This is not actually an act of caution in which I protect myself from the world; more like I am attempting to protect the world from myself. But if you would like to friend me, be my guest. Just leave me a forewarning in the form of a comment, and maybe mention a couple of things we have in common so I know what to talk to you about. Thanks. ♥ --------------
So I figured I'd blog a little and get the creative juices flowing. I've actually been in a bit of a writing mood lately. I got super-excited when I saw the LiveJournal essay competition advertised on the front page, because it's about feminism, one of my absolute favorite discussion topics. But, being the Mary Sue that I am, I read all of the rules first and discovered that--like always--you must be 18 or older to enter. Which sucks, royally, because I was going to write about our Women's Advocacy club at school, which would've made a great story.
I kind of miss my shows. They all seem to be on break right now. Grey's Anatomy has been gone for two weeks (although it's new this week!), and CI's been gone for a while too, at least the good episodes have (I don't watch the Logan/Wheeler episodes...I can't tolerate Wheeler. I was a Barek fan). Strangely enough, I find myself missing the characters, even the ones I don't like. Even--oh, and this is funny--even Nicole Wallace. [*If you're not a CI fan, feel free to skip this story and move on to the next paragraph. Even if you're a casual watcher, this might not make sense to you, so...carry on, I guess.] Anyway, for those of you still with me, I had a little Nicole Wallace incident the other day coming out of the dressing room in Ross. I was standing there with my selections draped over my arm, waiting for an employee to make sure I hadn't shoplifted anything before going to pay. I was just standing there, spacing out, when a voice behind me interrupted my thoughts to ask, "Excuse me, do you have a pair of scissors?" It was a lovely measured voice with a slightly lilting cadence and a perfectly tailored Australian accent, and I swear to God it sounded just like Nicole's. I literally whipped around, only to find a woman who was short, brunette, freckly, very pretty, and glaringly not Olivia D'Abo. What was more, she wasn't even speaking to me; she was speaking to a sales assistant, who gave her the appropriate tool and gave me a strange look, probably thinking I was on drugs because I was so jumpy. Turns out Pretty Australian Lady was stuck in the dress she had been trying on; what a shame, it was a lovely dress, and it looked nice on her, too. But I was slightly disappointed she wasn't Olivia D'Abo, and slightly frightened at myself for thinking she might be, if only for a fraction of a second. This is what happens when I'm deprived of my TV.
Oh, but I've been meaning to mention...(and we're back on the subject of writing now--so I've got slight ADD, leave me alone XD). I just started my first original character story in over a year (excepting my brief and pathetic attempt at a NaNoWriMo entry). We'll see where it goes. I don't quite know what to make of it yet; I don't even know if I like it or not. But hey, it's something.
If your mother and your brother had relations with each other And your father was connected to the Gotti clan I'd say, "Well, you know, nobody's perfect," It's tragic but it's true I'd say "Hey, hey, Shiksa goddess I've been waiting for someone like you." (Haha. I love The Last 5 Years.)
Well, I for one had another lovely weekend. I spent most of Saturday down at the Teen Center helping the Youth Commission get ready for their annual dance for disabled kids, and that was really fun. I spent most of the time writing on the signs (apparently I have neat handwriting; I'm actually not too fond of it, personally) and hanging crepe paper. I actually spent about an hour quietly steaming from the ears because the guy that runs the Teen Center made the mistake of ruffling my feminist feathers. What happened was the girl in charge of hanging signs (I think her name was Lauren?) poked her head into the room I was working in and asked if anyone there wasn't afraid of heights. I'm not and never have been, so I volunteered to go up on the ladder and pin the signs up for her, because she apparently has a slight acrophobia herself. So I get up on the ladder and am absolutely fine, perfectly balanced and happy as a clam, plucking T-pins out of the wall with both hands and chatting with the girl who was handing the signs up to me. As I am doing this, the guy in charge of the Teen Center keeps casting me these worried glances, and asking, "Are you okay? Are you sure you're okay up there on that ladder? Are you going to fall? Someone--I need someone to get behind her, to catch her if she falls. Maybe we should get a boy to do this. Are you sure you're not going to fall?" Finally, he actually hailed this boy over and made me abdicate my position on the top of the ladder, and he kept saying, "A boy could do it better. This is a boy's job. A boy could do it better." And, as if that was not enough, the boy in question was actually there because he needed community service hours to present to the school board as he was on suspension for vandalism--he didn't even want to be there or help at all, he was just sitting on the couch. I was very, very tempted to just drop down in the middle of the floor, cross my arms, and wait for him to ask what I was doing so I could say, "Nothing. Oh, wait, actually, maybe I should stop doing nothing, because I'm absolutely positive that boy could do it better. It is a boy's job, after all." But instead, I swallowed my pride, thought of the disabled kids that would be attending the dance, decided it would be better for everyone involved if I just sucked it up and went to hang streamers, and silently vowed never ever to volunteer with the Youth Commission again.
