to keep it open and just be honest and call it "A Really Intelligent Blog about Everything." Which it is, of course. Because I am really intelligent.... about everything. You name it: national horse races, the inner workings of the hydrogen bomb, how to make a pair of wooden clogs in less than 60 seconds... my life is a catacomb of useful (and entirely relevant!) information.

So as I have stated, I think it is time at the ripe, old age of 19 to harness the innate flow of word-vomit that God has gifted me with (sort of) and put it towards something useful! The timing is perfect... I still have a few good years before my hands are inflamed with arthritis, and as I have yet to contract a debilitating case of scurvy in any of my sea voyages, I am set with all the physical qualifications of an expert blogger! Not to mention, I have recently been voted by a board of very qualified and impartial elders "Most Likely to be Excellent at Everything" in all of the King County Region... and I have a commemorative plaque to prove it.

And that is why I have decided on this fateful day to undertake the grave responsibility of posting my thoughts for the world to see. I valiantly swear from this moment on, to keep my readers (or lack there of) as entertained as possible. Cheers.