Hairy & MIGHTY

I challenged myself at the beginning of May to go a full month without shaving. It's June now, and I have successfully survived shave-free. I admit, I hated it at first. I felt icky and dirty and somehow fatter than I actually am, which I can find no reason to, but that's how it was. The hair growing back in was fairly painful and ridiculously itchy, but I did survive. After the first 2 weeks, things start to be a little less uncomfortable-- note that I didn't say comfortable, but at least it got better. The hair started growing out pretty long and by the end of the month, it was nice and soft-- silken, even. I went a couple more weeks without shaving my legs until I finally caved and shaved them for a graduation ceremony. My armpits, however, may become a permanent fixture. I find myself more comfortable and please with my underarms with hair down there. I sweat about the same as before, but smell better and feel better about it. The hair seems to protect me from chafing and abnormally sweaty underarms, and I kind of like the look of the fringe too. It's so very natural and chill. It properly exemplifies what  a dirty hippie I actually am. Well, I mean, a dirty hippie who showers frequently and washes clothes. But one that recycles religiously, so good enough.
I guess we'll have to see where this takes me. BUT if I stop showering or something- someone please stop me!

Check it out! Almost 2 months of no shaving

Working out?

Recently, I've started actually doing things... like, outside... Away from the internet. Did you know there's a whole world of stuff to do out there? In the past 3 days, I've gone swimming at the dam, played badminton, tennis, fake-lacrosse (it's that thing with the plastic spoon dealio and you throw the ball and catch it with the spoon thing..) and went to the gym, and walked the dog, and went on a hike, and so much more! And now, I find myself wanting to go out and do something active instead of staying home watching netflix or napping or even reading. I must say, it's really refreshing. I feel like I've been missing out on something big for years now. This summer, now until school starts, I have decided I will try and be outside more often and try even harder to do active things, you know, to prevent myself from getting any fatter.
All fat jokes aside, I actually have really been enjoying the past few days, and I want to do this stuff not to lose weight or get thin or try the latest fad diet, or even find any sort of social acceptance but rather because I find myself enjoying getting bruises and sore muscles and sunburns. I like the feeling of DOING something-- something concrete and measurable as opposed to watching television or marathon napping.
So, I think I'm going to go walk the dog. What're you going to do?

Don’t let anyone tell you it’s not hard being alone. Don’t let them make you feel inferior for being lonely; for missing arms wrapped around you at nighttime. Don’t let anyone act like missing your someone makes you weak. Don’t let them tell you that you have no right to be lonesome. Love is the best reason in the world to feel lonely. 

Tummy Love

The other day, while I was working, I was given perhaps the best compliment of all time: "You look so good! Your tummy is adorable!" As a "fat girl", most compliments consist of things like "you're not fat" or "have you lost weight?" or "you look so skinny" which is all fine and dandy, but it continues this unspoken prejudice against chubby ladies. It makes the assumption that being chubby is the opposite of being attractive and can be really damaging to someone who walks around with more weight than others may. It may not seem like a big deal, this person commenting on my tummy, but it made a massive difference to me. Her asserting that I am both attractive and chubby was simply delightful, and gave me a massive self-esteem boost entirely unrelated to how thin or fat I look.
I am trying to remember that I am lovely at pretty much whatever weight, and that I should only make efforts to lose weight for myself-- not for others or to shift the way people look at me.
Today, I'm happy to be a little bit fat.

Hamlet meets High School

I've spent the last few days substituting English classes at my old high school, and I have to say, I don't know how these teachers do this every day for years. Years of desperately trying to teach these kids something to no avail (at least most of the time). I have so much respect for these teachers now. I never really realized how much there is to teaching at a high school: grading, budgets, textbooks, curriculum, unwilling students, and miles of red tape. I have little patience for it.
I have learned, though, that I have a unique set of interests. I love making copies, putting in grades, organizing, and even reading up on curriculum. What I really dislike is being put in front of a group of kids who are forced to be here every day, and would much rather be doing practically anything else, and be expected to teach them something. I hate trying to control that demographic, and I loathe trying to teach them something that I'm passionate about just to see them role their eyes and release loaded sighs. It's so infuriating to see such blatant disrespect for, well... just about everything.
If these kids actually cared, I wouldn't mind so much (at least in theory).
For example, the past few days the Juniors have been reading Hamlet and watching different performances of the text: 1996 film, 2009 BBC Performance, and the Mel Gibson film. I get really into this sort of thing. I love Shakespeare and cherish every (almost) performance I see of his plays. So watching these films with the class while reading the play was a ton of fun for me, but I was not met with the same enthusiasm. Most kids fell asleep during the movies, or were texting the whole time, which has been incredibly infuriating for me. I don't understand how you can have such a beautiful thing-- these amazing words and lines-- and sleep through it!
Suffice it to say, teaching is not for me.

