It’s nice to have her back

I’m weird. That’s what I have learned over the past few days.

I had a few birthday parties to attend this past week (because it seems that everyone’s birthday falls on the SAME DAY). I had to celebrate my grandma’s for a few hours before attending the first one, so that’s what I did. We ate my mom’s special dessert, and I was itching to go, so I hopped on my bike and away I went. I arrived and they were watching a movie. And a really stupid one at that. I’m not a fan of stupid humor movies, so I obviously really didn’t like Airplane. I was also busy focusing on the boy behind me who was hugging me and running his hands through my hair. That can be distracting.

Because I’ve discovered just how much I love being all in my lonesome, I hate being around people. Even people I usually enjoy being around. I couldn’t wait to go home (well, of course, I stopped by my grandparents’ before going home).

The next day is when I found out how weird I am.

I went to another friend’s house (and was kind of dreading it because she doesn’t exactly invite all of the greatest people in the world), and was seriously like a little social butterfly. I went from group to group, just talking to everybody. I suddenly turned into my old outgoing self. I haven’t seen that part of me in quite awhile. It was nice to have her back. There was a specific group I hung out with (with didn’t include my boyfriend, oddly enough), and we even walked to my house to get my Pretty Pretty Princess board game we’d been itching to play. So, we did. In the dark of the trampoline. And swore at the game to make it more exciting.

After a summer of just wanting to be alone, feeling the urge to mingle and be around people was nice. I found a best friend in a girl I haven’t taken the time to talk to lately, and we’ve made plans to hang out all the time. I’m sorry I dreaded what turned out to be an awesome night.

One day summer slowly floated away

I have decided that I hate fall. I absolutely abhor it. When I was younger I thought I had to love it just because my birthday happens to fall (haha) within those select three months, but now I know better. I’ve learned to hate it.

Sure, the trees are pretty. Beautiful, even. Possibly even gorgeous. But… their prettiness doesn’t distract me from the true evils yet to come. I can see right through that pretty, innocent little façade. They can’t fool me.

I love summer. I love its warmth and the constant urge to go swimming in our beautiful pool. I found one thing I hate about it, though: that fall is the season right after.

Autumn just brings in a whirlwind of newness that leaves me dazed. It’s a season of starts. School, Cross Country (practices and endless trips to the “start”ing line), coldness, unwanted but necessary organization, and just all of that crap. And Autumn takes the sun away and leaves the world cold.

Summer’s still in the air for now, but I can feel it slowly floating away. Fall winds and clouds are slowly invading my tropical dreamland. The sun is going down sooner than it should. Oh, how I wish it was still June!

Follow the yellow brick road?

My heart lurched. A lump formed in my throat. Tears sprang to my eyes. To want something this bad hurts… especially when one knows it is not within his/her grasp. Especially mine. Watching people perform on the stage is really emotional for me. When their emotions show during the song they’re performing, it affects me. Deeply. I’m torn in-between reality and fantasyland. Which should I choose? The practical way? The logical way? The way where I have a sure chance at succeeding? Or…should I shoot and eventually miss? Should I be risky? Should I jump without knowing where I might fall?

I’ve had pipes since, well, I don’t even remember when. Chorus teachers I have had over the years have always acknowledged my talent, and their acknowledgement eventually paved the road to my distant dreamland hidden in a thick fog. All I wanted to be when I was younger was a singer. A real professional vocalist with millions of adoring fans. Then I began to love Evanescence and thought: wow, it would be awesome to be the female lead to a hard rock band. Thus, a bigger dream was born.

Maybe you’ve noticed that I have a deep obsession with female fronted bands – and well, now you know why. I aspire to be like them; I want to be in their position so badly. It aches to see them perform and think about just how lucky they really are. They are exactly what I want to be. All I want is to perform with my band on a stage in a grand theater to a crowd of a million. To spill out my emotions through song and slump off the stage exhausted when I am done. I want to sing and run around with the mic. I want to lean on the mic stand and have sweat pouring off of me from so much exertion. I want to stop singing and listen to the crowd sing the next verse – a verse most likely derived from a line of a poem I wrote when I was twelve. I want to share my love of singing with the world and I want to belt it until I can’t belt it “no more.”

At my fork in the road, to the right lies the road that leads to my dreamland. The road paved with yellow bricks and patches of lilies of the valley growing on the side giving off my favorite aroma. To the left is an equally pleasant-looking road, only it is paved with brick that gives off the more practical red-ish color. This road is the one I’m to follow should I want to be successful on the first try. The writing road. I’ve been told I was born to write, but I’ve also been told that I have a very powerful voice. Now, should I choose the yellow brick road that leads to my dream career of being the female in a female fronted band? Or, should I venture down the more structurally sound road that leads to definite success? Do I want to be an exact clone of my mother and eldest brother, or do I want to be the first to set foot on my own yellow brick road?