Although Alex Johnson and I had fun on lunch break, and that kind of made me forget about being mortally offended. Behind the Teen Center they have this huge patch of long brownish-greenish grass that backs up to a creek and looks kind of like a meadow, and in the middle of it they had a single bright blue picnic table, that happy shade of blue that makes you think of summer skies and jelly beans and playground equipment. No one was sitting on the table and Alex and I couldn't understand why, so we took our disgusting Subway sandwiches and walked through the grass and sat down across from each other on the picnic table. There must be a huge dandelion patch somewhere near that creek, because the wind was blowing dry and hot and it was carrying with it thousands and thousands of little white dandelion tufts. The whole scene was very beautiful, and it would've been wonderfully romantic if Alex or I had any amount of interest in each other at all, but as we didn't we just sat and enjoyed the view and talked about school and life and friends and what our plans were for college and beyond. We actually had a rather interesting discussion about Miss Mills, in which Alex made some VERY interesting comments that I've been sworn ne'er to repeat (but of course, I told Alexandra, because I think Alex J. expected that one anyway).
Anyway, I left there around three PM, and just kind of chilled at home for a while until Alex (the other Alex, my BFF Alex) called and wanted to know if I could spend the night at her house. So then I went over there, and we sat on her bed and pored over the first issue of the Grey's Anatomy magazine (which I didn't even know existed...Tiffany saw it and got it for me. I love her!) and giggled like the teenagers we are. Then we sat on her couch and ate wheat crackers and watched old reruns of Friends and Sex and the City, and were saddened because it was the episode where Carrie tells Aidan that she and Big had an affair while they were dating. We actually fell asleep pretty early, because Alex had an audition today and I was going to leave her house at like ten thirty so she could get dressed and down to LA. Normally I have weird dreams at her house, but last night I don't remember having any. Although I think I might have had one I didn't remember in which I was married, because in the middle of the night I rolled over and bumped into Alex, and my brain was in that hazy shade of gray between being awake and being asleep, and the first thing I thought was, "Wait...there's someone in bed with me...did I cheat on my husband?" But then I opened my eyes and saw who it was (I was still 99.9% asleep--I think I actually said, "Oh, hi, Alex," before I conked out again).
Yeah, so I left her house early, and because I was bored with no prospective plans for the day, I persuaded my mother into having a Girl's Day Out with me. We went down to Ross to pick out a cheap dress for the Spring Fling that my school may or may not be having, and I found this dress that I'm completely in love with. (And yes, I know it looks like the dress is squeezing my boobs, but that was just at a weird angle--it actually doesn't. I would never ever buy a dress that did that.) I'm very happy with it, and my fashion consultant (aka Mother) liked it as well. And when I brought it home and modeled it, my dad even said it was pretty. Then we went and split a luau burger (the kind with teriyaki glaze and pineapples. God I love those things) and talked about college and our family. Then we went and saw Zodiac, which I thought was riveting, but apparently the rest of the audience didn't agree, because a bunch of them got up and walked out like an hour and a half into the thing. But hey, we thought it was really good. They didn't botch up the details of the case too badly, and I have to say, that Jake Gyllenhaal is very cute. It really got me thinking (and shuddering--I hated The Most Dangerous Game when we had to read it for English last year, and I will hate it unwaveringly till the day I die.) Then I got a cake batter ice cream with a Twix bar mixed in at Cold Stone's, which is basically the cure-all for everything from heartbreak to a headache. And now I'm here, steadfastly procrastinating my homework and waiting for my family to evacuate the living room so I can make myself some tea and curl up on the couch until the wee hours of the morning, which I've been doing increasingly frequently lately. I never thought that I of all people would be an insomniac in later life--I used to sleep like a log. But now I just can't fall asleep anymore.
Oh well. More HBO OnDemand movies for me. The other night I watched Walk the Line for the fifth time. I really like that movie.
I've been meaning to post the results of a few Blogthings surveys, because I thought they were funny. Feel free to skip if you like, but I recommend you take some of them, because they're actually pretty fun.
Whee. What a fun day. I've sort of been riding a high ever since lunch began. (A high on life, of course--tsk tsk, those of you who thought I was speaking of something else!) Alex and I followed Hans' instructions and went to wait for him in the French room, where we learned that non-members (see: us) ARE allowed to go with French Club on their Wicked field trip, and tickets are only thirty two dollars! (Mass amounts of fangirl squealing and dancing here, ladies and gents: this will make my third time seeing my show! How lucky can a girl get?!)
