Snow

I was born 936 weeks ago today.
I'm not saying today is my birthday. It's not. But I was born 936 weeks ago. Meaning I was born on a Saturday. (We good?)

Apparently it was snowing the day I was born. It was the first snow of the winter of 1992. My grandfather drove all the way from Charlotte, North Carolina to Ohio in the snow.

I have this thing for snow. I love it. I absolutely despise bitterly cold temperatures, but I adore snow. Sometimes when it's snowing, I sit on the top of my washing machine for extended periods of time and watch out the laundry room window out into the backyard. Everything is just so pretty when it snows.

There's an episode of 'Gilmore Girls' where Lorelai goes on and on about how she loves snow. I think this pretty much sums everything up:
"It's just my favorite time of the year. The whole world changes color. Flakes, flurries, swirls, crystals, whatever form it comes in. I'll take it. We go back, snow and me. We have a beautiful history. Sleigh rides, ice skating, snowball fights. I'll even take curling. God, I love curling! Hot cocoa, hot toddies. Best time of the year!"

Snow just gives everything a whole new light. It refreshes the world and my perspective on it. Watching those spastic little flurries brings me indescribable joy.

It's snowing today for the second time this season. I feel this is totally appropriate, given the fact that I was born 936 weeks ago today. I feel like it's snowing just for me. And I know that's selfish and completely untrue. But just let me have it. Please.

New Record

Can we please talk about how I somehow managed to piss off four people I love in the span of 3 days?

SUPER.

Bet that's a new record.

On the bright side, I've found that I get pretty funny when I'm bitter/angsty. Which is cool.

Ten Artists

This is another one of those things I saw on Tumblr and thought, hm, looks like fun. So here you go. YOU SHOULD DO THIS ONE.

List 10 artists you like before answering the questions below.
1. Sara Bareilles
2. Idina Menzel
3. Ingrid Michaelson
4. Bess Rogers
5. Allie Moss
6. Jenny Owen Youngs
7. Kate Nash
8. The Wombats
9. Lily Allen
10. Vanessa Carlton

What was the first song you ever heard by 6?
Probably “Last Person.” Dear God, I love that song.

What is your favourite song of 8?
"Let’s Dance to Joy Division."

What kind of impact has 1 left on your life?
I adore her. I kind of want her to be my big sister. She’s actually the reason why I like Ingrid Michaelson, who is basically who I want to be when I grow up. I was on a huge Sara B. kick when I found “Winter Song,” so I started looking at Ingrid’s stuff, and fell absolutely in love. I love Sara’s lyrics and voice and mad piano skills and her hilarious sense of humor and genuine love for her fans. I love following her on Twitter. She’s adorable. And her new CD is KICK-ASS.

What are your favorite lyrics of 5?
“And I won’t lie to you, love. I’m not okay. I’ve already spent too much time hiding that.”

How many times have you seen 4 live?
Once, actually, but it was before I was in love with her stuff. And it wasn’t actually her. She was with Ingrid, but she was still awesome, especially when she hit her head and everyone laughed.

What is your favorite song by 7?
Probably “Skeleton Song.” It’s so weird and catchy.

Is there any song by 3 that makes you sad?
Two of them make me cry almost every time I listen to them. “Porcelain Fists” and “Keep Breathing.” They absolutely rip my heart out of my chest.

What is your favorite song by 9?
“The Fear.” I roll all my windows down in my car and blast it and sing along really loudly to it.

When did you first get into 2?
When I discovered ‘Wicked.’ I had this MAJOR ‘Wicked’ phase in 7th and 8th grades. I would literally come home, do homework, and just listen to ‘Wicked’ until I fell asleep. My ‘Wicked’ phase transitioned rather quickly into my ‘Rent’ phase, and I was just like, “Holy shit, I want to be her.” Then her album “I Stand” came out, and I was just completely obsessed with her, and then I saw her in concert and it was amazing.

How did you get into 3?
INGRID MICHAELSON IS MY SOUL TWIN. I first discovered her when “The Way I Am” was in that Old Navy commercial. Then “Far Away” came up on my Pandora, and then I discovered “Winter Song.” Then, in January, I was in Charlotte visiting my grandparents, and I was , for some reason, having a really hard time being away from everybody, and so I started listening to her stuff on YouTube, and I was just completely enamored with it, so as soon as I got home, I went to Best Buy, bought ‘Girls and Boys,’ and ‘Be OK’ and then I got ‘Everybody’ off of iTunes. And now I own just about everything she’s ever recorded.

What is your favourite song by 4?
Either “Yellow Bird” or “Favorite Day.”

How many times have you seen 9 live?
Never. Damn.

