I've recently come to the conclusion that my main talent in life is talking about myself.
Now, by that I do not mean "I'm not good at anything that matters!" or "I'm so in love with myself that I hate myself for it!" I just appear to feel the very most in my element when I'm either blogging, making videos, working on reflective essays, or writing in first person. While I'm far from skilled at expressing my feelings verbally (I tend to throw around "I don't know!" a lot when confronted with personal questions, because the part of my brain that processes emotion appears to be quite distant from the part that formulates my speech), I will say that I fancy myself somewhat introspective and at least beyond proficient at expressing transcendental concepts through writing. Of course, correct me if I'm wrong; you're the objective ones here. But that's how I see it.
So that sparks in my mind a rather pressing question*. How does one make a career out of talking about herself? Also, how does she manage to find things to say about herself once she's out of school and living that inevitable apartment-for-one life of Spaghettios and utter boredom and loneliness? Why is she receiving a multi-thousand-dollar education when she will forever be numerically illiterate and is likely to work at Barnes and Noble or something until she dies at her computer screen, in front of an unspectacular, unfinished, unread novel?
But really, with all melodrama and nonsensical stream of consciousness cast aside, what about this talent of mine is a talent? How is it at all marketable, or even worthy of having? For years, I've prided myself on being relatable to my fellow teenagers, and that knowledge has been enough to make me feel like these self-reflective internet hobbies are worthwhile. But... in six months, I will be twenty years old. Perhaps I'll always be an adult who better remembers the pain and fun and torture and awesomeness of adolescence, but I'm about to be an adult, and I can't expect to hold on to this intangible Relatability forever. And that's scary.
I don't know. (Ha, see what I did there?) There's no conclusion to this, no point to be made. It's just late at night-- 1AM, at that time when thoughts tend to roll at a faster pace than one can comprehend them-- and I thought I'd open a blank blog document and see what spewed out of my fingertips. If you have any input to provide at all, I'd be very grateful. If not... I feel you.
Chipotle burritos this year: 11
Subscribers: 25,733
Nail Color: "One Perfect Coral," Revlon
*Consonance!
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down...
When will it end, readers? When will I stop making promises I have no intention of keeping? Every time that I get caught up in life and don't have the spare energy to blog, I pop my head in, yell, "I'M STILL HERE! I'LL BE BACK SOON!" and then continue hiding. It's silly. I LOVE blogging. It makes me feel like myself! Sometimes I just don't make any sense.
Speaking of nonsensicality, lately I've been feeling a little bit... I don't know, codependent? Maybe it's the college atmosphere of living with my friends, or the fact that my best friends are always on my mind due to the three hours between us, or the fact that I spend all my free time on Skype. But it seems like I wake up every morning, talk to The Situation, go to class, talk to my mom, go to class, eat with my friends, do my homework, talk to The Situation, sleep. Perhaps I'm the most selfish person alive (it's been suggested!), but even though I spend most of my time alone, I still feel like I have no time to myself.
Ugh. I'm sorry. "My life is carefree and I have wonderful people who love me! It's sooo haaard." You may now proceed to gag on spoons.
In other news, some really good things have happened since my last baby blog post. Roomie, Erin and I went out to "80s Dance Night" at the "artsy bar" this weekend, to which I channeled a young Madonna (circa "Like a Virgin") and wore a purple velvet prom dress from the cute vintage store. We spazzed out to the Breakfast Club soundtrack for a few hours, watched my adorable roommate be non-consensually grinded upon by some guy who barely spoke English, and made friends with a middle-aged stoner trying to relive her high school glory days. The whole experience was very collegiate. I hope you're proud of me.
As far as school is concerned... my grades aren't going to be as perfect as last quarter, but they won't be half bad. I'm going to go ahead and blame my lethargy and lack of attention span on Seasonal Affective Disorder. I'm serious-- the second the sun came out last week, it was as if the studious portion of my brain stretched and yawned, popped out of hibernation, and got me the top test score in my Linguistics class. Let's just hope this newfound excitement for studying sticks* around, and isn't replaced with my inevitable enthusiasm for lying outside on blankets, reading for pleasure.
Oh! Oh! Speaking of pleasure reading, I've been excitedly making my way through John Green and David Levithan's brand new novel, Will Grayson, Will Grayson. It comes out in April, but being a personal friend of a famous author has some serious perks! I'm about a fourth of the way into the book, and I'm already astonished by how simultaneously beautiful and hilarious it is. My adoration for both authors is far from secret, but I can't seem to express just how unique and impressive WGWG is proving to be. As soon as you get the chance, I highly suggest that you read it.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is pretty much all I've got. My boyfriend is staying with me this week at school, and I'm heading home this weekend to see my high school's production of Guys and Dolls, so I'm not sure when I'll be back online. If you miss me, though, it inspires me to hear so. This post is dedicated to @goingforthegold on twitter, for @replying and asking me to write. :)
Chipotle burritos this year: 10
Subscribers: 25,674
Current nail color: If you'll believe it... NONE. For the first time in about a year. It's freaking me out just as much as it is you.
*Sorry, but in rereading that sentence, I just kept thinking "studying sticks." As in, like, observing a twig with great fascination. I don't even know.
Speaking of nonsensicality, lately I've been feeling a little bit... I don't know, codependent? Maybe it's the college atmosphere of living with my friends, or the fact that my best friends are always on my mind due to the three hours between us, or the fact that I spend all my free time on Skype. But it seems like I wake up every morning, talk to The Situation, go to class, talk to my mom, go to class, eat with my friends, do my homework, talk to The Situation, sleep. Perhaps I'm the most selfish person alive (it's been suggested!), but even though I spend most of my time alone, I still feel like I have no time to myself.
Ugh. I'm sorry. "My life is carefree and I have wonderful people who love me! It's sooo haaard." You may now proceed to gag on spoons.
In other news, some really good things have happened since my last baby blog post. Roomie, Erin and I went out to "80s Dance Night" at the "artsy bar" this weekend, to which I channeled a young Madonna (circa "Like a Virgin") and wore a purple velvet prom dress from the cute vintage store. We spazzed out to the Breakfast Club soundtrack for a few hours, watched my adorable roommate be non-consensually grinded upon by some guy who barely spoke English, and made friends with a middle-aged stoner trying to relive her high school glory days. The whole experience was very collegiate. I hope you're proud of me.
