What is it I like about being on my own? I don't know. I think it's just being able to leave the lunch dishes 'till supper and calling all the shots. Not having to worry about anyone else. Being able to dance around the kitchen or eat five cookies. One of my early posts kinda opened this too.
And so, how long would it last? This one I have no idea on. Maybe forever, just as long as I got out enough. But likely not. Maybe only a couple weeks. We'll see.
For now I'll just make the most of it.

Today I, no, that's not a good sentence to start with. Too boring and extremely unoriginal. Not the kind of blog I intended.
So...
Tonight was the judo bbq. It was a wrap-up bbq in the most normal of sorts. I got one of the two medals for best performance. I got one gold for competition in the Duration of a year. Not a very high profile judo club. But then again, the guy who got top performance, he's good.
I'm going to miss it over the summer.
Anyway, that's all I have to say. Maybe starting with "today I" would have summed up the essence of the post.

It is now official. T.v. shuts down your brain.
Then again, maybe that's what I need right now.

Oh yeah, I'm housitting. Tough day *sighs*.

As some of my friends could tell you, I used to laugh a lot. All the time, over nothing. Largely in the breaks of conversations, when something would strike me funny, and I'd laugh out loud. At sleepovers I would bite my fist late at night in an attempt not to burst out at the memories of a recently read Garfield.
Those who knew me best just didn't bother asking what I thought was funny any more. They would hardly pause, because usually what stuck me was something not particularily interesting, witty, or even, well, funny. Just something dumb. But when I did want to share something it was annoying because I'd chuckle to myself and nobody would even turn their head.
I don't really do that any more. But as I was going down the row planting strawberries (a job, by the way, which I have now finished) I realized I was grinning madly away to myself. Picture me with a smile like that of a chesire cat. And I think I still do that at least as often. Often it will be over a quirk in human nature, or a specific human's nature, that I find amusing. Some small memory or recollection.
And there I'll sit grinning madly away to myself.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing."

I was baby-sitting this little kid, four years old. Cute enough, but an absolute potential terror. I put on little mermaid, because he said he wanted to watch it, which he didn't. Anyway, we went through all that, I don't remember watching it other then once when I was a little kid myself. After it finished I was pouring out a few lines of that song she (little mermaid) sings in the movie. I pick up on songs pretty fast. I guess it was suited to my voice well enough, so it was fun.
The kid looked at me, "how do you do that? Do it again" I did, "now do it one more time," I did.
He looked at me dead seriously and goes, "beautiful".

I love little kids, when they're not being brats, which is only a small percentage of the time. Plus, I think this one is going to have a fair bit of musical talent himself.

O.k., I have three possibilities for N. Thanks to everyone who commented (sarcasm, again).
4x6=24
6x8=48
8x10=80
Actually a very simple question when you get down to it. And the math lingo all came back to me as soon as I really read it. Anyway, thanks to Sped for the dare (not sarcastic this time).
Other then that, good day so far. Rained on our parade, literally, but was still fun. Plus stuff. That's all I want to write now though.

If n is a two-digit number that can be expressed as the product of two consecutive even integers, what is one possible value of n?

O.k., anyone, please comment the answer. Think, this is a real challenge, the kind you love. You're up to it! If you don't, I have to post it next post. I have no idea what it is and I don't want to look stupid by getting it wrong. Plus, I don't have time to bother right now.
Thanks to Sped for the dare (I'm being sarcastic).
Please?

There's suppose to be a thunderstorm later. I love thunderstorms. All the loud thunder and the lightening flashing brilliantly, spectacularly, into the dark.
Each crash or flash can be so exhilarating and more impressive then the last. Torrents of rain. The cozy feeling of sitting inside watching it, or the free, reckless feeling of standing out with the rain pouring down your face.
Yesterday I was thinking I would like to be hit with lightening, just once. Not bad enough to kill or even injure me, or course, because that would be horrible for me and the world. Just to be hit. How many people can say they've been hit by lightening? I was reading about a girl who was once, she said she felt tingly and weird for a long time afterwards. Anyway, don't worry, I'm not going to go climbing antennas in an attempt to get electrified.


change of subject
Go Calgary. Last night they beat out San Jose to rule the western league. Now, I'd much rather see Vancouver in that spot. But I cheer Canadian, and Calgary is that last surviving Canadian team. Now they just have to take on Philly or Tampa in the final series. Winner takes the cup.
So, go Calgary!

