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.