Food for Thought.

A great influx of requests for another blog post? I really should be comparing Eden to Canaan right now, but I just spent a good solid two hours on music theory (how on earth did Mozart write symphonies as a six year old??), and a nice break from the stress of schoolwork will be appreciated. For now, at least. When I wake up tomorrow and realize that I have a whole paper to write by Friday, perhaps the feeling will morph into utter despair. However, I've experienced utter despair enough times in the past few weeks that it has decreased into a dull ache that reappears whenever I listen to sappy music (are we human or are we fucking dancer?).
But if you want to know about my personal life, ask me personally. I'm here today to give you advice on how to survive eating out of a college cafeteria. If you are not already a college student, you will be soon enough, and really, you must eat to live (epic discovery, I'm sure, by our bacterium ancestors).

1) Don't be vegetarian. You're signing away your own life. I'm limited to the salad bar (gah iceberg spinach  arugula blah), the "vegetarian station" (oftentimes a little over iced smoothie thing...this is a full course? not all vegetarians are anorexic...), or the perpetual supply of lukewarm yogurt, honeydew melon, and cheese or veggie pizza. Tofu? Only served in chunks, like spongey gelatin. Beans? NEVER drained, and usually under spiced and overcooked. Raw veggies? Nonexistent. Often, after an unsatisfying dinner, I'll run back to my little room and pull out my pop tarts. Definitely not home-cooking.

2) Love pizza. Always available, either by the slice or by the personal pan (spinach, mushroom, and olive has become my ultimate favorite). Moderately healthful, as long as you avoid the meat lovers or triple cheese. Really, pizza accounts for at least one meal a day for me. It's only the second month, and I'm running out of food variety already....

3) Eat breakfast. Truly the only satisfying meal. Made to order omelets, waffles, and a perpetual supply of slightly burnt hash browns and slightly runny scrambled eggs, not to mention pineapple juice, crappy coffee (decaf or caffeinated? the lack of distinction has led to many caffeine withdrawal headaches and crashes in the middle of psych class. Crazed looking octopi covering my notes? Yes, I'm delirious). However, I actually wake up for breakfast maybe twice a week. My alarm is set early enough, but my brain cannot handle waking up 30 minutes early just for food.

4) Get used to not eating when you want to. I want to eat breakfast at 11 in the morning, lunch at 2:30, and dinner at 7:30 or later (I mean, I'll be up till 1, so a late dinner is much preferred). In reality, breakfast ends at 10, lunch at 2, and dinner at 8 (in reality of that reality, the cafeteria workers start shutting down at 7:30, and all the good stuff is gone by then anyways). So today, one meal in the middle of the day sufficed, since the food places were all closed by the time I felt hungry again. Oh, irregularity...

5) Lukewarm. Hope you like it.

6) Wait...that sushi has been sitting there un-iced from the lunch hours to the dinner hours. Food poisoning?  Not yet, but it looms around the corner...

7) Oh, the celebrations. Whenever a big influx of pro studs is on campus, or when some distinguished personality is present on campus, the Rat (our affectionate and actually official name for the main cafeteria) throws a little 'party'. For the "Oktoberfest", we were served very purple cabbage (but flavored with honey instead of vinegar?), German chocolate cake (baked goods...ALWAYS mediocre and disappointing), and some mush called German potato salad. So so sad for a little German girl like me...

8) Fro-yo is life. It is the main course (with granola or fresh fruit), the side dish (to wash down the salty soups) and of course, the dessert, piled high in a plastic cup and taken out to comfort students while they nurse their disappointed stomachs.

9) Stock up on ramen, easy mac, instant meals, peanut butter, crackers, anything with a bit of substance. Snickers bars. The ultimate power snack.

10) Work out. Even if you hate the cafeteria's food, it's still a buffet. You will gain weight unless you play a sport or live on a campus significantly larger than mine and must walk more than a minute to get to class. Treadmill, elliptical, weights, track. Whatever works for you. Like, seriously. If the gym wasn't closed already, I'd probably be there now, working off this midterm stress (which I really shouldn't have, considering I have no midterms...)

That being said, I plan on storing up for the winter when I go home this weekend. Stuffing my face with as much home cooking as possible and filling my suitcase with fresh-baked cookies and, if I weren't flying, containers upon containers of real food. If you really, really like food or are really, really picky, I would advise living slightly closer to home, just to survive.

It might work in your favor, though. Asking your parents for food instead of money will awake that instinct in them to feed their young, so they will give you more money to buy food. Eventually, though, you will find yourself actually spending it on food....

MLAACS

SO I'm sitting in the Williford common room at Rhodes aka Hogwarts college (for some reason, the Harry Potter freaks here have anointed it thusly). I'm being forced to write right now, despite my emotional instability and penchant to post things that I regret approx. two seconds later. But I have wanted to chat with you, dear readers, about life. Life sucks. You make it suck. I make it suck. As babies, we suck. Literally. So we must carry on this tradition throughout the rest of our lives. And I'm only being half-sarcastic here.

I love my dorm, and I promise, Corey, that I will post a long meaningful blog post when I'm through with my first psych exam, which perhaps I ought to study for, and after I actually sleep a bit. I might even carry on with this particular thought process. But for now, good night, or, good all-nighters.

The fair in farewell

I wanted to spend my last few days in Dallas doing the things I love the most. Namely, eating...reading...talking....seeing friends...playing house and dress-up with the little sibs...eating more...and listening to some classic Sinatra. But of course, packing and goodbyes and work all have filled my schedule to overflowing, and I come home, tired, and stay up for several more hours just to have that last bit of alone time before I live with even more people than I'm accustomed to...(hard to imagine, eh?)

Back in, oh, eighth grade, freshman year, I had time. I was a huge Sinatra fan. He was pretty much all I ever listened to and eventually I bought a life-size poster of him (with the amazing tilted fedora and the look he has of being a complete tool) and put it smack in the middle of a wall in my room. I listen every week on Sunday night from 6-8 to a Sinatra segment on one of those AM stations that has commercials for old people cruises and diet solutions.

Best part of the week, hands-down.

Next week, though, I enter the realm of Elvis. I like Elvis quite a bit. I hold a grudge against him, of course, for upstaging the Sinatra era, but he's so smooth that all that criticism just slides off like melted ice cream and those drops of melted ice cream are even tastier than the actual ice cream. (And this is why opposites attract, those drops of melted criticism are just sooo delicious...)

But just listening to Sinatra's voice, to all of his little slides and breath control and GAH he may not have the prettiest tone, but he has the most perfect technique. Technique is so underrated. Technique arises out of practice and experience and just general sensibility. 

The letter "r" is the most exciting letter in the alphabet, by far. Listen to Edith Piaf roll her French r's, or Sinatra draw out every single one of his, or Melody Gardot just gently vibrating them, and you will be more sensualized than after you watch a dramatic love scene. Absolute magic. 

I can't wait to develop my own technique: the technique of life! Just random moments of absolute joy have come upon me in the last few days, knowing that I will be starting so fresh, so new, something I have never been able to do before! Nobody has expectations, nobody expects me to be top in everything, or the total prude, or the shy one in the corner. I can be a slacker, an absolute opposite-of-prudish (....), and the most outrageously annoyingly loud person that everyone instantly HATES in the room. And so can you, dear reader. But only change into something or someone that YOU want to be, and that you enjoy being < cliche of the century, excuse my ineffective grammar.

