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Guilty Pleasures

Good morning Spring Break. Yes, you took your sweet time, but you're finally here. This is a cause for celebration.

Apparently my way of showing celebratory awareness is pretending I'm a sixty-year-old woman by getting up before nine o'clock every morning. Forget sleeping the day away kids, the real fun starts before noon. Take yesterday for example. Never before was it to my knowledge that the early bird special at eggs-n-things is one heck of a deal. Connor and I were warmly welcomed among the other elderly couples. I kid you not, we bought a newspaper to read before we were seated. Now that's dedication. Everything just seems to be better in the morning. The world is waking up to the early sunshine's pleasant alarm. And there's something precious about morning dew that you just can't find anywhere else. For some reason everyone is in a better mood in the morning (unless they're on their way to work, school, or any other unpleasant obligation). No one rudely swerves in front of you. The thought of honking a horn is unheard of. And for once, people take the time to take two seconds out of their self absorbed schedule to say "good morning."

This morning was especially great. I've become accustomed to the usual daytime lighting in my household. Morning twilight before school, unless I catch a glimpse of sunrise on my way there if I'm lucky. The blinding afternoon rays when I get back home. But, for once, I got to see that forgotten hour of the day, when the sun leaks through the corner bedroom, ricochets off the hardwood floors, and reflects across the entire house. It's a treat. I dropped gabby off, who slightly resembles a zombie in her post-woken state, and headed towards Oak Park for my appointment. Now, as much as we all hate suburbia, it sometimes surprises me with its little perks. The fifteen minute drive put me in one of the best moods I've had in a while. Just warm enough to drive with the windows open, and the light hitting those godforsaken mansions in a way that almost made me like them for a second. And I mean come on, every green light?! The traffic gods must have smiled upon me today. With the excitement of all this perfection running through my veins, I lost track of the speedometer for a bit, and literally two seconds after slowing down from the twenty-miles-over-the-speed-limit I was pushing, a police car came around the bend. Built in radar? Call me Edward (Twilight reference, thank you very much).

So anyhow, with the stars' alignment on my side, I figured it was safe to hit up some Bent on Coffee on my way home, and risk the exponentially decreasing amount of gas in my tank. Now that's living on the edge! It was all worth it. A perfect parking job, followed by a cheerful conversation, catching up with the girl working (I used to go to Bent on Coffee a lot).

Don't worry, I saved the best for last. What in the world beats realizing that Taylor Swift wrote a song modeled from your life, while waiting for an adorable family to finish riding their even more adorable beach cruisers across the street? I'm not even embarrassed that I just said that. Everyone loves some t-swift, whether they're in the closet about it or not. I, my friends, am out and proud. It was one of her sadder songs, but it was beautiful, and I undoubtedly believe that it was written for me! It made me cry a little, but not all tears are bad. I think they were more so tears of realization, and definitely of acceptance. The old man at the stop light caught me in my self pity, and he gave me a warm, paternal smile, emitting this essence of wisdom, that honestly poured straight into my heart. (ick! corny) Everything will be okay.

Thank You Mr. Haar

The best kinds of parties, are the kind where you find yourself soberly among the company of your boyfriend, having an insightful conversation about life. Really. Enough of these redundant comedies supposedly modeled after high school life. Suburban homes overflowing with rowdy teenagers, with a seemingly endless amount of red cups at hand. Girls holding their friends' hair back before the front yard bushes, because the line for the bathroom was just too long. They don't know where the real story's at. It's on a rooftop balcony, with nothing but the the stars to see, and the bad beer to smell. Challenging each other's thoughts, hypothesizing about tomorrow. Laughing about how ridiculous we sound by repeatedly stating "how small we are", how "man created good and evil" and how "the greed among men has corrupted the world". There's comfort, and ideal sublimity. Then, of course, you can't help get pissed off at the douche bag who says "nice hair" when you come back down stairs. "I was sitting, talking on a fucking lawn chair asshole!"

And just like that the splendor evaporates. Time for a shot. It was lovely for the time being.

The rest of the weekend went by all too fast. It was a good one though. I just can't help but fear that that might be exactly what it's like for the next few months. Priceless hours that seem to become the past before they're even present. True: "time flies while you're having fun". But who knew we were supposed to take this to such heart? Yes, five months is a long time away, and it won't be all too far of a move. But still, the anticipation of heartbreak is a gnawing feeling. The inevitability is an elephant in the room.