I just want to be done with school. I have resigned myself to not "officially graduating", but I suspect I have a good grasp on a fair number of subjects. I also suspect I have been changed back into a pure homeschooler. One of the kind who just wants to learn. The kind, maybe, who's right, can reach the stars, if they really wanted to, and the kind who won't put up with any (dare I say it?) crap from the system. And No. Not that I support homeschooling stereotypes that say Moms wear denim jumpers and kids do rod and staff (which I loathed with a passion). I do, however, tend to support any generalization (I like that word, so much softer then stereotype) that says homeschoolers are more unique, unbiased in their opinions, have a stronger sense of morals, and know how to learn or work hard. Remember people, generalization.
Having said that, there's still a secret want inside which proclaims...I wish I'd taken, just maybe one year, of highschool. Or, to go the very opposite, graduated with them. So what if I couldn't think for myself, I'd be "normal", "accepted", and "qualified". But we'll pretend I didn't say that. Because I wouldn't really do it different. Just think, there would go my grade eleven adventure over North America.
June is like a magic month now. Finished with chemistry, finished with report writing, and not having this English provincial hanging over my head. Don't get me wrong, I love English. Report writing, well, it's something I had to learn. Chemistry, I started taking it to get my "grade eleven credit". But it's been very good for me. Bit of structure and discipline. And now I know an acceptable amount of science (my percentage is in the nineties). And know what else? I didn't hate it. But I want to have it done with. Just because I need to get on with life. I'm just tired of being expected to show-up every Tuesday with my homework done. And I want to be absolutely finished with handing in reports to the school.
Yes, I'm learning, and here's the assignments I forced myself to do in order to prove it.
Oh, I'll still read rabidly. I'll still do all my p.e. requirements and maybe even solve the rare math question for the cold hard challenge of it. Heck I'll probably take on something completely new. But school, I'll be able to say I've completed twelve years of education. Get off my back.
And one more thing, I loved highschool. Hate to leave it behind. Suffered mid-teen-crisis. Like learning and living and not needing to pay my own way. But I know I need to move one. So now it's just like I'm waiting.
Remember, I'm the girl who hates set-hard change.

Life comes in phases, I think. Although you don't really notice it until you look back. There's the big sections and then little sections. And they never divide by exact years. Like, I won't look back and see 1-5, 6-10, 11-14. You know? I'll look back and see, little-kid-years, Funnest-years, growing-years, mid-teen-years. They all kind of meld together. Which brings me to here. Maybe confusing-years. Or figure-things-out-years, or mess-up-years.
Why is it that things are always so clearer when you look back? They make a heck of a lot more sense, everything is just so obvious. And the big deals, they don't matter. The hours I used to spend crying over math, big deal. Letting go of my funnest-year's friends, it just had to happen. Why did I make it so tough? It's a lesson I had to learn, and I fought it with left-hook and tackle (since I'm opposed to fighting tooth and nail). Change always bugged me. I'm learning it. But it's a slow process, and I don't think I'll ever be able to embrace it. It's not that I mind moving around, exploring, trying. I just like to be able to go back to how things were. Now I can face it, without flinching, but inwardly I'm mourning the loss when I should be embracing the gain.
I remember standing, watching out the window, and crying. Because Dad was cutting down a tree. It'd been there forever. Things would never be the same without that tree. But somehow it just went on, and I've never missed it much, if at all.
whether they fade out or just go all at once, things rarely stay forever. And the ones that do, they're real treasures. You have to learn the process of saying goodbye and letting go, and how to choose when to hang on.
So when I look back on the becoming-adult-years what will they look like? Will I be glad with the things I did and what I'd become? Will it even be a big deal?
My Dad says, "life happens, you just have to make decisions when they come and pray that they're the right ones." Maybe he's right.
But the choices I have to make now really will affect my whole life.
We'll see. That's really all I can say. We'll see.
Something like ninety percent of people in old folks homes wish they took more chances. I know, the ones who took the chances are all dead.
But it's something to think about.

I'm not in a good mood right now.
Clearly that means I shouldn't be blogging.

Although our midway sucks. There was about three semi good rides.

Today was a magic day off.
Afternoon at the midway and tall chocolate extreme blizzards. New friends and old. Ferris wheels and conversation. Good day. Makes me wish more days could be days off.