As far as school is concerned... my grades aren't going to be as perfect as last quarter, but they won't be half bad. I'm going to go ahead and blame my lethargy and lack of attention span on Seasonal Affective Disorder. I'm serious-- the second the sun came out last week, it was as if the studious portion of my brain stretched and yawned, popped out of hibernation, and got me the top test score in my Linguistics class. Let's just hope this newfound excitement for studying sticks* around, and isn't replaced with my inevitable enthusiasm for lying outside on blankets, reading for pleasure.
Oh! Oh! Speaking of pleasure reading, I've been excitedly making my way through John Green and David Levithan's brand new novel, Will Grayson, Will Grayson. It comes out in April, but being a personal friend of a famous author has some serious perks! I'm about a fourth of the way into the book, and I'm already astonished by how simultaneously beautiful and hilarious it is. My adoration for both authors is far from secret, but I can't seem to express just how unique and impressive WGWG is proving to be. As soon as you get the chance, I highly suggest that you read it.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is pretty much all I've got. My boyfriend is staying with me this week at school, and I'm heading home this weekend to see my high school's production of Guys and Dolls, so I'm not sure when I'll be back online. If you miss me, though, it inspires me to hear so. This post is dedicated to @goingforthegold on twitter, for @replying and asking me to write. :)
Chipotle burritos this year: 10
Subscribers: 25,674
Current nail color: If you'll believe it... NONE. For the first time in about a year. It's freaking me out just as much as it is you.
*Sorry, but in rereading that sentence, I just kept thinking "studying sticks." As in, like, observing a twig with great fascination. I don't even know.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Uh uh uh uh OW!
[Quick note: Kindly ignore the title of this blog post, unless you're a particularly hardcore Rent fan and can tell me what it's from. That song's been in my head all day, and it cannot be helped.]
Hello, lovelies. It's been a while. And what a while it's been! Since my last post, I:
--Wore way too much makeup and went to a dance celebrating the attendants' homosexuality, despite the fact that I'm in a monogamous heterosexual relationship.
--Performed the choreographed "Bad Romance" dance with a crowd of fellow Gaga fans.
--Went to a weekly event put together by the theatre department, in which the Playwriting majors create short sketches about a particular prompt and have something like five days to produce them. And last week's theme was sexuality. So. Oh-ho.
--Celebrated PJ's birthday by ceremoniously tearing up the cake I made him, as well as Leah and Kayley's birthdays, which were commemorated with videos.
--Met a new friend who, coincidentally, recognized me from my makeup tutorial parody.
--Declared National Angst Day with my roommate by requiring all our friends to complete their homework in our room, whilst complaining about said homework and eating chocolate.
--Made a short and stupid video, mostly to remind my subscribers of my existence.
--Didn't stop the party, despite the tik tok on the clock.*
--Realized there are only three weeks left in the quarter, and that I've been neglecting my schoolwork for two months to provide time for giggling about/doting on my boyfriend.
Sigh. And that brings us to now. I'm in my Child Development class right now, but between paying moderate attention to my professor and writing this blog, I'm also studying for a Linguistics test. Channeling my ultra-organized oldest sister's neuroses, I've changed the desktop wallpaper on my computer to a list of assignments I need to get done. Luckily, I guess I'm even more paranoid about my grades than I am procrastinatory. It just goes to show: You can take the girl out of the social reclusion, but you can't take the Hermione Granger out of the girl. However, tonight I'm going to see the new Alice in Wonderland at midnight with PJ, Heather and Roomie, BECAUSE THAT IS CERTAINLY CONDUCIVE TO MY PASSING AN EXAM TOMORROW MORNING.
In other news, I'm sorry I've been away for so long. Every time I've had a second to write, I've been pulled away with the promise of food or low-intensity adventure. I'll be making a fiveawesomegirls video tonight, of course, but I promise I'll be back to talk to you fine people as soon as some of life's chaos calms down. Thanks for putting up with me so loyally. :)
Chipotle burritos this year: 8
Subscribers: 25,414
Current nail color: "Pamplona Purple," OPI
Last week's nails: "Roses are Red," Victoria's Secret**
*Really lame and poorly executed reference to this song, which I love, despite its tangible trashiness. Probably because Ke$ha is like a cracked out caricature of Jess.
**That picture is not of my hand. I'm not the rhinestone type.
Hello, lovelies. It's been a while. And what a while it's been! Since my last post, I:
--Wore way too much makeup and went to a dance celebrating the attendants' homosexuality, despite the fact that I'm in a monogamous heterosexual relationship.
--Performed the choreographed "Bad Romance" dance with a crowd of fellow Gaga fans.
--Went to a weekly event put together by the theatre department, in which the Playwriting majors create short sketches about a particular prompt and have something like five days to produce them. And last week's theme was sexuality. So. Oh-ho.
--Celebrated PJ's birthday by ceremoniously tearing up the cake I made him, as well as Leah and Kayley's birthdays, which were commemorated with videos.
--Met a new friend who, coincidentally, recognized me from my makeup tutorial parody.
--Declared National Angst Day with my roommate by requiring all our friends to complete their homework in our room, whilst complaining about said homework and eating chocolate.
--Made a short and stupid video, mostly to remind my subscribers of my existence.
--Didn't stop the party, despite the tik tok on the clock.*
--Realized there are only three weeks left in the quarter, and that I've been neglecting my schoolwork for two months to provide time for giggling about/doting on my boyfriend.
Sigh. And that brings us to now. I'm in my Child Development class right now, but between paying moderate attention to my professor and writing this blog, I'm also studying for a Linguistics test. Channeling my ultra-organized oldest sister's neuroses, I've changed the desktop wallpaper on my computer to a list of assignments I need to get done. Luckily, I guess I'm even more paranoid about my grades than I am procrastinatory. It just goes to show: You can take the girl out of the social reclusion, but you can't take the Hermione Granger out of the girl. However, tonight I'm going to see the new Alice in Wonderland at midnight with PJ, Heather and Roomie, BECAUSE THAT IS CERTAINLY CONDUCIVE TO MY PASSING AN EXAM TOMORROW MORNING.