On a lighter note, I have a confession. I actually learned something in my history class today. I know, right? I never thought this day would come. But anyway, in regards to the Great Depression of the 1930s, President Roosevelt stated that "the only thing we have to fear is fear itself." I thought about this, but hesitated to raise my hand. The fact is while this may have been true at the time, the validity of the statement is not present in general terms. Of course all society had to fear at the time was fear itself, because they had already hit rock bottom. But what if you haven't hit rock bottom? What if you have so much to lose? In that case, I think anyhow, there's more to fear than fear itself. There's the fear of losing what you love. Of losing who you love. Of losing everything that you've fought for and anyone you've fallen for. Not only has this "greed" instilled among men caused us to create corruption in the world, it's caused us to create fear among ourselves.


So, maybe I'm just a victim of this greed myself. Maybe I just need to learn to cherish the time of splendor we can share, because sooner or later some asshole is always gonna say "nice hair" in some way, shape or form. The moral of the story is, one without fear is without greed, because it's only then that you "ain't got nothing to lose."

Bittersweet

I have a grandmother with dimentia. This is bittersweet. Bitter for obvious reasons. And sweet in the sense that the only thing one can do to cope with something like this is to laugh. My sister, Shannon, is living with her as sort of a care taker, and she emailed this story to me recently. It should give you a taste of what I mean:

(to make it a bit easier to follow, Greg is our uncle, my Grandma's son, and Sweet Pea is her dog)

"A little while ago, Grandma started yelling frantically to see if anyone was in the house. I went running to her room and she asked, "When is the wedding, tonight, or tomorrow?" I asked whose wedding and she said, "Shannon's wedding."

She has been going on and on about how Ruby (Greg's dog) and Sweet Pea are the bride's maids and flower girls. Then it suddenly became Sweet Pea's wedding, and when I questioned the validity of this she became very stressed and said, "Well, how do we expect to get heirs for Sweet Pea without a groom?" Just recently she was yelling for the dogs to stop rough housing because they are all dressed up in their clothes for the wedding. Then she said, "This is a disgrace. I've gotta get out of bed. All the guests will be arriving soon and here is the old lady, lying in bed and soaking it all in."

She literally just said, "Who is in here that is a person in the know, who can give me some vital information?"

Mind you, I am down the hall and not in the same room as her and she is still rambling on and on.

This might be one of the best stories yet."

watch it. like it.

So Corny.

How does a simple, seemingly effortless good night still manage to make my heart jump?

Nars.

The fact that the process of setting up the account for this blog took just shy of a minute for me to accomplish proves that I have become much too accustomed to the internet. It's a little frightening that myspace codes are pretty much second nature, while I still can't seem to wrap my mind around polar equations. Thanks Mr. Singh. Well anyway, there's really no point to this tangent of mine. This isn't my way of trying to poetically transition into what will be the first of several unsuccessful blogs I'm sure. So let's just jump right into this.

Now I'm not going to start off by saying "I'm not one of those creepers who has a blog" or "I'm kind of embarrassed of the fact that I have a blog" or anything like that, because let's face it. You're not fooling anyone sweetheart. If you weren't one of those "creepers" who has a blog, then you wouldn't have one. Thanks to Arlan Cashier, blogs are sweeping the nation...of Thousand Oaks High School. And I have inevitably become the most recent victim of this entertaining epidemic. Gotta' love adjectives. 

The sad thing is, this is just one more distraction to put my grades even more jeopardy. It's an understatement to say that there is an exponential list of somethings and nothings which just seem to push academics further and further on the back burner. I don't even think that made sense. See what I mean? English was the first to go. 

Alright well you've most likely got a noose and/or a shit load of sleeping pills at your side by this point, due to the fact that this blog has so far consisted of nothing but my rambles. So I'll let you get to it. Whatever it is. Go write your own blog even, and I'll be sure to read it. Because maybe that's what I should have just stuck with in the first place. 

Oh. And "Nars" is the brand of nail polish that I'm currently applying a third coat of "orgasm" with. That is indeed the actual name of the color. Yeah, I'm just that creative.