Things I Hate About Myself

1. I overthink. Everything. Beyond reason.

2. My hair is too thick. Trust me, that's possible.

3. I unknowingly purchased a Tokyo Police Club song. And I loved it, crap.

4. I have several weak spots in my resolve.

5. I fall in 'like' too easily.

6. I can't decide if I think I have a good(really good) voice or not.

7. I'm an incredible perfectionist.

8. I never do what I tell myself I'm going to do. Ever.

9. I reference TV shows without knowing it, so people think I watch them, and therefore, am cool.

10. I can't just not know something. I'm impatient. I have to know. Now.

New Books

So I got another Sarah Dessen book at Barnes and Noble today. Yes, they're adorable and teenager-y, but they're my guilty pleasure, emphasis on guilty, because everyone reads them. Besides, they're mostly about a girl who meets a guy who sparks some break from her normality and teaches her to be more impulsive and less of a perfectionist about her life.
I mean, every book.

And I made the mistake of (unknowingly) picking one where the main character is already sort of a party girl. The drinking, carefree type who is starting to slide back into old, dangerous habits when some sweet guy saves her and takes her home when she almost passes out. Ick.

But I ramble. The point is, the attitudes of the main characters in novels always rub off on me. Sarah Dessen has a way of making her characters really believable - which, don't get me wrong, is a great skill for a writer to have. But they become so believable that I start to agree with their decisions. Which, in this particular case, isn't the best idea.

So essentially, I'm in a backsliding, carefree mood, and if the friendly, almost-ginger boy from the bookstore were to walk into my kitchen and hit on me, I wouldn't push him away and freak out like the normal me would.

This is not a good thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Is this a fairy thing or an angel?" Olivia blurts in her curious-yet-blunt eight-year-old voice, jerking me for the fifty-seventh time from my book. I glance at the necklace she's referring to. It is neither a fairy nor an angel, but an Eagle, Globe and Anchor, the symbol of the Marine Corps, which was given to me as a Christmas present by my parents when I was about twelve. 
When I said she could wear something of mine, she clearly picked it thinking it was something more whimsical. When I explain to her what it is, I can see her in the side of my vision studying the charm; it is losing its appeal.
"Which one do you think is cutest?" She continues before I can put my nose back to the page. She displays the back cover of her chapter book, which depicts a row of different books in the series, all with pictures of different puppy breeds on the covers. After a very, very cursory glance, I tell her the white one.
"So, you think I should have gotten that one?" 
"I don't know." By now I have almost lost my place on the page of my book.
"Or maybe this one?" She is determined to keep my interest.
"Olivia." I lower the thick volume briefly. "I'd really just like to read a little."
She slumps a bit, disappointed. "Okay."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Because reading someone else's writing always causes me to narrate my own life in the same way. Had to get that out.

In other news, my package of gifts I sent to Okinawa has arrived, and I received a thank you wall post from one of my friends. This means that within a week or two I'll either be getting one awkward thank-you email from someone, or the same familiar silence. Don't know which I'd prefer.

And a bloodcurdling scream has just erupted from the basement, which means Olivia is in yet another spat with her siblings. Ah, cousins.

Gotta go.

Pathos

Here it is. My sappy, emotionally-charged blog post. These come a couple times a month, and if you are tired of them, you have permission to leave now. I will not judge or take it personally.

We good?

Okay then.

Let's see. To start, I made the terrible decision of watching a couple of those particular How I Met Your Mother episodes where some deep truth is revealed about destiny. Ted expressed his deep longing to find "the one" and Barney, for once, went against his womanizing ways and realized he's in love with Robin.

Then I turned the channel and "I'll Be Home for Christmas" was on, some old-ish movie and of course, the cute guy who kissed a (much younger) Jessica Biel made my heart melt.

Then I went up to my room and fell facedown on my bed and wished some sweet, non-creepy guy would do something cute for me. Just once.

Then I realized how stupid that was.

I've often been tempted to write this post. Many times. Each time, I get right up to the last minute and decide not to.

Which is why I'm still not going to write it now.

