The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Wasn't that profound? Yeah, I thought so, too. I've been reading dictionaries again, and not even the actual words in the dictionary, which would be semi-respectable. No, I've been reading the nifty section at the back known as Foreign Words & Phrases. It has such gems as plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. The dictionary translates this as the more it changes, the more it's the same thing. I'm just going to assume the dictionary knows what it's talking about.

Today, I saw someone wearing a shirt that said Go Blue Live Green. It was pretty fabulous.

I don't know what to write about, so I think I might venture out into the world of the Internet and find a blog post topic.

Let's see: make a satirical post. You know, I think that one might be too hard for me. I have trouble with this whole sarcasm thing as it is; I'm not sure I can write an entire satirical post.

Write a post like you are telling a story: once upon a time, there was a girl named Libby sitting at a computer. She was typing using the system known as hunt-and-peck because six or so years of typing lessons at school had been wasted on her. Many things were running through her mind, from I'm hungry to Why am I trying to write from this prompt if I know I'm not going to go through with it?

Make a [blank] for dummies post: procrastinating for dummies. Rule one: if you have something to do, don't do it. There, that covers everything.

Make a 101 Ideas post: ha ha. No.

Well, that list was useless. I'm moving on to another one.

Write a stream of conciousness post that is extremely emotive: OH MY GOSH!!! THE CHILD IS EATING ICE CREAM!!! FATHER IS EATING ICE CREAM!!! NOTHING IS RIGHT IN MY WORLD!!! I MIGHT HAVE TO GO TO SLEEP!!!!!! Sorry. Emotive to me means caps lock and excessive punctuation.

Coin a phrase which describes a phenomenon that currently has no description: unbloggable adj. unable to be blogged about.

Have you recently tried a different hairstyle? Why, yes, I have. I like this prompt. I think I might do it. A few days ago, I asked Mother to braid my hair in two braids, like pigtails but braided, before I went to school. I don't remember what people said about it. I think a few people thought it was cute. Someone got annoyed with me for gesturing with my hair. I took it out before the end of seventh hour because it was driving me nuts. Oh, and the back of my neck was cold all day. This is why I keep my hair long: it's remarkably good for keeping me warm.

Hey, this is fun. I think I'll do some more of these. Dear readers, if you don't like this, kiss my grits.

If you were granted three wishes by a genie, what would you wish for? I would really like to say I'd wish for something fabulous and noble, like world peace, but I don't think I would. I think I would wish for a laptop of my own, first of all. (What are the rules of this genie, anyway? Can I ask for something vague and in the future, like I wish to have, like, all my books sell if/when I become an author?) I can't actually think of many other things that I really want. It depends on if the genie can only give me material things or if it can give me concepts. I'm confusing myself. Okay, here's my list. It may or may not be true. One, a laptop; two, fame and fortune as an author; three, world peace.

These lists keep saying do an interview, so here I am conducting an interview with the cousin. While on my trip visiting Civil War battlefields, they taught me that if you want to have a duel with someone, you say you'll be taking an interview. Rest assured that the cousin and I are not going to duel. I'd probably die in the procces. I have terrible aim.

My Interview with the Cousin:

Me: I'm going to interview you for my blog.

Her:

Me: Did you die?

Her: Okie doke. No. I had to help Cara clean up steampunk junk.

Me: Why did Cara have steampunk junk?

Her: Because we were costuming today.

Me: I should warn you that I am copying this entire conversation, sans typos.

Her: Good good.

Me: I don't even know how to interview people. What am I supposed to do?

Her: Ask questions. I answer.

Me: Explain to my readers what steampunk is, in case they don't know. That's not a question, but I don't care.

Her: Steampunk is an alternate cosplay world where electricity is not widespread and everything is powered by steam, including airships. The dress is fairly tricked out Victorian with lots of gears and fancy metal.

Me: I knew that, somehow. I think that Libba Bray woman wrote about it on her blog. Are you listening to music right now?

Her: No. I am listening to the sounds of nature and the mega-bass from my parents' too-loud movie.

Me: For gosh sakes, woman, put some music on so I can write about your strange musical tastes.

Her: Fine. Marilyn Manson--"This is the new s---."

Me: Did you try to pick something that you knew would annoy me?

Her: My new thing is drag. She's drag.

Me: I can't write that title on my blog, even though I just did. That's the whole point of pseudocurses.

Her: I am fully aware of that, little Libsies.

Me: That's it. This interview is terminated.

Her: Why? Continue to interview. I'll be appropriate for the younger viewers.