Blah I'm supposed to be packing and/or asleep right now. But I'll have plenty of time to sleep after college, no? And if I'm not packed by Wednesday, then it's just really tough for me. (that's what friend are for, stealing necessities from, correct?). Nope, I've been painting my nails and watching music clips from the Music Man. Incredibly content. Excited. Nervous. And this is my last Saturday night in Dallas for a long, long time.

Perhaps if I ever have a break, I might possibly blog a bit. Ha, I might actually write something that stays on topic and qualifies as enjoyable. Till then, fare thee well, and brush three times a day. 

Petition to buy shampoo for Snape

Disregard the title.
This is not about Harry Potter.
There, now you know. You're free to leave this page, sigh from relief, or maybe even read on...

Okay, okay, that isn't a complete truth. I mean, I can't write the day after seeing the concluding chapter of my childhood series played out on the big screen without at least mentioning it! And I'll simply ask a question to those pseudo members of Dumbledore's Army which truly befoggles my poor vacation struck brain...If wands can be won by simply disarming someone, then why don't wizards have, like, stashes of wands that they've won?  This is a major plot point, guys, a major theme which was only brought up once Harry's wand was snapped back in Part I. Maybe I'm being silly. But besides crying hysterically during Snape's emotional memorical breakdown (men have feelings??), that question kept popping up like the bad-flavored Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans (in any of the books, does anybody ever actually find one that tastes good?)

Back to reality now. (Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?)

Back to reality now. Hey, I'm legal! Hey, I have (hopefully) 70+ years to do all the things I can do now that I'm legal. In fact, I should have been trying NOT to do those things before, since technically I only had 18 years to savor that!

Outside there's a boxcar waiting. Pixies. Quality music. Meaghan Smith. Quality cover. Check it out.

Dude, after spending two days in Memphis, I think I'm gonna like it. The barbecue is amazing (eee the vegetarian thing has descended into 'portion control' at this point), though the college food was barely edible. I love the classes I'm taking, though there really is not a whole bunch of variety (no 'Jane Austen' course or 'Psychology taught in the tradition of Sylvia Plath' or 'Underwater Basket-Weaving' or 'Picking your nose with a pipe cleaner') . There are some super cool hipstas like me (breaking into college buildings at night is so badass, and, like, spacey, man), but millions of bros and 'business' majors too (no judgment yet, though! I won't remember more than five or six names/faces anyways).

No math or science, did I mention that? I get at least a semester of simply exploring those subjects which I believe hold my true passion. Perhaps I will enjoy my studying, maybe find some people who like tea and discussing literature and listening to Frank Sinatra for two hours every Sunday night. Or maybe I'll study abroad somewhere and never, ever come back. Geeze, I wish I had the money/talent/balls to do that.

It was interesting, meeting people at orientation. Okay, my social skills are not the best. Best word to describe me with new people: forgettable. Anyways, very few people knew others. Most of us were thrown into this sea of new faces, a new city, a new lifestyle, a new FREEDOM. A deja-vu high school experience, except there's no home and old friends to go home to at the end of the day. Instead, there's the dorm and your roommate and Facebook to connect with home. And many people are thrown off by that. And when you see these people, obviously big fish at home, thrown into this ocean of other big fish and bigger fish, it's almost amusing. It would be, if I didn't feel the exact same way.

I can't wait, though. After eighteen years with all of you Dallasites, I'm ready to sign out permanently in a month. I'll be back de temps en temps, mais je voudrais voir le monde, seulement Tennessee maintenant, mais perchance other exciting places soon.

For Harry Potter fans

Superstitious people say that when you experience a full body chill, it means that someone is walking over your future gravesite. If that's so, then I'll probably be buried right in the middle of Trafalgar Square, where thousands of people gathered yesterday for the final red carpet premiere of the Harry Potter series, which opens next week on the very night of my 18th birthday. Of course, the wizarding age of becoming legal is 17, so the correlation is slightly off, but still, it is the end of childhood for me and for those cute little wizards and witches who somehow all had the luck to grow up and be attractive.

Although I didn't start reading Harry Potter till about 7th grade, and I've never been one of those diehard fans (quite frankly, some of those movies are pretty dull, the books are angsty, and the characters don't use NEARLY enough magic as Rowling created potential for in her world), for a fiction writer to reach this degree of fame in this century without any "Wizards Suck" movies made and actually receiving positive reviews from critics worldwide and even from the Vatican press? (Catholics have pretty darn good taste, man) Admiration and obsession are warranted.

The Harry Potter books are absolutely absorbing. There is one degree of literature and film that I call 'the vicarious dream', when the reader or viewer feels such a degree of oneness with the work of art that he or she is overwhelmed at the end and needs a moment of reflection and that sense of deep regret that there aren't 100 pages left to read. Woahhh when teenagers want a 500 page book to be longer, you know there's something special in there somewhere.

So I am putting aside the four other books I have started in the past couple weeks (Satanic Verses, Autograph Man, To the Lighthouse, Eating Animals) which have yet to catch my fancy (Virginia Woolf uses 11 commas on the first page, in one sentence, of her sensationally successful novel. And peers always tell me to cut my sentences down...) and rereading that final Harry Potter. I will probably be disappointed by the movie. I've been disappointed by all the others and all movie ever made based on my favorite bits of literature. Yet, I will conform, for the world for once made a good choice in choosing a global obsession. It'll all be over in a few months; the new Twilight movie will hit like a hangover, and an even newer craze will strike. But perhaps, Harry will remain that childhood favorite. Nancy Drew prevailed, the Simpsons prevailed, Woody Allen prevailed, Potter will prevail.

And Malfoy will always be my favorite.

apomakrysmenophobia

Last night, at about one oh clock in the morning, I finished writing a very deep, moving, sentimental reflection on my recent trip to the waterfalls and hills of New York, the caves of Kentucky, and the battlefields of Pennsylvania.
Then, Blogspot decided to shut down and not save any of it.

So, tonight, I decided that I would blog about my greatest fear.

During the last episode of the Glee Project, the subject was 'vulnerability'. There's an Irish guy competing (Damien, my future spouse, fyi), who has had a little difficulty with all the challenges. He's unable to open up. He can't make connections with his competitors, with the music (he's Irish and yet expected to know the latest Katy Perry), or with his own emotions. But in this last episode, he sang an Elvis song, 'Are You Lonesome Tonight.' (Now, despite my close proximity to Graceland next year, I've never been a huge fan. Elvis ended the jazz era, and I've always held that against him.) Damien sang the song, tears obviously forming, and he was saved to compete another week by those self-same tears. He'll get out soon; he doesn't have the right personality to be a star; plus he's already famous in Ireland, so it's all good. But yet, he described himself as 'numb', just going through the motions of life, without those necessary feelings or thoughts that really bring humans closer together. And he was crying about it, how his numbness had ruined the only relationship he had been able to start.

I was the exact same way (probably 'frozen' would be a better word than 'numb', though, my case was pretty serious, man) until this year, when life just kinda snowballed on me, and I had to force myself to feel or else be stuck, forever. So I felt (rather dramatically, if you ask those closest to me at the most intense times). I felt. Then the school year ended and once again, the wall closed up again. The little boy in Denmark stuck his finger in the dam's hole and stopped the flow of water.

