GIF

Sooooo.... I just figured out how to rig .gif files to work on Blogger. I mean, what of it?

Things I Wish I'd Known

Vulnerable post...... Sigh. .....I want to be even half the woman that I thought I would be as a little girl. I want to respect myself. I think it’s a good thing that, as a rule, I’m very comfortable in my own skin. That I don’t put on a show for people. But somewhere along the way, I just started doing whatever I wanted to at the time and lazily thinking that it didn’t really matter. “Whatever I’m doing is just because it’s me and what I feel like doing at this second.” I admired my own care-freeness more than I did my innocence. By trying to never grow up and trying to hold onto my childlike sense of curiosity and excitement, I somehow lost the thing that is to be valued most about childhood. I’ll never be a saint, and I don’t want to be. But I do want to know that I can say no. That I can say yes. That it’s fine to feel conviction and to let yourself act on it.

I feel like one of those preachy people, I'm sorry. I’m very hard on myself. I make it sound like I’m this horrible person. Honestly, most of the things I do I don’t really see a problem with. I’ll always be more “out there,” daring and goofy than most girls are. I always was. But the thing that bothers me is that I feel like I have very little standards. There are a small handful of things I say no to. There’s nothing wrong with saying no. There’s nothing wrong with not doing something because you’re uncomfortable with it. There’s nothing wrong with not pleasing everyone. I feel like there's a point where you wake up and just think, "What do I stand for? Who am I? Am I proud of what I've become?" I feel like this is that moment. It's kind of embarrassing because I feel it pretty strongly.

I just want to be who I saw in me when I was little—who I hoped to be. I want to get back a bit to that girl. The girl that looked up to people. The girl that knew so little. The girl that cared.

I'll Sing "I've Got The World On a String" and Mean It

This lovely artist is Maurizio Anzeri (the whole set is on this link). This is awesome.

I have a friend that's getting their pilot license next week and has a plane. This friend said that they will be flying them and a group of friends to New Orleans Jazz Festival in April for the Sunday show.... Thinking about going. Sure, it's only one day.... And it's the day Bruce Springsteen is headlining. :/ BUT Janelle Monae would be there! And Iron and Wine (even though I've already seen them). John Mayer will be there which is not super thrilling, but I wouldn't mind seeing him at least once before I die. Bottom line is it's a MUSIC FESTIVAL... in NEW ORLEANS... involving a ROAD TRIP... IN THE AIR... with OLD AND NEW FRIENDS. I mean, how could I really say no, right? All for roughly $150. It's one thing I never foresaw happening. (Still might not, but it's a definite possibility).

But don't worry. I just spent the last thirty minutes between the last paragraph and this one researching blogs regarding Bonnaroo's and Austin City Limit's unreleased 2012 lineup in case New Orleans Jazz Fest doesn't work out. There are still things to look forward to.

Everyone's racing to get married, but sometimes I wonder if it's just because they think they're that age. It's about time to settle down. And I feel that people would argue that marriage is a selfless act that you grow from. "It's not about you anymore!" Blah, blah, blah. You're only saying that because you're married and you want to be justified. Don't get me wrong--all of those things are true. You do grow as a person through marriage. You do get to take care of someone as they grow old. You do get to build a home with someone. All of these things are things I want. But I don't want them with an okay person at an okay time. I'm a hopeless romantic. I think there's probably someone out there that's perfect for me and worth waiting for (in whatever way I still have to wait); in the same way, I'll be perfect for them. I think... That's the reason I won't go on random dates with people. That's the reason the idea of hooking up with random people disgusts me. It really does. I don't want to get married until I'm utterly swept off my feet. I'm glad that I didn't follow the Norman tradition of getting married at 19 or 20, as a girl. I'm like the old maid of my family. Granted everyone is very happy in my family, but I feel like I'm the only one that still has a vivid imagination or a dream, as it were. I like my life. I like looking forward to whoever he is, if he even exists. But that's not the only thing I look forward to in life. Marriage is not that important to me. I'm more concerned with the companionship and the joining of souls than I am a rock on my finger. And that companionship and joining of souls is something worth waiting on; being by oneself is not that bad.

It sucks.

But it's not that bad.

Clothes and Dylan

Some of my pictures. Most of them are gone, but these still exist.