L-o-v-e

I don’t lust after the big-time movie or pop stars. It’s not like I have a giant poster of Brad Pitt in my room. (I never said I didn’t have a shrine devoted to him.) I have never seen the point in “loving” someone when they don’t even know you exist. Stop wasting time and get out in the real world and meet a REAL guy.

There are only a few semi-famous men that I have drooled over. Oh sure, there’s that guy on TV every once in awhile and you say, “oh, he’s cute,” but you never bother looking up their name. This is different. I prefer the older men: thus Hugh Laurie and Hugh Jackman. The two Hughs. *drools*

I have been in “love” with Hugh Jackman ever since I saw the first X-Men movie years and years ago. Wolverine… *sigh*. The scene where we are first introduced to him and he doesn’t have his shirt on – it’s magnificent. Wolverine was never my favorite X-Men until I saw Hugh play the part. He’s my favorite actor in all of the movies. I absolutely “love” him.

Then there’s Hugh Laurie. I remember watching him as the bad guy in 101 Dalmatians, and of course I didn’t like him! I wanted the puppies to win against the bad men and Cruella. But oh, now that I’ve seen him on House…phew! I don’t care if he’s ancient compared to me, he’s handsome as hell, and a great actor on top of that.

I don’t profess my love for them unless I see them on TV or in a magazine or something. I don’t have posters of them in my room (though my friend drew me a picture of Jackman for me… *drools*) but that doesn’t mean I am not a fan. I don’t worship the ground they walk on and wish to purchase one of their used napkins off of Ebay. I’m not creepy like that. They’re attractive, I like them, they don’t have to like me, I’ll just stay content admiring from afar.

Bouquet of needles

My grandfather got up from his seat at the table and left the room. I had no idea where he went: all I knew was that he was getting something for me. He returned and set a box in front of me that I had seen earlier that day. It was a long box with screwdrivers featured on the top of it. I had disregarded it earlier because it had tools on the cover.

I guess I never thought that there could have been anything else in there besides tools. My grandparents never did either. They had always thought there were tools of some kind in there and never bothered opening it. I lifted the lid, and my grandma smiled at the awe written on my face.

Inside this tool box were quite a collection of knitting needles. Big, small, wooden, plastic, metal… you name it. “I’m sorry we didn’t get these to you sooner,” my grandma said. “We always thought that the box was full of screwdrivers and never thought to open it.”

“Are these yours, Grandma?” I asked. She let my grandfather answer my question.

“They were my mom’s,” said Papa.

So there I was. Holding a box full of knitting needles that have seen more than I could ever imagine. They had aided my great-grandmother with her hobby, and had probably created a sweater or two for Papa when he was younger.

It’s neat how a hobby can bring people together. My love for writing brings Jordan, my mother and me together, and then there’s knitting. Knitting is the one hobby that my mom and grandma and I can relate to. And if Great-Grandma were still alive, I’m sure she’d be the one to give me tips and pointers in the big world of knitting. It’s cool to use her needles and think that at one point in time she was probably sitting in a rocking chair knitting while a younger version of my grandfather looked on. Right now I am using a pretty blue pair that are relatively wide, and I cannot help but wonder as to what she used them for. I guess I will never know.

On my vanity sits a green vase with a bouquet of colorful knitting needles spilling out of it. Mixed in this vase are the needles I bought myself, and the ones that my great-grandma bought way back when. I will never have to buy myself another pair of needles as long as I live.

My friend Gemma Doyle

You know what? Forget Twilight. Forget New Moon. Forget Eclipse. And FORGET Breaking Dawn.

Take those books off of your bookshelf and shove them in the nearest trash can. (Sure, I enjoyed them a little, but not as much as I thought I would.)

Now, go to the nearest Barnes & Noble or Borders and pick up copies of the Gemma Doyle trilogy. Place said trilogy on your shelf where Twilight used to take up space, and take them down one by one to devour them. Join red-headed Gemma in her travels, her curiosity, her love and her troubles. Erase Bella Swan and Edward Cullen from your mind and replace them with Gemma and Kartik. Befriend Ann, Felicity and Pippa and travel with the three of them to the realms to frolick in the garden or take a ride with Gorgon. Find out who Circe is, find out who your friends are, and who your enemies are. Ignore the Rakshana’s requests and continue employing your magic.