What is a good memory concerning 10?
The other day, my friend and I were discussing how she basically falls off the face of the planet after she produces an album because you never hear from her. Then a few days after that, I got on Twitter and there was an update from her, and I was really excited.

Is there a song by 8 that makes you sad?
I don’t think any of them make me sad, but they all make me super nostalgic, because they were introduced to me over the summer by a few of my friends who’ve gone off to college. So whenever I listen to The Wombats, it makes me think of all the times I’ve listened to them with them, and what each of their songs means to them.

What is your favourite song of 1?
It changes constantly. Right now it’s either “Let the Rain” or “Bluebird.” Both of them are off her new CD. SO GOOD.

How did you become a fan of 10?
Her song “A Thousand Miles” came out right after my grandma died when I was 9. I just kind of associated it with her, so I automatically loved her. She’s so strange and dark. But I like it.

Ten Things

It's almost a year later, and it turns out I'm still really bad at this whole blogging thing. Happy September.

Anyway, I saw someone do this on Tumblr earlier, and I thought it was interesting. It is:

Ten Things You Want to Say to Ten Different People!

So, yeah. I'm making a list that I want to say to ten different people, but can't/shouldn't.

1. Are you remotely aware that the world does not revolve entirely around you?
2. Jesus Christ, wear pants.
3. Stop. Listen. Focus. Process. Work with me.
4. No, you can't have my Ingrid Michaelson CDs, because I'm worried that if you take them, you will ruin my favorite artist for me.
5. I cannot talk to you about the future right now.
6. Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you're actually a five-year-old in a grown man's body, you asshole.
7. I'm sorry - I'm never going to be good enough for you.
8. If I didn't already love you so much, I would hate you.
9. We're probably more alike than either of us would like to admit.
10. I love you. I miss you.

It's actually kind of fun. Don't try to guess who each of those would be directed to, because you will not get it right. It's for me to know, and you to not find out. Sorry I'm so selfish, but it's just the truth.

Inability

Do you ever have those instances where you're so overwhelmed by everything that you don't know where to begin?

And so you don't, even though there's stuff that needs to be done?

And the guilt of not doing it eats you up and takes over your life, but you're still so overwhelmed that you can't seem to do anything about it?

And there's fear and anxiety and panic accompanied by headaches and lack of sleep and moods that go from bad to worse?

And all you really want to do is the stuff that doesn't matter at the current moment but you can't stop yourself from doing those things?

Yeah. About that...

Second Chances

I've never really thought of myself as a big believer in second chances. I guess I never really thought about it. I mean, second chances...they're okay. My personal philosophy is that you shouldn't screw up the first time and NEED a second chance, but whatever.

But I guess today was just a day for second chances.

I'll spare you the story about giving the girls I babysit a second chance today at the library. It's not a good story.

Tonight I went to Starbucks. If you know me, you know this is not out of the ordinary for me. I practically live at this particular Starbucks. It's sort of ridiculous, actually. A few months ago, we took to just sitting in this field right next to the plaza where the Starbucks is for hours at a time freaking people out and drinking coffee. Different people have come and gone, but at one time, there were eight of us who would hang out there.

And then something weird happened, and one of the eight broke off. So it was seven. And it was fun, but not like it was in the beginning. You know how when a TV series starts, and then randomly a few seasons later, a different actor is playing one of the characters? It's sort of like that.

But somehow tonight, it ended up being the eight of us again. And it was like nothing ever changed. And half-way through the night, when I realized that that was how life was supposed to be, I realized that it was probably the last time it would ever be like that. Sitting there, talking and laughing and enjoying each other's company, and just being, as that group.

When I first thought that we'd never be like that again, I wasn't ready to say goodbye to those nights. I wanted more. That's what I thought my best memories of summer would be comprised of. I wasn't ready to let go.

Tonight was my second chance to say goodbye to those evenings. I love each and every one of those other seven people more than is imaginable. I love them, I love being with them, I love the way I feel when I'm around them. And while I'm sad that it really is all over, that particular era of our friendship, I'm glad I got the closure. I'm glad it was like that one last time.

Editor

I've never really been much good at creating things. I don't have an artistically gifted bone in my body, so works of art are automatically out of the question, I'm not espcially musically talented, I don't build things, I don't cook, I don't bake. I just don't really create. Even when it comes to writing, which has clearly been my thing since I was in second grade, I don't really create well. I have started SO many stories, and never gotten to the end of any of them. I don't think I've ever even reached so much as a middle.

I don't really know that I've ever had an original thought in my life, to be quite honest.

In all honesty, most of my long-term projects are dead in the water before they even begin - it's like they're doomed to failure simply because I was the one who thought them up. They've never really stood a chance. The only stories I write that have any prayer of living are ones I write for newspaper (and the good old Power of the Pen ones), and that's because I have a deadline, and I KNOW they have to be finished.

