The Book Of Impossible Focus.

I need to write something.

I have been an aspiring writer since I was...geez, I don't even know when. Three? I'd run the length of the house, making up stories about my "invisible friends." I remember stealing characters from Aladdin (Jafar was my favorite). I also dictated the saga of the Titanic to my mother and then drew the pictures of the ship in its various stages of destruction. (I'm sure it was based heavily on the movie...can't remember if anything about the drawing scene was mentioned. Oh, that would've been horrendous. I still can't draw.) Then, from about fifth grade to eighth, I started an absolutely terrible miniseries called Through A Teacher's Eyes. It was about these young and pretty elementary school teachers who spent a great deal of their time in the teacher's lounge, occasionally having a realization that one of their students was their child from a failed marriage (the computer teacher), having memorials to commemorate the sinking of the--what else?--Titanic, showing old episodes of M*A*S*H to their class (the first grade teacher...I must ask: WTF?!?), and doing all of this other fun stuff.

If I ever find any of the aforementioned crap, it's bonfire fodder. (Except the book about the Titanic.)

Long story short, all of this bad writing and poor plot planning has made me what I am today. I got done with the horribleness early. Now I can focus on crisper dialogue, fine-tuned description, finding my "voice."

(On another note, my mother is watching some crime show on mute so she can read the close captioning. Hearing problems she has not.)

So. I need to seriously dedicate myself to writing something. I don't know what. All the plots are based too much on my own life. I've got some little scenes that I wrote out in the back of my history class this year...you could call them wish fullfillment, I guess--the future I want to have. But I found them a couple days ago, and they're not that bad. The only problem is that I had to limit them to a page in length so it looked like I was taking notes (very detailed notes on two pages, mind you), so they end abruptly.

I just keep fast-forwarding to the design of the book jacket and whatnot.

Okay. The end.

2009...expectations are lowering...

Hello hello!

I've spent the better part of the evening creeping around CraigsList, looking at the ridiculously spendy real estate in New York (TriBeCa especially) and San Francisco. It's charming, but it's also a wakeup call. Perhaps I shall not move to a classy minimalist apartment straight out of college. Unless $3,000 dollars per month falls from the sky.

Perhaps I'll marry a doctor when I'm 24. That could be handy.

Hello hello!

I just attempted to publish something and it deleted it. So.

I went to dinner with Matthew awhile ago (with Neal and Renae, who were along to torment him), and during the course of those events, this is what was said:

"When we're 25, we'll see each other across a bar...and we'll date..."

Yes. That's when our grand relationship will start. If I haven't found better than him by then, I will become a lesbian.

And, for 100% honesty? I. Don't. Like. Him. He doesn't give me butterflies. He does give me angry hornets that buzz in my chest which make me want to kill him.

June has Dane wrapped around her little finger. He would do anything for her, whereas Matthew left me to fend for myself in a strange city and didn't understand why I was angry at him when I got un-lost two hours later.

[If this doesn't publish, anger will happen.]

Wow.

So apparently some sort of curse is sweeping Hollywood. First Ed McMahon, then Farrah, then Michael, and now Billy Mays. The last one is personally ironic, because last night at about 2:00 A.M., I turned the channel rather quickly because I didn't feel like listening to a boisterous salesman promote....something. That boisterous salesman, of course, was Billy Mays. Now I feel bad.

I'm not sure if I've told you about my friend Renae, so now's a good a time as any. I actually know her through Neal. We all went to the same elementary school, but Renae and I never really meshed. (Okay, maybe in kindergarten. I thought she was pretty.) In middle school, I thought she didn't like me so I tried to avoid her. I remember flipping out on her once during some class because she was touching me. But this spring/summer, the three of us have done a ton of stuff together. Renae is fun, she's unique, she is never boring.

So the lesson is.... well, there kind of is no lesson. But who says there always has to be one?

Speaking of Production Control...

The phrase "best friend" has been used way too much in the past 24 hours. Once in a way that made me slightly sad (apparently close friends doesn't equal best friends if you're married), and one that made me slightly happy.

I'm outta here.

"Why in the world does she do this to herself?"

In one year, I will be off to my place of higher education. When I go, things need to change. If I get to be a junior in college and still am hopelessly single, I am going to do something rash. Like actually make a move.

And it's not like I've never been in love. I have. I am. It's just that the object of my affections has an object of his affections. Married affections.

At the risk of sounding like a typical teenager, I kind of hate my life. Even though I'm not, I feel like I'm totally alone.

God. If this was in ten years, it would be sensical. But it's not. So I'm just gonna shut up.

Superfabulous?

