Bump and Run

The Senior parking lot is hell. Absolutely crazy. Cars zipping all over the place, horns blaring, busses clogging the only exit, shouting, and ever second is a near miss… Blinkers don’t seem to exist there, and actually waiting until someone graciously lets you out unheard of. Cutting in front of patiently waiting cars is common- almost as common as playing chicken to see who gets the most sought after spot in line. The students wander all over the place, never once glancing behind them as they parade with their posse in the middle of the road, despite the aforementioned conditions. And what is this? Arrows are meant to tell you which direction to travel in? Nonsense, not in the high school senior lot! Everywhere is fair game- if it’s paved (and sometimes even if it’s not), you can drive anywhere on it you like. To some, it’s fun to see how close you can come to hitting the poor hall monitor sent out to direct traffic (badly, I might add).

Oh! I almost forgot! Sometimes, if you are a very nice person and work ever so hard at your studies, one of the steroid gobbling jocks might just slam his car door into the side of your vehicle, look you in he eyes, and then drive off without another moment’s hesitation. That’s right. Doesn’t that sound exciting and well worth all your effort to be courteous to other drivers in that hell hole?

Absolutely not, because that is exactly what happened to me this afternoon. My best friend was letting me out of my spot into the line of cars waiting to get out when three vulture cars (as I fondly call them) also pulled out to grab at the coveted spot. This was when the steroid gobbling jock jumped into the car to the right of me, wrenching his backseat passenger side door so hard that it slammed into my car’s side with a dead- sounding thunk. At first I thought ‘That sounded really loud…’ which soon turned in to ‘OHMIGOD THAT HIT MY CAR!’ The offender looked at me, closed his door, and pulled into the spot my friend had opened for me. I backed up into my spot- I had pulled out a foot before the vultures barred my way- and quickly memorized the license plate number. First I waved on my confused looking friends who hadn’t seen what history had just went down, wrote down the plate, and checked the damage. I spied two white scratch marks on the passenger side door handle and the door. With a bit of spit, most of it came off. But that’s not the point. WHO DOES THAT? Who just hits someone’s car and pulls away without a simple ‘oh, hey, did I just hit you? Any damage?’ Apparently people from the Senior parking lot, and I’s guess a ton of others.

 

I'm not angry, per say, just done with it all. And next time I’m calling the cops, no damage be damned.

Nerd, much?

So today I had my friend help me ask for extra work. Yes, you read that right. A senior in high school with thirteen days left of school total, who is getting more and more lazy about school rules and is very tempted to not do work (though I haven't mustered enough guts to do it... yet) just asked if she could please do another final project. A final project for an Advanced Placement class that she isn't even in. It's due June 6th, and I won't have as much time to complete the project as the kids in the class will.

Now, before you call the authorities on me, this is for AP English Composition. And the final project is to submit four original works to be assessed and graded. One of the works may be a revision of a previous piece, and three must be written from now until the due date. Sad thing is, I haven't got any brilliant essay to revise because my slacker English classes never assigned any in the first place, so all of my pieces will have to be new. Unless I take one of my WIPs, shorten it to five pages, and call it a short story. Hm. It'll be a challenge, that's for sure.

I don't remember if I've ever asked for extra work before. Let alone for a class I'm not even in. At least I know that that hasn't happened before. I've read stories about how these adorable Chinese children are so dedicated to their schooling and pleasing their families, that they constantly ask for more work so they can master the material. Like, the entire class would line up after school and ask Teacher one by one for more packets. And I am NOT saying that all Chinese children do this, that they're the only studious children in the world, or that it's a bad thing by any means (just to make that clear). But that's what I though as I met up with my friend early to ask her English teacher, because she's actually in the class. A studious little kid. Don't get me wrong- I get amazing grades- straight A's- but I rarely have to work hard at it. I pay attention in class, take my notes, do my homework (the night before it's due, usually, but I put effort into it). Study, though? Ask for more work to feel more accomplished? I might have, if I hadn't had the Mom I do. She's so easy going, wants me to take it easy and not burn out, giving me confidence that it won't make me any more 'stupid' if I don't cram my schedule with three APs and two UHS courses a year. So I'm pretty well balanced, in my opinion, with my mother to soften me.

Yet I just had to ask for this. It's not work, this writing portfolio. It's feedback, and even more so because the grade won't affect me. If I work hard at producing four works up to my standards (hopefully beyond them) and get constructive criticism, I'll be really happy and better off because of it.

And yes, I am procrastinating doing the writing because I haven't exactly found my muse as of yet, and needed to write something to jump start me. Onward, overachiever me, onward!

"A good teacher is like a candle - it consumes itself to light the way for others."

This is a shout out to all the teachers that have helped me grow, inspired me to learn, think, and read. You hold a special place not only in my heart, but in my imaginative brain as well- because you helped to shape it. To all teachers who inspire and sacrifice for your students. I'm not ignorant enough to think that all students will be grateful, but there are a select few of us who recognize your worth. Thank you.

