The Extreme Story of Boogie-Boarding Texans

This is a story about the first female Texan of twinly nature to have ever ridden...a wave. Brace yourselves, for it has been a long time since such a story as this has ever been told.

Once upon a time (two weeks ago), there were siblings of Texans who had never been across the great waters of the Earth before (water was only a thing of myth anyway). But it seemed upon this very Christmas season that their father bestowed the gift of adventuring across such myths, and the band of siblings soon discovered a realm called "Costa Rica".

Costa Rica was a land overflowing with green-colored plants and tall bushes they called "trees", which intrigued the siblings, for they had never seen anything of the sort in Texas before. They also discovered that masses of mythological water hugged the edges of the land, never-ending, and it moved as if it were alive...

The siblings were not dismayed though. Herein they found their courage! They seized the boards of boogieing and attacked the mass of water with all their might!

Though the sister of the band of siblings observed from afar upon sandy land. She was curious of these massive movements that the locals called "waves". She watched as they arose from the depths of darkness and swallowed her brothers in a crash of thunder. Gaping, she thought surely they were dead.

But lo'! There, hovering upon the boards of boogieing, they survived the waves and laughter bellowed throughout the waters! How can this be? The sister thought. I must learn to tame such a beast as well. For if my brothers can do this...I can do it better!

So the sister seized a board of boogieing and cast herself into the "ocean", swimming as fast as she knew how to reach her brothers before a wave overthrew her courage. Just before she reached them, a wave of doom came from amidst the darkness and hurled the poor sister into the waters.

She burst to the surface, gasping and wheezing, for not only did she swallow perhaps half the ocean itself, she discovered a searing pain within her eyes. Was this the "salt" her brothers warned her about? It was as if the fires of Mordor resided inside her most vulnerable eye and nose holes.

But this did not stop her. Her courage was re-fueled by anger against the ocean. I am going to tame a wave, if it is the last thing I do!

And so it was the last thing she did because a wave swallowed her up and she was never to be found again.

Just kidding. Obviously, after constantly failing all afternoon long, she was able to catch a wave and ride it all the way to the shore on her boogie board and it was perhaps one of the most glorifying moments in all her life.

The End!

P.S: Her brothers were exposed to too much salt water and turned into ravaging ocean monsters that now lurk the shores of Costa Rica.

The THE End!

The Road to El Canadado

Not many people get to experience what it’s like driving across America, which is sad because I think everyone should get out and just travel in their own country to get to know it better; know where you come from! So I’ll just get straight to the point and describe the experience for you—that is, if you drove across it with just you and your twin brother.

First of all, let’s talk about the requirements for traveling 1,000 miles North into Canada with your twin brother: food. Lots and lots of food. And not just normal food—nobody wants to eat normal food sitting in a car for 25 hours. No, you want junk food. This consists of  2 packs of Sunny D, 1 pack of Hawaiian Punch, a huge box of Oatmeal Cream Pies, 3 boxes of family-sized Cheez-Its, fudge-covered Graham crackers, strawberry Pop Tarts, a bag of Cheetos, and definitely don’t forget the Swiss Rolls.

After acquiring a good amount of calorie-infested delights, prepare your vehicle with every sort of electronic device you may possess.  Laptops, headphones, auxiliary cords, handheld videogame devices, chargers…and then you’re ready to go—essentially.

Now the trip to El Canadado ain’t easy. There’s  5 states to cross, not to mention Texas is larger to get out of than any of them. Oklahoma’s roads are as rough as Chuck Norris opening a walnut with his fists and Kansas is so boring it’ll probably make you fall asleep as you drive. So make sure you get your twin brother to do silly things with you to avoid said sleeping, such as screaming when passing cars on a small road with on-coming traffic, spontaneously leaping from your car to climb around a random train beside the road, and creepily exchanging crooked glances at the passengers you pass by on the interstates.

After God smiles upon you leaving Kansas, brace yourselves for turtle-state Nebraska where snails drive faster than you will, because their speed limits are exactly as slow as I’m making them sound like. But after Nebraska then it should be smooth sailing through South and North Dakota where everything suddenly turns green and lush—so just picture it like Texas but the exact opposite. And then you can actually play “I Spy With My Little Eye…” with your twin brother without always saying “something yellow”.

