Ish my baby brother writes.

A yearish ago, I posted a long list of some of the ridiculous things my baby brother said over the course of the summer. I could do that with really anyone, but the reason I decided to immortalize what he said is because even when he makes absolutely zero sense, you can still see how brilliant and special he is. As great as that seems, this is actually a tragedy, because he is in middle school, where talent and ability and a person's value and human decency and even basic mammalian instincts are all flushed down the toilet during snack time, and if the class is still alive by the end of lunch, the teachers are doing a solid job.

A few days ago, Baby Brother went to a nearby elementary school, where he hung out with a first grader (named Isaiah, for reference) for a short while and was assigned the task of writing a story about the small child, which is a pretty sick idea, honestly. For some reason, he had to get up super early this morning to do it, which, for most of us, tends to be a significant impediment to our writing ability, but for him, was apparently not even an issue, even on his day off. I found it lying on the stool this morning and it might be the best thing I've read all summer, and I just finished The Great Gatsby, so...yeah.

So I gave him some generic compliment: "That story was so good! I loved it!"
And he said, "Yeah, it's pretty amazing."

J

For the good of all mankind and for the sake of quality entertainment, he let me blog it, even though he hasn't turned it in yet.
This is, in essence, the equivalent of getting an unpublished manuscript of Harry Potter for Christmas.
What's more, this is all him, not my mom doing it for him, not me rephrasing his sentences, just his beautiful, unadulterated rough draft (after I fixed one itty bitty baby spelling error), straight from his unappreciated yet undoubtedly gifted eighth grade soul.

I should probably stop writing before I start leaking overprotective sisterly bitterness. I've already had to delete three paragraphs.
Thanks for reading, and happy Memorial Day.

--

            In the year 2482, on the planet Earth, there was a boy named Isaiah. This boy had magnificent talents. He had the strength of ten men, he was also extremely smart, and he was very handsome. He was a full package. But recently aliens had come to earth and started taking over the world. Isaiah did not like aliens. He wanted to shoot and punch them in their faces, but these weren’t normal aliens.

These aliens had a disgusting power we call hard-wiring. Hard wiring is when an alien turns a human into an alien. Isaiah had to do something! When Isaiah was younger, his parents were taken from him by Lord Hiss, undisputed ruler of the aliens. Isaiah despised Lord Hiss. He wanted to shoot and punch him in the face.

Isaiah’s best friend was named Jack. Jack was very cool. Isaiah and Jack had been friends for a long time. Isaiah had been trying very hard to find out about Lord Hiss’s location, which is where we pick up our two courageous figures and our repetitive narrator.

Jack finally says something, “How long have we been on this road, Isaiah?”

“A long, stinking time!” said Isaiah.

“Good to know.”

Suddenly Isaiah and Jack came upon a weary traveler. Isaiah asked him his name, “What is your name, most elderly one?”

“Tooth,” he said.

Isaiah and Jack looked at each other. “Tooth?!”

“Yes, Tooth,” the man replied.

“Why are you sitting on the side of the road?” Isaiah inquired of the old man.

“I was waiting for Lord Hiss to come down on his daily route to get coffee, and when he was sucking on a hot cup of java, WHAM! We’ve nabbed our dictator. But, he bought a coffee machine, so now I’m just a lonely man on the street.”

Jack finally asked, “Where does Lord Hiss live?”

The old man answered, “Right up the hill—in that big, scary tower.”

“Thank you,” both of them say, and they went on their merry way, singing, “Tralalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala.”

After days of painstaking walking in dirt and gravel, they were finally halfway there. After more days, they were there.

To be continued….

Immediately.

Three days Isaiah and Jack were looking for a way into the heavily guarded tower. Jack finally lost hope, and he fell. As he was falling, he hit the doorbell on the front door, and passage was granted to them.

“That was easy.”

Then, instantaneously, Jack was captured by the evil alien goons!

Jack raised his fist to fight off the aliens, but there were too many. Isaiah’s friend is being hard wired! Noooooooooo!

Isaiah had to avenge Jack. Lord Hiss was about to open up a can of pain. With anger covering all his thoughts and tears covering both his eyes, Isaiah ran down the hall, toppling over aliens—up the hall, left and right, down the stairs. Isaiah ran as fast as he could, and finally came to Lord Hiss’s lair.