Anyway, that was exhilirating, to say the least, and while we were still giddy from that information, we trekked over to Miss Mills' room (singing "Fame" the whole way there--don't ask me why, Alex started it) because I had a question to ask her regarding my essay. A couple minutes after we got there she asked if we could stay and watch the classroom for her while she went out to pick up the sushi she'd ordered, and we of course obliged. (Watching the classroom here meaning spinning around in circles and dancing and singing and generally acting like freaks until she returned, much to the chagrin of poor Stephen, who was also unfortunately trapped in the room with us.) So she came back and I asked her my question and she answered it, and soon we fell to discussing Grey's Anatomy, and commiserating because we haven't had a new episode in two weeks. Somehow this turned to a discussion on the attractiveness of Eric Dane, and I immediately pulled out my favorite Eric Dane story: "I saw a picture of him in an Academy Awards after party, and they had this chocolate bar thing where you could get free chocolates, as many as you wanted, and he was leaning against the bar full of chocolate, and I was just like, 'Oooh...yummy.'" Let me tell you, Mills' face. Was. Priceless. She practically choked on her sushi and was like, "Young lady!" It was hysterical. Embarrassing, definitely, my face is heating up as I type this, but hysterical nonetheless. I suppose I ought to watch myself better around her, but it's easy to forget that she's my teacher. I mean, she wasn't mad or anything, we were all laughing, but technically she is my superior and I ought to be more respectful and yada yada yada. I kind of have a problem with superiority and authority figures. If they demand respect without any reason for me to respect them, I rebel. If they don't demand respect, or demand respect and have a good reason for it, I do end up respecting them, but I usually don't show it. I respect most of my teachers this year, but I talk to them like friends. Which is bad. Because that leads to incidents like today, where if Mills ever thought I was innocent or refined, she probably doesn't anymore. And I think she did, for a little while at least; most of my teachers seem to form this idea in their head that I'm the sweet, shy and innocent type, or something similarly chimerical. I guess when you're an Honors student with a habit of not saying much in class, it comes with the territory. But they're always so shocked when they see me after the bell rings, laughing and cursing and talking about guys.
But what can I say? I'm a teenage girl, I love chocolate, and Eric Dane is hella sexy.
If I stay I'll grow to curse the dark, So it's off where the days won't bind me I know I leave wounds behind me, But I won't let tomorrow find me Back this way
Oh my. I so adore Miss Stephanie J. Block*. ♥ ♥ ♥ I was talking to Sammi today about the night I met her, and I felt this wave of...almost homesickness, I guess, for this song, because I haven't listened to it in forever. So when I came home I turned it on, and it made me so happy. :) It's just one of those songs that does that for me. Stephanie's voice in general makes me happy. And now I want to e-mail her, because I haven't in a while. I was going to e-mail her to congratulate her for Pirate Queen, and then I was going to e-mail her to say happy birthday (that was in September, the 19th), and then I was going to e-mail her to say congratulations on her engagement (Sebastian Arcelus, the Fiyero I saw my first time around! Squee! I hope they have kids; those kids would be gorgeous and extremely talented!), but I kept putting all of those e-mails off because I never know what to say to her (because she reads and responds to ALL of her e-mail AND she has this insanely good memory--she will remember your name and face even if she met you only once at a stagedoor three years ago. She still remembers what my shirt said when I met her XP). Anyway, now it seems too late to send any of those e-mails, plus I still don't know what to say to her. :( So I won't e-mail her. But I want to see her again. And I want to see her perform. Goddammit, I wish I lived in New York. [ * Stephanie J. Block is a Broadway performer. She used to be pretty obscure, not many people knew about her, but then she got this starring role in The Pirate Queen and she is finally getting the recognition she deserves. I met her in August two years ago when my friend Moxley took me to this barbeque that her mother's friend was having. Turns out Steph was a family friend of the hostess, and she was in town for the Wicked tour, so she was there. [Insert Mass Amounts of Fangirl Squealing Here.] She was very sweet to us and answered our questions and took pity on the fact that we were too starstruck to speak and signed my T-shirt (which was Broadway oriented--it said "I Rent A Wicked Apartment on Avenue Q", hehe. Actually, if you clicked on the picture above of me and Sebastian Arcelus, I'm actually wearing it in that picture, not that you can tell. What a coincidence, that was years before they got engaged). Anyway, she's kind of like my idol. :)] Aaaaanyway. Today was a lovely day, despite the fact that I flunked the Euro test (oh well). Miss Mills read my essay analyzing William Blake's "The Nurse's Song" as an example in class today, which was equal parts flattering and embarrassing. I had hoped that no-one would guess whose essay it was, as she made a nice pretense of not telling anyone, and I thought I was doing a fairly good job of looking politely disinterested until she finished reading it and this kid named Michael said, "Okay, that one was Linnea's. Look at her, her face is bright red." Everyone around me immediately started in with, "Oh, don't be embarrassed! It was really great!", which just made me blush more until Mills finally took pity on me and said, "Guys, stop, you're making it worse." I'm very flattered to have my essays read aloud in class, it's quite the ego stroke; I just don't like being present during the reading, because my face heats up involuntarily and I have the sudden urge to hide behind something. So I had a dream last night. In my dream I had a boyfriend, this cute Indian boy who didn't speak a lick of English but somehow managed to ask me out. I said yes, and he took me to go see Mamma Mia! for our first date, and since he was the son of the mayor or something similarly important, he got really good seats. The show was just as fun as it was when I actually saw it (like a year ago), and we had a good time and I liked him a lot, and the first thing I did when I woke up this morning was reach for the phone to call him and tell him how much I enjoyed myself and how I'd love us to go out again. It wasn't until I had the phone in my hand and I was feverishly trying to remember his phone number that it hit me: Oh, hey, wait--he doesn't exist. [Insert disappointed whining here.]
