You Might be in Howell if...

while on your way to the county recycle center, you see a handicapped guy driving down Grand River in a minivan with hydraulics. No joke.

A Second Helping of Ukulele and the Truth about Twilight

Hello fellow outcasts! This past weekend, the Freaks decided to kick it on our own turf, so we could bring you the best of the worst of Livingston at its finest. We began it on Friday, when Abby and I decided to celebrate the birth of our favorite bassist with vegan goodies (Happy Belated Birthday, Hunter!), and were also persuaded to purchase a key lime pie, which went well with the viewing of one of our favorite movies, Forrest Gump. Saturday was filled with AFI Chronicles and Super Smash Brothers Brawl, but the real magic happened on Sunday.

Each year, Brighton Area Schools hosts an art festival, displaying the best art work of students first through twelfth grade. As art fans, we generally frequent the art show, and this year was no exception. Fine young talent was on display, as usual, showcasing the wonderful arts program at Brighton High School (which, unfortunately is one of the first programs cut when the budget gets needy - along with the drama program, of course). Much to my dismay, however, most of the artists showcased were female, and I've been noticing this trend over the past few years. Being female myself, I think it's wonderful that we get respect where respect is due. But come on! I swear, I only saw two displays dedicated to male artists (that weren't graphics displays). We stayed, admiring the art for a while, until things got dicey - we narrowly escaped without being noticed by the notorious Mrs. Peters, our most hated teacher throughout our high school careers.

After the art show, we made a trip to Downtown Howell to see what was hip-happening down yonder. The central parking lot is under construction, so parking was a bit unusual, but we found a spot by the courthouse, where some unfortunate Howell High School senior was getting his senior pictures taken. Inconsequential, since he was obviously a douche, but I couldn't help but admire the photographer's pro-series Cannon. I long for my photography days.

Anyhoodles, we decided to visit our favorite upscale consignment shop, Le Boutique, because we firmly believe that one man's trash is another freak's treasure. None of us had any legitimate money, but most of our shopping excursions lead to shenanigans anyway. After coming across some not-so-friendly patrons of said consignment boutique, we wowed each other with bad fashion (like usual), tried on shoes that mooed, just for the fun of it, and then went on to Dairy Queen to get our ice cream on.

Outside the Dairy Queen, we came across a street performer with a myriad of instruments tossed carelessly into his bicycle wagon. Among these instruments was a ukulele (again with the ukulele?! Come on people, this is Michigan, not Hawaii!), a banjo, a guitar, and some sort of keyboard thing. Inside the Dairy Queen, we came across a rude server who didn't even know what a brownie bottom sundae was. Can you imagine that? Shelby and I settled for brownie Blizzards, while Abby got some funky concoction with whipped cream, oreos, a brownie, and fudge. And ice cream, of course. While om nom nom-ing, we people-watched (one of our favorite past-times), and saw whores and douches, kids, old people, and a strange couple wearing cowboy hats sitting on a bench in front of whatever shop is next door to Dairy Queen. I think it's either a travel agency or a law firm, I don't remember. Then, as we left, a group of girls decided to stare at us like they were intimidating, but obviously nothing scares us. Besides ukulele man.

I have to reiterate this: HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT A BROWNIE BOTTOM SUNDAE IS? IT'S A SUNDAE WITH A BROWNIE ON THE BOTTOM. ADAM CARSON IS VERY ASHAMED. That is all.

After the whole Dairy Queen debacle, we went off to Kroger to get birthday cards for yet another Sometimes Freak, Abby's sister Katie, who lives in Milwaukee and will be twenty-one on May 22.

When we got home, Shelby went to take a nap, while Peanut and I made some headway on our OVER 9000 Rummy Game. Soon after, Ansley, the Freaky Protege, came home from her friend's house with a copy of Twilight in her hand. Which brings me to my next point:

TWILIGHT IS THE WORST BOOK EVER. And if you agree, you must find out the truth about Twilight from Mark (AKA PanasonicYouth), staff writer at Buzznet.com/DF staff member/hilarious guy/my hero. I promise:

1. You will laugh

2. You might vomit

3. You will be in pain

4. You might even cry

So please, do yourself a favor and read Mark Reads Twilight (So You Don't Have To). Even if you already read Twilight, read Mark's version anyway. It's infinitesimally better.

Oh, and then, there's this,

but that's just a bit of trivial nonsense.

Ah, yes. Exec Week at BHS. I will never miss you.

Exec Week: when all the people on exec bored act like douches so people think they're cool and vote for them. But, everyone knows, once you put cool in front of something, it's not cool anymore. Unless it's cool with a "K" according to Shake-man-zilla-of-many-men.

The teams that are voting this year are, Team Zealous "over zealous, no such thing." and Poise (isn't that a magazine?) they don't have a catch fraze, unless you count, "VOTE FOR POISE!!!"

Of course, I think they're both Nazi's, but that's just me.


-S

Stay in Your Own Lane, or Things Could Get Ugly

Greetings and Salutations, freaks! I have been severely lacking in my updating, and I sincerely apologize to all of our pretend readers. We love you guys. Anyhoodles (now I sound like Shelby), I have a dare for you:

Ask anyone about the worst thing that could happen while bowling. They will almost undoubtedly say that the worst thing would be to bowl a gutter.