To my preschool teacher, who painted rocks and pine cones gold and hid your smile rather well when I exclaimed that you had no idea how much this gold stuff was worth and how could you just give this to me? For singing the Barney clean u song with us every afternoon, for sharing your basement with us every other day while my Dad got to run a few errands. I want you to know that I almost cried when I realized I wouldn't be going back to you when kindergarten came, that I still laugh at the paper photo albums and Thanksgiving "Recipe" book you gave us, and that I remember the parties, and when my neighbor's purple ball got stuck in the creek. Thanks. (P.S. I'm very happy that you're doing well after your bought with cancer, I wanted very much to visit).

To my fifth grade teacher, who gave out Jolly Ranchers and homework-free days whenever her sports teams won. For putting up with my climbing of the pine trees in the courtyard, and for seating me next to that strange boy who became my friend years later- I taught him how to make paper furniture. For all those DLR (Daily Language Review) worksheets every morning, because I learned how to string the sentences together to make a story. You might have started my love of writing.

To my middle school Spanish teacher with the curly crazy hair who had a fiesta every holiday. Thanks for taking us outside to play 'pato, pato, ganso' (duck, duck, goose) and for giving us that funny cardboard car and gave us direction in Spanish as we shuffled around the classroom trying to get to the post office (correro). I was actually interested in Spanish then, and I'm sorry to say I lost it in high school when the teachers got more distant and taught strictly from workbooks. I missed you these four years, and I hope that my affinity for the language hasn't been totally destroyed by them, because I'd still like to learn it. Gracias. Yo recordaré tú clase por siempre.

To my eighth grade English teacher, who hosted Vietnam Idol so we could perform poems, songs, and raps that we wrote about the war and the home front. You knew how to make things fun, and I especially remember how the principle came and told us to be quiet as we screamed "8B-5!!!!!!", our class division and number, at the competing class. For singing with the female teacher a rendition of Summer Nights from Grease, but with Vietnam lyrics. For giving my class cake twice- once to celebrate your wedding, and another time just because. I was quiet, but I want you to know I listened, and I loved it. I won't forget you, or the fact that 8B-5 totally won the rap- off.

To my tenth grade global history teacher, who always made me feel smart and complimented me one day in the computer lab, suggesting that I try for AP United States History class next year, because you thought I was more than ready. For letting the class divide into two and throw paper at each other from behind the desks to simulate the trenches of WWI. I also really enjoyed the French Revolution exercise- the one where we all got jobs such as serfs, Lords, King, Queen, and my role- the tax collector. I started to relate to my Dad when he spoke about history then, and I thank you for sparking that.

To my tenth grade math teacher, who tried to sing along to 50 Cent and talked to himself quite a lot. I forgive you for forgetting to put my name in the prize hat for half of the year. For helping me the next year as I struggled with a teacher that didn't agree with me and my grades suffered, even though you had to study ahead of your own class to teach me. I'm just sorry that I didn't enjoy math with the same intensity or calmness that you had. I admit it- I'm a math-a-phobe. But you tried very hard to break through, and I appreciate the effort where other had given up.

To my APUSH teacher, who tried very hard to bring technology into the picture. It worked for me. I nailed the AP thanks to you, and your class gave me such a confidence boost that I could handle so much work. I think I'll be okay in college after that course. You're very in love with what you do, and I think that's great not only for you, but for your students, too. Also, I'm very sorry that you feel the need to shave your head because of your lack of hair. Thanks for the nerdy t-shirt that say APUSH and your Latin saying.

To my AP English Literature teacher, who read my essays aloud in class twice! You have no idea how proud it made me that you approved of them. That first grade on my Huck Finn essay nearly killed me- a failing 60% (!)- but I'm glad that I got it, because I learned from it. For letting the crazy drama club-football-energetic boy read aloud every class as Willy from Death of a Salesman. I know that you really liked him, no matter what you said. For teaching me that the craft of essay-writing wasn't so different from the fiction writing I loved- make it interesting, make it structured, and throw in some fancy words- and you'll be all set. But I still don't like Poe.

To my English teacher currently (12th grade), for asking why I hadn't taken AP English this year. For off handedly saying, in reply to me saying I was good at Biology and took my AP there instead, that "well, you're good at English, too." I want you to know that even though you're driving me crazy for not giving me a 100 on a project (beautiful, long projects that take me seven hours to do), and I don't always agree with the books you give us to read or how much free time we have- I'll remember that you think I'm good at English. And it means a lot to me. Thank you.

To my AP biology teacher this year, who expanded my horizons. I felt a strange pull to take your class- I didn't even really like bio, but I felt I had to take it. I actually considered becoming a doctor because of your class, though I don't think you know it. I might still, but the number of years it would take makes me sick. For letting us play that review pictionary game, because I got my team eight points in a row. For being interested in what you do, and for threatening the talkative-texting boy in a number of creative ways when he was being distracting. For thinking that things like blood, mutant kittens, the evolution of motherhood, psychological disorder documentaries, and the habits of frogs who birth their young through their backs are interesting things (so do I)!