But what I will do is give away a tiny piece of what I might have written.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Basically, these semi-monthly, fleeting moments of self-doubt in my confidence that I don't need a guy to be happy weren't always so awful.

All I will say is that I got a short taste. I got a very brief, imperfect glance at what it might be like to have someone care about you. And in the moment, it was pretty great to feel that about myself.

But of course, that moment ended. I looked at it from a much wider angle and realized it was incredibly false. I got my head and heart in the right place and everything was fine again.

But now, these small moments of doubt just plain suck. Because I have something to miss. A flawed substitute for the real thing, yes. But more than nothing.

And that's a bit of what's been keeping me up. I've probably said too much. For my dignity's sake, it's probably better if no one read this far.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you and goodnight. Oh, and Merry Christmas. (I mean that genuinely.) In case anyone's wondering, mine was fantastic.

And So It Begins

And so here I sit during this winter break, listening to as much new music as I can get my hands on and wondering what will become of my life.

I think I'll stalk people's Twitters and Tumblrs and Facebook pages in hopes that staring at them long enough will cause one of them to message me. 

(Speaking of Tumblr, this wouldn't make a bad Tumblr pic. Jussayin'.) 

Why He Left Heaven

So if you ever wonder how much you're worth, 

you should know

that you're the reason

why I'm leaving heaven

I love this song.

It reminds me how incredible it really was that Jesus came to Earth. For...us. Measly little us. Just the very basis of his coming... having to leave paradise... was massive. And songs like this remind me not to forget that. I always love listening to it around Christmas, so I thought you all might too. :)

Checkered Shirt, Part #2

There were only 3 words.

Three.

But they said enough.

I apologize for messing up your favorite song's lyric, but know that as soon as I realized my mistake, I wanted to take the words right back and fix them.

Nevertheless. A tiny, wishful part of me thinks you got it. You saw through the spaces I left in my words (between the lines, as it were) and discovered the small voice that still exists across an ocean.

Dear Boy In the Checkered Shirt,

I haven't written to you in months. Mostly because I'd almost managed to forget how you caused some small, deep, wild part of my soul to take flight.

But of course, as was inevitable, I finally managed to be drawn back to your small world of black and white photos and lonely teenage girls who attempt to be as silver-tongued and distinctive as you, but alas, all sound alike.

I forgot how intriguing you've always been.

Thank goodness you've never known of this page, and never will, because my (literally) shaking fingers need somewhere to release this whirlwind of racing emotions.

Why did I try my hand at being different than those lonely bloggers. Why.

Because I thought I could succeed?

Because I am much too far away now to suffer any embarrassing consequences if my identity were discovered?

Because, try as I might, I can't resist the familiar warmth your rare gift of eloquence brings, even still?

Yes.

Because I hope you know it's me, and I also desperately hope you don't.

Because as much as I have always desired that you see past the girl in the desk across the aisle who shares your love of hand sanitizer, I have remained content with being the much safer, though lonelier...
... acquaintance.

It may be too late for anything but. Nevertheless, I know I will be unable to restrain the urge to return to the black and white photos until your words appear... this time for me.

Silver Necklaces And The Annual Day of Gift Giving

So please just fall in love with me

this Christmas...

Can we just take a minute to appreciate the gorgeous feelings that Michael Buble and Christmas together create. 

For another thing, I went Christmas shopping for a few friends today and as I was browsing the jewelry  section of Kohl's looking for a specific pair of turquoise earrings, I saw those adorable pendant necklaces. 

The ones I'm a sucker for. Just a silver chain and something silvery on the end. There was this one with a snowflake... gah. I died. It actually got me excited to give presents, but also I wondered briefly if anyone is actually getting stuff for me. Woah. 

I just love Christmas, okay?

So much so that my favorite day...probably of the school year... has always been the day before winter break. I wear Christmas-y colors to school and pack my bag of presents for friends/teachers and just spend the day distributing them. Boy, did I knock it out of the park last year. I mean, really. I probably had almost 20 gifts. 

That was a great day. 

Whoever said it was better to give then to receive. They're right. Whoever 'they' are. They've stumbled upon a valuable secret. 