Before my past, oh once again, can blind me Fly away And we won't wait, to say goodbye My beautiful young man And IiiiiiiiI! ♥
Quote of the Day: "Actually, if I were on a desert island with OJ Simpson, I think that logarithms would be the least of my problems."
Thank you, Dalton, for that moment of comic relief.
This happened during math class today, when our ever-the-optimist teacher was trying to explain to the class when we'd ever have an opportunity to use logarithms in real life. Her first example was something about being stranded on a desert island and a dead pig, which I tuned out entirely. But then she mentioned working with bodies on a crime scene (my ears perked up at 'crime scene'...I watch too much L&O), and finding out an estimated time of death by working backwards with logarithms. Her exact words were something along the lines of, "Say you're in a house with OJ Simpson...oh, my, perhaps that wasn't appropriate to say at school--but supposing you were, and you were trying to figure out what happened to his wife and her estimated time of death, you'd take her body temperature..." Keep in mind that she jumped straight from the first example to the second, so our brains were all still back on the desert island, and suddenly OJ Simpson was there too, and we were all like, Wait, what?
And...that's just the kind of day it's been.
((Oh, but, speaking of Law & Order, I was checking that handy dandy little When Is Law and Order On? website, and I came across one that's playing tomorrow that I've never seen, called "Poison." Intrigued, I clicked on the episode description, and immediately thought of you, Alex. POISON
"The detectives search for an "angel of death" who poisons victims with cyanide."))
Alex and I took them while we were waiting for Rent to start. Look at where his eyes are; the man has no shame. Dirty, dirty Mr. Franklin...
In other news, I'm sick [again]. Staying home today thanks to a major case of the sniffles. My brother had it all of last week and I prayed I'd escape unharmed but, of course, I get it in the least convenient of times. Today was the Link Crew informational meeting, and one of my teachers recommended me to join. (Link Crew is like this Freshman Mentorship program...I had no previous intention of joining, but the letter they sent me was really flattering. It was like, "Link Leaders are upper-class students who are good role models for younger students...Link Leaders' communication skills, leadership potential, responsibility and personality have helped them succeed..." Which, of course, leads me to wonder: which teacher recommended me? Mills and Jackson know me too well. Donia and Hoag and Dyer and Chevalier don't know me at all. It must've been my math teacher. She likes me, for whatever reason. She always writes "positive attitude" on my report cards. :)) Anyway, I am planning on joining (because the letter was meant to stroke my ego and manipulate my feelings and it worked), but that means I have to miss our Women's Ad party tomorrow, at least for a little bit, so I can attend the other informational meeting. And I hope we don't have to get, like, interviewed, or anything, because I'm sick and I'm not happy and I've been being a royal bitch to everybody the past few days, and I might not be a good thing to unleash on a poor, hapless interviewer right now.
EDIT: Ugh. Trying to make myself a new LJ layout, except that I conveniently forgot that me + graphic-making programs of any kind = DISASTER. I don't know how to do anything. And my HTML knowledge doesn't apply to LJ either, because I know basic website building HTML, not CSS. XP Can anyone give me a template to work with or something?
Ohhh, what a peaceful weekend. Yesterday I did absolutely nothing, my lethargic day of relaxation interrupted only by a surprise visit by my mother's best friend Tiffany (a pleasant one, too; lethargy loves company!). Anyway, I didn't know she was coming, and she didn't arrive until late-ish (like 9 PM), so when she did come, I was sitting cross-legged on the couch in the oversized Broadway T-shirt she gave me, emotionally wrapped up in a rerun of SVU I'd never seen before ("Poison"...the one about the corrupt judge that hates Casey). I was yelling at the television when I heard the doorbell ring and heard the familiar voice, so my greeting was something like, "YOU CAN'T OBJECT FROM THE STAND, YOU LYING--oh, hi Tiffany!--BASTARD, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU HAVE NO LEGAL STANDING AS A WITNESS--" Anyway, once the episode ended I sat down to talk to her and my mother about boys and school and life, and a fun time was had by all. It was determined that sometime in the next couple weeks, Tiff and I are going to go see Zodiac and The Number 23, because she doesn't have anyone to go to R movies with because her son's only ten. She's also going to take me clandestinely to go get my eyebrows waxed, a covert operation that I seriously doubt my mother will fail to notice, but whatever. Then today was my Noah-bug's sixth birthday, a soccer party at which parents watched their kids play and I watched the particularly attractive Australian soccer coach who was ten years too old for me. I was kind of bummed because my favorite grandparents leave tomorrow for their jungle excursion down in the Yucatan (without me! I wanted to go so bad, they're going rafting and camping and exploring previously unseen Mayan ruins, but my mom wouldn't let me take the time off of school), and this was the last time I got to see them. But ah, well. I watched the pretty coach and socialized with my family and took in the prettiness of the park they'd chosen, filled with huge fir trees and wildflowers with groups of monarch butterflies flitting about. Now I'm making new binder covers for my white school binder and reading this online crime book about the Zodiac murders, because I'm intrigued. All in all, it has been quite a lovely weekend. :)
Apparently that dinner was more exhausting then I thought. I woke up at noon this morning when my mom poked her head in the door to make sure I was still alive. Normally I get up at eleven on weekends, but I feel like I could've slept for another good hour or two.