That's it for now on you guys. You'll all probably never read this, never find out that I'm referring to you, but I know its here. You affected my life, and it doesn't matter if you forget about me or already have. I know you have a lot of lives to teach and shape in your own ways. Never underestimate the power of fun activities and a day off once in a while, because we appreciate a break, and I'm sure you deserve one, too. May your candle never burn out, because you'll be sorely missed.

Tamora Pierce

Tamora Pierce is pretty much at the top tier of authors that I admire. It's just in the way that she constructs her world, and keeps her different series in it. She must have spent a very long time creating the world, the cultures, the people, the land, maps... It makes perfect sense for her to write within that one place, making all the series companions. Even the characters interact from separate series once in a while- Alanna from the Song of the Lioness series and Kel from the Protector of the Small series know each other. And *spoiler alert* Alanna's daughter has her own two books- the Trickster's Choice and Trickster's Queen. I love it.

The way she writes is simple. Nothing fancy, no huge words, and easy going characters that practically everyone can relate to in one way or another. But with her stories (which are classic fantasy ones), no fancy writing is required. Tales of knights, kick-ass girl characters, meddling Gods and Goddesses, wars, spies, and fantastic creatures are more than enough to occupy the mind and creativity of a reader. Tamora Pierce also had a knack for writing down accents phonetically, something that I know from experience needs either a heck of a lot of work or a natural talent for it to work properly.

So props to you, Tamora Pierce- I am enjoying re-reading all your series and plan to do so many more times over the course of my life.

The List

Things I must do before I die:

1) Explore Venice alone. Visit the store from Summertime with Katharine Hepburn. Float along in a gondola, and ask the gondolier where the best food can be found. Eat said food. Buy a red dress and heels, proceed to act Italian, only betrayed by my obvious American accent. Admire the Italian men, try to find out if they really can make a girl feel like a woman.

2) Run through the Irish moors barefoot in the evening after it just finished raining. Trace patterns in the dew with my hands. Wait until the sun sets and dance around in the moonlight, unafraid, catching glimpses of fey and leprechauns in the wood. Grin and dance on, accept the lapse of reality.

3) Visit the birthplace of religion- Jerusalem. Be a tourist at first, then relax into it, take one day at a time. Take a bus out to the desert with a backpack containing a canteen, crackers, sunscreen, canned goods, a sweatshirt, and a sleeping bag. Navigate through the empty, cleansing dunes with nothing to guide but the stars and a walking stick. Find God.

4) View Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower at night and watch the city glitter. Visit a French cafe and order something sophisticated. Don't stay too long, beware of locals.

5) Fall madly in love. Either so quick I won't know what hit me, or slowly, so I can never discern where we stopped being friends and when I started loving him. Marriage, a white dress, a dance with Dad, and seeing no one else in the room but him. Work hard at it.

6) Have a baby, adopted or not. Revel in selecting a name, the perfect name. Love the little fingers gripping my own. Be proud and happy (and a little sad) that my baby will grow.

7) Walk the Great Wall of China, and admire a secluded Buddhist temple in China. Eat real Chinese food and compare it to take out. Have the best cup of tea I'll ever have the pleasure to sip. Inhale the damp smell of the tea leaves, empty the mind, and taste.

8) Help a stranger, a friend, change their life for the better. Always be pure, keep trust, and faith that things turn out alright in the end. Be true.

9) Read. Read until I have a library and enough dreams to last me a lifetime. Live not only though the books but in action and by learning from them. Finish writing a novel. Edit it, print it out. Either keep it for myself or poke around to see if I can be published. Cherish the raw manuscript no matter what I choose to do with it.

10) Do something fun and out of character (but secretly more in character than ever before- that's the trick!) once a week. Predictable yet unpredictable. Keep the spark alive.

*smile*

*Yawns*

And so I shake off the dust that has accumulated over the long period of my break from writing. A lot had happened since I last wrote (last year!!!) but I won't bog everything down with a huge summary. Instead, I'm going to record the story of my one of my greater puppy loves from days long gone, for no more reason than because I want to.

