Crazy Neighbors

So it would seem that I live in a very nice neighborhood: a street full of funky shops and a lake, both at close range; never are the houses too run down or too uppity. Clean and yet cozy, like a dining chair, I suppose. But I should have known something like the perfect neighborhood is impossible. In Seattle, I've lived in places where the inhabitants let you know too much about their shallow lives and now a place where the inhabitants don't let on much about the depths of their selves. Which, I might add, are nothing fun to look at. Sort of like the Columbia River actually.
I am speaking of--what else?--my lovely new neighbors. On the right side of our house is a single, early-50's bachelorette with a strange boyfriend and an invisible indoor hound. On our left is an aging couple, retired in document but definitely not in spirit.
The single woman has earned the private nickname "The Witch", a sobriquet started up by my dad and carefully confined within the walls of our house (which, it seems, even our neighbors can seem to see and hear through with their prying ears and eyes). She and him didn't get off to a very good start: on our first night in the new place, my mom, dad and sister go to check out the back alley. The Witch is there, and immediately starts up an animated conversation which centers around the college kids that used to inhabit our house; apparently they had some very VEXING habits. Turns out we are the first to break a long line of college kid groups who would rent the house for one year, shattering the community's peace with raucous parties; then would leave the place a mess for some other clan to rent out. So I suppose the Witch had some reason for being so paranoid--but when my dad mentioned that she refused to give him her last name, well, I think that's a bit weird. Further exploits of the Witch included her inviting my father over to her backyard, which is decorated in the Martha Stewart fashion, and instructing him on how best to replace the offensive fence between our yard and hers. Apparently the criminal fence leans about two inches into her garden. *whew* Also, my little sister--whose window looks into the Witch's kitchen--used to have her furniture positioned so that while she did her homework, the Witch would peer suspiciously through the kitchen window into my sister's room. I don't often feel for my sister, but I have to have empathy this time.
Now on to party number two: the aforementioned retired couple. As they have no epithets as of yet, I am forced to call them Jenny and Rob. They are both about 63. Rob, who spends all day fussing over the already-perfectly-trimmed hedges in his front yard, is very talkative besides and enjoys making small talk. (This small talk more often than not lengthens into "long talk", rather like this posting.) Rob also likes to press the point of our lovely backyard elm tree, whose branches annoy him by drooping onto his property and brushing the scalp of his toolshed. Jenny is quite the character, seeming to be much more aware of possible Seattle disasters than everyone else! She promptly visited us and gave my mom a poster of what to have should disaster strike ("I'd tape it to the back of your washing machine in the basement; that's how I do it") in case of flood, earthquake or alien attack. Jenny also confessed to having bought her own port-o-john for her car. When my mom asked her how it would work if Jenny were trapped on the highway during a crisis, Jenny got all flustered and changed the subject, then went home. She probably had to go to the bathroom.
So it just goes to show: you can't judge any book by its cover--nor, I see, a neighborhood by its houses' front lawns! TFATF!!!
-Ahaneen
p.s. My dad and I have a growing conspiracy to scare the Witch out of her witchy wits. We are pondering: which is better? A) sending her a note that says "we know your last name", or B) somehow hiding in her bed, and, when she comes into her bedroom, flopping around under the sheets yelling "WooWOo! Woooooooo!!!"

Yay Happy School Sin Morons

"Sin" in its Spanish form, obviously, meaning "without". There's your new word of the day.
No, just kidding. The ACTUAL word of the day is "babbages". Yes, yes, it's a game store, get off me you funny monkeys. But it's also the best word besides Greep. Anyone who dares challenge me....*runs away*
So my friend just got a blog on here, YAY! I'm so happy that people I know can come on and post once in a stupidfriggin while. So if you want to visit a cool blog, look for http://everyoneiknowisinsane.blogspot.com.
Our school week is practically over, thank God. We have standardized testing on Wed, Thurs and Fri, though, so fuck that. Then again, tomorrow, we are going to a play. Whee! Plays!! I love plays!!!
Sorry for the short, random and yet actually related to my life post. In the grand scheme of things you really didn't have to read that.
Thanks for all the Fishsticks,
-Ahaneen :)D

