Disection of a Habit

I have a love/hate relationship with recording. It's the only time I can think of when the business side of me and the creative side of me are fused.

I dread it sometimes because I am such a perfectionist. I can be a real pill when it comes to recording sometimes. I won't settle on less than perfect if I think I can do better (unless it's the imperfection that makes the part perfect--I will admit that there are occasional exceptions). I get very frustrated with myself for taking too much time sometimes to get something perfect. Then I get frustrated if people say "It sounds fine!" because I take it as me being the only person that's really willing to put in the time and perseverence to create something just right and deliver that "it" that makes the album worth listening to after it is no longer just a new record. Why make something that's just ok when you can make something that's great? I'm literally just a pill sometimes. I apologize.

However, I can also be a real peach, a gem even. I like playing around in the studio; it's guaranteed that on at least 1 out of every 5 songs I record, I will write some instrumental-sounding harmony "ooo" pad part. This is my niche in recording-adding little vocal instrumental-esque hooks or pads that fill in the sound. THIS is why I love recording. Being able to experiment. It's not every day you get to harmonize with yourself and really compose anything vocally on a real scale.

I also like singing through pipes and making alien noises in down time.

I also like being completely by myself where no one can see me. I prefer the lights dim. I prefer being barefoot. I prefer the right side of my headphones off. I prefer not being able to hear myself very loud; otherwise, I scare myself.

I prefer as few people in the studio as possible. But it was fun last night, being there with tons of people.

It felt so good to record last night with one of my bands, Engine. I can't wait to hear everything. Vocally, I've gotten less pure, but more ballsy over the past year. I'm anxious to hear how much that shows on this record. I wish I sang like I do in the concerts in my car.

Let's Make Something to Do and Remember

I’ve been trying to think of any possible excuse/justification I could come up with to take off work tomorrow. Why, you might ask? Because I feel like it.

I have an idea for tonight. I want to go somewhere, take pictures. Maybe Wallace Lake (as in the actual swamp) or the dam. At night time. In garb. Bare feet. What have you. Suffer a little for the sake of art and creating it. What a martyr. (No, but it really will be cold). Or I want to start a fire on the riverfront and paint myself like an Indian, play with fire.

I want to explore.

I want to play Twister with real paint on the board. I want to ruin my clothes. I want paint in between my toes.

I want to stay up until the sunrise.

And then I want to sleep in an old, forgotten field. I know just the one.

I promise I’ll apply for jobs tomorrow if I can just be off so that I can live a little tonight.

I feel creative juices flowing.

And unfortunately, I feel trapped in a place where I can only write about them.

Here's to trying.

And here's to an $1100 outfit. Why, oh why? I know not.

Do Care

I assume that most people I'd be friends with understand that I'm either tongue-in-cheek or goofy a great deal of the time. That maybe because of that I'm hard to get close to.

But sometimes I'm very real.

I promise I do have a heart.

I care deeply when I do care.

Those things mean more to me than anything.

Passive Agressive

I have three main reactions to people that have wronged me (other than the typical "let it roll off your back" thing, which is the most popular reaction... It takes a bit to rile me up).

1. One is where someone says something mean and hurtful and I apologize. I then go in the bathroom or get in my car and cry to myself. (Secret: sometimes, if I've been crying a while, I look in the mirror and see what I look like as I'm crying. It's not pretty. Don't pretend like you haven't done that before. It's kind of comforting and entertaining all at once.)

2. Another is where I do the "angry sniff and sudden turn of the face," which basically means "F*%# you. You don't matter" or "Your opinion means nothing" or "I've officially written you off"--all horrible things that no one could interpret just from hearing a simple sniff. However, this angry sniff gesture runs in the family, unfortunately. Its power is not to be underestimated. The person who provokes this reaction will not get a confrontation. They have officially been "written off" of whatever good list on which they may have been written prior to their unforgiveable mistake--by the "sniff," I'd say it was most likely something that was completely uncalled for.

3. Lastly is a confrontation. This is the most rare of the three types. I have done this thrice in my life that I recall. Once to my sister, once to a friend, once to a coworker in Baton Rouge.

