I have been inspired.

I have been inspired.

Yippey, right? Actually, yes.

Tonight I hopped down the stairs, waddle-teetered across campus (pulled inner thigh + pumps = waddle-teetering), climbed aboard a big yellow bus and rode through cornfields for an hour and a half (you know you live in Northfield when it takes you an hour and a half of corn to get to civilization). I disembarked from the bus and waddle-teetered around a building as fast as my zombie/duck/stupid girl gait would let me. I waddle-teetered myself to the bathroom, and "rushed" to my seat.

Where did all of this put me? In the Rochester Civic Theater, watching my dance prof in a Stuart Pimsler Dance and Theater production.

I have been inspired.

I've never been one to have a ton of people I look up to. My littlest sister can name her idols in three seconds flat: the quarterback my junior year who happened to be her TA, my best friend, and Taylor Swift. She doesn't even think about it. I, on the other hand, have to think about it. As a freshman, I looked up to the (nice) senior dancers. As a sophomore I looked up to the (nice) senior theater kids. As a junior I looked up to the (nice) senior choir kids. As a senior? I guess I looked up to the adults in the real world (as opposed to the fake world?).

My prof drove us up to the cities a couple weeks ago for a master dance class where we  got our asses handed to us  became very intimidated lost hope gained experience. On the way up, we threw her question after question after question, and she humored our every inquiry. She didn't start studying modern - the style SPDT is based on - until college. As it turns out, she was debating between graduate school for law and graduate school for dance. Take a wild guess as to which one she chose...

While every parent (ever) does not endorse the arts path, I can't help but lean towards it. If someone asked me what my dream job is, I would immediately respond DANCER. Everyone keeps telling me to do what I love. Well, there's no doubt about what I love. So why am I afraid to major in it?

I want to dance. Dance is what keeps me going. I could honestly do it forever and ever amen. But it is not practical, in this world of entertainment and commercialism, to major in dance. What do I do when I can't get a job? When I'm injured? When I'm too old to dance? There is a reason artists are usually called starving artists.

But after tonight, I know I must dance. Seeing my prof up there, clearly loving what she does, inspired me to go for my dream. (It's cheesy but true). Sure, I'm not going to jump into it head first, blindly floundering about as I try to decide what to do with myself and what to study and how to make a living and how to provide for my family and deal with injuries and rehearsals and my love of peanut butter. That last part just snuck in there...

I'm going to make this work. I have been inspired. Really, I've been inspired all over again. The performance bug has sunk its teeth into my ass, and the only way to get it out is to deal with it. I want to do what she does; I'm truly a kid in a candy store, saying, I want that because she has it and it looks good. And I really do want it. Now it's just a process of convincing the rents, finding something else to study so I can double major, doing all of this without dying, actually sleeping, and somehow without losing my perspective on what's important in life. Ready, set, go! But I think it will be okay. Why? Four words that sum up my night:

I have been inspired.

...and remember.

Hello there.

It's been quite a while since I last posted. Over a month, actually. Yikes. I'll use this as my excuse: college?

Tomorrow is my last day of fall break. I've gone to Starbucks, Noodles, Panera, had dinner with the grandparents, obsessed over my dog, obsessed over Scrubs, driven small children places, and even visited teachers. It's been quite a break, to say the least. I've slept in my own bed - in my own room, by myself - used my own bathroom - in my own room, by myself - and gone to the doctor (shots) and the orthodontist (broken retainer). Have I done homework? Of course! Well, duh. Yup, right away. Definitely. Fosho. Ummm...let's just say that self-incrimination isn't generally recommended.

So here I am, 12:51am, in my own bed, in my own room, in my own basement, in my own house, in my own town, all by myself.

I can hear the usual sounds that I've both forgotten and grown accustomed to: the washing machine on its continual runs, the water as a random family member decides to go to the bathroom, my dog's nails clicking as she ventures to the bathroom (aka the back door to be let into the backyard), my mom's sleepy footsteps trudging behind her. Sometimes my dad is up, insomniac that he is, walking around or surfing the web or coming to check on me. In approximately one hour and thirty-four minutes, the water softener will do its thing, generally scaring anyone in the basement who hasn't slept down here for five years.

I'm so happy to be back.

But I'm also so sad.

Home is such a bittersweet place. Don't get me wrong - I absolutely love laying on the couch, falling asleep on the dog, walking around in my underwear, enjoying the familial (yes, familial, as in relating to the family. I didn't spell familiar wrong) bickering and the lack of forced conversation - but being home makes me want to stay here.

It isn't that I'm unsatisfied with college; I absolutely adore college and couldn't be happier! (Yes, that was an exclamation point. Feel free to a) chastise me, b) cut off my fingers, c) kill me, or d) all of the above. I know it's a pretty serious offense). But at the same time, I miss being able to curl up on the couch with my dog to take a nap. I miss the late night country jam sessions I have while cruising the backroads to pick up my sister. I miss the beautifully under appreciated silence of my basement. I miss launching myself into my parents' bed to watch the end of whatever show is on and the beginning of the news. I miss - WAIT WRITE THIS DOWN BECAUSE I WILL PROBABLY NEVER SAY IT AGAIN - driving to school with my sister. I'm homesick while being at home. I am literally perched on my bed, pondering my homesickness. I haven't even left my house yet.

College is basically an exaggerated form of you-don't-know-what-you-have-until-it's-gone. This is both good and bad, beautiful and heartbreaking, happy and sad. I've learned a ton about myself in the past month and a half, but I love being here, in my house, with the people who know I meow/squeal/make pterodactyl noises/cry/burst into song/bitch about life/am I dork/love them. My guard is permanently down here, and I don't want to let that go. I don't want to give up my ability to belt choir songs and show tunes and commercials in the shower, to cry when I want to cry, to climb into bed with my little sister just to annoy her or talk about boys (of course, now I'm crying. Go figure).