I just spent a couple hours making invitations. They're pretty cool though. A bit informal, but pretty cool. Except we didn't have any glue sticks so I'm afraid they'll curl.
I love cousins who are useful. Abb is constantly coming to my rescue. Like, say, helping uncreative me make invitations. She's my social and creative "dear Abby". Actually, the outlay was my plan. Cherries, and whatnot.
And she doesn't have a computer, so she can't read this, hee hee. Heck, she doesn't even have power.
I remember when I was a kid and my parents were constantly looking into back-wood property. I hated it. Even they admit now that they're glad they didn't move. That would've messed up the basic dynamics of my life. Think about it, I might not be so perfect. It seems to be working well for Abb's family though. And plus, I still did grow up a bit of a country kid. I just get the computer, lights, and fridge to go along with it.
The only reason I would've wanted to move when I was little was because I was really scared of the end times. I don't really know why, but it freaked me out. I figured living all self sufficient and without electricity would make it better. It probably would, but I don't think it's very smart to plan your life entirely based upon dread of the end times. I've kinda gotten over it now. *G*.

Last night we had bible study and were off to Behruz and Maria's for supper before we started. Which was good. Good supper, good burning of secret documents, good study.
However, at eleven thirty, myself and several other guests ended up doing the dishes, and cleaning up the mess (and I was tired).
Not that I minded of course. I always thought there's a difference between friends and guests. Friends do the dishes if they think they should and don't if they don't want to.
But...I told Behruz I'd post it in my blog.
So every-one, Behruz makes his guests clean up his dishes.

And now I'm off to get in a little soccer before it's too late.

Mmmm.
Hot bath after a long day at work with a stack of un-read magazines from the libray's free rack.
What more could I ask for besides a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the ledge?

Tonight I was driving to judo. I tend to do that a lot on Monday nights. I got stuck behind an ancient metallic brown Chevy. Now not that I have anything against metallic brown chevys to start with. But I thought I was running behind. I wanted to A. Get a gift certificate. B. Go to the bank. C. Drop off b-day cards at a friend's. D. Pay at judo.
My driving looked like this. Gas, brake, gas, brake, gas, brake. And it's not even that the truck was going below the speed limit. Because it wasn't. And here I thought I was the laid back sort. I told myself, "why are you driving like this? You're stuck behind the stupid Chevy. So just relax, because you can't pass him and there's nothing else you can do about it." unfortunately I don't always listen to myself.
By the way. I've decided to give my loyalty to Ford.
I ordered my gift certificate via a drive through.
For those of you who want something to laugh at country folks for, I'd never used a drive through before. That and I apologized to someone who stepped on my toe on a NY city subway.
Anyhow, I could swear I would've got the certificate quicker had I just gone in. I sat in my van steaming away and at one point yelling through the window that they'd better hurry up. Of course, being from the country. I first made sure they couldn't hear me. Finally, "Gift certificate?"
"yes."
"Alright, five dollars."
"thank-you"
"Have a nice day."
"Oh, you too!"
We're just too dang polite around here.
Even after banking and dropping around at the friends I managed to be on time. So life is like that. To use a phrase I don't often. Chill out.
And one more thing. I'm posting as an orange belt. Tested tonight. Passed. Rock on. I can't resist the urge to...brag? Show-off? No, inform you. So there, you know.

Happy Mother's Day, be you a mother or not. Actually, I doubt that any Mothers read this.
Anyway, I didn't do anything for it. I gave my Mom plenty of warning that I wouldn't be doing anything. But I still feel a bit guilty, I think. Well, I did say Happy Mother's Day, but no presents, no cards, no breakfasts in bed.
It's not that I don't love my Mother. But Mother's day seems a bit commercial. A bit of a here's-a-day-to-love-your-Mom. Because you shouldn't have to do it more then once a year, right? And remember, we have the best flowers in town!
Mom says I'm boycotting it. She doesn't seem to mind. But, yeah, it might bug her a bit. So, for lack of doing anything better here's a reflection on my Mom.
You raised me the best you knew how. Rules I didn't always agree with, and spankings. I hate to admit it now, but you were probably right lots of the time. You homeschooled me. Thanks Mom, that's huge. I understand you put countless hours into that. You trusted me, and let go of me when she had to. Decisions are important. And although your advice is always there you recognize which ones should be mine. I once told you I hated you, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. When I was little you hugged me when I cried and when I was big you told me I could, even if I didn't listen. You tried to smooth things out when they got rough. You tried to make me into a lady, tried to show me that change has to happen, tried to talk. But in the end I had to learn lessons my own way, and you let me be who I am.
My Mom isn't perfect. I would probably be much more inspired on an anti-Mothers-day, but I'm certainly not a perfect teen, and that's probably why. I'm the Christian rebel. I'm the stubborn daughter. I'm the wild child with morals. It's made some of my life hard. It's caused problems. It's probably not worth it. But I don't give up.
I remember being twelve and wanting a Mother that was a friend. One that planned sleep-overs for the two of us in a hay loft and one that I can tell everything. My Mom isn't that, and I guess she shouldn't be, couldn't be, isn't meant to be. And I'm not the daughter that would click with that now. Maybe it's the way I grew, maybe it's just who I am. I've said it before, I wouldn't tell my parents everything.
1. I wouldn't want them to know.
2. They wouldn't understand.
We all have Moms. Be it Mama, Mother, Ma, Mom, or even one that we haven't met or never knew. Mine loved me even when I didn't cooperate. I guess that's something to be thankful for. And I guess I should let her know that.

