That Felix guy....the LUCKY one!

I was Facebook stalking one of my best friends, and his status was "really needs to stop being idealistic and needs to start being realistic". This saddened me.

This friend was one of the most optimistic people I knew. He was who I went to when I wanted unconditional love and to just be happy and have fun. Don't get me wrong, he was great at serious and in-depth conversations, as well. I just knew I could count on him for the brighter outlook on life.

What happens to us? One moment, we're looking around and everything has this Wonderland-sheen to it. Flowers are bright, honeysuckle is strong in the air, and the sun feels nice on our skin. The next minute, everything appears grungy and broken, flowers go unnoticed and untamed, all we smell is car fumes, and the sun gives us a first degree burn.

When does this happen? When does the world go from being this place with flaws we could not see? When did we wake up and become unblinded, disenchanted, and jaded? I used to believe in true love, that everyone had someone. The idea is a laughable concept at this point. I used to believe that all humans were good on the inside, and when given a choice, would always do the right thing. That, I know, is not fact.

I don't want this friend to become a realist. I admire his bright outlook and ability to see the best in others. Those are both qualities I will never possess, but I want him to. I want there to be at least someone on this earth that has a smile on their face instead of a taught, lifeless look. I guess this makes me the world's biggest hypocrite, but I guess that young, naive child that live so happily in Wonderland is still inside me, and maybe that's why I'm so drawn to this friend.

I don't know.

This Time, Baby, I'll Be Bulletproof

Do you ever get so carried away by music it feels like it's washing over you and you're in this crazy vortex of emotion? No? I'm the only crazy person out there?

Well, then. Fine. I like being a little crazy- makes every day an adventure.

That blinking cursor is so rude. It's reminding me that I don't have a lot to say anymore. It's so demanding, not only does it follow along while you write, but it sits there and dares to BLINK, just to show you how impatient it is. Rude.

It must be related to my mother. It feels the need to constantly remind you what time you were supposed to arrive at the wedding, and to further worsen the problem of your lateness, it's going to sit there and tap its foot, nagging about how your lateness is why you're single.

Don't get me wrong, I know I complain about her a lot, but I love my mom. In fact, as much as a I hate to admit it, but I'm a carbon copy of her. In the midst of a nag-fest at Randall for not lining his shoes up, I'll be thinking "Geez, Lor, shut UP"- but I can't stop my mouth! It's like nagging is a knee-jerk reaction- I can't stop! I'm a nag junkie! Oh, Lord. Watch me pop out of my casket at my funeral and start bitching at the funeral director because the flowers were not arranged according to color and height. You watch. It's going to happen.


.....................


Does anyone else ever make up music videos to the songs they're currently listening to? I used to want to be a music video producer. I can't dance to save my life, but I would come up with this complex dance numbers that would be absolutely insane, I would have to end up writing the description. I would come up with color themes and symbolism I could insert into the context. I loved it. I actually miss working on video making. TV productions was the only class I actually liked in high school, and certainly the only reason I showed up the few times I did senior year.....

I'm weird.


So...I've started a post about frats and sororities. Who wants to see it?

How Does Gaga Like Her Steak? Raw, raw, raw, raw, raw....

There are things on this earth that I feel truly blessed by their presence: Pandora, the Home Shopping Network, Lady Gaga...I could go on. I can't help but consider this: what if I had been born in a different time period, like the Industrial Revolution? All I can say is homegirl would not be applying at the Triangle Shirt Factory- that's for sure. Better yet, what if Lady Gaga had been born in the early 1900s? Would her fashion sense manifest itself in different ways- wearing men's bowler hats (gasp!) covered in rotten fruit found outside some rich banker's house? Wearing those bathing suits to work??? Or worse...showing ANKLE on a daily basis? Would she still have those cigarette glasses? All questions to ponder when going to sleep at night....

I read an article about Lady Gaga's new video today. It said that there are all of these groups protesting its very existence, saying that it will taint America's youth, it's vile, and a whole litany of other complaints. Curious, I watched the full 'explicit' version. Overall, it was no more sexual than a typical pop song video, and no more violent than a common rap video. There was one part where she had x's over her nipples and a vag shot, but it was all blurred out. We saw more at a particular Super Bowl....