I guess I just miss the unconditional acceptance that comes with being related to someone (Okay, I know you don't have to love someone unconditionally just because you're related to them. But at the same time, the bond between family members is kind of like that, in its own special way). Especially my dog... (classic)

Where do I go from here? I carry this feeling with me. I use it when I feel like life is taking a shit on me. I remember to call/text/email/pray for the ones I love. I remember not to get too caught up in my own life; as I'm growing older, so are my grandparents and my parents. Even my siblings are different from when I last saw them: one is stressed as seems to be losing herself in the dangerous world of high school, another is recovering from a long year of pain, and the other is wasting away because of her medicine. Their lives are changing as much as mine, but it's something I keep forgetting. I just need to latch on to this feeling and remember.

Start out strong, finish stronger.

Everyone else has gone back to school and started their classes (save Carleton, but they're St. Olaf's rival so do we really count them?). I'm finally registered for classes, and most of my textbooks have been secured. There's the $200 textbook I'm renting from the attractive upperclassman downstairs for $30 - this deal has more than one perk to it - and my other textbooks are in the mail/sitting on my mess of a desk/will be bought when the bookstore opens tomorrow morning.

It is done.

I find it strange that tonight is my "last night of summer," as the JC's pointed out. It doesn't feel like summer; I've been in my dorm for almost a week, therefore "summer" has been over for quite a while.

Tomorrow I actually start classes, which means this whole college thing is real. Mind you my first classes of my college career are Psych 125 (first-level psych required for a bunch of things, plus it's interesting), and Modern I (first-level dance class with an awesome prof). Now that is college.

I also skipped a mini workshop on how to sleep and drink caffeine and get good grades and be a good college kid to take a nap today (ironic). The tornado sirens sounded during this nap, and I like to call that karma. That also sounds like college to me.

Here's a ringing endorsement for AP Comp over AP Lit: my AP comp score is the equivalent of testing out of first-year writing, aka YAY. And this school doesn't even consider AP Lit scores, no matter how high they are. Thank you, Cardona!

I just looked up and realized what a mess my desk is, and classes haven't even started. So instead of sitting here munching on cheese-its my eleven-year-old sister sent me, the occasional pack of Scooby Doo fruit snacks that don't taste quite right, and listening to the frantic typing of a roomie who forgot to check her email - and in this case, write a paper that was requested in that email - I'm going to be a good kid and clean my desk. Start out strong, finish stronger.

And for all you highschoolers that are realizing what a bitch MoPro/whatever they call it now is how stressed you will be how much your back is going to hurt what a great year you're going to have, just know you got this. There is another side to the madness, and it isn't half bad.

Start out strong, finish stronger.

Can't. Sleep.

It's another one of those sleepless nights, but unlike just like the rest, where my brain cannot shut itself up. I mean really now. It's three-effing-oh-eight in the morning. It has to take a break at some point, right?

I've come to some conclusions whilst threatening my brain with the absence of naps.

1. This is an ongoing thing. I'm not a normal sleeper. As Mark Twain said, "I realize that form the cradle up I have been like the rest of the race - never quite sane in the night." Sir, I feel your pain.
2. Blogging is freakishly helpful.
3. There are a couple of things that are preventing me from sleeping tonight:

• My brain.
• The fact that both my new pillow and my new mattress topper thingamajig smell funny (yay college).
• My brain.
• I get hungry when I can't fall asleep?
• My brain.
• Too many fleece blankets (three).
• My brain.
• And my brain. That about sums it up.

4. My future roommate (she's from Texas, not that it has anything to do with this) will not appreciate the click-clack tapping and iridescent glow of my laptop at 3am.

But there's something about the night that intrigues me, and not in the I'm a bat/vampire/creeper sort of way. There are so many possibilities in the night, and it depends on the kind of night-person you are.

The first type of night-person is a normal person (I strive for creativity). Nighttime is when you crawl into your bed, comfortably nestled into a cocoon of pillows and blankets, ready for your imagination to go wild as you slip into a restful sleep, filled with dreams and the promise of tomorrow. Nighttime is simply the time to recharge, a time of passing-through to the next day. This is the ideal kind of night-person.

The next type of night-person is somewhat afraid of the night. Nighttime does not always hold the promise of the morning (let me take this time to acknowledge the beauty of Craig Hella Johnson's voice in the piece, his impeccable sense of personal style choices within the piece, and the truth behind Emily Dickinson's poem, after which this piece was crafted), and you feel as though you could be trapped within the night, sucked away down a dark hole, never to be seen again. Tossing and turning is normal, with many introspective moments throughout the long hours between dusk and dawn. For this type of night-person, the hours of darkness are not always frightening; nighttime can cause anxiety or over thinking, both of which can arouse without fear of the night.

The third type of night-person thrives unexpectedly in the hours while the rest of the world is at rest. Night owls, these people take the dark silence as an invitation to dwell in the peace that arises from the rest of the world being seemingly dead. Laundry is folded, thank you notes are written, rooms are cleaned, books are writted - you name it and it's probaby being done by some insomniac somewhere.

I'm surviving on the assumption that we are made up of bits and pieces of each type of night-person. I have a little bit more of the unexpected productivity during/fear of the night. This invariably leads to naps on naps on naps on naps; my hours spent napping tend to surpass that of the average three-year-old. This insomnia thing - whatever the heck it is - is rather cyclical. No sleep, stay up, do something, fall asleep, wake up earlier than I want to, nap longer than I want to, no sleep, etc. It's quite tedious, really. But right about now - 3:36am, ladies and gentlemen - my brain has finally decided to calm the eff down. That means it's time to shut down my lovely instrument of insomnia-related banter/relief. Amen.

Keep on keeping on, fellow insomniacs.

There's gotta be something more?

I'm writing this with my 32-minute break between walking the dog and picking up the brother.

That seems to be how my summer is going. Mom said, "You should get a job this summer," and I answered with a half-assed, "Uh huh," while mostly ignoring her and (kind of) glancing up from my book. I'm not against working; I actually love having something to do (e.g. five years of working at my dance studio). But the only place that was hiring that I wanted to work at was inevitably not hiring "seasonal employees." Seeing as how that thing called college would inhibit my ability to work in the store come September, it was a no-go.