I finished The Sweet Far Thing last night, and was struck in awe (well, awestruck). It wasn’t the ending I was hoping for, but strangely, it fit nicely. Libba Bray is far more talented and descriptive than Stephenie Meyer is in Twilight and the other novels. C’mon! Who doesn’t love an author who puts “She has never lived in the Victorian era, is not British, and has no superpowers, though if she did they would involve being able to eat her weight in Swedish fish without feeling the urgent need to shave her tongue afterward” in the ABOUT THE AUTHOR section? Bray’s ideas are fresh and original. If you do not love her, you must be mad.

Anyway, have someone pry Twilight out of your hands and read and remember A Great and Terrible Beauty, Rebel Angels, and The Sweet Far Thing. Instead of viewing that ghastly Twilight movie, read! I get angry if somebody compares Twilight to Harry Potter, but if one were to compare Gemma Doyle to Harry Potter, I actually would not mind. Nothing will ever beat HP, but I believe that Gemma comes pretty close.

Don’t “go with the flow”

These days I live in a world where people quote lines from movies constantly. Maybe I am bitter about this because I do not tell stories or quote movie lines very well, but it gets annoying when I ask a question and someone responds with a line from Stepbrothers or Juno or The Dark Knight. It’s as if there are no more original thoughts anymore… it’s like everyone has their own personal screenwriter. I guess people just piss me off in general.

Am I the only person in this world with confidence? When I first brought my knitting to school, everyone laughed at me – but was I discouraged? No. I kept bringing it to school despite what people thought or think. If you like something, don’t be afraid to express it. Liking something makes you who you are and what’s wrong with showing who you are? Watch me walk down the hallway in what people call my “hooker” boots and my adorable Tripp skirt. Sure, people will stare, but do you know what they are really thinking? I think that they are wishing they could do something like that; dress like that; be who they really are. I can tell when someone has their shield up…and it’s kind of disappointing. I am kind of sick of taking the initiative. There are too many people that just “go with the flow.”

I have a friend who has changed a lot in the past year. Sure, I have changed too, but I haven’t changed what I believe in or my sense of humor or anything. My friend (he has been a friend for years) recently discovered his love for God. He goes to this church that sucks people in (at least, I think they do) every Sunday, and for the extra teen things that they do. I think of it as a cult. Going to church (should church be capitalized? ‘Cause I really don’t think it should be) so often has changed him completely. It’s as if he thinks he needs to be righteous all the time and do the right thing. If we gossip around him he gets pissed off. Oh, but when he wishes to gossip, it’s okay. I really miss who he was before he became super religious. Before he started bugging me about going to church. I feel like he has a wall up, and it needs to come down. I wish to knock it down, but we fight everyday over stupid things, and I never get the chance. I am very opinionated, and he can’t seem to accept my opinion, so he gets all cheesed off when I say mine. When he says his, I consider it. I don’t really know about him anymore. He is a completely different person these days. I don’t know what happened.

Anyway, yeah, people piss me off. Most people are selfish and it drives me nuts. I may not seem like it, but I think about other things besides myself. I am concerned about world hunger (which is why I visit the Free Rice website often), the economy – I was even thinking about how I was complaining about having to wake up early to go to school this week. Then I thought about it and here’s what I came up with: here I am complaining about going to school to be with friends when there is some kid who has to wake up early to go to school and gets beat up everyday and comes home covered with bruises that his/her parents don’t even notice. Yeah, suddenly waking up early to go to a place where I have friends and am at no risk whatsoever of being beaten up (unless I piss someone off) doesn’t sound too bad.

I have scratched the two resolutions I wanted to tackle. I can’t just quit everything cold turkey – I will ease into breaking free from my habits. Right now I am trying to be extremely thoughtful. And people still piss me off.

Rain rain… go away…

It happened a few years ago. What happened? I found out what my favorite song in the entire world is. My mother and I were in our Hyundai Sonata heading for camp. I wanted to listen to Breaking Benjamin’s CD We Are Not Alone that my brother left in the car, but my mother did not. I ran through the tracks, each one beginning with a sound that was too hardcore for my mother to handle. Finally, I settled for track number eleven; the last song on the CD. All we heard was the strumming of an acoustic guitar, and instantly, I fell in love. Breaking Benjamin’s “Rain” is my most favorite song.

Take the photograph,
It’ll be the last,
Not a dollar or a crowd could ever keep me here,

I don’t have a past
I just have a chance,
Not a family or honest plea remains to say,

Rain rain go away,
Come again another day,
All the world is waiting for the sun.

Is it you I want,
Or just the notion of
a heart to wrap around so I can find my way around

Safe to say from here,
You’re getting closer now,
We are never sad cause we are not allowed to be

Rain rain go away,
Come again another day,
All the world is waiting for the sun.

Rain rain go away,
Come again another day,
All the world is waiting for the sun.

