I’m partial to lycans

I’ve seen the Underworld movies too many times to even count. Over the years, Kate Beckinsale has become a hero of mine. Not many women can kick ass in a skin-tight leather suit – thus, she’s one of my heroes. When I found out that they were coming out with a prequel, I was a little apprehensive. No Kate Beckinsale? C’mon! How could they possibly do this to me? Well, they did. And you know what? It was still effin’ awesome.

We don’t go to the movie theaters very often, so I knew that I would never have a chance to see the new movie in theaters (just like how I know I won’t see the Wolverine movie until I can get my hands on the DVD). So, I have been waiting for the movie to come out on DVD. Adam bought it yesterday, and finally (FINALLY!) we watched it tonight.

Wow. WOW! I’ve always been partial to the lycans more than the vampires, and this movie just confirmed my love for them. In the first movie, Lucian became my hero. For some odd reason, I fell in love with him. In the second movie when they revealed hints of his troubled past, my love grew deeper. Now that I know the whole story, he’s like a Gawd to me. Sure, I liked Michael too, but Lucian always remained my favorite.

Along with confirming my hate for the vampires, this movie set my hate for Viktor in stone. What kind of father burns his daughter alive? (Yeah, yeah, I know it’s only fictional…but still.) I remember being thrilled when Selene sliced his head in half in Underworld: Evolution, and now I have even more reason to enjoy that killing.

There was no Kate Beckinsale (well, barely any). So what? It was still enjoyable for me. And I still love Lucian.

The day of a million kisses

In all the years to come…

a future of hits, but many more misses…

never ever will I forget…

the day of a million kisses.

5/8/09

This shows how observant I am

I honestly am not a very observant person. I don’t recognize details (unless they’re important to me), and I almost never notice anything. Maybe this explains why I made a blunder today.

We had our first “real” Track meet of the 2009 season today. I got up in the morning with almost everything ready, but I needed to grab my cross-country hoodie from the dryer. I wrote a note to myself and stuck it onto my mirror so I would remember to grab said hoodie from the dryer.

Okay, so I remembered just fine without the sticky note, and I went downstairs and pulled my hoodie from the dryer. I put it on over what I was wearing and went along my merry way. I got to school, wore the hoodie for a little while, then put it in my locker before heading off to Health.

For our Track meet, I put on my uniform, my sweats and the hoodie. The opposing team we were to run against arrived just as I was stretching my hamstrings on the steeple. I figured they would see my name on the back of my hoodie and try to swallow their fear. You see, most teams see me as a threat. I fought back a laugh as I pictured the reactions upon seeing my name. Then, I went along with the meet.

The 4X8 went rather well, if I do say so myself. I got a rather decent split time (2:33), and got our team the lead we needed. We won that one.

It was after the 1500 and before the 3000 that I got a clue to my blunder. The 200m races were going on, and all of the people on the infield were to be crouching down so the officials could see one another from across the way. I didn’t think I had to crouch down – I thought I was out of the way. The officials yelled out to me, and then yelled “Hey, JEEVES!” and then when that didn’t work, “GOWANDA!” and, believe me, I crouched. The thing is, I didn’t catch the “JEEVES!” comment at the time.

After the 4X4, I pulled my hoodie back over my head. Suddenly I noticed that there was a rip near a hood, and it made me really sad. The hoodie had taken me through years of running seasons, and there it was, falling apart. I had also noticed earlier that it seemed more stretched out than I remembered, but I figured I must have lost a little weight. (Haha…)

My friend dropped me off at the baseball field to join my parents, and I walked up to them and said: “after years of hanging in there, this hoodie is finally falling apart.” Then my dad sort of looked at me funny and said: “you do know that you’ve been wearing your brother’s cross-country hoodie this whole time, right?”

Suddenly, it hit me. Everything made sense.