I get really intentional about my gift giving, too. I'm never content with a simple gift card... unless it's a super meaningful gift card. (There's something about Starbucks gift cards that are just perfect for some people.) I think of the perfect, fitting gift for that one person. Then when I find it... it's the most satisfying feeling. The best part, though, is handing it to them, seeing the look on their face when you unexpectedly got them something, and then open it and... no way. You didn't. How....

And you're like, yeah. I did. I made that happen. 

Best feeling ever. 

Unfortunately this year, my resources aren't what they were this year. I don't have a)enough money, b)enough friends that I know super well, or c)enough friends in one place to go as all-out as I did last year.

But notwithstanding! Gift-giving is going to be as spectacular as ever. The gifts I did get are pretty darn epic. Examples:

-Pink pens for this girl in my APUSH class. We don't even know each other that well, but she mentioned like 2 months ago that she really wants some pink pens. 

-A certain TV show-themed mug for a friend. 

-A Batman ornament for my drama teacher (aka my Secret Santa for Drama Club) who love, LOVES Batman.

-Certain TV show-themed suspenders. For a friend. They're that kind of friend.

I can't reveal much more, 'cause I'm not certain who reads this and who doesn't. But after Christmas I'm going to be bragging about... well, the good ones. Some were pure luck, but others were pure genius. Some were a bit of both. 

This was just going to be a post about how romantic and Christmas-y that song at the top makes me feel, but hey. It happens.

Dear Burgundy,

I think you might be my new favorite.

I never thought I would move away from Cobalt Blue. I mean, never. In fact, I swore that you would always be my third favorite at least. But here you are.

It doesn't help that you're soft and warm. Neither does the faint smell of hot dogs.

I'm hope this isn't too forward of me. I don't normally do this. I mean, neither do you. Not that you're afraid or anything. That would be Cobalt Blue. Too afraid to break from normality.

You might just be better than that.

A New Meaning

Tonight I watched 500 Days of Summer for the second time in my life.

I realized a lot of things.

Mainly that once again, it is a metaphor for my life. 

But in a very, very different way than it was last time. 

The part near the beginning. Where Summer averages 14.8 double takes on her daily commute. I get the significance of what someone once said to me. Wow.

 When they're on the train on the way home from the wedding. I tried not to cry.

Where Tom isn't even thinking about it, but while he's sitting on the bus later in the movie because he's managed to get himself up and become an architect, Summer is getting married to someone else.

It's all so sad, yet so great. 

Because even though it's not a happy ending per say, it is.

If I go back and look at my blog post from when I was about to watch the movie for the first time, it's crazy how different I am now. Maybe that's what makes the movie mean something completely different for me this time.

But nevertheless. It's still a great movie.  

The World We Live In

So this morning, at an elementary school in Connecticut....

...an elementary school.

A 24-year old man came in and started shooting.

Kids.

And their teachers.

Some kids in other classrooms heard popping sounds from down the hall. Their teachers, terrified, started herding all of them into closets as fast as they could.

But they're still reporting that at least 26 people are dead. Over half of those were kids.

Parents started showing up, panicked, looking for their kids. They had to tell around 20 parents who showed up that their child was one of those shot. The same kid that had cheerfully waved goodbye and stepped onto the school bus that morning had been shot.

I mean, kids.

That makes me want to cry so much. To think that there are forces in this world that would drive a person to walk into an elementary school one morning and kill children and their teachers.

That makes me angry at that person. Seriously angry. It makes me glad that he's no longer living. I shouldn't feel like that.

That makes me scared for all those other kids. The ones hiding in the closets of their classrooms. The ones that then had to come out and maybe find their favorite teacher dead. Or their best friend.

They have to carry that now. What if the shooter just spawned a whole new generation of deranged sociopaths by his actions? How does that not mess you up from childhood?

I'm really sorry for this slightly really depressing post. But I think it's important that this is what our world is like. If there are people out there who read this blog and think humanity can do everything on its own... that we're all inherently perfect from birth... then where did something like this come from?

This is why we need God. Because the problem of sin, of the world, is real.