25 hours and 20,000 calories since your start, you’ll finally end up in Canada where it will always be cold or infested with mosquitoes out to suck the American burgers straight out of your veins. The drive is definitely worth it, eh?

So go on, my fellow reader! Grab a twin (or your doppelganger) and drive across your country! And don't you dare forget about the Cheez-Its.

I Am Not an Artist

I am not an artist.

Said nobody about me ever.

Which is funny because even though I never tell myself that, I've been questioning it a lot. What makes someone an artist in the eyes of another person? Is my artwork really that good enough for others to recognize me as an "artist"? 

I've been drawing ever since I could remember--which dates way back to like the first grade, where I brought a little plastic toy to school (a Neopet, because I was insanely into those and probably need therapy now because of it), and I sat it down in front of me and started drawing it. Not even kidding, at least half the class came to breathe over my shoulder as I drew. If I could find that drawing now, I'd probably laugh at it's poor proportions and zero shading technique--but considering I was around 7 years old, I suppose it's not too shabby.

By the time I was in high school, I started painting and drawing far more complex things. Instead of plastic toys, it was more like Iron Man and any really cool-looking angel dude. I drew during class all the time. I remember in history class we were going over an extremely important test review, in which I knew most of the answers to, so I doodled people and angels and eyes and whatever all over the margins. I hadn't realized we'd have to turn in the review to the teacher once we were finished, and I was a bit worried because I drew everything by pen so I couldn't erase anything! But when the teacher got it, he loudly spoke from his desk to me, "Allison, I'm curious about what you'll draw on your next test review!" And he wasn't even mad. 

I received the Best Drawing award in my art class when I was a senior, which was probably one of the greatest feats I've ever accomplished in sight of being an "artist" only because I loved my art teacher and wanted him to see how much potential I had. 

When I graduated, I was voted Best Artist in our class of 2012--and I was astonished as to how many people even knew my name to vote it.

But.

After I graduated and moved to Canada for bible school, I slowly forgot how often I loved to draw and even paint. I was so focused on the dreams of others that I forgot about my own. When I moved back to Texas, it took a long time till I realized that I felt drained for not even crafting my own angels or dragons on paper.

The reason why I'm sharing all of this isn't because I want to put myself in a spotlight--understand that much at least! But if I could have you walk away with one thing from this post, I'd say: Don't forget your own dreams in support of someone else's. 

About a week ago I was hanging out with my awesome sister-in-law Tammy, and she wanted me to individually draw the letters for Happy Easter. I was like, heck yeah I can do that! But it only took the first couple of letters before my forehead was planted into her table and I was on the verge of tears. WHAT HAD BECOME OF ME?! They were just simple letters! But for some reason I just felt like I couldn't get them right, that I was letting her down because she might have high expectations of me. I should have never felt like that, but I did! Anyone who even knows me to the slightest bit of a degree probably knows that I can draw. That's a lot of pressure in itself, and I was feeling it.

Well, after having had such a miserable time drawing something as simple as lines, I decided to make up for it a few days ago. I wanted to make sure I could still be called an artist by anyone who thought me so.

I took out my watercolors and just went ape crazy in three hours, and finally turned out with the painting you see above! Of course it's nothing worth gasping and weeping out of sheer artistic revelation at, but to me the result showed me I am too an artist! I looked at no references for such a painting. I just listened to the soundtrack from Narnia and BAM. A mysterious person with a red cape in a storm of some sort! Who even knows what that means!

So please, my dear readers, know that if you have a passion for something, pursue it. Pursue it above the desperate attention of others' dreams. If you like to draw, write, golf, swim, bake cupcakes--do those things, lest you forget what God has designed to bring you personal joy.

Lest you forget the fine, fine life!

Thumper Bit My Face

I was probably three or four years old, waddling around like a little derp and secretly shoving chocolates into my mouth behind the couch with Taran when my parents brought home a black dog. I don't think he was a quite a puppy anymore, but nonetheless, we kept him and my older brother named him Thumper (after the bunny on Bambi, which made complete sense to him I guess).

