Word Play: August 2006

Thursday, August 31, 2006

Shattered

I don't understand vandalism.

Actually, more accurately, it scares the hell out of me when I'm the target of vandalism.

Gather 'round children, because it's our favorite time of day... STORY TIME:

Yesterday morning, I was running a bit late for school (I'm so lethargic in the mornings that it takes me hours to look decent.. or even alive) so I rushed out to my car which is parked on the street because there is no room in my driveway... and we don't have a garage. Who doesn't have a garage? Thats the real question. Well as I threw my books in the passenger seat, I noticed that my windshield didn't look quite right. Actually... it looked quite shattered. Veins of glass trailed from a single spot, where my car was obviously attacked.

I was shaken, to say the least. Who would do this to my car? Not many people know me here, no one has a reason to hurt me or my property. Maybe I have a stalker who is watching me right now, ready to pounce on me and drag me to his lair where I will never see the light of day. These thoughts crossed my mind, of course, but I decided to take a chance and run back inside the house. It isn't a good impression to be late on the third day of school so I figured I had better find some way to get to that institution of higher learning. I woke up my mom and she agreed to drive me.

As we went down the street, I noticed that every other car parked along it had windows resembling mine-- fractured and cracked to the point where you couldn't see through it. I must say that this gave me some peace of mind. My stalker theory flew out the window, it was just ignorant kids with a baseball bat and too much time on thier hands.


So my car is still sitting outside, still undrivable. Luckily the window repair man comes tomorrow. The downside? Hurricane Ernesto is rolling in, bringing in inches upon inches of rainfall.
Cracked windows=leaks.
Leaks=ruined apolstery.
And insurance won't pay for anything under $500. My window was $250... which is money I certainly don't have. This is when I call upon my dear parents for help. Sometimes I'm glad to be a minor just for that reason.

So if you see any wild stalkers carrying around baseball bats, let me know. I want to make him pay for his actions.

~whitney~
P.S. I'm experiencing my first hurricane. Idaho didn't have weather. this is crazy! The thunder is so loud!

Sunday, August 20, 2006

Racy in Red

We have great news. I've always been proud of being a redhead, and I just found another reason to be.

Last night i was watching WRAL news when an interesting story was mentioned:

Brunettes may turn heads and the fair-haired may be in demand, but it seems the racy redheads are the real deal when it comes to having an active … um … social life —

A study done by Hamburg sex researcher Dr. Werner Habermehl says that of all the ladies out there, redheads have the most sex, The Daily Mail reports.

Habermehl looked at the sex lives of hundreds of German women and then compared them by hair color to come to his carnal carrot-topped conclusion.

"The sex lives of women with red hair were clearly more active than those with other hair color, with more partners and having sex more often than the average. The research shows that the fiery redhead certainly lives up to her reputation," Habermehl said.

Of course, I was sitting next to my father at the time, so the entire report was rather uncomfortable to say the least.



I'm not sure this is a one-hair-color-fits-all situation though. Because thus far my red hair has not helped me much in the guy department.


perhaps my "racy red head" side will come out someday... or perhaps with my luck, I'll be the one red head who grows into an old maid, lagging behind all of the brunettes and blondes in lust and love.

Monday, August 14, 2006

The Killer Kujo Wasp




I have a new book proposal for Steven King, based on my own real life experiences. I'd advise all Southerners to keep their doors closed and preferably deadbolted against this savage beast. A wasp with the wingspan of a small bird, or maybe even a small plane, ended up in my house this morning. Its buzz sounded eerily like a lawnmower, loud and deadly.

I heard screams coming from the living room and as I ran in, I saw my mother, armed only with InStyle Magazine chasing the giant around the room. She sprang towards it, her wild animal instincts kicking into gear, but missed, instead knocking down the blinds. The wasp veered around, ready to strike and kill her when, in a last desperate attempt, she attacked it and managed to hit it. The wasp fell to the ground and mom pounced on it, hitting it about 15 times with the magazine.

At this point we figured it was dead. I know that flies die after one hit, why wouldn't a giant killer wasp? So my brother and I decided to document this momentous event and grabbed the tape measure and took a picture. The bee was roughly three terrifying inches long. As we took the picture, we saw the insect twitch a few times but, logically, I thought they were just its last spasms.

Mom walked in a few minutes later to pick up the dead carcass.. and once more, screams echoed throughout the house (undoubtedly heard throughout the neighborhood). I ran back into the room.. and there was the wasp, back on its feet, plotting its revenge. Like Kujo, it just wouldn't die! It walked around, as we stood there and panicked and then we attacked it with a large coffee table book. We stomped on it for a good ten minutes, to insure it was dead. When we removed the book, he was still twitching, so we attacked again.

Finally, after 15 minutes of brutal force, we figured the demonic wasp must be dead, so we got a wad of tissue and picked it up. It was still twitching, so we flushed it down the toilet. I just hope wasps can't swim.


It is probably still alive, forging its way through the sewer system, ready to attack its next victim.

So, in closing, Mr. King, please take my suggestion for your next novel. I really do feel it would be a best seller.

~whitney~

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Pig-Pickins

I'm taking a lazy day and I refuse to leave this house. I don't want to see anyone, I don't want to talk to anyone, I just want to veg. I'm not even in a bad mood, I just feel it is important to have some "me" time.

I've spent the day reading, going on a power walk, and catching up on my internet life. I go through computer fazes. Sometimes I LIVE on the computer, 24/7, emailing, IMing, blogging etc... and then I'll go weeks where I barely check my email.