I feel like this is relevant in relation to yesterday's post... 

Adulting

Sometimes I get feeling all down on myself because I'm 19 and still living at home with my parents. Granted, I have a job and a bank account and am going to school, but I still feel like I ought to be more. I ought to be paying my own rent and car insurance and buying a more significant portion of my groceries. I start feeling like I'm immature and incapable and generally a very lazy, unaccomplished person. And then I visit my old high school.
In the past year since I graduated I have grown up a LOT. I never realize how much until I'm hanging out with a bunch of pre-graduates. I have noticed that kids never actually speak to each other, but rather yell at each other. And while they're yelling, everyone around them is yelling to, and they're all complaining about how noisy is it, and they then proceed to criticize the people around them for being so immature. And it gets louder and louder until the walls are vibrating and windows are breaking, and they just yell louder over the noise of the world crumbling around them and their yelling.
The best part about high schoolers, though, is how bloody self centered they are. I mean, as a general rule humans are pretty narcissistic and self involved, but high schoolers seem to have selected this one trait of humanity (as opposed to, you know, decency or kindness or, you know, humanity) is this idea that existence revolves around our very selves. They all seem to think that they are the pinnacle of maturity and wit. They're in for a surprise once they graduate I guess..
ANYWAYS. Adulting.
Adulting is basically just trying really really hard to do something, and then failing. And then trying again. It's a futile existence: Work, spend money, work, spend money... I truly don't understand why I was so ready to reach it. I don't see what all the fuss is about. Adulting is poo.
...
...
This has been a post.

Trip to Oregon

The past week I have spent with my brothers in Portland. Since I've gotten back to Utah, everyone keeps asking me "what did you do in Oregon?", which has been a complex question for me to answer. Of course, I did things and went places and saw things, but the focus of the entire trip was spending time with my brothers. The majority of my time was spent at their apartment watching television or reading a book-- just being in the same room as them was exquisite.
David and I had a lot of little chats late at night, talking about everything between puppies and mental health issues. We would drive around the city a lot. He'd show my the most beautiful roads and his favorite houses and stores in the area. We visited a forest in the area and took a short hike and sat on a bench in the middle of the forest for the better part of an hour in complete silence- just looking. It was moments like that I think I enjoyed the most. Simply existing together.
I'm back in Utah now, though, which is a total bummer. It's nice to be with my parents again, but I miss being with my brothers and especially miss not working. I am a bit of a free-loader, I have to admit... Anyways. So that was my trip to Oregon, sorry it's not jam-packed with action and excitement. It looks like my brothers and I are fairly chill together.

I stumbled upon the most incredible program called Silk. You can create amazing art pieces like this on the program with all sorts of different dimensions, colors, and reflections. Give it a go!

