I can't deal with this. I can't. It's like an alternate universe--one that I saw coming, mind you, but still an alternate universe.
I can't do this.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Of Private Schools and Politics
I don't know what I'm doing. I honestly don't. And I am so jealous of those that do.
At my school, which is very small, there are three groups: Those That Have Instantly Recognizable Names (preachers' children, older siblings as predecessors), Those That Do Not Have Instantly Recognizable Names But Have Still Carved A Place For Themselves In The Social Hierarchy, and Those That Simply Are Unimportant And Will Fade Away Instantaneously After Their Graduation. And I don't know where I am anymore. I'm not related to anyone important. My older sister hasn't graced the school with her presence, giving me a comfortable cushion of friends that allows me to be a total witch to those who won't help me in my life. But I'm not sure if I fit in category number two or number three.
And Dane doesn't get it. No no no. I'm sure he is, at the moment, telling June that I'm delusional. Yes, Dane. You went to a high public high school where not everyone knew each other.
I am so frickin' frustrated.
God! I hate being a teenager.
That's the thing. Your insights are dismissed as typical drama and horomones, as are your actually pertinent issues.
At my school, which is very small, there are three groups: Those That Have Instantly Recognizable Names (preachers' children, older siblings as predecessors), Those That Do Not Have Instantly Recognizable Names But Have Still Carved A Place For Themselves In The Social Hierarchy, and Those That Simply Are Unimportant And Will Fade Away Instantaneously After Their Graduation. And I don't know where I am anymore. I'm not related to anyone important. My older sister hasn't graced the school with her presence, giving me a comfortable cushion of friends that allows me to be a total witch to those who won't help me in my life. But I'm not sure if I fit in category number two or number three.
And Dane doesn't get it. No no no. I'm sure he is, at the moment, telling June that I'm delusional. Yes, Dane. You went to a high public high school where not everyone knew each other.
I am so frickin' frustrated.
God! I hate being a teenager.
That's the thing. Your insights are dismissed as typical drama and horomones, as are your actually pertinent issues.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Isn't It Ironic...Dontcha Think?
Okay. If I don't get this off my chest soon, it's gonna sit there and smolder and I'm gonna go paranoid. (Go? I'm already there.)
In the world of Facebook that I occasionally frequent, there is a wonderful application called Honesty Box. I'm pretty sure that it and it only is responsible for most of the high school dramas that go on in this country-slash-world. Up until now, the only experiences I've had with it have been a word of congratulation, a few messages from Anne that I rolled my eyes at, and a very sweet compliment that made my night. But tonight, I received a very short thing that stated that, in essence, I am a snob. And I'm pretty sure I know who sent it....at least, it's narrowed down to two people. Mia? Esmerelda? Will either of you two cultured people volunteer yourselves?
It's just ironic, really. I feel like more often than not I'm on the receiving end of snobbery. I've never been extremely popular, and I equate that to the fact that I'm.......I don't know. Different.
Maybe it's true! Maybe I am aloof and that's why people and I have issues!
You know, I catch myself being inwardly uppity. I mean, I like clothes and class and their variants. Add that to the fact that I suck--suck--suck!--SUUUCK!--in social situations and the equation leads to the conclusion that I am, in fact, a frigid, self-centered witch too caught up in herself to care about other people.
Which, P.S., is a lie.
Now, let me get back to caring ONLY about myself!
........you know, I'm just drawing this conclusion from my head here. Half the stuff up there (oh, more than half----five-sixths, easily) is purely from my own imagination. But I'm pretty sure it's true.
Sad thing is, I like Mia. She's extremely cool. And I don't really know Esmerelda, but I think I'd maybe like her if I did. Maybe.
But I'll never know, since I'm a snob.
And for the record--Esmerelda, Mia? What are you???
It is really not fair. I can't find my middle ground here. It's either snob or reject. ARRRRRRGH!
Maybe they aren't. Maybe the only thing keeping me from fully belonging to a big group is me. Which really bites, if you think about it. Self-sabotage, anyone?
Now this is bugging me.
I don't want to get hurt. Is that cliche? Yes. But I'm not talking "hurt" in some deep, profound way. I'm just talking about the typical teenager "hurt." You know the kind. "They're not talking to me!" "She said I look like crap!" "Why are they always talking about me?"
Oh my God. I am a snob. I do talk about people. Everyone has a nickname, everyone gets a comment, everyone...oh geez.
But I'm not!
Oyyyyyyyyyyy. I have no clue what I'm doing anymore.
In the world of Facebook that I occasionally frequent, there is a wonderful application called Honesty Box. I'm pretty sure that it and it only is responsible for most of the high school dramas that go on in this country-slash-world. Up until now, the only experiences I've had with it have been a word of congratulation, a few messages from Anne that I rolled my eyes at, and a very sweet compliment that made my night. But tonight, I received a very short thing that stated that, in essence, I am a snob. And I'm pretty sure I know who sent it....at least, it's narrowed down to two people. Mia? Esmerelda? Will either of you two cultured people volunteer yourselves?
It's just ironic, really. I feel like more often than not I'm on the receiving end of snobbery. I've never been extremely popular, and I equate that to the fact that I'm.......I don't know. Different.
Maybe it's true! Maybe I am aloof and that's why people and I have issues!
You know, I catch myself being inwardly uppity. I mean, I like clothes and class and their variants. Add that to the fact that I suck--suck--suck!--SUUUCK!--in social situations and the equation leads to the conclusion that I am, in fact, a frigid, self-centered witch too caught up in herself to care about other people.
Which, P.S., is a lie.
Now, let me get back to caring ONLY about myself!
........you know, I'm just drawing this conclusion from my head here. Half the stuff up there (oh, more than half----five-sixths, easily) is purely from my own imagination. But I'm pretty sure it's true.
Sad thing is, I like Mia. She's extremely cool. And I don't really know Esmerelda, but I think I'd maybe like her if I did. Maybe.
But I'll never know, since I'm a snob.
And for the record--Esmerelda, Mia? What are you???
It is really not fair. I can't find my middle ground here. It's either snob or reject. ARRRRRRGH!
Maybe they aren't. Maybe the only thing keeping me from fully belonging to a big group is me. Which really bites, if you think about it. Self-sabotage, anyone?
Now this is bugging me.
I don't want to get hurt. Is that cliche? Yes. But I'm not talking "hurt" in some deep, profound way. I'm just talking about the typical teenager "hurt." You know the kind. "They're not talking to me!" "She said I look like crap!" "Why are they always talking about me?"
Oh my God. I am a snob. I do talk about people. Everyone has a nickname, everyone gets a comment, everyone...oh geez.
But I'm not!
Oyyyyyyyyyyy. I have no clue what I'm doing anymore.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Just Like That!
ABBA. Oh my, have I fallen in love with you all over again.
Backstory (because everything has to have one)?
My aunt Cosetta had one of ABBA's early CDs. And she had a CD player in her SUV, and that was, when I was eleven, a big thing. So she played "Ring Ring" for me, both the English and Swedish versions. So I borrowed it, and the sick thing is, I never listened to anything but those two songs and maybe...I'm not sure. Maybe something else? But I was very picky about my music when I was younger. Seriously. The only things on my Titanic soundtrack that were played were "My Heart Will Go On," "Take Her To Sea, Mr. Murdoch," and "Southampton." Possibly "Rose" also.
But I digress.
So back to ABBA. I enjoyed them, sorta forgot about them, and then when I was either thirteen or fourteen...thirteen (geez, I was friggin' young!), I got The Definitive Collection (and yes, I had to open up Media Player to find out what it was called---I'm being truthful all the way here). It kept me company on a band trip with The Band From Hell With Decent Talent. And I loved it. Seriously. "SOS" was one of my first favorites, was were "People Need Love," "The Name of the Game," "Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!" and "On And On And On." And last week I got "Arrival," and oooooooh. It's making me so happy and sad and both of the above at once. It's kinda telling my life story, which is something I absolutely love.
And they're Swedish! I'm waiting to find out if I'm related to them or not. Maybe Benny. He looks like he'd fit in my family.
Backstory (because everything has to have one)?
My aunt Cosetta had one of ABBA's early CDs. And she had a CD player in her SUV, and that was, when I was eleven, a big thing. So she played "Ring Ring" for me, both the English and Swedish versions. So I borrowed it, and the sick thing is, I never listened to anything but those two songs and maybe...I'm not sure. Maybe something else? But I was very picky about my music when I was younger. Seriously. The only things on my Titanic soundtrack that were played were "My Heart Will Go On," "Take Her To Sea, Mr. Murdoch," and "Southampton." Possibly "Rose" also.
But I digress.
So back to ABBA. I enjoyed them, sorta forgot about them, and then when I was either thirteen or fourteen...thirteen (geez, I was friggin' young!), I got The Definitive Collection (and yes, I had to open up Media Player to find out what it was called---I'm being truthful all the way here). It kept me company on a band trip with The Band From Hell With Decent Talent. And I loved it. Seriously. "SOS" was one of my first favorites, was were "People Need Love," "The Name of the Game," "Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!" and "On And On And On." And last week I got "Arrival," and oooooooh. It's making me so happy and sad and both of the above at once. It's kinda telling my life story, which is something I absolutely love.
And they're Swedish! I'm waiting to find out if I'm related to them or not. Maybe Benny. He looks like he'd fit in my family.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
A Day Of Days
Okay. There are times that the Conservative Christian School makes me want to go nuts. But it didn't today. Every single class (well, with the exception of español) made me happy. List?
Singing Class With Dane
Our. Sopranos. Are. Terrible.
Our. Tenors. Are. Non-Existent.
Our. Basses. Screw. Off. WAY. TOO. MUCH.
Our. Altos. Are. Fabulous.
(You can guess which one I am.)
Science Class With The Insane Professor
I didn't totally kill our test. A fun story was told and we got off topic.
Number Class With Dane
Okay, this made me a little mad. Answering questions with questions is....annoying. But I'm almost done with our uberly-long assignment, even though I'm some thousand dollars off. And he felt bad that he made me mad, which is an achievement in itself.
Language Class With Señorita Enthusiasm
....sometimes I wish we'd just copy devotions.
But then again I don't. I've learned a lot from my years with her.
I don't know.
Oh well. She called me "Nita," which means beautiful, which made my year. And I like her clothes and she likes mine, so I'm not one to whine. (But I do anyway.)
History Class With Mr. "Pronunciation? We Don't Need No Stinkin' Po...nun...criati...on"
Well, I sat at the back of the room, wrote a drabble that was basically pointless and his unique turn of the phrase caught up with him.
Food Time With Half The Student Body And A Few Teachers
Good food, good company, and not much accomplished for our promenade that is (not) quickly approaching.
God Class With Pastor Sarcasm
Oh geez. Fun. Fun fun fun. My section is the best. We have these amazingly good conversations that are usually on topic. We get stuff done. Mostly.
