my costume.

Did you know that America spends approximately 2 billion dollars on Halloween?
That's insane. It really is.

When you think about it, Halloween is a day for younger kids to go around and get candy. Older kids scoff at trick or treating and run off to parties.
The one thing in common?
The need for a costume.

And anyone who went to iParty, Walmart, or wherever they sell them, know that these can get pretty pricey. Forty dollars for a costume I'll wear once? No thanks.

But being me, I found a way around the price tag.
I'm being a chicken.
Because they sold chicken hats for five dollars at iParty.

Mommy, there's a chicken on that girl's head... x]

I hope none of you vegetarians get mad at me. (: <3 Fi

thank you.

 Just a small section for people I'd like to thank in my life. Because it's okay to get cheesy at times like these. (:

So, thank you....

... Dad for always being there for me.

... Mom for forcing down my burnt baked goods and being able to smile and tell me that they're delicious. 

... stray cat for making my life a little more exciting by creeping by my front door.

... Kat for making me laugh in homeroom.

... Snooze Button for making me late to school every day.

... Henry for giving me motivation to study harder so I can get a better grade than you.

... socks for keeping my feet warm.

... Jan for preventing me from dying of boredom in Orchestra.

... Chris for making me laugh at swim practice, even though the coach is trying to make us die from exhaustion.


... Emily for being my first friend.

I don't know what I would do without you all. <3 Fi

the issue with sticky notes.

Sticky notes. Post-it notes. We all use them. We use them to jot down a quick note or a number, or use them to remind yourself of something important. They're cheap and durable. But you should always buy more than one pad of them.
Why?

Because if you have only one, you'll be in a few awkward moments. These first involve you wanting to write something down. However, your sticky note pad already contains important information on it. Now, you must make a choice.

Choice One:

You can tear off the current sticky on the pad and then write down the thing you wanted to write.

You get what you wanted on paper, no sweat right? But it's not that easy. You first need to put the other sticky note that was on the pad in a safe place. Or you need to transfer the information. This would require getting an entirely separate piece of paper or opening your computer to type it down. And this is before you manage to lose it entirely. (Sticky notes are easy to lose.)

Choice Two:

You remember the thing you wanted to write down and keep the pad as is.

Pros? You keep the information currently on the sticky note pad.

Cons? There is a high chance of forgetting the thing you wanted to write down.

Solution:

There isn't one. So sorry.

Be prepared. Always have two sticky note pads. <3 Fi

the king-sized candy bar dilemma.

It's almost Halloween.
And you know what that means?

Candy.

There are those who proclaim that they are simply "too old for Halloween" or that they "have other academic conflicts". Well they can be mature and miss out.
But me? I'm going out there and getting as much freaking candy that I can get and more. And nothing can stop me.
So my philosophy regarding Halloween? Screw maturity and get candy.


Now, I've lived in my neighborhood for quite a while now. So after years and years of flapping around with crappy homemade costumes on October 31, (my friends and I are way too cheap to buy our own) we all know where the best houses are.
We know which houses buys the cheap 99¢ for 100 pieces bags of candy. We know who splurges and gets huge bags of jellybeans and king sized Snickers. And of course, we know which house is the super health-concerned one who hands out apples and pretzels.

Naturally, we aim for the few who hand out huge chocolate bars and enormous bags of candy. But since the recession, only two or three houses can afford to spend an average of $100 dollars of candy. So, on an average Halloween, I normally receive tons of small bits of chocolate and lollipops, and only one or two king sized candy bars.

Now, it's easy to eat the small bits of candy. You can easily grab an Almond Joy for school, or have a packet of Gobstoppers as a small after-dinner dessert.
But it's the big ones that are hard to eat.

Don't get me wrong, I can eat three or four in one sitting. But eating it is mostly mental.
Let me explain.