Portland, OR

Yesterday morning, I ventured on a new adventure: Navigating an airport by myself. Security, surprisingly, was not the worst part, but rather the plane itself. I really hated that. I was seated in a middle seat next to two older ladies so there wasn't anything to talk about and plus, they took up both of the armrests so I was squished the whole ride. Then of course there's the discomfort of flying in of itself: changes in air pressure, turbulence, loudness... I tried to pretend it was a roller coaster when we were taking off, which was actually helpful, but the rest of the flight, the whole roller coaster analogy doesn't work so well. Very boring. But it was all worth it once I finally got off the plane. I did get lost in PDX, but eventually found my way.
My brothers, David and Kylan were waiting for me and I have to admit I got so excited I dropped all my luggage and pounced. This is the first time I've seen them in months, and the past few weeks have been so hard for me without them. I've missed them deeply, and somehow felt lost and alone without them around. We went to their apartment (which was a lot cleaner than I thought it would be, though that's not saying much) and Kylan made crepes while I registered for Fall Semester and David talked with his old high-school buddy Brendan. For a bit, I felt this trip was anticlimactic, but it should be mentioned that the boys stayed up all night just to be sure they wouldn't sleep through my plane landing (they apparently usually sleep late into the afternoon and go to bed in the morning).
We all had breakfast together with Brendan and a couple of their friends: Peggy and Chris. Peggy was super sweet to me, and as a bonus thought I was over 21 which was exciting for me as I am most often mistaken for a 14 year old (or a 16 year old on a good day). After they left, the boys and I just hung out for a while, chatting and catching up. Kylan opened his birthday presents (I guess I forgot to mention it... Kylan's birthday was yesterday!) and then went to this amazing movie theatre. The theatre has couches and recliners as opposed to classic seats, and there is an incredible restaurant attached to the theatre. They bring you courses throughout the movie. So, we watched the Avengers and ate a variety of delicious, deep fried dishes.
Of course, David and Kylan both passed out during the movie, sleeping through the whole thing. It was wonderful to just be in the same room as them, though. After the movie, we drove around Portland for a bit before returning to their apartment. Kylan went straight to bed, but David and I stayed up late talking and watching netflix (by watching netflix, I really mean thumbing through hundreds of shows saying "nah... no... uh-uh..." and so on). Eventually David passed out and I was left alone. I couldn't help thinking about how happy I am to be here, and how odd it is that we can get together after such a long time apart and be just the same as we always were... it's like no time has passed. But still, so much has changed. We live so far away from each other now, and rarely get to talk. We're leading these almost entirely separate lives, and sometimes that feels so isolating to me. The three of us are all grown up. No more playing Magic in the basement, no more romping through the woods looking for secret bridges, no more fighting over stuffed animals. We're grown ups now, and that makes all the difference. But we are still friends and more than that, siblings, so I guess that's not gonna change either.
I'm so happy that I got the chance to come down here and be with the boys. I love them and have missed them more than I can possibly say. I think this is exactly what I needed.

Feminism & Humanism are two very different things-- That's Important!

Check out this really cool project a feminist artist did in Los Angeles. I was thinking that I should probably try and do something like this in my hometown. I feel like a huge part of teaching people about feminism is by making it readily available through art, movies, music... Everything we can! It's such an important thing to learn about-- if for no better reason than to know what exactly it is you stand against. I'm tired of hearing arguments against feminism that consist solely of statements similar to "not all men" or "feminazis just think they're better than men" or even "your sexist against men". It's about so much more-- it's about a balance of power. It's about overcoming centuries of oppression. It's about equality. I have heard many, many times that if feminism's goal were to create equality, then why is it called feminism? Why isn't it called humanism? After a very long time pondering this, I finally realized that in order to create equality, rights for women need to be raised in order to match the rights of men. Increasing rights for both men and women at the same time, as humanism strives to, would be amazing of course, but would not achieve the end goal of equality.
Anyways. I've been giving this sort of thing a lot of thought and wanted to share a glimpse of my thinking. As an afterthought- there's this rad thing called Third-Wave-Feminism which has an emphasis on equality of races, genders, sexual orientation, and identification (not to mention loads of other neato and equally important things that I'm having trouble remembering at the moment...) Give it a google or something sometime if you're feeling curious. Or bored, I suppose. Learning is always the easiest way to combat boredom.

Future Librarian?

There's a position as a librarian at my local public library and I am DYING to have the job! As a kid, my mother was the librarian for a high school, so I spent a lot of time in the library reading, sorting, even checking in and out books. It was such an amazing atmosphere to be in and it would be a dream come true to work as a real librarian!
I think I'm going to apply and just hope for the best...

Saving Grace

Okay, well I wrote another story and I'm interested in other people's thoughts on it... If you'd like to read it, please have a go and let me know what you thought! 

As a note before you start... I had to extend the story but I'm not sure how I feel about it... I'll put the extension in a different color, so you can maybe comment separately. Thanks, guys! 

Saving Grace

In a small city, on the sketchy side of town, sat an insignificant building hidden behind a line of stores and fast food joints, as if it had something to hide. A vast parking lot separated this building and the others, and in this lot stood a group of venomous people holding various signs and chanting something that had long ago lost its vibrancy and melted into the white noise of the road. The door to the facility was thick and metal, guarding those inside from the group in the lot. The clinic was not as one may expect a medical facility to be. The wallpaper was piss-yellow and shedding from the walls, the ceiling occasionally molted little flakes of paint or plaster, and the smell was comparable to that of a gas station washroom-- sticky and vaguely artificial. The reception area of the clinic was defined by cheap motel paintings and silk flowers coated with a dense layer of dust. Around the room, padded with a thin stip of maroon felt, chairs delineated the walls. In these chairs sat a diverse group of women ranging from ages 15 to 30. Most seemed fairly nonchalant, but in one corner crouched an emaciated woman gnawing at the stubs of what once were nails.