I had my bi-monthly binge fest last night which included a Mrs. Field’s ice cream cookie sandwich (chocolate chip, of courses) and a bottle of chocolate milk over a movie. I know how people make fun of how girls always like to talk about what they ate. But it’s soooo tRuEeEeEeeeee!!!... The film of choice was "50/50." I don’t know how I always manage to attempt to watch comedies and they always end up being sad movies about someone with cancer. I swear! They always advertise the movies like they’re these sweet little love stories or these movies that are more comedies than anything else. Nope. Someone always undergoes chemotherapy and I end up getting so unbelievably sad. THEY’RE NOT COMEDIES IF YOU CRY TO THEM!!! And I don’t even cry that much, gosh…

Also, since Pinterest is now inaccessible and I’m having a mild case of withdrawals… I would like to introduce three labels that I would be MORE THAN FINE with having unlimited access to for the rest of my life.

Maison Scotch (Scotch and Soda).

Burberry Prorsum

Madewell.

You’re welcome.

Don't Think Twice, It's All Right may be my favorite song in the world right now.

Bob Dylan is my favorite writer.

Travel Babble

Well what do you know! Wearing skinny jeans to the law firm work just cuz they’re black is completely acceptable (on occasion, of course, I’m sure).

I went to the dentist today for the first time in three years. My teeth look absolutely immaculate; my gums look like swollen plums. Kinda like these lovely women.

I would like to also say that my dental hygienist, Debbie (you have to say her name with a mocking face), has been my dental hygienist for as long as I can remember. Every time I go to the dentist, I hope she’s gotten fired. I almost got up out of the chair today and told her “Never mind” on the appointment because she is so rough. She is such a masculine-handed lady that always asks awkward questions and wants to be best friends. She also said that I drank too much coffee.

I spent last night discussing the intricacies of dreams, UFO’s, the theory of relativity and the breaking of sound barriers. It was an ideal night full of interesting conversations that were discussed in a very scientific, excited and fascinated fashion. I was beside myself that someone would oblige the nerd side of me in conversation; just a day in the life. I love my friends.

• Also, I looked into bus and plane tickets today. To random places. I’ve always said that one of the main things on my bucket list is to get my passport and just fly anywhere on a whim—not tell anyone where I’m going… Just leave for a little while and get to explore something on my own, perhaps, and plan it as I go. So I looked into prices today. Round-trip bus tickets within a four hour radius is about $80. Plane tickets to the northern side of the States is roughly $200. And anything like Costa Rica, Paris, etc. is at least $800, which is slightly out of my price range... Honestly, I’d like to visit the Northwest at some point and will probably end up doing that. I want to take a bus someday (on the bucket list) as well as fly by myself (also on the bucket list). Now that I have two jobs, the idea isn’t quite so far fetched. I mean, if not now then when? I’m free-spirited; this is the only life I get to lead. I want to see everything. Believe it.

Your Mind Was Made

It’s funny. When you’re known for writing songs far too honestly and from personal experience, it sucks showing people new songs. Because even if the songs are based on imagination, people assume that the song is your actual opinion. And you want to explain that the song is a dramatization; it’s not really exactly how you feel. But no one believes that.

And then you start feeling really fake and guilty because you’ve always written from what you feel. Suddenly, you feel like you’re writing not for you but for other people. It’s as if you’re writing something so it will sell (as if) or that you’re lying so you can pull at people’s hearts. You start thinking about the person that the song was written about (or the muse, as it were) and you start wondering if they will be offended or if they will be prideful about it. You start wondering if they will know it is about them; you start wondering if they will feel sorry for you. I don’t want that. It was a song that came out in fifteen minutes. I didn’t think at all about the whole first verse. I just started singing it and wrote it down, and everything stuck. But should it really be that easy? I want my music to mean something. It does mean something to me, but… I guess I’ve grown comfortable with being completely vulnerable in my lyrics. I’ve grown comfortable with tearing up in a song, having my voice crack, being embarrassed and seeing the looks on everyone’s face. I’ve grown comfortable with being bare in front of people, being real. So when I feel like I’m stretching the truth or the emotion in it, something feels wrong. I start wondering if I’m even that good of a writer. I start wondering if I can feel anything at all anymore. I start feeling non-human, unfeeling.

And then I wonder if the lyrics really are how I feel after all. I start to wonder if it’s simply a song that is more honest than I’m comfortable with placing in someone else’s ears so soon. I start wondering if that is why I made up the excuse of detachment. I start wondering if that is why I stretched parts of the song, just so that I could say the whole song was a dramatization.

