I haven't posted in a month.

Everyone must have gotten really bored coming to my blog every day and seeing only the tired old post from a month ago. You might even have become so bored that you gave up on me and started reading a blog that updates on a decent schedule. I don't blame you. Really, I don't. I get bored when people don't update as often as I think they should. This is a real case of the pot calling the kettle black.

Many things happened since I last posted, the most important of which was my family's trip to Canada.

We went to Canada because we are all majorly obsessed with Canada. In fact, we consider ourselves honorary Canadians. However, we didn't go to the normal parts of Canada that tourists usually go to. No. We went and drove up to Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and even Newfoundland. Well, Newfoundland is an island, but we drove onto a ferry that took us over to the foggy, salty shores of Newfoundland.

The vacation took up a significant portion of my life, but I can't think of anything to say about it. I'm sorry.

Moving on.

Today, my dear friend Anna took me to the 4-H Youth Fair, where she was showing her

rabbit. I forget its name. It bit her and Patricia, but she assured us that it is usually a placid and

good-natured creature.

At the 4-H Youth Fair (or just Fair, as Anna called it), I experienced a strange feeling. It was

really strange because I go to the Chelsea Fair almost every year, and I go to the other cousin's

(TOC) horse things. I even went to an odd horse thing where they sold horse equipment with

crosses on it.

I felt really out of place at the horse thing. I am not going to buy any kind of horse

equipment or shiny glass objects. I did make the cousin buy me a sign that says "Unattended

Children Will Be Sold To Gypsies," and it now decorates my door, so I suppose something good

came out of it.

The point is not the charming sign, though. The point is that everyone else was a horse

person, and I am not a horse person. I don't want to be a horse person. Horses are large and sort

of scary, when you think about it. Also, it creeps me out the way they have large bodies and thin

legs that really don't look like they should be able to support them.

At the Fair, I was absolutely charmed by everything. Why, I could almost have renounced

my city-slicker life on the spot and gone to live on a farm with chickens. Well, not really, but I

was charmed. There were kids the child's age just carrying around chickens like it was perfectly

normal. Yep, here I am, carrying my chicken. La di da, nothing to see here. It's just me and my

chicken. Or is that my chicken and I? Anyway, it was cute. There were kids my age cuddling

with geese like they were cats, wearing rubber boots and standing in stalls, and leading cows off

to be washed up. It made me wish I could have that kind of farm-animal relationship. I am

probably never actually going to have a farm and the only animals I am likely to own will be

smaller than breadboxes, but for a little while there I wished I could be leading my cow into her

stall.

So that was the fair. That was then; this is now.

From downstairs, I can hear the lovely sound of things smashing from the TV, accompanied

by the screams of "DIE!" and "Go Slytherin!" from the child and his friend. They are vicious

children who should never be allowed to play the Half-Blood Prince video game. I watched them

play it for a while, but it was sort of boring to watch and the animation was terrible. Luna's hair

stuck straight out to the side when she tilted her head, and ol' Harry has the exact same stupid

expression no matter what. Nintendo Power gave it a horrible rating, with which I agree.

My new word is copacetic, which I try to include in as much of what I say as possible ever

since Mother said it a few days ago and I looked it up in my dictionary to see what it meant.

I'm having trouble thinking of things to say. I am only blogging right now because Liss has

taken over for Audrey on the yell at Libby until she blogs front. Currently, we are having a

fascinating conversation over gmail about my unique typing habits. I am a horrible typist. Really.

I do not type with my fingers on asdfjkl; like one is supposed to. I sort of "hunt and peck," but

with my middle fingers. I do use my thumbs for the space bar, exactly like I was taught all those

years ago.

This blog post is not working out very well. I can't think of what to write and the formatting

is messed up, so it might not even show up. Oh well. Love you, infidels, but don't think that just

because I post again doesn't mean I'm coming out of hiding.