I, for one, am going to say some serious prayers tonight. For those families and friends. For all people like that shooter out there. For all of us.

This stuff makes you scared to live, to stand for anything. But it also makes you glad you have the privilege.

#ActorProblems

Here I sit. Waiting to find out which play I've been cast in...that is, if I get cast in any.

Well...I'm pretty sure I will...ish. It's just a matter of if I get my top pick(s).

This is so stressful. I always sink into this unsure, depression state after I audition for plays where I get this feeling like I did something horribly wrong.

So naturally, I'm doing the healthy thing this time and releasing them here. Sorry.

So....miniature rant.

The comedic play I really, REALLY want to get cast in...is a fairly big cast. Two of my good friends also got called back for it. It's written by another friend of mine. But....my two friends were doing a scene together, and, well...they made a rather exciting choice for a scene, which sent us all into hysterics. No lie, it was funny. Really funny.

But it was the VERY scene I'd wanted to do. And I was convinced I could do something different, but just as awesome.

So Friend #1 sits down and says to Friend #2: "I'm SO hoping we get cast for that together, that would be awesome."

Friend #2 says to ME: "I am going to go all the way on (particular stage direction) for whoever I do that scene next with." (I WAS PLANNING ON DOING THAT ALREADY.)

And I'm over here, like:

Well, that never got to happen. They finished with the scenes for that play, and Friend #2 left.

MEANWHILE.

Friend #1 is talking to the writer of this play, and was all, "SO DID YOU LIKE ME AND FRIEND #2'S LITTLE THING WE DID THERE. WASN'T IT HILARIOUS?!" 

I was inwardly seething, thinking,

AND I REALLY HOPE I DON'T HAVE TO KILL SOMEONE LATER IF THESE CASTINGS WORK OUT WEIRDLY.

So...all this is to say that Friend #1 was REALLY good in the other, dramatic play. I think that that play needs Friend #1. 

But the comedy? 

They'll be fine. 

(Author's note-later: I got cast in my second choice play. Friend #1 and Friend #2 are in a play together-of course-but it's not this play to which I was referring in this play. I also talked to Friend #1 about my annoyance and it's (mostly) all good now. But let that happyish ending not distract from the greatness and sheer wit of this post.)

My Other Half I Can't Reach

For the 4th time, I tried to see if I could read my Okinawa yearbook without crying.

No such luck.

Just...read some of these. 

 
 
 
 
                     

 

I still don't know how I can be without these people. 

Because I'm Into Photography and Love My Cat

I was so proud of myself when I got this shot. It involved holding something up beside the lens for him to look at.
I was also standing on the bed.
Just LOOK AT IT.

"Please Excuse My Horrible Face" -Marilyn Monroe

As my brother was watching a sports movie in the other room and I realized my life would have nothing in it for the next few days except homework and school...

...I decided to jazz up 1 minute and 23 seconds of your time with something new and exciting...
...a video.

Consisting of:
-My surprise at the fact that my blog is getting popular
-My newfound appreciation of the adorable holiday Zales commercials
-My lack of purpose
-Yeah. That's about it.

I need to get out or something. Some of you people know where I live. Surprise me.

Just kidding.
Kind of.
Don't feel obligated.

I Find Out That I Can Carry A Tune

Today I had this weird realization that this blog is going to look a whole lot different if I ever get a boyfriend. 

Awkward. 

Anyway.

Thankfully, I have things to post about besides teenage girl problems. For example: tonight I sang in front of people and played the ukulele because the piano wasn't working. And guess what?

A few people actually liked it. No, seriously. 

I mean, I know I can carry a tune. I'm not one of those people that's all, "Oh, I can't sing. No. I mean, really. I don't have a good voice."...and then goes all Adele on everyone. No. 

But on the other hand, I'm (obviously) not Adele either. I mean, I'm decent. 

I guess. 

But not GREAT. Per say. I get that. It's okay.

But guys. When I finished my voice-cracking, chest-cold, erratic-strumming version of I'm Yours, walked back to my friends, and said, "Happy?" people were actually cheering a little. 

And that made me feel a)like they were just being polite, and then b)that maybe I actually wasn't half bad. 