Math Class With Mr. I-Can't-Decide-If-I-Like-You
I hate math, all right?
Well, that's a lie. I hate the correcting of math, which is when I get thirteen and three-fifths problems out of thirty wrong. (Speaking of, I still have to do my assignment. Ugh. ...oh well. It can wait.) I like doing the stuff that I know how to. (Oh, this thing tonight is gonna take forever. Lots of numbers.) But it was actually fun today.
Study Hour With Dane
I never actually study during this time. I rant, I play, I try to figure out our friendship, I'm snarky. Today was no exception.
"American Literzzzzzzzzz---Huh?" Class With Mr. Hot And Cold
And that title doesn't really fit, because today was enjoyable. Except Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Paine can shut up. The stupid inverted sentences and politcal rants about things that were, yes, important during that time but sleeping pill-worthy today (and I know, that's such a teenager-y thing to say). But thanks to some hyper (read as: on crack!) back row dwellers, it was memorable.
It was, in a word: fun.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Peace!
For once, I have nothing earth-shattering (well, my earth, at any rate) to report. I want to see Rent, though. And I have a big of chemistry lurking. But really....yeah. I'm good. Not sure what I'm doing tomorrow, but I'm pretty sure it'll involve sleeping and some sort of church.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
I Am Thankful For...
...interviews on YouTube. While Edward Cullen in the movie of yesterday didn't do a ton for me right off, Robert Pattinson does. Honestly. Why hide the accent??? I think that's why he grew on me throughout the 2 hours of vampire-ness. Hello, traces of Great Britain! Nice to meet you! Come in and sit down for awhile!
Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.
Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
The Ever-Anticipated..."Twilight"
So I joined the barrage of fangirls and went to see the movie everyone has been babbling about for a month. And I'm ashamed of how much I liked it. Yes, I've read the books, but books and movies differ greatly.
No, Twilight the moving picture wasn't as good as Twilight the written word. But it was still decent. The casting for Bella could have been better, but overall, I would go see it again, buy it on DVD, and wait for my own personal nighttime visitor to appear.
And I have Bella's bedspread in gray, so that was a neat surprise.
I was gonna type something profound, but I just lost it. Probably because my mother is talking to my father (the computer leech) on my cell phone and he's practically hollering stuff about us going to eat tomorrow. No, he's not mad. He just has bad phone skills and my mother's just loud.
I have to gripe about an annoyance before I can let it rest:
Do you think I want to spend like 3 friggin' hours with yoou guys on a Saturday??? No. I do not. And you probably don't wanna deal with me either, so why don't we just leave it alone for the damn weekend and then do it sometime this week? You four have this annoying little friendship thing going on and I feel very left out and the Big Blonde Immature Moron makes matters absolutely no better by being...well, big and blonde and immature and moronic. And you, Mr. Sci Fi/Action Freak! I do not like you, nor will I ever, because you are a retard. And Matt, even though we're supposedly friends, you turn into a complete idiot around your "besties." I'm honestly gonna smack you or start crying or...something.
And forgive me! I don't drive! I'm pathetic! So you'll have to come over and get me, which nobody really seems to have any concern for! I don't know what'll happen, and frankly I wish I didn't care.
Why why why why why didn't you assign groups? I may have friends, but nobody's gonna be willing to work with me above their own little cliques. I am extremely perturbed about this situation.
*breaaaaaaaaathe*
No, Twilight the moving picture wasn't as good as Twilight the written word. But it was still decent. The casting for Bella could have been better, but overall, I would go see it again, buy it on DVD, and wait for my own personal nighttime visitor to appear.
And I have Bella's bedspread in gray, so that was a neat surprise.
I was gonna type something profound, but I just lost it. Probably because my mother is talking to my father (the computer leech) on my cell phone and he's practically hollering stuff about us going to eat tomorrow. No, he's not mad. He just has bad phone skills and my mother's just loud.
I have to gripe about an annoyance before I can let it rest:
Do you think I want to spend like 3 friggin' hours with yoou guys on a Saturday??? No. I do not. And you probably don't wanna deal with me either, so why don't we just leave it alone for the damn weekend and then do it sometime this week? You four have this annoying little friendship thing going on and I feel very left out and the Big Blonde Immature Moron makes matters absolutely no better by being...well, big and blonde and immature and moronic. And you, Mr. Sci Fi/Action Freak! I do not like you, nor will I ever, because you are a retard. And Matt, even though we're supposedly friends, you turn into a complete idiot around your "besties." I'm honestly gonna smack you or start crying or...something.
And forgive me! I don't drive! I'm pathetic! So you'll have to come over and get me, which nobody really seems to have any concern for! I don't know what'll happen, and frankly I wish I didn't care.
Why why why why why didn't you assign groups? I may have friends, but nobody's gonna be willing to work with me above their own little cliques. I am extremely perturbed about this situation.
*breaaaaaaaaathe*
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
A Soup Bowl of Subjects
Dane. In all of your raging rants and defensiveness when it's not needed and pointed looks, you still remain my favorite person in the world.
This month has just been full of shout-outs. I've really gotta stop that, because no one but me knows that this blog exists. If they did....oy, that could get interesting.
Dangit, internet, go faster. Faster faster faster. I could never go back to non-high-speed. I'd honestly have a fit.
And how are these people friends with this guy's girlfriend? She doesn't go to our school, she's two grades ahead....*sigh.* The wonders of small towns, I guess.
All right. I'm gonna go finish what I have to do and then I'm gonna read.
This month has just been full of shout-outs. I've really gotta stop that, because no one but me knows that this blog exists. If they did....oy, that could get interesting.
Dangit, internet, go faster. Faster faster faster. I could never go back to non-high-speed. I'd honestly have a fit.
And how are these people friends with this guy's girlfriend? She doesn't go to our school, she's two grades ahead....*sigh.* The wonders of small towns, I guess.
All right. I'm gonna go finish what I have to do and then I'm gonna read.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
...a Thought...
Ugh. Some people are passively stupid. Not actively, like smacking themselves against a wall repeatedly to get people to laugh, but just kinda walking around in a haze and bumping into one accidentally.
I am cold.
And I have a ton of crap to do, so I think I'll go get on that now.
I am cold.
And I have a ton of crap to do, so I think I'll go get on that now.
"Ack! I'm overdosing!"
I am overdosing on conservative Christian-ness. I'm in the choir, go to the school, go to the church, and have the majority of my friends belong to their group. And that's not a bad thing, but I'm afraid that I'm losing my well-rounded persona. When I get out to the real world, what's gonna happen?
Question:
You can take the heathen out of her heathen-ness, but can you take the heathen-ness out of the heathen?
(I think Dane started that nickname...speaking of which, I had a random dream about him last night. We were in chapel and sharing a hymnal and being snarky about other people and I really don't think it was chapel, because we were kinda loud. Hmm.)
But back to the overdosing.
I like who I am and where I am and the person I'm becoming. But sometimes too much is enough.
And--contrary to popular belief--leaving my church and joining theirs isn't just due to the Distinction Choir issue. It was a whooooooooooole bunch 'a stuff that would take eighty million years to type out, and for someone who still has to brush her teeth, the time to start explaining it is not now.
Question:
You can take the heathen out of her heathen-ness, but can you take the heathen-ness out of the heathen?
(I think Dane started that nickname...speaking of which, I had a random dream about him last night. We were in chapel and sharing a hymnal and being snarky about other people and I really don't think it was chapel, because we were kinda loud. Hmm.)
But back to the overdosing.
I like who I am and where I am and the person I'm becoming. But sometimes too much is enough.
And--contrary to popular belief--leaving my church and joining theirs isn't just due to the Distinction Choir issue. It was a whooooooooooole bunch 'a stuff that would take eighty million years to type out, and for someone who still has to brush her teeth, the time to start explaining it is not now.
Friday, November 21, 2008
You People...
...make me deleriously happy:
Dane. For being straightforward and humorous and all of the things that make me want to smack you and hug you at the same time.
June. For being the intelligent woman behind the man and an all-around sweet person. I'd give anything to have what you have.
Dune. For being the soon-to-be child of my two favorite people. You are going to be so amazingly lucky. You already are. Don't you dare take your parents for granted. Their quirkiness is not something to be brushed off.
Nate. For your fresh views on life and the experiencing of it. I love your honesty and wit.
Layla. For band and your acceptance of me and our traded remarks. They make me so happy.
Caryn. For keeping my feet on the ground when they need to be there the most. Your patience and innate sweetness are appreciated and loved by many, and you will be sorely missed.
Maria. For being original and not caring what anybody else thinks. You may be Caryn's younger sister, but you have a personality all your own and an understanding of the world that a lot of people need. Same for you, Caryn.
Christine. For being one-of-a-kind where everyone else fell into the sleazy lemming trap. You inspired me so much in middle school, I can't even describe. And the fact that we still talk makes me so happy. You're stylish and classy and unconforming. Don't ever change.
Matt. For being even more of a music freak than I am. You think I'm a moron some (read as: ninety-three percent) of the time, but I'm pretty sure that you appreciate the innate strangeness that makes me up. Thank you for telling it to me like it is and giving compliments that I treasure.
Clark, Franc, Beth, Emily. For being your funny, loud, sometimes obnoxious selves. You're helping me to be a real person and you don't even know it.
Elle and Dawn. For being so sweet and accepting of everyone. I love that I have friends like you.
Gina and Raquele. For being amazing and intelligent. I think so much differently of you guys than I did last year.
Pastor Heerheigh. For making religion class an absolute comedy routine. I know we (well, they) get off-topic easily, but I have learned so much.
Mrs. Tuthburg. For treating me like you've known me forever instead of just three years. I don't know why I deserve your niceness but I'm so glad I have it.
Señorita Danner and Bea. For being unique. Thank you so much for calling me sophisticated and beautiful.
Smokey, Keisha, Nita, Tye, Flo, Bebe, and all of the other beautiful people at the store. For liking me without really knowing me and making me believe that I have an attractive personality.
Dane. For being straightforward and humorous and all of the things that make me want to smack you and hug you at the same time.
June. For being the intelligent woman behind the man and an all-around sweet person. I'd give anything to have what you have.
Dune. For being the soon-to-be child of my two favorite people. You are going to be so amazingly lucky. You already are. Don't you dare take your parents for granted. Their quirkiness is not something to be brushed off.
Nate. For your fresh views on life and the experiencing of it. I love your honesty and wit.
Layla. For band and your acceptance of me and our traded remarks. They make me so happy.
Caryn. For keeping my feet on the ground when they need to be there the most. Your patience and innate sweetness are appreciated and loved by many, and you will be sorely missed.
Maria. For being original and not caring what anybody else thinks. You may be Caryn's younger sister, but you have a personality all your own and an understanding of the world that a lot of people need. Same for you, Caryn.
Christine. For being one-of-a-kind where everyone else fell into the sleazy lemming trap. You inspired me so much in middle school, I can't even describe. And the fact that we still talk makes me so happy. You're stylish and classy and unconforming. Don't ever change.
