Chillin' like Cheesecake

Today was one of those I don't really feel like doing anything so I'm just going to stay home and clean and read and run and cook and do all the things I like to do when I'm alone. It was a really great day. And now my room is clean. Which is fantastic. I'm getting really mad because my videos aren't uploading! Which is why I haven't posted in awhile. I reallly want you guys to hear my socially awkward self during these interviews!
Blah. Tomorrow, I am hanging out with my poppa. I think he finally got it. But we'll see for how long. Tomorrow should be just as good as today--except busy.
Sunday is going to be a work day. Oh hello calculus, oh hello spanish, oh hello world, oh hello yet another essay, oh hello procrastination.

School's almost over... CRAZYTOWN! But isn't it kind of cool or something all the different ways you can measure a year? (cue Rent?)

...like books




...or maybe t-shirts




or maybe even crafts?




This year was wonderful and fantastic and strange and new and horrible and old and different. I'm going to miss the seniors. A lot.

Home, Sweet Something

I'm sorry. Really? No. No. No. No, I'm not sorry. It's really selfish of me to hate expectations. It's really selfish. But selfish people don't care about being selfish, so I'm just going to go ahead and be selfish:
I can't take any more talk about the the Right College, the Acceptable College, the One That Will Land You A Job...supposedly Harvard, MIT, other schools I can't and don't want to get into.
Dear God, dear someone.
Tell me the name is not everything?
What if I want to go to college to, you know, learn, get that holistic experience that sounds so nice? It's true. I legitimately want to learn.
Is this impractical? Is this old-fashioned?
Everything Linda says is perfectly logical, true, makes sense. But ahhhhhhhh!!!!
People who attend certain colleges are certain brands of people. When I pay for college I'm paying for the brand. True. All true. It's even reflected in the students' brand of clothing. You can shop at places like Hollister and Pac Sun or you can shop at places like J. Crew and Ralph Lauren, with your golden sperry's and your grandmother's pearls and your Nine West tote and fuck me in the ass I might just kill myself. I'm not shopping for a husband. I'm not. I'm trying to further my education. Sorry Mom and Dad, that you raised such a fuck-up. I'm so backwards. Sorry. Really? No. I'm not sorry.

It is unfortunate that the things I have passions for is steeped in impracticality.

"I am not in this world to live up to your expectations, and you are not in this world to live up to mine. You are you and I am I, and if by chance we find each other, then it is beautiful. If not, it can't be helped.”
Frederick Perls quotes (German born American psychiatrist, 1893-1970)

editing videos from trip..

Submit. More Boys.

I’m ugly when I cry. I am not pretty to begin with (and I’m not just being modest) but when I cry, I am ugly. Bright red splotches splatter my already acne-ridden cheeks, the right corner of my mouth and the right corner of my mouth alone drags all the way to hell, and my eyebrows are permanently furrowed while my nose seems like it suffers from epilepsy as it shudders and whimpers and gasps for oxygen. And snot. And my already soaking sleeve wiping away the snot. And my hand that attempts to replace my sleeve but is vain for trying. No. I am not good looking when I cry. I discovered this a week and a day after my eleventh birthday—a week and a day after my parents’ divorce. I didn’t even know I was sad until I put down my sparkly notepad, paused for just a minute, and began gushing. Everything came all at once. No gradual ascent, no subtle transition from quivering lip to full on heaving; I was a broken dam and I was drowning. Somewhere among the wreckage, materialized the carnal desire to look at my reflection, because at eleven years, one week, and a day, I longed to see myself at my most pitiful state. And I was not disappointed. Just shocked. It was hard to try to take it all in as I pulled at the fraying carpet, staring at the full length mirror. My features were swollen and distorted underneath homemade bangs recklessly matted to the side of my head, and I could no longer distinguish from exactly which portal the most fluid was being excreted. I was a mess. I was a monster. I was pathetic. I was just enough to convince myself to avoid this vulnerable state of being at all costs or at least never let anyone else see me so susceptible to pain. So that’s exactly what I did: I replaced tears with laughter and suddenly, the weight of the world became lighter, everything became a joke, and the heaviest substances became my best material. Who cares if I’m sad, I just want to be funny. What began as a meager way to cope has indisputably become a part of me and slowly converted into a renewed sense of optimism. Even in the worst of times, I know that as long as I can crack a joke, I will be okay. I am not so terribly against the idea of crying anymore either, because every once in awhile, that’s what it really takes. Plus, I am continually comforted by the fact that after three rolls of toilet paper and an entire sleeve of Girl Scout cookies, somewhere out there is a one-liner that will keep me sane and keep me smiling.

Red is the color of...

Curry.

Or maybe curry is more of a rust orange. It's along the same lines. I decided that blogging is for those who are in the hopes of sharing something they create, something they're good at it, something they love. Feelings and thoughts alone aren't really substantial enough for other people to care. Well, I love food. And today I cooked. Wait. Nobody cares. Today I cooked my mom's sauteed eggplants served with Cajun Rainbow Trout. Wait. Nobody cares. I'm not a cook. I'm a sixteen year old girl. Hmmm....well it was still yummy! Maybe one day when I think people care, I'll include a recipe. Maybe that'll be the day I surpass ten followers.


Fashion.

OBSESSED.>

J. CREW, SPRING 2010 COLLECTION>

PEARLIZED SEQUINED SILK DRESS, $650>

I spend too much time virtually window shopping. If I had a credit card, minimum wage would gradually lead to utmost nirvana. Lately I keep looking at ideeli, which is an invite only shopping community. Invite only. How legit is that? I'll probably buy my prom dress from there... because it's designer clothes with a tonnnnnn of discounts. And then there's J. Crew and Urban. Can't wait till I have a real job. I love clothes. I love the color red.

Insomnia.
It's unfortunate because I do not rock the bloodshot look. Sleep is so hard to come by when you have the guilt of impending papers to write and tests to study for on your mind. One more day. Holy. Shit.

Fitz & Dizzyspells

"There is something awe-inspiring in one who has lost all inhibitions."

-F. Scott Fitzgerald

There is nothing awe-inspiring in one who who has lost all motivation...

Spring break. Three days, four tests, one essay. Three days.

On Blogging & Menopause.

I can barely understand anything with a computer chip in it. But I guess I'll give this a shot. Dear Facebook, you've been replaced. Just another distraction. Supposed to be writing an essay, not a blog post. Eh. Later.

Moms on Menopause.
I'm pretty positive this is where the idea of Satan was contrived.
No, this is not melodrama at its finest, this is not an epitome of exaggeration. This is truth.

bloop. bloop. bloop. that's the sound of me drowning.
10:03pm on a school night: Attempting to go on a run... when will I stop being a gimp?
Wait. No, I'm not. It's raining.