I think I have comments. Really, I think I do. Thanks to essy. You rock. Also, many thanks to Hannah, who offered to help me with them should I need it. Your generosity is huge. Now if I don't have comments this will look really stupid and I shall come back and edit it pronto.
I want to write something witty and thought provoking tonight. Something to stretch your mind, make you reflect. Heck, maybe even make you think.
But I can't.
Maybe it's my sleep lacking brain. Who knows? The only things I can think of are how to plant greenhouse strawberry plants, What a homeschool conference leaves me thinking, and how it feels to eat curry at an Aunt's who knows how to cook. none, I'm sure, which will particularily interest you.
And now, should the mood catch you (and even if it doesn't), comment away! (although not necessaily on this post *G*).

Indigo did me the undying favour of nominating my blog for the ri blog of May contest. I'm honoured, really I am. But I'm holding a grudge now. Apparently many of the other nominees are the ri's finest, after Cass, who's blog warranted my vote in April. I was hoping to hang in there until there weren't any good blogs left. mwahaha. Actually, evil laughs look really stupid in typing, I think. So I'll settle for a good, Heh! And comments would be nice to. Yes...comments, the elusive desirable that very ungeeks like me can't seem to accomplish.
By the way (after spell checking) I did not spell favour nor honour wrong!

This morning I hauled myself out of bed with the expectation of heading off to work with Dad directly thereafter. I was sitting there in my badly ripped, filthy jeans when he came in from milking, and suggested I take in a resume.
Now, apparently I have a hard time with decisions. I don't think that's actually it. Well, not really. I just don't get around to doing something until I have to, but when I do something, I do it.
Anyway, Meg got a call from a local restaurant wanting to hire her, but she's already secured a job. So I was going to drop off a resume. Well, the place didn't open 'till eleven so Dad waited to leave for work until I'd gone and done it. I sat typing madly on my resume and picking the remains of blue model paint off my nails. I don't usually tell people when I've applied because they spend the next five months asking me if I got it so, guys, if I get it, I'll let you know. I think I probably won't since they had their help wanted sign up and probably have a lot of choice. Read: I suck at interviews.
Shortly after getting home and heading down the lane Dad's cell rang. I have a job offer for 35ish hours of work in a green house starting tomorrow. Higher then minimum too, which is a draw. I worked out at the guy's green house with my Dad so he knows what sort of a worker I am, so that's nice. Actually, we were pouring and at first he wouldn't let me push wheelbarrows of cement. He would've killed himself grabbing them from me but I got one ahead and was fine for the rest of the day. And don't read that wrong. He's just simply a really nice guy.
I'm supposed to be working with Dad. For at least a good while. I've put in two days so far. Definitely should've put in more. Also, remember that new yard work job I mentioned? I need to be putting in more time there, but I can't. I think I'm starting to push my limits. It's not worth it for me to be holding that job, but I've got it now, so I'll probably try stick with it for the month. I was going to put in an hour tonight, but that's really not worth it. She doesn't like me to work for more then three hours at once.
O.k., I've vented now, that's only on the work front. Then there's all my school junk and recreational activities. Ah well, better then having nothing to do I suppose. Sorry, I should've thought of something interesting to post. But I really don't think I did much deep thinking at work today *winks*.