And that's it! Angry Chelsea in a nutshell. Just so you know, I performed the second reaction today to my boss. He got the first reaction last week. He's a peach.

Also, I would like to take this moment to tell you a few things that are in my purse. A day in the life. We, we so excited.

1. A water bottle full of water (to keep me hydrated).

2. Miniature bottles of hotel shampoo (because I like to steal small things that aren't really wrong to steal).

3. A wedding program (for inspiriration).

4. Lyrics to a song (to keep me dreamy).

5. Gloves.

6. Toothbrush (:)).

7. Lotion (because I never took it out).

8. Razor (I was in a rush getting ready for aforementioned wedding at a friend's house, I think? It originally had toilet paper around it; now it doesn't. Found that out this afternoon when I grated my hand).

9. External harddrive and cord (to keep me tech-savvy).

Musical Dream Talker

Major pet peeve- people who talk to themselves.

Everyone talks to themselves occasionally. I talk to myself a bit when I'm stressed out or have to work through a complicated scenario in my head. For most people, hearing themselves say their thoughts helps them remember them better and seemingly be able to make better sense of situations that are difficult to think through. This normal type of talking to onesself is not what bothers me.

What does bother me is the people who say all of their thoughts out loud, whether or not those thoughts are intelligent and difficult to think through or just random snippets of useless information. For example, my co-worker. Firstly, absolutely everything she does annoys me. When I first started working here, I walked into her office, which I was doing some work in. She kept saying things out loud and I thought she was talking to me because all of it was so clear and too loud to be talking to herself, right? I asked, "Are you talking to me?" She wasn't. I laughed off the awkwardness and my confusion and proceeded to continue my work. She kept talking. Eventually, I had a question to ask her, but I didn't want to interrupt her talking. Finally, I just interrupted her and asked the question, but she got EXTREMELY loud and talked to herself over the top of me. I stopped talking and just stared at her like a little rebellious child until she paid attention to me. That was my first experience with her. Still makes me mad. In addition to this type of ridiculous activity, she shrieks when she sneezes. She sings to herself horribly non-stop. She runs full blast, panting, down the hallways sometimes. She burps SO loud and disgusting every day on her way out of my office. And she constantly reminds me every time I walk past her office that I have an unusually loud gait. Oh thanks. Again.

Well, today, I walked past her office and she had the nerve to say (to herself, of course) "Gah, the way she walks" as I walked by. Ok, either one of those things--the statement or the talking to herself in general--would have been annoying on its own. But the fact that the insult was coupled with her mental instability just made me want to turn around and kick her and her little chair over. I cannot stand the woman! It's a problem.

This day is humorously bad, by the way.

Ok!

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and a song is playing in my head. A couple of times, I have grabbed my phone and sung the tune into it before I fell back asleep. Some of the coolest melodies are in those tunes. I wonder sometimes if everyone does that--if we have soundtracks to our dreams, and the only times we realize it is when we're awoken during REM, and it kind of echoes out. Or maybe it's that we're actually able to engage in writing music during our dreams; that we're maybe somehow consciously composing... subconciously. Isn't it odd to think that dreams can have actual music? I try to remember if the music I heard was the sound of a piano or guitar or some type of bell? Or my own sounds I make with my mouth to mimic a piano? It fascinates me.

Bonnaroo Reminiscings

Welp. Unfortunately, my $150 external harddrive with all of my pictures and music on it will not work anymore... I will be much more upset about this once it sets in.


Today, I've been reminiscing about Bonnaroo--looking up pictures (trying at least) and videos.


^^^Arcade Fire^^^ (Such an obnoxiously heartfelt show and so fun to watch)

Lil Wayne. I mean, come on!

The Strokes, of course. I just looked at the reflection of those glasses and imagined playing for that crowd. Gah. It would be amazing.

I mean, look at these! I literally can't describe how amazing that trip was. It wasn't just some shows. It was an adventure, an experience, the closest I've ever felt to dying of heatstroke, the most excited and most tired I've ever been in my life, a priceless bonding experience with a friend. I mean, really, it was the dream. I want to go back. I do. I found out that they do a live Bonnaroo stream of the shows. If I don't go back next year, I will probably take off work so that I can sit and watch it, at least, to feel a part.