Me: You just called me little Libsies again, and I'm bored. Younger viewers? I have no younger viewers.

Her: True dat.

Me: Yeah, I'm terminating this.

What a lovely interview. Hey, infidels! Get on Facebook at the same time I get on Facebook, and I'll interview you for my blog! It'll be the best thing since sliced bread, seriously. I could have an interview every day for two days, at least!

That wasn't much of a blog post, but I had fun writing it.

Shakespeare is a cabbage.

Today marks an important day in the history of my blog. When I began typing pseudocurses into the search bar, the web address finished itself for me. I was thrilled. I have been waiting for this to happen ever since I started this blog. It's too hard to type pseudocurses into the search bar every time. It's a long word, and it's really obnoxious to spell. I should have called it something easier.

That's at least the fourth time I've said that.

Anyway, Earth Day was a few days ago. I should have done something special for Earth Day, but wearing my awesome Save the Sea Kittens hoodie was enough for me. Earth Day. It's exciting. I'm over it now.

I've been reading a lot of books lately, as usual. Unfortunately, I don't feel like telling you about any of them. You can just suffer, all right? I don't care.

Fine. I do care. I have trouble lying online. This is a problem that I might need to work on for later in life.

I just bought some new books recently. Melting Stones, which was fabulous simply because Tamora Pierce wrote it, was one. I also got Airhead and Skinned, which I hadn't expected to be about the same thing. Airhead is by that Meg Cabot woman (calling authors that ... guy/woman is how I show my admiration for them. Really.), which is good because I like her, but I think Skinned might have been its author's first novel. I just got it because that Scott Westerfeld guy wrote about it on his blog. Anyway, they were both about teenage chicks and body-swapping. Good books, though, although Skinned was good because I like sci-fi and robots and Airhead was good because I like Meg Cabot.

The problem with me trying to write a blog post is that I feel too apathetic to write anything. I mean, obviously I can write down some nonsense and random words that don't flow together.

Example:

fish yellow cowboy potato Spain dogs blondies cats tofu mariachi fortissimo fabulous fantastic great spiffing amazing English Welsh bonsai kamikaze donut

I can also conjugate French verbs, but I don't think that's writing as much as it is memorizing and then spitting it back up.

Example:

je choisis

tu choisis

elle chosit

nous choisissons

vous choisissez

elles choisissent

If you take French, or if you just have any reason to speak French, tell me if that was right. If you don't take French, what's the matter with you? Go sign up for a French class right this moment and learn it!

The point of blogging isn't really to write down what happens to you. I mean, obviously on one level it is. If I wasn't writing this about my life, I wouldn't be writing it about anything. Blogging is, in my opinion (don't listen to me; I'm a lazy blogger and I only started doing this a few months ago) more about writing your opinions on your life. I mean, my favorite kitty Lulu died is only really sad if you also write about how Lulu being sad makes you feel. Writing I had fun in Science today is only interesting if I explain why I had fun in Science class (which I won't, just to keep this blog to a PG-13 rating).

Having a broken z key has made me realize how many times a day I call myself lazy. Now that it comes out as lay all the time, I notice it more. Maybe I should work on being more productive and procrastinating less...

You can see what's coming here, right? I'll let you say it with me. Wait--I want to make sure you're there on the other side of the Internet, talking with me. Don't want to talk to a computer because it'll be a little (or a lot) psycho? Kiss my grits. Okay, one...two...three...

No, I'm too lazy.

My English teacher, who shall from this point on be known as The Sherm, is having us do a unit on Shakespeare. The Sherm was the best nickname I could come up with on short notice, not like the half of advisory I spent deciding to call my history teacher Mr. X. The problem with Queen Mrs. K. L. Sherman is that it's too long for me to type, and QMKLS is one of the strangest acronyms I've ever seen. 

The first thing you must understand about Shakespeare--this is absolutely imperative to know--is that he is a cabbage. Yes. Shakespeare is a cabbage. Or, he was a cabbage, as I should say. I don't know why Shakespeare is a cabbage. I vaguely remember reading it somewhere and being deeply amused. I guess it was in some book I read when I was younger. Anyway, he is.

I was in The Sherm's fortress of EVIL, room 224, and she was forcing ufs to submit to her will through a substitute teacher by the name of Ms. Winn. Even though she was not with us, her malevolent presence was felt throughout the room, from the bookshelf that would fall over if you gave it one good kick to the can of chocolate dead parrots with the pens ending in fake flowers. I know I felt her presence. Anyone else in that class: were you feeling that aura of malevolence?