So I took this test that a few people on my f-list have taken...
Today, the Women's Advocacy and Relief Club held a charity banquet called Dinner for Darfur to benefit the victims of the Darfurian genocide. (What Genocide?) Using nothing but donated lasagna, plastic tablecloths, an informational video, a hundred tea light candles, our own written speeches and some godlike brownies, we inspired people to listen, ask questions and learn.
We also inspired them to respond. Over a thousand dollars' worth of response--and this from the donation jar alone. Not counting the money raised in ticket sales, in T-shirt sales, and from all the people who gave us a fifty dollar bill for their ten dollar ticket and said, "Keep the change." I expect that the end total will come out to something around two thousand dollars.
Two. Thousand. Dollars. From fifteen girls (and Steve XD) with nothing but a plan, a purpose and plenty of perserverance. (Ugh, I'm sorry. Alliteration is my body's natural response to excitement. The first time I saw Wicked, I think I used up every single 'w' word in the dictionary in a single paragraph.) It's an amazing feeling, a euphoric rush of "I made a difference" that is incomparable to even the greatest high.
I'm far too jazzed up to sleep. I think I'll take a survey; I haven't taken a decent one since I quit Myspace. And I like this one. It's kind of quirky.
Yeah...there's more to the survey, but I don't think I'm going to finish it. I'm probably going to go kick it with the book I'm reading, The Memory Keeper's Daughter. It came very highly recommended, but so far I'm not too fond of it. It seems to me to be filled with fanciful, fluffy nature metaphors that carry no purpose other than to promote a facade of vivid imagery and pretty prose. Honestly, they give no assistance to the reader in picturing the scene--quite the opposite, IMHO. "His voice was filled with tension, like rocks in white water." I don't know about the rest of you, but I think the metaphor actually detracts from the story. And there's a dozen more like that in every chapter. But you know me--I just can't stop reading a book once I've started.
I know I already posted today, but I just wanted to make an observation. I'm watching last week's episode of SVU just now (I think it's called "Haystack"?), and I realized I recognized the pesky reporter's voice. Then she came on camera and I was like, "OMG, it's Sydney!"
Yeah...you Grey's Anatomy fans all remember Sydney, right? Happy-go-lucky, insanely-perky, let's have a group hug Sydney?
God, I hate her. :)
EDIT: Hey, another person I recognize! Mr. Kendall's lawyer! It's Kenny Strick! You know, that freak on CI who gave his mother the ant poison to make her throw up her child from her stomach and ended up killing her. (I've seen that episode waaaaaay too many times...I remember everyone's names: Kenny, Martha [the redheaded sister], Eloise [the dead mother]. Yet the one thing I don't remember is the episode title. Hrmmm...=/)
This was one of my favorite quotes, as a kid, from one of my favorite books (Figures I'd like the book that was written as a metaphor about drugs and politics, no?). I think it accurately describes my life. The people I surround myself with could all be justifiably deemed insane by society. Not that anyone cares what society thinks, but it's only when I observe my behavior through the eye of an outsider that I realize how truly crazy we are. And I, for one, am loving every second of it.
Take Tuesday morning, for example. Alex and I were standing outside Miss Mills' classroom, waiting for her to get there and open the door so we could go inside. We were bored just standing around, so naturally Alex started dancing. Obviously I couldn't let her dance alone, so I started dancing with her. A couple minutes later I heard the jangling of keys behind me that signaled Mills' arrival, so I turned around and she was unlocking the door and talking to this boy about something or other. I smiled at her, turned back to Alex and we kept on dancing. Then I heard this voice, presumably the boy's, whisper to Mills, "What are they doing?" Her reply was something along the lines of, "I have no idea. Just let them be."
But, actually, I'm starting to think that the crazy is genetic, passed down to me by my mother. I came out of my room the other night to discover that she'd unrolled a thirty-foot strip of bubble wrap down the entire length of the hallway. Thinking it might be there for a reason and not meant to be trifled with, I side-stepped the thing and picked my way to the kitchen, careful not to step on it. When I asked about it, my mother said, "Oh, no, you can step on it. That's the point. It's fun. Dad got it in a package and had no use for it, so I figured why not?" So for the rest of the night, we all made frequent trips down the hallway for no reason other than to pop the bubble wrap.
Oh, and then there was today in the dollar store. We were browsing for something or other my brother wanted, when "Summer Lovin'" from Grease came on over the loudspeakers. I was a little confused as to why they'd be playing that in a dollar store, but since I knew all the words, I started singing. My mom did too, and we both started dancing, and eventually my little brother joined in too, even though he didn't know the song. I think the employees were frightened, and I'm pretty sure that they were making fun of us in Spanish. But I took French, so I guess I'll never know. Oh, and I'm sorry if this entry lacks literary merit. I'm pretty tired today, so my writing is sucking. These stories would be much more entertaining if my story-telling ability were up to par.
*By the way: I will be making my journal friends only shortly. I will not be deleting anyone from my f-list and will still add new friends, but my paranoid mother wants me to lock it, so I'm going to.
