So we’re driving home tonight from Harry Potter & The Secret Chamber, stopped at a light around the corner, when three girls in semi-cheerleading uniforms trek over to our car with cans.
I’m sorry, but I’m not all about being trapped into donating money. Besides, while sports have their place in our schools, and while they definitely are important to the healthy development of our youth, my money would go to arts programs — the first thing to be cut when public funding for schools goes buhbye.
Heather and I know about this first-hand. We went to high school together, ran in pretty much the same circles. It was frustrating to watch the Drama Club and the paper lose money while the football team sported brand-spankin’ new leather jackets.
So what did we do? What any other rebellious, angry teen would do — try to screw the system, get things to go in our favor.
Or so we somehow thought. See, the Variety Show, our yearly talent show, was coming up. Tickets were five bucks; I believe the drama club had just had pretty serious cuts. We were pissy about that — Heather and a couple of the others were active in the drama club; we both were active on the school paper. We had access to the computers on which they made the tickets for the Variety Show. And even then, I was pretty good with computers & graphics — see where I’m going with this?
I don’t know if we sold any of those fake tickets, and if we did, how many, or where the money went. I’m not even sure how we justified what was really screwing the drama department out of money. Someone found us out, and the next morning seven of us — all honors students, all “good” kids — were trekking down to the Principal’s office to receive our punishment — three days suspension.
Blah blah federal offense. Blah blah only hurting ourselves. Blah blah peer pressure we’re so disappointed in you blah. I spent two of those three days sunning out by the pool, came back to school for exams rested and tanned. So horrible.
Moral of the story? Not sure… I just felt like telling it. But for chrissakes, cheerleaders, can’t you find more creative ways to come up with the money? Do you really think it’s wise to dart through traffic in the hopes that I might roll down my window on this thirty degree day to drop a quarter in your can?
Heartless, perhaps, but I still twitch bitterly when I think of those damned football jackets.

(I think I used to write stuff here, eh? Feels like days since I’ve actually posted words. I’ll be back soon, promise.)

I am stuffed on flan and gingerbread cookies.
Ahhhh… let the holidays begin!

A Couple of Notes to the Rest of the World from Erika
1. A few inches of snow is not cause to freak out and drive 35 mph in a 65. It is also not cause to drive like an asshole because you drive an SUV and feel like you don’t have to worry about the weather — or about the rest of the world driving with you.
2. If I stop mid-traffic to let your self-righteous pedestrian ass cross in the middle of the road when there’s a crosswalk not 200 feet from you, at least have the courtesy to wave a thank you to me.
A Couple of Notes to Erika from Erika
1. A hatchback trunk door weighed down with snow WILL fall on your head if you don’t hold it up. And it WILL hurt.
2. Gingerbread cookies are tasty when you have a couple. Eating half the bag will make you feel unhappy in your belly. Do not think nibbling on the cookie instead of scarfing this will make it any better — fifteen cookies is fifteen cookies, no matter how you eat them.

Better than a thousand hollow words
is one word that brings peace.
Better than a thousand hollow verses
is one verse that brings peace.
It is better to conquer yourself
than to win a thousand battles.
Then the victory is yours.
- Buddha in the Dhammapada (from daily zen)
(hey! guess what? it’s SNOWING!)

share v. intr. To allow someone to use or enjoy something that one possesses.
I’m going to on a bit of a rant here. As someone who’s had designs stolen and passed off as someone else’s work, it’s an issue that really, really pisses me off.
Last night I noticed that someone had the exact layout as Jamie. I mean, we’re talking the same pictures down the side. He even changed the copyright at the bottom of the page to reflect his name, and not Jamie’s.
I don’t know Jamie, much beyond stumbling across his site last week, but he seems cool. I emailed him about it last night, and when I checked Jason’s site just now, this is how it reads:

At the request of a fellow blogger who is not as open to the idea of sharing his layout – I am in the process of redesigning the site.

Sharing — when you ASK permission to use something. I FULLY support looking at someone else’s code to LEARN how to create something for your own. But you don’t steal someone else’s hard work (AND GRAPHICS), pass it off as your own, and get pissed because they didn’t want to “share.” If you took a paper that a friend of yours wrote for the same class years earlier, without him knowing, crossed off his name and put yours — you tell me, stealing his work or “sharing” it?

Hi! Looking for me? I’m over here. Come join me. You’ll never get a single thing done again. Ever.
Tidbits: Susannah needs a hug. Brandy’s gone. Felicia’s got the icky sniffles. Alisa needs love – it’s almost her birthday. It’s almost Robyn’s birthday, too. I’m excited about meeting Lor and Fel this weekend.
Other randomness: My kitchen floor will never be clean. I think I saw this somewhere, or dreamt it, but does that line of dirt you sweep into the pan ever really disappear? Way too frustrating to do anything about at 8:30 in the morning. This girl needs a shower — which I intend on cleaning while I’m actually in it.
My parents are coming tomorrow, Jay’s mom on Thursday. I need to be the big girl grown-up in the big girl grown-up clean apartment. If I could clean in my sleep, I’d probably do that too. Though I’m thinking about leaving the dust on top of the entertainment center. I might even carve a big ol’ Jason N Erika 4-EVA in it. That’s for all the years my parents made me take every single damn frame & knickknack off the shelves before dusting. So there.
How’s that for a little big girl grown-up action for ya?