We were watching some dumb instructional video about Shakespeare, and we were supposed to be taking notes. I'm not sure anyone did. Well, I did. Sort of.

Example of my notes:

oh crap! THE PLAGUE

Shakespeare=a cabbage=ol' C

ol' C stuck five Iambs in a sentence and called it Iambic pentameter

ha-ha, let's stick Aristotle in somehow! No.

It's a good thing I knew most of the stuff she quizzed us on. I would have done terribly if I'd actually needed those notes. Note to self: take better notes.

That's all for today, dear readers.

Wait, no, it's not. I just want to point out that alternating between calling you dear readers and infidels is perfectly normal and shows no sign of mental disorder on my part. Thank you.

Infidels.

And now, a cheer about e-mail!

G for glass

M for mature

A for amazing

I for immoral

L for licorice

What does that spell?

Gmail!

I just signed into this blog with my new gmail account. The only difference between my new gmail account and my old yahoo account is the username. I still have the same password, which I use for everything. If someone finds out what it is, they'll be able to get into pretty much everything that belongs to me online. I don't like my new gmail account because I don't know how gmail is supposed to be spelled. I want to say g-mail, but I'm not sure if the g is supposed to be capitalized or not.

I was going to go mope around the house, but the cousin told me to blog. It's very annoying, but I hear many authors have people who yell at them whenever they don't work and get them to finish their novels. I know this because I always read the little page of dedications at either the front or back; you know, the one that lists all these people who helped me through the tough process of writing? Does anyone else read those?

I'm really not sure what to write about today. We have a very strange and difficult new song in band. It's called Amparito Roca. Go look it up on Google or something. I have the first clarinet part, only because the teachers took pity on me for having played the second parts in our last two songs. It has a lot of sixteenth notes, which is a problem because I can't play sixteenth notes, and a lot of music in general, which is a problem because I can't play. I vowed to myself that I would learn to play this song, but that was what I did last time and it didn't work. I still say it's going to be fun. Anna, who has the second part, laughs at me every time I mention it.

My favorite element of the periodic table is Uuu, unununium. It's also number 111. See how awesome it is? I know nothing about it other than those three things, but they're awesome enough that it could be completely stupid except for that and I wouldn't care. How can an element be stupid? you ask. Well, I'm not answering you. Go think about it for yourself.

The cousin is telling me via Facebook to write about her. This is our conversation:

Libby

I don't know what to write about.

3:55pmAudrey

ME!

'cause I'm special.

Yes, that is exactly what our conversation looked like. I didn't pay her anything to say that. The cousin speaks of her own free will. My writing is all going to look messed up now because I put that little chat thing in.

The cousin's name is actually Audrey, to everyone who might not have met her. I just call her the cousin. I don't know why. I said it one day, and it stuck.

Weird Names I Call People and Who They Really Are:

• The Tyrannical Dictator: Mother
• Father: Father
• The child: Robby, my brother
• The cousin: Audrey, my cousin
• Hermano: all girls I talk to who are not Spiffy or Anna
• Hermana: Anna
• Prima: Spiffy
• Chica: Niraj, also any other guy

And there you have it! I don't know why I like calling people by Spanish words that apply to the wrong gender anyway. It amuses me. I suppose I should use French words, since I actually speak some French, but Spanish is funnier. The problem with having different names for everyone means that I can't just say, "Hola, hermanos!" like I did before Spiffy and Anna (who take Spanish) complained about being called guy names. Now I have to say, "Hola, hermanos y hermana y prima!" which is really too long for a greeting.

I also speak French in situations where French doesn't make sense, such as in the middle of sentences typed to people who don't speak any French. But why would you do something that stupid? they ask, and I reply, I did it parce que I felt like it. They call this Frenglish or Franglais.

The cousin just told me that I made a mistake in claiming that her posse calls me the abortion one because of Chica's story. The story about Chica was completely true, but it's not why they call me that. I don't feel like typing up the cousin's story, so you can go ask her if you really need to know.

This post is fairly short, but I'm not in the mood to write any more. I have homework to do and school tomorrow. Adios, infidels.

"We're in Narnia!"

The only reason I am writing this post is because I promised the cousin. Also, she shoved me up against a wall and said "BLOG" while I screamed girlishly. I can't help screaming girlishly. I'm a girl.

Tonight, I had the pleasure of attending a performance of "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe." This was only because the cousin was acting in it, and of course I always go to see the things the cousin acts in. She's my cousin. We have a bond sort of like sisters, except we aren't around to get on each other's nerves as much, so it's even better. The other reason I always show up is because she'd probably beat me up otherwise. Don't deny it, cousin.

