New Years Reminds Me Of Mass Hysteria

What?  It does.

Since I was four my parents have coerced me into staying up WAY past my bedtime, then clinking a sippy-cup of Diet Sprite with them and a bunch of other adults while they all had champagne or beer when the clock struck twelve.  Then, I was ushered back to bed with no further explanation.  New year's eve wasn't something I really cared about until I was five.

December 25th, 2000, my grandmother told me that I would be allowed to have a toast with all the grown-ups this year from a big girl glass instead of a coffee mug like the year before.

Now, see, you think that sounds normal.  Yet when I was five, mind you, I thought "a toast" meant "we will have toast." Real toast.  At midnight.  And when I was five, toast was my favorite food.  I ate toast like a dog eats bacon.  I seriously loved it. 

So, of course, I got really, really excited for new years.  My parents saw this new excitement and dismissed it that I was excited for the new year.  But I wasn't.  I was just excited for toast at midnight.  I thought it was some sort of amazing feat to eat toast past bedtime and if I did it I would magically grow wings or something.

In preparation for this amazing, awesome occurance in my life, I went without toast for a whole six days (or however long it is from Christmas to New Years, I just woke up).   This was super hard for me, but I thought it would be worth it in the end.  I thought that this midnight-toast would be the most delicious toast EVER.


So, at 11:57 on December 31st of 1999, when I saw people pouring glasses rather than sticking bread in a toaster, I began to worry.  And at midnight, when I was handed a glass of sparkling cider, I asked my mommy when we would be having toast.  She told me that we were having it now and helped me raise my glass along with everyone else.  I looked around and saw no toast.  I asked again.  She looked at me, confused, and I asked a third time.

She finally understood the question, and she slowly and calmly told me that there would, in fact, be no toast.

Then I cried.

For a few years they invited me down for New Years, but I never came down, instead I watched the fireworks from my room and brooded for five minutes.  After a while I came down again, and now I always get super excited for my own New Years Toast.

And, yes, it is delicious.

Christmas Decorating Is The Pinacle Of Evil

Black Friday is not black friday for me.  For me, it's the day to sleep in till eleven, then decorate for Christmas.

Ah, Christmas.  The pinacle of winter for most children.... Unless you do Hanuka, of course.... but anyway.  Today I woke up at ten thirty because the rest of my family had gone out at four in the morning (Which is INSANE, by the way) to go Christmas shopping.  They were back by seven thirty. 

So my mom came over (I live with my grampa.  Pathetic, no?)  and I came downstairs to my little brother wrapping the last present, the biggest one he "Got"  ....Mine.  Of course I'd already figured out that all he did was take my legos, put them in a box and wrap them up (I'd talked before of how much I wanted Legos)... It sort of made me angry.

I'm not a materialistic person.  It just pisses me off that my brother had the nerve to not only NOT buy me a present, but to take what was mine already and attempt to pass it off as an act of good will.  But I guess my knowledge of the upcoming XBox 360 helps to improve the mood.  I'm going to try my hardest to get everyone, including my friends, gifts.... Maybe I'll just take Jeffrey's soccer cleats away and wrap those up, hm?  That seems like a good idea at the moment.

Grampa told us all that if we got him anything he'd take away our presents.  I think he's the opposite of the materialistic guy.

Christmas decorating is a sport in my house.  There are three kids, so three kids means three trees.  We put the gifts under one tree and the other two are for decoration... I've just been informed that I am to do the "Toy tree" this year.  That's the toy-themed one:  The one with toy ornaments, toy garland, toy tinsel, toy everything.  Not quite sure yet where in the house it's going to be put.

The trees fall under three categories every year:  Toy tree, white tree, and Christmas tree.  The toy tree is mine, the White tree is Lisa's (Jeff and I always hate the white tree) and the Christmas tree is Jeffrey's.  Figures he gets the extravagent one.  Ten dollars says he throws a fit halfway through and quits.  He does it every freaking year. 

Can't wait till the boxes come down. 

A short introduction of sorts.

Hi there.  You're probably only skimming now, so feel free to start actually reading at any time.

I have no idea what this blog is going to be.  All I know is that I want to start one.  And I will tell you stories, and show you cool stuff, and hopefully someone will pay attention.  In the next few paragraphs I will illustrate why I chose this blog title, for future reference

I am not a perfect pretty girl.  I'm 16 years old, female, 164 pounds (at the moment) and I'm five feet and two inches.  I'm mostly German so I have a huge bulky frame and a wide face.  Sometimes I hate it.  Sometimes I love it.

But my most distinguished feature is the boobs.  That's right, those fleshy mounds men and women find so attractive.  Well, I has them.  -makes a face-  Sometimes I don't like them.  Sometimes they can get me shit I want.  Sometimes they just PISS ME OFF.  But I have to live with them. 

The other part of my title:  Pockey.  I am an anime freak.  I go to conventions, I cosplay, and I fangirl over the dumbest shit possible.  Pockey is is pretty much my favorite candy ever in the world in the history of the universe.  

The love part you can figure out for yourself.

This will be random.  This will be amazing.  This will be the lazy-crazy-daily documentation of my life. No details will be spared, no events will be passed over and no subject will go overlooked. Hopefully I can enjoy myself.