Oh, and new blog idea--outfit for the day. Too bad this is like $2,500 worth of clothes. :(

Annie, Are You Ok?

Life is good. And I am happy.

I'm fine with owning Michael Jackson's Greatest Hits and keeping Smooth Criminal and Billie Jean on repeat. Just sayin. That's fine by me.

All right. And nerd science moment commences, but I PROMISE it's cool! Ok, so the above picture is an example of some brand spanking new technology called the Streak Camera (developed by MIT), which processes light at a trillion frames per second (fps). Just to put this into perspective, the human eye can only process light at 10-12 fps. Movies (which undeniably seem like continuous motion) are double our perception at 24 fps. However, WE, my friend, just developed something that is faster than the speed of light..... I mean, LOOK AT THIS PICTURE!!! The picture BELOW is literally a picture of individual light particles passing through an empty bottle of coke and bouncing off the cap..... What?!!!! My mind is blown. I don't know what all this means for us, but I feel like this is potentially more of a scientific breakthrough than it is one of photography. Ok, nerd moment is over now.

Dance Fan Confessions

First of all, I have seen two businessmen in suits today wearing massive braces on their right leg. Whatever club they're in sounds like fun.

If I could dance like anyone in this world, it would be Shakira, Ciara, and Chris Brown. Unfortunately, I'm not black so Ciara and Chris Brown is a little more difficult to replicate. This is mentioned because I have just set up a date for my yearly First Baptist Best Friend Dance-Off with my friend, Sarah. I'm bringing my swayts, massive Adidas hats and a kick-ass mix of really old, obnoxious dance music that we always used to listen to (with a few new additions as well, of course). Run It and Kiss, Kiss by Chris Brown, as well as Get Up and 1, 2 Step by Ciara, are always givens for our First Baptist mixes. All of the above videos are GREAT and AWESOME dancing (particularly Ride by Ciara...uhem), but far too perverted and gross for me to feel okay with posting a link to. Which basically means, you're about to just google a few of them now, which is fine. They are fantastic dancers. I am the biggest closet fan of rap and dance music of any white girl I know. Just can't get enough. Someday, I want to take dance classes- ball room or something so I can finally learn how to slow dance. But mainly, I have this ridiculous dream of being a part of some synchronized hip hop dance team. I wish I could've gone to highschool so I could have tried out for danceline. Don't make fun of me.

Also, I feel like I'm on Xanga again with all of this changing of the background and such.

Also, THIS!... is a gingerbread house... You're welcome.

Thank the sweet Lord it's Friday.

Dances with Wolves - Hands on His Face

Want to go camping soon? Want to go anywhere? Want to do anything? We should do things while we're young. ^^^Typical hipster picture, b t dub^^^

I used to have a massive complex about having small hands and feet. These two issues should be tackled separately, I apologize.


First of all, my hands were an issue largely because of my bullying sister, Brooke. (It's ok because we're buddies now). She would invite friends over, who would eventually join her in tackling me to the ground, getting on top of me and showcasing my "baby hands," as they laughed at me and my unsuccessful struggle to get away. She did it saying they were "so cute" and such, but I hated it. My sister and I grew up a bit and refrained from such childish games, turning our maturing attention towards more civilized things such as Elephant Man Hide and Seek and the "sit on my head" game (which seems very odd now)... Um... Anyway, years later, my cool black friend (which, of course, every cool white person has) in highschool started calling me Chucky for months and I didn't know why. Finally, I asked her why and realized that she was referring to how small my baby hands were. "You' like Chucky. Scary baby doll hands."


Moving on to the feet issue. This should be prefaced with a note that all of my friends were shaving their legs at 8 and wearing big girl bras by 5. (Not really). As for me, I bought my first training bra last week and "I think it's, like, getting too small already."... Antywho, they all had at least size 7-9 feet, which was like, so cOoOoOlll, at the time. I still wore little girl's shoes. I could wear swimsuits under my clothes to make it look like I was wearing a bra (which I did) and make statements all day about how I "haven't shaved at all this week-oh my gawd" (which I also did), but I still was wearing fricking Mary Janes and jellies (in the color the women's department DIDN'T have, mind you).