I lost touch with people, or made touch but failed to maintain that touch. I tried, for sure, maybe not quite as hard as I could have, but I don't like to seem overbearing or to even put myself at risk for seeming overbearing. Some of them reciprocated the trying, some didn't. So I saw some people and didn't see many others. Obviously, schedules interfered outrageously, vacation, work, family, transportation, the whole drill, and yet, excuses don't always register in the brain and mind. Sometimes they make the situation worse (Why would THAT cancel our plans? Maybe she/he/it really doesn't want to spend time with me...MAYBE NOBODY LIKES ME. MAYBE I'LL NEVER FIND ANYONE. MAYBE ALIENS WILL ATTACK TOMORROW AND I WILL DIE WITHOUT EVER BEING LOVED!!!!) Others that I thought I had bonded with deeply over the past year, I've communicated with, but I honestly have not seen several of them since graduation. And that started up my fear again:

that your connections with people are ultimately shallow, that although your relationships feel congenial at the time, an audit of your life would produce an emotional safety deposit box of low-interest holdings and uninvested windfall profits, which will indicate you were never really at risk of joy, sacrifice or loss.


ajdklfjakldjfaskdf. It's an annoying feeling, knowing that you are loved, but doubting it all the same. What does it mean?





You're human, congratulations!




P.S. I seriously doubt that this is a real word, so don't use it in a Psych paper or anything...You might just give your teacher a really good laugh

chaos.

Hmmm I'm multi-tasking to the extreme right now...eating freshly baked chocolate peanut butter chip cookies, reading some short stories on the 'true meaning of loveeee', watching (500) Days of Summer (in French-just as heartbreaking), and contemplating the little things that absolutely wrack chaos on my overworked brain. This world is way too confusing for me. If I didn't love men so much, I'd become a nun in a secluded convent in Switzerland (Why Switzerland? So I wouldn't get too hot wearing the habit, naturally. Also, so that I could eat as much Swiss chocolate as I want, get super fat, and look exactly the same wearing that spectacular habit as I did 50 pounds earlier.)

1. Feather hair extensions.

Feathers? In your hair? And not even as part of a pretty bow or a cool accessory, but for weeks? I fail to see the attraction of this fad. My superpower of choice would be flying, but I don't want to become a bird. They smell, they poop on my car (especially right after I wash it!), and yes, I'm more or less vegetarian, but all the rest of you heathens EAT birds. Putting feathers in your hair is like using Pomeranians as earmuffs, or those stick insects as chopsticks. It's strange. But saying that, I cannot judge hair alterations, as I am fond of the dye bottle myself. But I would freely admit that I might look silly with red hair. Admit that you definitely look silly with feathers in your hair.

2. The fact that politicians are stupid enough to post lewd pictures of themselves on the web/ have open affairs and babies with women other than their beloved spouse/ are more hypocritical than televangelists...AND YET WE STILL VOTE FOR THEM?

3a. How Keanu Reeves became famous.
3b. How the Kardashians became famous.
3c. How Jon and Kate became famous.
3d. How the Biebs became famous.
3e. How Paris Hilton became famous.
3f. How I'm not famous.

4. The purpose of calculus

5. The attraction to the cowboy persona: country music, boots, dirt, hick accents, plaid

6. Why nobody (excepting my family and a few privileged others) enjoys Marx Brothers' movies anymore.

7. The addiction to smoking tobacco. You smell.

8. Russian writers.

9. Insomnia at night, but practical narcolepsy during the day. Perhaps I'm nocturnal?

10.  The difficulty people seem to have with their vs. they're vs. there.

11. Stonehenge and crop circles.

12. Fax machines.

13. Parking, particularly parallel.

14. Time zones.

15. North Korea.

16. Why organized religions are so damned complicated. If heaven is really THAT hard to get into, than it probably isn't completely worth it...

17. Google makes a rainbow appear when you google something related to homosexuality...gay, lesbian, LGBT, queer (derogatory?)

18. Video games.

19. Strapless bikini tops. Lady, if you're THAT picky about your tan line, than you might want to consider your purpose in life.

20. Quantum foam.

21. Perfectly serious Facebook statuses that tell your life story. "My boyfriend broke up with me I just ate a cashew I just worked for twelve hours spent an hour and five minutes at the gym fml the guy next to me winked! OMG! I'm fat ugly perfect better than you better than lmao my parents whom I hate with a fiery passion even though they paid for my brand new iPhone a car omfg a college education that I will never take advantage of since I will be hungover everyday and not go to class and did I mention that I named my new fish Fluffy lol?

22. How on earth so many nail parlors stay in business. There's one on every single corner, I swear.

23. WHY DID SHE LET GO OF LEO?

24. The issue so many people have with dating outside their racial groups...

25. War.

26. Decorative zippers.

27. White rappers.

28. Rick Perry's stint as governor.

29. And why it never ends.

30a. And finally, why EVERYTHING seems to be attracted to me.
30b. Except for men.
30c. Sigh.

Read uh Book.

Summertime. Ella Fitzgerald's heavenly voice floats through my head every morning (*cough* afternoon...) when I wake up, inspiring me to new heights of achievement: cleaning the house, color-coding my closet, alphabetizing my bookshelf, learning guitar or practicing piano, developing a taste for tofu, exploring Dallas before I leave (forever?). Then I step outside, HEATSTROKE!, and step inside or run to the wonderful air-conditioning of my car. Why did I not choose the college in Minnesota again? Too cold? Barmy.

So, summer, as always, becomes a time to experience new things...vicariously through literature!
Here's what has caught my eye during these early days of summer (technically late spring, I suppose...):

1. Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri

I have been incredibly fascinated by Indian culture recently, perhaps because of that viral song "Jai-ho," or maybe because I was Indian-born in my past life (reincarnation is definitely my favorite component of any organized religion today). This is a collection of short stories by the acclaimed Indian-heritaged, English-born, and America-living author of The Namesake. It explores the difficulties faced by families trying to hold on to heritage and tradition, but being influenced by modern Western culture. I've read a few of the stories, one of which brought up the issue of how children, or lack of, can absolutely destroy a  marriage, and even the individual person. Another confronted adultery, yet another abandonment. They all incorporate food and religion to a certain extent and truly are poignant.

Appropriate reading time: right before bed
Length: 198 pages

2. Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer

Oh, Jonathan. How I adore his other two novels: Everything is Illuminated (made into a spectacular movie starring little Frodo- the sausage scene and Sammy Davis Jr. Jr. the seeing-eye bitch are unforgettable) and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (one of those visually stunning books). This is in a bit different vein, seeing as it is non-fiction and basically a book which vegetarians love and everyone else ignores. It turned Natalie Portman into a die-hard vegan, and yet the first chapter opens with Foer reminiscing about his grandmother's chicken stew, and how important food traditions are to development. Perhaps it will inspire me to keep up my vegi/flexitarianism-ish lifestyle in college, perhaps not. I just look forward to reading more of this wonderful wordsmith.

Appropriate reading time: before meals if you are trying to lose weight. Otherwise, read when in a wordy, non-fiction sort of mood.
Length: 352 pages

3. The Satanic Verses by Salman Rushdie

I looked at the title..and my rebellious teenage raised-Catholic spirit said, "YES!" It is purely coincidence, I say, that the book stars two men from Bombay, and that the first line directly references reincarnation. Aaah, coincidence?, you say. Perhaps this book will clarify the difference between coincidence and fate. Perhaps the "metamorphoses, dreams, and revelations" which occur to these men will occur to me? It's gotten a bit of a hostile reaction from Muslims, even warranting a fatwā and many burnings. However, that serves to make it appear even more fascinating. This one might be skipping up a few places on the list, so I can read it and be enlightened sooner...