It happened in middle school, in the year of T-shirts, blue jeans, and self consciousness. I met a boy in the way that most schoolgirls do- in a class I had. He sat in front of me, and I'm sorry to say that I ended up oblivious to my friend for most of the year, distracted by his jokes and teasing. This boy was a nice one, but I was stuck quite firmly in between a hardy friendship and a flickering crush. The end of the year came swiftly, and the yearbooks were handed out to everyone. I was shocked when he splayed his out on my desk one day and thrust me a pen, asking quietly if I would please give me my phone number in case he wanted to call. It was hot out, and the middle school had no air conditioner. That's the thing about living in the Northeast- you get all the seasons at full force. Teachers turned on the fans they lugged in from home, closed blinds to block out the sun, and fashioned paper fans out of scarce scrap paper, but we all knew they had no effect. It was one of those days that I took the pen from him and scribbled out a note, signed my name, and tacked on my number to the end of a corner in the back. I fished out my book and he signed. Class went on, we joked, talked about summer, and poked fun at the elderly teacher Mrs. Cam.
I didn't have to wait long before he called. We talked for at least an hour every time, if not two. My parents took to answering the phone before me, holding it out, and calling out "Honey, your boy is calling again!" Especially my dad. Well, I'd throw them a look with a roll of my eyes and snatch at the phone for another long conversation about nothing: the weather, pool parties, boredom, friends, vacations and summer reading assignments. I thought that I'd found the friend I'd always read about in books- the one that you can tell anything to, talk for hours on end, confide in and be together 'till the end. But I also can't deny that I also had a crush on him, the dear boy. One day I called and left a message for him: would he like to come mini-golfing with me and my brother and cousin? He didn't get the message in time, and so we went without. The next week he called me and told me he had to go mini-golfing with his grandparents and didn't want to go alone with them. I checked with my parents and said sure I'd go! Ha!
Turned out his grandparents weren't really going golfing with us at all- they dropped us off and left. I was confused beyond my mind, but I went with the flow, not wanting to sound as if I didn't want to hang out with him. I just wished he'd asked that outright, because the answer would've been yes. Then the hints started coming. He insisted that he buy the game for us both, and I waved my own ten dollar bill in front of him, explaining that my mom wanted me to help with the cost. He refused and I put the money away, not liking where this was going. We played a game just fine. All talking and teasing again, and I relaxed. We turned in our clubs and neon golf balls and wandered inside where snacks, ice cream, and fried foods were sold. A couple pinball machines hid inside the "party room" reserved for birthday parties. Again the hints happened. We both wanted popcorn chicken and french fries, and I had to argue to pay for my own. And you know what? I don't even remember if he let me pay this time for my own or not. We brought the food outside and sat on the wooden steps on the porch. Then we took a walk around the building, and here's where I started to wonder when his grandparents were going to pick us up. I shook myself off and went along, ignoring the signs, not wanting to ruin our friendship with silly suspicions.
"If you could have one wish right now, what would it be?" he asked suddenly, slowing down our pace. I countered with the same question, but he pointed out that he had asked first. In the background a romantic song played, "A Moment Like This", and I recognized it from a cruise commercial I had seen on the TV, full of couples laughing and racing on the beach together. I shrugged and smiled slightly. 'I wish he'd kiss me.' The thought startled me and I wondered if it really had come from my own mind. But I had thought it. I shrugged and shook my head. "I don't know. Nothing, I guess." I copped out. I didn't really want a boyfriend, it was only the small crush talking to me. Everything clicked together then. He would have wanted me to say that, because that was the relationship he wanted- the paying for my game, his family dropped us off alone- it was planned. I started to panic like some cornered thing. I kept walking and sat down on the other side of the porch. He sat down a stair below me and the conversation veered back to normal. I still fingered my cell phone, wondering if I should lie and tell him I had to go home soon.
He mumbled something, and I couldn't understand what he had said. It sounded like an invitation to his family's camp later that summer, we were just talking about it the second before, but I couldn't be sure. "What?" I asked. The poor boy hunched his shoulders and glanced down at his hands, "Don't make me say it again." he pleaded. The alarm bells should have gone off at that, but I asked again, explaining that I really hadn't heard it. Another second of silence, and he fidgeted. "Would you go out with me?". I clammed up at that. He was asking me out as plain as day, asking that I be his girlfriend. I still to this day wish that I had done something different after that, but I can't change the past. I pretended that I hadn't heard him again. "What? I'm sorry, I didn't catch it again. Oh well, I should be getting home soon, my parents gave me a curfew this afternoon, you know." I blabbered on, and then it got really quiet. I think he knew I'd heard him, he'd been very clear about it the second time around. He phoned his family and they picked us up. The ride back to my house was a silent one. I scrambled out of the truck and didn't look back. The calls were either so scarce after that that I don't remember them or he just didn't call after that. I was disappointed that I lost the great friend I had thought he was. I really hadn't tried to lead him on, I swear it, but it all went wrong.
By the time school came that September, the boy was always waiting at my locker in the morning. Apparently he was determined to win me over, despite that summer. I avoided my locker and told no one about him, not my friends or my mother. I thought it was all my fault, and I didn't know how to handle him at all. Worst thing was, I did still have the smallest crush on him, but I was turning out to be flighty when it came down to the punch. He got me one morning, and handed me a giant white gift bag with a stingy bow attached, gauzy gift paper spilling out of it. He explained that he bought me it in Maine on a family vacation, then just smiled and left, that was it. I opened it- a pink rhinestone heart on a silver necklace chain. It didn't look expensive, almost like something you'd get out of a little dollar vending machine in the mall, but I couldn't be sure of it. I still avoided my locker, and I feel terrible about doing that. I called him one night before dinner and explained that I was going to give him the necklace back so he could give it to another girl who'd appreciate it more that I would. I was only a friend, and wasn't ready for anything else. I hung up, and that was that.
But it was his turn to avoid me, and I couldn't find him to give the gift back. I gave up trying and kept it in a drawer in the bathroom. A month later I threw it out. If he wouldn't take it back, I certainly wasn't going to keep it. I feel bad about that too.
The puppy love ended.