I would like to say that I am very glad that I have small feet and hands now. It's no longer an issue.



Oh, just a couple piercings I don't really mind. I still haven't decided. Ahhhh!

Also, I would like to say that I have been listening to the Dances with Wolves soundtrack for the past thirty minutes... Ok, I'll admit! I was crying. Whoops. It's just so beautiful! There's something so emotional and spiritual about music, particularly music you have bonded with. There might not be any music more dear to my heart than Dances with Wolves. God, I need to see that movie again, asap.

I Am a Child

Someone needs to teach grandma a thing or two about gun safety.

Ok, so two guilty pleasures of the day (since earlier today's post sounded extremely depressing--it wasn't meant to be. It was just something that should be documented). One of them is THIS Tumblr, at which I happened to be smothering myself all day at work, trying not to audibly laugh. The other is Reddit, which holds such gems as the photo above.

I started posting a bunch of ugly face pictures on my blog earlier. And then I decided that that was immature... There's one picture that is the worst picture I have ever taken in my life. It was an accident. It is a group picture of my friends and I; it's great of everyone else. It is absolutely epic and horrendous of me. My friend, Kelsey, sent it into Reddit a few months ago, and now we can't locate the picture anymore. Once it is located, I will post it here. It is literally too bad of a picture not to share with the world.

Ok, enough!

Preaching to Me

I had an epiphany. I read an article today that kinda spoke to me. It seemed very feminist from a guys perspective. I felt as though I were sort of snickering along with the guy that wrote it, maybe retracing his thoughts of "women will eat this up!" But the more I read it, the more my smile faded and reality set in. I realized the author was talking to me, not just "them." It was about women and how even women themselves call each other "crazy people" and such. I know I have. The article sort of made me realize why I do this. For me personally, I think it's not as much an "I dislike girls" as it is "I am slightly uncomfortable with expressing feelings" and that's what girls are known for. This came as a surprise to me, because I always thought of myself as someone who was fine with expressing emotions and was fairly honest with expressing thoughts, no matter how "bad they may sound." But I think that I think of "feelings" and "emotions" as two different things. Emotions are the things you feel when you get goosebumps or you have your head out of the window or you can't stop smiling. Feelings are the things you try to convince yourself that you never get hurt. Feelings seem, to me, to be much deeper. Anyway, while reading the article, I remembered a particular instance in my life that I think is a large reason as to why I think this way about feelings.

It was in highschool. He liked girls a bit too much. Aren't all guys like this? I guess this is ok. He was an ex-drug user and near-alcoholic that had had a "lifechange" when we started dating--he'd been clean for a year or two. Sounds like excellent dating material, right? All of a sudden, he started calling me obviously drunk all of the time (after having just told me how he would never drink again because he was scared he would get back into "that lifestyle." I hate that word, by the way--lifestyle. Gross.)

I finally got the courage to bring it up with him one day. However, he turned it around on me and aggressively began to bring up how I had gotten several speeding tickets lately. I know right? An insignificant and completely unrelated fact, but it was one that he knew I really beat myself up about. The speeding tickets weren't the deal. It was how I felt irresponsible because of them and how my dad (who I respect a great deal) had said something about the tickets to me in front of my boyfriend. The tickets were kind of a form of family tension, at the time, and my boyfriend knew that.

I don't know why I started crying. It seems kind of silly now. I guess he just took a very vulnerable moment for me and turned it over. I started crying pretty hard. He didn't apologize. He didn't address what I had just talked to him about. He didn't hug me. He just stood there watching, feeling awkward, trying to laugh-off the fact that he didn't know what to do--he had just "won an argument" because I was crying and nothing more was being said. My feelings were hurt on a deep level. It felt like betrayal for some reason. It felt like he had brought up the one thing he knew he could win an argument with (when I had finally gotten the courage to bring up something I had a problem with). I never brought up anything with him ever again.

"The first problem for all of us, men and women, is not to learn, but to unlearn." - Gloria Steinem

Being vulnerable isn't always a bad thing and having feelings aren't necessarily bad.