So, I'm having a bit of an issue. I always complain internally when I never get invited to go do things, and then when I do, my uber-cautious side hops in with concerns and whatnot. Like tonight. Some girls and I are gonna go to the lake (skinny-dipping was mentioned...) and I suddenly have all these reservations.

It's funny.....as I'm typing this, they're going away. Hmm. Probably because, as Nate recently pointed out, live life without inhibitions. Never turn opportunities down just because they're different.

Okay, apparently I just taught myself a lesson.

And no.....I am not skinny-dipping Sometimes a few inhibitions are a good thing.

...now this just has to pan out.

An Unspoken Rule That Is Now Spoken.

Okay. This is a [very pathetic] thing that has irked me for quite sometime. You cannot call yourself a band geek and have that be it. Especially if you have little to no musical talent. It's like me calling myself a math nerd because I'm in two classes of it (don't even ask why), yet suck majorly. You have to let yourself earn the title. So adding a Facebook bumper sticker stating "BAND GEEK AND PROUD" is bad for many reasons.

Reason One (as stated above):
You are not a band geek until you do something other than proclaim it and take your clarinet home every weekened to [not] practice.

Reason Two (as not stated above):
Calling yourself a band geek gives a negative stigma to those of us that are and don't blow about it.

Reason Three (as stated below):
Actions speak louder than words. So can it, shut off the computer/GameBoy, and learn how to play some eighth notes.

College: The Next Great ISSUE.

Here are my options that I have set up. They're purely self-imposed, so they are subject to change without warning.

• Stay close to home, thereby not bankrupting the family so I can get some worthless (again, no one's words but my own) musical theater degree. (I don't look like an actress. I need contacts. But that's a whole OTHER thing.)
• Go far away, enjoy the locale, and pay off loans for eighty bazillion years. (And bankrupt the family.)

Is it pathetic that I truly want someone who's madly in love with me to knock on my window, beckon me out, and we'll trek off to the great beyond to pursue our bohemian dreams (or at least mine---he can go be a lawyer or whatever his little heart desires)? He'll have to be educated in the ways of music. Seriously, that trait makes me swoon. If you can judge key and time signatures by hearing three seconds of a song because you have learned it, not because you are some musical freakzoid who puts no effort into anything (MATTHEW)....yes, I will fall deeply in infatuation.

So. If any of you know someone 17-25 (or older, I have no age limit) that, after your scanning of this piece of internet babble and critique of my persona, would enjoy me, lemme know. Let him know. I am very sweet under the tangy exterior.

So. [A needle pulling thread!]

There's this girl named Darina. And she absolutely hangs off of Nate. It's bad. It's not as bad as Anne, but it's still terrible. She lurks and talks and he doesn't know her. She's talked to him 3 times in her entire existence. What makes her think that---that---that----argh, never mind. It's a good thing that this was his last appearance at my school, because he's one inch away from being molested by his fans.

Deep Thoughts

Spring formal is fast approaching. It's tomorrow, and I'm excited. Excited to see Caryn, excited to flaunt my outfit (honestly straight outta Baz Lurhmann's imagination), excited to commune with Nate, who is my escort.

This is what I was thinking last night---all the stuff about sex on prom night? Is implausible. Think about it. You've got the complicated clothing. Maybe a body shaper. Your hair's done, your makeup's nice. Are you really gonna wanna mess that up? Plus the fake fingernails...hello! Claw marks, anyone? Plus, if you go to my school, you have to be accounted for every freaking second of every moment, so sneaking off to a hotel room might not be the easiest thing to do.

Happy happy joy joy!

So I realized I've been quite negative in my previous postings, which I really hate. So here, for the enjoyment of...well, I'm not really sure who, are five things that I am happy about.

1. Somebody just uploaded a bunch of Doctor Who episodes onto YouTube. (I'm not sure why I like that show. It's not for the aliens, that's for sure. I just kinda skim over them. Ahhh...wait. I know. David Tennant and his quirkiness. That's why.)
2. I talked to Nate today for half an hour, and he made me realize how much I appreciate him. Not through any big thing. Just for being him and being a decent sounding board (for really not-important things). For being someone to talk to. There we go.
3. My paper for The Glass Menagerie that I spent zero time on earned praise from my English teacher. He was very impressed. Feh. He should see this piece of wonder.
4. Caryn, my best friend, is coming to visit for spring formal [which I still need a friggin' dress for]. I have missed her so much. She's quiet at first, but once you get to know her, she's got this sparkling wit underneath.
5. I do have friends, which is something I feel like I've been lacking in the past few weeks. They just live in inconvenient places.....or are my overworked music teacher.
   ....................................and you know what? One more bonus fact!
6. My hair, which I recently dyed and cut, looks kinda good.