In other news, I'm sorry I've been away for so long. Every time I've had a second to write, I've been pulled away with the promise of food or low-intensity adventure. I'll be making a fiveawesomegirls video tonight, of course, but I promise I'll be back to talk to you fine people as soon as some of life's chaos calms down. Thanks for putting up with me so loyally. :)
Chipotle burritos this year: 8
Subscribers: 25,414
Current nail color: "Pamplona Purple," OPI
Last week's nails: "Roses are Red," Victoria's Secret**
*Really lame and poorly executed reference to this song, which I love, despite its tangible trashiness. Probably because Ke$ha is like a cracked out caricature of Jess.
**That picture is not of my hand. I'm not the rhinestone type.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Reasons to Whine
I'm in a bad mood. I'm jittery and anxious. I have an unstarted paper due tomorrow morning. And the only thing I can stand to do, for some reason, is blog. However, having spent all day driving back to school, I'm in that weird state where my brain is exhausted but my body is restless... so this will come in a list of whiny bullet points.
Reasons to Whine:
--Every February, there's a weekend at OU when students have their younger siblings come visit, and my big brother (an Ohio University graduate himself) made plans to join the little ones this year and come down to hang out. We were all (one of my sisters is here, too, as a senior) looking forward to it for a long time. I was super excited for the last weekend of the month... until I realized that I'd gotten the dates wrong. Sibs' Weekend started this last Friday. The same Friday that I'd made solid plans to meet my boyfriend's family. When I realized my mistake, I hesitantly let my brother know that I wouldn't be in town for his visit... and he was pretty irritated and upset. My brother doesn't get irritated and upset with me. It feels really wrong and sad.
--Before meeting my boyfriend's parents and sister (who are positively LOVELY people; so kind to me and truly adorable), I practically made myself sick, worrying that they wouldn't like me. I'm embarrassed just to admit that, but it's true-- I've always been sort of self-conscious about whether or not I'm liked, and I managed to give my normally clear face four mountainous zits from stress. The worry is over now, but the bumps on my chin and lip remain.
--As my school and his work are located far apart, I don't get to see The Situation a third as often as I'd like to, and saying goodbye really doesn't get any easier with practice.
--I went home for the rest of the weekend, and since a few of my school friends live near my house, I happily offered to drive them, and ended up taking one of my sister's friends with us. And. Well. How can I properly describe this guy to you? When he first entered the car, he was on the phone. Through the loud speaker, I heard a voice ask, "How's Kelly's sister?" to which the boy responded, "Eh, she's like a cute seven." I'm going to assume that he meant that, on a scale from one to ten, I rank at seven. Now, I'd probably call MYSELF a "cute seven," so that alone wouldn't have bothered me much, but this guy went on to give me driving advice ("Wanna pass this truck already?"), respond to questions by saying "word," which I was unaware was something people actually DID, and to make a variety of vile statements which I will not dignify by repeating. I was irate by the time I dropped him off at his parents' mansion, and overjoyed when he found another ride back to Athens today.
--My oldest sister and brother-in-law took my parents on a little mini-vacation this weekend to celebrate their birthdays, and my brother and other sister were at OU, so I had the house all to myself for Saturday and Sunday. I wasn't too thrilled about this, but I was looking forward to having time to devote solely to my friends. I hung out with Lor and Jess for part of Saturday morning, and was excited to inform them that they could sleep over, so we could eat and talk all night. But... they had other plans. Other plans with friends from THEIR school. I don't know. It's one thing to feel left out when you hear about the fun your childhood friends are having without you from several hours away, but realizing that they have a life that simply doesn't involve you, even when you're around, is kind of depressing.
--Due to the previous bullet point, I spent Saturday night all alone, watching old episodes of Sex and the City and feeling very conscious of my loneliness. At one point, I yelled several times for my dog, and she didn't come. She was sitting in the other room. Just couldn't be bothered to lift a paw to respond, even when she only sees me every couple of weeks. Thanks, Lexi.
--My friend James wanted to try a new route back to school today, and I listened to him, because he was the one holding a map. Everything appeared to be going fine, until James revealed that he's dyslexic and had read off the wrong exit number, and we found ourselves in rural West Virginia. I mean, it was okay. We figured out how to get back fairly quickly and painlessly-- but not until after we made a pit stop and were begrudgingly served by a gas station attendant with some kind of personal vendetta against Ohio. "Ya'll lost on your way to Ohio University?" she'd asked. We confirmed her suspicions with a nod, to which she sucked her teeth and replied, "I hate people from Ohio." On the bright side, we all made it out alive. On the downside, it would have made an awesome horror story if we hadn't.
...That was an awful and unfunny thing to say. I'm clearly tired.
Anyway, I wish there were some kind of conclusion to this all, in which I'd tell you how much my day has improved, and how content I am now. But in reality, I just feel a little bit calmer for having let all my thoughts out, and a little bit more worried about that paper I haven't started writing. So. Sorry for being a downer. Here's hoping that tomorrow will be better.
Chipotle burritos this year: 6
Subscribers: 25,084
Nail color: "Taupe-less Showgirls," OPI (discontinued)
Miles run today: 0, but I went for a psychotic walk in my pajamas before sitting down to write this, because I had so much steam to burn off.
Reasons to Whine:
--Every February, there's a weekend at OU when students have their younger siblings come visit, and my big brother (an Ohio University graduate himself) made plans to join the little ones this year and come down to hang out. We were all (one of my sisters is here, too, as a senior) looking forward to it for a long time. I was super excited for the last weekend of the month... until I realized that I'd gotten the dates wrong. Sibs' Weekend started this last Friday. The same Friday that I'd made solid plans to meet my boyfriend's family. When I realized my mistake, I hesitantly let my brother know that I wouldn't be in town for his visit... and he was pretty irritated and upset. My brother doesn't get irritated and upset with me. It feels really wrong and sad.
--Before meeting my boyfriend's parents and sister (who are positively LOVELY people; so kind to me and truly adorable), I practically made myself sick, worrying that they wouldn't like me. I'm embarrassed just to admit that, but it's true-- I've always been sort of self-conscious about whether or not I'm liked, and I managed to give my normally clear face four mountainous zits from stress. The worry is over now, but the bumps on my chin and lip remain.