I hate to admit it, but I'm horrifically bad at finishing what I start.

But I was considering all that, and I realized something. I don't create because I edit. I fix, and tweak, and correct. I am an editor in several senses. The most obvious sense being that I am co-editor in chief of my high school newspaper. I tweak what people have done to make it better and work in conjunction with three other people to make our publication the best it can be. It's about teamwork and collaboration and tweaking what others do.

But when I think about it, I've been editing since before I got that specific title. Think about it. I even consider applying make up to be a form of editing. I take my average face and paint it with colors and powders and all sorts of stuff to edit it and make it prettier. I take what exists and make it better (I hope).

I edit pictures. I use Picnik a lot to do so. I'm not a particularly good photographer, but I'm pretty fair at editing pictures, and I really enjoy doing it. There are at least 220 of my edited photographs up on Facebook, currently. I love taking something that has a life of its own already and giving it a new life as some completely different entity. I love putting words on them. I love playing with the colors. I love making something look vintage-y. I love fixing imperfections.

For years, people have asked me to help edit things they've written, and I could never really understand why. But I think I get it now. I am an editor. I always have been, and suddenly it is so clear - that's what I always will be. Of course. It's always been there. I just never noticied it before.

Maybe I'm Made of Chocolate?

I was not made to deal with heat. I tend to melt. My hair reacts badly to humidity and frequently makes me look like a distant relative of the Cowardly Lion. I hate putting on make up in the summer because it melts off faster that I can put it on. I was just not built to deal with heat.

Neither was my house. I don't have air conditioning. I am melting for the seventeenth summer in a row and it's starting to really piss me off. It's 91 degrees outside, and probably roughly the same inside my house. I hate getting out of the air conditioned car, walking into the ridiculously hot garage, thinking 'Oh, sweet Jesus, I hope it's not this hot in the house,' walking into the house, and finding that IT IS IN FACT, THAT HOT. I hate the feeling of sticky, sweaty skin. I hate the way water bottles and cans of pop and glasses sweat profusely on the table, leaving an obnoxious ring of water that you have to wipe up.

I don't mind the heat at the beach. It's supposed to be hot there. There's a breeze. An ocean breeze. In Ohio, there is no ocean, and consequently, no ocean breeze. But at the beach, I can go from air conditioned condo, to air conditioned car, to air conditioned restaurant, to pool or beach. And it's okay.

Part of the problem too is that I really don't like shorts. I hate my legs. Well, my thighs at least. So I try to avoid wearing shorts. And my arms are nasty too, so I avoid tank tops. And I look weird with my hair up. I LIKE TO WEAR SWEATERS, PANTS, AND MY HAIR DOWN, OKAY?! That's why I like cooler weather. It's acceptable to wear this kind of attire, and I swear I have never craved snow more than I have in the past couple of weeks. And I want to bake. I don't know why. But I do, and it's just TOO DAMN HOT TO BE DOMESTIC.

Okay. Sorry about the ranting, but I'm hot and sweaty and angry, and heat seemed an acceptable thing to rant about without sounding too clinically insane. Schmurrrr.

"There's Always a Dry Side to a Swing"

So... I accidentally just did something kind of emo. I drove by my grandma's old apartment on my way home from Starbucks tonight.

I know. It doesn't sound particularly emo. But...

She died when I was 9. We were really close for those first 9 years of my life. I would spend a lot of my summer with her. And what's weird is that she wasn't living in the apartment that I drove by at the time of her death. I drive by that apartment almost every day because it's a block away from my house. That one doesn't phase me so much. I think it's because I've gotten used to it.

But I drove by that old apartment tonight for the first time in a long time and realized I couldn't really remember the layout of it. Once I realized that, my eyes filled with tears. How could I not remember something that was a huge fixture in my childhood? I remember the living room and the awful green carpet that used to be in there. I remember the kitchen. I remember the basement, and the time my dad and uncle accidentally flooded it. I remember the back patio and the beautiful gardens we used to work in, but probably mostly from pictures. I remember the hammock. I remember the garage. But I can't remember the bedrooms or anything. I remember a hallway and a mirror but I can't remember the bedrooms or anything. I don't remember how the living room was set up. I vaguely remember coloring in a coloring book while the OJ Simpson trials were going on, and I remember watching 'Fern Gully' and trying to do handstands, and I remember asking her to tape the Oscar's for me once.

That's about all I remember. And that's scary. I pride myself for having a really good memory, but how good can it be if I can't remember such an important part of my growing up?

