I've decided not to do a person today, as it is Halloween and too much is going on.

It was actually a pretty laidback All Hallows Eve here, and not very spooky either. We had very few trick-or-treaters; it's just too cold. However, it was supposed to snow, but the fortunate chillun were spared.

All in all, a good day. I got to swear at a museum. I also got to buy myself a pair of argyle kneesocks. Always a lovely thing to have.

Cal and Jess came over, and we had Stuffed Crust pizza and played Trivial Pursuit with a fifteen-year-old set of cards. Apparently in the late eighties people still remembered obscure (and some not-so-obscure) fifties' tv shows. For the record, I did know that the Beav had the top bunk in the first seasons of Leave it to Beaver. I have vivid memories of watching it on Nick-at-Nite when I was a little kid, and Beaver would always lean over the edge of the bed; "Wally, I got a problem..."

My dad and brother then joined us for a couple of games of Cranium. Cranium is the most fun when you get to heckle; most of the game consisted of teams screaming at each other, "You suck! How are your teammates ever supposed to figure out what that's supposed to be? You suck so much! No one likes you! You'll never amount to anything! You are not worthy of love!" My dad and I were the designated spellers for each team, and whenever we were trying to spell, members of the other team would shout, "A! G! 62! Dollar sign! Asterisk! Tilde!" I think I have kind of an odd family.

Jess, Cal, and I also all listened to Harry Belafonte. Much dancing ensued (at least on my part). Yeah, we're weird.

I will admit, though, that I'm rather fond of our version of Halloween.

I am a terrible knitter.

I love to knit. It's weird. I knit, I listen to a little Perry Como, and play a little Mah Jongg. My father thinks I'm eighty years old.

I'm currently knitting a...thing. I'm pretty sure it's a Thneed (a Thneed's a something that everyone needs!). It's green, and it's, um, Thneedish. Pretty useless.

And that's my diatribe on knitting.

A conversation for you (between my math teacher and yours truly):

"All right, folks. Put your books away; let's all go home. Except for Allison; she's going to the funny farm, where there will be algorithms and logarithms and mantissas--"
"--And guys in drag!"
"....and guys in drag."

Apparently Mr. K (he performs his feat on Saturday) doesn't share my appreciation for odd-sounding math words. Or guys in drag. And yeah, he actually used the phrase "funny farm." He's an odd duck.

I'm currently playing with the fonts, colors, and layout of this site. This page will change a thousand times (template-wise) in the next week as I redevelop my HTML skills. Fortunately, I'm the only one who ever sees it.

2:30 dismissal today because of parent-teacher conferences. Ah, the small joys of life.

I think it would be cool if Britain actually had a Ministry of Silly Walks.

I'm such an idiot.

Quote of the day: "I don't like noisy things. I like guys in drag." I said this to my friend Cal during Algebra II. I'm still not sure what the non sequitur is supposed to be, and it didn't even make sense at the time. However, it is true; I hate noise, and guys in drag are funny. Especially British guys in drag.

Event: Instead of actually doing my English III homework, I spent all of my study hall rewriting Emerson's aphorisms from the worksheet. I ended up with things like: "What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us, except when the rest of the bridge lies before us and a speeding train lies behind us" and "What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not been discovered. Now, however, we know that these virtues are mild hallucinations, a deep sense of relaxation, and a wicked case of the munchies." Silly and unoriginal, I'll grant you, but I got to go around the rest of the day with my nose in the air, stating snobbishly, "I've rewritten Emerson." I also got to tell my U.S. history teacher that my hobbies include "fixing Emerson."

It's the simple things in life that get to me.

My name is Allison. I'm 16 years old and a junior in a rural high school in South Dakota.

I live with my mom, dad, and a 14-year-old brother who I'm pretty sure still lives in our attic.

My life is extraordinarily boring.

You are reading my journal. I pity you.