A dark, rattley voice said, “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Isaiah drew his neutrino blaster and dropped it on the ground.  Lord Hiss drew his various weapons and dropped them on the ground. What would happen?! What terrible accident would come of this?

Isaiah was red with fury, as if fate brought him to this very moment. Isaiah could hear the bells “ding ding.”  Isaiah and Lord Hiss approached each other.

Isaiah was the first one to land a punch, and then a kick. But Lord Hiss came back with a disgusting green tentacle and slapped him across the face.

Isaiah was infuriated, and Lord Hiss never saw that tentacle again, because Isaiah tied it behind his back.

Oooh, that made Lord Hiss mad! He wound up and punched Isaiah up the chin. Nooo! Now Isaiah and Lord Hiss were just trading punches, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left!

But finally, Isaiah dodged one of the lefts, and with a thundering uppercut, he made contact and put to rest the evil fiend. From his disgusting orange pocket, Isaiah pulled out the key to release all the prisoners.

His parents were overjoyed. They came running out to hug their hero, their son. They always knew Isaiah was special.

In the other cell was Madison. Madison dashed out of her captivity and hugged Isaiah. (This may or may not be the Madison in your classroom.)

Suddenly, all the aliens turned to humans! Isaiah realized that since he defeated Lord Hiss, all the hard-wired aliens returned to their original state. Isaiah was ecstatic to see Jack running down the hall, up the stairs, and into the bro hug of Isaiah.

Jack and Isaiah got serious. Isaiah may have freed everybody, saved his best friend’s life, his parents, and his gal-pal, but there still was a war criminal on the ground, retching, because his plan had failed.

Isaiah and Jack picked him up and shook him around a little bit, while Madison called the police. They loaded him into the paddy-wagon. As he was being escorted away in the vehicle, Lord Hiss let out a billowing, “You shall pay for this, Isaiah!”

“Check, please!” said Isaiah.

Everybody laughed, and that is where we end our story.

Tune in next time for my final draft.

fin.

Because dinner isn't ready yet.

(You should know: I wrote the title last of all, and immediately after finishing it, dinner was ready.)

So my dad just told me, “I’m glad you’ve gotten to cleaning your room finally,” or something along those lines, which is really too bad for him, because I’m about to write about it instead of actually doing it. OOPS.

Seriously, though, maybe I should just write a blog about housecleaning, because I always end up amusing myself so thoroughly in the process. Of course, then I would never actually clean my house, and then I would have no credibility.

Then again, what’s new?

Many of you are probably thinking (by now you should know this is just a word device that allows me to Segway* into new topics, so don’t feel bad if you weren’t actually thinking it), “Hey, Lydia, why does your dad care if your room is clean or not? Aren’t you at college?” and to that I must respond and say that I moved back exactly one week ago (a.k.a., THE SEMESTER IS OVER HAPPY TEARS), so now I live on my dad’s property once again, and its upkeep is once again a part of my responsibility.

This brings up an important question: Why do they call it “REAL” estate? Why is the REAL important? Do some people sell fake estate? I’m sure they do. Is it to differentiate from home sales on the black market? If someone could fill me in, that’d be great.

From my extensive experience, moving back from college usually involves finding everything you own that could function as a storage container (grocery bags, tissue boxes, large shoes) and throwing things into those things, and then throwing those things into your car, and then calling your dad because your car is making a funny sound, and then him saying, “It should be fine; just come home anyway and then never drive it again,” and then driving nervously home on a congested freeway full of reckless drunkards. Ha ha! This is a joke. Sort of.

The kicker is when you get home and you have to move all of your stuff from your car to the inside of your house. This can take up to a few months. Eventually, it’s in, and after some parental prompting, it finds its way up the stairs into your room. This can take up to a few years. By some miracle, we managed to do it in a week, which is saying something, because we haven’t finished unpacking from when we moved here. Four years ago. Anyway, my room is full of boxes that I’m not going to unpack until I actually need what’s in them, which I didn't think mattered, because my room has always been something of a storage unit for boxes. From our move. Four years ago. Really, the only difference in my room between pre-Lydia and post-Lydia was that I had unpacked my duffel bag, so there was a whole mess of clothes laying on the floor and the chair, but there have been clothes on the chair for the whole semester and probably since the beginning of history. All in all, I didn’t think it looked that different, but apparently it’s a disgrace. So when I was asked for the fourth time this week to clean it, I finally caved. And by that, I mean I repacked my duffel bag.