The end!

Health Monitering.

That's what keeps popping up on my laptop, because my power cord is retarded

But anyway, to continue my annoyance with Dane. It's over, although I am a bit more cautious with my affections toward him. He's fun, he's sarcastic, but he's also voilatile. I'm watching it.

Ultimate Annoyance

For all the times I've been slightly annoyed with Dane, this tops them all. Abosolutely. He is beign sullen and apathetic and I really don't know if he likes me or not. He's overworked and stretched way too thin and something has to give and that something, apparently, is his reationship with one of his students who happens to be his friend. I am so pissed off right now. I literally hate him. He's my best friend, but I can't tell him how I feel because he'd think I was overreacting and overthinking and wasting too much of my time on someone who doesn't have these caring feelings back.

We're done. Goodbye.

....now I just have to survive over a thousand miles in a confined space with him. Great.

And Dane, if you read this? Invoke a couple inside jokes and smile and start a damn conversation (oh no, I'm just here! being my usual "I don't give a flying--" self. involvement in your not professional life is accepted too.)

I wish it was two days ago. Oh dear God, I do.

ARGH.

I am going to kill my father. He can ruin a perfectly good, relaxing day with:

"I could come up and visit for an hour tomorrow."
...well, I have stuff to do...
"If you don't want me to..."

Shut. UP.

The Price One Pays For Being A Cow.

I cannot find a frickin' formal dress for the life of me. Honestly. It could be in my size (I mean, God forbid I actually go to a store--oh no! Wouldn't wanna inconvenience anybody!), but cost 300 dollars more than I want to make my parents spend. Or it can be cheap, but way not my size. Because I am a procrastinating hog with a 46-and-a-half inch waist that will inevitably end up feeling dumpy next to everyone else even though I put in way more work to what I look like and actually like fashion but always am a fraud!

You know why I cannot fully embrace my inner fashionista? Because I am curvy. I have hips! And fat arms! And disgusting varicose veins on my feet! And I look like a frog from the side! So I work to hide the belly fat and redness and ginormous thighs and that's why! I'm not unfashionable by any means. I'm just not as out-there as I'd like to be.

And oh, the shoe issue. I have size 12 feet. That kinda cuts down on my consumption of Ralph Lauren and the like. That and the lack of money.

My Wish List.

(if I could have 2 out of the 4 I'd be happy)

1. A boyfriend. Or no---better: a husband. That's much more committed.
2. Beauty. I am beautiful if you look at me the right way. (Like, not from the side.)
3. A normal-sized body. That'd be flipping fantastic.
4. Two happy, in-love parents.

Like I said. Give me two.

"What was that? A lesson learned?"

Okay, so after my little passive-aggressive list of yesterday, I have slightly calmed down. But I honestly cannot find anyone I fit in with, because they're either:

A] Too uptight.
.................or................
B] Not uptight enough. (Uhhh, I am sorry, but I like to know approximate times, at the very least]

Not like I mind. All the time. Entirely. Okay, so it gets under my skin once in awhile, but I would rather have only a few friends that I actually like than a ton that make me want to go all Shannen Doherty on them. (That phrase, by the way, is stolen from Jen Lancaster, who wrote Bitter Is The New Black and a couple others that I have yet to read. Gotta give credit here!)

So the lesson of the day is: Do not go on an adventure across state lines with people unless you know for a fact that you're not gonna raise your blood pressure about fifty points.


....and on a totally unrelated subject, I have no clue where my seasons one and two of Sex and the City are. Which is depressing, since I feel like a little nineties New York at the moment. A little early Carrie/Mr. Big dysfunction never hurt.

The List of The Night. Or Early Morning. ,,,or whatever...

Things I Never Want To Hear About Again.

• Sarah Palin.
• The Republicans.
• Disapproval of Christianity. And religion in general.
• The words "dick," "cunt," "banging," "whore," "slut," "cootch," or "condom." Seriously? Grow up.
• Your talent at accents.
• Ugly architecture.
• Your mild impressment with a Broadway musical. Really? It was "pretty good"? Probably because they've spent about a thousand hours perfecting it.
• How expensive things are.

Oh, and I'm sure there are more. But this is just the tip of the iceberg.

Have a little priest.

So my new obsession is Sweeney Todd, which is frighteningly dark. Blame Neal for that one. He introduced me to its fabulousness. I love Mrs. Lovett. I want to play her someday. She kinda reminds me of me, actually. Except I have never made a pie in my entire life. Especially out of, ahem, people.