I feel like people make her a target because of her being such an enigma. People relentlessly make fun of her choice in clothes, hair, makeup, music- everything. And yet, she continues to do what she wants, wear what she wants, sing what she wants- whatever. She's completely unphased by what they say. People hate that- especially tabloids. They feel as if people should bend to peer pressure and either be visibly bothered by what they say and/or do what they say they should. The fact that she doesn't is a bee under their bonnet.

I say, you go, Lady Gaga! True, half of the stuff you wear is outlandish- but it's fun and it's you. I wish I could channel a little Gaga everyday- to be able to go about my day not caring what other people thought and doing what made me happy no matter what....

I'll try- when things get bad I'm going to take a breath and channel the powers that be- Lady Gaga, of course. Oh...and God. Lady Gaga and God....yeah.....

Thoreau, Shakespear, Plath, Dickens, DUFF?!

So Hilary Duff is supposed to write a young adults book series. Yes, the girl who brought you songs such as 'Boom Boom Bang Bang' and 'I Want to Blow You Up'- songs which I just realized, together, make her sound like a terrorist threat- is going to be writing novels for our enjoyment.

I don't know about you, but I'm personally thrilled. I can't wait to see what her bubblegum-pop persona and perfectly manicured hands 'write' for us. (As if she's fooling anyone- shadow writers are becoming more and more popular, Hilary! We know there's one in your pink, bejeweled Blackberry right now! I mean...did you really think those songs were written by her?)

I can see it now, the main protagonist- a blond, waif- like teenage girl, desperate to find the perfect pedicure. But alas, all of the good places are swarmed with the smelly paparazzi- what will she do??? Then, a magical assistant pulls up a Bing listing of local in-home spa specialists and orders one straight to our heroine's door- the day is saved!! Her tootsies never felt or looked better. In the end,she learned the value of having people wait on you hand...and foot! (Oh yes, see how I went there??)

I digress. I actually kind of like Hilary Duff in a weird 'You're not Miley Cyrus' kind of way- you know? I feel like I'm not alone in this. I mean, Hilary tries to exert her individuality by painting her once petal-pink nails matte black, starving herself, and extricating herself from the tabloid scene (SO passe!). I can respect this; I was once a teenage girl, and the normal thing to do is paint your nails, dye your hair, eat only celery while hating your thighs, and carry a copy of The Feminine Mystique with you everywhere.

Little Miss 'Sweet Niblets' herself (Miley), chooses to express HER individuality by pole-dancing, dressing thirty years beyond herself, and randomly making out with everyone and everything with a 'chastity ring'. It has to be exhausting.

As a person who wants to one day become a parent, I don't see how someone like good ol' Billy Ray can let his daughter tumble down this rabbit hole. They should know better. Let us refer to the Gospel of Child Stars, book Lindsay: Chapter Two; book Britney Chapter 4; Book Haley Joel; book Macaulay; etc etc etc. I would be terrified to let my child join the top ranks of black tar heroine consumers, sex fiends, and attention whores. Call me crazy.

All I can hope for is that my children will one day look at these people with as much disdain as I do. By then, these peoples' children will be the new crop of spoiled, mindless, shells of people....with driver's licenses....and the ability to vote....I'm getting more and more terrified by the minute.

Building Myself Anew- A Vintage Post

I feel as if I've lost all inspiration. I used to attack writing with a certain ferocity that could not be matched. I write to entertain myself (narcissistic, I'm aware), and I feel as if I've lost the ability to give biting commentary and overly descriptive, dramatic interpretations of commonplace occurences- things that used to make me laugh and reassured me that, even though I've chosen this highly-structured lifestyle, I haven't completely lost a part of me.

I used to love spontaneity and freedom. I'm scared of that now, I guess. After looking back and realizing that I wasted a semester of college for being 'too free'- I'm scared if I go back I'll ruin everything again. There's so much I want in life- kids, a husband, success, my mom and dad to finally look at me with something other than disappointment in their eyes. He says I care too much what people think...and that's true. But isn't it important, what others think? Especially in the career I want to go into?

I grew up, desperate for attention and approval from anyone who would give it (we weren't the most affectionate family...). I let myself into toxic friendships and relationships, and I've been hurt and abondoned accordingly. Now, I've started trying to control everything around me, pushing people away before they have a chance to abandon me.Except, I've found the one person who tried the hardest to stay by me and I'm pushing them harder than most before them.