Matt. For being even more of a music freak than I am. You think I'm a moron some (read as: ninety-three percent) of the time, but I'm pretty sure that you appreciate the innate strangeness that makes me up. Thank you for telling it to me like it is and giving compliments that I treasure.
Clark, Franc, Beth, Emily. For being your funny, loud, sometimes obnoxious selves. You're helping me to be a real person and you don't even know it.
Elle and Dawn. For being so sweet and accepting of everyone. I love that I have friends like you.
Gina and Raquele. For being amazing and intelligent. I think so much differently of you guys than I did last year.
Pastor Heerheigh. For making religion class an absolute comedy routine. I know we (well, they) get off-topic easily, but I have learned so much.
Mrs. Tuthburg. For treating me like you've known me forever instead of just three years. I don't know why I deserve your niceness but I'm so glad I have it.
Señorita Danner and Bea. For being unique. Thank you so much for calling me sophisticated and beautiful.
Smokey, Keisha, Nita, Tye, Flo, Bebe, and all of the other beautiful people at the store. For liking me without really knowing me and making me believe that I have an attractive personality.
I love you all.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
The Storm Has Passed.
All right.
I'm better.
I don't know what was my problem last night, but the entire world seemed to be collapsing on my corner of the universe. I feel like a total moron now, but am so relieved that it's over. It was basically nothing that turned into a huge something. I'm capable of doing that quite a bit.
Siiiiiiigh.
I'm better.
I don't know what was my problem last night, but the entire world seemed to be collapsing on my corner of the universe. I feel like a total moron now, but am so relieved that it's over. It was basically nothing that turned into a huge something. I'm capable of doing that quite a bit.
Siiiiiiigh.
Monday, November 10, 2008
You Can't Always Get What You Want. And Even When You Do, You Will Not Be Satisfied.
Oh God. I am sick. I am so literally sick that I just want to crawl into a hole and die, and it's for a totally stupid reason.
Last year is what I deemd The Year From Hell because of my exclusion from Distinction Choir. It seemingly "ruined my life." This year, things have changed, but I feel worse. Because last year, in the department of music, though I wasn't an elite choir member, I had a voice. Dane would listen to me and my suggestions because he wanted to give me something that others didn't have. He felt sorry for me. This year, I've lost it. I have no say. I'm one of the masses now. And to tell the absolute truth, I'd almost want to go back. Being respected by one is so much more valuable than being one of a respected many but ignored.
For all the good stuff I've got going now...I miss it.
The worst part is, I was pitied. And that is what I hate the most of any of this. I thought we were friends when he was just extending the hand of fellowship to the pathetic and mopey music girl. For all the times he was nice to me, all the stupid stuff we shared, all the times I thought we were bonding, I was his and June's charity case.
I thought he really liked me.
It's like my world just went upside down. I am honestly crying as I write this. I am never, ever going to find anyone that's not an extreme social reject who will want to be my friend based on something that I have rather than something that I lack.
And to tell the truth, that's how Dane and I got to be friends. He would talk to me because I had no comrades. And it just became habit. If I'd had a whole brigade of conservative (or not-so-conservative) Christians that I trailed along with, I would not be in this position and instead would be sleeping.
Nothing is easy. Nothing can just leave me satisfied. There's always some gaping hole, something that could be better, something that is a traumatic event.
Last year is what I deemd The Year From Hell because of my exclusion from Distinction Choir. It seemingly "ruined my life." This year, things have changed, but I feel worse. Because last year, in the department of music, though I wasn't an elite choir member, I had a voice. Dane would listen to me and my suggestions because he wanted to give me something that others didn't have. He felt sorry for me. This year, I've lost it. I have no say. I'm one of the masses now. And to tell the absolute truth, I'd almost want to go back. Being respected by one is so much more valuable than being one of a respected many but ignored.
For all the good stuff I've got going now...I miss it.
The worst part is, I was pitied. And that is what I hate the most of any of this. I thought we were friends when he was just extending the hand of fellowship to the pathetic and mopey music girl. For all the times he was nice to me, all the stupid stuff we shared, all the times I thought we were bonding, I was his and June's charity case.
I thought he really liked me.
It's like my world just went upside down. I am honestly crying as I write this. I am never, ever going to find anyone that's not an extreme social reject who will want to be my friend based on something that I have rather than something that I lack.
And to tell the truth, that's how Dane and I got to be friends. He would talk to me because I had no comrades. And it just became habit. If I'd had a whole brigade of conservative (or not-so-conservative) Christians that I trailed along with, I would not be in this position and instead would be sleeping.
Nothing is easy. Nothing can just leave me satisfied. There's always some gaping hole, something that could be better, something that is a traumatic event.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
I would like these people for Christmas, please.
All right. If you've read this blog, even one entry or so, it's probably entered your head that those who babble endlessly about ♥hawt♥ and ♥adorable♥ guys make me want to take The Nap That Needs No Alarm Clock. (Whoa. Too much Television Without Pity, Charmed style.) And I really don't have that many infatuations of the male variety. But Julian McMahon is my imaginary boyfriend.
And another guy that I have a soft spot for is Alan Alda. You know, Hawkeye Pierce, M*A*S*H? You will. See right. And Loretta Swit looks pretty decent too. Comrades in Arms. I love that episode.
I am such a nerd!
(And this took way longer than it should have to format, so I hope you enjoyed it.)
Friday, October 24, 2008
Bohemia and Imagination
I want to be a bohemian. It would be quite fabulous.
Anyway, I'm typing out a little bit of a drabble-y thing on Word. Charmed-related. So if anybody from FF.net happens to be creeping, be prepared for...something!
Anyway, I'm typing out a little bit of a drabble-y thing on Word. Charmed-related. So if anybody from FF.net happens to be creeping, be prepared for...something!
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
Ode to a Suuuuuuuuuucky Day.
And my entire friggin' entry was just deleted. So I'll spare you the pleasantries and put it all out there.
I am sick of being single.
I am tired.
My day was the textbook definition of crappy.
I am sad.
My music is being retarded.
God.
I am sick of being single.
I am tired.
My day was the textbook definition of crappy.
I am sad.
My music is being retarded.
God.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
You Can't See This!
All right. Do you want a deep, dark secret that I have never told anyone before because I've tried to block it out of my memory? And it's really not even that serious. It's just humiliating.
Before the Conservative Christian School, I went to school that was literally the Hellmouth. A demon would have been a welcome addition to my class. They were the worst people in the entire world--cruel and demeaning and taking every opportunity to make me feel like crap because I didn't participate in sports or wear the garden variety jeans and T-shirt and flip-flops every friggin' day. I was a fine arts geek before the enviornment was conducive to it. Sure, I tried to get into the elite group, but for a pathetic little seventh-slash-eighth grader who was as far away from cool as she was from anorexic, that wasn't going to ever happen. So there I was, stuck with no niche. Elizabeth, my best friend from late elementary school, suddenly moved on to the "popular" group (which, in a class of about sixteen, was everyone but me) and avoided me like the plague. '
And I'll freely admit that I wasn't the most likable person! But I tried. I gave it my best effort up until around sixth grade, when I gave up on trying to please my classmates and made friends with my teachers instead. (Actually, I'd always been friends with teachers, mainly because they didn't latch on to me like leeches and attempt to suck my self-esteem dry.)
So this leads up to one of the worst mornings I ever had. We were in social studies. The morons on the right side of the room were chuckling and whispering, and I was trying valiantly to disappear, because chuckling and whispering was a sure sign that I was involved in the conversation, and not as the protagonist.
So as the class goes on and we watch a video about something that vaguely relates to the topic at hand, the chuckling continues. I ignore.
It continues. I try to ignore.
It continues.
I can't ignore.
I went over and grabbed the sheet from them, and I think that the teacher looked at me like I was a certified whackjob. I read it, and it was that stupid "Learn Chinese In Five Minutes" internet thing. You know, with the supposedly humorous pronunciations...
"Wai Yu Mun Ching"~~~"You're supposed to be on a diet."
"Chin Tu Fat"~~~"I think you need a face lift."
"Yu Stink I Pu"~~~"Your body odor is offensive."
Those are the only ones I remember, as those are the only ones that I heard. Because they were the only ones that they deemed appropriate for me. (Never mind that they totally got what a facelift does wrong. Yugh. If you're gonna insult, use the right one.) And now whenever I see that list, I can't think it's funny. I would like to, but I can't. It makes me nauseous even thinking about it. Some things fade, but this won't. I know it won't. Because....well, to tell the truth, I don't know why. Maybe because it hit all my fears at once?
You want to know the worst part? No one stood up for me. Not even the other girls in my class (all six of them), not any of the other guys. Not even the teacher. I asked him if I could go talk to the principal and I believe he rolled his eyes and told me to sit down. He didn't want to deal with his football players getting in trouble for picking on the weird girl.
I think I still have that list, somewhere. Maybe in a bag at home, packed away with all my old memories of days I'd rather forget and a personality quirk that I wish I could get rid of--the fear that I really have no friends and everyone is just being nice to me because they feel sorry for me. Because that's what I was told at the Hellmouth. That's my greatest fear. That one day it'll all come out in the open--the only reason that Dean let me basically live in the music room is because he "feels sorry for you--that's the only reason he's nice to you. He told us in the locker room."
Sorry. Quote from cerca seventh grade. Possibly sixth.
I don't know what brought this on now. Probably because confessing to an open page, a blank audience, people with no preconceived notions of me other than what I've chosen to put out there, feels mysterious. And maybe...just maybe....that I have people on my side of this issue.
And as much as it sometims annoys me, I'll take the CCS over the Hellmouth any day. So screw you, the Snobs of the Sweatpants Variety. Be amazing at sports. Get pregnant as many times as you want to. Treat each other like crap. Because I am done. As of now, I am done letting you impede my life. Sorry to have ruined your fun by leaving.
Actually, no. I'm not sorry. Because now you're insulting each other. Ha. I did get the last laugh.
Before the Conservative Christian School, I went to school that was literally the Hellmouth. A demon would have been a welcome addition to my class. They were the worst people in the entire world--cruel and demeaning and taking every opportunity to make me feel like crap because I didn't participate in sports or wear the garden variety jeans and T-shirt and flip-flops every friggin' day. I was a fine arts geek before the enviornment was conducive to it. Sure, I tried to get into the elite group, but for a pathetic little seventh-slash-eighth grader who was as far away from cool as she was from anorexic, that wasn't going to ever happen. So there I was, stuck with no niche. Elizabeth, my best friend from late elementary school, suddenly moved on to the "popular" group (which, in a class of about sixteen, was everyone but me) and avoided me like the plague. '
And I'll freely admit that I wasn't the most likable person! But I tried. I gave it my best effort up until around sixth grade, when I gave up on trying to please my classmates and made friends with my teachers instead. (Actually, I'd always been friends with teachers, mainly because they didn't latch on to me like leeches and attempt to suck my self-esteem dry.)