Let the Games Begin

NaNoWriMo has officially begun. Its day Two, and I currently have 15,071 words thus far- waaaaaaaaaay ahead of schedule.

*bang*

Nanowrimo

Yes, the time has come for another year of Nanowrimo eating away at my soul. I already have a novel plot going for next month, and I can't wait! *squee*

If you're trying to write a novel, this is your ticket to stop procrastinating. Nanowrimo stands for national novel writing month. You can get to its website by clicking on the dumbo icon on the left. It's a nonprofit organization created by writers, for writers. 30 days of literary abandon, the goal is to write 50,000 words in the month of November. Nano offers a set deadline to get your pens moving along nicely, with forums and plenty of nice people to help you along, even if it means giving you a good stern kick in the behind.

This is my second year participating in nano. Last year I roped four of my friends into it as well. Friend 1 (aka Owl), Friend 2 (aka Farmer's Daughter), and I successfully finished our 50,000 words on time. Our other two friends, however, fell a little behind, but put forth a valiant effort during out write-in night at my house. Some people are opting not to participate this year, whereas some new friends are planning on joining up. We've already got at least two write-ins planned for this November. These write-ins are a whole night (we lasted from 9pm to 5:30am last year) of typing frantically, updating our word counts every couple of hours. It gives a tremendous boost to the word counts, too. : )

The bit of wall next to my computer is covered in my colored flash cards that outline what my plot consists of so far. This is a new method I'll be trying on for size this year. If you're interested in what my novel will be this year, check out my author page on Nano. http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/412835

I CAN'T WAIT!!!

Opened eyes

I've never noticed before how cruel people can be. How blind was I?

A Few of my Favorite Things

Books- these are propably the best (material) things in the whole wide world. I already have multiple posts about my book-love, but it couldn't hurt to put it all down again. The whole book creation process intrigues me. Really. Ideas --> paper --> agent --> publisher --> print --> my bookshelf. And then I read the books, and get ideas of my own. May sound boring (if not a little insane) to some of you out there, but I can't get enough of this. So many stories to be told, so many things to read. My current project is Dracula. Not my normal read, but it was reccommended to me by a stranger, and who knows?

Sour Patch Kids (or other forms of mildy sour/sweet gummies)- My favorites are the red ones. Enough said.

Taylor Swift's music- she is by far my favorite artist. It's still good satisfying country, but with an appreciated pop edge. She seems very down to earth, and is very likeable. Currently listening to one of her (newer) songs, Hey Stephen. Its so giddy and upbeat, it's almost addicting. Here's some of the lyrics:

"Hey, Stephen, I know looks can be decieving

but I know I saw a light in you.

And as we walked, we were talking

I didn't say half the things I wanted to.

Of all the girls tossing rocks at your window

I'll be the one waiting there even when it's cold.

Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel

Can't help it if I wanna kiss you in the rain, so

Come feel this magic I've been feeling since I met you

Can't hekp it if there's no one else

Mmmm, I can't help myself."

And plenty more where that came from with Taylor. There's pretty much a song for everything you'll ever need: crush songs, love ballads, friendship, one for your parents, and of course, the breakup songs (both angry and sad). Yeah, so there it is.

Guys- yes, they've made it onto my list of favorite things. At least... a select few have made it. Because I certainly know more than one guy out there who whould NOT make it onto this list. So, I shall revise this and say Nice Guys have made it to my list. The kind who open doors and the whole lot.

Classic Movies- I mean the good movies. The ones from the late 20s, the 30s, 40s, 50s, and yes, some from the later years, like Dirty Dancing. Black and whites. Westerns (High Noon) , romances (An Affair to Remember), mystery (The Thin Man series), comedys (The Mouse that Roared), holiday (A Wonder Life), action (Indiana Jones), odd stuff (Harvey), and so much more. Much, much more. If you don't know who Audry Hepburn, Jimmy Stewart, Cary Grant, Gene Kelley, or Betty Davis are, you are seriously lacking in life.

Hrmph

School starts tomorrow for us here. Its a bittersweet thing. Bitter: summer freedom ends, stress, homework begins, last first day of grade school. Sweet: seeing friends everyday again, new clothes, always something to occupy you, and the season FALL.