Imperial Morons and the millennium Flipflops

No, this is not the next Harry Potter. This is me getting pissed and letting all of the world read it.
I'm sure all of you have at least once encountered people who were SO flaky, SO shallow, that you just couldn't stand to be around them. Ones that were like weathervanes, blowin' in the wind...which is not the answer. I just can't believe them sometimes, it's so obvious.
So on to the point. I guess since I saw "Episode IV: A New Hope" (that was the first Star Wars film made), I have always felt sort of a geeky affinity for the movies. Yes, the special effects are laughable, but laughing at them is one of the best things about the films. Yes, the script has always been rather incoherent--and yet you have to love Han Solo's one-liners. So I like them. And I have friends that love them to death, those wonderfully funky space movies.
BUT.
Before "Episode III: Revenge of the Sith" hit the theatres, if you wanted to talk about them with pals or hum the immortal duh-duh-duh-Duh-DUHHHH melody in the halls, you had take precautions. You had to lower your voice to avoid being caught doing something that was supposedly "nerdy." That's not saying I did, and that's not saying my friends and I didn't get a whole ton of crap from other jocks for liking Star Wars. But honestly, it was like being in a church and yelling, "God damn it, where's my sweater?" People would look at you funny as if you were some kind of Martian.
Now, things are different. Ever since the renowned Episode III (which I liked) was released, all those jocks and preppie girls who laughed at us are now freely wandering through the school, yelling the Imperial March tune at the top of their lungs. It's a welcome trend to quote "The Empire Strikes Back" with affection. Now that Anikin has curly hair and the CGI bounty hunters are more realistic Star Wars is the most happenin' thing. And guess what? Everyone's pretending that they liked them all along--those wonderfully funky space movies.

Thanks for all the morons,
Ahaneen

p.s. Go to Google and look up "Grocery Store Wars" to see a great parody of "Episode IV: A New Hope."

Silence for A While

I think of your voice as
like being on the street in the market
at night's darkest hour
with all the lights on
don't know whose door you're gonna knock on...
dunno what you're going to smell first
or taste on the air
pleasantly drawing your senses in
every syllable rings of my solitude, and of
my hopes of care

don't ask, being sort of insane right now. wrote this poem two nights ago at ten. anyhow...stuff. Woohoo!
TFATF,
-Ahaneen

Aw, Shit Fire and Damnation!

So. Our P.E. class was rained in, so we watched a movie about some guy named Bobby Jones and some golf tournaments...whatever. Anyway, the movie was really bad except for the parts where he said "Shit Fire and Damnation!" (That was when he missed the ball, no duh). That's basically all I can think of for the title.
Ok, after that little eulogy, on to the real stuff. I don't really have anything huge to write about just now, so you can all stop reading and go home grumbling and mumbling. Or just plunge on into this desolate cave, this tundra of thrown-together thoughts and spun ideas, until it is nothing more than a caesar salad in some crazy fractal.
I watched Forrest Gump.
I think there should be a holiday when God/whatev plays really loud music and it blasts through the clouds and everyone gets to hear it for like two hours. That was really random, but I was thinking about it last night while trick-or-treating (go overage trick-or-treating! Woooooo!) and thought that the only holiday better than one where you can be scary and get candy for it is one where you can be scarily listening to music for two hours and people...I dunno, give you Peeps or something.
*As my mind plows through the thorny fields of thought, I cut away the branches*
Have any of you read The Shipping News? I've just begun it and, in my book, it's one of the GREATEST books I've read. The writing style is a bit difficult, but then so is Lord of the Rings and you don't want to hear me go on about lord of the rings.
Here's something else I've discovered: I'm a blonde (no, I knew that part already), and all that stuff you hear about "Blonde Moments" is totally true. For purely accidental reasons (no anger, no mental disorders), I punched my friend lightly in the forehead yesterday. Weirdest thing that's happened to me since...oh, maybe July or August last summer.
And now, the sequel to the last post's challenge. I know, the question was kind of wonky last time, but here's something to really ponder:
What in hell would freaks like me do if we didn't have Halloween?
-Ahaneen, because I am now going to eat Raisin Bran