So this leads up to one of the worst mornings I ever had. We were in social studies. The morons on the right side of the room were chuckling and whispering, and I was trying valiantly to disappear, because chuckling and whispering was a sure sign that I was involved in the conversation, and not as the protagonist.
So as the class goes on and we watch a video about something that vaguely relates to the topic at hand, the chuckling continues. I ignore.
It continues. I try to ignore.
It continues.
I can't ignore.
I went over and grabbed the sheet from them, and I think that the teacher looked at me like I was a certified whackjob. I read it, and it was that stupid "Learn Chinese In Five Minutes" internet thing. You know, with the supposedly humorous pronunciations...
"Wai Yu Mun Ching"~~~"You're supposed to be on a diet."
"Chin Tu Fat"~~~"I think you need a face lift."
"Yu Stink I Pu"~~~"Your body odor is offensive."
Those are the only ones I remember, as those are the only ones that I heard. Because they were the only ones that they deemed appropriate for me. (Never mind that they totally got what a facelift does wrong. Yugh. If you're gonna insult, use the right one.) And now whenever I see that list, I can't think it's funny. I would like to, but I can't. It makes me nauseous even thinking about it. Some things fade, but this won't. I know it won't. Because....well, to tell the truth, I don't know why. Maybe because it hit all my fears at once?
You want to know the worst part? No one stood up for me. Not even the other girls in my class (all six of them), not any of the other guys. Not even the teacher. I asked him if I could go talk to the principal and I believe he rolled his eyes and told me to sit down. He didn't want to deal with his football players getting in trouble for picking on the weird girl.
I think I still have that list, somewhere. Maybe in a bag at home, packed away with all my old memories of days I'd rather forget and a personality quirk that I wish I could get rid of--the fear that I really have no friends and everyone is just being nice to me because they feel sorry for me. Because that's what I was told at the Hellmouth. That's my greatest fear. That one day it'll all come out in the open--the only reason that Dean let me basically live in the music room is because he "feels sorry for you--that's the only reason he's nice to you. He told us in the locker room."
Sorry. Quote from cerca seventh grade. Possibly sixth.
I don't know what brought this on now. Probably because confessing to an open page, a blank audience, people with no preconceived notions of me other than what I've chosen to put out there, feels mysterious. And maybe...just maybe....that I have people on my side of this issue.
And as much as it sometims annoys me, I'll take the CCS over the Hellmouth any day. So screw you, the Snobs of the Sweatpants Variety. Be amazing at sports. Get pregnant as many times as you want to. Treat each other like crap. Because I am done. As of now, I am done letting you impede my life. Sorry to have ruined your fun by leaving.
Actually, no. I'm not sorry. Because now you're insulting each other. Ha. I did get the last laugh.
Random Invisible Words!
Declam was quite wonderful today. I'm trying not to mangle Shakespeare. The amazing thing about him is that when I finish my intro with his name, the judges instantly perk up. I can just hear it going through their heads:
It's not about teen angst. It's not about abuse. It's classic! Woohoo!
I hate to say it, but I'm not one of the most fabulous speakers in the state. And I really hate to say it...but...I don't mind. I have heard so many amazing pieces in the past week. Quasi-memoirs of Guggenheim and O'Keefe, done with a voice similar to Cate Blanchett in The Aviator. Absolutely amazing. So I could whine that I'm not the best, or I could look at who I'm up against and be proud not to totally suck! Because I really don't think that I'm terrible. It's against my religion to be terrible.
But Anne. Oh, Anne. Her parents don't like her. She closes herself off from everyone. Her life is terrible. Her friends don't care about her. I have no clue what to do about her. Oy....
It's not about teen angst. It's not about abuse. It's classic! Woohoo!
I hate to say it, but I'm not one of the most fabulous speakers in the state. And I really hate to say it...but...I don't mind. I have heard so many amazing pieces in the past week. Quasi-memoirs of Guggenheim and O'Keefe, done with a voice similar to Cate Blanchett in The Aviator. Absolutely amazing. So I could whine that I'm not the best, or I could look at who I'm up against and be proud not to totally suck! Because I really don't think that I'm terrible. It's against my religion to be terrible.
But Anne. Oh, Anne. Her parents don't like her. She closes herself off from everyone. Her life is terrible. Her friends don't care about her. I have no clue what to do about her. Oy....
Thursday, October 9, 2008
With My New Layout, These Things Are Invisible.
And just as suddenly as it began, Dane's and my rift is over. I don't think it was ever a rift, actually. It was more like my imagined issues. But even so, it was still disturbing. I hate to think what it would be like if we ever did get into an uber-fight.
I would be so distraught that I wouldn't be able to sleep.
In other news, I would kill--kill--to be graceful and lithe. Do you know how hard it is to do show choir when you aren't light on your feet??? Especially when everyone else has had some type of experience, be it last year's performing or musical theatre or actual dance! I am suuuch a clod. And a klutz. A clotz? A klud? Whatever.
But I'm gonna be fabulous. I'm gonna get my Capezios and my snazzy dress and, at the very least, have fun with it. Because I can suck but be confident and be accepted, but I cannot suck and pathetically slink away. Because then I will be shunned. (At least by Dane.)
I would be so distraught that I wouldn't be able to sleep.
In other news, I would kill--kill--to be graceful and lithe. Do you know how hard it is to do show choir when you aren't light on your feet??? Especially when everyone else has had some type of experience, be it last year's performing or musical theatre or actual dance! I am suuuch a clod. And a klutz. A clotz? A klud? Whatever.
But I'm gonna be fabulous. I'm gonna get my Capezios and my snazzy dress and, at the very least, have fun with it. Because I can suck but be confident and be accepted, but I cannot suck and pathetically slink away. Because then I will be shunned. (At least by Dane.)
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Friends of a Strange Quality
So Dane felt ill today. And I really feel like crap, but not physically. Mentally. Because I was being my usual self (obnoxious, snarky, et cetera) because I didn't know. And now I feel so guilty, because hello! I was sick not too long ago too and I would have smacked anyone who acted so...Anne-esque. (And oh God, I do not want to become her.)
It's so stupid. I want to be friends with him and I want to be friends with other people, but the latter requires me to be a moron eighty percent of the time. And furthermore, being a moron is just me. Yes, I can be serious and intelligent, but there are times when I can be loud and stupid. And those are happening with more and more frequency.
The thing is, I feel like I'm under more pressure because of the fact that we're friends. He's not gonna rip into Wendy, a slighty stupid (read as: braindead) blonde, as much as he would me for being late or talking or anything else that ticks him off.
Sometimes I don't know if he even likes me.
So if the object of this message ever happens to read it, I'm sorry for being typical. And you know I don't want to be typical.
It's so stupid. I want to be friends with him and I want to be friends with other people, but the latter requires me to be a moron eighty percent of the time. And furthermore, being a moron is just me. Yes, I can be serious and intelligent, but there are times when I can be loud and stupid. And those are happening with more and more frequency.
The thing is, I feel like I'm under more pressure because of the fact that we're friends. He's not gonna rip into Wendy, a slighty stupid (read as: braindead) blonde, as much as he would me for being late or talking or anything else that ticks him off.
Sometimes I don't know if he even likes me.
So if the object of this message ever happens to read it, I'm sorry for being typical. And you know I don't want to be typical.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Yugh.
I hate people. Honestly. Especially when, in a crowded bus, they insist on shrieking, singing, clapping, and being generally hyperactive fifth graders. Yes, we just went over a large bump and almost hit a tree. Ha ha ha ha ha. We are singing songs we learned at Bible Camp. Eeeeeee. See my thrill? Sense my joy?
No?
All I got out of this evening was a headache and a deep, deep depreciation of Anne and Lynn. And various others that do not deserve names.
Bitchy? Yes.
Called for?
What do you think?
No?
All I got out of this evening was a headache and a deep, deep depreciation of Anne and Lynn. And various others that do not deserve names.
Bitchy? Yes.
Called for?
What do you think?
Sunday, October 5, 2008
"Our last summer, walking hand-in-hand..."
She would never know how it happened. One minute they were in his car, the radio playing muffledly…”Taking Chances” by Celine Dion, that was something that she would remember forever. And he pulled up in front of her apartment building, and there was silence for several seconds. She looked over at him, he smiled, and she leaned in closer. “You’ve got something in your hair,” she said in a voice that didn’t exactly sound like hers. She brushed a speck of paper out of a tuft of his brown waves and he caught her hand.
His lips smashed into hers.
And so began the inevitable course.
Their affair was something that they never publicized or even spoke about. It was an unspoken pact between the two. At the end of the day, he would go home to his wife. Both of them knew that she was the one person he loved in the world more than anyone else.
“She’s gone for a week,” he said conversationally one day. “Conference.”
“Really?” she asked. “So what’re you up to?”
“Do you feel like Mongolian?”
She grinned. “Sure do.”
That night was the first night she stayed with him. She’d always left directly after, or scrambled for their clothes so they wouldn't tie up the supply room for too long. But this…this was luxurious. They stayed in a guest bedroom and when she woke up to the light sound of rain, with him next to her, she felt whole.
This went on for six months. She knew it would end. They both did, but they never discussed it. Then one day, he dropped the bomb that she knew would eventually explode.
“She’s pregnant.”
All she could do was nod. She couldn’t fake a smile or a word of congratulations. He knew her too well to buy a thinly veiled emotional lie.
“And that means…” He trailed off. “We can’t do this anymore. We never should have started.”
“Why did we?” she asked.
“Because I love you.”
“You’re still talking about it in the present tense.”
“But I love her more.” He sat down next to her. “If I had met you somewhere else…sometime else…we could have worked. But we didn’t.”
“Will you ever tell her?”
He shook his head. “She doesn’t need to know.”
“I would want to.”
“Then you tell her.”
She bit her lip, wishing valiantly to reappear in some alternate universe where he had met her first. “I’m sorry,” she said simply.
And she left the room, the building, and his life. She transferred, unable to bear the pain of watching the man she loved and the woman she wished to be build up a new life. She’d monitor their Facebook profiles through her cousin’s easily hackable account and one night, he’d popped online at the same time she was. A bing indicated a new chat message, and she bit her thumb as she read it.
Long time no talk! How's it going with you?
She could almost hear his voice speaking to her. And not wanting to, she typed an answer.
I’m okay. What about you?
It took what seemed like forever for him to respond.
I’m good. We’ve got a third member of the household now, so it’s pretty crazy.
She swore inaudibly.
Really?
Yep. A girl. She was born about a month ago. You’ve should come visit us sometime.
She couldn’t handle it anymore. She closed the window, laid her head on the keyboard, and wept. He'd cheated on his wife and gotten a family out of the deal.