Today I was driving through town. Minding my own business as usual. Well I was waiting at a stop sign a school bus pulled up wanting to turn, umm, past me, however you say that in proper driving language. So since people, even little kids, are interesting, I watched through the window, as I'd nothing better to do. I had time to notice a little girl with big eyes and curly hair on top of her head. She stuck out, for some reason. I'm not entirely sure why. She was just kind of staring out the window, with fake fur 'round her neck. But she's not the point of my story. I also noticed a chubby little girl. I've seen more of them around more then usual. The kids that ore likely then not will battle obesity for the rest of their lives. Probably part of a statistic on obese children. When you think about it, its kinda sad. What other society has to battle children starving themselves to look good and children without control of their eating habits? However, these two little girls would be lost from memory, but I thought about it for a bit because...
As the school bus turned I was looking through the window for other kids to think about. Near the back I noticed a little boy with shaggy hair, the hyper kind. And he looked familiar so after a few seconds I realized it was a kid from the junior class in judo. So I smiled and waved. He was blank for another second and then his face kinda lit up and he managed to return my wave before the bus swept by. I imagined him telling the kid next to him how he knows me from judo. 'Cause I remember being little and knowing big kids. Even though he probably doesn't know my name and I hardly know his it made me happy for about ten minutes. I drove down the highway grinning to myself. So there, I thought I'd share it with you.
On an entirely different note, my nails are blue. The kind of blue that you can imagine the sky being on the deepest of June days. As much as it's a gorgeous colour it looks weird being on my nails. My brother handed me the paintbrush after he was finished painting his model and told me to do my nails. Apparently it doesn't come off, but I think they're wrong, because it is already. Anyway, those of you who don't know me won't think it's weird that I painted my nails, those of you who do might be at least be chortling to yourselves.
My hair is also wavy/kinky which is cool. I can get away with it because it happened when Mom gave me two french braids and my hair wasn't 100% dry. In other words, It's the product of my being lazy and sleeping with braids instead of a product of my standing in front of a mirror.
But now I must go mow the lawn because I can't take the van to biblestudy until I do. I don't like having it be a control issue. Anyway, like I said...
Kris

Well, I oughtn't to be blogging right now as my life is busy, hectic, and crazy. All the same, I'm one of those people who never seems to do anything but pulls something off at the last minute. Even if that something isn't always very impressive.
Anyway, I am primarily posting to say that I've added a few new links. But I don't know if they'll be permanent. Peculiar people is an interesting site by Christian homeschooling teens and is worth a visit now and then. I don't post at their forum myself but they've some insightful articles and whatnot.
Guide to Canada's full name is an Americans guide to Canada, but that was too long. It is a better one of those Canadian sites you find floating around the web. Canadian's will find it insightful, funny, and maybe even interesting. American's may or may not find it educational. I enjoy all the low profile sections, like, "things every Canadian knows". I found a few things that don't apply in B.C. (you can't get bags of milk here, although you can out East). I also found out a lot of things about the States ("what? You guy's don't have Mohawks?"). Don't click on it unless you have time and nothing to do.
Now, I could take the time to post something mind stimulating. Or of interest to anyone who likes to follow my life (no one). But I think that's it for now.
Kris
I'll probably add google fight to my links too. It's another crazy site, brought to my attention by essy, where you match up crazy stuff an see who wins. Another don't visit unless you're bored sight.

I'm a little sore. Basic mix of new yard work job and a half hour walk to get there. Gorgeous walk though, if you're not jogging so you won't be late.
Went to judo last night. Quite happy about that. I think I can finally consider myself better, if out of condition. The back of my neck just about killed because my gi kept ripping back and forth over it. Oh well, it should go down soon and then be fine for the rest of them summer.