To lie here under you,
Is all that I could ever do,
To lie here under you is all,
To lie here under you is all that i could ever do,
To lie here under you is all,

Rain rain go away,
Come again another day,
All the world is waiting for the sun.

Rain rain go away,
Come again another day,
All the world is waiting for the sun,
All the world is waiting for the sun,
All the world is waiting for the sun.

Oh, how it gives me chills.

Food network: love and hate

For the last four years or so, I have been tuning in to channel fifty to enjoy me some cooking television. Right after school I would watch some Everyday Italian with Giada De Laurentiis, and then stay put for 30 Minute Meals with Rachael Ray. Rachael was always my favorite because she seemed like an everyday person even though she was on a television show that thousands enjoyed. Giada just makes everything sound delicious, even if I don’t like it. Like peppers, for instance. I absolutely LOATHE peppers, but Giada always makes them sound delicious when she is cutting them up. My love for the Food Network began years before Rachael Ray got her own prime time TV show and years before anyone even knew who Giada De Laurentiis was. My brothers made fun of me for watching the Food Network, but I kept on loving it.

With my love for Food Network came my love of cooking. I made dinner whenever I could, always preparing meals I liked so I would not have to eat anything I didn’t want to. Whenever my mom was busy and couldn’t make dinner, I stepped in and helped out. Rachael and Giada made it look so easy, but it was very challenging. Sometimes when I was home alone and preparing a meal, I would stand behind our kitchen island and pretend that I was on a cooking show. Learning to chop like they do was the most challenging, but I got it down and loved the noise my knife made against the plastic cutting board my mother bought me.

I still enjoy cooking, but I do not enjoy the Food Network as much anymore. I loved how Rachael Ray would wear clothes that would make me wonder what the heck she was thinking, but now she is “fashionable” and just not herself (in my opinion). I miss the crazy lady that set her hair on fire and made stupid jokes that I always laughed at. I miss her hair that was shoulder-length and brown with blond highlights. Now her hair has a stylish cut and color, but stylish just doesn’t suit her. Now, everyone knows who she is, and I think that she’s lost herself a little bit in the process. I miss the old Rachael and her kitchen before it got its recent makeover.

Giada has always been the “perfect one” out of my two favorite chefs, but lately she’s become even more perfect. More perfect than I can stand. I just tried to watch her 4:30 show a few minutes ago, but could not stand how big her smile was, or the way she was moving around.

I miss the way things were before Rachael was as famous as she is now, and when Giada wasn’t quite so perfect. I miss coming home from school and enjoying hours of my favorite Food Network shows. I miss my love of cooking that has somewhat diminished. I miss what today I am missing.

PPG 4EVER

When I was younger, I was majorly obsessed with a Cartoon Network program famously known as The Powerpuff Girls. Because we did not have cable (we were old fashioned back then), my parents bought me Powerpuff Girls episodes on videotapes. I had the books, the tee shirts, the pajama sets, the purses, the bookbags, and even a huge collection of the three dolls. From second grade until about the fifth grade, I was PPG obsessed.

This obsession all started the summer before second grade. The August of that summer, my family went on our annual trip to the Erie County Fair. I used to save up money all year long just to spend at the fair. I ended up playing one of those games where you have to shoot water into a minuscule hole from a pretty great distance. With my mom’s help with aiming the squirt gun, I won. I chose the prize with big eyes: Bubbles The Powerpuff Girl.

I carried this big squishy doll all around the fair that day, not knowing a single thing about her. Soon after the fair, I finally discovered her identity. With this discovery came my obsession with these three little girls that were in kindergarten at the time, and still are in kindergarten.

I got a Powerpuff Girl sketchbook, and with it, I learned how to draw my favorite characters. I had a poster of them hanging on my wall, and read their books constantly. My friend and I used to argue about who was better: Blossom or Bubbles? Her favorite being Blossom, and mine being the adorable little creature that is Bubbles. I remember that I bought a PPG purse one day, and when I showed it to her, she told me that The Powerpuff Girls weren’t cool anymore. I stopped wearing the clothes, I stopped reading the books, and I took the poster down.

Just a few months ago, I got all of my PPG tapes out again and watched them all. There is a particular episode called Meet The Beat-Alls (an episode where practically all of the lines are derived from Beatles’ songs) that I did not understand until I got it out and watched it again a few months ago. I found my old PPG poster, and it is now adorning my wall, just like it used to. I absolutely adore The Powerpuff Girls again. They are adorable, and I cannot believe that I actually let them go back in the fifth grade. Yes, I am in high school, and yes, I love the Powerpuff Girls. As of now, I am searching for a PPG shirt that will fit me (no success yet). I want to show off my PPG love.