I get lost somewhere along the way and everything starts to feel off. I over-think it, but it's only because I really do care so much.

Either way, a song has been completed. It’s a good simple song, nothing special. But there is a great deal of emotion in it. Whether it’s all real or not, I don’t know. I hate that I can’t just pump out songs and be okay with it. I want every one of them to be my baby. I want to know exactly what I felt when I wrote every single one.

I guess I’ll remember what I felt about this one after all. What a strange feeling.

On another note, it feels good to have some form of artistic expression come out. It's been months.

Also, my work decided to block Pinterest.... :( This is more upsetting than I would like to admit. Haha

Leaving vs. Staying

You know what I’ve been thinking of?

People hate losing friends. People hate being separated. But what is worse—being the one that’s leaving or being the one that’s left? I’m not talking about any romantic thing or death or anything of the heartstrings sort. I’m talking about moving off to college. I’m talking about you having friends over versus you being the one that leaves your friend’s house. Simple stuff. Just a matter of preference at the root of it, I believe.

There are perks and downsides to each.

Let’s talk about being the one doing the leaving. If you’re this person, you get to decide when you leave. It won’t take you by surprise ever. Also, when you leave, you have something to look forward to, even if it’s a ten minute drive home. You get to decide how you’ll spend the rest of the night from that point onward. You want a candy bar? Suuuuuure, stop by and get one! It’s on the way home, after all.

Now, let’s talk about being the one that stays behind. If you’re this person, you don’t have to go anywhere. You just stay put and remain in the place you were content to be before the other person was there in the first place. You can get back to your daily activities. You can settle back into normality and what you are comfortable doing.

…Who am I kidding? The second one sounds HORRIBLE!!!! I don’t know if it’s a matter of who is a homebody and who isn’t. I don’t know if it has something to do with me being scared I’ll turn around and everyone left. But I know I would much rather be the one doing the leaving than be the one who stays behind. One isn’t necessarily easier than the other. There’s just something about a car ride that comforts me. Some of my most horrendous and lovely moments have happened in a car. That being said, for me it’s easier to drive away from someone than it is to see them drive away from me. There’s this feeling of loneliness when you see your friends drive off. There’s no soundtrack to distract you (as there is if you’re the one driving away in a car) and there are no sights to cheer you. It just sounds so boring and sad.

On another note, I had a naked dream AND a rape dream the night before last. My last naked dream was not embarrassing; it was awesome. I was actually quite proud of myself and my coming-into-my-own. But this naked dream was embarrassing again. I suppose I’m back to childhood shyness. The rape dream was not cool. That’s never happened before. It was scary and made me feel weird. Also, last night, I dreamed that one of my friends turned on me and was planning on killing me, chasing me through the woods with some knife/scissor concoction. They cut my finger and I felt it. I woke up and the cut wasn’t there.

I’ve been sleeping fine lately. It’s just that I dream horrible things are happening to me and I can’t do anything about it but run. It’s always in a place that I haven’t been before. I’m always trying to figure my way out. I’m always by myself and friends are nearby, but none of them know where I am. And I never can quite get away from what wants to hurt me. It’s odd because I think I feel fine. The dreams make me more uneasy than my actual state does. I mean I’m doing well. I just want to stop having nightmares.

Also, I would like to say that I want to try on a dress this fantastic someday.

Happy Camper

Today is a day for Animal Collective, Vampire Weekend and Dan Deacon. I will not be ashamed. I like it. You just feel happy listening to it. A good xylophone/bell makes me a happy camper.

I’m still a daredevil.

I’m still clumsy.

In some ways, I change a lot. Or I learn a lot.

Some things will never change.

It’s time for a road trip.

Sing me a happy song, why dontcha?!

Sometimes I wish I could combine people from different places. Like bring all of my friends from Baton Rouge to Shreveport or vice versa. Then I could go camping on the weekends with girl friends and still continue to play music with my friends. I wish everyone I knew was in the same place. And everything for that matter. I could have the "paperclips," Betty Virginia Park, and the riverfront—both the Mississippi and the Red River!