And then, as it always does when I think about her for a long time, a question enters my mind. It's haunting, really, because there's no way I could ever find an answer to it. But if there's one thing I'd love to know, it's if she would be proud of me. A lot has changed in 8 years. She was the one that got me into acting. I'm sure she thought that's what I'd be doing right now, and what I wanted to be when I grew up. Would she be disappointed that never really worked out for me? Would she be proud of who I am? Of what I've done? Of who my friends are?

Sometimes, I don't know. I really don't know. And I want to. I want to know. Would we still be close? Would I make her proud? What kind of adventures would we have together if she was still around? What would she have been like before my first high school dance? What would she have thought of Power of the Pen?

Would I be different if she had lived longer?

And I know that's a lot more questions than just the one I referenced earlier. But the only one I'd really love an answer to is 'would she be proud of me?' The rest of them I think I can pretty much figure.

I just want to know.

I have to go to bed. I feel sick now. Sorry about all that.

"It Sucks. But at Least It's Raining."

I used to have this crippling, intense fear of severe weather. It was mostly tornados I was afraid of, and the fear was inexplicable. Nothing terrible had ever happened to me during any kind of storm, and yet even the slightest dark cloud would make my mouth go dry and my palms begin to sweat. Rain scared me. Lightning was terrifying. Thunder was awful. I had to go to a child psychologist for this shit. It was bad.

I think at some point, without really noticing it, I outgrew it. I stopped hiding in my safe closet when there were tornado warnings in neighboring counties. I stopped trying to fall asleep whenever the sky clouded over. It doesn't matter anymore. It really doesn't.

I like the rain. The rain is my friend. Sometimes I get upset with the rain when my pants get wet, or my hair gets messed up, or I step into a huge puddle in a parking lot. We have our rough patches, just like any other relationship, but me and rain, we're mostly good. Right now it's thundering too. For all those years I feared it, I find it strangely comforting now. I love trying to sleep through the thunder. I usually don't even mind when it wakes me up in the middle of the night.

There's something wonderful about a thunderstorm. Maybe it's the way the rain seems to wash everything away and give the opportunity for a new start. Maybe it's the way the rain almost always seems to cool off the world. Maybe it's the way the thunder reminds me that there's always something bigger than us. Maybe it's the way the lightning lights up the sky piece by piece. I love the way it gives each corner individual attention. Maybe it's the way thunderstorms seem so violent and scary, but beautiful at the same time. Maybe I'm not quite sure what it is. Maybe it's the mystery of not being able to pinpoint what I like about it.

"I Don't Need a Life That's Normal, That's Way Too Far Away"

Sometimes, I take a look at my friends and realize that I'm the normal one. I don't love them any less. I probably love them more after I think about what they've gone through, what they've done, who they are versus who they used to be and how they've grown.

It's scary. It's scary in more ways than one. It's scary because I never thought of myself as particularly normal. I'm weird. I'm quirky. I'm not boring, or at least I don't think I am. But then I look at the people I love and realize that compared to them, I am SO normal. I am so well-adjusted and adaptable that I'm just so average.

It's scary because I learn things about people that I'd never have imagined were true. For example, some of the most amazing people I know were suicidal at some point in their lives. These are people who make me laugh until I cry, people who are perfectly lovely and thoughtful and honestly some of the best friends you could ever have, people who I cannot imagine not having in my life without wanting to vomit. People who would never appear suicidal.

I have learned so much about some of my friends in the past year or so. Some of them have come out of deeply troubled times, which makes them all the more valuable to me. I love them. I'll never stop loving them. I hope they know that, and selfishly I hope they love me, too.

It's important to value the people you love and to let them know how much you value them. Even more important than what I've learned about certain individuals is that people need to know someone cares. You have to hope the respect they have for you outweighs the disrespect they have for themself and stops them from doing something stupid or dangerous. It's important to listen to people. It's important to listen beyond just the words they're saying and listen to what they really mean. It's important to listen to what they really want you to hear.

There are people who are so wrapped up in their own drama that in all likelihood won't even matter in a few weeks. I have never been one of those people. I've discovered I kind of like being the normal friend. It allows me to listen. It allows me to see people and understand them in different ways. It allows me to love them more. I would be missing so much without them. They have no idea how much they've taught me and how much they've changed me and how much I love them for it. It would be impossible for me to express it, so they can never truly understand. But I do my best.

Don't be afraid to love. Tell someone how you feel. And if you don't have anything to tell, listen.

"This I Believe"

Recently, I've been reading a book my parents got me for Christmas called "This I Believe." It's a collection of essays from well-known people; short little things that detail their personal philosophies on life. It's a pretty cool book, I'm pretty sure it's through NPR, which is how my mom heard about it.