She’d first visited the clinic at 17, and swore she would never come again. At the time she didn’t have a choice, but now, 24 and on her own, it seemed absurd that she was here. Again. Things ought to be different by now. She ought to be ready. Prepared. Mature. She’s not a kid anymore. But here she sat, in the waiting room of a place that had a 1-800 number. The room had not changed since she was last here. The same vase of flowers sat on the same coffee-stained table in the same corner. She peered across the room at the receptionist, trying to remember if she were the same as last time. The receptionist glanced up and caught her staring. The glare she got in return confirmed her suspicions: the receptionist recognized her. After seven years working in this hole, why hasn’t she offed herself yet?  She grimaced.

The door swung open and in walked another girl. Her mascara and nose were already running. The receptionist shoved a stack of paperwork at her and the girl slogged to a chair in the opposite corner of the room. She watched the girl cry over the paperwork and thought of her first visit to the Women’s Clinic. She had been about the same age as Mascara-Face and just as scared. At the time, she thought she had loved this boy, but first loves always end in heartbreak. He stopped talking to her after he found out, and later moved to a new city. Didn’t want the “situation” following him anymore. Her parents took her to the clinic just a week after the news broke, and wouldn’t consider an alternative. As just a kid, she had no choice but to follow along. The office door swung open and she was snatched from memory by an older woman scanning the room. She spoke gently, “Erin? Erin Marcotte?” Erin walked as calmly as she could manage to the nurse, trying to disguise her violently shaking hands. Mascara-Face noticed and lapsed into another wave of tears.

They walked to an exam room where Erin changed into a hospital gown and laid down on the cold metal table. The nurse spoke again, her voice wavering, “Erin, are you absolutely sure you want to do this? It’s an invasive procedure…” Erin cut her off.

“I know.”

“You’ve done this before, yes?”

“Yep.”

“You’re a strong girl.” The nurse patted her hand gently and swept out of the room. Erin looked about,  fighting the urge to vomit. She battled to forget the last time she was here. She tried to think of her boyfriend and her job and her student loans. She tried to remember all the reasons she had for coming back, but she couldn’t help picturing a different kind of life. A life of bottles and toys and tiny shoes. A life of family. Her eyes watered. Some sacrifices she wasn’t willing to make. Tears overflowed onto her cheeks when the doctor entered the room, closing the door behind him with a note of finality.

…

The door of the clinic slammed shut behind Erin as she left. Tears trailing down her cheeks, she walked defiantly past the protesters and to her car. She opened the door, gingerly maneuvered into the seat and smiled, tears still running down her face. Elaine. Gracie. Daniel. Benjamin. Erin sat in the drivers seat, running through what happened just minutes ago inside the clinic. Inside that linoleum hell. It had been the same as last time, right up until her feet nestled into the stirrups. The doctor was under her legs and she could feel the cold clinic air creeping in between her legs and grasping at Gracie or Daniel or Benjamin. The gap between legs kept shrinking until finally, she burst.

“No! No stop! Stop! Stop stop stop!” The doctor didn’t look surprised. He didn’t even say anything. He just stopped. Rushing from the exam room, she didn’t bother looking at the other girls. She just ran. All the while thinking Carrie. Delilah. Jacob. Ford. Jane.

Humming gently, Erin drove from the clinic into the parking lot of a Sears. She walked briskly through the store to the back, where hundreds of miniature outfits hung from the walls and began to stroll by, running her fingers across the dozens of fabrics and colors. The tips of her fingers lingered on an infinitesimal pair of shoes for a moment before she lifted them from their spot and carried them to the front.

“Congratulations!” The young red-haired cashier beamed at Erin.

“Thank you.” Erin returned to the car and was driving to her apartment when she had a crushing realization. She needed to talk to Mark. She and Mark had met in college, and while she didn’t particularly like him, he worshipped her. Erin resisted a relationship at first, but was flattered by his devotion and figured a handful of nights together wouldn’t be so awful. Years passed, and Erin still found herself with him. She never had stopped to consider why, but rather took it as the way things were and accepted it. Mark was there. He was reliable. Mark was… fine. But fine didn’t cut it anymore, and Erin knew it. It’s had to be love. Passion. Excitement. Not merely presence. Not anymore.

Mark and his house appeared outside the car sooner than Erin had hoped they would. As she pulled to the curb and got out of the car, she breathed deep and prepared herself for what lay ahead. Minutes ahead as well as months ahead. This was for the best.

“Mark?”