You will treasure those two large candy bars. You will look at them longingly every time you grab a small bit of chocolate from your Halloween bag. You will tell yourself "I need to save it. I need to save it."
But after a few weeks of this, you can barely stand it anymore. You want the king sized candy bar.

So you decide a date when you will eat it. Maybe it's two weeks from now. Maybe it's next Wednesday.

You wait in anticipation for this day. And when it comes, wait, when do you want to eat it? Not in the morning, because then you wouldn't enjoy it. Not at school, because then you'd have to share it. (Don't deny it, we've all felt like this before.) Not after school, because you don't want to get chocolate all over your homework. Not before dinner, because it would ruin your appetite. Not after dinner, because you're too full. Not before bed because you don't want to brush chocolate off your teeth.
And finally, you can't spread the entire thing out for the entire day, because it would melt in your pocket, leaving behind a sticky mess.

So, by the end of the day, you feel miserable, and still haven't eaten the king sized candy bar.
But don't worry! There's always tomorrow!


And then repeat the entire process all over again. <3 Fi 

i've never been so nervous in my life.

I just came back from my first interview.
For a private high school.
And I'm still freaking out, even though it's over.

Did I do okay?
Did I answer the questions right?
Did I seem way too stupid?
Was I polite enough?
Did I talk too much?
Did I dress too casual?
Did I make a good impression?
Was it okay that I didn't get my interviewer's email?
Was it bad how I said my favorite subject was history even though my interview was a math teacher?
Was it a bad choice to say I wasn't very athletic?
Was it a bad idea to say that I wasn't good at art?
Did I insult the interviewer in any way?
Should I email my tour guide?
Did I forget to say something important?


The stress is killing me slowly. <3 Fi

singing toothbrushes.

Some people associate different songs with different memories at various points of their lives.
You might have a special song you relate to camp. Or your ex. Or your best friend who moved to Russia two years ago. Or your pet rabbit.

But I'm not one of those people who do that. But there's only one song that sticks out.
And that is "Walk Away" by Kelly Clarkson. Random, right?
No. That was the song that was played by my singing toothbrush I got when I was around eight. It was when they were super popular, and everyone had them. Every time you brushed your teeth, it would play the song programmed into the toothbrush and how loud it was depends on hard you pressed down.

So I saw an ad in some magazine, and I was immediately consumed by this desire to get one of those. I knew the only way I would get my parents to buy me this amazing thing was if I used my current Disney Princess themed one until the blue indicators wore out.

So I brushed.
And brushed.
And brushed.
I brushed eleven times a day.
I. Wanted. A. Singing. Toothbrush.

Finally, my parents noticed my new fanatic wear-out-my-current-toothbrush attitude. Even though they were delighted to see their daughter finally caring about her teeth, they were slightly worried.

So they decided to fulfill my dream and buy me one. It was a random grab--one-off-the-shelf-and-pay-and-leave choice.
And the song was Walk Away by Kelly Clarkson.

Sure, the experience was amazing the first few times.
Each time I brushed, my pink brush would blast the song.
I loved it.

But then, a few hundred times later, the song started getting old. I knew all the lyrics. I didn't want to hear the same song, with the same tune, every single morning.

Now whenever I hear that song, I want to throw something at a wall. No, seriously.

I reccommend you don't buy them, unless if you really, really, really love the song you're getting. <3 Fi

problems with creative bathrooms.

My family ate out after my swim meet today. Mexican, if you were wondering.
And it was pretty good. I had a catfish fajita which was actually delicious.
And then, I had to go to the bathroom to wash my hands.

So, I followed the  bright neon sign indicating "RESTROOM" among the other neon signs on the wall advertising different brands of beer. (I'm not trying to be racist or anything, but I've seriously never been to a Mexican restaurant that didn't have those. You know it's true.)
And I was met with an awkward dilemma.

Instead of having the normal Men and Women signs, they had these two Spanish words emblazoned on each wooden door. They didn't even had those stick figure pictures.
Don't get me wrong, I appreciate their attempt at authenticity and creativeness, but I feel that you should clearly indicate which gender each bathroom is which. Just saying.