Appropriate reading time: after yoga
Length: 547 pages

4. Middlemarch by George Eliot


Mmmm. Victorian literature. My very favorite. And, when written by that genius of English literature, George Eliot, this particular piece of literature, touted by some to be the greatest English novel ever written, is a must-read. George Eliot is the penname of Mary Anne Evans, a controversial figure who lived with a married man for twenty years (have no fear, his wife was aware of this 'open marriage,' for she had had two children with another man). I have read Silas Marner, a vaguely fairy-tale like story, and was incredibly impressed by Eliot's writing style, which was not weighted down as much as say, Henry James' style, by dalliances to architecture and mysticism. I know absolutely nothing about the plot, though, so this should be a good surprise!


Appropriate reading times: at a coffee-shop, when trying to appear smart and attract suitable mates
Length: 904 pages (a bit of a heavyweight...but then again, most instruction manuals average about that length nowadays.)

\

5. The Autograph Man by Zadie Smith

Zadie Smith is one of those authors who somehow blends intellectualism, beautiful words, one-liners, realism, sex, religion, race, and true humor all into one. Her other novels, White Teeth and On Beauty are re-readable, an achievement which truly qualifies them as gold in my book [to date, I've only reread comic books (the badass 1950 Superman ones!), Nancy Drew, and Chaim Potok novels]. This one...has gotten mehh reviews. Zadie admits to having writer's block while writing it (writer's block only once out of three books? She's a goddess.) Somehow, the book features a Jewish Chinese-American man (a rare combination, I believe) who, surprise!, sells autographs for a living. Zadie Smith is never a boring writer, so this probably qualifies as more of a quick-read than any of the above. I recommend checking out her other books first, though. They might just change your perceptions a bit.

Appropriate reading times: tanning, airplane trips
Length: 432 pages

In college, I don't anticipate getting as much free reading time, especially as I am probably heading toward an English major, which requires just a bit of reading. So, this is cram time for me. Finish off all those books that I never got around to opening. Let's see how far I get....

See you...later?

I graduated today?
What....
When did this happen?
How can I say I had a great time in high school and made spectacular friends, when I simultaneously say that I hated my school and everyone in it?
Is this teen angst?!?!?!


I feel like a dweeb admitting it, but Bishop Lynch really did change me for the better. I know for a fact that I am much more confident, knowledgeable, likeable, hateable, and generally equipped with a much more defined personality to enter college with than the one I possessed four years ago.


Perhaps that's just normal development, that anywhere I had gone to high school would have shaped me the same way, but now that I'm completely done without any threat of having to return, I would like to thank everyone in my class, everyone that taught me, everyone that I was so thankful to say goodbye to forever today, everyone that I will see tomorrow and in the next week for more celebrations, and duh my family, even though they're exhausted from all the crazy events happening in this supersized household and decided to all take a nap tonight while I went out to other people's graduation parties...


To my classmates: Congrats, guys, you made it just as far as millions of other high school students this weekend. Join the masses. 
Don't flunk out of college. Don't drink away your liver. Don't smoke away your lungs. Don't sex away your fertility. Don't remember me as the prude who told you not to do anything fun. 
Remember me if you're ever famous. Wear sunscreen. Listen to quality music. Marry the one you love. Treat your children well. Take care of your parents. Travel the world. Volunteer. Cry.

Okay, done with sentimentality.

11:11 right now...make a wish.

Reconciliation

Well, I just finished a great sisters'-night-out (actually spent at home, that's how we roll), watching "Date Night" starring the impeccable Steve Carell, Palin-double Tina Fey, and the white trash JF (Oh yes, I just wrote that, silly teenage girls. Go get Robert Pattinson to bite me.)

Of course, my dear father had to walk in right at the pole-dancing scene (it always happens like that, no?), and very vehemently expressed disapproval that my three year old brother and thirteen year old sister were watching (Apparently, he has higher hopes for us. Go figure.) At least he didn't see the bright purple nailpolish on the nails of my brother, or the ridiculous amount of butter popcorn we had ingurgitated.

Anyways, that experience convinced me to do what I've been wanting to do for the past four years. Confess. (Stop dialing my number, boys, I'm not a stripper.) Yeah, ask me for the connection later, I blank right now.

I often tell little white lies to make people think I'm cooler/ get them to shut up/appear attractive and/or indie/hipster. 'Often' is a relative word, by the way, based on my comfort level with you, how much I like you/want you to like me, wow I just switched point of views in the middle of a blog post and English majors are judging my poor grammar right now joy!, what your favorite color is, how often you like my statuses, and pretty much every random fact about you that influences my opinion of you or what I think influences your opinion of me. But now, I will see many of you very rarely in the future, so you cannot hold my lies against me for very long before I'm eating vegetarian BBQ in Memphis.

These are all addressed to specific people, but I won't specify. Pick yourself out, and I apologize (without a sense of regret in most cases).

- I actually have never seen more than 20 minutes of any Monty Python film
- I did read Camus for fun. Once. And it took me almost a year to get through the book I read for fun (The Plague, I recommend it to anyone who is not suicidal)
- I still haven't finished "A Portrait of a Lady", though I wrote a college essay on it...
- I want to date a douchebag before I die
- I haven't knitted since freshman year
- I don't like coffee
- If I ever insult you, it really is because I'm envious of you in some way
- I never dated any of my neighbors
- I loved going to choir every day, as much as I complained about it
- Barbra Streisand...I really am not a fan
- I love sappy romances. Nicholas Sparks, my sworn enemy, actually did make me cry in ONE of his books.
- I cry during music videos more often than during movies
- No, I really don't care about how your grandfather died. I just like your voice.
- I've probably stalked your facebook at least once
- I love being in pictures
- JF looks too much like Orlando Blewwwm to be attractive
- I dislike beans
- Constant status updates about sports PISS ME OFF
- I quote search. A lot. So I have cool statuses.
- I only stayed on the waitlist at a college so I could have a perfect acceptance record. Still waiting...
- I always feel awkward writing so much about my personal life on my blog/social sites and such
- This is because I like being mysterious- femme fatale style, doncha know
- After having a bit of a troll problem, I always wonder whether anyone actually gets that this whole cutesy blog is 100% sarcasm, or whether I should maybe add a disclaimer at the top, stop writing, get a life, etc...

I feel so free right now. Like, run off and join a nudist colony or quit my nonexistent job or stay up till 4 free. A weight has been lifted from my shoulder. Unfortunately, that weight was my only source for a workout...

Crunch Time!

That moment..when you feel like you are on the edge of absolute exhaustion to the point of collapse

And then...that moment when you can't remember exactly what is making you so tired or why you are depriving yourself of sleep when there are literally only 7 days left of school...what's the point, again?

Then your mind goes on a road trip, roughly spanning the perimeter of Texas, and you evaluate how many days out of the past four years will actually affect your life over the next four years.You discover that those projects will be forgotten, the calculus grade will be irrelevant, the enemies will be too far away to care about, past loves will be meaningless, old friends will have to be hunted down in order to stay in contact, and the only thing left will be the old homecoming dresses in the closet, the pictures on Facebook, and perhaps a slight memory recall when you smell the same scent that your ex-crush wore daily. Woahhh now.

Did you just waste four years of your life on inconsequential nonsense?