“Sweetie!!” Mark barreled towards her, and her hand flew to her stomach. He stopped short. “What’s up baby? You okay?” He took her hand.

“Mark, I need to talk to you.”

“Ok.” He smiled at her, waiting.

“Um. Uh, well, Mark, um.” Erin searched for the words to say, and failed to find them.

“Sweetie, what’s up? You can tell me anything.” He kissed her cheek.

“Um. Well, Mark, hun, I think that maybe… I think that maybe we should… you know… not see each other so much… um… you know? Like… maybe take a break or something… I think that would be good… for, um,  you… and… well, me.”

“What?” He asked. Erin took another deep breath.

“Let’s break up.” She spat out. “We should break up.” Erin waited for a reaction from Mark, watching his face twist in stages of shock, anger, desperation, and ,finally, sadness.

“I love you, Erin. I love you a lot.”

“I know you do, but I… I don’t Mark. I just don’t. And it’s not fair to me or to--” Megan. Joseph. Rose. “-- or to you.” Mark nodded once, kissed her cheek once again, and retreated into the house. Erin climbed into the car for a final time. It was getting dark now, and she was ready to go home. She hummed as she drove, running through an endless list of names. Caleb. Joanne. Francisco. And up the stairs. Jerry. Mary. Jaqueline. And finally into her apartment. Jenna. Sean. Jeremy.

Erin collapsed onto her bed and pulled two tiny shoes from her purse. She set them gently on the nightstand, turned off the light, and snuggled under the covers.

“Gracie, I think.” She said out loud.

In Memorium

So sorry I haven't updated this week...
On Sunday, a friend and peer of mine was murdered. We graduated together just last year, and his death came as a real shock to me. He was walking home late at night (or rather early in the morning) when he was shot to death in a drive by shooting. The police don't seem to know much about what happened, so I personally feel like it's unlikely the murderers will be caught.
What is most horrifying to me is that he was the kindest, sweetest person I've had the great honor of knowing. He was so generous and kind to everyone; I never heard him say a single mean thing to or about anyone. He had a contagious laugh, smile, and gave possibly the biggest hugs in existence. His loss is shocking in the first place, but when you consider the violence of it all.. It's just... It's really horrifying.
Anyways. We held a candlelight memorial for him. We put candles and flowers, even little tokens, on the corner where he was killed. It was cool to see everyone come together to remember him.
He was really an incredible person.

Feeling Nostalgic

Last night was one of the best nights I've had in a while. I had a lovely dinner with my parents to celebrate the end of my first year of college. We chatted and ate delicious food and it was so nice to just be around each other for a bit. I think it's so easy to take our families for granted, and while it may be a cliche, it's important to remember that they'll be around no matter what.
Speaking of family, I get to visit Portland next week and stay with my brothers! I've been talking about going down there for years, ever since David moved, and it's finally happening. We bought the plane tickets yesterday, I got time off work, and I'm starting to pack. It's going to be amazing to spend some time with the boys-- we hardly ever get to be together anymore. I see them in tiny pockets of time when they're down here, but of course my life doesn't get to go on break to spend more time with them. There's still always work or school or responsibilities. But for 5 blissful days, I get to be 100% relaxed and free!
I didn't realize how close I am to my family until recently. I used to figure that everyone texted their parents every day and skyped their siblings whenever possible. I thought that everyone still held their dad's hand in the grocery store (this is embarrassing to me as an almost-20-something, but what can I say? He's great at hand holding!) Thinking back, we've always been this way. Obviously there were squabbles, and indeed massive blow-up fights, but it always kind of took the backseat when things got serious. While I love my friends, and I love being independent and young or whatever, I think that my family will always come first. They know me better than anyone else in the world, and they know all the crap I've pulled, and they still love me. That's pretty neat.
I was looking through a few old photos and found these gems. The oldest brother is Kylan, the middle is David, and the only girl is me, and then of course there's mom and dad.

Mom is holding me (I appear to be squirming), then next to me is David, and then Kylan. They're holding their brand-new rubberband guns, which they tormented me with for years to come.

Kylan, Me, and David in front of Yellowstone's famous "Old Faithful"

Same trip, with Dad standing next to his Kiddos.

This is a lesson that I have had a particularly hard time learning. It's been hard for me to learn that I can't effectively take care of the people I love when I'm a mess. It seems somehow selfish to take care of myself and put myself first, but I think it's more selfish to brood in self-loathing and forget what an impact you have on the people around you...