After that, my mom came in with some giant blankets and asked me to store them in my closet.

It never fails. 

Fortunately, they have yet to find the dishes next to my bed from…uh…Tuesday? No. Maybe Monday. Yes, definitely Monday. Ew. One second.

(If I had sponsors, they would give a message here.)

All better. I’m pretty sure those were from both Monday and Tuesday, because I did not have ice cream twice in one day. Although comparatively, indulgence in such a habit would probably be less atrocious then the cleaning habits I have just displayed.

But I digress.

Usually, when I clean, I become very distracted by not cleaning. This will make me a bad wife (and apparently an even worse feminist). Today, for example, I watched four tutorials on how to cut T-shirts into tank tops and then attempted to follow suit. The project itself was laden with irony, as the shirt was one I had gotten from running track at Private Christian High School, but after I was through with it, it was no longer within the dress code of Private Christian High School. Then again, neither were the cheer uniforms, but that’s not a discussion I feel like having again. All in all, I didn’t intend the shirt to come out skanky, but it kind of did, and now I might not wear it, but it’s cute in theory.

After that, I read a book.

Then, still infused by the YouTube-induced craft-fever, I began a search for some old pants.

Then my dad came in.

“Mom? Oh…hi dad.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m cleaning!”

“…okay…”

“Why do we have this?”

“That’s, um, a muumuu.”

(I was wearing a muumuu.)

“Why do we have it?”

“I bought it for your mom.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“…um…you’re cleaning?”

“Yep!”

“Okay. I’m glad you’re cleaning, but…you need to go wash off that gunky thing by the door.”

“Okay.”

(...brief pause for me to get downstairs and turn on the hose..)

“Could you clean it over there so that you water the palm tree?” 

(My dad invested in several palm trees for his mid-life crisis. One lives in the garden, one died in the garden, four are growing in pots against the wall for pool privacy, and one grew a foot a week and is almost as tall as our house and will probably eat us someday. This is the one he is speaking of.)

“Okay.”

Then I came upstairs...annnnnnd...blogged about it.

This has been the height of excitement today. We have come full circle, right back to where the story started (that’s what full circle means), and fortunately for you, I have nothing left to waste your time with.

So…have a nice day.

Fin.

*Apparently, that's not how you spell this word in this context. A segue is a transition, and a Segway is "the leader in personal, green transportation." In the interest of consistency and further rebelliousness, I'm going to continue to spell it the mall cop way, not my mom's way. Thank you for understanding.

Keep Facebook classy.

I realize this is probably the most useless thing you’ll read today, maybe this week, maybe even your life. Probably the last one. Thankfully the standards of what is and is not useful have been so distorted by narcissistic society that none of you will notice.

…great start.

As many of you know, I am an avid user of the social networking phenomena known to the world as “Facebook” and to one of my professors as “the sole cause of the ruination of actual friendship in America.” He’s a little extreme. I think that Facebook can be super convenient and nifty, especially if you’re the kind of control freak that likes to know what everyone’s doing every second of every day and every time you can’t because the network is down your eye twitches a little harder.

Actually, maybe I get what he’s getting at.

I feel like, over the period of time it’s survived, Facebook has evolved in usage; maybe this is overly philosophical, but I think that as much as it is a way of keeping up to date on your friends’ lives and chatting with distant buddies, it is now a way of proclaiming ourselves into the world the way we want to be perceived. And through that evolution, along with its changes in news feeds and tickers and picture viewers, it has evolved a set of unspoken laws that govern the dos and don’ts of our lives far more than we would like to admit.

Sadly enough, some truly wonderful, beautiful, inspirational people have yet to understand just what is entailed in having and using it to communicate properly, despite academic achievement or social capability (okay, maybe social capability plays into it a little*). If you are one of them, welcome. Most likely you don't realize that you are. But if you find this helpful...tada. And this post should help you. Almost as much as it will help me.