Fall is my number one season. I love everything about it. The weather here in the northeast is fantastic. Cool days, vivid colors, and the beginning of the best holiday season. The clothes you get to wear are perfect: not too bundled up, but just enough to sport a favorite jacket with jeans. And even school gets to add to the fashions with backpacks (I am disregarding the new school policy against backpacks and purses inside. It makes no sense.) And the LEAVES! Oh, lordy be. You might think they change slowly, but you're wrong. One day you look at the trees in your yard and say 'hey, I think this is starting to turn!' Next time you glance up, BOOM, they're all different colors. Deep reds, purples, yellows, orange. Ah, my heart's already breaking for the thought of it. Then they fall, and the raking begins. I even love that chore. Good memories about jumping in the piles and covering each other in them. Halloween brings the pumpkins and squash, the scarecrows and sometimes up here, the frosts. Fall foods are really scrumptious, too. Pumkin spice granola bars, apple pies, dried and salted seeds, homemade soups for the colder days, mashed sweet potatos- what else could anyone want?

Did God just call me an idiot?

To start with, The Shack is truley one of the best books I have ever read. It's changed my whole perspective on religion. And I'm not even kidding. I also confess to having thought of God as this old white man, the "bad cop" of all bible situations, while Jesus was the "good cop" (you know- saving people, doing whatever he's told, healing the sick). And the Holy Spirit- that's always confused me, not gonna lie. But this book seriously changed how I look at things.

Even if your skeptical about the God thing (as I was), read this book. If you don't change your mind about things once you finish, no harm done. But that wasn't the case for me. I had my mom buy the book for her to read on a plane ride, but as soon as we got home, I stole it and read myself. I was curious- its such an author success story, as I read in Writer's Digest one issue. It held incredible ratings, and has been on the topseller list for quite a stretch. I wanted to see what all the hubbub was about. What I found was understanding.

The book explained many of the hard ball questions that people throw at God- why is there so much hurt in the world? Why aren't the innocent and children protected from evil? How could God send his son down to die for humanity while he sat up on his cloud? How do we know God is with us? Why no direct contact with people? And for me, what the heck is the "holy spirit"? And it answers all these in cleverly written dialogue between a man well past his last straw (Mack), God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit. God is firstly portrayed as a heavy black African woman who loves to cook. Jesus is a middle eastern worker with a workshop. And the Holy Spirit, called Sarayu, is a tiny Asian woman who constantly works out back in the gardens.

And my favorite part of the book is when Mack is talking to Papa (God- and yes, he calls her Papa when she is in the form of a woman) about his emotions. She elaboratly explains that he is afraid of raw emotions and touches on some other topics. Mack listens carefully, nods, and sums it up in a simple sentence "So I'm afraid of emotions and (something else I can't remember). Anything else?" God sighs and mumbles that men are idiots sometimes and bustles into the kitchen. Laughing, Mack shouts back "Did I just hear God call me an idiot?" God's reply: "if the shoe fits, honey... If the shoe fits..."

I cried about eight times while reading this, and I can't express enough how glad I am that this book was published. Please, please read it. It's wonderful, and it really makes you believe that this 'holy trinity' does care about you and me.

A Very Scary Thunder Storm

I would now like to write about thunder storms. I love them dearly, don't get me wrong, but when one quite rudely wakes me up in the middle of the night, I can't help but feel like scolding them. It sounded like a massive lightning strike took place in my front yard. KA-BOOM-boom-(boom)-!!! My two doggies, Tommy and Ellie, came running for the stairs. Ellie is the one who is most frightened by storms, and she started to claw at the toddler fence we put up so they don't scratch at our doors all night. I heard my mom get up and let them into her room, but not before I opened my door and my baby Tommy came in for a pat down. And now here I am, at 2:33 in the morning, typing away. The storm has died down a lot now, but the rumbles keep coming.

My thing is, I love storms. Especially if the rain is starting just as I'm going to bed. It's so calming, even more so if I'm somewhere with a tin roof (like my grandparent's home). That's the best, really. But sometimes, I can't help but be annoyed with the thunder. This storm, though, isn't such a 'very scary' one that's in the title. So I must now put my computer away and get back to sleep, if the storm will let me.

Jason Glover is my Lover

Haha! So yeah, Mister Glover was a contestant on this season's So You Think You Can Dance (which I absolutely love to death). He is probably the most amazing guy I have ever seen in my life. Yup. And (AND) his birthday is the same day as mine, just a different year. It's pretty much a sign from the dance gods that this is meant to be. Check out this dance of his- Top 10 If It Kills Me - on YouTube, and watch it all the way to the end, and try to tell me he isn't perfect. I bet you won't be able to do it. But just be warned- he is MINE.

So hello, new celeb crush. It's been a while since I've had one of these, and I'm enjoying it.

Harry, my love

I saw the movie, but I will spare you the recap (and spoilers for the insane people who have not read the book). I will just say that I've again realized that Harry Potter is done with. The movies, I'm afraid, don't count. I don't care one single whit that the last book has yet to be released (due to come out in two parts next year).

The books are done.