So I'm the live-in nanny of my household. Two parents, both working all day, three younger siblings, and a lot of places to drive. I'm talking drop kid one off, wait an hour, drop kid two off, wait an hour, pick up kid three from wherever she ends up, wait two hours, pick up kid two, wait an hour and a half, pick up kid one.

The radio and I have become best friends.

I'm not complaining. It may appear that I am, in fact, complaining, but it's better than working all day every day. I recognize that. I just feel like I haven't done anything with my summer. Most of that can be attributed to the fact that I prefer books over people. Hardcore prefer books over people. I spend my non-running-around-driving-kids-places hours minutes reading book after book after book after watching Wizards of Waverly Place after book.

But hey, I leave my room for food, walking the dog, and the occasional sleepover with the bestie.

It's July 25th. In one month's time, my best friend will have already started school halfway across the country. She will be settled in to her dorm at NYU Tisch. Most of my other friends will have already left. I'll still be here, packing and whatnot. But that's one month away. And I have so much to do before then.

Bridget and I always start out the summer with a summer bucket list. Classic, eh? My bucket list items are sub-par: get healthy, learn to rollerblade, put glowsticks in the pool and go swimming, have a paint fight, go on a boat. Yep. Insane, right? And yeah, go on a boat is on that list - I've only been on a boat twice in my life. Rager.

Nope.

And how many of them have I accomplished? Well, I went for a bike ride and took the dog for a walk this morning. And discovered apples make me sick. That's pretty cool. I also bought rollerblades and went cruising around my neighborhood until I cruised a little bit too fast down the death trap of a hill I live on, concluding my rollerblading escapade on my neighbor's lawn, flirting with their fence.

It's July 25th. I have little over one month left. I need to do something with my life. We always chalk  summer up to being endless days on the lake, partying with our best friends and living life to the fullest. Admittedly, that's not really who I am - the whole prefer books over people thing - but I still want to make this a summer to remember. There's gotta be something more (insert Sugarland singing "Something More" here) than wishing there's something more.

That "OMG I NEED TO BLOG" moment I just had.

I know, I know... I'm a terrible blogger.

I'M SORRY I'VE REJECTED YOU BLOG, WILL YOU PLEASE TAKE ME BACK?

Kidding not kidding.

I'm back because a) it's late at night, and we all know that's when I blog the best (I'm a weirdo, what's new?), b) because it's about time I blog again (once again, blog, I am sooooooo sorry about that. Life, ya know?), and c) I totally had an epiphany where I sat up in my bed (I was just chilling on my phone...my typical level of being social) and said "OMIGOSH I NEED TO BLOG ABOUT THIS IT'S SO BLOG-WORTHY WHERE IS MY COMPUTER I'M HAVING AN EPIPHANY LAUREN BETTER NOT STILL HAVE IT OH WAIT THERE IT IS OKAY."

Ta-da. Typical Julia banter. So here's my epiphany (with a little prologue, of course):

I took risks today. Not the typical teenager risks, as in go-out-drinking-and-hope-I-don't-get-caught or sneak-in-waaaaaaaay-after-curfew-and-hope-I-don't-get-caught (although I've totally done that, more often than I'd like to admit) or (fill in the blank with whatever stereotypical risks teenagers take).

First of all, I rode in the car while my sister - who has her permit and has only driven twice, never with the entire family in the car - drove. Big mistake. I will not being doing that again. Why? Because a) I forgot what sheer terror is when you're flying down the highway and you almost hit the median, b) I actually want to go to college and fall in love and have a family and get old yadayadayada, c) it's too damn stressful, and d) her driving makes me nauseous. Point made.

The real "risk" was texting a boy. Oooooo a boy! Those are rare! Did it come climbing out of the forest? Nope. I just have an assertive friend who apparently said Here, text this girl, you'll like her.

Works for me. Haven't met the kid, but he's an absolute sweetheart and quite the gentleman. (Not the point.)

So we're getting to know each other, I ask him why he loves to run, and he asks me why I love to dance. I had to pause and think in the awkward type one sentence, pause and think. Type two more sentences, go back and alter the first. Continue until you think you understand why you love what you do style. It was quite the process. Shitty first drafts, ya know? When I had it all figured out, I texted him back, then took a screenshot because I'm an idiot and it took me a good eight minutes to figure it out. Here's what I said:

Because I cannot not dance. Haha :) Because when I'm on the stage, nothing else matters. It's the music, the floor, and me... I get lost in it. I'm doing something that involves every part of who I am, from my body to my emotions to my memories. It's like feeling nothing and everything at once, and I live for it.

Well, that's as profound as I get. Hahaha...yeah, no really, it is.

The conversation got me thinking, why is it that I love to dance? How do I put that into words? It's like explaining what water tastes like...you just can't (you could try, but you'll probably end up looking like an idiot; that's a fair warning).

A lot of people dance because they're good at it. Valid reason, eh? (Canadian, eh?) I don't. I don't know why I dance. Because I always have. Because it's fun. Because I cannot not dance. I can explain what I feel when I dance - and even when I don't dance - but I can't explain what compels me to do it. Maybe it's my brain going Hey, remember what it feels like when you nail your turns? When you're one with the music? When you feel like you are the song and the story behind it? All that stuff you like? Maybe you should do it again. Good job, brain! You've created a fifteen-year addiction. At least it's not meth.

This question has become more relevant as the summer comes to a close and college looms closer in the not-so-distant future. I'll be dancing because I cannot not dance, but it'll be different. It'll be Companydance, not Kay Marie and Carol's School of Dance or whatever-theatre-production-I'm-in-at-the-time. It'll be a place where people are perfecting their craft, majoring, minoring, frolicking, wandering, questioning, creating, and hopefully enjoying. Me? I'll just be there, doing my thing. Trying to be better than myself, better than the day before, the hour before, the minute before, and the second before. Why will I be there? I don't need a thesis statement for that. I'll be there because I physically want and emotionally need to be there, living for the feeling of nothing and everything at once. Live on, dance addiction, live on.

28.5 hours.

28.5 hours. What's that, you ask? That's how long I'll be in this car.