So I'm allowing myself to pat myself on the shoulder for mentally kicking myself and getting the whole, first-time-singing-in-front-of-people thing out of the way. 

Phew. If only I could make myself do everything for the first time that way, I would be a lot bolder. 

 

Too Much For One Day

After tonight I want nothing more than to play my ukelele and piano and belt songs as if I have the angelic voices of the teenage girls with straightened hair and flowered dresses who sang at the Student Expression night tonight.

But then I realize it's 10:00, and my family is going to bed, and I have homework still to finish, and...
...oh yeah. I don't have their voices, either.

So that leaves me with my thoughts.

But that's a little too much of an interesting place to reside as of now. I have literally received so many mental messages today, I don't know what to do with them all.

Nicknames. Oh dear. Just when I thought I was done.
Tea. To keep or not to keep.
Hair. Just do what I want. I don't have time for this.
Irony.
Oh, the irony.
The cruel, heartbreaking, sitcom-worthy irony.
Distractions.
That don't work.

I'm still sticking with the fact that the Returned Memory is right.
Hesitantly.

But now there's also this whole new strangely similar puzzle piece to fit in. I don't know where it fits, or if it's supposed to go where I thought the other one went, or if it goes to a different puzzle altogether. I don't know.

I. Don't. Know. 

But I'm going to end on a lighthearted note and say to the first Wizard, you are indeed worthy of your title.

Maybe It's Time

Tonight I realized that it's no use.

I have no right to this. I can't compete.

I mean, let's be honest here. I can't even pretend to be competition for...
...well, anyone.

And to the Returned Memory: you're right, sadly.
I'm just going to force myself to figure something else out.

The only problem is...I don't know what else to do. I don't think I can figure something else out. If this isn't going to work....

...then I think I might just be done. For a good while, anyway.

I guess it'll get easier when I find a way to stop waiting for things that aren't coming.

Okay Wait A Second There

I told myself I was done blogging for the night. Ergh.

But listen, you.

Being happy all the time for only one reason...that was all very well and good.

But that's all gone downhill now, don't ya think?

I mean, yeah. In the moments, I was on top of the world.

But now? I can't look back on that.

Because I'll either miss it(which is no longer an option), or I'll regret it ever happening.

And I know what most people would say. Most of the hipster, tumblr, stereotypical world.

"Never regret something that once made you happy."

Don't fall for that.

Because there's a difference between just getting happiness for a little while and waiting for a better happiness. Holding out for something that's going to last longer than a breathmint.

When you look back on something that was just momentary, and know that you could have, should have held out for a better deal?

That's not something that's fun to look back on.

I'd have thought you would get that. At least, understand that for me.

Maybe not.

If you can look back with satisfaction, if you can smile and say that you're glad it all happened that way...

...then I'm glad it went downhill before it was too late.

Dear T.E.,

I promise to never cling to you like Velcro when you're around your other friends.

I promise to never spam you with annoying mail.

I promise to never flaunt our awesomeness with pictures of cartoon shapes every other day.

I promise to never, ever be a stereotypical teenage girl.

I promise to never overreact if you have a good time without me.


I promise to always be happy for you.


Even if that happiness means I'll never get to fulfill these promises.

Dear Possibly Lonely,

I see where you're coming from 
'cause I've been there myself

Dear Unfortunately Smudged,

Why do you keep coming back?

Despite my best efforts, you are fighting my current of logical consciousness and reappearing in a series of phantasmagorical scenes characterized by slow motion and wide eyes. My dream the other night was undoubtably what started it all. If you hadn't appeared there and done what you did without sufficient cause, I might have managed to put you out of my mind until the nervously approaching day.

But now I find that the heart-bumping nudge has come back in that five minute span when I know I'll have to throw away my milk carton in a certain trash can, or when I'm pretending to wait for Ryan Gosling to descend the staircase when in reality I know that my more intent focus is on the circle to my left.

It's maddening, being in the position I am. It allows for just enough realistic possibility in those dreamlike scenes to be slightly heartbreaking.

But what am I going to do, pick a new talent?