--As my school and his work are located far apart, I don't get to see The Situation a third as often as I'd like to, and saying goodbye really doesn't get any easier with practice.
--I went home for the rest of the weekend, and since a few of my school friends live near my house, I happily offered to drive them, and ended up taking one of my sister's friends with us. And. Well. How can I properly describe this guy to you? When he first entered the car, he was on the phone. Through the loud speaker, I heard a voice ask, "How's Kelly's sister?" to which the boy responded, "Eh, she's like a cute seven." I'm going to assume that he meant that, on a scale from one to ten, I rank at seven. Now, I'd probably call MYSELF a "cute seven," so that alone wouldn't have bothered me much, but this guy went on to give me driving advice ("Wanna pass this truck already?"), respond to questions by saying "word," which I was unaware was something people actually DID, and to make a variety of vile statements which I will not dignify by repeating. I was irate by the time I dropped him off at his parents' mansion, and overjoyed when he found another ride back to Athens today.
--My oldest sister and brother-in-law took my parents on a little mini-vacation this weekend to celebrate their birthdays, and my brother and other sister were at OU, so I had the house all to myself for Saturday and Sunday. I wasn't too thrilled about this, but I was looking forward to having time to devote solely to my friends. I hung out with Lor and Jess for part of Saturday morning, and was excited to inform them that they could sleep over, so we could eat and talk all night. But... they had other plans. Other plans with friends from THEIR school. I don't know. It's one thing to feel left out when you hear about the fun your childhood friends are having without you from several hours away, but realizing that they have a life that simply doesn't involve you, even when you're around, is kind of depressing.
--Due to the previous bullet point, I spent Saturday night all alone, watching old episodes of Sex and the City and feeling very conscious of my loneliness. At one point, I yelled several times for my dog, and she didn't come. She was sitting in the other room. Just couldn't be bothered to lift a paw to respond, even when she only sees me every couple of weeks. Thanks, Lexi.
--My friend James wanted to try a new route back to school today, and I listened to him, because he was the one holding a map. Everything appeared to be going fine, until James revealed that he's dyslexic and had read off the wrong exit number, and we found ourselves in rural West Virginia. I mean, it was okay. We figured out how to get back fairly quickly and painlessly-- but not until after we made a pit stop and were begrudgingly served by a gas station attendant with some kind of personal vendetta against Ohio. "Ya'll lost on your way to Ohio University?" she'd asked. We confirmed her suspicions with a nod, to which she sucked her teeth and replied, "I hate people from Ohio." On the bright side, we all made it out alive. On the downside, it would have made an awesome horror story if we hadn't.
...That was an awful and unfunny thing to say. I'm clearly tired.
Anyway, I wish there were some kind of conclusion to this all, in which I'd tell you how much my day has improved, and how content I am now. But in reality, I just feel a little bit calmer for having let all my thoughts out, and a little bit more worried about that paper I haven't started writing. So. Sorry for being a downer. Here's hoping that tomorrow will be better.
Chipotle burritos this year: 6
Subscribers: 25,084
Nail color: "Taupe-less Showgirls," OPI (discontinued)
Miles run today: 0, but I went for a psychotic walk in my pajamas before sitting down to write this, because I had so much steam to burn off.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
I Found Alaska
The campus gym (I can never say the word "gym" without feeling like a douchebag. It's like hearing people order drinks "on the rocks." I know that's what it's called, but it always makes me roll my eyes) is always especially crowded on Mondays, because it may be the only day of the week on which the majority of students aren't drunk. After my five-mile run (mmm, yeahgurl), I was looking for a place to stretch, and the only available plot was in front of one of those enclosed racquetball courts with a glass wall, and I couldn't help but stare at the people inside the little compartment. It was like watching anatomically complex fish.*
Behind the wall, a girl was sitting on the floor, ignoring the net and balls and whatnot, while a boy stood, talking to her, juggling tennis balls. The boy was tall, kind of lanky, but not uncute, with floppy brown hair and a Ghostbusters t-shirt. He seemed very determined to look casual, but was clearly attempting to impress the girl with his mad skillz. The girl didn't look captivated by his performance, but she seemed comfortable, with her legs stretched out in front of her. She was skinny-but-curvy, and she was noticeably pretty-- in the somewhat emo way, even though her clothes, makeup and hair were all natural.
I'm not a total creeper-- at first, my excuse for staring was that I thought I recognized the girl. Maybe we had a class together? But as I sat there, studying the two of them, I realized my interest was sort of weirdly intense. Why did I care so much? What was so remarkable about these two strangers?
And then I realized. I don't know them, but I know Pudge Halter and Alaska Young!
For those of you who haven't read John Green's Looking For Alaska, I apologize for leaving you out. To make a long and very pointless story shorter: today, I saw some strangers who resembled the main characters of a good book. It was cool.
MOVING RIGHT ALONG.
Not much has happened since I last wrote, but I did have a bit of a shocking epiphany the other day, as I was having my hair done in a fancy salon (thanks, Mom!) by a girl who is my age. She's my age, and she has her Real Job. I'm my age, and I'm picking up change by broadcasting my life to the internet, all while pursuing a career that relies mostly on luck. One from which I could easily never profit. One that makes people put their heads in ovens.**
I'm not asking for reassurance or anything; I'm fairly confident that, someday, I'll be able to make the whole writing thing work out. It's just sort of daunting. I'm no longer that sassy, obnoxious kid correcting her third grade teacher's punctuation. My proud declarations of, "I'm going to be an AUTHOR when I grow up!" have officially gone from stirring reactions like, "Dream big, little girl!" to, now, receiving quizzical looks and comments like, "I see. And what's your REAL JOB going to be?" Sigh. That's a good question, metaphorical adult woman with concern for my future! We'll see!