I used to lock the door to my room and sit and listen to music and let myself get carried away by the harmonies and melodies. I used to let the notes surround me, taking me to another place. I would get to a certain level of clarity and inspiration I would write for hours. Feelings, thoughts, observations poured from my hand to the paper below. I wrote poems, stories, quips, songs, everything. And it was fantastic. When I finally let someone read them, they were moved to tears, laughed, and kept looking at me, incredulous. "I had no idea you could write like this. It would be a shame for you not to share this." It was the best validation I could have ever received.

Shortly after, I moved from my parent's house. My mom found my box of journals, dating back to when I was five years old (yeah, seriously). She went through and read them, cut the pages out that I wrote on and burned them. All of them. I was devastated. She said I was a horrible, evil person because of what I wrote. I wrote my feelings. Some was very angry, some was very sad, and some was down right tawdry (I went to a highschool with an obnoxious pregnancy rate. Of course I was going to give blazing commentary as to the idiocracy I was surrounded with). I used curse words, talked about how I considered hurting myself, and talked about my drinking. But that was only parts of it, and she burned it all. All of my memories and my writing went up in ash because of her. I have always had serious privacy issues because of her, but they became much worse after that day.

That was the only other time I felt as uninspired as I do, now. I'm in a rut. Classworkhomeworksleepclassworkhomeworksleepclassworkhomeworksleep. I know it will pay off, but it's also costing a lot.

I have to figure out how to get back to where I'm inspired. Where maybe I'm not completely disillusioned. Listening to the Owl City station on Pandora is helping. The songs are usually cheerful, and make the simplest things so fantastic. I want to get to that point. I want to appreciate the little things. I've taken for granted how supportive my parents really are (NOW) and that they really do mean well; that I have really great friends that worry about me, and love me, and want me happy; and finally, that I have a really great thing going and he loves me completely.

I'm coming to realize that nothing is certain. Someone could be taken from you at any moment- be it death, change of job, breaking up, whatever. I need to show them (especially him) how I feel, while they're still around. I don't know what I would do without Justin, Kassy, and Hutchy (among others, but these are the main ones). I would have no one to talk to, no one to really have fun with. I don't let myself become friends with just anyone, and my circle is usually pretty small. I don't trust anyone (I was raised by a man who taught me my first full sentence, his official motto- 'Trust no one'- not kidding). And without him? It feels like my torso is empty. It hurts physically almost everywhere just knowing I've hurt him. I don't want to be the reason he's hurt, I want to protect him from it. I have to show him this.

***Soul Meets Body by Death Cab For Cutie***

He might be moving quite a ways away, and it's killing me. But I think he really wants to do it. I want to cry out and say 'NO! You're leaving me, your girls, and going FOUR HOURS AWAY! You're leaving a great job you've laid roots at!' It's like being abandoned all over again. But I can't say anything. It's like duct tape over my mouth. It's eating me away inside, but I put a smile on and say 'I want what makes you happy, and I think this will.' Because I think it will. If I say I don't want him to go, he'll get mad, but when I go with it I feel like a liar. I think if he moves we won't be together. I've done long distance. It doesn't work. And I get jealous easily. We'll never see each other, he'll get used to living the bachelor lifestyle- not having to clean up, the freedom to go out whenever, and getting to go out with whoever. I guess it just boils down to the fact that he'll do what he wants, and I just have to sit back and watch as it all goes down.

***Hey, Soul Sister by Train***- officially cheered me up.

Belated New Year's Resolution: become a better version of the old me. Become inspired. Appreciate what I have, and show them that I do.

Now...I believe I have a date with a terribly uncomfortable, prison-issue dorm bed.

Gratuitous Ranting

Exhaustion. You never realize how far you’ve fallen into a rut until you’re at the bottom. Your body feels like you’ve carried an 80 pound backpack up Kilimanjaro. And back down. It’s really made me stop and look back and ask, ‘Is this all really worth it?’.

I’m in a clichéd situation. I’m a poor college kid, attending class full time and working a part time job. I have to have the job to pay my car insurance, phone bill, money to go out, etc. I have to go to school because for some reason law firms look kindly on someone with a degree. I think they’re just being picky.

I realize I’m being whiny. I have student loans to help. And my parents did pay for my beautiful Cutlass Ciera (all jokes aside, while looking like it could be driving Ms. Daisy, Chico is a great car).