28.5 hours until we get to enjoy the beaches, the sun, the ocean, the warmth, and everything not-Minnesota and all-Florida . At the moment we're cruising through rural Wisconsin, enjoying the awkwardly tall and skinny and lined up trees, the snow, and the excessive amount of semis. Aside from the semis (I hate hate hate hate hatehatehate semis...they're scary and big and sure to crush little cars like the one I drive), I'll willing to tolerate this for the sake of Florida. After all, waiting makes the reward better, right?

You might ask why we drive. I'll tell you...I have no idea. "My dad is frugal" is probably the best and most commonly used answer. Plane tickets for six, going both ways, are not something we love to pull out of our pockets. So here we are, trucking through Wisconsin on our ridiculously long and avoidable car ride. JUST PASSED WISCONSIN DELLS! We have 25 hours left...hahaha.
I've braced myself for this trip: new iPod playlist entitled "#SB2013," new headphones, new sunglasses, trashy magazines (shut up we all read them), concert choir music (bahaha I'm a nerd and I've accepted it), crayons, coloring books, glowsticks, and books books books books :) And my pillow pet of course. And my awesome amazing favoritest camera ever. Yes I know 'favoritest' is not a word but it's spring break so shut up and go with it.

Yet somehow I'm not amused. Okay wait, let me clarify: I am content with staring out the window. Everyone else (my sisters Lauren and Erica, and Lauren's best friend Eva...my brother stayed home with my grandpa from Arizona) is watching a movie (or driving the rental car hahaha it doesn't drive itself!), and I'm blogging via my phone. I mean, I have options but this is just...better. It satisfies my weird urge to write about nothing and everything :)

Here are some highlights of the trip thus far:
1. I make animal noises. For those of you who know me, you didn't even blink when you read that. And you'd think that being in a car with my family members - who, in theory, know I make weird noises - would be fine. Apparently my spontaneous mooooooooooooooooos and awkward neighs that sound like bahhhhhs surprise them. Come on guys, you know I make weird noises! This is normallllllll. So that's what's up with my animal noises...
2. My sister has repeatedly ditched me. You could say she's a butthead. She's left me in the gas station bathroom twice. Side note: the gas station in Wisconsin had showers. Like...what?! I mean I get it but what?! Anyway...when I don't return it's because my sister ditched me in a gas station bathroom and some secret door opened up and a gang emerged, kidnapped me, and I was never seen again. All because she can't stand there for two minutes.
3. Instagram. I changed my username (don't ask. Just know that when your friends try to add you to the world of social networking - the one that extends beyond Facebook - it's always good to check what username they gave you), followed some more people, googled how to use the actual app, and now I'm pumped to be a part of it. Weeeeeeee!

Here are my goals for spring break:
1. Don't get sun poisoning. I've gotten it six times in the past two years. Can you say VAMPIRE MINNESOTAN GIRL WITH SENSITIVE SKIN? Ugh. I even put sunscreen on - 50 SPF every hour - and still end up with a cute little rash that covers my body and forces me into the condo or under the umbrella for all of break. Ugh. Hahaha first world problems suck :) But I am determined - DETERMINED I TELL YOU - to not get sun poisoning this time around.
2. Not getting sun poisoning is my only goal. Bahahaha...
Oy. The landscape is still the same, it kinda smells like cow poop, and I think I have a crick in my neck from peering at my phone too long, but we're still cruising. Each freaky semi we pass brings us closer to Florida and all the sunshine, warmth, and happiness it holds. It's taking a while but we're getting there!

Time to amuse myself in other ways...maybe I'll go fix my Twitter username haha. I'll probably blog again, even though blogging on my phone is a pain in the ass. HAPPY SPRING BREAK! :)

Quality Writing...bahahaha

I'm currently writing my Part IV for MoPro, and I'm successfully hating every second of it.

I really don't think I can pull much more out of my butt, and that's the truth.

Here's the thing: usually I can ramble on and on in that class until it makes sense. So I figured I could do it again. And what did life decide to say? BAH not this time! Well...thanks for that. This time my paper is freakishly short...so I'm either really concise or I have nothing to say (and no idea what is going on). 

Both are potentially correct answers. But this is a rough draft (rough draft my ass...I think you like to torture us. And yes, I know I'll appreciate this after spring break, but up until then I'm lamenting the fact that MoPro exists) and boy is it rough. Shitty first drafts, yo! And it definitely fits the shitty-first-drafts criteria. None of the sections fit the length requirements - and probably not the content requirements for that matter (insert bitter laugh here) - and I really don't care. Because at least I'm doing it. And I can figure out what I did wrong or just chose to not do...hahahaaaa.

So here I am, staring at my computer, drinking peach tea (yay Snapple!), being confused about boys, dragging my brain along up until spring break, and totally not focusing on MoPro. This point in my life is called keep-going-until-you-get-to-spring-break and God only knows that's all I know how to do at this point.

Time to get back to hell MoPro Part IV hell. 

Good luck with the last three days :)

Hullo, Sunday Night.

Hullo, Sunday Night.

Just thought I'd clear something up, ya know, in case you thought we were friends...

I still don't like you.

I always wake up on Sundays ready to take on the world. Do some laundry, cruise through the weekend homework, work ahead, do some girly things like shop and paint my nails. Does this ever happen? Urmmmm...sure! When some creepily hyperactive demon possesses my body (no, not like the caffeine buzz I was infamous for on Fridays in Comp) and decides to be super productive, my homework gets done and my room is shockingly clean. (After writing that last sentence, I looked up from my overheating laptop perched on my sweatpants perched on me perched on my not-utilized-enough bed and laughed. Okay, it was a full on guffaw or teehee...more of a HAH. That's how clean my room is: HAH. Anyway...)

Obviously today was not a hyperproductive day. Those don't really happen in the real world; hyperproductive days are as common as my sister NOT using up the hot water (she's showering as I write... *twitch twitch* GOODBYE HOT WATER. I HOPE WE WILL MEET SOMEDAY), my other sister remembering to turn off the front hall light, and my favorite photographer sending me high-quality pictures that don't require me to slave over them for hoursandhoursandhours every day. Yikes.