EDIT: I cannot, for the life of me, decide who I want to put on my "Friends Only" banner. I know most people put a celebrity/character on it, but I just have too many favorites. Currently it's between Kristin Chenoweth/Galinda, Kate Walsh/Addison, Diane Neal/Casey Novak, Kathryn Erbe/Eames, Stephanie J. Block/Elphaba and Sara Ramirez/Callie. Aaaah. Too many beloved celebrities. I just can't choose...
EDIT #2: I think I want to use this picture of Cheno for my friends-only banner. But I don't know what text to put on it. I was thinking something along the lines of "Uh oh, my bodyguard didn't find your name on the list, leave a comment to be added," etc. etc., but the concept of Cheno being a rough-and-tumble bodyguard is only funny if you know who she is beforehand. Plus, I suck at making graphics. Grrrrrr.
Monday is the refuge of all that is unholy. Therefore I shall make the worst of a bad day and get all of my yucky weekly homework and chores out of the way so that the rest of my busy week can pass without constraint. But, honestly. Mondays always suck. And today was no different. This morning I dropped the cinnamon candle Shirley gave me for my birthday on the floor of the locker room, and shattered it and its glass holder into bits. That was a real bummer, because it was a very pretty candle, and very thoughtful (I adore cinnamon--the flavor, the smell, all of it). Then I got to Mills' room, still upset about my dead candle, where I was informed that I had lost my bet (and was truly surprised at the outcome! Earlier in the week, right after I saw Wicked with Stephen, he was teasing me about my half-hour long crying fit, and I defended myself with, "Everybody cries during Wicked. It's like an unwritten decree of the Broadway gods: Thou who doth not cry in Wicked hath no soul." Then I said, jokingly, "Twenty bucks says Miss Mills cries." I had fully expected that she'd be bawling just like the rest of the audience, but she said she was too surprised at the difference between Book Ending and Musical Ending to cry.) So, Stephen being Stephen, he couldn't be a gentleman and let me lose with my dignity intact, and now I'm buying his ticket to the charity dinner (which, hello, does not make any sense--if you're attending a charity dinner, YOU'RE supposed to give to the charity. Not make your friend do it. :-P) Then there was English, where the No Good Dirty Rotten Uneventful Day was improved slightly thanks to Hussai bringing in doughnuts for her birthday. I snacked on a big chocolate one covered in pink sprinkles while the class tried in vain to analyze The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (I say "in vain" because no-one--including me :)--actually read the poem). Then at lunch I had to make up the Gas Laws test, which I likely as not will bomb--I don't know why I even try anymore. Theatre was pretty fun, though. We talked about theatre lore and superstition, like how you never say good luck on opening night (if you do, I tell you, it is certain by the curtain you are through! ...Ahem. Sorry. No more Producers references, I promise). Blah. Now I'm stuck doing three absent reports for dance on the lives of three different famous dancers. It's interesting and I wouldn't mind simply reading about Baryshnikov and Maria Tallchief, but I *really* don't want to write a report about them. And I have to read the chapter for Euro history, because I haven't yet. But once I get all my homework done and clean my room, I'm going to run the bath water scalding hot and hide in the bathroom for a few hours. (Seriously? I think my dad has a secret hidden desire to live in Alaska. He will not let us turn the heater up above like sixty degrees. He says it's bad for the environment, it wastes money, blah blah blah, but anything would be better than sitting here in a hooded sweatshirt and a sweater and STILL shivering.) Oh, and there's a CI rerun on at seven...that makes me happy. And I've still got some good books I haven't read yet. ...Maybe it's not such a terrible day after all. :)
We got a bucket of Corona, Enough stories to last all night. About the trials and tribulations Of findin' Mr. Right. Of findin' a good man. Here's to the liars and the cheaters and the cold mistreaters; To the Momma's boys who can't make a stand. Here's to the superficial players; The "I love ya" too-soon-sayers; If you hear me girls, raise your hand: Let's have a toast: Here's to findin' a good man.
Blind dates an' horror stories; Pushy guys and fast movers. Let's dedicate this girl's night out, To big-talkers; bad losers, It's so hard findin' a good man.
Here's to the liars and the cheaters and the cold mistreaters; To the Momma's boys who can't make a stand. Here's to the superficial players; The "I love ya" too-soon-sayers; If you hear me girls, raise your hand: Let's have a toast: Here's to findin' a good man.
Julie, I know you want perfection; Angie, you want a listener. Lisa, your list is gettin' long, And girls, you know me:I just want a good kisser.
Here's to the liars and the cheaters and the cold mistreaters; To the Momma's boys who can't make a stand. Here's to the superficial players; The "I love ya" too-soon-sayers; If you hear me girls, raise your hand: Let's have a toast; Let's have a toast: Here's to findin' a good man.
Here's to findin' a good man. Here's to findin' a good man.