But when I look over to Greek Hill and see the glittery Miatas and shimmering Navigators I think, ‘Why not me?’. My parents probably make twice as much as most of their parents. Why is it my parents are so stingy with this money??? They always give me some bull answer about wanting to retire early and experience life or something but this is ME we’re talking about, isn’t MY happiness more important??

I hope to God you were able to translate my irony from there. I do think it’s superfluous to give your kid everything on a silver platter, send them to college without making them get a job, let them join a Greek organization where they’ll probably contract more STDs than Courtney Love, and never ask for anything in return. What does that even teach them?

These kids, in turn, become narcissistic, co-dependent douche bags that can’t see past their noses. Then, because of their ‘fraternal upbringing’ (one of my favorite phrases coined by the Greek organizations to put a pseudo-positive spin on things-I translate it to mean ‘we spank each other and then have orgies but we swear we’re not gay’) they somehow get a job in the ‘real’ world. This blatant act of nepotism was only acceptable in Medieval England or in areas of home repair (and even then Ms. Manners would probably suggest you not hire cousin Vinny to work on your sink).

I had a Greek guy once tell me that his organization teaches him to be a gentleman and respect women. I laughed. He glared. I'm sorry, but when the basis of your social gatherings revolves around a keg with an wet t-shirt contest to follow I hardly find that to be a very respectful activity. If anything, the objectification of women is (or should be) written into their charter. That, and homophobia. More on this subject later....

A Waiting Game

Well, it's 'Winter Break'. (I love my archaic, conservative school's attempts at political correctness). Don't get me wrong, a true Libertarian at heart I feel as if we should not alienate groups based on their preferences of celebration during this time, be it Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Yule, or any other of the numerous 'reasons for the season'. I will say this, however: you crazy Black Friday and day after Christmas shoppers are insane. For example, the 23rd started just like every other day during break. I woke up, lazily around nine, showered and went in to work in sweats (it was the day before Christmas Eve- what did they expect?). We got paid so I decided to take the fiance to a fancy dinner at Ruby Tuesdays (classy, I know) and go for some last-minute shopping.

I knew it would be a great night when, after both of us getting off work early (much to my delight), I picked him up to go to eat. I remembered during my drive over that Ruby's has a two-for-one special before five. It was as if someone had lit a fire under my bum. I yelled at him to dive into the car, and before he even had his door closed, I squealed into a turn taking me into rush-hour traffic. I did my best to weave and hurry through the cluster of cars on the relatively small main road. It didn't help that it was raining that day, or that it was the day before Christmas Eve.

Looking at the clock in my car with panic, he says 'We're not gonna make it! We only have seven minutes!', screaming back I corrected him, informing him it was purposely set three minutes ahead. I never considered that an especially genius decision until now. I squeezed through a yellow turn signals, cutting a sharp right onto a kind of alley way to the back of Ruby's. At this point, I felt like Jason Bourne and knew there was no turning back. Oozing through a stop sign (yes, oozing), much to the chagrin of a driver wishing to make a left to be in front of me, I barreled through the parking lot of a pediatric dentist and insurance provider and squeeled into a front-row parking spot in front of Ruby's. With six minutes to spare, Randall tried to be a gentleman and wait. I barked at him 'Go, go, go! Get the table! Booth! Non-smoking!' he turned and rushed into the restaurant. At this point I- of course- drop my keys, as well as my purse. Top Down. Unzipped. It was like an avalanch of things I didn't really need but carried with me anyways 'just in case'. I briefly considered leaving them, but catching the familiar pink packaging of certain products that shall go unnamed I thought better of it. I don't want the whole world outside Ruby's knowing I use lights with wings and an absorbent core.

Rushing into the restaurant, past the bored hostess, smacking her gum, I made it into the booth seat. Just in time, we got our order in. After high-fiving our frugality and sense of adventure, we settled in to enjoy our evening. The Sisters Fate had a different agenda. I proceded to call a friend, in a frenzy, needing her address to send her something important. After hanging up, I swallowed my soda, allowing it to go down the wrong way. I sputtered my drink up, covering the table in the evil little droplets. I continued to loudly, and animatedly (I couldn't help it!) cough and choke. The waitress, another patron, and Randall rushed to my side to see if I needed help. I squeaked out multiple "I'm okay"'s, but still they stood there, drawing the attention of all the other cheapskates. I finally calmed down, gulping my soda and wiping my watering eyes. After their dispertion, people still stared throughout the meal. We got an appetizer, a chip dip trio (awful, not worth how much we paid...although I'm just a biased, choking cheapskate). I dipped a chip apparently too fervently. The bowl flew off the plate, onto my pants, and landed on the table with a loud clang. In its wake it also took out an empty class and silverwear that was perched next to the edge of the table. The waitress, of course, rushed over to help causing even more people to stare than before.