But even more importantly, I feel the need to address another community of individuals. Unfortunately for many, there are some taking unfair advantage of this site we care so much about. They are easy to perceive by their inundation of statuses or pictures or the way they take their relationship status way too dang seriously. These people - lovingly known to many as “social media whores,” - are being singled out as a frustrating mob of losers who are just getting way too flipping into it.
There is also a group of people who care enough to point them out and label them for the way they are controlling their usage of a universally available, free, existentially useless resource, when their annoyances and rudeness could literally be removed by the push of a button. A virtual button.

Come to terms with it. You are one of them. Your mother is one of them. WE ARE ALL THEM. THEY. This post may be as much as an admittance that I am one of them as it is a plea for people to stop being socially awkward all up on my timeline. This is no longer a condition. It’s a part of humanity. We actually have changed that much. 

And whether you like it or not, this is what you have signed up for. And that is why there are rules. And you ALL need to follow them.

Or I will unfriend you.

RULE #1: (we’ll start off simple) POKING. IS. NOT. FLIRTING.

First, I have to clarify—because our culture is not only narcissistic, it is also perverted—that I am referring to the application on Facebook that allows  you to “poke” other individuals, and that's it. I believe it was intended as a way to remind people that you had posted on their wall, and why the heck haven’t they responded yet, it’s been five whole minutes. Now it’s just a way for people to hold uselessness over each others’ heads (“Hey, I poked you and you didn’t poke back! I’m winning!”), because never ending virtual battles are a great way to spend our youth.

It’s funny to me that I say this, because I have been poking about twelve people consistently for about three years. Actually, not really, because (confession!) I started this post last year, and now I never poke anyone, which may be due to a general decrease of interest in the pastime or my increase in age, but it's most likely that I probably just guilt-tripped myself into stopping. Either way, the deal with that situation is that most of those “poke wars” started three years ago. Obviously they're all friends of mine. Also, this rule was not in effect then. So if you happen to develop feelings for someone you’ve been poking then congratulations and I wish you all the best in your next steps on whether or not you decide to push the “poke back” button. But if you just started liking her, don’t just start poking her! Do you even know what it means to be mysterious and coy? Right! It means “one who does not poke”!

Also, if you have been poking her, and she stops poking you, THAT DOESN’T MEAN POKE HER AGAIN. It doesn’t mean she forgot, it doesn’t mean she’s confused, it means she’s creeped the frick out, and you need to approach her in a more substantially normal manner. Girls, this applies to you, too. He doesn’t like you. Cut it out.

Here’s a tip: Play hard-to-get poke war. It consists of never poking anyone ever.

RULE #2: STALKING GENERALLY IMPLIES SUBTLETY.

Clarification (again with the vagueness...where will it end): Facebook has also changed the definition of stalking. Not really. But in the usual context, it has little to do with illegality. Maybe it should, but we won't deal with that right now.
I have nothing against Facebook stalking. Nothing. You know why? Because people put all that crap up for you to look at. It's a power trip. It's a way for people to be self-obsessed and praised for it in conjunction. So don't let anyone psych you out, because they're being hypocritical. Going through old profile pictures is the best use of Facebook. That's my life philosophy.
So the problem does not lie within the fact that you go on his profile on the hour, every hour. It lies in the fact that you like everything he posts. That's a little much. Unless you want him to know, then by all means, go way back. Like his high school track finals announcement. Comment on his homecoming pictures. "Oh you were so cute LOL" is great if he can stand people who still use "LOL." But if you're trying to be subtle (and I'm all about being subtle, and mysterious, and ignored, and hated), then play it cool.

RULE #3: STOP FRIEND-REQUESTING PEOPLE YOU MIGHT MEET SOMEDAY.

This does not apply to a mutual friend that you have an intention of meeting. This applies specifically to those people who join groups for their new school or new club or new something, which is composed of HUNDREDS of people, and friend ALL of the members. It's flipping ridiculous. How the heck are you going to meet all these people? You aren't. You're going to have a news feed with a blockade of complete strangers' pictures and a guilty twist of confused acquaintanceship that keeps you from deleting them now, but you're still going to delete over half of them the second you graduate. You already hate some of them now, but it's too late, because you've been mystery internet friends for long enough that if you dropped them now, they'd know something was up. Talk. About. Awkward.