Waiting for Tonight - Oh

So a few things:



#1 - I need to do something. Tattoos stay forever. I thought about getting my cartilage pierced again tonight. I still might do that. Either that or rip out my silver emo hoop and get something different. I don't necessarily want my ears pierced again, but. I'm not opposed to it.


#2 - Tonight is craft night for me. I feel like making something. It shall be done.

#3 - I don't walk on cracks. Ever, if I can avoid it. It's much like one who "can't turn left."

An exciting one:

#4 - So I got excited when The Features (referenced here) posted a show at Chelsea's in Baton Rouge on January 24th. The Features is a band I saw in Dallas with Manchester Orchestra and O' Brother a couple of years ago. I liked them a lot then; now it's ok, but it holds a lot of sentimental/nostalgic value. After I found out about the Baton Rouge show, I got a little feisty and started checking to see what other shows were in the Baton Rouge and New Orleans area within a night or two of then, just to see if it might be worth going to. The Features are also playing One Eyed Jacks in New Orleans on January 25th and (drum roll) The Kills are playing on January 26th at the House of Blues. Ummmmm. I might have to think about this. I mean, I always promised myself I'd see Allison Mosshart live (expecting to see her with The Dead Weather), but The Dead Weather has no shows posted (and hasn't for a WHILE). AND she doesn't play guitar in The Dead Weather. I'd really like to see her in full force when I do see her. So although this would be more fun to see,...

I'm pretty sure that I could settle for this.

As well as this.

And lastly #5 - My old band Engine (also referenced in linked post) is starting their album today. I'll be singing on about five of the songs, as well as playing piano on one or two. Should be a busy couple of nights.

Once Upon a Time

I decided today that Marsalis is a particularly awesome last name. As is Massala and Mufasa, if they were actually used in real life, as opposed to only Ben-Hur and the Lion King.

Just in case you ever wondered what to do when you're boreddddddddddd, this list has some great ideas, some of which are mildly dangerous.

Thing 1

Thing 2

Thing 3

I feel helpless.

I started writing a song yesterday afternoon. It wasn't bad--the music. I just couldn't think. I had something very specific I was wanting to write about, but I just couldn't find how to say what I wanted to say. It all sounded like I was in first grade. I didn't finish the song. I kept crossing lines out, switching viewpoints for the song as I sort of argued out my thought processes on paper (trying to think logically about situations versus emotionally is hard--I don't like it at all). By the end of it, I was so frustrated that I barely even knew what I was writing about. I couldn't ever decide what it was that I wanted to say exactly--what direction I wanted to take. It was more that I couldn't ever decide what was ok to say; and if it wasn't okay to say, if I was still okay with saying it. So confusing.

The End.

Some Odd Decades of Hours

The moment you realize they mean even more to you than you thought.

You'll never regret that. You'll never apologize for that.

You miss them already.

First Snow for Christmas!!!

This morning, I woke up and felt like it was Christmas morning. I don't know what it was that made me feel this way. Maybe that it was cold in the house and I slept in pajamas for once. Socks too, actually! Maybe because I could hear rain outside--Christmas day always does seem quite dreery, after all. Maybe because I was excited about today being the last day of school. Maybe because I'm pretty happy with life in general right now. Regardless, I felt the urge to sleep in as late as possible. I was smiling in my sleep; it wasn't a groggy sleep-in. It was a "Life is good; work can wait" sleep-in. I kept sleep-walking over to my alarm clock and then bounding back to my bed, under the covers, away from whatever cold was chasing me back there, nipping at my heels--sock-ed heels I might add--along the way. Antywhays, after about the fifth time I hit snooze, I started dreaming, I suppose. I was talking to some person that was supposedly a fairly good friend (but a kind of annoying, endearing one, I think). They asked me, "Do you know of any way to like, get ready in ten minutes? Like, I need to get ready, but I just want to sleep in the mornings sometimes, ya know? Do you have anything you do?" I remember feeling both a surge of pride and excitement as I mentally prepared my dissertation (How interesting! Funny you ask, little Johnny!) as well as a kind of condescending pity (as in Huh huh huh What a lazy ass. But we have all been there, am I right, fellas?! *Looks around at crowd to signal that applause or at least some congregational "Yyyyyyeeaaahhhh!"'s are welcome.) Anyway, I remember being like, "Oh yeah, for sure. Look, watch this!"... I never realized how much I could swell up with pride about my sleeping habits and how quickly I can get ready (when I need to)--or really that I viewed these things as something to be respected or as something to give advice on.