In other news, I had a very good Valentine's Day. I proudly wore the adorable and thoughtful present that I received earlier this month (as brilliant and attentive as he is, my boyfriend hasn't quite gotten the hang of surprises yet), and pretty flowers were delivered to my door this afternoon! I feel sort of guilty for being one of those gushy Relationship People now, especially because I've been in the shoes of the Lonely and Angry People in previous years, so just know this: if you're resenting the fact that your significant other didn't do anything special yesterday, I've been there before. If you hung out with friends all day, carried on with your everyday life, or sat alone with a book and Ben & Jerry's, I've been there before, too. If you want to punch me in the face, go for it. But, if you're one of the lovely, kind commenters who actually ENJOY hearing me gush, thank you! I have a good man, and I'm happy. :)
Anyway, it's 12:53 AM. PJ's sleeping over, so I'm sitting in the dark, blogging as a shadowy figure, while a cuter, gayer shadowy figure types a cuter, gayer blog next to me. I think it's time to sleep. Have a good night, everyone!
Chipotle burritos this year: 5
Subscribers: 24,888
Nail color: "Symphony in Gold," OPI
Miles run today: 5
*Jess was in my tenth grade Biology class, so, needless to say, I didn't exactly learn anything. I have little to no idea what "anatomically complex" means, nor whether fish have... simple... anatomy. Basically, I wanted to use a polysyllabic phrase that was vaguely scientific to make me sound well-rounded. If, instead, I sound like a douchebag, you have my permission to make fun of me all you want.
**Sylvia Plath. F'realzies.
Behind the wall, a girl was sitting on the floor, ignoring the net and balls and whatnot, while a boy stood, talking to her, juggling tennis balls. The boy was tall, kind of lanky, but not uncute, with floppy brown hair and a Ghostbusters t-shirt. He seemed very determined to look casual, but was clearly attempting to impress the girl with his mad skillz. The girl didn't look captivated by his performance, but she seemed comfortable, with her legs stretched out in front of her. She was skinny-but-curvy, and she was noticeably pretty-- in the somewhat emo way, even though her clothes, makeup and hair were all natural.
I'm not a total creeper-- at first, my excuse for staring was that I thought I recognized the girl. Maybe we had a class together? But as I sat there, studying the two of them, I realized my interest was sort of weirdly intense. Why did I care so much? What was so remarkable about these two strangers?
And then I realized. I don't know them, but I know Pudge Halter and Alaska Young!
For those of you who haven't read John Green's Looking For Alaska, I apologize for leaving you out. To make a long and very pointless story shorter: today, I saw some strangers who resembled the main characters of a good book. It was cool.
MOVING RIGHT ALONG.
Not much has happened since I last wrote, but I did have a bit of a shocking epiphany the other day, as I was having my hair done in a fancy salon (thanks, Mom!) by a girl who is my age. She's my age, and she has her Real Job. I'm my age, and I'm picking up change by broadcasting my life to the internet, all while pursuing a career that relies mostly on luck. One from which I could easily never profit. One that makes people put their heads in ovens.**
I'm not asking for reassurance or anything; I'm fairly confident that, someday, I'll be able to make the whole writing thing work out. It's just sort of daunting. I'm no longer that sassy, obnoxious kid correcting her third grade teacher's punctuation. My proud declarations of, "I'm going to be an AUTHOR when I grow up!" have officially gone from stirring reactions like, "Dream big, little girl!" to, now, receiving quizzical looks and comments like, "I see. And what's your REAL JOB going to be?" Sigh. That's a good question, metaphorical adult woman with concern for my future! We'll see!
In other news, I had a very good Valentine's Day. I proudly wore the adorable and thoughtful present that I received earlier this month (as brilliant and attentive as he is, my boyfriend hasn't quite gotten the hang of surprises yet), and pretty flowers were delivered to my door this afternoon! I feel sort of guilty for being one of those gushy Relationship People now, especially because I've been in the shoes of the Lonely and Angry People in previous years, so just know this: if you're resenting the fact that your significant other didn't do anything special yesterday, I've been there before. If you hung out with friends all day, carried on with your everyday life, or sat alone with a book and Ben & Jerry's, I've been there before, too. If you want to punch me in the face, go for it. But, if you're one of the lovely, kind commenters who actually ENJOY hearing me gush, thank you! I have a good man, and I'm happy. :)
Anyway, it's 12:53 AM. PJ's sleeping over, so I'm sitting in the dark, blogging as a shadowy figure, while a cuter, gayer shadowy figure types a cuter, gayer blog next to me. I think it's time to sleep. Have a good night, everyone!
Chipotle burritos this year: 5
Subscribers: 24,888
Nail color: "Symphony in Gold," OPI
Miles run today: 5
*Jess was in my tenth grade Biology class, so, needless to say, I didn't exactly learn anything. I have little to no idea what "anatomically complex" means, nor whether fish have... simple... anatomy. Basically, I wanted to use a polysyllabic phrase that was vaguely scientific to make me sound well-rounded. If, instead, I sound like a douchebag, you have my permission to make fun of me all you want.
**Sylvia Plath. F'realzies.
Monday, February 8, 2010
I Love...
Poetry is a relatively new interest for me-- I was never a big fan until my senior year of high school-- so I allowed this newly discovered love to influence my (fairly impractical) decision to take a lower-level English class this quarter, so I'd have the opportunity to be with my favorite professor one more time, who's an adorable poet. I'm realizing now that it would have been much smarter and more Gryffindorly of me to have branched out and taken on a bigger challenge, but I don't totally regret my choice. I really do admire the teacher, and something about her classroom just makes me feel... (ugh, gag me; I hate this word) inspired. I think I'm the only English major in the class, and I'm pretty good at multi-tasking when it comes to my subject of choice, so I don't feel a whole lot of guilt zoning out and scribbling things on my notebook. Today, when I wasn't silently gushing over Sharon Olds, I covered two pages with a spontaneous list of things that make me happy. So. Here you go.
--I love how little spicy pepper flecks from Chipotle's hot salsa can hide on your tongue, so your mouth pleasantly stings for an hour after the goodness is gone, even after you've eaten an entire cup of ice cubes.
--I love the effortless way Jess understands everything I think and say, even when I don't. (Also, the fact that she keeps a blog containing nothing but lists of the gross things she eats.)
--I love the way The Situation shifts his eyes back and forth when he's making a point.