Southern life revolves around pigs. More accurately, Pork Barbeque. And they take their barbeque seriously. There is currently a debate RAGING in North Carolina over which type of barbeque should be adopted as the official State barbeque (what?!). Our choices are Western NC Pork Barbeque, basted in red sauce and ketchup, or Eastern NC Barbeque, pulled pork and vinegar. I've sided with the Eastern NC barbeque, simply because that's all my family has ever known. Since barbeque wasn't too big in Idaho, my father SHIPPED IT IN.

Now most people have never had the opportunity to attend a pig-pickin'. These events are solely based around cooking a full dead pig on a large grill and getting enough people to eat it all. The pig is probably the scariest thing you've ever seen, laying there dead on the grill, and I personally was scarred as a small child when my dad decided to throw the only pig-pickin' in the history of Idaho.

Last night, we went to a family event in Greensboro, a city about an hour away from Raleigh. Little family reunions are always great... unless you don't know ANY of your extended family members. I suffered through numerous "oooh.. you've grown up so much, last time I saw you, you were just an infant..." or, better yet, "Wow, you look so much like your daddy." umm.. thanks. Excuse me while I go kill myself.

We've got my cousin's wedding next month and I'm not sure how I'll get out of that. I'm not sure I like the idea of being so close to so many relatives.

~whitney~

Thursday, August 10, 2006

Migraine.

Every sound peirces in my ears and the light from the computer is blinding. Each nerve in my brain is pulsing, mimicking my heart beat. I've knocked back four Advil Liqui-gels in the past hour but this migraine won't go away.

I had plans. I was going to spend my evening going for a nice power walk up to Whole Foods to grab some dinner then I would promptly walk home (its 5 miles, so its a VERY good walk) and lay on the couch in front of the tv. Well I've accomplished a small section of my plan, I have managed to lie around a bit. As for the walk? Well there's always tomorrow... or the next day.

In colonial times, doctors suspected that migraines were caused by demons who entered your head. The only cure was to drill a hole into your skull in order to release the spirits. Of course this drill was probably also used to drill into other heads and was certainly unwashed, as are the doctor's hands. I'm increasingly glad that I live in the 21st century where advil has replaced drills... seeing as I'd probably have ten holes drilled in my head by this time and I'd either be a dribbling lunatic or already buried six feet under the earth.

Oh modern medicine, how I love thee. Excuse me while I go raid the medicine cabinet for some Lunesta or another similar drug that will put me in the fast lane to a deep slumber. I can see how prescription drugs are Americans' secret addiction.

Sunday, August 06, 2006

Hi mom. hi dad.

I have two additional readers that have failed to leave comments that I feel deserve some recognition. Their names?
Meet mom and dad.

I've heard that blogs can get you in trouble with your boss and I guess in my case my bosses are my dear parents. Every teenager goes through the parents snooping through their journal, I guess it makes it all the easier when my journal is posted on the world wide web for all to see.

So now that I know about this breach of privacy, mom and dad feel free to leave a few comments and let me know how you feel about my thoughts. Perhaps in the future I should learn to type wisely. Details about my life should not be posted on the internet. I should begin to censor my blogs.

I just wanted to say thanks mom and dad for reading my blog and let me know when you drop by. I'd love to hear your opinions.

~whitney~

P.S. A word of advice to other bloggers: If you ever lie to mom and pop, make sure not to post the truth anywhere on the internet. the end.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Racial Issues in the South

Race is still an issue in the south.

In the lawbooks, blacks and whites are completely equal. There are black politicians and black newscasters but although schools and public areas are no longer segregated by law, people tend to flock towards "their own kind."

I've never lived anywhere with ethnic diversity. My high school in Idaho had um... four African Americans. Yes, four. In February, Black History Month, our newspaper did an article in which all four blacks were interviewed. I've moved from a 99% white community to a place where blacks and whites are nearly equal in number.

I'm not racist. I really am not, but to tell the truth, I've never been exposed to different races. The funny thing is, I've attended parties brimming with 200-300 people, and none of them have been black. The white kids DO consider themselves superior to blacks. It is nearly unspoken yet apparent through their actions. White kids hang out with white kids and black kids hang out with black kids. Anything else is a social taboo.

Here is a REAL conversation that I overheard the other day amongst a couple of high school boys:
"So-and-so made out with a black guy."
"Oh my god, that is disgusting."
"You better hope he was good because no white guy will ever touch her again."
"I know I won't, she's been contaminated."

What? WHAT?! That is absolutely despicable. I moved here thinking that America had changed since the Civil War, since the Civil Rights Movement... and it has, but we are still far from social equality.

Yesterday I was at a laser tag zone and I was talking with this black girl and we really got along. We had similar interests and I definitely wouldn't mind befriending her. Yet I'm terrified of developing a reputation before I even step into my new high school.

I know its unlikely, but I'd love to see the social situation change. I want to be able to befriend whoever I'd like without committing social suicide.

Who knew that the south was so steeped in tradition that blacks and whites still lead separate lives, rarely mixing. What do I do? I can't sit back and just avoid all people with skin pigment. That is morally unethical.

this is a new world. Change is necessary yet the south is adament about keeping their "way of life".

~whitney~

About me

  • I'm Whitney Davis
  • From Eagle, Idaho, United States
  • I try to see the best in each situation and I believe that happiness is often a choice. I don't like being home and would rather be spending my time with my friends... people I try to choose wisely. I've made many mistakes, but I've learned from each of them, so in retrospect I'm glad I experienced them. Life is a collection of events that has helped me grow as an individual.
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