Day in the life of....Two Blondes and a Fax Machine*

Before I begin, I would like to emphasize that I have very dark brown hair and Ta has very light brown hair. Neither of us are actual blondes. However, after Saturday and today, I think both of us should do a little “lemon juice and vinegar” work.

Hills and heels do not mix. Of course, my flat shoes were securely stored in the trunk of my car, and I didn’t particularly feel like hiking up that hill to retrieve them. So instead I made three trips up and down the other hill in heels and carrying my bag. I got smart before I made my fourth trip. I called to one of my friends and asked him to read postings for me. One point for smarts for me!!! The first time he didn’t answer. The second time, his debate partner had left to go check postings for his team, so I had to request that Zack follow his partner to check postings for me. It happened to be that my next debate round was in the exact room I was sitting in. I just had to move to the other table.

Me: Ta:
1 0

Much easier than hiking up and down the hill.

Soon, Ta and her partner arrived. Ta was wearing flat shoes and had her heels in her bag. One point for smarts for Ta. She’s gaining on me.

Me: Ta:
1 1

Thus we continued for our debate round, and Ta gained yet another point of smarts on me. Fortunately, my partner made up for my lack of points, and we managed to win the round. Two points for me! Once again, we were tied. Time to hike up the hill.

Me: Ta:
2 2

During the time following waiting for postings, a nice brunette, or not so nice, decided she wanted to swing dance. Since she couldn’t get anyone else to dance with her, she asked me. Negative one point for me. Ta’s in the lead again.

Me: Ta:
1 2

Then we found out that we were to go against each other again. Switch sides.

Ta’s still using her flats to walk down the other hill. Point for her.

Me: Ta:
1 3

During the round, Ta mentions that, since I said her criterion was too broad and she said ours was too narrow, we need to find a balance. I write “Social Benefits or Net Justice?” on a sticky note.

Ta’s phone goes off twice in the ensuing round. It vibrates enough for me to wonder who is calling me. Negative two points for her.

Me: Ta:
1 1

We go back up the hill. Ta stops to eat dinner, but my partner and I continue up the hill to dump our bags and for me to retrieve my shoes. One point for me.

Me: Ta:
2 1

On the return walk down the hill, my partner wants to know why I wear heels. He decides that I need to wear platforms for comfort’s sake. I counter that I have a hard time balancing on platforms. He suggests four foot stilts. I say two inches is more what I’m looking for. We wonder if stilts would be allowed under dress code.

Me: Ta:
0 1

That’s how the score stood at the end of Saturday. The only problem was, on Saturday, our last ballot was not copied. Four people, one ballot. I get the ballot because I can fax it to Ta.

Me: Ta:
1 1

Today, Ta and I can’t figure out how to work the fax machines.

“Push the green button!”
“Ooo!! It beeps and flashes when we push that button! Pretty!”
“I thought you didn’t have to put a one before a phone number any more.”
“Why isn’t the ballot coming out of the other side? Is that a paper jamb?!?!?!?”
“What’s a paper jam?”
“It’s kinda like a paper cut, except you put it on bread.”

We accidentally copy the blank side of the ballot.

Me: Ta:
0 0

Ta decides that I can figure out how to send it by myself.

Me: Ta:
0 1

After e-mailing back and forth for half the day, I finally send it…without calling to ask for the fax machine to be switched on.

Me: Ta:
0 1

I call, and successfully (!!) send the fax.

Me: Ta:
1 1

After all that, who cares about the score, anyways? We’re scheduling a bleaching session for our hair. Like, really bleaching. Like, White Blonde.

Lemme know what you think.

*Note: All truth in this story may or may not be real, and any representations of actual events have been exaggerated for the benefit of both blondes, and, I would presume, the fax machine.

Another Top 10....

Top 10 ways to know you're a debater:

10. You're doing something next Saturday (November 17).
9. You like Skittles.
8. You have a Gmail account.
7. The rest of your club has a gmail account, and you use Gmail to chat with each other.
6. Staying up all night researching before a Saturday, or Friday, is not uncommon.
5. You can't say enough in five minutes.
4. When you aren't spending time researching, you play with Photoshop or take pictures.
3. You fear the team from Zimbabwe.
2. When someone makes a "C" with their hand, you immediately think "30 seconds!"
1. Names like "Winther" "Trujillo" (:P) "Herche" or "Jorgensen" make you faint. Especially if you have to debate against them.

If none of the above apply to you, you are not a debater.

NOT my Drug of Choice

Hmmm...I almost titled this post "Getting High," but that didn't quite sound right, plus I don't think that this will fulfill the normal definitions of drugging ones self into happy oblivion. Plus I didn't want to get in trouble with the IRS...I mean, well, whatever. I guess the IRS is more widely feared.

It all began last night while a friend and I were discussing weird beeping noises that emit from air freshener dispensers when they happen to be out of, well, air freshener. This got us on the discussion of things that irritate little noses when we landed back on our dear friend, air freshener. My friend walked into a room in her church that had just been exuberantly sprayed with air freshener and had to immediately sit down.

She got a "happy high" from air freshener.