I don't usually like country music. I don't actually like this song very much, either. But I heard it on the radio once, and as I was washing the splotches of brightly colored tempera paint off my hands a few hours ago, the lyrics suddenly came back to me. And I get to thinking, as I so often do: why is it so hard to find good men these days? Honestly. It's pretty sad when the most a teenage girl can say about her Friday night is that she sat at home watching Law and Order reruns, eating ice cream and doodling on whatever paper she could get her hands on. I haven't had anything of a date-like manner come out of a Friday night in months; I am, however, piling up a rather impressive collection of old grocery lists complete with Disney-style doodles of several Law and Order detectives squeezed in between the constants of bread and milk. I've got everyone, from Goren and Eames to Benson and Stabler to Green and Briscoe. (I even drew Cabot. I don't like her at all, but what can I say: they were showing the old-old reruns.) Seriously, though; my birthday this year marked my fifteenth consecutive Valentine's Day as a Swingin' Single. And it still sucks. Not that I expected to be picking up guys when I was two and three, mind you; nor is my predicament as dramatic as I'm making it sound. I've had boyfriends (the plural form of the word, but just barely) before. I just always mysteriously invent reasons to break up with them before V-day hits. I don't actually know why. I'm sure somewhere in the dark and twisty recesses of my mind I have a reason for it, but I don't know it conciously. I just observe these things in retrospect, and after a while realize that I actually had no feasible reason for breaking up with either boy. I told Ethan he was getting too clingy (he was, but he'd been that way all along; it wasn't fair of me to just spring it on him like that), and I told Taylor just the opposite; that he'd stopped caring (which he hadn't...he went home and cried that day. Turned out he was using me to get to my best friend, but I didn't know it at the time, which made my move kind of cruel and unusual.) But hey, hindsight always was 20/20. And I can't stand either of them today, so I guess that worked out well for both of us. But I am yet to have my much-awaited First Kiss. Vik actually told me that it's not that great, and others I know have touted it as 'magical', and then there's always my old friend Lyn, who said it was 'disgusting' (but we won't trust her opinion on the matter, because she had one of those boys that tried to suffocate her with his tongue, the poor dear).
Anyway, I suppose I should explain how the tempera paint got on my hands in the first place, which in turn would explain the beginnings of this rant. Today, for want of being a good person and lack of anything better to do, I went down to the therapeutic center off Erbes Road (which is probably my favorite road--CI fans, I'm sure you understand) to attend the "Therapeutic Dance Work Party" advertised on the chalk board in my Euro class. Now, keep in mind that it was just this written on the board, followed by dates and locations, with no explanation other than those four words. Being me, I sat dumbfounded for a second imagining our entire Euro class having our own private rave learning the names and accomplishments of every king of France amidst pooling smoke and flashing strobe lights. Up until Alex Johnson politely informed me that the dance wasn't actually for the Euro class; it was for the disabled kids down at said Center in two weeks' time, and the party was to help paint signs and set up for it. Sheepish and slightly disappointed, I agreed to come and help and made good on my promise, having some fun in the bargain. I was worried at first that I wouldn't know anyone there, but before long Alex and Carrie showed up, and Dalton's girlfriend (who I know by sight only) came dragging him behind her. Carrie and I teamed up and painted and ate pizza and talked about college and teachers, and wheedled Dalton into drawing our pictures for us because we both lack artistic skill (but we did paint them in, so there :-P). It was a good time, except Dalton kept calling me Fae, and that name always reminds me of the hole in my heart I keep trying to forget. Anyway, as I was standing by the door waiting to leave with a flyer inviting me to the actual dance tucked safely in my jean pocket, I heard one boy from a different school asking his friend who he was bringing to the dance. And I was like, "Oh, great. You can't even go solo just to chaperone a dance without looking like a geek." So I'm kind of bummed about that, but hey, two weeks is a lot of time, and I've still got some tricks up my sleeve. If I can convince Hansybear to hook me up with that friend of his, I just might get a date out of this whole thing after all. And as for this weekend, things are looking up. Tomorrow I'm going to Emmi's house with the rest of the Women's Advocacy Club to work out the kinks in our Charity Dinner this Friday, and afterwards I'm retiring to Alex's house with some ice cream so we can watch the Oscars and make snarky comments about peoples' clothing and general idiocy.
And so ends the saga of the sadly swinging single. To the new friends I made off the Law and Order: Criminal Intent friending meme, I'm sorry your first entry with me was so whiny. It's late and I'm cranky, I shouldn't even have posted, but I haven't posted anything other than dorky stagedoor pictures in a while. So...sorry. Next entry will be more uplifting. I promise.
Honestly...seriously. What a show. What sets, what staging, what music, what characters--and what a CAST! We lucked out, big time, getting this awesome of a cast the first time round. And they were all so sweet, too (because, of course, we had to get the infamous stage door pictures). Here they are, with commentary (the commentary is mostly me raving about how good it was, so you can skip it if you want to.)
And that was it for the stagedoor. I was sad that our Mimi didn't emerge--we got the understudy, Jennifer Colby Talton, but she was so spectacular I find it hard to believe she was just the stand-by (although I find that all too frequently the stand-bys are better than the actual cast--I still maintain that Victoria Matlock was a much better Elphaba than Julia Murney). She had a really pretty, sweet voice--not what I was expecting, but still very good. I'm always worried to see "Out Tonight" done by someone other than Daphne Rubin-Vega, because most of the time it's pretty mediocre, but Jennifer's was very good--she didn't quite hit the first "OwOOOOT" but she got all the rest of them. And her "Without You" was heartbreaking...