By this time I knew I was a ticking bomb. It was only a matter of moments before the place fell to the ground because of me. After we ate and boxed up what was left, I hastily paid the check with cash, handsomely tipping the waitress (after all, I did almost cough up an organ onto her). We rushed out almost as quickly as we rushed in, a different gum-smacking hostess bid us farewell at the door.

As I ashamedly left the lot, hesitantly entering the holiday traffic, my fiance tried to comfort me. He told me no one noticed, and that he had a good time. I knew these to be lies, but decided not to punish him for them. They did make me feel a little better, after all. But my night was not over.

After turning, I merged into traffic smoothly and starte the drive back across town. We were on the road next to the mall, that the mall's parking lots fed into. At this time it was packed, drivers weaving everywhere trying desperately to get last-minute gifts. I couldn't blame them, however- I was about to do the same. I was fine until one lady decided to turn in front of me, so abrubtly I had to slame on my brakes and saw that I almost got rear-ended. Randall was thrust forward, because- of course- he wasn't wearing his seat belt. I bopped by horn defiantly to let her know she angered me. The lady in the massive SUV proceded to FLIP ME OFF and scream expletives out of her window. I noticed a child sitting in a car seat in the back. I also noticed she was smoking. Win. This woman, this brazen BEAST of a person dared flip me off. And scream curse words at me. In front of her (presumably) child. So much for the holiday spirit, eh?

Needless to say, I was enraged. By the time I got all the way across town, back to campus I was about to cry. I took the elevator to my room to change my clothes while Randall waited in the car. I didn't get really angry until, on the way down (I took the stairs) I over shot the very last step, tumbling forward. My stomach lurched with the sensation of sea-sickness and my ankle tingled with pin pricks of pain. I pulled myself up and limped to the car, about to call it quits for the day. I couldn't be so lucky.

I had to do my holiday shopping. All of it. It's a good thing I kept my list small and my budget smaller. Last year I spent an exhorbitant amount of money on my family and received the most paltry return one could imagine. Anyway, after the day I had I wanted to avoid Wal Mart at all costs. (I live in a fairly rural area and Wal Mart is like Mecca to the people in surrounding counties. I didn't even want to imagine what it would be like on this day). I went to a locally owned dollar store. Yes, I know- how terribly of me. I was tired and angry and it was the only other fairly cheap option. (I was soo not going back to the mall). After picking out a basket of items with Randall's help, I began to notice the tiny, cramped store begin to get more and more crowded. This comforted me. I wasn't the only cheapskate procrastinator out there. It seemed like, with the ecomomy the way it is, people are really prioritizing people on their gift list. Maybe instead of getting your daughter's boyfriend's parents that nice bottle of wine, you got them a basic and functional candle set from the Wal Mart clearance aisle instead. Which is fine with me, my cheapness is an aspect I'm proud of.

I bought some fun things at the store and wrapped them in camouflage wrapping paper. Yes, camouflage. It was all the store had left! It made for a good family joke one Christmas Day, though. Probably better still that I used duct tape as tags to write the recipient's name on.

After the dollar store, I forgot I needed conditioner. So I ventured to Wal Mart. Everything went smoothly, all things considered. It was overcrowded with lots of angry procrastinators and their children. I rushed in, got what I needed, and rushed out. I went home and started my novel. (I'm rewarding myself for good grades this semester with sinking into a delicious novel- Physick Book of Deliverance Dane). It's fantastic.

Don't get me wrong, I had a fantastic Christmas. But there, near zero-hour, it was a little touch and go for me. I was about to enclose myself in a black cloud of Christmas disdain- ready to bite the hand of anyone that dare pull me out. However, with the help of all the sparkly lights and shiny wrapping paper, I was pulled back into the spirit. That's what's funny about the holidays. As you get older, you may get caught up with all sorts of things around the same time- shopping, paying bills, etc.- but you never lose that feeling of excitement and anticipation of what is to come, even if it's only a faint glimmer, deep in the back of your mind.