All right, I'm tired. It's time to hit the hay.

Oh, do I feel like crap. And I'm not sure if it's mental or physical (the first time I tried to type that it typoed SO badly.....I'm embarassed), but given the fact I'm hacking up a lung every seven seconds, I'm pretty sure it's both.

As a quick question, asked in second-person: Why can't you care? I mean, actually let me know you care? I'd appreciate a "Feel better" or even a "You're breathing on me, move" to a half-wave and no facial expression.

God. He really doesn't care.

No, he doesn't love you. And he only shows active care to those that he loves. You get the passive kind.

I feel.....saying "I feel alone" is gonna sound so teenage angst. But I do. I have my parents, but they don't offer what I need. That's not a knock to them, they're great. But I honestly want someone that I can be fluffy and romantic with. I want to be part of a solid couple. Where it's assumed that I'll be with someone, rather than an "Oh, you're coming too?" I am sick of asking. I just....

I just really don't feel good.

Rant, Revised.

Okay. Or not.

You know, I really need to take stuff not so seriously.

I am BIPOLAR today! Goodness.

Rant.

The chipperness is momentarily gone, and all I want to get off my chest is this:

You are a pompous ass. And I seriously don't care what you think, at the moment.

God, I just want one friend. Is that so effing much to ask?

[Why I Should Not Visit Starbucks In The Morning And Drink My Latte Quickly.]

Hey, all! I'm in a weirdly chipper (and alert! PHEW!) mood, which is kinda surprising, considerign I spent yesterday mad at Nate....or Neal.....or whatever I've nicknamed that moron. My friend who hates relationships, remember? I'm not gonna dwell on it, because I don't wanna wreck my high, but he's recently struck me as immature. He hates his parents, he hates where he lives, he thinks that his opinion is the only intelligent and correct one. And it's kinda driving me crazy.

"That's ugly."
"Retard!"
"Vomit."
"Well, you know, some people deserve to get smacked with a baseball bat."
*eye roll*
*grimace*
"That's boring/outdated/cheesy/disgusting."

Okay. You're a mad genius who has all the answers. And some of the superiority is facetious and rather amusing, but not always. And especially given that I am attempting to be a witty and fabulous and shining example of a classy actress, I don't need this crap bringing me down. So I like things that are classic! Not everything new is good.

You know, I need to learn how to express these thoughts verbally. And I could. But I really really really hate conflict so I prefer to confess them to you, Dear Readers. And I like typing. So it's a good thing. :)

Oh geez, I just used an emoticon. I am chipper!!!!!!!!!!!

...you know, I wanna delete that. Smiley faces are not grammatical standards.

Oh, screw it. It's the weekend.

Who knows where? Who goes there?

I have the urge to type but no clue what to say. Which is kind of a first for me. I could start transcribing my RENT subtitles (what? you've gotta get the words!).

Awww. Kiss. Oohing.

I wanna be a bohemian.

Wanted: Song Selection. A Menu. Something.

So first off, a shout-out (I think that's hyphenated...) to Andrew--thank you so much for visiting my corner of the internet!

And secondly, I have spent the better part of the evening fighting with my new MP3 player. It's so stupid. And plastic. And flimsy. I need an iPod, because having to click s...l...o...w...l...y through 420 songs is going to take me longer than the trips I need (okay, want) it for. The only reason I wanted one was so that I wouldn't have to tote a CD player across three states. But having one's music all in one spot doesn't do one much good if one can never get to it!

And yes. The word of the day is "one."

Those who live in glass houses...

...should keep their mouths shut. But I've never been one to do that, so let's move on! And for an added emphasis, tonight's special feature is the indented quotation.

I should not be the one to say this, but you know what? I'm sick of
your excuses! If you're so terrible at getting stuff done on
time, then you are kind of in the wrong profession! And that's not even an
excuse! Why is it never okay for anyone else to take time doing
something but you can have as much time as you need? What the heck is
that about? Just make a decision and then live with it.

You wanna know something sick? Last week, I was somewhat in love with three guys. Now I don't know if I am anymore. With any of them. Nate verged dangerously on making me mad at him, Matt....well, c.f. the last post and educate thyself, and I'm not sure I want what June has anymore. It's typical. It's safe (which isn't necessarily a bad thing). It's what almost every woman dreams of and gets and then is stuck with. And that's a very negative way to put it. But I want to be different. I don't want to have to deal with family almost every weekend, and I certainly don't want to be building a life surrounded with the same people day after day, week after week, never getting anywhere and never doing anything better than average.