--I love those times when my entire family is home, and we all become so invested in our conversations that we neglect the table and end up standing around the kitchen counter to eat.
--I love how a line in a poem can strike a part of your brain that you hadn't noticed was asleep before, and you can't rephrase the line or explain why it makes sense, because it's perfect and beautiful in that it says something that's never before been put so well.
--I love driving around with Lor, being able to rely on the comfort and relaxation I've always felt with her, and knowing that her friendship is one solid constant in my life.
--I love talking to Leah on the phone, just sitting in awe of how quickly her brain works, and having someone so invested in me that there is literally nothing I could say that could undo her loyalty.
--I love slipping into Hogwarts, where there are inside jokes and subtle secrets that I get to be privy to, because I've been involved for so long.
--I love the youtube community, and the astounding amount of creativity that comes out of the fiveawesomegirls' Secret Awesome Facebook Thread.
--I love having giggly slumber parties with my grown-up sisters (and sometimes brother-in-law), proving that you can have a law degree and still make jokes about Nickelodeon shows.
--I love when my nails are all long and even and shiny and elegant, so it doesn't even matter what I look like that day, because at least one aspect of my appearance is feminine, pretty, and under my control.
--I love reading comments and messages and watching video responses from people who are able to convince me, through their kind words, that all this writing and filming and spewing isn't in vain.
--I love walking past people in rainstorms, and how it makes the whole world feel like the inside of a bookstore: calm, quiet but for soothing white noise, and like everyone around has something in common, despite the fact that we're all choosing to think silently to ourselves instead of talk.
--I love hot tea, and how it always, inexplicably, makes me feel like I'm in a Dickens novel.
--I love how my father, whom I consider to be the smartest man alive, genuinely listens to me, and allows his opinions to be altered by his teenage daughter if I make a decent point.
--I love the triumph I feel when I make my big brother, whom I admire in a thousand ways, laugh, or proud of me.
--I love that feeling when you read a line in a book that you realize you've always related to, but never consciously thought about before-- like all people are essentially the same, and somebody understands your weird self.
--I love waking up with that sense that everything outside your bed is cold, but, for now, you're combating the elements by snuggling under the covers.
--I love those rare occasions when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and think, "Oh, damn. I look cute today."
--I love feeling at home with my friends at school, then realizing that I didn't know any of them a year ago. I love thinking about how many other amazing and influential people I'm destined to meet later in life.
--I love lying in summer grass and seeing colors through my eyelids.
--I love having real, adult conversations with my mother, and realizing that I'm becoming more and more like her as I grow up.
--I love the satisfaction of moving my hand and a Bic pen across a piece of paper, leaving behind my nasty handwriting, but knowing that I have permission to not make any sense, because it's supposed to be sloppy. I love the internet for preserving these sloppy thoughts in a legible fashion, so even if they don't mean anything to me a week or year from now, they'll still exist.
I hope your day feels like being under the covers at 9AM in February. Thank you, sincerely, for reading, and for positively influencing my life with your comments.
Chipotle burritos this year: 4
Subscribers: 24,679
Nail Color: "Rogue Vogue," Maybelline (Discontinued)
Miles run today: 3
--I love how little spicy pepper flecks from Chipotle's hot salsa can hide on your tongue, so your mouth pleasantly stings for an hour after the goodness is gone, even after you've eaten an entire cup of ice cubes.
--I love the effortless way Jess understands everything I think and say, even when I don't. (Also, the fact that she keeps a blog containing nothing but lists of the gross things she eats.)
--I love the way The Situation shifts his eyes back and forth when he's making a point.
--I love those times when my entire family is home, and we all become so invested in our conversations that we neglect the table and end up standing around the kitchen counter to eat.
--I love how a line in a poem can strike a part of your brain that you hadn't noticed was asleep before, and you can't rephrase the line or explain why it makes sense, because it's perfect and beautiful in that it says something that's never before been put so well.
--I love driving around with Lor, being able to rely on the comfort and relaxation I've always felt with her, and knowing that her friendship is one solid constant in my life.
--I love talking to Leah on the phone, just sitting in awe of how quickly her brain works, and having someone so invested in me that there is literally nothing I could say that could undo her loyalty.
--I love slipping into Hogwarts, where there are inside jokes and subtle secrets that I get to be privy to, because I've been involved for so long.
--I love the youtube community, and the astounding amount of creativity that comes out of the fiveawesomegirls' Secret Awesome Facebook Thread.
--I love having giggly slumber parties with my grown-up sisters (and sometimes brother-in-law), proving that you can have a law degree and still make jokes about Nickelodeon shows.
--I love when my nails are all long and even and shiny and elegant, so it doesn't even matter what I look like that day, because at least one aspect of my appearance is feminine, pretty, and under my control.
--I love reading comments and messages and watching video responses from people who are able to convince me, through their kind words, that all this writing and filming and spewing isn't in vain.
--I love walking past people in rainstorms, and how it makes the whole world feel like the inside of a bookstore: calm, quiet but for soothing white noise, and like everyone around has something in common, despite the fact that we're all choosing to think silently to ourselves instead of talk.
--I love hot tea, and how it always, inexplicably, makes me feel like I'm in a Dickens novel.
--I love how my father, whom I consider to be the smartest man alive, genuinely listens to me, and allows his opinions to be altered by his teenage daughter if I make a decent point.
--I love the triumph I feel when I make my big brother, whom I admire in a thousand ways, laugh, or proud of me.
--I love that feeling when you read a line in a book that you realize you've always related to, but never consciously thought about before-- like all people are essentially the same, and somebody understands your weird self.
--I love waking up with that sense that everything outside your bed is cold, but, for now, you're combating the elements by snuggling under the covers.
--I love those rare occasions when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and think, "Oh, damn. I look cute today."
--I love feeling at home with my friends at school, then realizing that I didn't know any of them a year ago. I love thinking about how many other amazing and influential people I'm destined to meet later in life.
--I love lying in summer grass and seeing colors through my eyelids.
--I love having real, adult conversations with my mother, and realizing that I'm becoming more and more like her as I grow up.