She channeled the pain into her work. She beat her heels down auditioning--literally. And when she landed a minor role in Wicked, she threw herself into it. Becoming someone else was a way to get out of thinking about the crappiness of her life.
And for the next four years, that’s how she dealt with what had happened. She’d lost the one man that she’d ever loved to his wife. Thinking about it made her truly realize how screwed up her life had been.
One night, after a performance of The Producers, after she’d gotten out of her Ulla persona and back into herself, she traipsed out of the theatre into the grimy snow of the city streets. Before she’d gotten ten feet away, a voice stopped her dead in her tracks.
“I knew you’d make it here.”
She turned around to see the man she’d wanted to get out of her head forever. “You came?” she asked, and that was not the snappy opening she’d been planning on starting their first post-breakup conversation with.
“Believe it or not, I’ve heard of you,” he said. “You’re good.”
“It’s thanks to you,” she replied.
A look of shock crossed his face. “Really?”
“More or less.”
“I…” He trailed off. “I feel so guilty for what I did to you. We never should have gotten started with what we did in the first place--”
“No,” she agreed. “We shouldn’t have.”
“She found out,” he said. “She said she always knew but she couldn’t ignore it anymore.”
“Why?”
“She grew a spine.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Her words, not mine.”
“So…” Her mind struggled to grasp what she’d been told. “You two are over?”
He nodded. “You know how I said that if I’d met you someplace else? Well, here we are.” He spread his arms to indicate the sprawling street.
Her naïveté leapt. But another part of her, the part with the decent memory, flared with anger. “You forgot one part of that equation,” she corrected him. “We would have worked somewhere else in another time, yes. But only if I was another person.” She put her hands on her hips. “Sweetheart, I’m not who I was. Now get your ass out of my city.”
Without a look back, she walked away.
That night, for the first time in four and a half years, he didn’t invade her dreams.
And that made her slightly sad.
So this is what happens when I decide to invent some fictional problems. Quite entertaining.
I am going to go to sleep now. Finally.
His lips smashed into hers.
And so began the inevitable course.
Their affair was something that they never publicized or even spoke about. It was an unspoken pact between the two. At the end of the day, he would go home to his wife. Both of them knew that she was the one person he loved in the world more than anyone else.
“She’s gone for a week,” he said conversationally one day. “Conference.”
“Really?” she asked. “So what’re you up to?”
“Do you feel like Mongolian?”
She grinned. “Sure do.”
That night was the first night she stayed with him. She’d always left directly after, or scrambled for their clothes so they wouldn't tie up the supply room for too long. But this…this was luxurious. They stayed in a guest bedroom and when she woke up to the light sound of rain, with him next to her, she felt whole.
This went on for six months. She knew it would end. They both did, but they never discussed it. Then one day, he dropped the bomb that she knew would eventually explode.
“She’s pregnant.”
All she could do was nod. She couldn’t fake a smile or a word of congratulations. He knew her too well to buy a thinly veiled emotional lie.
“And that means…” He trailed off. “We can’t do this anymore. We never should have started.”
“Why did we?” she asked.
“Because I love you.”
“You’re still talking about it in the present tense.”
“But I love her more.” He sat down next to her. “If I had met you somewhere else…sometime else…we could have worked. But we didn’t.”
“Will you ever tell her?”
He shook his head. “She doesn’t need to know.”
“I would want to.”
“Then you tell her.”
She bit her lip, wishing valiantly to reappear in some alternate universe where he had met her first. “I’m sorry,” she said simply.
And she left the room, the building, and his life. She transferred, unable to bear the pain of watching the man she loved and the woman she wished to be build up a new life. She’d monitor their Facebook profiles through her cousin’s easily hackable account and one night, he’d popped online at the same time she was. A bing indicated a new chat message, and she bit her thumb as she read it.
Long time no talk! How's it going with you?
She could almost hear his voice speaking to her. And not wanting to, she typed an answer.
I’m okay. What about you?
It took what seemed like forever for him to respond.
I’m good. We’ve got a third member of the household now, so it’s pretty crazy.
She swore inaudibly.
Really?
Yep. A girl. She was born about a month ago. You’ve should come visit us sometime.
She couldn’t handle it anymore. She closed the window, laid her head on the keyboard, and wept. He'd cheated on his wife and gotten a family out of the deal.
She channeled the pain into her work. She beat her heels down auditioning--literally. And when she landed a minor role in Wicked, she threw herself into it. Becoming someone else was a way to get out of thinking about the crappiness of her life.
And for the next four years, that’s how she dealt with what had happened. She’d lost the one man that she’d ever loved to his wife. Thinking about it made her truly realize how screwed up her life had been.
One night, after a performance of The Producers, after she’d gotten out of her Ulla persona and back into herself, she traipsed out of the theatre into the grimy snow of the city streets. Before she’d gotten ten feet away, a voice stopped her dead in her tracks.
“I knew you’d make it here.”
She turned around to see the man she’d wanted to get out of her head forever. “You came?” she asked, and that was not the snappy opening she’d been planning on starting their first post-breakup conversation with.
“Believe it or not, I’ve heard of you,” he said. “You’re good.”
“It’s thanks to you,” she replied.
A look of shock crossed his face. “Really?”
“More or less.”
“I…” He trailed off. “I feel so guilty for what I did to you. We never should have gotten started with what we did in the first place--”
“No,” she agreed. “We shouldn’t have.”
“She found out,” he said. “She said she always knew but she couldn’t ignore it anymore.”
“Why?”
“She grew a spine.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Her words, not mine.”
“So…” Her mind struggled to grasp what she’d been told. “You two are over?”
He nodded. “You know how I said that if I’d met you someplace else? Well, here we are.” He spread his arms to indicate the sprawling street.
Her naïveté leapt. But another part of her, the part with the decent memory, flared with anger. “You forgot one part of that equation,” she corrected him. “We would have worked somewhere else in another time, yes. But only if I was another person.” She put her hands on her hips. “Sweetheart, I’m not who I was. Now get your ass out of my city.”
Without a look back, she walked away.
That night, for the first time in four and a half years, he didn’t invade her dreams.
And that made her slightly sad.
So this is what happens when I decide to invent some fictional problems. Quite entertaining.
I am going to go to sleep now. Finally.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Ay caramba.
Anne is driving me absolutely freaking nuts. She has no fashion sense and thinks that looking like a bag lady is good enough. My new term for her is a sleaze hag. Feel free to steal it and share it freely with your friends.
I have a feeling that I've probably stated the opening sentence on another post about the not-entirely exciting life of me. There's quite a lot of repetition here, if you haven't noticed that.
I have a feeling that I've probably stated the opening sentence on another post about the not-entirely exciting life of me. There's quite a lot of repetition here, if you haven't noticed that.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Go Forth And Multiply (Apparently)
So I'm pretty sure that everyone in the friggin' world is pregnant. There are two underage sluts (forgive the unpolitically-correctness of that) at the School from Hell, Shandra (a graduate of the Conservative Christian School), June, and Bea, the CCS's artsy lady. What is with this?
I am in such a crappy mood. I have been for the past week. It's just...I want somebody to think that I am the most important thing in the world. And my parents, while wonderful (okay, my father's more annoying than wonderful, but moving on...) don't count. I want somebody to get to know me, then love me, rather than the other way around.
Is that too much to ask?
...I am so whiny. Just shut up.
I am in such a crappy mood. I have been for the past week. It's just...I want somebody to think that I am the most important thing in the world. And my parents, while wonderful (okay, my father's more annoying than wonderful, but moving on...) don't count. I want somebody to get to know me, then love me, rather than the other way around.
Is that too much to ask?
...I am so whiny. Just shut up.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Dismal. That's The Way It Is.
Have y0u ever had someone in your life that both made your day and broke your heart? All in the same hour?
Screw the same hour, try the same minute.
I have that person. He is witty and snarky and an all-around nice person. When he wants to be, that is. There are times when he's a total ass--unresponsive, uncaring, and unhuman. (I know that's not a word but...it fit with the sentence structure.) And today, he's leaning toward the latter side. And he doesn't mean to. That I know. It's just a byproduct of his hectic life and his lack of knowledge of how much he really means to me.
When we have conversations, I want to slap myself. Because I'm just as bad as he is. I close myself off. And I think it's because, if I let myself go too far, I'll say something that I shouldn't. Something like "I love you." And also because the things that I want to do--put my head on his shoulder, hold hands, ruffle his hair--are things that I cannot do without repercussons.
It'll screw us up if I do anything. I know that. I....no, I don't accept it. But I'm trying.
I will only tell him how I feel when there's nothing left to lose. And I truly mean nothing left to lose. If I'm dying of cancer, if we're in a plane that's on fire, if we're being held hostage by eighty armed gunmen, or if I know in my heart of hearts that we will never ever see each other again.
That is very dismal. But it's the only way that it can be.
Screw the same hour, try the same minute.
I have that person. He is witty and snarky and an all-around nice person. When he wants to be, that is. There are times when he's a total ass--unresponsive, uncaring, and unhuman. (I know that's not a word but...it fit with the sentence structure.) And today, he's leaning toward the latter side. And he doesn't mean to. That I know. It's just a byproduct of his hectic life and his lack of knowledge of how much he really means to me.
When we have conversations, I want to slap myself. Because I'm just as bad as he is. I close myself off. And I think it's because, if I let myself go too far, I'll say something that I shouldn't. Something like "I love you." And also because the things that I want to do--put my head on his shoulder, hold hands, ruffle his hair--are things that I cannot do without repercussons.
It'll screw us up if I do anything. I know that. I....no, I don't accept it. But I'm trying.
I will only tell him how I feel when there's nothing left to lose. And I truly mean nothing left to lose. If I'm dying of cancer, if we're in a plane that's on fire, if we're being held hostage by eighty armed gunmen, or if I know in my heart of hearts that we will never ever see each other again.
That is very dismal. But it's the only way that it can be.
Monday, September 15, 2008
"You're a conundrum wrapped up in a riddle, babe."
It is so hard to keep him from popping into my thoughts. The first time he kissed her....when he proposed.....the first time he told her that he loved her. (That one hurts.) I just....I wish I could see that side of him. The non-sarcastic side. For once, I want the sweet and loving and intimate man that's hiding underneath.
These are sweet moments that only they share. I get that. I just want someone of my own to build that kind of structure with--made of inside jokes and shared memories and utter love for one another.
I am so sick of dealing with this, it's not even funny. I just want someone. But I don't want to settle. It's a conundrum.
But you know, it's not like there are people beating down my door. I'm a little too left of center, a little too unconventional, and a little too closed-off. It reminds me of one of my mother's friends from college. She was musically talented, friendly, personable--but she's never found that one person to share her life with. What if that happens to me?
It could. Truthfully. Because no one can measure up to him. The standard is way too high. Even if someone was madly in love with me, they would have no chance. Because whenever I'm with someone else, I see him.
Yuck.