I feel like a terrible person for thinking this. So if anyone I know would ever stumble upon this little outlet of frustration, I am truly sorry for being offensive. But there are very few places in my life that I'm able to be completely honest, and this is one of those places.

And for those of you that I don't know but stumble across here anyway and take a peek into my head, thank you for reading. It's so strange--to think that people I'll never meet know more things about me than some people I've known for my entire life. It's kinda cool.

Lovebreaker!

You know what? I wish I had long fingers. Like looooooong ones. The ones that make piano playing at least look effortless. Long and skinny.



Sorry. I kinda think I have a fetish.



Oh, and I've got a story to share. Ever since my friend Karen transferred, she's been missing her people terribly. She wants to come back and visit for our spring formal/prom/whatever they're calling it now. Thing is, she needs a date. And no one is willing to help with that, since all of the guys she's friends with have the mentalities of eight-year-olds: "Oh no, a girl! Ew! Cooties! Do I have to kiss her? Grooossssssss!" So needless to say, finding her a quasi-date isn't going well, even though the facts are these:



1) He doesn't have to turn this into some romantic escapade.

2) He doesn't have to escort her in.

3) He doesn't have to talk to her.

4) He doesn't have to even acknowlege that she's even there.



How hard can this possibly be?!??!



But shockingly, there's even more. See, Matt was a really good possibility to take Karen for a long while. At least in her mind. But Matt has told me (well, I kinda finaggled it out of him, but whatever) that he wants to ask Layla. Remember Layla? (Pretty, went to the East Coast, apparently a much better actress than I am.) And Layla and I are friends (that keeps the envy under control). And I told her about Matt's secret longing (what? I cannot keep secrets, which the last few days have proved twofold), and she thinks it's funny. So she's not gonna say yes.



Oh, this is disasterous. But it's rather funny. I am so excited to be in the midst of typical teenage drama. Seriously, I'm relishing it.



The relishment of it could change, however, if Matt would get word that I told Layla (and about....hmm....seven other people, give or take).



Ah, well. Time will tell. I'm gonna go take a shower.

Issue Of The Week. Or Day.

(Or whatever.)

Dane and June (and Dune, their rapidly growing child). I'm friends with them, but I really wonder what's gonna happen. See, before, there weren't that many life barriers in between us. Go to college, get a job, get married. Only three. But now, with "have a child" added to that list, there's another. And it's a big one. And I'm afraid that they're at the point in their life that they don't want or need friends. They have each other and their nice little life and they're happy with that. The outside world is just an unneeded extra. And I am at the point in my life where I do want and need friends, and I'd like to include them.

The thing that makes me sad is that June, who goes back to work soon, has said point-blank that she doesn't miss her students. "They miss me, but I don't miss them" was the exact wording, I believe. And I get that. I really do. But given that I am one of Dane's students, it makes me wonder how important I really am. I'm gonna graduate and go to college and go through all the steps in life that he has, and I don't know if we'll still be friends. Like, real friends. Not just "Oh, I know her, so I'll say hi and chuckle for a few minutes and then leave to tend to my life." And I'm so afraid that will happen.

Goodness.

I feel a little unmotivated. Most likely because no matter how much I seem to think that I indeed understand algebra, I truly do not. Well....maybe it's not an understanding problem, it's an executing problem. You make one mistake and you're screwed, and I am the type to make mistakes.

I would like a friend. A best friend. Someone who's not in a position of authority over me or an acquaintance or someone I feel awkward around or is quasi-dating some slutbag (but that's another post). An honest-to-goodness friend who I love spending time with and can tell anything to. Not someone I want to strangle after an hour or who's too conservative. Someone that I'll meet in----let's all say it together----COLLEGE! Which is eight million years from now so I'm not even getting my hopes up.

And colleges look at GRADES, so I think I'd better go salvage mine.

Eee! Warning! Spoiler!

***SPOILER para Nip/Tuck, season...six? Five and a half? Whatever.***

I am a Nip/Tuck fan thanks to Julian McMahon. And so the events of tonight make me happy. I love Christian, and I love Liz, and I love their banter together. And tonight, they had sex. I knew it would happen and I am so so so so so glad it did! Christian's being a bit of a jerk, but really...what else is new? A tortured jerk, mind you. Poor thing.

I am so biased.

*sigh*

WHA-bam! Because there's really no other subject. And it's kind of a catchphrase.

Math is going to drive me into an early grave. It is the third day back and I have already had one emotional MOMENT as I contemplated my deep and dark semester of polynomial woes. Aigh.

In other news, June and Dane are now parents of a post-natal child! Welcome to the world, dearie. It's a strange one.