This morning, I was reading it in study hall and I got kind of tired of reading, so I decided to write one of my own. I started thinking of all the things I believe in: friendship; small, lovely, irreplaceable moments; love. Then I realized that there's something that I believe in that encompasses all of that. This was the end product. It's quite a bit shorter than the essays in "This I Believe," but I'm pretty sure I said all I wanted to say:


"I believe in the beauty of idiosyncracies. Perfection doesn't exist. There are no real measured standards for perfection. I love my family and friends because they're weird. It is their adorable quirks that make me like them.

A few nights ago, one friend burst into tears because she couldn't understand why someone would put gummy bears in their ice cream. Another good friend, we have come to realize, does this thing where she keeps taking until she gets a laugh out of somebody. She also deeply fears sticky fingers and awkward social situations.

We all have these irrational fears that we mock each other mercilessly because of. For instance, I
have an inexplicable fear of tomato seeds. I also have a friend with a severe fear of male genitalia, as well as a friend who fears pregnant women. One of my friends refuses to take free samples of anything because he has somehow convinced himself that they are infested with AIDS. This is the same friend who can't eat things in even numbers (I honestly believed he was making that up when he first told me about it, but there are so many rules and exceptions that there's no way he could have just made it up).

It is the imperfections that make someone endearing to me. Their quirks give them individuality and the fact that there is only one of them in the entire world population makes me feel incredibly lucky to have them in my life.

Life shouldn't be about conforming; rather it should be about celebrating and sharing what makes us unique. There are friends I have that I love who have bizarre obsessions with somewhat obscure and often British TV shows. I also have a friend who comes up with really random, awesome metaphors for life that never fail to amuse me or get me thinking.

By hiding our quirks from the world, we are doing everyone - including ourselves - a grave disservice. Part of living is being brave enough to share our idiosyncracies with them people around us. Chances are, our quirks make people love us even more. I can only hpe that my friends love me in spite of my fear of tomato seeds, or my penchant for petting hair, or my fascination with sappy cabaret songs.

I believe it's those funny little quirks that make us adorable, and only the ones who really love us can accept."

Mindless Chatter

Why. Hello, there.
Guess what!
It's MAY.
Guess what else!
I'm kind of a blogging failure.
(For the month of April, at the very least. Which, basically, is a blur that I'm going to attempt to recap here in a moment).

Welcome back to my life. I know you (my 0.04 average readers) have been lost without me.

So let's talk about April. I remember it starting off awesomely, what with spring break being upon us and all. I spent a lot of time at Starbucks (still do, actually...seriously considering taking up permanent residence there...expect a change of address card sometime soon)(also, do people still send those/do they actually exist or did I just make them up in my head?) with really awesome people. There was one night that I was particularly fond of when we accidentally ran a red light, froze our asses off at a playground at 9:00 at night, and sat in the Starbucks parking lot cuddling and eating curly fries.

After the spring break part of April was over, I threw myself into school stuff, which I apparently did a really good job of blocking from my memory, because I don't remember much of it now.

Mid-April is marked by the fabulousness that was our NYC trip.

It. Was wonderful. I may have slept only 12/65 hours we were gone, but I'm okay with that, because every hour I was awake counted as a new memory. There were many pictures taken, many laughs, many new inside jokes, two Broadway shows, much coffee, very little sleep, quite a bit of singing, some dancing, very little sanity, and excessive amounts of cuddling. I loved every second of it. In my mind, I'm still there, and it was three weeks ago.

The end of April... mostly just a smear of time that I don't remember. I remember a lot of studying. I remember a lot of being alone. I remember being REAL tired. But other than that, I don't remember much. I think I was like, roofied, or something during the end of April. But I think I liked it?

Yeah, that was my April. Now it is May, and AP exams have crept upon us (hee - crept upon us) and so has the last newspaper issue, and my Heritage Society old person story deadline, and seniors graduating, and exams, and Editor-in-Chief interviews/applications, and Prom drama, and other drama, and HEY it's almost summer. Thank the non-denominational creator.

It's late now. I'm finally sleepy enough to sleep.

The weatherman promised me a thunderstorm. I'm a little sad I didn't get one.

Wow, that was a little bit profound. Or maybe I'm just tired.

Goodnight. Happy May.

