Henry and the Small Shovel

           Henry grabs the shovel. He grasps it easily with one hand... it really is a very small shovel. Does that make it a spade? Who determines what is a shovel and what is a spade? Henry examines the tool closely.

Where did I get you? He thinks to the shovel. Was is at Tom's or were you a gift from my mother? For the life of him, he can't seem to remember.

           Defeated by his memory, Henry sits down by his garden. The flowers reaching his eye level as the vines, bushes, and trees tower over him. He doesn't realize his slacks are going to become mucked up in the dirt. He will curse himself later for that. But for now, Henry is content by his garden.

           No, my mother couldn't have gifted you to me... I seem to recall every gift my own mother has presented me with. The cufflinks for Christmas, the bar stools for my birthday, the Price Is Right season two DVD for my housewarming. You don't fit in anywhere little shovel. Little shovel seems appropriate because I think you're too big to technically be a spade! I should Google the proper dimensions to differentiate between the two. Now wouldn't that be preposterous? Henry laughs out loud to his own internal discussions. He looks around to see if anyone noticed, but alas he is alone.

           I need to really stop doing that... Henry laughs out loud once again.

           Henry, noticing his pants have become dirtied, quickly stands up.

           Now I've done it. These are new pants! That nice man down at... oh brother! Where did I get these pants? The nice man... okay, I can see his face. He has a nice smile. I wonder if he's thought of my face since. The nice man, with the nice smile works at Tom's! Yes... Maybe I should go Tom's and see if they sell small shovels...

           Henry places his small shovel near the bulbs he was going to plant and gets in his car. Dirty pants and all.

____________________

I don't really know what this is. It just kind of came out, but I love it. Maybe I will make this a thing where Henry just gets into a bunch of awesome situations. I thought it was cool how the whole story is based around his thoughts and not dialogue. 

Anyways, I hope you like it.

Juggling Outside Nonsense With a Dog

So, I made this video today. I bought some new juggling balls (that may or may not smell like poison...) and away I went. I have so much trouble editing videos. I think it turns out great but then the quality always looks like shit. Ah well, you can't win them all... or any.

My dog is a featured player. I don't know if you will be able to understand what I am saying, but I don't talk a lot, so whatever. Enjoy my nonsense and my mediocre juggling skills.

Fireworks

I FUCKING HATE FIREWORKS. I hate them so much. Okay, well when you deliberately go out of your way to see them done in a professional manner, I guess they are alright. But when you're sitting alone in your room with your window open trying to get some fresh air and fucking loud as hell BOOMS scare the shit out of you it's not fun.

Here is a video of me last year, in my room, getting scared by fireworks. I was too late on my camera work to shoot one this year because I was busy watching a musical.

Don't mind my face. It's actually really funny because I am wearing almost the exact same thing right now. I also don't know what I am singing. But just listen. That's the shit I have to put up with.

Also, holy fuck, were my eyebrows that thick a year ago? Ahahaha. Wow. This is weird. Also, homework? Ew.

Anyways, fireworks are the worst and past Stephanie agrees with me.

OH! I'm singing All The Pretty Girls by Fun!

Twitter

I have become a Twitter whore. I feel the need to update the world with my random activities while still trying to remain funny. Well, sometimes. I just like how it's not Facebook. My Facebook statuses live to impress, but my Twitter posts just live to float there in space probably without people reading them.

But I guess, like the blog, it makes me feel good that maybe at least one person is reading. At least I'm putting something out there. I also like to know what people are doing. All the time. I hope that was creepy.

Some of my favourite tweets of mine are:

Stephanie Doughty ‏@CasualHello

Just had a full blown meltdown because there's no more pie left. Now I'm eating an apple and hating it.

Stephanie Doughty ‏@CasualHello

Homework now and The Sims later, or The Sims now and homework never? #ToughDecisions

Stephanie Doughty ‏@CasualHello

I've cried so much tonight. Tears of sadness and happiness. It's all been television related. #RealLife #AcceptingIt

Stephanie Doughty ‏@CasualHello

Skipping school + microwavable Sheppard's pie + Game of Thrones = Good day.

As you can see, Twitter is an exciting experience filled with my awesomeness. But I don't spam. I only tweet a couple times a day. It's just how I do it. 

Follow me for more awesome: Here!

Hey kids

I miss just opening this page up and not knowing what the hell I'm going to write about. Just writing because I found out Game of Thrones is on at 10:30 tonight and not 10 because of some stupid HBO movie thing that's running late. Writing because it's what I love to do.

I'm feeling good today! I got my hair cut! Here are some awkward webcam pictures for your (sexual) enjoyment:

As you can see,

I take cute pictures.

Tomorrow we have a practice for Oliver. I know, Oliver is over. BUT we still have one last number to do for this award show. Our practice consists of us doing the same song and dance over and over and over and over. I love it. I don't even care. I miss the people so much. I adore just being around them.