And it saddens me. I grew up with those fated books, beginning the first in third grade, and finishing the last the in high school. I ran around my backyard with my two best friends as we pretended to be Ron, Hermione, and Harry. I remember that I was always Harry, just because I had glasses. Alaina was Ron (her red hair), and Kelsey was Hermione (her heroine). We struggled to memorize the spells from the books and waved around sticks that we'd brake off of the apple tree. In fourth grade I was Ginny for Halloween, proudly wearing my red wig and black robe that my mother had made out of dad's old raincoat. I waited for my own owl delivered letter with spindly green writing that would invite me to Hogwarts, as I know many of my friends did, and cried when it didn't come year after year. In middle school my group of friends and I would sit around the lunch table and discuss the plots and fight over our favorite characters. Freshman year Jemma and I matched up all our friends with Harry Potter characters, giggling over our selection (I was paired with Fred). I went to two midnight release parties with my friends in high school, and we sat up all night reading until we fell asleep on our open books.

Gone.

I miss them. The characters, the waiting for another book, the guessing, the wondering, the reading. Another series like that will not come again. It's not an opinion- it's plain fact. Another series will never excite me as much as the world spun by J.K. Rowling, the creator of worlds, the breaker of dreams. I laugh to think of how long I waited for my letter. I wanted so badly for magic to be real. I checked the mailbox everyday each year a week before and a week after my birthday (just in case they didn't use the owls in America). I really did cry while reading the books. After I read Dumbledore's death, I had to put the book down for a few minutes to collect myself. I reread the final fight scene, and cried again when my Fred fell, dead. My heartbeat would speed up during fight scenes, my concentration would increase tenfold when I expected something, and I'd bite my fist when Harry had a close call. I laughed too. Inside jokes would link Potter fans, and I'd smile when I read a particularly witty comment. Some call it crazy, that they're all just characters. But when you read these books year after year, they (characters, even the story) start to become more tangible.

That's all I can say.

There is hope, though. I'll always have the books to re-read. I don't personally read them over again as often as some, and I can't repeat scenes word-for-word, or tell you what the first word of the third chapter in the Chamber of Secrets was. I'm not that bad. I space out my re-reads so that I forget little things. It makes it better when I'm still surprised by things even the third time around. And I'll give the books to my kids, someday (in the distant, distant future), and watch them read it. Though it won't be the same. Future generations won't have to wait another year or two between books. I think the waiting made the books more fantastic with the anticipation that was, for me, never let down. But that's how it has to be, I guess.

So goodbye, Harry Potter.

Bathrobes, pictures, and WIZARDS, oh my!

Have you ever noticed how amazing bathrobes are? I bet you haven't. I myself have two. A fluffy long one that is blue with clouds and stars, and a shorter thinner one (also blue). These are curious clothing items, but they deserve respect. It's like a long coat made out of fluffy towels held together by a belt. Some might think this as odd, but I say bring the comfort on. And hey- they're better than Snuggies. Much better. Just don't go to any sporting events with the robes on, and you'll be dandy!

SENIOR pictures have to be taken this summer/ early fall. I can't believe it. I don't feel like a senior, you know? I feel no different than I did last summer, or the one before that, or before that. I always thought I'd be more... not me. That sounds crazy, but when I was a kid, I always thought 'my future self will do this, or that', as if it were some doll I'd be controlling. But I somehow never connected that it would still be me. And its... not as easy now. Choosing colleges, collecting credits, thinking about where I'd like to do semesters abroad in a couple years. It's freaky.

Harry Potter 6 came out yesterday (this morning?) at midnight. Yay. I just bought a black T-shirt that says 'MUGGLE' across the front. Oh. My. I love it so much! I'm thinking of altering the sleeves, though, to make it more feminine and also maybe turning it into a V-neck. Frankly, I'm not at all sure how that'll turn out. But needless to say (which means that I am going to say it anyways) I am now ready to see the movie. The shirt proves that I'm a potter follower, but not so out there as to wear an actuall costume or carry around a wand.

It was funny, actually, becuase I had to go into this store called Hot Topic- which is a frightening store, to get the shirt. And then as I was checking out, the register lady (who had multiple face piercings and oddly neon-colored hair) asked me "So if you weren't human- I mean to say a muggle- and your were a witch, what house would you belong to?" I jumped into the conversation, explaining that I'd like Hufflepuff becuase it really is the nicest house and is quite underappreciated. She agreed with me, informed me that one of her friends would also be in Hufflepuff, and said she's personally be in Slytherin (of course).
It was the strangest thing, but I felt so accomplished that I just had the geekiest conversation ever right there. "Well, if I were a witch..." I'm laughing just remembering it. And both of us were dead serious about the conversation. I am SO COOL. Yay for me!

I get to go see the movie Saturday at this big mall that Shannon, Joey, their mothers, and I will be near on our trip this weekend. It's a HUGE theater, with amazingly comfy seats that are tiered so every seat gets a good unblocked view of the ginormous screen. I'm going to get popcorn and a slushie. Oh, I can't wait....