This is Weird

Sooo. I recently realized that I have this fear that people don't actually like me. It's weird. I've never really had that kind of insecurity before. I guess I used to not really care if people liked me or not. But I think I've finally realized how catty and awful high school is (I know. Really? I'm a junior in high school and I'm just now seeing how ugly it is? Don't worry - I'm super perplexed too). I've mostly been trying to figure out why people like me. If they like me, as they claim to. I feel like I have some friends that I'm really unsure why they like me. I don't really know if it's a self-esteem thing, or if I'm reading too much into everything and being too over-analytical, or if people are just as fake as I fear they are. (There might be some people out there reading this who are thinking it's in reference to them. Don't worry. It's not. I hope?) This is sounding entirely too emo and I hadn't planned on that happening. My original intention was to write something at least semi-amusing, but it's not really coming out that way. I'm going to keep trying. So I've been wondering why people put up with me. And if they put up with me simply because they feel obligated to put up with me, or if they genuinely like me and my weird quirks. Like my irrational fear of tomato seeds. And my penchant for screaming whenever my Pop-Tarts pop out of the toaster. Or the bizarre fact that I seem to kind of have a little bit of my own language and that I sometimes make weird and random noises. Or that I have too many Tweets/Facebook statuses. Or that I write nonsensical blog posts like this. I don't know what I was hoping to accomplish through this post, but I've come too far just to delete it, so I guess I'm going to publish it... If you're reading this, I apologize. I don't like that this is one huge block of text, but Blogger is apparently deciding to be a little bitchy today and not let me start different paragraphs. Oh well. I'm going to stop talking now.

Yep, You Put Me Right Back in My Place

There are some days when I wake up and I don't really give a shit what anybody says about me.

These are few and far between. There used to be a time when I woke up like this every day. I used to have some semblance of something kind of like self-confidence.

Before I get too far off topic, let me finish that self-depricating tangent by saying, "today was one of those days."

Really. I was happy. I let loose. I had two cups of coffee, so I was giggly and outspoken and most like the me that I like. I was happy with what I was wearing. I was happy with my face. I was happy with my hair. Everything seemed to be working in my favor. My English teacher called me 'hilarious.' The world seemed to like me.

And then, as I was sitting with my mom, eating a bowl of Samoa ice cream (satisfying at the time), we began discussing prom.

Mom: So has any of the prom drama started yet?
Me: Not really.
(silence for a moment, as we watch 'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban')
Me: I'm not really looking forward to it.
Mom: Prom drama? I don't think it'll affect you much.
Me: Any of it. I know I'm going to have a really hard time finding a dress...
Mom: Yeah. I mean, anything you find will probably require major alteration.
Me: Wow. Thanks, Mom.
Mom: I mean, like, in terms of length. I mean...even with heels...
Me: Uh-huh.
(more silence)
Me: I'm not going if I don't have a date. Just saying.
Mom: (laughs) WHERE are you going to get a prom date?
Me: Wh...
Mom: You don't even like any of the boys.
Me: Wow. Ouch. Okay. Goodnight, Mom.

Yeah.
I have been remissed.

Give Me Pain, If That's What's Real

So.
Today.

It was really awful to start. I don't know why. I was in a really tired, melancholy mood that I just couldn't snap out of for some reason. I was just super quiet (a rarity) and I was just exhausted and kind of disillusioned by everything.

After I left school, I had an orthodontist appointment. Let me just explain that going to the orthodontist makes me act like a hugely bitchy, hormonal teenager. It might have something to do with the fact that I've had my braces for almost five years (five! FIVE!) and that my original orthodontist has since passed away (I know, right?). Nothing makes me act more like a teenager than orthodontia. Anyway, since my orthodontist, who I loved, died, this new guy took over. I do not like him. I get weird vibes from him. And he's rather large, and he breathes really heavily, and his fingers are big and my mouth isn't all that big (sounds kind of dirty)(just saying) and it's just a really awkward experience every time he works on me. Like, why is the heel of your hand doing in my eye socket? I do not know, but please remove it.

So, anyway, I had to wait to be called back for 45 minutes, and the next 45 were spent battling two of my brackets because they wouldn't close or something and it really hurt and they had to try like three different things. Yes. I was in my sketchy orthodontist office for an hour and a half. Then I came home, gathered some things, and had to take off for voice, where both my teacher and I were in terrible moods and pouting.

Then I left voice and flew to the school to munchkin sit, because the middle school is doing "The Wizard of Oz" and I get NHS hours for munchkin sitting. Cool.

That's where the fun began.

All the middle school kids had entirely too much energy, and all us high school kids just did not. We munchkin sitters actually ended up putting together a 24-piece Winnie the Pooh puzzle and coloring more than the munchkins did. It was comical.

Then Chelsea and I went on a Starbucks run and were making weird gargling noises at each other in line when the guy in front of us turns around and says, "You guys are really scaring me."

It was hilarious.

Then we got back and had to reassemble the choir room and sit on some munchkins and middle schoolers (not really) while we discussed Chelsea's love life. We were all just really exhausted, but it was really fun, and we laughed a lot, and usually far too loudly (or, I did, at least).

"It looks like two green flamingos had vigorous sex in the hallway, because there are feathers all over the place."