Now ask a freak. We will reply in the same manner, but with a freaky twist: The worst thing that could possibly happen while bowling is to get a gutter...in a lane besides your own. Granted, this has never happened to one of us, but Abby and I witnessed this disturbing phenomenon on Monday night.

Abby, her mom, and I were at Brighton Bowl getting our balls on by playing dollar games this Monday night. The lane next to us was vacant for our first game, but halfway through the second, a troop of miscreet-like douche-bags took over. They turned out actually to be quite entertaining.

At first, said douches were trying to be showoffs. They practically bounced the bowling balls down the lane, and it proved effective, or at least until the leader of them, Craig, bounced a ball into the gutter, but then, as if it were magnetized, the ball jumped up over the barrier between lanes, and rolled down our gutter, and into the arm on our lane. It was HI-larious. I'm pretty sure everyone in the entire alley saw, and most of them were laughing.

The mishap messed up my frame, as I was the next to bowl, but re-doing the frame was superfluous, as the outcome was the same each time. The guy, Craig, apologized, but I just laughed.

So, what happens when you don't stay where you belong? Things get ugly.

The most normal thing about us freaks is that we are eighties-style mall rats. We go to the mall almost every weekend, whether it be The Green Oak Mall, The Brighton Mall, or The Twelve Oaks Mall. But no matter which mall we're at, we like to play a game called, "How out of place can we feel?", a delightfully fun social experiment. And from this experiment bred another: "Which store has the ugliest fashion?"

It all started one day when I was cleaning out my closet. I pulled out some hideous eighties bridesmaid dresses that I keep around for shits and giggles (also, I'm a half-assed seamstress, and maybe one day, I'll make something of them, but for now, they just sit in my overstuffed closet and collect horror stories). Shelby decided that it would be hilarious if she tried them on and we put them on the blog. This eventually led to scouring the malls for similarly ugly dresses, photographing their unholiness, and putting them right here in The Hole for you all to revel in.

This is just the beginning.

Shelby, in a ravishing red, walking like an Egyptian, and giving birth to the Freaks' biggest scheme to date.

Me, getting in on the action.

I started out as designated photographer, but couldn't resist this one-shouldered monstrosity.

Abby, looking like a waitress.

From this point forward, we weren't just looking for the ugly ones. No dress is safe from the freaks!

Our Freaky Protege, Ansley, has been in on it since the beginning.

Surprisingly, she's the most versatile of freaks: she fits in both girls' and ladies' sizes.

Sometimes, even the Sometimes Freaks got sucked in.

Danielle, looking as if she'd been attacked by an orange monster.

Emily, rocking the hippie look.

Even the demon child got caught up in the fashion fever.

There are plenty more where those came from, and if we could ever get our Flickr to work, we'd share them with you! Links to come, trust.

And now, I must saunter off to bed, for I must work my low-paying job early tomorrow. Until next time, if you can't beat 'em, scare the piss out of 'em.

In Memoriam

Hello fellow Hole in the Road-ers, today we gather for a sad occasion. Our good friend, Pole Shoe, has disappeared. I made this tragic discover a few weeks ago, while at Target with my mom. Out of habit, I looked over at the pole our friend usually occupies, but it was empty, as were all the other poles in the parking lot. One can only imagine where pole shoe is now, maybe he's in a garbage dump, maybe he's in the middle of a busy street, or worse, maybe he's actually being worn by some gross little kid. Either way, we must remember Pole Shoe the way he was, not the way he might be now. And now, I would like us all to take a moment of silence in honor of our friend.

We will miss you, Pole Shoe.

Bio musings, so fun.

I hate teenage drama. And, I have nothing to do. The girl next to me keeps reading my blog, and I'm not sure about this blog yet. Let's find out, shall we?

The stench of my hair is giving me a headache, but, this blog is not about me. If you wanna read about me, and all of me Glory- wait, what was I talking about? Oh, right teenage drama, right.

It's spring here in Brighton, and high school drama is blooming faster then my boredom in this class. Yeah, that's how fast the drama train moves people! More later.

Why hello thar!

Hello indeed. It's been what? 3 weeks, more? Anyway in those three weeks a lot of shit has happened to the freaks, for instance, ugly dress trying on-ness and, Superman! The best waiter ever!

Okay, so Superman works at this Greek resonant, I don't remember the name right now. I'm used to calling in 'The Greek Place.' Anyhoodles, we were going out to dinner (me and Kari) and our protege Shake Man Zilla of Many Mens, or you Earthlings might know her as Ansley.

But, anyway, Superman was going to get me a Mellow Yellow, or Mountain Dew knock off, and returned in like 1.5 seconds. Shake was all, "Woah! That was super fast! You're like Superman!"

Thus the name Superman.

Superman got a note from us freaks, and I hope a big tip. I mean, he did deserve it, he had to put up with us freaks!

The freaks need a slogan.... Eat it, like it, live it, and stick it in other peoples faces!

That sounds dirty....

Right.... Thanks Superman!

-S