Well, here I am. Why? Eh. Because I have nothing better to do? Well, that's not entirely true. I could be showering - oh wait, there's no hot water - or putting away my laundry - ahahaha how hopeful - or even cleaning my room. That room cleaning suggestion doesn't even warrant a response. So why am I really here? Because it's Sunday night, I'm cynical and rather annoyed/confused/pissed/sad/what? with the world, and I like to write. The lonely jazz shoe and fuzzy Hello Kitty socks (don't ask...my sister decided I needed knee high Hello Kitty socks - FUZZY ones - when she went to Target with my mom. YOLO?) and random Snapple - yum - and math textbook - hehe - and monkey mask (once again, don't ask) on my floor can wait. Because it's Sunday night, I'm cynical and rather tired/confused as (fill in the blank with your favorite colorful world!) over the male species/done with the world, and I like to write. 

Oh, and blogging is keeping me from shutting off the hot water on my sister. (Muahahaha.)

Hold that thought while I go encourage her to exit the showering facilities.

AHAHAH here's proof that I'm losing my mind:

1. She has been out of the shower for quite some time now.
2. I just thought my dog was a small predator that was going to eat me.
3. That's all I have for now.

On that note, I believe it is pretend-school-is-fun-and-find-all-your-homework-and-shat time. Like said, cynical...sorry :) Game plan: Battle the (not-exactly-super-clean) floor over guardianship of my future (by that I mean my homework...cynicism means drama in my world), shower, read, sleep. Hopefully in that order, and hopefully that last item on the agenda actually happens. Buenas noches....

That one kid...

There's lots of people that can be defined as "that one kid." There's that one kid that won't stop humming under his/her breath, the one that makes unnecessary comments, the really stupid one, the loud one, the one who only belts every. single. song. in. the. entire. show, et cetera...there's a lot of them.

But this is a "that one kid" that I actually like :)

We all have our friends - some are more of acquaintances than others - but most people have a bestie. A biffle (shudder...why is that even a word?). A confidante. He/she is your stronghold when life decides to use you as the toilet, when the annoying people get just a little too annoying, and when you need someone who will act like a dork with you.

Having this person in your life is key. Key to what? I dunno. Happiness, fun, your mental sanity - you pick. (It's usually d) all of the above). I can guarantee that it is blatantly obvious as to the importance of this person when your sanity depends on him/her.

I love that we can find people that we click with; relationships are a special thing. Don't get me wrong: I love me some boys (lolololol it's totally true) but relationships like that are transitory. Connecting with a friend - enough to understand each other, be able to bitch about unfortunate circumstances, support one another, and not piss each other off - is different. It isn't as fleeting. (That isn't supposed to be a cynical take on relationships; friendships just last at a deeper level in the long run unless you've found "the one.") Sure, we always hear that once we leave high school we won't remain friends with our current friends, but I would like to prove that idea wrong. Just this once!

Best friends are a special species. We respond to each other's names, know how the other will act and react in a situation, and we know when the other person needs rescuing from a loving-but-too-much-to-handle-right-now home and it's 10pm. We send each other pictures of hot guys and baby animals (keep all judgement to a minimum; we're single girls and baby animals are cute!), we can communicate across the room with one look when a certain teacher goes a little psycho or a certain (hot) guy walks into the room, and we tend to suffer from some of the same fears and insecurities. It's a relationship where we can comfortably say, "Hey, I'm not wearing any underwear!" as we jog into Target at 11pm in freaking-5°Minnesota weather. There's no judgement, only peace in the fact that someone can agree with you and assure you that you're not crazy (or that you're just crazy enough to be entertaining). I'm pretty certain only girls are as weird as their best friends we are; we function in a different way than guys do. We say everything, spitting out our emotions and fears and wants and hates so we don't feel so alone. And there's something comforting in having a person that will take you as you are and love you through all the shit you go through together. It's one of those things where I just smile to myself, thank God that I found my bestie, and pray that we can stay connected through the years :)

Bloggy Blog Blog Blog.

Just for the record, I'm blogging and it isn't two am. CULTURE SHOCK I KNOW. I was actually in the middle of a nice hi-I'm-a-high-schooler-and-the-only-thing-that-gets-me-through-the-day-is-the-promise-of-a-nap nap, and a certain someone (cough Nick cough) texted me and told me that my last blog was too educational, boring, and not entertaining in the least. Then he demanded a new blog post.

So here I am. Screw naps, after all. I mean, it's not like we high schoolers nap more than the average three-year-old, relying on the promise of a nap to get us up in the morning. Oh wait...we do. Although in my defense, what else is there to do when I'm suffering through math in the back of a room of very clueless students, some - including myself - who don't remember anything they've ever learned, except tolerate the excitement of the teacher and dream about going home to sleep?

Yikes. That sounds really depressing. I promise it isn't; I just love to sleep and dislike hate want to assassinate math. (At what point is someone so important that they are "assassinated" instead of just "murdered?" I really don't think math is cool enough to be assassinated...)

Well, lots has happened since I last blogged. That's partially because I was a bad AP Comp student and missed the last (two?) posts we were supposed to do. Teehee...sorry, Cardona! But one of those not-posted posts is warranted; I don't plan on killing my blog. I don't need to take an ax/machete/bulldog/pissed off teenage sister to it; I want to keep writing :) Anyway...here's what's changed:

1. AP Comp is done. And I literally cried. I left AP Comp, went to MoPro, found Shreya, and stated that I was "already having withdrawal," motioning to Cardona's room. She immediately  took pity on me and tried to console me (denks Marbs)... Does the end of AP Comp mean I don't go in there anymore? Uhhhhh hellnahhhh. I was in there at least six times today. That just happens to be more than I would be in there on any given day when I actually had the class...
2. I'm officially an adult. This was very convenient: the first day of the new semester happened to fall on that one day where I came screaming and crying into this far-too-brightly-lit world...which makes for a good truth in "two truths and one lie" that occurred in Spanish at 7:30am. (Or in English, but we won't tell Profe that, will we?) I managed to put together hoy es mi cumpleaños to suffice for creativity in a class that a) occurs at 7:30am, b) demands that I am actually coherent and I'm not doing my bounce-around-the-AP Comp-room-after-having-caffeine thing - more commonly referred to as "The Julia Show," by Cardona - as to be able to function, c) function enough to speak well, and d) oh yeah, speak in a different language. And all after a long break from the language. You could say it's gonna be a long semestre. (Dear computer, I was trying to be clever by saying "semester." Autocorrecting that just frustrates me. Love, this annoyed Spanish student.)
3. I have a concussion. It's a long story involving Mr. Wayzata - which already has enough drama surrounding it - my head, and consequently, the floor. Needless to say, I have a nice excuse to miss dance for the next two weeks (at least)...bad dancer, I know. But concussions aren't too great to dance with (even though I'll have to for the Mr. Wayzata Pageant). Thank you, partner. My head also thanks you.
4. College shat. I have a potential music scholarship from Luther - the nice lady who heard me audition has "recommended that [I] receive a music scholarship" - and I have callbacks for a dance scholarship at St. Olaf. Yeyyyy college! Give me college (college men...uhhhwhat? I didn't say anything!). But I still have scholarship essays to do...so that's just delightful. I may or may not have one due tomorrow that I need to start ASAP. I'll just use my rhetorical skills and persuade them to agree with my argument ;) Side note: the cheesy AP Comp jokes CANNOT die. That would be a waste of eye-rolling.

Well, there ya go. Welcome to my current life! I need to do struggle through some math (thank God for best friends that conveniently have math during the same block but one room over), write myself a nice little essay on why I'm pursuing a career in journalism (which is kind of awkward, because apparently I'm pursuing a career in journalism now?), email my favorite photographer ever (insert the world's largest SarcMark here), and eventually sleep. Oh wait...I'm in high school. I don't sleep. Well, I guess I'll just use it as my motivation for the night! READYSETGO. I think I'll start with dinner first...

P.S. This is obviously not closure. I might do a super-delayed post about closure, but it'll probably happen on the last day of school...

P.P.S. Cardona told me to never use P.P.S. but she also told us to not include unicorns, and I did that on my last project and survived, right? I'll try to remember to blog more often. Even if that means I have to sacrifice my extremely-important-and-absolutely-beautiful nap time because Nick is bored and has nothing else to do but read my oh-so-interesting blog. Whatever....I need to blog more :)

Half the Sky

Happy 1am blogging (I may or may not have totally and completely forgotten about doing this blog post until I was about to get in the shower).

My group chose Half the Sky by Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn as our BLA assignment. Because we have awesome planning skills and because the world happened to love us on the day that we chose this book, there is a PBS documentary - with two parts - that is the legitimate Half the Sky documentary. Winning...thank you world.

This book was an interesting experience for us all. Every time we had a BLA meeting, we would arrive more intrigued, more horrified, more inspired, and more aware of the world. Has that every happened with a school reading before? Hahaha...no. We became aware of problems that we didn't even know existed - genital mutilation - and read success story after success story that inspired us to open our eyes even more.

The authors approached this book through personal testimony. As they traveled from country to country, Nick and Sheryl did interviews and participated in the lives of the women they ended up writing about. Chapter after chapter is filled with stories of overcoming abusive relationships and the restrictions on life as a woman in countries - basically those other than the United States - that don't feel women are as important as men. When reading the book, we got used to this approach. I mean, heck, every single chapter had story after story. Sure, they were all different and unique and important and inspiring in their own way, but the documentary was more successful at showing the individuals. A picture is worth a thousand words (cliche number two - at least - of tonight), but a documentary that literally follows ex-prostitutes into the brothel on a raid is worth more than two hours of my Saturday night.

I'm glad we read the book before seeing the documentary. It's like watching the Harry Potter movies but never reading the books - don't hate me - because you don't understand the movie/documentary as much as you possibly could. Going into the documentary with all the background knowledge that the book provided was key to getting as much out of the visual piece as possible.

While the book was fantastic at providing statistics, tons of stories, and background knowledge that was of great importance, the documentary was beneficial in its own ways. Actually seeing the lives of these women was phenomenal. Watching the celebrity - yeah, I had the same response - bike the seventeen-mile bike ride the girl takes every single day to go to school was more effective than describing the scary fields where anyone could be waiting to grab her. The ideas of the book were truly solidified in my mind when watching the documentary.

One of the things that really stood out about the documentary was how effectively it showed the hope these women have. Part of the way through the film, we were introduced to Somaly Mam. I vaguely recognized the name as one that could have been mentioned in the book, but her story truly impressed us. As an ex-prostitute that escaped the brothel, Somaly rescues other girls. She has an organization made up entirely of girls rescued from brothels. They then educated men - yes, they educate MEN - about the importance of condoms. They go to brothels and take the girls to medical checkups. They speak to these girls and share their stories of success, but they also share their stories of fear, abuse, and the hardships they faced inside and out of the brothel. Somaly identifies herself with these girls - she continuously says, "Their life is mine," and, "We are the same" - and has no limits as to what she will do to give them better lives. She ran a brothel raid with the local anti-trafficking agents (the police are absolutely no help when it comes to prostitution) in which they stormed the brothel. The brothel just happened to be teeming with AK-57s. No big deal. She knew this and insisted on doing the raid.

Seeing the little kids really hit home. In all of the safe houses, there were young children. Seeing the children run around laughing and playing was fantastic - proof that these organizations are doing good work and that the lives of these girls are changed forever - but there were also the children that didn't talk to or trust anyone. A three year old girl was left at a brothel because she had been raped and her family didn't want her. A. Three. Year. Old. Girl. This is a child that doesn't even know the letters of the alphabet or her colors or words beyond "Mama" and "Daddy," yet she has been raped and left for whoever wants her. Seeing these children - actually seeing them and not just reading about them - was heart wrenching.