--I love the satisfaction of moving my hand and a Bic pen across a piece of paper, leaving behind my nasty handwriting, but knowing that I have permission to not make any sense, because it's supposed to be sloppy. I love the internet for preserving these sloppy thoughts in a legible fashion, so even if they don't mean anything to me a week or year from now, they'll still exist.
I hope your day feels like being under the covers at 9AM in February. Thank you, sincerely, for reading, and for positively influencing my life with your comments.
Chipotle burritos this year: 4
Subscribers: 24,679
Nail Color: "Rogue Vogue," Maybelline (Discontinued)
Miles run today: 3
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Fourteen-Year-Olds and Love
Even though I've been scribbling short stories and creating characters in my head since I could hold a crayon, I kind of consider the beginning of my "real" writing to be when I started keeping a journal in middle school. It wasn't unlike this blog, except that Jess and my first ever Internet friend, Susie, were the only people allowed to read it*. I used it to document every encounter I had with my first (mostly unrequited) passionate "likelike" interest, picking apart his words until they no longer contained any meaning whatsoever, then would write volumes about how frustrated and scorned I was. The practice was melodramatic at worst, invigorating at best-- even when the cheesy writing seemed worthy of a canceled daytime soap opera, I always came away from those journal entries feeling energized and empowered. I was able to trap all my angst into a page. I could come back and observe my old feelings from afar, but they were permanently put away where they couldn't torment me anymore. It was all very emo-- just like this paragraph explaining it-- but writing gave me a way to deal with my emoness then, and has also provided me with the opportunity to still feel connected to my fourteen-year-old self to this day. She was tempestuous and tightly-wound, but she meant well. And she's who I want to write books for.
Fourteen-Year-Old Hayley didn't feel like a lot of people understood her, but I think, at nineteen, that I still get it. Anyway, I'm telling you this in an attempt to clear up any inquiries as to why I so frequently harp on eighth grade. I realize that most of my readers and youtube subscribers are around that same age, and I care more about their opinions than anybody else's. That being said, fourteen-year-old girls, there's one important message that I need to drive home before I can continue with the point of this blog post.
Boys do not lead to happiness. Some people can spend eternity with their high school sweethearts, but most people don't find true love before they're fully-formed, independent individuals. I've had plenty of miserable experiences with boys in the past, because neither of us were emotionally ready for healthy relationships yet. I'm not the same person I was a year ago, and I'll probably be a lot different next February, because I'm young, too. And wouldn't it suck if you met the perfect person now and ended up scaring him away, because you haven't had enough practice?
I truly understand how lonely you are, and I understand how appealing it is to dream that, tomorrow, a boy will appear who completely adores and appreciates you. Someday that will really happen, but both parties have to be ready. And, truth be told, you're probably close to being ready, but boys mature slowly, so he isn't. Until then, try to be patient, and don't allow your feelings to be hurt if you're not asked to a dance or nobody gives you a Valentine. The girls carrying boxes of chocolate around in two weeks will probably feel just as awkward as you do.
So remember that, okay? I've been hesitant to write this necessary post because I was worried that you guys would conclude that my overall happiness with life is due to my new relationship, when really, the fact that this relationship works is due to the fact that I've become a happy person. It sounds lame and preachy, but I can now confirm that you'll never share true love until you love yourself. I should know.**
THAT being said, I've been modest and reserved and cautious and all that other ladylike crap long enough. Without exaggeration, without naivety, without doubt... I'm in love. And, despite what I would have told you a month ago, I've never been in love with anyone else. I've felt deeply about people before, but this oxymoronic feeling of unsettling comfort is totally unique, totally baffling, and totally consuming. Gag-worthy cliches that used to make me roll my eyes keep escaping my mouth, until I find myself saying things like, "I've never been so sure about anything." Because I haven't. It's just surreal.
This man*** (yeah, that title is incontestable and official) finds little ways to blow my mind a little bit more every single day. He is so brilliant, so talented, and so gifted, but he works harder than anybody. I've never met another confident person who is still so consistently searching for ways to improve himself. He's masculine-- it's my job to call him out on the occasions when he's being insensitive or arrogant-- but he really strives to understand people, and he's incredibly caring and observant. I've never before heard somebody end a discussion with, "Okay, you're probably right," without being sarcastic or sounding pathetic, but that's the sort of person he is. He can be strong and gentle at the same time.
And our dynamic is fantastic. Our senses of humor are just in sync, in a way that you can't fake. We don't need to explain to each other why things are funny, and we laugh so much together. The only time we've come close to an argument, we immediately saw and took each other's sides, then spent the rest of the afternoon apologizing, only feeling hurt at the idea of hurting each other. We both choose connecting with people in small groups over parties, and we both need time to just be alone. We're both very immersed in the internet culture, so we can fluently talk about things like BlogTV and editing videos, but our online worlds don't always intersect, so we still have our own space, even within the internet microcosm. He's a male songwriter and I'm a female Family Guy fan, but I'm able to maintain my femininity and feel like a girl, because we balance each other out.
He thinks so highly of me, too! He respects me and looks up to me and thinks I'm smarter than he is. I don't buy that last one at ALL, because I find myself gaping in awe at his intelligence on a regular basis, but our admiration is very mutual. Honestly, the most attractive person I could have ever dreamt up (black hair and dark blue eyes? Like, does that even happen?!) thinks I'm the prettiest girl alive. It's kind of insane. And if you even knew HALF of the romantic gestures he's pulled in such a short time, you'd be calling for the Hollywood movie rights. I looked down at my cell phone the other day to see that he'd changed the message on my screen to read, "I love you, Hayley." He drove a ridiculous and outrageous distance to visit me at school this weekend, then insisted upon buying me food (good, right?) and leaving me with his high school cross country sweatshirt so I can parade his name around like a sixteen-year-old, and surreptitiously smell my sleeve to get me through the day. I know.
Anyway, he joked last night, asking when I was going to blog my heart out about how great he is. (When I received my early Valentine's present in the mail today, after I nearly cried from the thoughtfulness and price and sweetness, he added, "What else does a guy have to do to earn a blog post?") I outlined my qualms about sending the wrong message about happiness to some of my readers, and he said, "One, read their comments. They clearly want to know. And two, you're spinning this the wrong way. Think like a writer. You can write about what we talked about. About all the crap and loneliness you put up with, and how things come around, and how you learn skills that you can use for your 'good one.'"