Finals Wrapup

Finals are finally over! I took my last exam today, have just one more paper to do, and I'm done! While I am going to be working two jobs this summer, I hope to spend most of my time reading. I have a box next to my bed with at least 15 half finished books in it, and I fully intend to actually finish every single last one of them before fall semester begins. After that, I'm hoping to break my very bad habit of reading half a book and starting a new one.
The most exciting thing about this summer, though, is that I'm going to be visiting my brothers in Portland, Oregon. My oldest brother, Kylan, moved there in February, and my other brother, David, moved there almost 4 years ago. I don't get to see him very often at all, and it's been years since I was in Portland, so it' s exciting to get to visit for a whole week!
My biggest hope for the summer is that I get a decent savings account started up and start to get to be more financially independent. I hope that I can do this while still recharging for fall semester... After next year, I will have my Associates Degree and on my way to my BA in English Literature!

A Case in Inadvertent Plagiarism

I was recently informed that the piece I posted a few days ago called "Attack of the Marsonians" was originally a classic Calvin and Hobbes comic! Oops!

I guess the idea just stuck in my head! I used to read these comics all the time growing up. My dad has dozens of the books and they've been read probably hundreds of times by everyone in the family. I of course didn't mean to steal Watterson's idea, so I wanted to make a post about inadvertent plagiarism. I'm debating whether deleting the entire story or not though... I realize of course that I have a maximum of 2 readers, but if you happen to have an opinion, do let me know. 

I'm going to work on another piece of fiction to publish on here; hopefully not an exact replica of a classic comic next time! 

In other writing news, I submitted a short story I wrote for my English 2260 class to a literary magazine in the South called The Sun. It was rather odd because they only took submissions through mail, and won't get back to me any sooner than at least 9 months, but I suppose it's worth a go. It's a dream of mine to become a successful author, and while I've been published locally, being published in a national magazine is a whole new step to fulfilling this particular aspiration of mine. Wish me Luck! 

In the Fitting Rooms at Gap...

The other day at work, I was feeling particularly gloomy after having been stuck in the fitting rooms for a full 6 hours, folding an endless pile of clothing and returning it to the sales floor. My feet were killing me, customers were being less than pleasant, and it had been a crappy day altogether. So I'm standing in the fitting rooms entryway, right next to the baby and children's section of the store and this bratty little boy came over and made this nasty face at me and then blew me a raspberry. He seemed grouchy and tired, so I just blew him a raspberry right back. His face took on the most surprised expression I think I've ever seen, and then he burst out laughing. He then proceeded to throw me more ugly faces and moderately disgusting noises and I continued to return them. This went on for at least five minutes, him laughing uncontrollably the whole time, when his mother came to retrieve him. She looked so tired, and somehow relieved that the kid was laughing now instead of crying.
It was the smallest thing to do, play with this little kid, but it made my whole day infinitely better. He was such a sweet kid, and it was a blast to play around for a little bit. It makes me excited for when I have children because while I realize it won't be fun and relaxing most of the time, I do think that the times we have a bit of fun together will make it all worth it.
After the little boy left, I felt a little glum, but those couple of minutes helped power me through the rest of my shift, and made a huge difference in the kind of day I was having. I hope I have that effect on some of the people I meet throughout my days.

Rad The Sockpuppet

Meet Rad the Sockpuppet! I have to do a performance for my Theatre class and I decided to go in the direction of Commedia and Japanese Bunraku. While this probably means beans to most of you, It's very funny. I promise. Anyways. Rad has dreads, beads in his hair, and of course a goatee!

Frank Sinatra live in Seattle

You know he's a superb performer when it feels like he's singing right to you 50 years into the future! I've listened to this 3 times in a row tonight while working on finals, and it never seems to get old!

Invasion of the Marsonians

Mel popped her head out from the shelter of her blankets. She scanned her shadowy room, searching for any sign of alien life. That day at school, Tommy Olsen had informed her of the impressive disguises of the people of Mars,

“Yea Mellie, it’s totally true!”

“It is not Tommy you big egg.”

“It is so! My brother Forrest told me so.”

“My mommy says Aliens aren’t real.” Mellie feigned confidence in her mother then, but was less convinced now, with dark shadows lurking and skipping across the carpet; dancing tauntingly around Mellie Osbourn and her bed. Without warning, a deep crash of lightning streaked over the sky outside the window. Mel retreated under the blanket.