These are sweet moments that only they share. I get that. I just want someone of my own to build that kind of structure with--made of inside jokes and shared memories and utter love for one another.
I am so sick of dealing with this, it's not even funny. I just want someone. But I don't want to settle. It's a conundrum.
But you know, it's not like there are people beating down my door. I'm a little too left of center, a little too unconventional, and a little too closed-off. It reminds me of one of my mother's friends from college. She was musically talented, friendly, personable--but she's never found that one person to share her life with. What if that happens to me?
It could. Truthfully. Because no one can measure up to him. The standard is way too high. Even if someone was madly in love with me, they would have no chance. Because whenever I'm with someone else, I see him.
Yuck.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Fabulosity...Or Lack Thereof.
Chemistry. Is. Not. My. Friend.
I have recently learned that I have to be explained to how to do things before I can actually do them. Which is surprisng, since books and I usually get along well. I suppose reading for entertainment is different than Reading For A Grade That Will Affect Your Future. (Heh. Let's not speak of my D+ in Algebra, shall we? Good.)
I am having issues times twelve with Anne. It's strange. Last year, her know-it-all attitude didn't seem to annoy me. Maybe because it wasn't friggin' there. But now, she's got this "high and mighty upperclassman" thing going on.
Is that it? Is she so excited for seniority that she's treating even her friends like her subordinates? I've never thought of that until right now. I mean, it seems plausible now that I mull it over.
Oy.
In other news..............oh, I can't think of anything that fabulous. School tomorrow. It will be The Week The Earth Stood Still, The Freshmen Watched In Terror, And The Seniors Milked Their Status For All It's Worth.
I have recently learned that I have to be explained to how to do things before I can actually do them. Which is surprisng, since books and I usually get along well. I suppose reading for entertainment is different than Reading For A Grade That Will Affect Your Future. (Heh. Let's not speak of my D+ in Algebra, shall we? Good.)
I am having issues times twelve with Anne. It's strange. Last year, her know-it-all attitude didn't seem to annoy me. Maybe because it wasn't friggin' there. But now, she's got this "high and mighty upperclassman" thing going on.
Is that it? Is she so excited for seniority that she's treating even her friends like her subordinates? I've never thought of that until right now. I mean, it seems plausible now that I mull it over.
Oy.
In other news..............oh, I can't think of anything that fabulous. School tomorrow. It will be The Week The Earth Stood Still, The Freshmen Watched In Terror, And The Seniors Milked Their Status For All It's Worth.
Monday, September 1, 2008
The first week of classes went fabulously. I mean, really really fabulously.
"Why?" you ask with bated breath?
"Why?" you ask with bated breath?
Because I am now in Distinction Choir!
That made my life. And it's encouraging about the whole situation, really.
On a different note, I am never having Anne over for longer than three hours. She's driving me nuts. Have you ever known a story-topper? That's her. Yugh.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
In The Wrong Place at the Wrong Time
I am utterly sickening. Sickening sickening sickening.
God, I want someone. And I don't want someone who's just there...who's adequate...who fails to make my heart skip a beat and make me wonder if I'm dreaming. I want someone on my wavelength.
And I have found him. Unfortunately.....never gonna happen. Not in one million years. Unless circumstances would drastically change.
God, I want someone. And I don't want someone who's just there...who's adequate...who fails to make my heart skip a beat and make me wonder if I'm dreaming. I want someone on my wavelength.
I want someone who's a constant...no matter what kind of crap I've gone through, it doesn't seem near as bad when I'm with him. Someone who relies on my opinion and vice versa. Someone who can give himself to me completely, with no secrets or lies or false pretenses. Someone who'll fit together with me perfectly like a puzzle. Someone who I can be stupid with and moreover, someone who's my brand of stupid.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Hehe...
No, I've never seen Narnia (the new version...I saw the nineties one, though), but this made me laugh...
Awfully tragic for Prince Caspian, is it not?
(Found on PhotoShop Disasters...go check it out, it's wildly amusing. I wish I could PhotoShop.)
Awfully tragic for Prince Caspian, is it not?(Found on PhotoShop Disasters...go check it out, it's wildly amusing. I wish I could PhotoShop.)
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Wants, Examples, And The Conundrums Thereof.
You know what I want, more than anything in the world? I want someone to freely fall head-over-heels for me. I don't want sick, clingy crap, but I want someone who would honestly be devastated if I flew off the face of this earth. Someone who will tell me everything and anything and be my continuous partner in crime.
Let's take our good friends Dane and June. They are one hundred percent perfect for each other and not stupid about it. They have this effortless love.
They are fabulous.
They are extremely lucky.
All I want~and I don't think it's a huge request~is for somebody who'll always be there for me. I'm sick of relying on people who have other people who are more important in their lives. And that's what kills me the most. Short of the one who played a part in giving me life, I cannot think of one guy that would count me in on his Top Five priority list.
Well...okay, there's maybe one. Nate. But he has made it abundantly clear that he'd rather bash his piano in with a sledgehammer than affix a significant other to himself, so there's that.
June, June, June. I would kill/maim/burn my shoe collection to have what you've got going.
Let's take our good friends Dane and June. They are one hundred percent perfect for each other and not stupid about it. They have this effortless love.
They are fabulous.
They are extremely lucky.
All I want~and I don't think it's a huge request~is for somebody who'll always be there for me. I'm sick of relying on people who have other people who are more important in their lives. And that's what kills me the most. Short of the one who played a part in giving me life, I cannot think of one guy that would count me in on his Top Five priority list.
Well...okay, there's maybe one. Nate. But he has made it abundantly clear that he'd rather bash his piano in with a sledgehammer than affix a significant other to himself, so there's that.
June, June, June. I would kill/maim/burn my shoe collection to have what you've got going.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Television Without Pity Rocks My LIFE.
Yugh. I have to get up in six hours (seriously--my alarm's ringing at 6:30, people!--church waits for no girl!), but this bit of very-unchurchiness had to be shared. It's from Television Without Pity's review of the Charmed episode "Lucky Charmed," and...well, just read:
♪♫♪♫♪♫♪
He yanks one of his nuggets from his trousers, and I'm sorry, but that looks just as filthy on the screen as it reads on the page. What in God's name were they thinking when they came up with this shit? Huh? Anyone? Please? Jesus Christ on a stick. Anyway, Jimmy makes with the "sláinte is táinte " nonsense, his magical trouser nugget streams through the air to Piper's head in a golden arc, that's even filthier than the last goddamned thing I typed, and the doorbell rings.
♪♫♪♫♪♫♪
And tomorrow I shall repent. And think about this during Communion and be a terrible Lutheran.
*sigh*
You know, it's rather funny. Twelve hours ago I was basically complex-free. I was happy, I was sane, I was utterly okay with myself. Sure, I'm not the Most Fabulous Person in the world, but I'm pretty well off. I have talent, I have friends, I have a personality.
That all changed the moment I saw Layla's pictures.
Layla is, in a nutshell, who I want to be. She's a wonderful actress (and has the award to prove it), a size six (at the most), and a member of Distinction Choir. And she's also a traveler to the East Coast, as I recently learned. Worst part is, she's my year in school. And the real worst part is, we're friends. Not extremely close, thrown together through theatre and the Dane thereof, but friends nonetheless.
Why the hell does everyone get to go someplace in the summer but me???
That all changed the moment I saw Layla's pictures.
Layla is, in a nutshell, who I want to be. She's a wonderful actress (and has the award to prove it), a size six (at the most), and a member of Distinction Choir. And she's also a traveler to the East Coast, as I recently learned. Worst part is, she's my year in school. And the real worst part is, we're friends. Not extremely close, thrown together through theatre and the Dane thereof, but friends nonetheless.
Why the hell does everyone get to go someplace in the summer but me???
The Babblings of a Hungry Writer
This is a bit of an update for you fanfiction people out there that may lurk about: at the moment, I am sitting down to type whatever chapter I'm currently on of More Than She Bargained For. The revisions I've done on it are rather strange, actually. This will be the third. When I wrote the second, I thought that it was perfect and would work out wonderfully for Eddi and Cole, but now I think it's too fast.
Don't have a clue what I'm talking about?
You will. ;)
Don't have a clue what I'm talking about?
You will. ;)
Friday, August 15, 2008
The Object Of My...Everything
It's a cross between amusing and embarassing to look back on the things we've done in front of someone we'll later grow to be in love with. I've been looking back at some of the absolutely idiotic-slash-immature things I've done over the past two years in front of The Object Of My Affections (TOOMA, which is a handy acronym....I came up with another good one yesterday, dangit!....now what was it?........oh, screw it...it could've been a perfect sitcom code but it now flew out the window). Wouldn't you love it if life had a remote control? I would do-over about twelve things. Or smack my younger self. I'm telling you, she really deserved it.
And yes, he's labeled The Object Of My Affections, plural, because that's what he is. He gets adoration about seventy percent (almost typed "perfect"...how Freudian can you get?) of the time, with the other thirty encompassing rage, annoyance, and sadness.
There's a big story with this, but I'm not gonna even go there, as it would take an hour to type out. Let's just say I think of him a lot more than he thinks of me.
And yes, he's labeled The Object Of My Affections, plural, because that's what he is. He gets adoration about seventy percent (almost typed "perfect"...how Freudian can you get?) of the time, with the other thirty encompassing rage, annoyance, and sadness.
There's a big story with this, but I'm not gonna even go there, as it would take an hour to type out. Let's just say I think of him a lot more than he thinks of me.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
She's A Strange One, Charlie Brown
You know, I can't help but wonder what'll happen with all of this "becoming one of them" jazz. Will I be totally different? Will other people view me as totally different? Or will I even change at all? Just because I have a new acronym doesn't mean that my personality will undergo a total one-eighty. (Even though I have made numerous jokes about "getting a chip implanted in your brain" as to their uncanny knowledge of other people's activities.)
And I definately want to know if this will involve my romantic life. At All. Because, for the past two years, I've been looked at as kind of an oddity~the theatre girl, the band geek with lotsa shoes, the fashion whackjob. I want to know if my transformation will open a few people's eyes to say, "Huh. I wonder if she'd like to go see a movie Friday night...after the band's done playing at the football game, that is." Although, in an ideal world, the guy would be in the pep band himself so there would be no real problem there.
Who knows what'll happen?
I wish I did.
Now...off to Television Without Pity, to enjoy the write-ups of Charmed episodes. They're terrible, they're mean, they're rude, but they're hilariously funny. Long live Cole!
And I definately want to know if this will involve my romantic life. At All. Because, for the past two years, I've been looked at as kind of an oddity~the theatre girl, the band geek with lotsa shoes, the fashion whackjob. I want to know if my transformation will open a few people's eyes to say, "Huh. I wonder if she'd like to go see a movie Friday night...after the band's done playing at the football game, that is." Although, in an ideal world, the guy would be in the pep band himself so there would be no real problem there.
Who knows what'll happen?
