I'm tired of growing up. It's not that I don't want to be this old, it's just that I finally have gotten to the age where I'm comfortable. I'm not looking forward to being any older. I can watch rated R movies, and that's all I really wanted to do. So I'm set for life.

Maybe I'm afraid of change. Maybe I'm just tired of people laughing at me when I order off the kids menu. But what am I going to do when I grow up and can't wear kids clothes anymore? And maybe I like the TV shows that are on TV now, and I don't want to learn all the characters in new shows. And I don't want my car to be out of date and have to buy a new one. I Don't want to go to college and make all new friends. I want to stick it out here, where I'm comfortable.

Comfortable rocks.

Plus, if I don't get any older, sure maybe I can't vote. But it wouldn't matter, becuase the president will be in office forever if the year never changes. Maybe I can't drink? Well, I'm a nerd, but I don't anyway. There's probably other stuff I can't do that I don't even know about, but I'm happy here. Plus, if I never get any older, then I can't die. I'm set.

Untitled, Part II

I have an ammendment to my last update.

This morning I recieved a call from Nana, who I asked yesterday about the hair thing. She said "Ashley. I just wanted you to know that I went to church this morning, and it was a very good sermon. But I didn't hear much of it because I was too busy noticing who had short hair and who had long hair."

Appearantly, our conversation last night had such a lasting impression on her, that it bothered her even this morning, so she called to tell me that she decided, based on the results of this morning's analysis, that I need to cut my hair off by age 45. Granted, some women will cut their hair sooner or later than that, but 45 seems to be the average for when they cut their hair off, and I need to be in the transitional stage by 40.

I hope these findings will have as profound an effect on you who read this as it did on my grandmother, who couldn't even pay attention in church.

Untitled

On the way to Camp Pike, or maybe on the bus ride back, Aubrey and I and a bunch of other random people that we questioned tried to figure out what the magic age is at which a woman must cut her hair short and make it curly.

Think about it. If you know any old lady, and I'm sure you do, then I bet her hair is short and curly. I understand there are 1 in a million exceptions, but please don't waste my time pointing out the 5 women in America who pull their white hair into a tight bun. The majority of old ladies have short curly hair, and I want to know why.

The question has been bothering us for a while. Is there an unwritten rule somewhere that we don't know yet? (Like that you have to buy a special brand of senior overalls?) Or is it just a fad. Maybe old ladies in the 80s had really long hair. Or maybe its just something they feel like doing.

We asked a bunch of kids when we were on the bus. They didn't know, but we got some funny hypothesis. Then I think we even asked the counselor lady sitting in front of me, but she went to UT, she's dumb. Then today, I rode in a car for a while with my grandma and her sister and my mom. They all have short curly hair and wear a lot of perfume (Nick says they smell so bad becuase they've lost their sense of smell) and I wondered when they cut their hair off, permed it, and why.

I asked my Dad earlier. He told me he didn't know, but to ask my other grandma when we went to her house at dinner. I brought it up over a hot plate of runny mashed potatoes. She was shocked. So was my mother. I reminded dad that he was the one who told me to ask. Then my mother hit him.

Nana told me one day I would just feel ready. I would wake up one morning and have nothing to do, so I would head over to the hairdresser's. My biological clock would tell me when the time has come, and I would feel compelled chop off my hair and curlify it.

My mom said one day I would go to Debra's and she would say "Ashley, this hair really isn't working for you, let's cut it some" then we would enter what I like to call the transitional period. That is when I have semi short hair, like the counselor I spoke of earlier (how said, she's halfway to being an old woman and she doesn't even know it). This period is when you get ready for being an old woman, and get used to how to handle your hair. Then, when your biological clock says so, and your hairdresser agrees, you cut it off.

Therefore, I have decided that if I never cut my hair short, I'll never enter the transitional period. If I never enter the transitional period, I'll never get old. If I never get old, I'll never die. So when you see my at our 50 year high school reunion and my hair is tripping me, it's because I'm afraid of dying naked.

Today I went out to dinner with my family. While we were eating, my dad told us about how he's having problems at work finding ways to motivate his new interns. They don't seem to have a lot of energy.

Me, being the helpful person that I am, thought I would suggest the ways Mason tries to motivate us. You know, do 65 push ups, run 4 laps, detention: 7:15, yelling for half hours at a time.

For some reason, my dad seems to think that using positive motivation, such as reminding people of great rewards for great deeds, has a more effective outcome than negative motivation. Silly man.

Scrapbooking

Well, once upon a time, my mother scrapbooked constantly, and with a burning passion. She made a whole lot of scrapbooks. We keep them in a special cabinet in her bedroom built with shelves custom fit to her scrapbooks. It has glass doors so that you can see the books, but dust doesn't get in. She got rid of Dad's dresser so that this would fit in her room.

Well, she used to bring her scrapbooks to school, and show them off to all the booster parents. That's why they all know such embarassing things about me; sometimes they know more about me than I do. Eventually, Mr. Mason got wind of these scrapbooks, and I bet he saw some, too, but he said "why don't you be our booster historian?"

Well, Mom did some research, and there hasn't been a historian for a couple of years before her, so that's why none of you have heard of the position. Then Mr. Mason showed her a special drawer in the work room or somewhere that's crammed full with pictures of the past few years that no one has organized or dated.

And then she started on the scrapbook. I think she finished last years. I don't remember. No, no wait, I don't care. But then she was working on this years, and about the time of initiation, she said "Ashley, take this to school and give it to Jonathan Foster to give to his dad." And i said yes. But then I forgot. So I gave it to him later.

A couple of days later, she yelled at me because I never got it back from Jonathan, so I asked Jon, and he said his dad never gave it to him to give to me, so Mom asked Mr. Foster, and he said he gave it to Mr. Mason, so I was supposed to ask Mr. Mason, but I'm scared of him, so Mom did, but he said he never got it, so Mom emailed Mr. Pace and he said he'd look for it.

If anyone can find my mom's beloved scrapbook, which she loves more than me, I'd be willing to pay a few cents for it.