It’s the only downside to change; you become attached to things that you will always miss. And even the things you didn't notice, you begin to realize you were attached to. I guess the upside is that you at least got to have those things at one time. I wish I could know everything that I have when I have it. Because I know even these times I will miss someday. And they don't seem too epic really.

Bottom line is I love my life. I hope we never get older.

Nostalgia and Its Illusions

Isn’t it funny how we choose what to remember? The thoughts we have now about our past are only sweet representations of what we once felt.

I have a memory of my sister’s wedding—one of utter pride in my sister, one of candy-colored perfection where flowers smelled particularly strong, one of dancing with my sister with the whole room smiling at us. While celebrations such as weddings are important and definitely worth remembering, I doubt that that night was quite as memorable as I recall it. I remember it as sweeter than it really was. I filed it in the “Important Night” file in my head, right next to the “Things I Wish Would Happen” file, which is, of course, (as we all know) cattycorner to the “Somebody Told Me a Great Story” file. The files seem to jumble sometimes.

I remember getting my heart broken. I remember it as a very bad time of my life, but I don’t feel very hurt by it still; I don‘t feel the heartbreak. It still somehow seems sweeter than when I was actually in it. We file times such as these in the “That Was Difficult” file, which is, of course, next to the “You Are Beautiful!” file. That file always is missing what I want to hear when I need to hear it.

Nostalgia—how you magnify the good and place a rose-colored lens in front of the bad. Not all of my thoughts of the past are accurate, but I am comfortable with this knowledge. I file it in the “Act Oblivious” file next to the “For My Supposed Good” file, cattycorner to “Misplaced Ideas that I Hope to Learn at Least Something From.” It is not important knowledge, but something to which I always come back.

Peking Uhp Mi Drawrings

Yeah, I'll probably try to paint this. So 90's, but something about it, I like. I will also finish my "Things with Souls or Windows to the Soul" or "Things with Faces" drawing. "Things with Eyes" was too hard; I ran out of ideas. An eyeball, a button, a black eyed pea, the alphabet. I mean that's about it.

There's a light at the end of the tunnel now with school. I don't know how I feel about it.

I'm also sick as a dog. Raer. I want my mommy. :(

Blank Vent

Also, I would like to say that I will never regret putting my whole heart into something. I can feel dumb after and feel like I should have heeded warnings, but I won't regret giving anyone the attention and time that I thought they deserved at the time. No one can make me feel bad about that; and I'd rather know that I went out with a bang then that I half-assed it. So knowing I wouldn't change a thing makes me feel better.

And as my long-put-off vent, I would like to also say that I wish I had never deleted the post that was about her. Because I called it. I was right about everything--spot on. Don’t hug me, don't act like you're my friend if you're not; please just go away. I can't say I'm not impressed. Congrats-you won. You're a better gamer than you pretend.

I could be wrong on all of this, but something tells me I'm not.

I won't write anymore about this. This is it.

...

What to say? For the most part, it’s ok. I’m fair most of the time with random bouts of sadness. I understand. Really, I agree. But it doesn’t make it hurt less or make it ok in any way. I had just come to the point where I was comfortable. I mean, I had just made embarrassingly titled playlists for myself. I had just come to the point where you weren’t anything to be afraid of or nervous around ever. I had just come to the point where I bragged on you. I had just come to the point where you were one of the closest people to me. It just sucks. I can give up; it’s a game I’ve never won and don’t really expect to.

It’s odd because I want to be fine with being sad for a bit (and not shut off emotions), while at the same time, I want to talk myself into realizing that since I do agree, I can’t be upset for too long. It’s “for the best,” isn’t it?

But you left a mark in my music library! And I rescued a drawing of yours from the trash can. And your thumb sticks up. And you showed me wonderful places. And I lost the pictures from the parking lot with the chicken, and I don’t really remember what all we even did that night. And you remembered everything I ever said. And you had a particular happy smile that sometimes I thought only I got to see. And we worked so well together.

I want to allow myself to think of things—to be sad if I want to be, to be happy if I want to be, to be real with myself, first and foremost.

But I hate being sad. And I don’t hide emotions well anyway. If I’m sad, I’m the girl that has to slam on her breaks, pull over on the side of the road, hug my steering wheel and cry, whether someone that has no idea of the situation is in my car or not. (Sorry about that, by the way—probably was kinda awkward). And the worst part about it is I couldn’t even explain myself after I stopped crying. I just put it back in drive and continued on my way, ignoring it and acting like it never happened. I literally can’t be sad for the sake of everyone else in my life. I have to be strong, be fine and let it not bother me for everyone else’s good. And unfortunately that sometimes hurts people too.