Now I have to be honest with you, my fellow readers, that in my mind palace I hold not a single sliver of memory about Thumper. No memory of the moment I first saw him, not a memory of the first time I petted him. Nope. I was but a wee little lass and memory at that time meant only trying to remember what Mom gave me for breakfast that morning (probably oatmeal).

But.

There is one memory within my mind palace that could never be lost about Thumper.

On one fateful day, three/four-year-old me wanted to play outside with Thumper. It was just me and the black dog, having a fit of giggles and whatnot, when I noticed he had a large bone in his food bowl. Quickly I recalled all the shows I watched of Clifford the Big Red Dog (which was about as good as my memory got beyond breakfast that morning), and I realized that playing fetch with bones was a great way to make play with dogs. So, little ol' me grabbed the bone and started to jog so Thumper and I could begin our bonding experience.

But Thumper thought otherwise.

Everything past this moment was a blur--and not just any ordinary blur. It was a horrifying one. I realized that Thumper did not want to share his bone, and that in fact fetch was not with a bone but with a stick. He was running after me like a crazed monkey or a black rider out to get my soul. What was I to do? Drop the bone? Of course not.

I ran as fast as I could to the front door, and I vaguely remember trying to climb the fence that was the patio that connected to said door, but the next scene was...was truly horrific.

Thumper bit my face.

I don't know what happened after that. I must have dropped the bone while I let out a mighty roar of a scream (I had to make sure my parents knew their most precious child had been inflicted with pain), and I quite literally can't remember what happened thereafter. I must have wiped the memory clean from my mind. And probably all the memories of that day, including what I had for breakfast.

In the end, Thumper inflicted a small but deep wound on my face that now shines as a scar on the left side of my face right next to my nose. It was only a few days later perhaps that Thumper mysteriously disappeared. Rumors said our neighbors kidnapped him. But me? I believe Thumper is still out there somewhere.

Protecting his precious bone. Biting little children's faces if they come too near.

The End.

Also my older brother said he was watching from the window the entire time and that I wasn't playing fetch--that I was actually taunting Thumper with the bone and not giving it to him. Which is probably true. But somehow I don't even remember it that way.

The THE End.

Guitars Make Cupcakes Delicious

Have you ever been forced to sit down and listen to somebody play guitar and sing for you? Well...if not, swing by my place and I'll fix that problem. I serenade to anyone.

Ever since I was 12, I wanted to learn guitar. Honestly it's because my older brother Jaymian started to play the electric in our youth group, so I would always watch him and wonder how the hoopla he could move his fingers in a sequence without having to look down at them.

I thought to myself, I'm gunna learn how to play a guitar one day. And I'm gunna be BOSS at it.

I quickly got my own electric guitar (in which I named Sparklez...cuz it made sense), and learned how to play it EXACTLY never.

It collected dust in the corner of my room for four years. I tried to teach myself but NOTHING made sense. I tried to get people to teach me but everyone was too busy. For four years, I told myself and others that I would learn, but I never did. Nothing ever gave me enough umph.

BUT THEN...One day...I discovered a song. A very simple, very soft acoustic song called Boats and Birds by Gregory and the Hawk. It somehow set off a spark in me, and I couldn't not learn how to play guitar any longer. That one spark from one simple song has kept me going 3 years later. I taught myself everything I know now, because this time I wasn't forcing myself to learn. I just wanted to.

And today, I've truly felt the sheer joy in playing guitar! It has nothing to do with a perfect performance or a song or anything--but from my student who's only about five years younger than me.

The funny thing was that I wasn't looking for somebody to teach at all. But people just come and ask to learn, just like I did when I was 12. Even though I was horrified by the thought of teaching anybody for the first time anything, I agreed to it. I wanted to give her that chance that I never really had.

Well, on with the story, Allison! Today, five months since her first lesson, as I walked into our practicing room, there waited for me the two most delicious-looking cupcakes I've ever seen.

"These are for you!" My student said to me, "It's your 'For Being a Good Teacher' gift!"

I don't think any words can properly express how I felt right at that moment. A few weeks ago I had given her my own cupcakes that I had made, and told her they were her "Good Job" rewards, the first gift I've ever given her for being my student--but never in a million years did I ever think about receiving a gift for being a good teacher.