Rain Rain Rain

It has been raining, cloudy, and/or cool for the past two months here. I mean really- is this necessary? It's supposed to be SUMMER, mother nature. Burnt, yellow grass, wicked humidity, giant blazing sun, and temps in the high 80s to low 90s. So maybe it doesn't sound like the most fun thing, but I want summer back!

Esto es ridiculoso!

Music and Love

I just got new music that I found on Pandora, and I am so thrilled about it. New music makes me feel like I'm in love. When you can just play the same song over and over again, and never tire of it. Hmm, much like I'd wager love is like, I guess. Ha! Like I'd know...

Here they are, check them out: Lonely Boy by Black Lab, Ocean Wide by The Afters, and Marianne by Matt Wertz.

I feel bad for all these dud posts, but I just don't have it in me to rant on for a page and a half anymore. I'll put that on my to-do list, though, for sure.

Hmmm...?

I have an idea. A good one, I think? I don't really know. I really shouldn't start another writing project now- I have three still "in progress." That's in quotes because in order for anything to be progressing, as the phrase in progress implies, things have to be moving along. They are stagnant, and have been for a while now. I'm actually thinking about doing a couple short stories before I try to tackle another big idea. See what I can do, small scale. first. But anywhoo- here's my idea. Don't laugh (I will know if you do, and will cry).

Diaries of Death

Everyone learns that they will die, but they must focus on living. Few learn that they are born to die. Born to suffer every last minute, to not only witness, but experience, countless deaths. We are death, but we are not the bad guys here. Death works for God, believe it or not.

I have no idea where it came from, but I think I actually like it. Maybe. Perhaps.

Dance Show and Generaly Good News

So last night was my dance recital at The Egg, and it went really well. I did not fall once, or come in through the wrong wing, or forget (many) of the steps. So I forgot one thing in the last dance (the one that I was in the FRONT line for), but at least it wasn't huge and I got right back into it and smiled really big. I will see how truly bad or unnoticeble it was when the DVD of the show comes sometime this summer. It was a lot of fun, I'll tell you that. Running around backstage with Kelly, trying not to knock over any of the little ones on our way. My friend Jemma came with me (yes, I just abandoned the codename thing, I was getting tired of it). She used to be a dancer at the same place, and was my original reason for choosing Ginny and Jamie's modern dance to "transfer" to from my old studio, but hasn't been able to dance since she had this massive foot surgery. With any luck, she'll be dancing again next year, as she admitted she wanted to dance again (whoo!). Unluckily, she won't be in my dance class because she left off at level two, and I will be moving on up to the level four class. But I am SO excited to be a level four next year, I cannot simply wait. It's the highest level, with four dances (instead of the usual three for the level threes, and two for anything under), an hour and a half of class a week, and the most intense moves. Though I didn't think the level fours were as good as last year's, they were still good, and had the best songs. When I get the DVD, I'll see about putting their dance to Ramalama Bang Bang. Cool costumes, too. My dance buddy, Kelly, will be in my class, but will not be graduating next year, as she will only be a junior next year. So all the power to Kelly, who I am going to be really jealous of when I have to move on and she'll get another year.

Good news number two- I am going to be a Helper next year! OMG! I am so incredably excited for it, I can't even explain it. Helpers get to so just that- help the beginner and creative movement classes throughout the year. And then, at the recital, the helpers dance with their class, so the little ones will have someone to look to if (or when) they forget what to do. It's massive pressure, because if you miss a count, a step, or start repeating the wrong section, you mess up their dance, because they follow you. I admit that I'm already nervous for that, but I can handle it. As my dad once said about getting through his police training, "Nobody else had quit before me, and I sure wasn't going to be the first." So my version its: No other helper has messed up the dance on stage, so I sure won't be the first. Motivation, if you will. I know that I'm getting a class because Kelly convinced me to check with Ginny (the little kid's teacher) if she would consider me. There were only two spots open for next year, and I wan't sure what my chances really were. It goes by seniority, pretty much, but there are also about twenty seniors for next year, plus me. I had been on the list for two years though, and I assured Ginny I didn't have any sports that would block up my schedual next year. She told me she'd look at her list, and today she called and told me she'd make it happen for me, and would call again with the class choices in August. I'm 95% sure that means I've got it, because why would she get my hopes all up if she COULDN'T take me, and she DID promise to call me in August with choices. Right? I take it as a yes, anyways. I pray it's a yes, I want it so badly, and I'm not that altogether religious. If I do get a choice, I think I'll want the older class, maybe 10-12 year olds or a 7-9 year old class. Their dances repeat less and they are less dependent on the helper. If, however, I get stuck with the creative movement class (4-5 year olds), I will take it. Just more pressure, that's all. The really little ones are so relying on you, and their dance is only a couple of combos repeating at different times, and that would be harder to memorize than you'd think.