If you take that attitude, man, then you will see your whole life as inconsequential nonsense, and that ain't no fun. So don't. Listen to some inspirational music and convince yourself that it was all for the best. And if you're lucky, perhaps it was!

Inception

I believe I shall be waking up very soon. Dreams usually don't span more than a day or two, and this one covers three so far.

In world events: a royal wedding, a speedy beatification of the most beloved pope in history, and, of course, the extermination of Osama bin Laden. Seemingly positive events, no? I hope they continue as such.
In personal events, a déjà vu surprise party, ridiculous plan changes, an ultimate failure of a senior prom, and adventuring in the wee hours of the morning, to give you a rough sketch.

I am left. You are left. Exhausted, confused, thrilled, nervous, and anxiously waiting for the busiest month of the year to be over.

Dear Lord. Is this what life will be like?

Mirror, Madness, Creep

Random word generators are the inspiration for 64.2% of my blogposts <- (that's a trade secret)

Prepare yourself for a stream-of-consciousness.

1) Mirror:

Call me vain, call me self-absorbed, call me materialistic, but whenever I pass a reflective surface, it is second nature to look into it, smooth over my hair, inspect my make-up, and, on a bad day, convince myself that SOMEONE in the world MUST be uglier than I am.

I was scarred by a mirror once. No, not literally; I have never been pierced by a shard of glass. And no, smart-alecks, I have not been scarred by my reflection hahahaha. Anyways, I have a tri-fold mirror in my bathroom, attached to a cabinet. The point of this tri-fold mirror is to inspect the back of my hair without having to do the two mirror trick, which takes a ridiculous amount of coordination which I lack. One day, I opened two of the three folds, and was calmly brushing through my gorgeously straightened hair when a cockroach popped out at me.
I'm very skittish.
I screamed, naturally, and so my family thought I was being murdered or raped or something. But since it turned out just to be a nasty little cockroach, I was laughed at, generally made to feel silly, as well as mortally afraid to use that handy mirror again without checking to make sure nothing alive was lurking inside.

When I was in Honduras, I looked into a mirror twice over the ten-day period.

You know why it's bad luck to break a mirror? Your reflection shows your soul, and by breaking a mirror, you are marring the reflection, thus DAMAGING your SOUL. Be careful, now.

2) Madness:

I read a book a while ago, called An Unquiet Mind, which chronicled one woman's experience with manic-depressive disorder. Can I just say, that book made me extremely sympathetic with people who suffer from any sort of mental/psychological/developmental disorder, because it truly is not their fault. I can't even imagine dealing with emotions that are constantly on the edge, and I'm a relatively emotional person myself. Having to take medication just to stay stable? That truly is one of my greatest fears. I would not be able to handle it.

Madness is endearing, also. (P.S. I'm using madness as a pretty broad term, here. Be not offended). I am instantly attracted to you. If there was one career path that would deflect me from my current plan, it would be psychology. The brain is ridiculously fascinating, and I love hearing about how people feel and WHY they feel that way. (This is a hint for you to ahem divulge all your deep and dark secrets to me. I won't judge, man.)

3) Creep:

Ahhh, the most overused word ever. Used to describe pedophiles, Facebook stalkers, strange loner kids, trolls, or the tendency of solid materials to morph under the influence of stress (pullin' out the material sciences reference tonight, guys).

I have had experience with creeps. I won't name names, but believe me, I know of you. Creeps are kind of flattering. Whether they are nice creeps or cruel creeps, they obviously want to pay attention to me. I like to think that I have a prototypical enough personality that people are either totally turned off or irresistibly fascinated (I prefer the latter, naturally - insert cheesy winking smiley face here.) You probably feel about the same way, whether you like it or not. You want to be judged, and you either want to destroy someone's judgment with clever come-backs or rebellious acts, or you want to fulfill a good judgment and be just as cool as your Facebook page makes you out to be. Human condition, damnit.

On some writing tip website I stumbled upon, it was suggested that in order to become a better writer, critical of your own work and more concise, you should be a blog troll for a day. You know, creep around different blogs and harshly criticize people's writing, even if you secretly admire it. Point out grammar mistakes, repetition, cliches, stereotypes, anything that could get a few points deducted on a high school paper. However, the site said to criticize one day, yes, but then the next day, go back to the same blog and compliment the writing. Maybe apologize for the past comments, explain your purpose, and force humility upon yourself. Because truly, darling, you never know what words can do. No, they can't break bones, but they can break spirits, hearts, and even the will to live.

Closing statement: Cruelty is like a cigarette. It makes you feel great at first, but then you get lung cancer. Or just a really bad BURN.

The Wonder of Blizzards

I have a vendetta against most fast food. Not only can I eat very little of it, being a flexitarian (word o' the month), but it usually comes from greasy, dirty places with teenaged workers (and, honestly, WHO trusts teenagers?!).

Dairy Queen is definitely one of the worst [especially since they only have one-stall bathrooms - a bad sign for girls, who usually go in herds to la toilette to gossip and such (but then again, who would have anything interesting to gossip about at a Dairy Queen?)]. Last night, the darling staff members at a Dairy Queen in Middle-of-Nowhere, Texas, dropped half of our order on the floor, laughed a bit, and then all of the employees got to work cleaning up the mess. I salute their hygienic practices, but we were still waiting...and waiting...

HOWEVER. Our order consisted of the one thing which Dairy Queen creates as well as our political system creates sleazebags.

Blizzards.
Heaven in a cup.

HALLELUJAH!

So I could wait, because after one bite of that double-fudge cookie dough Blizzard, I had forgotten the long twenty minutes. I mean, Blizzards just taste so good. There are too many flavors for an indecisive person like me, but any flavor I end up with (usually cookie dough!) makes me happy. The combination of tingling taste buds and a sugar high fills me with goodwill for all mankind. 

Interesting, isn't it, how the virtues of one thing can make up for all the vices of others?

ME > you

I warn you, dear readers, that this post will insult you terribly. It is absolutely intentional.

Number 1
 I say,  "Tell me a story about your life."
You say, "Well, when I was in first grade, my Golden Retriever Jackson caught a squirrel in the backyard...my older brother dared me to touch it, so I-"
Me, interrupting, "HAH. WHEN I WAS IN FIRST GRADE, MY VELOCIRAPTOR CAUGHT A GOLDEN RETRIEVER IN THE BACKYARD. WE ATE IT FOR DINNER."

Number 2
You say, "Hey, let's go see a movie or have dinner sometime!"
I say, "HEY, LET'S GO TO A MIND-READER INSTEAD. I'm sure she'll give you half-off."


Number 3
I say, "Let's meet at the frozen yogurt place at 3:00 tomorrow. Don't be late!"
You say, "Alright!"
I NEVER SHOW UP.


Number 4 
I have a pad of sticky notes. I write "I AM BETTER THAN YOU." on all of them. I put them in your notebooks, on your back, on every sheet of looseleaf I loan to you, on your refrigerator, and of course on the window of your car.

Number 5
You have glasses. Or a pretty bow. Or a breakable sculpture in your hands.
I KNOCK IT/THEM DOWN as you struggle to reassemble your life.

Number 6
You address me, "Hey, what's up?"
I give you the finger
OR
I ask, "WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO ME?"

Number 7
You write a blogpost or a deep, meaningful note.
I troll; I send you an edited copy of your writing (lots of "YOU SUCK" "YOUR MOM SUCKS" and "I hope you didn't PAY your baby brother to write this.")