His hoodie says “Jeeves” on the back, and I realized that that was what the official had yelled at me earlier. It was obviously stretched out because he’s a little bit bigger than I am, and lastly, I did remember that his hoodie had sort of been tearing near the neckline. I blushed, said: “that explains a lot!” and then flushed with more embarrassment because of my cocky thoughts about how my opponents must have been “swallowing their fear.” What a joke!

If I had taken one quick glance at the name on the back of the hoodie, I could have saved myself from this little “incident.” I bet my friends were all wondering why I was wearing my brother’s hoodie, but they never said a word. I guess this just goes to show how observant I really am.

Happy Birthday, Barbie

Dear Barbie,

First, I’d like to congratulate you. Happy fiftieth birthday! I won’t bore you with any of those “getting older” Hallmark cards. Old age obviously doesn’t affect you in any way. I mean, c’mon, you’re made of plastic. People pay big bucks to have that stuff injected into their faces, and you have it made. It’s in your genes. Embrace it. Your age doesn’t show on any of your faces.

We’ve had good times over the years. Playing for hours at your house, mixing it up and socializing with some Fisher Price “kids,” going swimming in the summer heat, going bowling, and opening a schoolhouse and pet shop. Sure, our businesses didn’t fluorish, but our friendship did. I’m sorry I misplaced many of your shoes, and I am also apologetic for leaving you naked on the carpet due to my short attention span. But hey, I made up for it by helping you and Ken ice skate and by going on a cruise with you and Skipper.  Riding in your convertible with “Barbie Girl” by Aqua playing was a blast.

Your vacation home was so much fun to play in, but my favorite was definitely your mansion (which I still keep downstairs). The elevator never failed to entertain me. We had fun walking the dog together, right? And don’t you dare forget celebrating Easter together with Kelly! I will never forget going to a Girl Scout sleepover and watching a presentation by a Barbie expert who had millions of you set up on a table in the front of the room. You have played so many characters and taken so many shapes!

Anyway, Barb, I guess where I am getting at is that watching the Jeopardy! category pop up called “Fifty Years With Barbie” really brought back some memories. Happy memories. Memories I will always cherish. Thanks for helping me celebrate birthdays, and I’m sorry I graduated to the much smaller and petite Polly Pocket, but you should always know that I hold a special place for you in my heart. Maybe my little girl will dig up all of my old dolls of you from my parents’ basement and play with them; just as I did with my mother’s old dolls. Happy Birthday, Barbie. It’s been fun. Fifty years have passed, but it doesn’t show on you. I swear.

With Love,

Emily S.

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?

Emily’s poetry, a history

I’ve been writing poetry for years. My mother named me after her favorite poet, so why not carry it on? I started out with a composition notebook that I decorated with stickers. Everyone just assumed it was my diary, as if it couldn’t be anything but a shallow notebook with all of my deepest secrets and fears hidden inside. Nobody gave me enough credit. Boys would steal it from me, but I managed to get it back without any harm done. They were only teasing. Teasing is harmless, right?

After that was filled, I moved onto a pink camouflage notebook that had pens attached to the front of it. It was nifty because if I had an idea I didn’t have to hunt for a pen before being able to write it down. The pens were just there. That notebook was also known as my “diary” and even a teacher asked: “why do you bring your diary to school?” To which I simply replied: “it’s not a diary.”

I poured random thoughts and whimsical dreams into those notebooks. Within about a month, the pages started ripping out of the pink camo notebook, so I saved the paper, but threw the rest of the notebook in the garbage. It was time to move on again.

I found a regular old yellow spiral notebook and plastered it with quotes, stickers, drawings, and pop-up sunflowers that I ripped off a thing I had at home. Poetry was transferred from my head onto the pages of that thing for about a year. I entered the seventh grade with the same notebook, and only showed the ones I was proud of to my then English teacher (who is now a teacher in the high school). The boys in my grade grew up a little and stopped calling it my diary, and I continued writing.