The strength of the women was also phenomenal. Here are girls who work multiple jobs, are at odds with their parents because their parents don't want them getting an education, travel insane distances on foot or by bike every day, and are fighting to make their lives better. If I were any of them, I quite literally would have cried myself to death. Didn't sell all your lottery tickets today? Okay, I'm going to beat you. Looking for a job? I'm going to conveniently sell you to a brothel without your knowledge. Oh, you thought I was getting you a job?  Yeah, your parents sold you to me because they're seriously hungry. Biking that 17-mile trip to school? Darn, watch out for the creepy rapists. I. Would. Have. Given. Up. On. Life. Yet here are girls who face this every single day of their lives, and they haven't keeled over and given up. They're fighting for themselves and for others like them to increase their quality of life. They're fighting to get an education. They're fighting for equal rights. They're fighting to get out of the brothels and to get their sisters and friends out of the brothels. They. Are. Fighting.

That was definitely my favorite part of the documentary. Sure, the book was inspirational, but there's something about literally seeing these girls and women - and the fighters that they are - that inspires me beyond words. To see how they have healed from the injustices done to them in the past is stunning. Actually seeing these girls work to change the world left me feeling - pissed because we didn't have time to watch the next two hours of the documentary - happy. That sounds a little weird; we just watched a documentary on rape, abuse, lack of rights, lack of education, genital mutilation, and the general suckiness of life as a woman, and I felt happy? Yes, I did. Because as shitty as the world can seem sometimes, there's always something more. Watching the documentary put my life into perspective, and left me feeling grateful sad happy intrigued moved inspired. Changed.

Humor

There's lots of funny things in the world: people, clothes, smells, foods, animals, what have you. I tend to like parodies, but only if I actually understand them. Here's a couple:

Nothing like Old Spice, eh?

Sesame Street, always promising.

Good old Carol Burnett! Spoof on "Born Free."

Twitch, Twitch.

This blog post is about pet peeves, and I can literally feel my pulse racing. Just thinking about the things that annoy me is making me jumpy and irritated. Isn't that promising? Let's see if I can stay sane while venting (I can dream, can't I?).

These are in no apparent order because I'm too aggravated to bother ordering them.

1. People who think they are the shit. I'm exposed to this far too often through dance, theater, and choir, and boy does it make me want to punch a baby. It's always the people that think they are amazing when they really aren't. They think they deserve roles, solos, the spot at the front, recognition, a pat on the back, and a posse to follow them around and cheer whenever they accomplish something, which obviously happens every two seconds because they are amazing. And of course we all aspire to be like them. Barf. I want to scream and swear and cry and punch someone - usually them - and push them off of their high horse, because that horse is ridiculously high. I think what gets to me the most is that fact that they feel entitled to certain things. Even more so, they seem to think that they are somehow better than the rest of us. What makes you better than anyone else? NOTHING. It also bothers me when I know how I compare to them; I get annoyed with the little kid running around and showing off and being annoying as (fill in the blank with a colorful word of your choice) when I know I am just as good, if not better. The ironic part? That I'm bitching about people thinking they're better than others when I just admitted to feeling the same way. Hahaha...life.

2. Offensive and/or controversial comments. I looooooooove when people throw out biting comments that should never be said (insert SarcMark here). It's like, are you trying to piss off the world? Because you're definitely succeeding. This usually happens in MoPro, adding to my extreme love for the class. And it's usually the kid sitting in front of me, and the one sitting behind me. Ugh. This bothers me because it seems intentional; why else would you say things that are going to make everyone enraged?

3. Extremely loud people. This is practically hilarious because I'm friends with theater kids, most of which are not capable of talking UNLESS IT'S LIKE THIS BECAUSE THEY NEED TO BE HEARD BECAUSE WE CAN'T HEAR THEIR ALREADY LOUD VOICES. Yikes. There are a couple in particular where it just gets out of hand, partially because it's always the loudest people trying to talk over one another. Why is this annoying? Because it hurts my ears. Because it's unnecessary. Because not everyone in the world cares about what you did this morning so you don't have to broadcast it to the world. But it's mostly the unnecessary part that makes me walk away.

4. Tapping. To you tappers of the world: I hate you. Do you realize how hard it is to think and/or take a test when your pencil can't resist gravity enough to stop bouncing up and down on the desk? Or your boot hitting the desk leg? Or anything that makes an incessant sound while I'm trying to think? This bothers me like no other; if it continues (usually it doesn't because I have a fantastic stink eye), I honestly end up on the brink of tears. Stress + annoying noise that I'm certain you can stop but you are too inconsiderate of the rest of us to stop it = I want to cry (and sometimes I do).

5. Fakes. Do I really need to explain that? These are the people that fake emotion to win an audience (cough, running for officer of choir, cough). You can talk to them for a certain amount of time, but you always wonder what they're saying as you walk away. It bothers me because they are not being genuine; how am I supposed to trust you or have any respect for you when you smile at my face and do God-knows-what behind my back? Be real, people, be real.

6. People who make everything into a competition. Newsflash: I know you're just asking how I did because you want to see how you compare. But when two people are bitching about how late they stayed up and are trying to out-lack of sleep each other, I just want to punch them. Everything. Is. Not. A. Competition. We all have our own hurdles to trip jump over, so stop acting like everything you do needs to be more important, better, harder, cooler, smarter, greater, whateverer than what the rest of us do.

7. My sister using up all the hot water/showering right before I come home. We dance on different nights of the week, yet somehow she ends up showering right as I get home or right before I get home (as in, she climbs out of the shower ten minutes after I get home). Why is this annoying? Well, because she uses up all the hot water, and now I have to wait a half an hour - at least - before I can have any hot water to shower. And because she chooses to shower when it is my first chance to shower - usually 11pm - and she's had all night to do it. Nice planning, sis.

8. Stopping in the middle of the hall to socialize/not being able to walk down the hall like a normal person. This literally needs no explanation. If you're really desperate for an example, try walking across any floor in the high school, most specifically the freshmen floor. It's ridiculous. Why the bother? Because it's people being inconsiderate of others, which should be a pet peeve by itself.

9. Hypocrites. Hahaha. The most common form of this: giving advice when they are the last people in the entire universe that should be giving advice. They need the advice. Best example: teenage girl who likes to sleep around and was literally just being inappropriate with a boy tells the other teenage girl that she shouldn't be flirting with the boy because he has a girlfriend. That's where you laugh and think, Shut the front door. You have no authority and you are the LAST person who should ever give me advice.