“The Marsonians can move faster than anything, you know.” Tommy Olsen’s voice echoed in her mind. “Maybe you can see just their tail, or a flash of their purple Alien flesh, but then SNAP! They’re gone to who knows where. Maybe they went away, maybe they went under your bed, or in your closet, or maybe they are right next to you!” Tommy cackled and danced around Mel’s table until Mrs. Butters shot him that ugly look of hers-- the one that says to go sit down or else.

Mellie peeked again out the blanket. Another flash of silver lightning darted through the window. Back under the blanket. Mellie sat quivering in her fort for a moment when she had a stroke of brilliance. Just in case. Quick as lighting, Mel flashed across the room and fetched the gun her brother had luckily left in the room when he left for college, then sprinted back through the room back to safety. Breathing heavily, she loaded the gun with the sticky darts as quickly as she could manage and readied herself for action. As she loaded the last round, a shadow appeared by the door. She watched in icy horror as the doorknob turned and the door began to creak open. Mellie took aim, closed her eyes, and bellowed her very best warrior yell.

“AAAAAAAAAAAH!!!” She heard the Marsonian stumble and let out a pained yelp. Mel opened her eyes to behold a massive mound with purple and yellow darts stuck to its face. Mellie blinked at the mound, confused.

“Daddy?”

Bad Directional Skills

As I mentioned earlier, this is finals week. Today for the last day of my Jazz History class, we were going over the study guide for the final and wrapping up any last minute items for the end of the semester. We started talking about a question that asked to name a singer and saxophone player and this girl perks up and says, "Well I just put down your name: Professor Roberts!" The entire room went dead silent for, like, 30 seconds and the professor finally said, "Well that's great, but... that's not me. I'm Professor Feller." This girls face went completely white and she just murmured out this shaky "Really?" He nodded and she just says "I've been going to the wrong class this whole semester."

Insert Clever Title Relating to Content Matter Here

Yea. It's finals week. I have an ever-expanding list of things I need to be doing, and a heightening stress level, and yet I manage to be seduced by probably every single click-bait in existence. Just yesterday, instead of studying for finals, I read at least 20 articles online about how to study for finals. So very meta. I also spent about seven hours on youtube, watching funny videos about finals week (probably filmed by students who needed to be studying for finals). I don't know what it is about college students, but we do seem to be a population with the highest rates of patheticness-- this includes bored housewives, junkies, and homeless folks. There's nothing quite as demeaning and positively depressing about being a college student. Truly, if you're feeling crappy about your life, just go hang out on a college campus near the end of the semester and revel in all the 20-something's pain. I promise it'll make you feel a lot better about your level of efficacy. Seriously-- look at some of this stuff.

An Article all about things we do instead of studying
And another article
And another
Or how about an entire website about it?
Have about fifty billion videos too
And finally my favorite
... Not to mention the billions of other videos, articles, and memes to look at instead of working.

You just KNOW that last guy had finals to study for. I would like to add here that I personally have 4 more papers to write, 3 Final Exams, and 2 Huge Projects to complete before next Wednesday. And yet, here I am. Mocking the thousands of college students doing the exact same thing I'm doing. A part of me wants to fight against my apathy and become this amazing "Finals Week Crusader: Protector of GPAs and Scholarship Requirements!" But most of my being is content with melting into the demographic of pathetic, self-loathing, procrastinating college students. Surely the violent fight between apathy and fulfillment in comparable, if not more noble, than Hamlet's classic struggle between To be or Not to be. To study or Not to study-- that is the question!

Mean Reds

I'm feeling really down today. I had a hard time sleeping last night as well as the night before, and of course that makes it so hard to concentrate. There are just 3 more weeks of the semester until summer break starts, which is encouraging. These 3 weeks feel like they will last forever, though. It's like I'm in a tunnel (forgive the cliche simile) and have been traveling for about a billion years, and I keep expecting the tunnel to end. "The tunnel is ending soon" everyone says to me, so I pick up my feet and go faster and faster until I'm running, and still the end doesn't come. "The tunnel is ending, Violet, keep going! Go go go! You can't stop!" and all I want to do is stop.
The older I get, the more quickly time seems to pass. December used to be such a trial, waiting 25 whole days until Christmas. Months felt like years. But I'm older now, and all the good things go by so fast, while the bad last for such a painfully long time. Like waiting for Christmas.
I've been trying to figure out what it is that's bothering me so. There's always so much going on in life, of course, so it can be hard to keep track of what's going on (if that makes any sort of sense). I've been working through a terrifically crappy breakup, which seems to be the root of how I'm feeling. Then there's everything on top, with the health problems of my grandparents, and my jobs, and just... there's so much to do. There's literally always something I'm supposed to be doing. Anyways.
I'm sorry about the complaining... I've caught a flu sort of thing and have had this migraine headache thing for, like, a month. How I've been feeling reminds me a lot of Breakfast at Tiffany's, and how Miss Golightly has a whole monologue about the "mean reds". I'll attach a video. (For the record, Breakfast at Tiffany's is my favorite movie.)