No matter. The bottom line is that I don't think this classifies as a lucid dream (which is what I was hoping for) although there are a great deal of obvious "dream meets reality" ideas in it.

Moving on to the less longerestishness stanzas:

Red Velvet Cake Cookies - I'm gownna make 'em. Dun. I'm going to invest in powdered sugar, FLOUR, eggs, cream cheese, maybe even a wire cooling rack! (We're going big here). And they are going to look like this.

Except maybe without a random thing of yarn hanging out in the distance just a jump skip and a hop away from the tiered cookie column with another piece of coordinatingly-colored yarn. It will also have more powdered sugar. My mouth is watering already.

I'm also putting out my cheesy Christmas decorations soon. My obnoxious music-playing snowglobe will make it's yearly appearance as well as the dozen mini nutcrackers that I stole from my Grandmother's voracious step-trashcan. There were about twelve different mini nutcrackers, all in different European soldier costumes. I'm not sure if she got them here or in Europe, but I wouldn't let her throw them away because they held too much sentimental value. I remember trying to pick out my favorite each year, even when I was too small to really see them very well as they stood in formation on their shelf--the same place they stood every Christmas at her house.

Something about living by yourself actually makes you more excited about Christmas, I think. You get to see how you'll create it.

Futile Devices

Two real finals down. Two fake ones to go. A few A.D.D. thoughts for the day while I'm SICK TO DEATH OF WRITING PAPERS!!!

#1 - Pomegranates look disgusting.

# 2 - I think I finally have grown into liking Han Solo in my old age.

# 3 - Also, I would like to state that I am wearing tiny fish net tights, a black suede-esque pencil skirt, black high heels, a grey sweater, a pearl necklace, and pearl earrings I got from a wedding I was in when I was seven (I love wearing clothes that I should have thrown away a long time ago), along with cat-eye makeup. It's like playing dress-up at work, but I can get away with it.

# 4 - Album for the day. I can't stop thinking about this album,

so I've been listening to it all day today. This goes in my top 5 albums

(for which I am starting a tag right now).

This album makes me cry and smile uncontrollably, have goosebumps, sing as loud as I can; makes me feel as if life, as it is, is epic enough somehow. That's a hard feeling to accomplish through music- a resolve, a contentment, while at the same time being adventurous and unique

-something different that somehow I can still connect with. He felt vulnerable. He felt open. He felt as if he was still in the moment when he was tracking it.

It's emotionally exhausting in the best sense possible.

I'll never get over this album.

Lines

1. Sometimes, I feel like people with big eyes purposely open their eyes bigger. I'm sure of it, actually. I saw a woman today with very large eyes; you could tell she loved them--she obviously took a great deal of time getting them ready. But the entire time she was talking, she would open her eyes large, forget about what she was doing, let them go back to normal, and then open her eyes very large again. It made me feel very uncomfortable.

2. I just diagnosed myself with an inferior shoulder dislocation (back at the self-diagnosis again), and looked up pictures and ways to pop it back in (if I were not double-jointed) until I almost threw up. Seriously, it is so disgusting. *Shudders. *Goosebumps. Thank the sweet Lord. One day, I should learn to stop playing so rough. But it's always too much fun to stop! And on the upside of it, it's kinda fun being the invalid, ya know? If you have to be, I mean. The only really bad part about it is driving a standard and sleeping. I'll admit that both of those things really suck.

I feel this semester coming to an end. Prepare yourself for much more interesting, creative posts to read.

Love Language

So I just spent the last thirty minutes at a library researching beautiful semi-friend humans that I probably shouldn't have been looking at (but of course I do, because I'm a girl).