You have to understand that I can shut off emotions fairly well. But in order to do that, I have to shut myself off in every way from a person. I have to give back all of their things, delete playlists, convince myself I hate them, throw cd’s out of the window. It sounds dramatic, but it works fairly well. Later, friendship is a definite option. But I can’t do that either in this situation. So it’s confusing and sort of stressful because I want everyone to be ok. I just want everyone to be happy. I want it better than it even used to be. And I want to be happy too.

It will be ok. It will all work out. I guess the hardest thing is just trying to figure out…. What do I do? Like on off days, when I’m off work. The way I tick is having things to look forward to. When your main thing you looked forward to seeing is gone, the things you invent to look forward to appear to be small and petty replacements. Taking myself out on a date, Chili’s giftcards and fun, random shows don’t seem too exciting anymore. That’s the hard part. Being someone who is easily excited and constantly craving that excitement can be a curse as much as a blessing.

One question - when did love become such a sad song? It’s funny how fickle it is.

It’s odd. Someday, maybe.

One Of Us Must Know (Sooner Or Later) by Bob Dylan

I didn't mean to treat you so bad
You shouldn't take it so personal
I didn't mean to make you so sad
You just happened to be there, that's all
When I saw you say goodbye to your friends and smile
I thought that it was well understood
That you'd be coming back in a little while
I didn't know that you were saying goodbye for good.

But sooner or later one of us must know
But you just did what you're supposed to do
Sooner or later one of us must know
That I really did try to get close to you.

I couldn't see what you could show me
Your scarf had kept your mouth well hid
I couldn't see how you could know me
But you said you knew me and I believed you did
When you whispered in my ear
And asked me if I was leaving with you or her
I didn't realize just what I did hear
I didn't realize how young you were.

But sooner or later one of us must know
But you’re just doing what you're supposed to do
Sooner or later one of us must know
That I really did try to get close to you.

I couldn't see when it started snowing
Your voice was all that I heard
I couldn't see where we were going
But you said you knew and I took your word
And then you told me later as I apologized
That you were just kidding me, you weren't really from the farm
And I told you, as you clawed out my eyes
That I never really meant to do you any harm.

But sooner or later one of us must know
But you just did what you're supposed to do
Sooner or later one of us must know
That I really did try to get close to you.

Pen + Paper

exhale + sink., a photo by karrah.kobus on Flickr.

I got my first journal at 5. I remember my mom telling me to try and write in it every day, or at least when something important happened. My first diary came at the age of 7. It was named Hannah after my best friend I was leaving in St. Louis upon my family’s return to the forgotten stomping grounds of Shreveport, Louisiana. Hannah had a passcode lock as well as a key- the tell-tale sign that its owner had reached the ultimate state of maturity. Nevermind the Precious Moments cover and the pages filled with illustrations of how I thought my first crush moved his Bible next to my chair while I wasn’t looking... Nevermind that. It was confessions of childhood and how wonderful everything seemed.

It’s true that life got more complicated, but I don’t think it ever really changed. We’re really no different than we used to be. We just want to be excited about something. It used to be about a vacation or a slumber party with friends. I remember going to my friend’s house as a kid and making mental notes of all the fun stuff we were doing so I could go home and tell my mom how awesome it was. Call me silly, but I still do that. I’ll call my mom occasionally and “update” her on things that are going great in my life; I don’t do it because I think she wants to know. I mean, I pretend that that is why but we both know she doesn’t really care. I grew out of her caring about that years ago. But the truth is that I’ve always just wanted to tell someone the things that I think, the things that I feel, the things that I’m excited about. And they don’t really have to listen. I mean, I don’t expect anyone to really listen. I am a scientist. I am a professor. I am a lady bug. I am a thief. I am a child. I am a nomad. I am a homebody. I’ve never met a soul that matches mine.

I think that’s why I started writing. I look back at this blog and my old diaries with pages torn out and wonder why I’ve always written. It wasn’t to show off a grandiose vocabulary. I’m really not that great of a writer--I don’t think about how to say something best or how to make some statement more flowery or appealing. I don’t fully develop ideas. My writing is simple, ADD, fast-paced. It’s closest to the speed of thought. Thoughts jump around and don’t dwell on important topics long enough. They bounce around, but with a taste of pain, resolve and pride, they achieve some type of steadfastness and self-discovery.