I'm a pretty schizophrenic teacher though, honestly. Often I think faster than I can talk so my words fall out of my mouth all jumbly dumbly, and I don't know specific words of certain things so I can be really vague sometimes, but she gave me CUPCAKES.

And not just any cupcakes, you see. Chocolate chip, cream cheese, chocolate cupcakes. That...is the cupcake of champions. And she gave me two.

You see, my fellow reader, I'm sharing this story for a bunch of reasons and it would be a complete waste if you didn't catch a single one of them so here's you a list:

1) The guitar is possible to learn if you truly want to. You will hunt down a teacher. You will hunt down random YouTube videos. You will learn somehow if the spark is there.

2) Try something you've never done, to receive something you've never received.

And lastly,

3) Guitars make cupcakes delicious.

Why Gum Should Be Thrown into a Fiery Chasm

If I had a penny for every time someone's asked me if I wanted a piece of gum, I'd be on the TV show Hoarders because I'd have too many pennies to know what to do with (and would probably have some sort of psychological problem with copper).

The answer would simply be...[refer to picture above].

I'm not sure where my sudden passions to rebuke gum originated, but it must have first begun many a'year ago. For you see...

I was but a wee little lassy in the 7th grade. I wore glasses and had long hair that touched my mid-back or so, and I was the best writer in my Language Arts class. My teacher would swoon over my stories in front of all the other kids, read them out loud and the students would laugh. Give me an essay to write about laundry, and I'd write a story about venturing into the deep depths of a world filled with dirty clothes my brothers never cleaned up. So I suppose...I became a target by the envious. A target for gum.

One day, as I walked out of my LA class, I had a hankering to brush my fingers through my hair. Therein my fingers came across the most vile, disgusting, repulsive and absolutely grotesque texture all the universe could ever contain. Gum. Chewed gum. In my precious hair.

The ground opened up and all hell broke loose. The sky started falling. The sun turned black. The flowers started to cry.

My LA teacher sent me to the nurse's office, and I sat there with malice and horror as she pulled on a pair of nylon gloves. This is it, I thought. I'm going to meet Jesus early.

Clearly not, because apparently peanut butter works magical wonders. I had to walk around the entire rest of the school day smelling like an awkward sandwich, but at least the gum was out of my hair. That vile demon.

Since that day, I've grown to detest gum. I cower in the sight of it's brainy textures when people leave it on the cement. I almost enrage into the Hulk when I see people play with it. Play with it. Of all the toys Santa's ever made, people choose gum?! Where has humanity's common sense gone?

And, who was this supervillain who created such an atrocious not-even-edible chewy thingy?

Dear friends. I warn you, keep gum out of the question. Make better ones like, Do you want a piece of cupcake? or Do you want a piece of Thor? Those answers would obviously be yes. But gum...

That answer is no. Cast it back into the fiery chasm from whence it came.

And there you have it. My little story about why I hate gum. It was told to perhaps give you a little laugh or two. If not that, then it was to ward off the evil gum-doers out there waiting to ensnare me in their anger because I am such a fabulous writer!

*Allison pulls out a sword made by mints* BACK, YE EVIL GUM-DOERS.

I am the Blue Lion

Lately I've come to realize how much I love superheroes. I watch the Marvel movies all the time; Captain America, Thor, Iron Man, all of them...If you're talking about a superhero, odds are I was probably born for that conversation.

So one day, as I was chatting away with a cousin of mine, it dawned on me. What if I...were a superhero? ...What would I look like? What would be my superpowers? What would make me so special, and how did I become that way?

So this is where you, my fellow and beloved reader, come in. You're [most likely] going to delight in the story I'm going to [on-the-spot] conjure from my overly-active imagination of how I--Allison Charmaine--became a superhero. Sit back and enjoy, for what I am about to write--not even I know thus far...
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One day, there was a girl named Allison who took a bus to Isengard--a far away land where no mere traveler travels for fun. She was a witty and creative little lass, you see. She loved to dream about dragons and giant eagles and whatever massive creature came to her head. So she learned that in this far away land of Isengard--if you climbed a tall, black tower all the way to the top and looked to the farthest snowy mountain in the north, and squinted your eyes really, really tight--you could see perhaps a dragon or an eagle flying about. When she heard of this (the strange man with the one wrinkly eye vanished after he taught all this to her), she was of course excited. She had to go see!