And yes, I take Spanish. But it's not exactly my best subject, so I still didn't know them. (No, they were not chico or chica.)

So I ended up having to ask a waiter (who actually was Spanish) about which was which.
And after a few seconds of her staring at me clearing saying "Ohmygoodness not another one. When does my shift end?" in her eyes, she told me it was the left one.
 

Moral of the Story: Please indicate the gender clearly on bathroom doors. <3 Fi

life is a slight let down.

It took me a lot of deep pre-sleep thinking to get me to realize that,

My life isn't as interesting as I had anticipated.

I know I sound extremely pessimistic,  but I can't really deny it anymore. Like many kids, I grew up watching Saturday morning cartoons consisting of super-humans and their super-awesome-sidekicks. Batman went off to fight crime everyday and had this awesome outfit. (On a side note, I was Batman when I was nine for Halloween. Yes, I idolized him that much.) In Buzz Lightyear, Buzz ends up saving the freaking world every freaking episode. Even Teletubbies had cool stuff. 

So my reasoning was that when I got as old as people in my cartoons (like, nine years of age) I would have an amazing life filled with adventures with my talking animal friends and saving the world every few minutes. 

And I dreamed that I would be a hero. I dreamed that little seven year old girls would have my picture on their bedside tables, and say to themselves, "I want to be just like her when I grow up." I dreamed that there would be a day that school would let kids stay at home to honor Fiona Day. (If Columbus could have his own day, why can't I?)

You can imagine my delight on my ninth birthday. 

Nine was my landmark year. It was a year that represented a new life, a new ME. 

And I was let down. Animals did not start talking to me. I did not have a Batmobile, nor did I have a big red dog like Clifford.

This made me think.

Maybe nine is a bit too young.

Feeling better, I decided to wait until I was ten.

And eleven.

And twelve.

And then I gave up. 

And I realized the horrible truth that my life would be boringly real for the rest of my life.

I would still have to do my homework every day.

Animals will never talk to me.

And I will never get my own day devoted to me.

So sad, so sad. <3 Fi

i can't throw stuff away.

So I was cleaning out my old stuff that I managed to shove in the corners of my room yesterday. And I realized that I have this dangerous condition that prevents me from throwing anything away.

I call it The-Inability-To-Throw-Old-Shit-Away Syndrome.

It's based on the thinking that everything will give me memories of my teenage years when I'm eighty or something.

Like my sixth grade agenda book. Or a random English essay. Or a random art project I got a B- on. Or my favorite pencil that's sharpened down to a stub.

I'm not able to throw it all away, and it's stacked in mountains inside my closet. Originally, I used it to hang my clothes in. Too late for that now. My random crap has taken over.

It's like a freaking monster. And I'm letting it grow larger with my Inability-To-Throw-Old-Shit-Away Syndrome.

So after a few hours of hardcore cleaning, the only thing I managed to throw away was a old pack of gum and an empty bottle of hand sanitizer. 


I need help.... <3 Fi

october?

So today, I was coming home from morning swim practice. And then I see this huge sign that was  screaming "YARD SALE!". It even had a little happy face balloon attached to it.

And I have this awkward weakness for yard sales. So I let loose a high pitched scream, causing my mom to slam on the brakes. And causing her to think I'm dying from a combination of exhaustion and overdose of chlorine.

But it's okay. I just want to go to the yard sale.

So we both bust our butts trying to find it. (We both love them.) It didn't help that the sign was one of those annoyingly simple arrows that pretty much points in a random direction. And then, on our fifth cycle around the entire general neighborhood, I realize that the date on the sign was October 1st.

Today is the 2nd.

Happy bleeping October.

And now I hate this month. Even though it has the best weather. Because yard sales trump weather.


Sorry Mother Nature. Don't take it personally. <3 Fi