My writing is honest. Truth be told, I always wrote as if the paper was my closest friend, kind of a subcreature of me- one that had thought all of my thoughts before, but maybe needed a little reminding. This subcreature was one that understood and didn’t judge any of my thoughts; one whose rebuttal was in fact part of the writing. This subcreature was a part of me, but somehow separate. So, maybe it’s a twisted view of writing. It’s not just writing to me. It’s the conversations and thoughts to myself—the things would take so long to explain to anyone else, if I were courageous even enough to do that. Essentially, writing is my comfort zone. No one has ever been as close to me as a pen and paper.

“Writing defines what kind of person one is. One's personality is revealed just by observing his or her writing style. In fact, writing is not really as profound as many make it out to be. It is basically being yourself, and having the courage to put down ideas into words. It is not the wide range of vocabulary used that makes writing beautiful, but the personality we delve from within an essay that is truly poignant… To me, writing is a journey of self-discovery.”

The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say. ~Anaïs Nin

Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia. ~E.L. Doctorow

It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by. How else, indeed, to clap the net over the butterfly of the moment? For the moment passes, it is forgotten; the mood is gone; life itself is gone. That is where the writer scores over his fellows: he catches the changes of his mind on the hop. ~Vita Sackville-West

Christmas Cheese and the Barber

So there are two things I thought about on my lunch break that I thought I’d share with my large following. (Or because I seemingly like to tell stories to myself).

So, Christmas of 2010 was a time where I was fairly new at my current job. I didn’t really know any of my coworkers and they were all a great deal older than me. However, my boss asked me to play piano for a Christmas luncheon we would be having; I declined as she gave me roughly two days notice to learn ten holiday songs to play for my entire work. Um, heyl nawww. She then asked me to sing just one Christmas song along with two other people instead of playing the piano, since it was short notice. This would make me look better for this job, right? I mean I already told her no about the piano. What do I really have to lose? It’s one song. “Sure! I’ll do it.” I didn’t know who I would be singing with until the day of the event-two very old people. One lady who had a typical old lady opera voice, one man who sang similar to how I would think Sean Connery would sing, if that can be imagined. Um, how am I supposed to fit into this? I noticed that when I sang with my normal voice, I stuck out like a sore thumb. So I did the unthinkable… I mimicked the way they sounded. That’s right. I faked an opera voice for this blasted event. Also, it should be known that we were made to stand at an angle—all of us in a line angled perfectly so that we were all facing one direction, which would allow us to cock our heads at a 45 degree angle to face the audience… Oh, the cheese. It was one of the most embarrassing things I’ve ever been a part of. I was so awkward and embarrassed that I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I was kind of making fun of myself while we were singing… At one point during the “performance,” I folded my hands daintily on top of the piano, smiling as cheesily as I could, whilst wooing the crowd with my opera soprano voice. I thought it was funny. And then, all of a sudden, I realized that it probably looked like I was serious about the hand folding, etc (which would be embarrassing). I also decided that they couldn’t know I was joking about the hand folding, etc, because that would be disrespectful. So, I got worried. What to do? It was so awkward. I tried to keep smiling cheesy, pretending like that was my actual smile--like We Three Kings was like, my favorite song in the worrrrrld or something. But I did try to remove my hands from the piano, only to push them back to their original spot in awkward confusion. I ended up just doing a couple of odd hand pats on the piano and walking away with my head hung low, ashamed of myself, yet comforting myself with the fact that I didn't back down, despite my embarrassment. It wasn't very comforting.

As much as I like entertaining myself to the point of embarrassing other people, I now know that it is indeed possible to do it so much that you end up embarrassing yourself when you don’t even mean to.

Also, I would like to say that The Barber of Seville came to my mind while I was lunching; therefore, I located the scene so that it might be forever posted here on my personal corner of the interweb. I used to feel soooooo sorry for Alfalfa on this scene. L It was kinda one of those scenes where you almost cried, but you also found yourself smirking and giggly once or twice. And you felt horrible about it.

Our Gang - Alfalfa The Barber of Seville

The Censor

Today is self-improvement day. Consider it late New Year’s resolutions without the impending guilt that generally follows. Just little ideas like the following: stop biting my nails, drink more water, invest in loofahs, buy rubbing alcohol and turkey. You know. The normal.