It was a great show. End of story. I wish I were Puerto Rican or looked Puerto Rican, so I could be Mimi one day. *sigh* Cruel, cruel fate.
I'm squealing in my head right now so loud that everyone around me can probably hear it.
Pictures to come. OMG. OMG. OMG. OMG. <33333333333
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Oh my good golly gosh. Eden Espinoza is. A. Goddess. She blew me away, I swear to God. I have never heard a more vocally powerful rendition of "No Good Deed" in my entire life. Honestly...there are no words. The second time I've seen this show, and still there are no words. Great theatre critic I'll make, if I can't even use my words to describe how effing much I love and adore this show.
1. Put your playlist on random. 2. Pick your favorite lines from the first 25 songs that play. 3. Post and let people guess what song the lines come from. 4. Cross out the songs when someone guesses correctly. No Googling.
Numero Un. "Sugar, she's refined Always normal priced, she blows my mind Sugar, she's got the power Soothes my soul for half an hour, half an hour, half an hour."
Numero Deux. "Be my friend Hold me Wrap me up I'm falling."
Numero Trois. (This one's too easy, so I'll only give you a little bit.) "It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife, It's like meeting the man of my dreams and meeting his beautiful wife."puddingsworth
Numero Quatre. (This one's really hard. So...I'll give you a lot. But I really doubt anyone will get it.) "A new world--this one thing I want to ask of you, world, Once, before it's time to say adieu, world, One sweet chance to prove the cynics wrong A new life, more and more and sure as I go through life Just to play the game and to pursue life, Just to share its pleasures and belong That's what I've been here for all along."
Numero Cinq. "Lots of choc'lates for me to eat, Lots of coal makin' lots of heat, Warm face, warm hands, warm heat Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?"
Numero Six. "There'd be no ties of time and space to bind us, And no horizon we could not pursue, We'd leave the world's misfortunes far behind us And I would put my faith and trust in you."
Numero Sept. "And goodbye until tomorrow, Goodbye, until the next time you call And I will be waiting, I will be waiting Goodbye until tomorrow, goodbye Until I recall how to breathe And I have been waiting, I have been waiting for you."
Numero Huit. "Nobody's arms belong to me, Noone's feel strong to me I admire the moon, as a moon, just a moon, Nobody's heart belongs to me today."
Numero Neuf. (Too easy.) "Everyone glows, I see love affairs everywhere But no one will do but you."
Numero Dix. "Hang your head because she is no longer there, To shine, to dazzle, or betray How she lived, how she shone But how soon the lights were gone."
Numero Onze. "Stars, in your multitudes, Scarce to be counted Filling the darkness With order and light You are the sentinels Silent and sure Keeping watch in the night." Numero Douze. "You're living in America Leave your conscience at the tone."silverspitfire
Numero Treize. (Oh, gosh, a blast from the past. My emo phase.) "Playground school bell rings, again. Rainclouds come to play, again. Has no-one told you she's not breathing? Hello, I am your mind, giving you someone to talk to, hello."
Numero Quatorze. "Arrest this man, he talks in maths He buzzes like a fridge, he's like a detuned radio."
Numero Quinze. "Pull the plug! Ain't he the one that pulled the rug? He's nothin' but an alley cat, dirty rat, double-crosser, and I flatter... Forget about the boy!"
Numero Seize. "In sleep he sang to me, In dreams he came That voice which calls to me And speaks my name."silverspitfire
Numero Dix-Sept. "You are my sweetest downfall I loved you first, I loved you first Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth."
Numero Dix-Huit. (Too easy.) "Their laughter penetrates my silence As drunken men find flaws in science."lozzy
Numero Dix-Neuf. (Hahahaha! This song is one of my guilty pleasures. XD Don't laugh at me.) "There were nights when the wind was so cold That my body froze in bed if I just listened to it right outside the window."lozzy
Numero Vinqt.(Another guilty pleasure. Tehehehe. I love this band.) "But now it isn't true Now everything is new And all I've learned has overturned I beg of you Don't go wasting your emotion Lay all your love on me." lozzy
Numero Vinqt et Un. "And I'm so sorry that I've fallen Help me up, let's keep on running Don't let me fall out of love."
Numero Vinqt-Deux. "From underneath the trees we watch the sky Confusing stars for satellites I never dreamed that you'd be mine But here we are, we're here tonight Singing amen I, I'm alive Singing amen I, I'm alive."lozzy
Numero Vingt-Trois. "Everybody's talking, but they don't say a thing They look at me with sad eyes but I don't want the sympathy It's cool you didn't want me, sometimes you can't go back But why'd you have to go and make a mess like that?"lozzy
Numero Vinqt-Quatre. (Possibly my favorite sappy love song ever.) "A window breaks down a long, dark street And a siren wails in the night But I'm alright, 'cause I have you here with me And I can almost see, in the dark there is light."
Numero Vinqt-Cinq. "Why'd you have to be so cute? It's impossible to ignore you Must you make me laugh so much? It's bad enough we get along so well."lozzy
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