I wish I did.
Now...off to Television Without Pity, to enjoy the write-ups of Charmed episodes. They're terrible, they're mean, they're rude, but they're hilariously funny. Long live Cole!
Music, Music, Everywhere, But No Clue What To Sing
(Ay-yi-yi. Stupid technology.)
School has snuck up on me, and the Distinction Choir auditions thereof. I have no clue what I'm going to sing for my solo. I could do something I've done for contest, but those are old. I've had months to work on those and they've already been rated. I want to expand myself. I suppose I could sing a hymn, but that says "Hello, I can sing pretty with the melody playing with me, see?" Or I could do something from a musical, but then that would eat up my choices in the event we'd ever do a musical. (That remains to be seen.) Those would be.
♫ "I Don't Know How To Love Him" from Jesus Christ Superstar (perfect for my enviornment!)
♫ "On My Own" from Les Miserables
♫ "Memory" from CATS
♫ "I'm Not That Girl" from Wicked
I suppose I could pull out one of those. It's not as if we're gonna do four musicals in my last two years.
Let's see if this version gets posted.
School has snuck up on me, and the Distinction Choir auditions thereof. I have no clue what I'm going to sing for my solo. I could do something I've done for contest, but those are old. I've had months to work on those and they've already been rated. I want to expand myself. I suppose I could sing a hymn, but that says "Hello, I can sing pretty with the melody playing with me, see?" Or I could do something from a musical, but then that would eat up my choices in the event we'd ever do a musical. (That remains to be seen.) Those would be.
♫ "I Don't Know How To Love Him" from Jesus Christ Superstar (perfect for my enviornment!)
♫ "On My Own" from Les Miserables
♫ "Memory" from CATS
♫ "I'm Not That Girl" from Wicked
I suppose I could pull out one of those. It's not as if we're gonna do four musicals in my last two years.
Let's see if this version gets posted.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
How Can I Miss You If You Don't Go Away?
My father is driving me nuts. Ever since I moved into town, he's been unbearably suffocating. Yes, I get that he misses me. Yes, I get that his job doesn't require a lot of heavy-duty thinking (hello, it's driving for hours at a time...that's about it). And yes, I get that I'm his only child. But honestly! Give it a rest already!
I'm grateful to have him. I really am. But he's grating on my last nerve here, people.
There's really no way to describe his personality, except for that he's the antithesis of Christian Troy. (stunningly handsome, playboy to a T, does what he wants whenever he wants to).
Oy.
I'm grateful to have him. I really am. But he's grating on my last nerve here, people.
There's really no way to describe his personality, except for that he's the antithesis of Christian Troy. (stunningly handsome, playboy to a T, does what he wants whenever he wants to).
Oy.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Angle of Music...
Oh, I so have a new favorite song: "Angels" (haha, typed "angles") by Within Temptation. I was YouTubing Charmed videos and happened upon it. It's so my kind of music~~nice little choral part, wonderful female singer, and just utterly amazing. There's passion. I love it. (It kinda reminds me of Cole and Phoebe in the aforementioned charming show....when he was the Source? ...stupid writers).
As for this morning, I wore my teal peasant dress. And it was fabulous. ♥
As for this morning, I wore my teal peasant dress. And it was fabulous. ♥
...why do I have a Hilary Duff song stuck in my head?
Just a quick update before I try to get my flippin' hair to curl...or at least not look totally idiotic...
What's done is done. I have officially left my branch of Lutheranism, much to the distaste of my pastor, who (fun fact) happens to be a Methodist. That's a really long story that doesn't have time to be typed before I head off to church with my people.
And speaking of--I'm debating whether I should wear my teal peasant dress thing (from Target) or my black bubble skirt dress with a turtleneck underneath it (from Herberger's/Maurice's). I've not been outside today and I'm not gonna traipse through the apartment looking like I do now so I can gauge the temperature and humidity.
Ooh. The Weather Channel has a website.
Ciao!
What's done is done. I have officially left my branch of Lutheranism, much to the distaste of my pastor, who (fun fact) happens to be a Methodist. That's a really long story that doesn't have time to be typed before I head off to church with my people.
And speaking of--I'm debating whether I should wear my teal peasant dress thing (from Target) or my black bubble skirt dress with a turtleneck underneath it (from Herberger's/Maurice's). I've not been outside today and I'm not gonna traipse through the apartment looking like I do now so I can gauge the temperature and humidity.
Ooh. The Weather Channel has a website.
Ciao!
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Won't somebody please have a heart? Come and rescue me now...
So this just deleted what I'd typed. Oh well. Here we go.
This is so freaking complicated. It's too freaking complicated. (Refer to my babblings about Distinction Choir and the post "Step One" for more info. What if I'm doing this for the wrong reason?
...........listen to ABBA's "Under Attack." The chorus is me right now.
This is so freaking complicated. It's too freaking complicated. (Refer to my babblings about Distinction Choir and the post "Step One" for more info. What if I'm doing this for the wrong reason?
...........listen to ABBA's "Under Attack." The chorus is me right now.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Step One
I've done it. I can scarcely believe that I've done it but I've done it.
My request to remove membership from my church is in the mail. I feel like it's gonna get nasty before it gets nicer, but it was something I had to do.
Cross your fingers.
P.S. I can do ♥HTML♥ now!
○See?
My request to remove membership from my church is in the mail. I feel like it's gonna get nasty before it gets nicer, but it was something I had to do.
Cross your fingers.
P.S. I can do ♥HTML♥ now!
○See?
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Escape From Hell House!
After two fabulous days of helping with Bible school, one power outage, and several uprooted trees, I decided to head back for the city and internet access.
Hallelujah!
Hallelujah!
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Feliz Cumpleanos...
A big happy birthday to Julian McMahon, also known as the Object of My Affections (one of them, anyway). He turned forty today and is still fabulous, as you can see.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
A Year In Review
Everyone has some type of trauma in their life. Some are huge (natural disasters, death, illness), some are menial (Estee Lauder discontinuing your favorite lipstick, forgetting to pick up something at the grocery store, dribbling sweet 'n sour sauce on your new white and green shirt, a la me), and some fall into the moderate category. Not as life-threatening as cancer, but not as simple as having to find a new shade of matte burgundy. Mine is smack-dab in the middle of that category.
A little backstory before we begin...
I am a music person. I love it~singing, playing, listening, critiquing, whatever. It makes me feel alive. My music instructor is a fabulous guy with a wonderful personality and that's where this all gets tricky.
My school is part of a denomination of Christianity that's strict when it comes to fellowship (a.k.a. who gets to participate in what). They're very big on religious unity. But I registered there two years ago under interesting circumstances, I was just happy to be going somewhere different. Hey, I think I told myself. They're Lutheran, I'm Lutheran, what's the biggest difference gonna be? Different Jell-O recipes?
Boy, was I wrong. My branch of Lutheranism is by far the most liberal while theirs is the most conservative. Hello, difference!
My first year at CLS (Conservative Lutheran School), I spent first semester in a daze. It was a totally new enviornment. For one thing, everyone treated everyone else like human beings (more or less). I made friends...Anne, Lyn (a pastor's daughter trying to live up to her older siblings and failing), Caryn (another pastor's daughter with a shy exterior covering up a decent sense of humor), and Dane, the music instructor.
The beginning tremors of my mini-disaster occurred sometime early first semester. It was the day of auditions for an elite (a word I have grown to despise yet covet attached to my name) band and I was lurking around the music room, having a typical conversation with Dane: music, life in general, more music, a bit of snark.
The topic then turned to Distinction Choir, the auditioned group of singers that branched off of the sophmore through senior choir. Every freshman had to be in Freshman Music, which consisted of learning note names, learning rhythms, and threats of detention every twenty minutes, so as of yet I hadn't been too involved with either of the older/better choirs. All I knew is that I wanted to be in Distinction.
That's when the earthquake rolled its' first quiver.
Dane told me, a little tenatively, that I couldn't be in Distinction because while I was Lutheran, I wasn't their brand of Lutheran. Since the choir sang at worship services, letting me in would be violating the specified rules set down by God and, somewhere along the line, the district president. This is when it all gets a little fuzzy, from either time or shock. I remember saying, "Do you see all this control? Would you like to see all this control go out the window?" I remember leaving. I remember going into the ladies' room. I remember throwing my black patent pleather high heels at the wall in anger.
Life moved on from that fateful day. In the back of my mind, there was a small thought of I'm gonna try out and I'll be amazing and they'll beg me to join, regardless of what my acronym is.
This year, the earthquake hit full force.
It was on a Wednesday--the first Wednesday of the school year--that Dane called me into the music room, which was fast becoming my home away from home. On Tuesday, I had asked if I could try out for Distinction Choir and, if I did, "Will you take me seriously?" (I remember this phrase very well. We were both in the office and Caryn was by my side, tsk-tsk-ing about my refusal to let the issue go. She does that a lot when it comes to matters of me.) I was supposed to be having a voice lesson. That never happened.
Dane said that he had talked to the superiors and they decided that I, and anyone else who wasn't part of their branch, wouldn't be allowed to audition for Distinction Choir. We spent close to two hours talking about this and I tried desparately not to cry. It wasn't fair. Everything wasn't fair. He didn't do anything to deserve telling a ravenous tiger that the food shipment had been cancelled.
Auditions came and went. No one in The Reject Pile got in, but most of the population of The Eliters did. I have a theory that this is how they became elite, actually. Musical talent coupled with bubbly personalities. I wasn't the only one that had to deal with this. Elle, a quasi-member of The Eliters and a soprano, did too, which sparked our friendship.
The year passed. Whenever the words "Distinction Choir" were spoken, I would mutter something uncomplimentary (defying the wish that I "keep a Christian attitude"), tense up, and stride away, feeling like I'd been shunned by all. This drove Caryn nuts. Anne, on the other hand, would tell me in no uncertain terms to become one of them or stop complaining.
There were the trips, of course. They went two states away for a choral festival, leaving the band to suffer through two horrific rehearsals. There were the numerous after-school and pre-choir (everyone's choir) practices, which left me looking at the non-members of Distinction and dying inside. Everyone else was either not as blessed in the music field, blessed in other areas and just in choir to pass the time, or heathen, as I'd grown to call myself. (Dane did too, after he was sure that I wasn't going to kill him.)
Then there was the Day from Hell. This is my abridged journal entry for the day:
It started this morning. Caryn and Matt [Caryn's on-again, off-again
musically talented crush] and Maria [Caryn's slightly more outgoing
sister] were working on their hymn for tomorrow in the music room. Anne was
doing her algebra, and I was lurking around as usual. I read the contest [large group contest--band, choir, and Distinction were going to strut
their talent] lists of arrivals and returns and suddenly I saw that
WHAM~Tony and Chuck [two non-Distinction tenors] were included in the
Distinction Choir group. I asked why, Matt said that they needed more people,
and I just left to the shouts of "You're not Lutheran!" from Anne.