I told you he was smart.
Chipotle burritos this year: 4
Subscribers: 24,470
Nail color: "Far East Fuchsia," Maybelline (Discontinued)
*This excludes the few purchasers of Red, who have had the misfortune of reading an embarrassing excerpt from my middle school journal, immortalized in print.
**LolsubtleRentjoke.
***I've now revealed the identity of The Situation on both twitter and youtube, but I'm going to continue to blog about him under a nickname. He matters so much that, when I choose to dip into my personal life like I am now, I still want to keep some distance between Reality and Blog World. I'm more than happy to call him by his real name other places online, but we'll keep him The Situation here. (Like how John Green calls his wife, Sarah, the Yeti.)
Fourteen-Year-Old Hayley didn't feel like a lot of people understood her, but I think, at nineteen, that I still get it. Anyway, I'm telling you this in an attempt to clear up any inquiries as to why I so frequently harp on eighth grade. I realize that most of my readers and youtube subscribers are around that same age, and I care more about their opinions than anybody else's. That being said, fourteen-year-old girls, there's one important message that I need to drive home before I can continue with the point of this blog post.
Boys do not lead to happiness. Some people can spend eternity with their high school sweethearts, but most people don't find true love before they're fully-formed, independent individuals. I've had plenty of miserable experiences with boys in the past, because neither of us were emotionally ready for healthy relationships yet. I'm not the same person I was a year ago, and I'll probably be a lot different next February, because I'm young, too. And wouldn't it suck if you met the perfect person now and ended up scaring him away, because you haven't had enough practice?
I truly understand how lonely you are, and I understand how appealing it is to dream that, tomorrow, a boy will appear who completely adores and appreciates you. Someday that will really happen, but both parties have to be ready. And, truth be told, you're probably close to being ready, but boys mature slowly, so he isn't. Until then, try to be patient, and don't allow your feelings to be hurt if you're not asked to a dance or nobody gives you a Valentine. The girls carrying boxes of chocolate around in two weeks will probably feel just as awkward as you do.
So remember that, okay? I've been hesitant to write this necessary post because I was worried that you guys would conclude that my overall happiness with life is due to my new relationship, when really, the fact that this relationship works is due to the fact that I've become a happy person. It sounds lame and preachy, but I can now confirm that you'll never share true love until you love yourself. I should know.**
THAT being said, I've been modest and reserved and cautious and all that other ladylike crap long enough. Without exaggeration, without naivety, without doubt... I'm in love. And, despite what I would have told you a month ago, I've never been in love with anyone else. I've felt deeply about people before, but this oxymoronic feeling of unsettling comfort is totally unique, totally baffling, and totally consuming. Gag-worthy cliches that used to make me roll my eyes keep escaping my mouth, until I find myself saying things like, "I've never been so sure about anything." Because I haven't. It's just surreal.
This man*** (yeah, that title is incontestable and official) finds little ways to blow my mind a little bit more every single day. He is so brilliant, so talented, and so gifted, but he works harder than anybody. I've never met another confident person who is still so consistently searching for ways to improve himself. He's masculine-- it's my job to call him out on the occasions when he's being insensitive or arrogant-- but he really strives to understand people, and he's incredibly caring and observant. I've never before heard somebody end a discussion with, "Okay, you're probably right," without being sarcastic or sounding pathetic, but that's the sort of person he is. He can be strong and gentle at the same time.
And our dynamic is fantastic. Our senses of humor are just in sync, in a way that you can't fake. We don't need to explain to each other why things are funny, and we laugh so much together. The only time we've come close to an argument, we immediately saw and took each other's sides, then spent the rest of the afternoon apologizing, only feeling hurt at the idea of hurting each other. We both choose connecting with people in small groups over parties, and we both need time to just be alone. We're both very immersed in the internet culture, so we can fluently talk about things like BlogTV and editing videos, but our online worlds don't always intersect, so we still have our own space, even within the internet microcosm. He's a male songwriter and I'm a female Family Guy fan, but I'm able to maintain my femininity and feel like a girl, because we balance each other out.
He thinks so highly of me, too! He respects me and looks up to me and thinks I'm smarter than he is. I don't buy that last one at ALL, because I find myself gaping in awe at his intelligence on a regular basis, but our admiration is very mutual. Honestly, the most attractive person I could have ever dreamt up (black hair and dark blue eyes? Like, does that even happen?!) thinks I'm the prettiest girl alive. It's kind of insane. And if you even knew HALF of the romantic gestures he's pulled in such a short time, you'd be calling for the Hollywood movie rights. I looked down at my cell phone the other day to see that he'd changed the message on my screen to read, "I love you, Hayley." He drove a ridiculous and outrageous distance to visit me at school this weekend, then insisted upon buying me food (good, right?) and leaving me with his high school cross country sweatshirt so I can parade his name around like a sixteen-year-old, and surreptitiously smell my sleeve to get me through the day. I know.
Anyway, he joked last night, asking when I was going to blog my heart out about how great he is. (When I received my early Valentine's present in the mail today, after I nearly cried from the thoughtfulness and price and sweetness, he added, "What else does a guy have to do to earn a blog post?") I outlined my qualms about sending the wrong message about happiness to some of my readers, and he said, "One, read their comments. They clearly want to know. And two, you're spinning this the wrong way. Think like a writer. You can write about what we talked about. About all the crap and loneliness you put up with, and how things come around, and how you learn skills that you can use for your 'good one.'"
I told you he was smart.
Chipotle burritos this year: 4
Subscribers: 24,470
Nail color: "Far East Fuchsia," Maybelline (Discontinued)
*This excludes the few purchasers of Red, who have had the misfortune of reading an embarrassing excerpt from my middle school journal, immortalized in print.
**LolsubtleRentjoke.
***I've now revealed the identity of The Situation on both twitter and youtube, but I'm going to continue to blog about him under a nickname. He matters so much that, when I choose to dip into my personal life like I am now, I still want to keep some distance between Reality and Blog World. I'm more than happy to call him by his real name other places online, but we'll keep him The Situation here. (Like how John Green calls his wife, Sarah, the Yeti.)
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