(See what I mean?)

Suspended Reality

Hi. It's been awhile. I'm sorry. Also I should be sleeping right now (why do I feel like a lot of my blog posts open with that?) but I felt the need to reach out...into that black, dark hole of nothingness that I send my thoughts into.

Anyway, I've realized that I've been confusing my dreams with reality a lot lately. Which, honestly, is kind of depressing. It says that I dream about stuff that's mundane enough that I can easily get it mixed up with my reality. Like school. The other night, I had a dream that I went to do my Chemistry post-lab questions and there was only 1. I was really disappointed when I went to do them for real in study hall the next morning and there were 4 instead of just 1.

That same night, I dreamed that I read the wrong English essay for a homework assignment. It was the same title, but the completely wrong essay. I read the one that was 12 pages long, and we were supposed to read the one that was a page and a half long. I remember being really perplexed in my dream. Why were there two essays named the same thing? That's misleading.

Yeah, the following day was a little like "Groundhog Day," only not really.

But I also got to thinking...you know that state you fall into where you're not sleeping, but not NOT sleeping? Where everything is peaceful, and calm, and simple? The one where everything seems perfect, or at least until you start falling?

I like it there. And for all intents and purposes, I'm going to call it 'suspended reality.' I'm sure it has a technical dreamology-related term, but I prefer to think of it as suspended reality.

But doesn't it seem like everything is better in suspended reality? It's better than reality. It's better than dreaming, even, because sometimes, as I've come to realize, reality infiltrates your dreams. We use dreaming as an escape from reality, but what happens when reality takes over, especially when we don't particularly want it to? I mean, it's one thing if your reality is perfectly wonderful, and everything you want it to be. Then it's okay if you want to spend all your time there. It's understandable. But I feel like that's not really all that realistic. Or common. I'm starting to think suspended reality is our only escape from our reality, which we often can't control, and our dreams, which can't really be controlled either.

I can't control suspended reality, or anything, but it sure is quaint there.

I Am

...really tired.
...sick of drama.
...tired of dealing with everyone else's shit.
...feeling really confined.
...not looking forward to this week.
...really not very happy right now.
...sick of people being vague and not saying whatever the hell it is they need to say.
...tired of people getting pissed at me when I try to reach out.
...frustrated because people won't help themselves.
...really confused as to why people create all this drama for themselves.
...really upset because I'm afraid I'm starting to become one of those people.
...so close to giving up right now, it's not even funny.

Goodnight.

Is it Spring Yet?

I'm normally not a huge fan of spring. I always used to think spring was just kind of a poser. Summer wannabe. It honestly didn't do much for me.

And then last spring...something just clicked. Suddenly, I was totally in love with spring. I think it started with spring break. I remember the day that school let out, we were in Bee's backyard for the first time in so long, laughing and talking and taking a bunch of pictures. The weather was perfectly lovely, warm but overcast. It was almost like that day started a new beginning. From March to May last year, as stressful as life could be, it was, for some reason, okay.

There was a lot going on then. AP tests, and the general load of sophomore year schoolwork, a lot of my friends started becoming halves of couples...there was a lot of stress. But when I think back on it now, I think I would give anything to go back and relive it. I've been looking at pictures of last spring for a few days now, and we really had a lot of fun. There was May Fiesta, Crying Thunder, the Indians Game, our APAH 70s scrapbook, single ladies night, my friends' Disney band trip. There was a lot going on. I was definitely not numb to all the stress, but for some reason, we were all able to deal with it and have an awesome time.

I really think it was spring. I think at this point, in the dead of winter, if everything piled up like that, we wouldn't be able to cope. Winter is just a downer. I don't mind snow, usually, although right now I'm totally over it. I just want the birds to chirp and the sun to shine and the rain to fall and the flowers to bloom. I want to smell that fresh spring smell and just be free. I'm genuinely looking forward to it.

So...is it spring yet?

Defending my Music

Hi. We’re going to talk music today.

A few weeks ago I made a CD for a friend, and I wrote up a little explanation as to why I put certain songs on the CD. Since then, I’ve been thinking about why I like certain songs and artists.

So I thought it might be kind of fun to defend the stuff I love.

So basically, what I’m going to do here is go through my artists on my iPod and write up a little blurb-y thing about why I love them. And it’s way more fun that studying for a Chemistry test.
Really. It’s astounding what I’ll do to avoid chemistry.

Britney Spears – Her new stuff. I should probably consider putting some of her old stuff on here too, because it was a huge part of my childhood. I bought her CD Circus last year when I told myself I was going to start working out regularly. Ha. Haha. Am funny. Also, it’s not a bad CD. I’m not in love with it, but it’s kind of fun to listen to sometimes.