I read the book a long time ago, like two years or something. Maybe even longer. This is longer than many insects and other small animals have been alive, so it has to be a long time. All I really remembered was that there were four kids who ran around an old house until the idiot one found a wardrobe and went into it. Then they went to Narnia, found the White Witch, found Aslan, et cetera. They probably pointed and shouted, "I found you! Look, look, I found Aslan!" when they did. This is somewhat like me when I find people every day or like in City of Glass when Alec runs over to Magnus and says, "Magnus! I choose you!" like a Pokemon master...Okay, please ignore me now.

If you kept reading past et cetera, I'm sorry. Sometimes I babble about stuff that has no point, and I can pretty much go on forever if no one stops me.. Spiffy assures me that no one actually listens; I'm not sure if I should be relieved or offended.

In the play, there were these lovely little forest sprites or something who ran around doing little dances and twirling ribbons on sticks. It was a lot nicer than I'm describing it. I noticed that the little forest sprites started out with white ribbon-sticks, probably to symbolize the blank emptiness and despair of the White Witch's reign, and ended up with multicolored ribbon-stick to symbolize spring. The changing of the ribbon-sticks pleased me, because I like pointless things like that. Well, things with points. Just very small ones.

The line, "We're in Narnia!" cracked me up for two different reasons at once. Yes, this is like multi-tasking for people who can't multi-task. In Quebec, there was a giant wardrobe in the room, which I will remember fondly as what I hid in with Gabby to jump out at Christine, fit all four of us staying in the room in, and of course climbed into the moment I saw it and cried, "It's Narnia!" The other reason was Spiffy, who tried to convince her sister that the restroom at some restaurant was Narnia, pronounced NAH-nee-uh, without the r sound.

The cousin was, of course, absolutely spiffing as the Witch. Before I spend a while gushing about my wonderful cousin, I'd like to point out that she was one of the oldest people on stage, and therefore had more time to mature. Mature more in the sense of how fruit matures before falling off the branch than how people mature and begin to act more like adults. Anyway, the cousin did an amazing job. Especially with the shrieking and yelling. I'm sorry, cousin, but you're very good at screaming. Don't be offended; it's just the truth.

Adjectives Describing the Cousin's Performance:

• Dazzling
• Sensational
• Fabulous
• Spectacular
• Marvelous
• Impressive
• Astonishing

Adjectives that came up when I Searched "Sensational" that Do Not Apply to the Cousin:

• X-rated
• Rough
• Horrifying
• Juicy
• Agitating
• Scandalous

Five points to the person who can write the definitions of all of those as a comment.

There were only three things that bothered me about the play. The cousin was obviously not one of them. One: lots of people missed their cues and then just stood there. Two: the kid who was a forest creature and tripped every time he went onstage was not funny the first time or the fifth time. Three: Aslan.

My shadowy, dim memories of the book involve Aslan being, you know, proud and noble. A fab kind of lion who's a little distant at times because he's just more noble than everyone else, but still kind. The vibe I was getting from the actress (and it's not her fault; I think it was the costume) was more of a tribal princess vibe. I don't know if it was the grass skirt being used as a mane, the Pocahontas kind of dress, or the time she roared and also sort of twisted around and shook her mane. Whatever. I am done ranting about the play. It was all very lovely. I give it many points.

The cousin's posse knows me as the abortion one. I suppose I shouldn't be too annoyed; my posse knows the cousin as the cousin or Libby's cousin with the hair. This is as opposed to my cousin without the hair. Anyway, there is actually a reason they call me that. I will now tell you all. Gather 'round, dear readers: it's time for storytime.

It was once in the land of Slauson, and our heroine, Libby, was in her seventh-hour class. Seventh hour was almost over, and, seventh hour being the last hour of the day, school was almost over. The excitement was heavy in the room...heavy, like a box of elephants wearing some of those sunglasses with the little jewels in the corners. Chica (some of you may know him as Niraj) was bothering Libby.

"I know your future," he said.

"I'm sure you do," she said.

"You're going to go out with a guy in high school, and Jenny won't like him."

"What?"

"None of your friends will like him."

"Why?"

"He's a jerk."

"What? You think I'd date a jerk?"

"I know you'll date a jerk. Anyway, he'll get you pregnant and you'll have an abortion, even if it's not legal. So it'll all be okay."

End of story.

