firs major blog

My blogging skills, quite frankly, suck. Period. Geez, I havent even told anything about myself. My name is Zaven, pronounced like raven with a "Z" instead of "R". I'm 15. I love to either stay up past everyone else so I can read without the interuption of family, or get up way early for the same reason. School can be fun, awful, long, horrendously tedious/boring, or all rolled into one. I suck at all sports on land or air, but I'm ok at swimming. My house looks like a minor tornado went through without actually breaking it (A.K.A. its a mess),and my hair usually looks about the same, but without the trash and miscelanious objects. My organizational skills are abominable(yes, like the snowman), but I like it that way. Usually. I have three siblings, a brother and two sisters, named Lightning Quinn, age 2, Zoe Linsky, age 4, and Kathryn Calypso, usually known as Caly, age 11. No, make that 12. she just yelled at me for having to ask her age, because I asked her yesterday and my memory sucks. I blame the spoonful of ice cream my dad fed me before I could eat solid foods. My parents are awsome, not something that you can say about average parents, and they can be quite eccentric when having fun. I say eccentric not because they are rich or influencial, like Hammond from Jurrasic Park, but because they are too awsome to be weird. Some times my dad really pushes the fine line between "ew, cool" eccentric and "aw, sick!" disgusting. Never let your guard down when he's in a good mood. In fact, never sit beside him in the car when he's in a good mood. still, he's awsome. My mom takes me to awsome places that you would never dream of, and she can find almost any thing for half its price or less using an armada of coupons, a squadron of websites, a legion of rebates, and an inteligence network that spans the continental U.S. and is composed entirely of her friends. Seriously, how cool is that? And the beauty of my parents is... Neither has ever had a divorce or other major relationship problem. Now your thinking, "come on, not even one?" no. not one.
My granddad, however, was a pain in the a#@ near the end, by all accounts. He was a bit senile(rode an electric wheel chair on the highway, drove cars with bad brakes, etc.), but he still managed to get across the fact that he loved me and caly (sibs not born then). He would take us to Native American Artifact shows many miles away, auctions where he would literaly buy us anything we wanted, and for our birthdays he would give us museum-worthy crystals and artifacts worth fifty or a hundred dollars. He died of four major heart attacks in as many days, seven years after a stroke that doctors said meant he had seven days to live, if he was lucky. My take on it is that he was both too nice, too crazy,too mean, and too much fun to die. Like Rasputin, but more nice and fun.
My grandma is a retired college professor of socioligy. She takes us to as many places as she can, lets us help her only if she is at the utter limit, and never lets us lose weight while she can still cook, though she urges us to at every opertunity. She takes us to the movies at least once a month, if not twice. In the summer, she takes us to, as I remember, the last drive in theater in Kentucky, and all her major christmas presents to me cost fifty dollars or more.
Oops, I gotta help clean. Thats all for this week.