So Allison wondered through the cosmos of Seminolenheim, searching for the bus to Isengard. She stumbled upon it when a small man with hairy feet shouted something about hobbits in a hair parlor somewhere, and the bus appeared in magical fairy dust before her. Seeing this, Allison burned the rubber of her shoes clean off tearing straight into those bus doors (to this day, some say you can still smell the smoke of her soles in front of that very same hair parlor).

As quickly as the bus appeared, it vanished. And as the bus spiraled into a vortex like that of a rainbow road, she suddenly sat at the foot of the black tower of Isengard. The bus was gone, and there was no small, hairy-footed man to be seen.

So Allison climbed to the top of the tower--up, Up, UP the stairs she WENT...until she was finally atop. Hundreds and thousands of feet high, she could see the snowy, white peaks of the mountains far north. Her heart pounded in her chest with excitement as she squinted her eyes to see these magical creatures of myth and legend.

But she could not see anything.

She squinted harder.

Nope, she thought simply. I'll just scoot closer to the edge.

And with that...

SHE WAS FALLING TO HER DOOM, RIGHT OFF THE TOWER. EVERYTHING WAS FLYING BY SO FAST, IT WAS AS IF THE UNIVERSE BECAME A BLUR OF GIANT CAPS LOCK LETTERS. THIS IS GOING TO BE IT, SHE THOUGHT VERY LOUDLY. I'M GOING TO DIE BEFORE EVER RIDING A DRAGON.

But when she opened her eyes...the blur of caps lock letters were nowhere to be screamed. And beneath her, a giant eagle carried her. She gasped, and shoved her face in it's feathers. I've always wanted to shove my face in feathers, she smiled with extreme fulfillment.

The eagle landed her on the very tip of a small mountain and spoke to her.

"I have saved you," the eagle said.

"Yes. Yes you have." Allison responded, thinking not even twice of the fact she was talking to a giant eagle.

"In return, you are going to save others!" The eagle belted mightily, spreading it's wings dozens of feet around her. "ABRA-CADABRA!"

POOF.

Allison woke up that next morning. The sun was beaming in her eyes. The dirt smelt like dirt. I'm back in Seminolenheim...? When she flopped out of her bed and looked in the mirror, her hair was blue. Just kidding; it was still brown--but she was wearing a lot of armor with a blue cape! This made her raise a brow. But as quickly as the one brow was raised, so was the other!

"Oh my gosh!" She squealed. "I'M A SUPERHERO."

She ran into her brother Tarantitus' room and woke him from his slumber.

"Brother! I am a superhero!!"

Tarantitus looked at her armor with weary eyes and let out a sigh. "They took you to Isengard, didn't they?"

"Who?"

"The hobbits."

"The what?"

Tarantitus sighed again. "Nevermind. What are you going to call yourself?"

Allison stood there frozen for a long time. Superheroes have different names, don't they? She looked at her armor. Her cape was as blue as the sky, and a roaring lion was imprinted on her breastplate. A sapphire sword hung at her side, and her shoes looked awesome. Oh! I know!

"How about Captain Cana--"

"No," Tarantitus said. "Blue Lion."

Allison grinned from ear to ear (well hopefully not actually ear to ear), and let out a mighty ROAR. Tarantitus stared wide-eyed in terror. Then simply got up to go to the bathroom, for he was that much startled at the roar.

"I'm sorry, brother," She apologized. "Little do I know what I am capable of yet so far." With that, Allison began to test her new capabilities (but away from Tarantitus). She learned she could roar like that of a lion, and break solid objects with it. She could also walk through things, if she thought hard enough (this took many tries and many bruises). And, after many failed attempts, she learned she couldn't fly--but she could jump hundreds of feet in the air like an astronaut on the moon!

And so it was that Allison discovered she was the Blue Lion. But...she had yet to save anyone...

[To be Continued...]

And also she quickly applied to join the Avengers.

The End.
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