I told that to the cousin, and she told her posse, and they now know me as the abortion one.

After school (but before the cousin and her performance) I was lying on a bench on the deck. Spiffy doesn't like it when I lie on furniture at school; she says Sam and Anthony will attack me; but what she doesn't know won't hurt her. (Spiffy, if you're reading this: hi. I'm sorry. Sam wasn't at school, so it was totally safe.) Pascale came up to me and asked, "Libby, what are you doing?"

"I'm lying on the bench."

Chica came, too. "Libby, what are you doing?"

"I'm lying on the bench."

Claudia, however, began to yell at me about Big Brother before deciding to litter. "Let's litter, Libby!" Ooh, alliteration. She handed me her candy wrapper, and I chucked it over into the grassy place by the deck that's already filled with junk anyway.

"I feel so horrible! I'm a litterer!"

"Big Brother does not like your anti-environment sentiments," said Claudia.

"But I like Big Brother!"

"Anti-environment is anti-Big Brother."

Remember that, infidels.

"The happy red dragon monkey paper volume is stolen from ours nose!"

Today, I wrote some lovely stories, used the dictionary dot com translator to translate them into random languages, and then translated them back into English. Now I will share them with you. This serves as a blog post because I don't feel like writing a real one.

The beginning of "Ed Bella Chica" (translated to French and back)

It was once in the ground of Slauson, there was a chica bella called ED. ED was about the majority of chica of bella that no matter who had ever seen, never, except the light problem which it was not really a chica of bella. ED was a man! Its virility exuded its pores, but each one just supposed that it was a chica of bella in any event. 

"The Happy Red Dragon Monkey Paper Volume" (English-Chinese-English)

What is attractive is the astonishing ninja skill allows her to wear the spot and stripe astonishing ninja. Other ninjas has not been able to make this, therefore they sucked. What is attractive is best ninja, is very formidable she Master ninja to let her take over control the ninja school.

" You can have my ninja school, " He said. " It is talks nonsense anyway." Piece;

" Has not thanked, ninja-sensei, " Said attractively polite. " I am your ninja school." Is too formidable;

Suddenly, ninja appears outside the woodware. It is Ninja Qiao!

" Ninja attractively with ninja-sensei! " Said Ninja Qiao. " The happy red dragon monkey paper volume is stolen from ours nose! "

" But we are ninjas! " Sob ninja-sensei. " Anything may not steal from ours nose! It is the sound which looks like one time claps! We are steal from other people, for us is ninjas that stealthily! "

He collapsed on the floor, flows out the green to smoke. " Comes to be closer, ninja student, " He said. the ninja student came to be closer. " The lotus flower blossoms blooms eternally." His eye rolled in his head.

He then died.

" What will we make? " Ninja Qiao who requests, remarkable staring at nearby room.

" Only then I may find the happy red dragon monkey paper volume! " Announcement attractiveness.

" Only attractive canned food discovery happy red dragon monkey paper volume! " Redundant Ninja Qiao.

Ninja good regarded as the ninja pimp to demonstrate the gate for the first time, and there she looked at her arched enemy, fuzzy turquoise penguin.

" Oh does not have! Fuzzy turquoise penguin! "

" Ha ha ha! I have happiness red dragon monkey paper volume! " Said the fuzziness, nips the tongue heavily. " You will not be able to obtain it from me! "

Ninja walks attractively with is grabbed it outside his duck foot plate. " Ha, " She said that makes the ninja victory dance.

All ninjas has forever celebrated attractive fabulosity.

And, finally, "Cassee" (English to Russian to English, all for your viewing pleasure)

Cassee, is which tomcat it fell in love to wander all around to skip to the tables and to sing off-key to itself. Its large dream it had to magic go by Japanese and to act on Broadway. 

" Meow Of [yaponi] of meow Of meow, " meowed Of cassee.

" That, [kiska]? " to the asked young Of libby-san. " You do want snuggle? "

" Meow none of meow Of broadway of meow, " meowed Of cassee.

" I you love, [kiska]! " proclaimed young Libby-san, selecting Cassee upward and holding it before the mirror.

" There are no meow! Meow placed me downward, beach, meow! "

It randomly opened the strength of superheroine and it jumped over from the handles of the young Of libby-san. In proportion to it was now superheroine, it broke into a run to californium in order to show it amazing new talents.

" I preserve you meow! " it began to cry, child from the hands of its kidnapper of people.

" Meow Of meow is another good day for the purple avenger of the fungus of the hands of peace and jazz! "

It made slightly more sense before I futzed with the translator.