Hello. I didn't get a chance to get on the computer until now since I went to work all morning with my Dad. I was a little worried about how being so physical would go with my sick-worn body. But it was just fine, other then a bit of coughing at first. I also burnt my neck nicely. The back of my neck is really the only part of me that burnt though. I guess burning well crouching in a ditch is a bit different then burning well laying on the beach.
This morning I was busy shovelling dirt and my two-week-flabby shoulders started to burn pathetically. I re-realized that I'll never be a guy (this is the part where you all say, "duh"). I can be a tough girl, I can hold my own, and I can play the part of a tomboy. But in the end I'll still be the female God made me. It's not really fair, at least at first glance. Like, I probably shouldn't aspire to drive cement truck. It's a man's world, through and through. Girls, in general, are smaller, and gigglier and sometimes they look stupider, to my mind, then the guys.
And I think this is why it bugs me. Some women talk about being "feminine". Of "womanly character". And maybe it's because I fight it. Being gentle and everything doesn't attract me. I'd rather play it tough and fight the boys for their own game. However, when you consider it, the "soft character" women are probably the ultimate feminists. The ones who run the show behind the stage, and somehow manage to do it all in their flowing skirts and red lips. Still, I used to hate it in books when the perfectly rough little girl became the "woman she was meant to be", and all were supposed to rejoice.
So what is the advantage of being a woman? Because, ultimately, I would never change (although there were times when I would've considered it). If I can't appreciate gentle feminity then what is there to appreciate? Well, I ask myself, would a guy ever enjoy a good slumber party? The kind where you stay up till 4 talking about everything that passes through ones mind. How many men can curl up with a book and not manage to emerge from it until it's finished? Even the Hardy boys series I loved as a kid. When I climbed trees with the boys, how many got to the top, closed their eyes, and breathed deeply for the pure joy of sitting at the top of a gently swaying tree? There are so many joys in life that I might miss out on were I male. Yet I can still play hockey (although, by chance, I won't be as good). Or tinker under cars, if I want, or yell at the t.v. So maybe I have the best of both worlds.
In the end I stand back and take a good look at myself. I probably am in that group that will forever be considered tomboys. I like to be able to do things for myself and will always compete with the boys, be it in chin-ups or chess. I go a month without washing my hair, to see what happens, and get competitive half-way through a good game of basketball. I can work on a roof or watch a sob show without crying. But when it comes right down to it, and I've already said this, I'll still be the female God made me. And I'm o.k. with that. I'll always be me, the female, the tomboy, the Kristen I'm growing up into. I'll be the rough little girl who grows up into the woman she's meant to be. And it will be exactly the kind of woman that God intended. Maybe never the gentle spirited kind, but maybe the free spirited kind. Whatever it is, It's going to be me. And everything that I am. Because, that's what I'll always be.
Kris
Isn't it funny what you think about when you're digging dirt in a ditch?

I think I'll go out to the park today. It's been a couple weeks. I still think I'd better not play anything unless it's volleyball though. Yesterday we went to a pizza dinner/bibleschool skit night thing at the Baptist church. I was having fun being anti social but ended up playing a bit of 3 on 3 basketball. Which was o.k., except I had to ferociously suck on cough candies, and eventually sat down. Meg and Abb joined me after basketball fell apart and said I looked freaky. Which I did. I was all one shade of yellow with brown bags under my eyes. Almost like I had half my make-up on for a horror movie of sorts. It went down after a bit but warned me that I'd not better enough to do much yet. I'm always looking a little pale but it's been so long I think it's normal.
Yesterday Meg and I were going to have this big lunch thing, and two people showed up. It was still good fun though. But I've probably almost said to much already, since it's secret. But I don't think anyone reads this who will matter (no offense to anyone who reads this).
Kris
yesterday was so hot it felt like late June. It's crazy though, since there's still snow on the mountain. And I couldn't help myself but comment on the weather this time, although I usually try refrain.

Heh, as you can see I've messed up my archive links and now can't remember how to put them back. That's why they both say April when one is really a solitary post out of May. I don't know if my blog shall ever be the same again. But that's o.k. Enjoy anyway. Maybe I should just put it back to the original template. All that work *sigh*.
Edit: fixed? We'll see. I'm brilliant. Actually, I'm an idiot. Since I could've lost my whole blog during my little repair session. But if it's all better it's worth it

I smell like old spice. Sometimes when I don't put on my deodorant first thing in the morning I'll wear my Dad's which only requires going to the bathroom instead of going up to me room. The only problem is I then smell like old spice all day. It's not that I mind guys deodorant, because that's what I wear anyway. But old spice definitely is a guys, I guess because my Dad and all wears it. It's funny how we can identify smells with things. More then just smell actually. Basically any sense. For years Rs. James' c.d. transform reminded me of the Organ coast because that was the first time I really listened to it very often. It reminded Cor or cherry picking, because when we were camping out together was the first time she really listened to it a lot. The only thing that reminds me of cherry picking first round is Mr. Cor's Dad's old house, which I'll probably never go in again. But because I never went in it very often then that's what I associate with it. And there's taste too. Still, now and then when I'm eating something I'll get a definite taste of Mexican and, bang, I'm back in La....secret vacation village...for a half sec. And then it's gone. It's awesome. But I've decided you can't bring it on. I also can't think of anything that I can feel that will bring me back anywhere so maybe that's one sense it doesn't work on.
But for now I'll smell like old spice and every guy that wears it. At least old spice works. Not like that other cheap deodorant I wear (which smells like some guy at judo, I just can't figure out which one).