Number 8
You ask, "Am I fat?"
Silence.
I answer, "WAIT, WASN'T THAT A REDUNDANT QUESTION?"

Number 9
I ask, "Is that a new purse? I have one just like it, only it's REAL."

Number 10
You say, "OMG. I am SO excited for Prom!"
I say, "Save your breath. YOU'LL NEED IT TO BLOW UP YOUR DATE."

Whim

Sometimes, it's necessary to recognize the off-beat humor. The sadistic side to life. Bizarre creativity.

"As I sat on the park bench in my Chuck Taylors and Buddy Holly glasses, a cup of coffee in one hand, cigarette hanging from my mouth and a battered copy of 'On the Road' on my knees, I felt I was trying way too hard."

Are those your eyeballs? I found them in my cleavage.

Have you ever been walking down the street and realized that you were going in the complete opposite direction of where you meant to be going? But instead of just turning around and walking back the right way, you feel the need to check your watch, your phone, mutter something to yourself, or make a large gesture so that nobody in the area thinks you're crazy for randomly switching directions on the sidewalk. 

"They came to tell your faults to me, 

They named them over one by one;

I laughed aloud when they were done,

I knew them all so well before,

Oh, they were blind, too blind to see

Your faults had made me love you more." 

Next time you visit a bookstore, leave notes in your favorite books for future readers.

Rain comes in droves.

The eleventh plague.

It leaps about from one place to another.

Re- creating Alice’s flood of tears.

It pours from the clouds

till the sea is parted.

The people are set free

 to marvel at the rainbow.

"God loves the plagiarist. And so it is written, "God created humankind in His image, in the image of God He created them." God is the original plagiarizer. With a lack of reasonable sources from which to filch -- man created in the image of what? the animals? -- the creation of man was an act of reflexive plagiarizing; God looted the mirror. When we plagiarize, we are likewise creating in the image and participating in the completion of Creation."

"Well, Art is Art, isn't it? Still, on the other hand, water is water. And east is east and west is west and if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does.
Now you tell me what you know."

"Who in the rainbow can draw the line where the violet tint ends and the orange tint begins? Distinctly we see the difference of the colors, but where exactly does the one first blendingly enter into the other? So with sanity and insanity."

A Letter to Fate

Dear Fate,

I am so ridiculously blessed (or lucky, or privileged, or fated, or whatever). Thanks.

During high school, I worked HARD. Way too hard, now that I reflect. And I have been rewarded for it. I have been accepted into some of the most prestigious schools in the country, I have wonderful friends, a spectacular family, and, speaking for myself, I have a relatively agreeable personality and all the maturity, flexibility and conversationableness that goes with that.

However, as of right now, I feel slightly disappointed in the outcome of my college search and, frankly, life in general. This is not depression, nor hopelessness, but a strange mixture of jealousy, fatigue, hormones, self-absorption, and indecision.

Story of my life this year: I want something badly. I am told that I will eventually get that thing which I really want (told by family, friends, counselors, etc.). I don't get that thing which I really want. But I get all the accessories: all the other college acceptances I was waiting for, plenty of dates to fill my weekends, placing in other competitions, on and on, like getting everything on a chef salad except the damn lettuce.

I look around me, and other people seem to have found the right path. They got into their dream schools, or the schools they were destined for from birth. They found that perfect significant other. They ace every test. They place in every contest. They get every solo or main role. They've got the money, the time, the talent, the personality which simply make them glow.

And then I think about all the options I have, about how I am often seen as the ideal person described above, and I feel so guilty for complaining about what I have, especially to friends and acquaintances who definitely don't have the choices I have, through no fault of their own. I mean, there are people dying of radiation poisoning in Japan, genocide in the Middle East, bombs dropping like crazy in Africa, and children without parents or education or futures. And I'm complaining about not getting exactly what I want at exactly the time I want? I'm such a bitch, mannnnnn. Gosh, just count out how many times I use the pronoun 'I' on this thing...

But seriously, Fate. If it's not too much trouble, and if it doesn't entirely screw up my future, can something turn out exactly the way I want it to? I need a break from making vaguely unsettling choices...

Near the End.

Hmmmm. College is the dawn after the darkness (also known as "high school"). But after going on over 20 college visits, spread throughout my middle school and high school years, and culminating (hopefully) yesterday with Rhodes College, I think I can pick out THE MOST IMPORTANT things in a college with a bit of authority. Judge for yourself:

1) Restaurants (preferably cafes or donut shops) that are open all night with 6 donuts/dollar deals after 11 PM. Donuts are the perfect midnight snack.

2) Look around campus. Have you ever seen so many attractive men in one place in your life? (fyi: You're in the right place if you answer "no.") I am finally convinced that long-sleeved dress shirts with shorts and boat shoes could work...

3) Arranged, personal meetings with the chairs of the departments you plan to major in. Chair of music, chair of English, plus a billion other professors who desperately want to meet you. And when world-famous author Mark Behr will be teaching you how to write novels...

4) The president of the college offers you an impromptu lesson on how to tie a bow-tie.

5) Free stuff: t-shirts, sweatshirts, customized water bottles stuffed with your favorite candy, travel stipends, cookies with the seal of the college on them...

6) St. Jude's hospital (for young cancer patients) is five minutes away. My ideal volunteer work.

7) During English class, you hear a strange noise. Yes, it is the monkeys from the zoo across the street. LEGIT, man.

8) 80% study abroad rate. The national average is 7%...

9) Sorority girls who live in substance-free housing? Paradox? No. True lyfe. Stereotype destroyed.

10) More work than Harvard students. Don't judge my love of paper-writing...

I may be hanging out with Elvis next year, guys.

Decisions

I was going to spend my 'Friday' night catching up on the latest episode of GLEE (I have been converted, my friends), but then I sadly discovered that it won't be back for three whole weeks. Then I thought about the millions of people in Japan who are struggling quite a lot right now, and I felt [better about my own life? guilty that I was disappointed by an absent TV show? empathetically depressed?]

Anyways, I am going on a college visit tomorrow (making today 'Friday', you see) to visit the only college (out of 11) that I did not visit in the course of my college search. Ironically, it's also the school that has offered me the biggest scholarship...

Man, nothing ever turns out like you expect it to do. Absolutely nothing. Flashback to August. This year was supposed to be so different. The first day of senior year, I didn't know that I would meet people who would alter the course of my entire year, that I would be faced with the most bizarre moments of my life, that I would go in circles about my religion, my political beliefs, my major, even the type of experience I want to have in college. I mean, this is getting to be ridiculous.

I was reading Chicken Soup for the College Soul  the other night (I'm a hopeless addict to silly heartwarming stories, guys, as much as I deny it) and, I admit it, getting teary about leaving my family. (If you had the most adorable little siblings in the world, I believe you would feel the same way.) I was crying while reading a book about other people who left home, and I'm going to be no less than six hours away from home next year? Gah, Toy Story 3 viewing experience all over again...

I'm hoping that tomorrow there will be a moment of clarity "Oh, I can't go to any other school but this" or "Ohhh, I can go to any other school but this." Then, I'm hoping that on Saturday, I'll have another moment of clarity "Oh, the last school to give me its admission decision is giving me...what? a full ride? How nice..."
What if I don't? What if I'm still in the throes of confusion about what I want?

