"You look like Career Doll Barbie!" "Oh sweet heavens, I do."

Today at breakfast we discussed beta testing, submarines, the mail system and the Musad. And then we ended up with watching a video of a dancing parrot. I love my family. 😀

The end-of-year has officially come for (most) of our activities. Brownies and Guides ended with a camp on the weekend, and Dance ended with The Show over the past five days. (If I could make that sparkly, I would. It’s Just. That. Big. They sell out the Arts And Culture Centre for three days. Ahem.) Now Cadets, which the Walrus is involved in, ends with a dance on Friday, which the Walrus may or may not attend. The jury is still out.

I was in dance class for four and a half years, and involved in the show for five, but I’d never actually been in the audience on a performance night. This year I was, and I was very proud. *proud smile* Fraulein and Slonner were in a total of six dances, (the best ones.) I’ve now been inspired to get back into dance, if I can scare up the cash and transportation. The show its self was epic, of course. The theme was Variations: Deja Vu, and they did repeats of the best dances over the last 11 years. That sounds rather feeble, but then you realize these were all excellent dances in the first place, in addition to the fact that much of the audience was looking forward to seeing their old favorite dances again. It was very good. Too bad you missed it. *shakes head*

My sister just walked into my room and shaved green glitter onto my head. This should probably disconcert me more than it does. My response? Let’s watch trailers on itunes! Something is wrong with me.
Anyhow! Let’s talk about camp! This was the first Camp I’ve gone to as a leader, and it was slightly different from the other side. For one thing, sleep seemed so much more important? Some how, when you’re a camper it seems fun to avoid sleep. When you’re a leader you’re more trying to avoid falling asleep on the lunch table. Also, limp french fries are less thrilling than actual salad with croutons and everything. This is a mysterious transformation, I wonder what could cause it? 😀
At breakfast the first day I was clutching a mug of weak, burnt coffee like the ambrosia it was, and one of the Brownies inquired as to whether she could have some coffee. Given that this eight-year-old girl never seems to suffer from a lack of energy, my answer was decidedly in the negative. “Why?” was the predicable response. “Because I’m an adult,” I responded- as predictably. The little Brownie, who by then had acquired a posse of interested followers, proceeded to inform me that I was not an adult. Cue blinking from Snazel. Oh, wait, this happens some times, they think because I am not a teacher or someone’s mom, I must still be in high school. “No, I am an adult, I’m 20,” I reply and drink more coffee. This isn’t good enough, according to the children. I’m not an adult because I don’t have a boyfriend. This is- not an objection I’ve had to deal with before. I throw out something about not having to have a boyfriend to be an adult. Brown Owl doesn’t have a boyfriend, and she’s an adult! Shaking of heads from the Brownies. Brown Owl is a teacher, therefore my argument is invalid. Ulp. Furthermore! They all have boyfriends, why don’t I? Wait, the seven, six and eight year-olds all have boyfriends? Yep, even the kindergartners have boyfriends. Cue disapproving looks from the Brownies. This is clearly an epic fail on my part. But I am not defeated! I go on the attack! My next question; do their boyfriends buy them things? No? Well, they aren’t much of boyfriends, are they now? The Brownies giggle madly about this, and I escape to get more coffee. Just another morning conversation with small girls!
The Camp was in a really lovely place, though. I should go back with a camera and less Brownies to control (which is approximately on the same level as herding cats) and take pictures. And I had a good time, though I wasn’t sad to go come and collapse into an unconcious heap.
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So. What’s been up?

There have indeed been actual occurrences in my life! I just fail at blogging. I am heartily ashamed, and bow and scrape in your general direction, my loyal reader. (Wait, you mean there is more than one reader of this blog? My, I have been remiss.)

Let me cast my mind back into the murky depths of the past. What shall I talk about? Oh, the Brownie sleepover last weekend. Words are inadequate, but I shall try. 
  • *deep breath*
  • Oh Oh Oh Oh setting up beds and can I sleep next to my best friend Melissa teacher she says she’s sleeping next to Reagan but I want her to sleep next to me teacherrrrrrrrrr…….
  • GAMES. SONGS. SINGING. AND DANCING. AND SINGING AND DANCING AND SINGING AND DANCING AT HIGH VOLUME.
  • Oh look, Pizza! *munches*
  • LET’S RUN AROUND AND SCREAM FOR FUN!
  • Oh, never mind, let’s melt plastic cups in the oven and decorate them.
  • LET’S RUN AROUND AND SCREAM- oh, nail polish?
  • Let’s paint the leader’s nails, each nail a different colour!
  • Sleep? Why would we want to do that? Oh look, it’s tomorrow…
  • *leaders pass out sometime about three am*
  • Oh look, it’s morning!
  • *leaders lurch off in search of coffee*
  • *children are perky and RUN AND SCREAM AND SHOUT*
  • *children go home*
  • *leaders clean*
  • *leaders go home*
Yep, that was pretty much the brownie sleepover, in microcosm. Then that evening I went out to Ms. B’s house, and we had a write-in! Which is to say, she worked on school work, and I wrote fun things, and we both put our earbuds in and companionably ignored each other for four hours. Brought me back to Augustine times, I tell you. Of course it was still PM, so not totally Augustine times, but still…. *pauses* I jest, you know I jest. I was a wonderful student. Stellar. I made my professors weep. With joy. *awkward silence falls*
Oh, and then Fraulein and I built a wardrobe last night. Its name is War Drobe, after the shining city in the fair land of Spare Oom. Ahem. And yes, we wrestled that thing up three flights of stairs, because we are awesome, and then we hysterically put it together, because we are skilled. It only took us less than three hours, too. And before you laugh, remember that this was a flatpack wardrobe, with two drawers and doors and so on and so forth, and we built it ALL, without help aside from Slonner assisting with the hinges at the end- when we were too weak with laughter to hold the screwdrivers straight. But it was built, and it is a thing of beauty that I should be filling with clothes instead of blogging. 
Oops. 
Maybe I should work on that? Oh, or I could be working on taxes! So many options!

"Make no wonder you’ve gotta be an adult to be a fire fighter, these steps are huge!"

More news from the continuing saga of the scorch mark outside the tank farm! I have ascertained, through judicious use of talking to firefighters, that a snowmobile caught fire and burned to a crisp on last Friday evening. No one was hurt, and a fine time was had by all. This includes the many gawkers and gossips that inhabit a small town, (me, you say? Nooooooo…..) since they now have narrowly averted death-by-being-blown-to-kingdom-come to exclaim over. 

And how did I go about talking to firefighters, you ask? It was child’s play, really. The Brownies went to the firehall tonight to talk to the firemen, the police and the ambulance, and since I’m a leader I tagged along and listened to the firemen, police and paramedics talk about the current local dramas. So yes, I didn’t really do anything in terms of collecting information other than not zoneing out when the professionals are talking about fires and accidents and other dreadfully boring things. 
Hmm, I seem to be in a sarcastic or perhaps sardonic mood. How strange and unusual. This is partly inspired by the fact that I made supper today. I made Chicken Cacciatore, and I swear that I did not notice that there was wine in the recipe until I had it halfway done. There was also garlic bread and salad. However, the happening that has put me in a rather ferociously verbose state of mind is the fact that somewhere in the afternoon, I lost my elastoplast. Those of you who have ever seen Chef will know to what I am referring. Those of you who haven’t, well, your lives are unutterably more meager and poor for your lack of proper television viewing. 
In other news, I love writing. 
That is all. Feel free to return to your regularly scheduled lives.