I do have some really good things going for me, of course. Like is always a rather confusing mix of good and bad. I'm thinking of applying for some freelance writing jobs; I feel like I could really excel at that. My uncle has offered me a job writing articles for his business, making as much as $50 an article, so that's encouraging! I'm doing fair in all of my classes; I have mostly Bs and obviously would prefer As, but I'm told that most Freshmen struggle. My English 2260 told me that her Freshman year, she had pretty rotten grades, but the next year she aced every class. Apparently you just have to get in the swing of things. Finally, I got an A+ on this massive writing project for that class, and was told that I really do have potential as a professional writer-- even a novelist!

“Be someone recognised for having a beautiful heart. So when you leave, that memory of you lingers.” — Mufti Menk

Easter Treats

Today I spent some long overdue time with my mother and made possibly the cutest Easter cupcakes ever. We used a melonballer and formed a hole in the middle of each cupcake and put little surprises in there-- jellybeans, sprinkles, flower candies-- and then we decorated the tops with green coconut (as grass), flower sprinkles, and peeps. They came out looking superb and tasting even better.

Tiny Beautiful Things

Easter is undoubtedly my favorite holiday. Its always been a sign to me that winter is over and school is winding down, and I always get this overwhelming sense that everything is going to be okay. Winters are so hard for me, and I tend to lose sight of pretty much everything. This fog falls over me and I get lost in how sad I get. But springtime, springtime is the time for freedom and renewal. It's bright and soft and somehow gentler and it's so much easier to feel like things will turn out alright in the springtime.
The other day I was telling my dearest friend about how excited I was for Easter Sunday and she seemed confused. She pointed out that I'm not particularly religious and that Easter is all about Christianity (like most other popular holidays). As I began to explain to her why I love Easter the way I do, I realized that it runs so much deeper than just loving the change in weather.
When I was a kid, we would always meet up with my dads side of the family for the big holidays. Easter, obviously, was one of these. Grandma had MS and was sick all the time. I can't recall a single time seeing her standing up. She was also the sweetest person in the world. She seemed to be happy with her life and always took time to notice the little beautiful things of the world. She'd lay in her bed and just watch the birds outside. She was lovely. Easter was particularly special though. If she was feeling well enough, my dad would help her into a wheelchair and grandpa would push her outside; she would watch all the kids running wildly about her yard searching for eggs. While grandma always had a smile, I think she smiled especially sincerely those days.
So I guess the biggest reason I love Easter is I vividly remember grandma sitting outside in the sunshine, smiling brighter than day. Thinking of her makes it easier for me to find the tiny beautiful things around me, but it's especially easy around this time of year.
Happy Easter everybody.

Social Attitude Test Results Take #2

A couple of years ago I took a quiz to determine my Social Attitude. Since quite a bit of time has passed, I thought it would be fun to retake the quiz and see how I've changed. Here are the results:

Progressivism: 100
Socialism: 81.25
Tenderness: 53.125

Your test scores indicate that you are an open-minded ultra-progressive; this is the political profile one might associate with a university professor. It appears that you are skeptical towards religion, and have a pragmatic attitude towards humanity in general.
Your attitudes towards economics appear socialist, and combined with your social attitudes this creates the picture of someone who would generally be described as a humanist.
To round out the picture you appear to be, political preference aside, a kind-hearted realistic centrist with many strong convictions.

Emerging Adulthood

I recently starting going to college and there is only one thing I can really say about it: It's infinitely better than high school, but also infinitely harder. What's incredible is how liberating it feels to me to have so much to do all the time. You'd think that always having a mile-long to-do list would be stressful (which it is, I suppose) and feel like a cage, but to me it really doesn't. When I was in high school, all I ever really had to do was school stuff, but now that I'm in college there's so much more depth to my life. I have a job to go to and bills to pay and groceries to buy. I have a million papers to write, and quotas to fill at work and family to take care of. I honestly love being this busy. It makes me appreciate my free time a lot more than I ever did before and while being on the brink of adulthood is paralyzing, I'm starting to feel like I can really do it. Hopefully this confidence in my abilities continues...