Oh, my musical heart is hurting. Next year it will not be the same with you. You.

Empty

Do you ever get that feeling of being empty? You're just so empty you don't want to do anything. You have it set in your mind that there is nothing to do anyways. You just lay down with your eyes open thinking of everything. Everything that is just there. It doesn't actually matter. You wish you were somewhere instead of alone with yourself. You can't cry or scream. There is nothing inside you. You maybe can sleep. It's bright, but really, closing your eyes and feeling nothing is practically the same as opening them and feeling nothing. Maybe you drift off. But now you've just wasted an hour or two. Escaping for it doesn't make it any less real. Dreaming of anything but here just makes it harder when you wake up. You just keep thinking that this will happen then, or that will happen when. But will it ever change? You'll feel like this forever. You'll collapse on your empty frame and maybe then you'll smile. Everyone you want is out of reach. You can't stop thinking of the possibility though. That would be a change. That would make you feel something. Everything you want it out of reach. One day you'll stop grabbing for it. What is the point? If you can't feel anything why should someone feel something for you?

The stillness is awakening.

The frost is burning passion.

The white is liquid amber.

Breathe. Smile. Calm down. It will be okay.

Or maybe everything will stay the same.

A Girl, A Boy, and A Graveyard short story

           He visits her gave for the first time. He regrets not going to the funeral, but he couldn't let people see his face; he couldn't let people know.
           They said it was an animal attack. He wishes he could have been there to protect her like he said in the letters. He wishes he could have been between her and the animal so it was him in the grave and not her.
           His final letter weighs his bag down. It will never have a destination. It will never make her smile. She will never know it's from him.
           As he reaches her grave a tear falls on the newly turned earth. He breaks down and says everything he's thinking, not caring who hears.
           "It's not your fault," whispers a voice from behind. He turns to see her standing before him, white as a ghost. As a ghost. Without pause or shock he gives her the final letter. The letter that would finally allow then to meet.
           She fails to grasp the letter. Wisps of tears begin flowing down her face. He tries to make them disappear but his hand cannot touch her. They will never be connected.
           A wolf saunters into the graveyard. The girl and boy lock eyes. She nods and he eagerly obeys. He charges after the wolf. It is not a fight.
           Hand in hand, the boy and girl descend back into the grave. Into their new life.

____________
This was another journal, but a music journal with no topic. Her comment was just answering a question I asked, which is sad. Anyways, enjoy.

Dinner

This is another journal topic, but I came up with this one. It was: If you could have dinner with anyone living or dead, what would you order? Also, for curiosity sake, who would it be with and why?

           Nothing too messy as I would most likely slop on myself. She would of course say it's not a big deal, that she does it all the time, but I would still be self conscious about it all night.
           Nothing ethnic, not only because I might get sick, but I would probably pronounce it wrong making a fool out of myself.
           Nothing small like a salad. Salad isn't real food. She would make fun of me for ordering a salad and it would be totally justified. 
           Something safe that I've had before. Maybe nothing fancy, maybe just some New York pizza.
           If you couldn't guess by the many other times I've mentioned her in my journals, I would be dining with Tina Fey. (And we would be discussing our plans to elope in the spring. Wait, do you plan to elope or is that kind of defeating the purpose? Why am I trying to put logic behind my joke?)
           In every bit of seriousness I can muster, Tina Fey is my favourite person ever. She is everything I aspire to be. From her normal upbringing, to finding improv, to becoming a writer on SNL, to joining Weekend Update, to writing a movie, to creating, writing for, and staring in her own television show.
           Not to mention how perfect a role model she is. She proves that anyone, brown haired and brown eyed included, can follow their dreams by being dedicated. She never changed her imperfections to be in front of the camera. She stands up for woman's rights by simply being herself--the boss.
           I would just love to get to know her and have random conversations with her. I feel like we are a lot alike (when she discovers this she will have to agree to write a movie with me). We would probably be that one table that won't stop loudly laughing, but I'm okay with the dirty looks because I'm with Tina Fey so everyone just be cool about it!


And there we have it. My teacher put: I agree that she's a perfect role model.
Oh goodness I love these journals. I'm just going to put a bunch on here. She had a lot of nice comments this time around again. She circled "Your journal is fun to read!!" right in the middle.

Hello old friend

Remember that one time when I used to blog like everyday? What a loser. LOLJK. But seriously, why did I have so much time?

Housekeeping:

• Oliver is over
• Oliver is still not technically over
• I am happy almost always
• I am not sad always
• I need to read more books
• I don't want this year to end
• Not going to be happy to graduate
• Everything is different

Everything has completely turned around. I wish I could tell you everything blog, but alas, I must keep it bottled up (until someone rubs me the right way). (That was a Genie In a Bottle joke). (It was hilarious). But I'm good. Happy for strange reasons, thinking about new things, and in unfamiliar territory, but good. 

Look at what your life as become dear Stephanie. I don't know if I should be proud or worried. I don't even give a fuck.