Seriously, why do you have to be so cool, so pretty and so perfect? Or uh, why do you have to be such a skank? Or why do I have to even be thinking about you? Why do I feel weird when you come around? Why do I feel like I am competing with you at all? This is no competition.

For the most part, I don't get like this. Most of the time, I really don't care. Ugh. I guess I just feel like inadequate as a girl today? I should have boobs and nice skin and pretty hair too! Or skinny arms. There were two people that I didn't know that talked to me last night after the show--one was a creepy Mexican with an XXXL t-shirt down to his knees and the other was a blonde curly-haired fifty year old who I talked to about the Beatles and Buddy Flett. I'd like to have a normal conversation with them (maybe not the creepy Mexican), but both called me "baby" or "sweetie," talked too close and made me feel extremely uncomfortable until I made up some excuse about having "to use the restroom real quick. Nice to meet you." All my friends that I could have normal conversations with were surrounded by the girls with the short dress and heels. It's supposedly about legs and lip gloss.

Seriously? A handsome face on a guy doesn't mean jack to me. "Ooo, awesome! He's got a six-pack. I'm going to try to sleep with him." Am I the only one that thinks this is ridiculous? Is there any other human in the world that finds this gross and disrespectful to humanity?

I am not arguing against appeal or attraction or any of the like. I am just saying that I think they are all highly overrated on a broad scale. I don't think someone's appearance makes them who they are; I tend to think that appearance is more like a "Oh yeah, and this is what they look like."

I guess, I usually don't care about the fact that I don't wear short dresses or anything and that most girls look more like women than I do. But at a certain point, you start to notice what gets people talking, what makes those girls feel pretty, etc. At a certain point, you think about maybe trying, just to see if you can pull it off. It all feels so superficial and weird, unnatural honestly. Shouldn't the person themself be sexy and not just their clothes? I feel like all of that should be for one person and not for the whole world. I think that's only respectable. Really, all I ever want is a hug, a normal conversation with other humans and maybe someone to tell me I look pretty-preferably someone who's not just trying to get in my pants-that would be cool. It's not how big her boobs are or how tight his pants are on him. All of that is so secondary to who they are. Not about how much makeup she put on today. Not her cigarettes to bum or his car to catch a ride in. There's a reason I hugged everyone I saw as a kid. It was the only way that I could think of to really show my friends that they meant something to me. A lot of something. I wish people didn't think hugs and platonic conversation were so weird.

Somewhat vulnerable post. I may be a softy, typical hopeless romantic or oblivious girl. But I really do believe all of this quite strongly. I would like to think I'm not the only one, at the root of us.

Pitch Fit Finals, Pinch Tent Titles

I wish I could switch off thoughts sometimes.

It's such a horrible thing to feel as if you're not "100% all there" really anywhere. Doing anything. It's equally as hard when everyone else can tell you're not "100% all there" too.

I had a hard time multitasking as a kid. My family can attest to this. This Thanksgiving, actually, my sister was laughing and poking fun at me about how I couldn't dry dishes and talk at the same time. I would end up holding a dish for however long it took me to finish my thought. As a kid, I always wanted to get better at this. It annoyed me that I couldn't focus on everything at once. My mom told me a trick that she used to use when she was little--it was to sort of make a mental "to do" list in my head that I could repeat to myself to keep me on track. "Wash this plate, then put it up. Wash this plate, then put it up..." It worked! Unfortunately, I can't turn that voice off now. All I've heard for the past two weeks, whether I'm sleeping, showering, talking or driving, is "Do this research paper, pay this bill, write this term paper, make study guides, study those study guides, write other larger paper, don't go insane, take these pills, drink this water, clean house, clean car, get oil changed, rotate tires, move couch upstairs..."

BAgHAHGHAGHARDGHAODFIBHALDFKbna,ergnk.aegiu;osetah;klsths., fdmghadlgki'3owk,d ao;rit[a09je~!35;o972303589

I just pitched a small fit--I apologize.

It really is exhausting.

HOWEVER, there are still things to look forward to! Like a VO show tonight.

*Mom smile with raising eyebrows*

AND the fact that now BOTH sisters are coming to it! Which very well may be a first EVER! :)