Solution: Put the names of the schools in a hat. Choose one. Voila.
The Lord will provide, and if He doesn't, I'll never know the difference anyways.

Canada, eh?

A week in Canada with temperatures averaging out at about 0 Celsius clears the senses better than any allergy medication. Disregard the fact that the final morning of our trip, I asked my dear roommates as soon as I woke up what the hell actually had happened over the past six days. Bizarrity, if it is a word:

Dogsledding is fun. I really want a husky now...
Drama is not fun. (But it makes for great girl conferences late at night!)
St. Joseph's Oratory induces tears and spiritual revivals.
A hall of prayer candles is spectacular.
Recording your own mouth with an iTouch and then playing it back provides for hours of enjoyment.
Ice skating hurts. But the hurt is worth it.
Frozen rivers rank among my favorite sites ever.
Building covers which look like the actual buildings are strangely fascinating.
Best time to spend time with me/ call me: after 10 PM...
I sort of won.
No more octopus doodles will ever appear on my papers.
Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Elephants and peanuts awwww.
Segregated pictures.
French romances and trench coats.
Favorite juniors.
VEGAS, baby.
The downfall of HappyLand.
Gahh the wi-fi never worked.
Febreeze and body spray to remedy the room that smelled like wet dog droppings.
Bus ride conversations. LONG ones.
Yes, I feel like a worried mother hen.
Don't bully meeeee.
Mmmmm first hamburger in three months...
Lush.
Failed souvenir shopping.
Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die. (in Tagalog!)
Chocolate croissants.
Egg pictures. SIAMESE TWINS!
Organists. Phillipe....
Organs. Maple leaf shaped ones.
Tropical paradise in the middle of Canada, eh?
Intervention.
Tour guides. Typical French Canadians.
The things they sell in bathrooms...
Coffee, coffee, coffee.
Strange fashion choices of Canadian teens.
Woahh transvestite spotting in Terminal D.
Elevator music!
Wait...why do I care so much again??
Bomb.
Gahhh so many churches!
Listen to your voice, man.
WHO IS THIS?
Sirop d'erable.
Moules frites sont delicieusesss.
Wow. I'm sane.
THEY ALL KNOW ENGLISH!
C'est si bon!

This list makes absolute no sense to innocent bystanders...but fellow Canadian voyagers might recognize an item or two. Reminiscing makes everything seem so much better. Woooot Canada, eh?

But what a strange spring break...

Late Night Lesson

Never listen to depressing romantic music (Frank Sinatra. Carousel. Phantom. Etc.) late at night while attempting to do calculus, especially when you are already sleep-deprived, confuzzled, emotional, and tense. Just go to bed, or you will eat way too much ice cream, inhale way too much kleenex dust, and accumulate enough hate for your calculus teacher to throw off your karma for the rest of your life.

I'm never gonna be able to get to sleep now.

The Cleansing Power of Hating.

From time to time, it is important to RANT. Wildly, hysterically, in public. At least, this tends to be my solution.

The various rants of today included these 10 themes:

1) Men. You are all entirely clueless. No exceptions. Open yo eyes.

2) Slow service at Sonic. I want my lemon-berry creamslush, dammit!

3) Theatre kids. I love you all. But seriously, relax a bit. The world will continue just fine without your skipped line/missed note.

4) Those people who comment that you are in a bad mood for one day, while they are ALWAYS the ones in the bad mood every other day! No need for pity, patronization, ignorance, pats on the head. Continue to make fun of me as usual and don't take it personally when I snark at you. I don't hate you, I'm not unhappy, I probably just did not sleep enough.

5) Those people who obsessed about the Oscars, especially the fashion choices of the nominees. Individualism, guys. Or should we all conform to impossible standards of beauty? Helena Bonham Carter, I admire your sunglasses. ScarJo, I loved your hair. Cate Blanchett, your dress was a pretty...color.

6) Colleges. Please, stop raising your tuition. Please, give me more money. Please, make me happy next year.

7) Blaine Anderson. You are gay. Now date the boy who loves you. Sing gorgeous duets together. You are the only decent character on Glee. Live up to my expectations.

8) Academic team competitions. OH MY GOD, CHILL OUT. These tests do not define your life. One girl was actually afraid that her parents would not let her in the house if she didn't place. If your parents are that obsessive, run away NOW. And please, don't cram with French grammar right before the test, because I will start laughing at you, and you will get psyched out and I will beat you, either with my score or with a big stick.

9) Red lipstick. I have rather large lips, I admit it, and red lipstick just doesn't stick. So, stay off my teeth and stop leaving a red ring around my mouth. Stage makeup is hard enough to get off without you causing difficulties.

10) Coffee. After drinking a thermos of tea everyday for the past week, my cup of joe today was disgusting. It left a gross taste in my mouth and probably explained my sour mood for the rest of the day. Back to tea tomorrow.

However, I definitely win for being the person who pisses myself off the most! Three months left of this...and then ?????????

I'm a Senior.

Right now, there are several things I could be doing with my time:
1) attempting my 85 calculus problems
2) studying for my European history test
3) watching the Grammy's
4) memorizing my oratory
5) reading Dorian Gray
6) eating the Hershey's Cookies'n'Cream chocolate bar right next to my computer mouse

Instead of doing all that, I am informing you of all these things I could be doing and comparing myself to a character in the Superman comic I read yesterday. (Judge me not) No, I'm not comparing myself to Superman, no, I'm not quite that narcissistic (or muscular). There's another guy in one of the comics who literally has no fear. None. He sat through an airplane crash,  a confrontation with armed crooks, and a scolding from Superman without flinching once. I'm not actually like that at all (I jump when a pen drops). However, lately, since Christmas, I have been unable to panic. Calculus problems due? Mehh I'll read a book. Car almost out of gas? Mehh it'll last a few more miles at least. Two weeks late with a biology assignment? Mehh I'll do extra credit later. No late nights crying about schoolwork. Never again.

Senioritis: a blessing and a curse. We worry not about academic things, but we still feel the need to put some pencil to paper because we feel sorry for our teachers deep down. No stress, but an ingrained compulsion to work. So, instead of finishing all our homework at 6 (good job, freshmen!), we start our homework at 10 or so, finish at 2, and then complain about all the work the teachers make us seniors do. Cruel world! At least Stumbleupon and frozen yogurt understand us!

Sigh. Good thing I've got no plans for Lover's Day, cause I literally have to write a whole seven page paper.

Bleck. Time to eat the candy bar.

My Daisy List, Part 1

According to Urban Dictionary dot com, a "bucket list" is:


"list of things to do before you die" 
"list of things you always say your going to do and don't" (grammar errors are not due to my failure as a human being) 
"you feel insecure about your life and therefore make a list of things to get busy on" AND
"list of ugly or undesirable females" (never heard that one before...)


While it might be incredibly entertaining to make a list of that last definition, I am certain that I will die naturally of boredom within the next two days. I would rather not die by violent means if avoidable. 


So, instead, over Christmas break (it was warmer then than it is now. WTF, God.), I wrote out a nice, long bucket list. 39 items so far, and I'm positive that as my life experiences grow, I will find more adventures to add. However, one thing about creating a bucket list turned me off. The name. Bucket list - things to do before you "kick the bucket." Real sensitive to all of us who are going to die [redundancy?]. Since I consider it offensive and ineffectual to approach life in this way, I decided to rename my bucket list. 