10. The people who hum their vocal part while the other sections are learning their parts. We know you know your part. You're not helping the other people by singing your part while they are trying to learn theirs. Just stop. Being inconsiderate?

11. People who will not shut up while you try to write/think. My brother is literally doing this right now. It's the reason I do my homework in the basement everyday; silence is golden. Once again, being inconsiderate.

12. Not getting _______ when you know you're good enough. Why is this a pet peeve? Because this is life, and that's how life works: you can't always get what you want. It's aggravating when you know you are just as qualified for something, yet you don't get the part/in the group/invited/whatever. It makes you second-guess yourself and question your worth.

13. Boys. Dear Lord, boys. Love 'em and hate 'em. Being led on? Hate. When they talk about their ex-girlfriend a ton? Hate. When they don't have the balls to ask you out yet they flirt with you all the time? Hate. When you know you would be amazing together but they get involved with other girls that are icky because they don't want to put in the time and work to be with you? Hate. There's so much to love about them...when they man-up and be assertive and cute and awesome and you aren't left pining for them. Just saying.

14. Causing drama to get attention. Congrats, you've successfully pissed everyone off. This is one of the pet peeves where I can't really figure out why it bothers me so much. Probably because it's unnecessary? Because we have enough hullabaloo without you trying to make yourself more important than everyone else?

15. Personal space. As in, this is my bubble, and you need to stay out of it. I know it's different in other cultures - some don't have personal space at all - but I need my bubble. Walking down the hall in that huge mass of people causes me great anxiety and stress and I swear I'm claustrophobic. This also includes reading over the shoulder. Do I have a sign on me that says Please make me feel watched and agitated and like everything I do is public; I love feeling violated? Sorry, nope...not last time I checked.

16. Being out of tune. Sorry not sorry - it comes from being trained by Mr. Dahl and Ms. Wyffels to be correct and on-key. You should try it some time. Why does this bother me so much? Because I've spent the past four years working on this, yet you feel like you can stroll in here and mess everybody else up because you can't tell that you're not staying on a D when the other parts come in. I think it's lack of self-awareness that annoys me.

17. Stupidity. Ignorance is bliss? Ahaha...no. Sometimes. But when you are too dumb to figure out that we got the answer as 82 because 100-18 is 82 (and we just talked about it for two full minutes, when it really doesn't need that much of an explanation), I get concerned. And pissed off. Maybe you should cut down on all that partying and texting in class if you're a senior and you think fish come up for air.

18. Driving. My favorite thing ever (insert SarcMark here). Why, you ask? Do I really need to explain why? How about the fact that you're driving a machine that has the ability to kill lots of people and you're distracted with your phone? That kind of annoys me. I especially love the hi-I'm-sitting-in-the-right-turn-lane-at-a-red-light-but-I'm-actually-not-turning-so-now-you-have-to-wait thing. And the people that drive 15 miles under the speed limit when you're late. And the people that cut you off, particularly when they decide to speed around you, cut you off, and then drive slow. Nice, guys, nice. Slow drivers in the fast lane? Yup, them too. The people who speed to the front of the line when you have to merge, then expect you to let them in because they weren't willing to wait like the rest of us? Dream on, pal. If you're driving an you're distracted, incompetent, unaware, egotistical, or in any way annoying, stay away from me.

Pet peeves up the wazoo - and that's probably not all of them - but this is a freakishly long post and I've come to a conclusion: I hate people. Kind of kidding, kind of not :) The real conclusion: my pet peeves exist mostly because I can't stand people that lack self-awareness, are inconsiderate of others or are offensive, and find themselves better than the rest of us in any way (mostly if they think they're the shit). Yay for being annoyed with the world (insert SarcMark here). Haha have a nice night :)

Epiphany! (Exclamation point guilt)

I established long ago the fact that my timing for blogging is always off. It's usually between the times of two and four in the morning that I hit my oh my gosh I can write really easily period, and boy is that unfortunate. Well, tonight it's slightly different: I'm in the middle of my draft for the revision essay. Tehee...

But this is important, I swear. I had an epiphany. An epiphany, I tell you! (Let's be clear: every time I use an exclamation point, I feel guilty. Then I smile to myself and move on. #APCompProblems) I was writing and then I got distracted, as per usual. I don't even remember what I got distracted by. It could be just about anything: my oddly frozen fruit smoothie that appears to have permanently scared my back left tooth into pain, my constantly buzzing iPhone, the pull that Snapchat seems to have on my subconscious, the loud siblings stampeding - quite literally stampeding (#basementroom) - after the dog, or a countless amount of other distractions that are at my disposal.

The important part isn't the distraction; it's the realization. My epiphany! (Exclamation point guilt.) I want to write. Okay, now everyone reading this is like, Awwww, cute little AP Comp student wants to write. That's probably a good thing, considering that she's in a composition class. But that's not what I mean. I want to write. When this class is over - I'm still pretending it isn't going to end - I will be bored out of my mind. Writing provides a creative release. I mean, heck, I like writing essays. Yup. I did it. I admitted that I like writing essays. For the first time in the history of that painful thing they call school, I like writing essays. Mind you, that's only for this class; MoPro is an entirely different topic/idea/no. I love writing for this class. And I want to keep writing like this.

I don't know if that means that I pursue it in college, or if I just do it on the side. I was always the kid that wanted to keep a day-to-day journal, but I'd get so distracted with the details that I'd get behind and give up. That even happened in Europe this summer, and that was only 16 days worth of writing. Oops. So knowing me, I can basically say that if I do not actively pursue writing, I will not find time to do it. That being said, I need to pursue writing. I need to take composition classes in college, I need to find a way to keep writing, I need to write, write, write. This is the closest I've ever come to discovering what I want to do with my life job-wise, and I'm not about to let it go. I will write, someday, somehow. I will write.

And now, I will write that revision essay. Hopefully this helped to get my brain juice flowing (nasty thought/mental image), but hey, it's okay: shitty first drafts, people, shitty first drafts. Nerdiest blog post ever? Done. Revision essay? Sooooo not done. Time to change that.