~~

It all began with a tournament where there was no partner nearby to stop him. It was then that he decided to experiment. Three days and 48 cans of Coke later, he finally had to quit--cold turkey.

He got a "happy high" from Coke.

~~

It all began with my partner telling me that we really should do well at this tournament. Actually, it didn't begin with that. It all began when he told me it would be best for me to be awake before we went to our first round. As I was tired, I got a coffee. One venti with an extra shot or two has been a necessity.

I got a "happy high" from coffee.

~~

It all began when Halo III came out. He played until he could conquer. He lost a night's worth of sleep. He has re-conquered the game yet again.

He got a "happy high" from Halo III.

~~

It all began when she decided to bring "Apples to Apples." She made us all play, and play and...well, play. We got together with friends, and she brought the game. We went home, and she brought the game. We played that night. We would have played in the car, but I can't read in the car without getting sick.

She got a "happy high" from that game.

~~

It all began when he first set eyes on the little Emergen-C box. That, my friends, was the beginning of the tale. The little packages are supposed to give you an energy boost and have waaaay over your daily requirements for vitamin B. He used about a dozen packets in one day.

He got a "happy high" from the dietary supplement.

~~

It all began when she asked to bake cookies. Actually, it began long before that, but I first witnessed it when we baked the cookies. She decided we should make snickerdoodles. And put peanut butter in them. She used a lot of peanut butter in the cookies. She also ate a lot. Every physical malady can be solved by using peanut butter, in her estimation.

She got a "happy high" from peanut butter.

~~

It all began while he was searching for a snack. But a munch here, and a munch there, and suddenly, the whole box was gone.

He didn't get a "happy high" from Taquitos.

Home Invasion Pictures

I promised them. Here they are.

There is one more picture of the glasses...that is really dorky. Unfortunately, it is on a phone that I don't have the download equipment for...something to look forward to....

~Dresden

A Day in the Life of A City

Sleepovers...the blessing all girls love. It was one warming evening not too long ago, alright, it was this last weekend, that I was able to experience a two night sleepover. Please note that it my family, this is very rare, as everyone but me thinks that a sleepover is some phenomenon that takes a year or two to recover from.

Anyways, this sleepover was special, partly planned and partly unplanned. The planned part was simple: One of my friends who lives a few hours away was going to come and stay at my house for the duration of a tournament. The unplanned part was that she ended up sleeping in my room. Being girls, of course, this was no problem. We made room and settled in for the evening. What was the problem is, being girls, we talked.

A lot.

Besides telling stories, we critiqued our day's performance at the tournament, bantered about who we would like or not like to go against and other oddities. This went on for about two hours when some matronly voices reminded us that we had another day of competeing begining in about eight hours. We agreed to that fact, and continued talking. Very soon a patronly voice told us that we would be required to roll out of the bed and into a car in about seven hours, and we needed to get some sleep. So we did...for a bit. Only too soon my dear alarm (set to Celtic Woman's Caledonia) began to play and the house began to explode. First off, somebody went and showered in the bathroom that doesn't have a shower curtain. Perhaps this was partly my fault, as I didn't warn them that it didn't have a curtain, but on the other hand, wouldn't it be just a bit obvious? Whatever the answer to that question is, the floor was still soaked. Other such explosions happened throughout the morning, ending with me almost forgeting my suit jacket and notes before we sped out the door and were happily on our way to the tournament.

One thing I ought to note is that I routinely get ready for a tournament on the way to the tournament. I usually exit the house wearing a hoodie, flat shoes (flip-flops, if I happen to get away with it) and hair unkempt, and exit the car to the tournament with a dazzling do and in a suit, complete with high heels. Somehow wrinkled shirts get pressed in the back of the car, but I'm not really sure how that happens; it might be the hoodie's influence. Anyways, I arrived at the tournament in one piece, and ready to debate. And Debate I did. Everything went fine until my third round of the day.

I went against a very good, graduating debater. I wasn't sure how I would survive, but I tightened my belt (I wasn't wearing one, so I'm not sure how that happened) and strode into the room. My debater friend and I had quite a good time before the judge came in. My friend knew what my case was (I hadn't expected to hit him, so I had told him, and even offered him the case if he wanted it), and I knew what his case was...I had ran it earlier. So we debated. IT was an interesting round, and I had lots of fun.

After we were done, I walked out to the playground that was located nearby and amused myself by sitting and watching a mentor play on the "doughnut of death." The doughnut of death was somewhat like a huge tire, about five feet in diameter, and was slanted and on some sort of wheel or rotating device, as it would go around in circles if not correctly balanced. Watching ten guys try to keep their balance on the doughnut of death while standing up (and while screaming like girls) is quite...interesting to say the least. Later on that day I was able to partake of the doughnut of death myself, except for two small differences; one, I sat on the doughnut of death, and two, I did not scream.

Besides breaking to quarterfinals, the rest of the day was uneventful, until I had to watch two people that I really wanted to qualify go against each other for one slot. That hurt.

Anyways, the rest of the day went well, and finished just the way it had began: with two girls, talking late into the night.

A City