A little backstory before we begin...
I am a music person. I love it~singing, playing, listening, critiquing, whatever. It makes me feel alive. My music instructor is a fabulous guy with a wonderful personality and that's where this all gets tricky.
My school is part of a denomination of Christianity that's strict when it comes to fellowship (a.k.a. who gets to participate in what). They're very big on religious unity. But I registered there two years ago under interesting circumstances, I was just happy to be going somewhere different. Hey, I think I told myself. They're Lutheran, I'm Lutheran, what's the biggest difference gonna be? Different Jell-O recipes?
Boy, was I wrong. My branch of Lutheranism is by far the most liberal while theirs is the most conservative. Hello, difference!
My first year at CLS (Conservative Lutheran School), I spent first semester in a daze. It was a totally new enviornment. For one thing, everyone treated everyone else like human beings (more or less). I made friends...Anne, Lyn (a pastor's daughter trying to live up to her older siblings and failing), Caryn (another pastor's daughter with a shy exterior covering up a decent sense of humor), and Dane, the music instructor.
The beginning tremors of my mini-disaster occurred sometime early first semester. It was the day of auditions for an elite (a word I have grown to despise yet covet attached to my name) band and I was lurking around the music room, having a typical conversation with Dane: music, life in general, more music, a bit of snark.
The topic then turned to Distinction Choir, the auditioned group of singers that branched off of the sophmore through senior choir. Every freshman had to be in Freshman Music, which consisted of learning note names, learning rhythms, and threats of detention every twenty minutes, so as of yet I hadn't been too involved with either of the older/better choirs. All I knew is that I wanted to be in Distinction.
That's when the earthquake rolled its' first quiver.
Dane told me, a little tenatively, that I couldn't be in Distinction because while I was Lutheran, I wasn't their brand of Lutheran. Since the choir sang at worship services, letting me in would be violating the specified rules set down by God and, somewhere along the line, the district president. This is when it all gets a little fuzzy, from either time or shock. I remember saying, "Do you see all this control? Would you like to see all this control go out the window?" I remember leaving. I remember going into the ladies' room. I remember throwing my black patent pleather high heels at the wall in anger.
Life moved on from that fateful day. In the back of my mind, there was a small thought of I'm gonna try out and I'll be amazing and they'll beg me to join, regardless of what my acronym is.
This year, the earthquake hit full force.
It was on a Wednesday--the first Wednesday of the school year--that Dane called me into the music room, which was fast becoming my home away from home. On Tuesday, I had asked if I could try out for Distinction Choir and, if I did, "Will you take me seriously?" (I remember this phrase very well. We were both in the office and Caryn was by my side, tsk-tsk-ing about my refusal to let the issue go. She does that a lot when it comes to matters of me.) I was supposed to be having a voice lesson. That never happened.
Dane said that he had talked to the superiors and they decided that I, and anyone else who wasn't part of their branch, wouldn't be allowed to audition for Distinction Choir. We spent close to two hours talking about this and I tried desparately not to cry. It wasn't fair. Everything wasn't fair. He didn't do anything to deserve telling a ravenous tiger that the food shipment had been cancelled.
Auditions came and went. No one in The Reject Pile got in, but most of the population of The Eliters did. I have a theory that this is how they became elite, actually. Musical talent coupled with bubbly personalities. I wasn't the only one that had to deal with this. Elle, a quasi-member of The Eliters and a soprano, did too, which sparked our friendship.
The year passed. Whenever the words "Distinction Choir" were spoken, I would mutter something uncomplimentary (defying the wish that I "keep a Christian attitude"), tense up, and stride away, feeling like I'd been shunned by all. This drove Caryn nuts. Anne, on the other hand, would tell me in no uncertain terms to become one of them or stop complaining.
There were the trips, of course. They went two states away for a choral festival, leaving the band to suffer through two horrific rehearsals. There were the numerous after-school and pre-choir (everyone's choir) practices, which left me looking at the non-members of Distinction and dying inside. Everyone else was either not as blessed in the music field, blessed in other areas and just in choir to pass the time, or heathen, as I'd grown to call myself. (Dane did too, after he was sure that I wasn't going to kill him.)
Then there was the Day from Hell. This is my abridged journal entry for the day:
It started this morning. Caryn and Matt [Caryn's on-again, off-again
musically talented crush] and Maria [Caryn's slightly more outgoing
sister] were working on their hymn for tomorrow in the music room. Anne was
doing her algebra, and I was lurking around as usual. I read the contest [large group contest--band, choir, and Distinction were going to strut
their talent] lists of arrivals and returns and suddenly I saw that
WHAM~Tony and Chuck [two non-Distinction tenors] were included in the
Distinction Choir group. I asked why, Matt said that they needed more people,
and I just left to the shouts of "You're not Lutheran!" from Anne.
Selena [senior soprano with an angelic voice] said that since
Bonnie [junior alto who disappeared mysteriously to...somewhere, no one was
quite sure] is gone, they need more people since they weren't sure they were
a "large" group.
I feel like I've been slapped. It's a stunnment. That's the only word for
it, even though it's not a word.
How could he?!?!?!
Do I not get a "thank you"? A token of gratitude for putting up with all
of this idiocy?
...
Nothing is constant. People change, Distinction Choir changes, nobody
predicts it.
...
If this was a movie, the heroine would be invited to sing with the Choir
for contest, get her guy, and feel included at last. But life isn't a movie.
On the worst day scale, that would be up there on the top.
So that's why this year, I'm not going to sit on the sidelines and count how many freshmen showed up for the Distinction Choir's show choir performance. I'm going to be performing, because I'm becoming one of them. My church will flip. Anne will crow "I told you so!" But you know what?
Music is me.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Summer With A Side of Computer Apps
I absolutely hate sleeping late. I set my alarm for 9:30 this morning and went to sleep, thinking I would awake at a decent hour. Just my luck, I didn't. It was after noon when I rolled out of bed. I suppose I could go to bed at a decent hour, but where's the fun in that? I don't always get to laze around. These three precious months are mine.
I'm screwing around with HTML codes. All I want to know how to do is make music notes. Is that so hard?
Apparently so.
♦ Did this work?
♥ Apparently so!!!
♣ ...this could be fun.
♠ And probably annoying.
I'm screwing around with HTML codes. All I want to know how to do is make music notes. Is that so hard?
Apparently so.
♦ Did this work?
♥ Apparently so!!!
♣ ...this could be fun.
♠ And probably annoying.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
That's Amore...
There is one thing in life that seems like a huge gamble...a throw of the dice...and yet it seems like everyone gets to experience it.
It's love. The feeling of being with your person. The one who fell head over heels for you. Flawed and dented and imperfect you. Let me give you an example.
Dane and June are two of my good friends. They're a match made in heaven--cut from the same mold. Both of them are intensely musically talented and have sparkling personalities. One balances out the other. The slightly freaky thing is, if Dane hadn't gone to the college that he did and went the Lutheran track (which, by weird coincidence, he's on anyway), these two people would have never met and would be floating around without each other. I can't see that happening in any universe.
True love is proof of God. He directs us to those that we're supposed to be with. How else would you explain so many of the good couples?
Note: true love. That's different from true lust, which usually involves looking at a member of the opposite sex, thinking "I'd do him/her," and faking emotions to get in their pants. Sure, sometimes lust turns into love (after all, most every relationship has some iota of physical attraction), but if you get into something just because the object of your desire looks like Angelina Jolie, that comparison may fade after five kids, back problems, and a wheelchair enter the picture.
Love. It's...lovely.
It's love. The feeling of being with your person. The one who fell head over heels for you. Flawed and dented and imperfect you. Let me give you an example.
Dane and June are two of my good friends. They're a match made in heaven--cut from the same mold. Both of them are intensely musically talented and have sparkling personalities. One balances out the other. The slightly freaky thing is, if Dane hadn't gone to the college that he did and went the Lutheran track (which, by weird coincidence, he's on anyway), these two people would have never met and would be floating around without each other. I can't see that happening in any universe.
True love is proof of God. He directs us to those that we're supposed to be with. How else would you explain so many of the good couples?
Note: true love. That's different from true lust, which usually involves looking at a member of the opposite sex, thinking "I'd do him/her," and faking emotions to get in their pants. Sure, sometimes lust turns into love (after all, most every relationship has some iota of physical attraction), but if you get into something just because the object of your desire looks like Angelina Jolie, that comparison may fade after five kids, back problems, and a wheelchair enter the picture.
Love. It's...lovely.
Groupies
You know what I don't get? Why everyone has to have a group. Honestly. Can't anybody be groupless? A lone wolf, perhaps? Here are the groups in my life that I came up with, off the top of my head:
The Eliters...
~~These are the ones that everybody wants to be friends with. The members vary from class to class, but they basically have the same makeup. While they may never talk to you or write on your Facebook Wall unless it's out of boredom or sympathy because you haven't had a post since your birthday two months ago, you desperately want to fit in. When they reject you, you publicly announce how stupid they are and how you're much more suited for popularity back in your hometown. (See my friend Anne.)
The Crazy Ones...
~~These are the ones that everyone is friends with. They party, they drink occasionally, but they make any class you have with them interesting. These are the ones that Anne labels as "sluts" and "jerks." (She desperately wants to be one of them too.)
The Music Teacher's Chosen Ones...
~~These are the alternative folks. They have musical talent, a strange sense of humor, and relish their spots in the circle. Anne deludes herself into thinking that she's one of them, but she tries too hard. To get into this group, you have to be nonchalant enough to slide in and get your claws into your position. In middle school, I wanted in terribly. Now, I'm in and I don't really know how that happened.
The Reject Pile...
~~These are most of my friends. They're not terribly elite, terribly crazy, or terribly talented, but they welcomed me with open arms and that's enough for me.
The Eliters...
~~These are the ones that everybody wants to be friends with. The members vary from class to class, but they basically have the same makeup. While they may never talk to you or write on your Facebook Wall unless it's out of boredom or sympathy because you haven't had a post since your birthday two months ago, you desperately want to fit in. When they reject you, you publicly announce how stupid they are and how you're much more suited for popularity back in your hometown. (See my friend Anne.)
The Crazy Ones...
~~These are the ones that everyone is friends with. They party, they drink occasionally, but they make any class you have with them interesting. These are the ones that Anne labels as "sluts" and "jerks." (She desperately wants to be one of them too.)
The Music Teacher's Chosen Ones...
~~These are the alternative folks. They have musical talent, a strange sense of humor, and relish their spots in the circle. Anne deludes herself into thinking that she's one of them, but she tries too hard. To get into this group, you have to be nonchalant enough to slide in and get your claws into your position. In middle school, I wanted in terribly. Now, I'm in and I don't really know how that happened.
The Reject Pile...
~~These are most of my friends. They're not terribly elite, terribly crazy, or terribly talented, but they welcomed me with open arms and that's enough for me.
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