For my birthday that year, one of my best friends (we barely speak anymore…) bought me a hardcover spiral notebook with puppies on the front. Said notebook lasted me for nearly two years. That notebook taught me something important. Because I wanted the notebook to last, I only wrote poetry when I really really felt like it and had a good feeling about an idea. I decided that I didn’t have to write about everything – but there are some things that I will always wish to remember. I still have one page left in that notebook that remains empty. If I fill it in, the notebook is done forever. I always want to have the option of being able to fill it up totally. It’s amazing to go from the earlier poems in that book to the last few. It’s like traveling through two years of my life in thirty minutes.

Eventually, I took a little notebook that was a party favor at some birthday party I went to (I think it was Carin’s) and ripped out the used pages. I then covered it with duct tape, and voila! New notebook.

Using the duct tape notebook, I rewrote some of the ones I am really proud of, but I also wrote a year’s worth of new material. I am still busy filling it up with my life, so it’s a work in progress. It’s crazy to see how much I have grown in the past year. There are some poems in said book that are extremely naive and young-sounding. I know I will say the same thing in the future when I look back at what I wrote when I was fifteen (the present… for now), but I like what is exploding out of my pen at the moment. Maybe I will post some examples in the near future (which is defined as: later today).

Aging is a tiresome process

Yes, it is exciting to be growing up and moving along in the world…but I am also extremely nostalgic. I miss the days where the only thing I cried about was a paper cut or something. Mommy would then kiss it and make it all better. She can’t do that for everything…

I have reached the age of the people I used to stare at and have great respect for when I was younger. If there was a high school student around, she/he was automatically cool – no questions asked. I wondered today if the little girls all around me were looking up to me in awe like I used to do whenever the “big” kids were around. It seems to me as if I will never reach the level of coolness. Right now, college kids are cool to me. The ones that attend school in the city, and sit around in cafes all day drinking lattes and typing on a laptop that is literally in their lap.

My birthday is tomorrow…and though I am one of the youngest in my grade, I feel old. Maybe it is because I have always believed that I am wise beyond my years, but I really wish I could go back in time and be worry-free. Growing up is no fun. I am sick of looking at the clock all the time; watching time pass is so tiresome. Seeing all of those old people at the spaghetti dinner tonight made me wonder why we yearn to grow up when we are young. I always wanted to be a “big” kid – but now I wish my brothers would have warned me about its many “desirable” qualities. *sigh*

Yes, tomorrow will be fun…but at 6:57 in the morning I will be a whole year older. An even bigger girl than I am now.

I have now been to a beach

For the past few years, I have been complaining about how I have never been to the beach. Friends have promised to take me, but, alas, their promises were not kept. I remained a beach virgin. Until today.

We had a cross-country meet today at a State Park near the lake. I swore that I would go swimming in the Lake after my race, and I did. We finished the girls Varsity race (third place for me…we went against an awesome team) and my two friends and I headed down to the lake. We did not end up swimming. We touched the water, took a few pictures, then fled to watch the “men” in their race. (THEY WON!)

After their race, my brother wanted to go swimming. My friend Ashley and I were all for it, and we began walking back towards the lake with the new guy. Soon we were joined by half of the boy’s team, and we ran to the beach. I took off my warm-up pants (my best friend’s PJs, hehe – I borrowed them from him and never gave them back), and ran to the shore. Yeah, it was cold, and today wasn’t the hottest September day we’ve had. I looked behind me and saw half of the boy’s team running towards me in just their spandex. Haha, hello!

We all ran into the water, and jumped over the waves as they came. New guy even joined in and wore his boxers (he didn’t run today – not enough practices). Soon, Ashley and I realized that our shorts were see-through, so we waded deeper and deeper into the water in an attempt to hide ourselves.

It was the most fun I have ever had at a cross-country meet (and I have been to quite a few in my lifetime). Cute guys in spandex in freezing water with waves that reached my shoulders…yeah, FUN! I will probably be sick tomorrow, and if I am, I will just remember how much laughter our little adventure brought me. Today was a day I will not soon forget.