RULE #4: YOU DO NOT COMMENT ON A WALL POST FROM SOMEONE THAT YOU DO NOT KNOW.

I used the extra large font (before) and the bolded font (after) because this should be common sense. If you are stalking someone you know/haven't seen in a while, and you see a post on their wall from a complete stranger talking about something completely unrelated to your life, or, heck, even if it is related, what do you do? Read it. Memorize every comment. Click and see all the people who liked it. But remember, if it is not about you, it is not your business, and you are not invited to this party. I don't care if it is a mutual discussion about how they like math, and you have a Ph.D. in mathematical...stuff.......YOU DO NOT TELL THEM ABOUT MATH.

Drop it...

Good boy.

Here's a better way of putting it: what would you do if you were just talking to someone on the street, having a nice conversation, and someone who knew your friend waltzed over (literally waltzed, because the mental image is better) and started talking to both of you about the exact thing you were just talking about. See? Weird.
The ONLY instance in which this would be acceptable would be this:

"Hey, Brad, Lydia's super attractive and funny and has a great personality! What's her blog's URL?"
"Hey, Ryan! You got that right! How are your millions of dollars from modeling treating you? I don't actually know her blog's URL, but you shouldn't have much time to read it anyway, since it sucks you in with its greatness, and you need all the time you can get to finish your novel."
"Yeah, that's true. Oh well. I don't have my millions of dollars; I donated them all to a respectable nonprofit organization."
"You go, Ryan!"

This would constitute an appropriate time for me to comment and say, "Ryan! My blog is mumblingsthataremeaningless.blogspot.com! :D" and then go along my merry way.

RULE #5: THREE STATUSES A DAY IS PUSHING IT.
People...I know Facebook is a place to make your life sound as great as it possibly can because it's the only way that people will respect and appreciate and love you more than they do in real life, but that's no reason to act desperate.
Relax.
People really only care about your Instagram, anyway.

RULE #6: UTILIZE YOUR RESOURCES.
Here is how:
1. You know that crazy person who always posts ridiculous whiny statuses but you feel bad deleting? Go to their Facebook. See where it says friends? Click on it. See where it has a little check mark next to "Show in News Feed"? Click it.
2. You know that creepy person who always comments on your pictures but you feel bad unfriending? Go to your Facebook. Click the status box. Click the gear. Click custom. Where it says, "Don't share this with," type their name. End problem. End creepy.
3. Repeat step 2 for professors whose classes you complain about profusely.
See? Your problems are over! You're so welcome. No, YOU are!

RULE #7: THE EMOTICONS ARE STUPID AND I HATE THEM.
Use them if you want. That just needed to be said.

RULES #8-15: SOME "TECHY" PHRASES YOU SHOULD NEVER USE AND THE REASONS WHY...
"Lol" - it's just not a thing anymore. Also, it's most likely a lie. You usually do not comment "lol" when you have actually lol'ed. Usually, I comment, "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I'M DYING AND I JUST PEED, IN CLASS! BWAAAAAHHHHH marry me" (this is a gross exaggeration) to get my point across when I lol. And man does it get my point across.
"LOL" - you may think this is the same, but it's not. It's completely different. First of all, it's that yucky phrase, and second of all, CAPS? Get it together.
":-D" - you may only use a smiley face with a nose if you are a parent, or over the age of thirty-five. The only exception to this is ">8-E" which you may use if you are incredibly upset or a serial killer.
"Ptl" - Really? That's how you praise the Lord? With three letters? Come on.

"Omg" - eh. Okay. You can use it if you're in middle school. When I was fourteen, I always typed out "OMGoodness" because...I WAS COOL.
"Idk" - the reason you should stop using this is that it doesn't actually stand for what you think it does, and instead of saying "I don't know," like you want to, you actually just end up saying, "I am lazy," which doesn't make any sense when it comes to English, but it's the truth.
"Techy" - I just think it sounds dumb and therefore no one should say it.

Well...that's a wrap, folks. I have nothing to say, for once. I'm also ridiculously exhausted, and already tired of summer school, even though it's only been...one day. Whatever.

FIN.

*A LOT.