In this TV-saturated society, even those of us without a TV could name just about every show that has run in the past decade. Call to mind "Pushing up Daisies." A very nice euphemism for death, methinks. Therefore, my bucket list is now a 'Daisy List.' (Copyright, 2011) Before I die, I hope to gradually pluck each of these items off of my list, so that when I die, I will be truly ready to die.


Anyways, this is a very deep, personal list which will disclose to you my innermost desires. But my cabin fever rises by the hour, I have not much time left on this earth. This is to make you appreciate me before it is too late. 


1) Explore the Australian Outback. I would love to herd sheep or raise wallabies for a year, despite the constant danger of being drowned or swept up by a cyclone or killed by a stingray...


2) Perform the National Anthem at some sporting event, preferably one with more than ten people in the stands...And by perform, I don't necessarily mean 'sing.' Wouldn't you like to see a kazoo anthem, or accordion, or I could even drag a harp out on the field! Armpit farts, car horns, the classic spoon-and-wine-glass, cymbals, sign language, the possibilities are endless! Contact me if you have a venue...

Maybe if they had moustaches???

3) Backpack through Europe. The dream of every bored American. There's only so much enjoyment to be found in hot geysers, giant holes in the ground, and carved rock sculptures of several guys who didn't completely screw the country over while in charge (revolution, civil war, no big deal, right?). We want castles, man. 


4) Write a rap jazz song. An intense one, comparable to Nellie McKay's "Sari" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YJZY-Czcp2E
or US3's "Cantaloop"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JwBjhBL9G6U

5) Climb a big mountain. This will take a while, not just to climb, but to prepare, get in shape, and get over my fear of big rocks after 127 Hours....

6)  Join the Peace Corps. DREAM, right here. I would love to go to Africa or Central America for a couple years, chill with the natives, and help an impoverished area develop a bit. 2 years away from home sounds absolutely amazing right now, after being sealed up for four days.

7) Run a marathon. I have been planning to start running everyday, but everyday hasn't approached yet. I'll keep my eyes peeled for him.

Who wouldn't want to learn to speak this?

8) Learn Arabic. Especially with the unpleasant situation occurring over in mummy-land right now, Arabic would be a useful language to learn. If I go to University of Texas next year, I hope to enroll in its Arabic Flagship Program. Four years of Arabic, one free year in the Middle East. (What can I say? I can't refuse anything that's free...)


9) Follow a rainbow to its end. The lovers, the dreamers, Kermit the Frog, and me. Hey, that pot of gold would be useful too.

10) Get a pet monkey. Monkeys are adorable (at least when I'm not being told I LOOK like one...) If I am ever forced to get a pet, I would only agree to a monkey. Also, when I'm homeless and poor, a monkey might help me make some $$$.

11) Live without a car for a year. I'm currently living without meat for a year, can a car be much different? (Maybe by then, there will be an alternative to cars, anyways. Flying shoes, anyone?)

I'm not as ugly as they are, either!

12) Dye my hair lavender. Channeling...[racking my head for the name of a famous lavender-haired person] Kelly Osbourne, Lady Gaga. Sigh. If only I WANTED to be like either of those nutcases.

13) Have my portrait painted. Legitimately, though, not by a caricaturist in Central Park. Mona Lisa style! (except I'm not a man...)

14) Get stranded in a blizzard. WAIT. One petal plucked.

15) Take an IQ test. Am I Mensa material? I think, therefore I am. (Or was Descartes talking about something else?)

As I am nearing the 1,000th view mark on my blog, I would appreciate if you would refresh the page several times after reading this, to push the statistics up. It makes me feel really popular. Thanks, darlings.

February. Pigg. Countertenor. REJECTION.

Oh, snow days. You give me time to write long blog posts, read some Jane Austen, and lie around the house in a Superman Snuggie munching on marshmallow brownies and taking random naps in assorted chairs around the house. You also give me time to accept rejection and darkly anticipate a depressing month. Let's work backward, shall we?

I was rejected for the first time today. I applied for a writing scholarship in November, and was informed today that *sigh* UNC does not appreciate my sense of humor or skillful use of adjectives and insults. They did accept me, but this impoverished girl can't afford out-of-state tuition without a bit of a boost. UNC, I reject you.
Thus, my lucky streak in terms of college admissions is over, and I am preparing myself for more of these dank emails. My only consolation is that someday, when I'm famous with a best-seller and millions of dollars, they will remember not giving me that scholarship and regret it. Eat my dust.

Of course, when I am in the dark pit of despair, I always turn to la musique, the best gift God could bestow on his clay sculptures. Especially when the music is made by tenors. Or, countertenors.


SAM TSUI. The Youtube sensation who remakes awful pop songs into something resembling quality. For example, consider the new Britney song "Hold it Against Me." It has lyrics which make my six-year old sister's attempts to rewrite the birthday song (happy birthday to you, you smell like poo) look like Hammerstein material. But Sam Tsui's very high tenor voice (alright, he's not QUITE a countertenor, but it's pretty close) enters your ear like a Q-tip. It scoops out all the gunk left by Britney's version and gives you a 3 minute, 49 second eargasm. The video swoops from his face (head swiveling, eyes closed, cheesy-as-mozzarella sticks look of absolute concentration and ecstasy) to his hands (awful technical work, but it's the notes that count) to the not-meant-to-be-funny antics of his producer, the ever adorable Kurt. This performance rids the head of Bieber-fever and gives it Tsui-itis, especially if you are a teenage girl with red-tinted locks and an impenetrably optimistic view of love eleven months out of the year.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uxTDK1S5qJ0
Now, Sammy also writes his own music (thanks, Yale education). While better than Britney's, these lyrics still barely surpass my eight-year old sister's skill with words (she's GOOD, man). "We say see ya later, but I know there's no way we're around here again." Really, Sam, 'later' and 'way we're' rhyme??
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n1p74Isbcgc
But you are forgiven for pure virtue of the fact that you are adorable and Chinese.


Pretty voice, Sam has, but skill? That's Landon Pigg's domain. The only reason HE'S not ridiculously famous is because of his rather unfortunate name. Pigg brings up several images, none of them pleasant. But this indie-pop cutie with bad teeth, greasy lank hair, skinny pants and ties, shlurpy endings of phrases, and golden eyes, deserves more than a supporting role in a Drew Barrymore movie (Whip It) and a song commission for a Shrek movie. No, he deserves stardom and listeners like you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yaEc4SuhRbY&feature=relmfu
I mean, what is more endearing than indecision? He hasn't fallen for you, he has 'possibly, maybe fallen for you.' Huge difference. If he were a real boy, he'd be smacked cold. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kLfjhSmvFjM&feature=relmfu
Finally, he carries a messenger bag and is pigeon-toed. Buy me a plane ticket to Nashville, please.

Ugh. Now for my least favorite topic. February. No wonder it comes from the traditional Anglo-Saxon term for cabbage. It is asymmetrical with the other months, hard to say (Feb-roo-ary or Feb-you-ary?), cold, and not close enough to May to make me happy. I don't even need to mention Valentine's Day to make February sound bad. Yeah, it started with a snow day, but there's NO SNOW and it's WAY too cold to go outside, PLUS my car is being utilized not by me, so I am stuck here, complaining to you, computer screen, and you, dear readers, who bothered to read all the way to the end of this.

No school AGAIN tomorrow. I haven't started my calculus homework and self-pity makes me feel important and misused by the world, BUT I'M BORED.


PATRONIZE ME, higher authority, and give me something to do besides blog!