Note to self: It is in fact NOT wise to attempt taking three vitamins at once, particularly when one is on a choking spree. I’ve been choking myself accidently a lot these days.

On a completely unrelated note, I fall in love to Kurt Vile’s “Baby’s Arms.”

Have a wonderful day.

Good luck!

Congratulations.

I don’t know quite when I fell in like with you.

I wish you the best.

See you tomorrow.

I’m sorry.

Thank you.

I’ll call you later.

You’re my best friend.

Don’t forget me.

Hi.

The way we communicate.

I have the best friends and the most wonderful people in my life. I am so unbelievably thankful for exactly what I have. No, I couldn’t ask to really change a thing.

The Good Things

Between Erin and Bambi, it's a toss up.

So, I found my last few posts to be quite the downer. I'm sorry! I decided that this post would be dedicated to things that I'm thankful for/things that I like. Because life is EXCITING!!!

A Few Things I'm Thankful For:

• Diet Coke



• Coffee/Monsters/COFFEE MONSTERS



• My new job that pays me to talk to real live people



• My new job where one of my bosses is a magician and does magic tricks at all of the tables as well as for me because I enjoyed it so much. (I'm one of those people that absolutely loves magic. Only one or two tricks at a time, though, because I get frustrated after a while)



• Victor Olston shows



• Weekends



• Mix CD's (there's more to them than you'll admit--you've got to admit that)



• MACRO PHOTOGRAPHY



• Overdraft Protection for the faint of heart (gross)



• Finding my old iPod with all of my old music on it. Norah Jones, Cake, Augustana, Rooney. All of it. It's like a return to highschool-hood.

Things That I Like:

• In December, I was at a local flea market looking for Christmas gifts. Usually, I wouldn't want to talk to the individual shop owners there, as it usually appears that they are merely hassling you to convince you to buy something you don't really want. (It's much like walking around New Orleans). However, this one day, there was this man at a jewelry desk who started talking to me about this human hair bracelet from the 1800's. I was intrigued. It took a while for him to locate it, and it was obviously far too expensive for me, but he looked for the bracelet anyway. I wanted to see it as much as he wanted to show it off. He finally found it. It was beautiful. He said that before the men would go off to war, the women that stayed home would take a large lock of their husband's hair and begin to weave it into a bracelet. The women would wear the bracelet to give good luck to their husbands and would wear it in mourning if their husbands did not come back from war. It was a lovely idea.

• I love antiques, particularly war antiques. I almost bought a World War II hat I found at an antique store a couple of years ago just because I wanted it. Would I ever wear it? I'm not sure. I would kinda hope so, but find it doubtful. There's something so beautiful about heritage and old things with a heart. And it's not for the sake of being "vintage." I wish no one had ever jumped on that bandwagon. Now it's just a preferred style of dress instead of a state of seeing. (Lame play on words that almost doesn't even make sense. I should probably delete it.)

Also, as a side note, I would like to say that I am extremely afraid of stingrays. I mean, would you not be terrified if you saw this coming towards you?!

Emo Rant

So here's the deal. I get freaked out and rebellious when I feel stuck in something and/or underappreciated.

I start a second job tonight, which I am fairly excited about. I sent an e-mail to my bosses, letting them know the situation and that I would need to leave at 4 tonight. I got a phone call from The Big Boss stating to come up to her office. She told me that she wasn't sure if they could "swing" me reducing my hours by leaving at 4 and coming a little later in the mornings once school starts (even though my hours would be practically the same as when I went to school in the fall). I wanted to say that I didn't appreciate her prying into my personal life, but I didn't. ;) I mean, really, what's the difference of me working less hours because of school or a second job? Shouldn't someone who works 60 hours a week plus school get some type of award instead of a talking-to? I don't appreciate you telling me what I can and can't do.

I walked back from her office to find two attorneys chilling in my office. One was sitting across from my desk, the other was sitting in my chair with his feet on top of my desk. They're just chattin' in my office of all places. No big deal.

I absolutely hate feeling enslaved to anything and I absolutely hate feeling like the fact that I'm the youngest that works here means people can walk on me. If you push me into a corner, believe that I will kick and claw my way out of it. And if you belittle me, believe that I will be the first one running for the door.