perspective post.

so perspective affects writing because it does.

RUSHED!

Hello poeple out there. I am a guest speaker on Maddy's blog. I would like to share with you about the one thing i can absolutley not stand! I cant stand being rushed! It is the worst feeling imaginable. I hate when i have plenty of time and i am told to hurry up. It irratates me to no end. I also despise when im told something last minute and i need time to get ready and then again they are rushing me. It's not my fault that i was told last minute and it's still my fault. I dont understand how that is. When i fell rushed im irratated, stressed, upset, and i just cant stand it!!! Usually when im rushed I always forget something. When im rushed i get so annoyed that for the rest of the day im not always the nicest person. I just dont enjoy the feeling of being rushed. If i were you i would stay away from the word rush and try your absolute best not to be rushed.

"Elvis falls from top-1,000 US baby name list"

Well it's about freaking time. For the first time since 1954, let me repeat and bold that, 1954, Elvis isn't on the top 1,000 US baby names list. Considering I don't know of anyone and no one I know knows of anyone named Elvis besides, of course, Elvis Presley, it's baffling how such a name was popular anyhow. I mean, I don't know if I could even take anyone named Elvis seriously. I think that everytime I saw the dude I'd ask him to like dance and shee' and do that not sexy at all voice Elvis always did. I guess if someone was obsessed enough with Elvis, they'd name their kid after them, right? But why would you want to put your child through such torture? Why couldn't you just name your kid something normal and introduce them to Elvis and have them form their own opinions on him? oh my gahh how much would that suck if you were named Elvis and you hated Elvis Presley? Everyone'd always like ask you about him and stuff and you'd just be like uhh...

Well. Moral of the story: there are some names that should be retired. Adolf, Osama, Draco, and Elvis are among those.

breakin' rulez

Uncle Rick was is alwayws the more...outgoing one. So, there were are, sitting in an uber classy, stuck up, snobby people French resturant in the heart of Paris, and the unspeakable happens. We run out of bread. And, we're American's, so naturally our patience is low and our hunger is high, always. We agree that we'll wait until the waiter walks by again and my French speaking mother will ask if we can have just one more basket, and all will be well. Five minutes go by and our, well Uncle Rick's stomach is screeching. "Where's the waitor guys?" He asks. We remind him to be patient and we settle back into our causal dinnertime chit chat. Five more minutes pass. "Okay, this is ridiculous," he says. "I'll get the waitor over here." Various "Oh God"s and "Have mercy"s murmer throughout the table as all ten of our faces sink into hiding, as if that will help the unimaginable embarrassment that'll soon eat us alive. "Um, excuse me!" Uncle Rick raised his voice. Heads turned. Were we really going to be the typical fat ass, trashy American tourists pissing off all the stuck up, classy Frenchies? Yeah, yeah we were. "Excuse me? Waitor?" Uncle Rick continued. We looked as thuogh we'd spent the day on the beach, our faces were so red. Aunt Anne already began apologizing to neighboring tables. After what must have been the longest 15 seconds of my enitre life, a waitor appeared. Finally. "Um, Bonjour," Uncle Rick decided now was a good time to try out his French. "Uh, bread?" He picked up the basket, and spoke louder, as if louder english was equivelent to French. "We need more bread!" He said, like a frustrated traveller trying to speak to those people on the phone. That was a bad comaprison, but I don't know what they're called, so.

anyways, you get the picture, yeah?

doin sumthin gross cuz yuu gotta.

Today, we were boxing. Of course, we'd box the one day I didn't bring my boxing gloves. this only meant one thing: I'd have to borrow gloves. I shuddered at the thought of using someone else's gloves as I mozyed my way to the box that contained all the extra gloves, trying to procrastinate as much I possibly could. There they were. Blue, everlast boxing gloves. Silent prayers filled my thoughts as I hoped, for my sanity, that they hadn't been recently used. I picked one up and slid my hand in. Sweat. Someone. Else's. Sweat. My entire body cringed and my gag reflex was definitely in tact. I told myself I'd get used to it, but that didn't happen. I was only half way there too! I was in a horror film. Chills didn't stop speeding down my spine and my arms were the texture of an orange because of the endless array of goospbumps that became present. I took a breath. It was time for my right hand's torture now. I slid my hand in and made a fist. My enitre body shivered as I desperately tried to adapt to the apsolutely revolting circumstances I was being forced to encounter. Uh, yeah.

"Marley might have won the battle, but we knew it was just a matter of time before we won the war. Nature's call was on our side. Sooner or later, what went in had to come out. As disgusting as the thought was, I knew if i poked through his excrement long enough, I would find out. Had it been, say, a silver chain, or a gold platted chain, something of any less value, my queasiness might have won out. but this chain was solid gold and had set me back a decent chunk of pay. Grossed out or not, I was going in."

" 'Oh, what the hell,' I said, and unsnapped the leash. Marley dashed for the water, kicking sand all over us as he blasted off. He crashed into the surf just as a breaker rolled in, tossing him under the water. A second later his head reappeared, and the instant he regained his footing he threw a cross-body block at Killer the Pig-Slaying Pit Bull, knocking them off their feet. Together they rolled beneath a wave, and Iheld my breath, wondering if Marley had just crossed the line that would throw Killer into a homocidal, Lab-butchering fury. But when they popped back up again, their tails were wagging, their mouths grinning. Killer jumped on Marley's back and Marley on Killer's, their jaws clamping playfully around each other's throats. they chased each other up the waterline and back again, sending plumes of spray flying on either side of them. They pranced, they danced, they wrestled, they dove. I don't think I had ever before, or have ever since, witnessed such unadulterated joy."

STYYYLE
uh so he's bluntish and there's a bit of personifiication. +hyperbole. He exaggerates a ton. I mean, look at that paragraph. He could've said "I broke the rules and let Marley off his leash and he had a lot of fun with this other dog and stuff." but instead he explained it as how he had never "before, or have ever since, witnessed such unadulterated joy."

john grogan and what not

"Worst of all, the doorway in which I stood looked like it had been attacked with a chipper-shredder. Bits of wood were sprayed in a ten-foot semicircle around the door, which was gouged halfway through the other side. The bottom three feet of the doorjamb were missing entirely and nowhere to be found." -John Grogan, Marley and Me 

So not only do I enjoy this book because I used to have a yellow lab named Marley, but he also ate a hole through our garage when he was a lil pup.

and that's pretty much it