Erin McCarley – I don’t actually remember how I discovered her. But she’s cool. Her CD Love, Save the Empty, has really good songs on it. They’re super catchy and oddly relaxing. “Pony” is adorable.

Glee Cast – I’m going to be honest here. I love “Glee.” I love it. I feel judged when I talk about it with my close, close friends because they don’t like it, but I do have other close friends who adore it as much as I do. I’m just a huge Broadway nerd, and the performances are just so much fun, and I really just like the newish arrangements of the songs they do. I love it. So don’t judge.

Idina Menzel – Just another testament to how much of a Broadway nerd I am. Idina Menzel. Is. Amazing. I love her. I kind of want to grow up to be her. I wish I could turn back time to be able to see her in “Wicked.” I always regretted that I didn’t know about the show when she was in it. Her song “I Stand” is kind of like my theme song. I saw her in concert. It was fantastic. She was hilarious and incredible and…yeah. I love her.

Ingrid Michaelson – She writes songs about my life, basically. More accurately, she writes songs about everybody’s life. She’s just so normal, it’s refreshing. She’s adorable, and she writes songs with adorable lyrics. They’re just all so catchy. They stick in my head all the time and make really good Facebook statuses and Picnik edit quotes. Even her darker, deeper songs are quite catchy. Like “Be OK,” which actually has a rather depressing message, but it’s so upbeat and catchy that you can listen to it over and over again and be a little bit sad, but it’s not going to bring you down. Also they just used it on a Hallmark commercial and I’m really excited about it.

Kate Nash – I feel like she’s pretty cool, even though I only have one song of hers. She’s British, which scores her cool points, and the one song I have, “The Nicest Thing” is probably true of everyone at some point in their life. She comes up on Pandora a lot, and I like her cheeky British attitude.

Kristin Chenoweth – She’s so cute. I want to shrink her down to about 1/16 of her size and just carry her around with me all day on my shoulder. “Taylor, the Latte Boy” is honestly one of the most genius things ever. She’s just so adorable with her adorable voice, and adorable operaticness, and all-around adorableness that you can’t love her.

Lady Gaga – IS “A GODDESS”. She’s weird, I’ll give my mom that much, but most geniuses are weird. “Speechless” is amazing and I honestly cannot believe that a song like “No Floods” came out of her (especially after “Christmas Tree”…like what?). She’s so…current. And her cover of Coldplay’s “Viva La Vida” is hilarious and wonderful.

Lenka – She’s basically a little shot of sunshine. Her music is just so calming and cute. I got “The Show” free on iTunes a long time ago, and then I just bought the whole CD because it’s just so cute. Once at newspaper late night, some of my friends were listening to my iPod and asked me if I could burn them her CD because it was so relaxing. Her music is just so bubblegum-y and happy that you can’t help but dance along to it.

Lou Bega – Edna always confuses Lady Gaga and Lou Bega. I find this strange. Stranger, though, is the fact that I still have Lou Bega on my iPod. Curious.

Miley Cyrus – I just saw this on my iPod and wanted to die. Then I remembered the hilariousness that is “Party in the USA” is a Miley Cyrus song. Shameful.

Panic at the Disco – Unlike my BFFLT, I prefer their new stuff to their old stuff. It’s not as intense. The newer Panic is almost Beatles-esque, and a little more endearing. It’s not so harsh. It’s a little more easily lovable. Don’t get me wrong, I liked them when they were Panic!, too, but I think I love Panic more.

Sara Bareilles – I WANT HER TO BE MY BIG SISTER. She is SO awesome. She seems really funny, and her voice is amazing, and her piano skills rock. She’s genuinely talented, and her lyrics are incredible. I once went on a hunt for her old CD “Careful Confessions” after hearing the song “Undertow” on Pandora (PS, check it out – it is excellent) and I wound up blowing an entire evening looking for the CD, WHICH I eventually found, ordered, and now adore every song on it. She has some old, indie versions of some of the stuff on “Little Voice,” but what’s really fascinating is the stuff that, I don’t know, wasn’t good enough for “Little Voice.” “Red” and “Inside Out” are completely amazing, mostly because I can relate my life directly to both of them. Yeah. She’s amazing.

U2 – Hey, why not?

Vanessa Carlton – I’ve loved her since her “A Thousand Miles” days, and her newest CD, “Heroes and Thieves” (which isn’t new at all anymore) is really cool. She’s just very odd and maybe she has a touch of darkness, but I appreciate that. Also, I have a special connection to “White Houses,” since that’s what started ‘epiphany’ and all.

This is just a small sampling of what I’ve got. I’m aware of the fact I’m a huge nerd. But try not to judge me too much.