Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Movies I want to see

Everyone's talkign about whip it, but I'm all about some hilary swank in Amelia. idk. here are some links to movies i'm dying to see.


Capitalism: A Love Story:

The Lovely Bones:

The Time Travelers Wife:

OTHER movies you should see that have already been released..


Now and Then:

Monday, September 28, 2009


I feel like this sums up all of the boy problems I've ever had. If you know me, you will understand.

"A Bird may love a Fish, but where will they live?"

Sunday, September 27, 2009

work, the real thing

So, the other day I attempted to post something about my new job. But all that came up was the title of the post. ew, 15 minutes of good writing down the drain.

oh well... I guess? Anyway, I'll attempt to recreate it.

And it's probably better this way, because last night was the best anecodte to summarize my new job.

Basically, I work at this cool ass hookah lounge run by college kids like me. We work from 4 in the afternoon until 4am (ew), putting hookah together, bringing people new coals to keep their shit lit. And we serve middle eastern food to hungry mouths while everyone sits around on couches and cushions. This is what hookah is about in case you don't know:

Well, every Saturday night we have a DJ and belly dancers. And everyone- waitresses included- dance around to middle eastern music all night. It's so much fun. No one sits when the music is on. We all just move methodically to the music and clap. Sometimes we all hold hands and do the debkah... wich is:

The men hop around on one foot, leaning forward and then arching back as they clap their hands or slap their knee. The girls move their hips in a strong twist keeping their arms in the air and let their hands do the dancing up top. Atleast, that's what they taught me at Kanzaman.

Anyway, it's tons of fun. And it makes me daydream about faraway places across the ocean.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Thursday, September 24, 2009


So, I just got a job at this hookah lounge near my school! ayayayay!I start work Friday:)

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Thank You

I just want to say how grateful I am that some of you take time out to read my oh so long short stories. Your feedback really means so much to me, because I get so nervous about what people might think in my class. So, having a heads up from you guys about whether it's good or bad makes me feel better.

From now until next semester, I'll be posting a lot of short stories and poems and plays, maybe even non-fiction essays. I will be attempting to go to raw places in my life. And I will attempt to provoke emotions from you guys.

My goal as a writer is to make each word a gift to the reader. Something they can take with them and use as a way to feel better in one way or another.

So, keep reading. And please keep giving me feedback. It means a lot to me:)

Oh and P.S. the book The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison is fucking amazing and will blow your mind.

Here are some of my favorite parts:

"Love is never any better than the lover. Wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, stupid people love stupidly, but the love of a free man is never safe. There is no gift for the beloved. The lover alone possesses his gift of love. The loved one is shorn, neutralized, frozen in the glare of the lover's inward eye."

"And fantasy it was, for we were not strong, only aggressive; we were not free, merely licensed; we were not compassionate, we were polite; not good, but well behaved. We courted death in order to call ourselves brave, and hid like thieves from life. We substituted good grammar for intellect; we switched habits to stimulate maturity; we rearranged lies and called it truth, seeing in the new pattern of an old idea the revelation and the word."

This one is about the main character whose mind went off the deep end due to the cruelty of her peers and family. And it's about how these two sister tried to save her by planting marigolds.

"The damage done was total. She spent her days, her tendril, sap green days, walking up and down, her head jerking to the beat of a drummer so distant only she could hear. Elbows bent, hands on shoulders, she flailed her arms like a bird in an eternal, grotesquely futile effort to fly. Beating the air, a winged but grounded bird, intent on the blue void it could not reach- could not even see- but which filled the valleys of the mind.
We tried to see her without looking at her, and never, never went near. Not because she was absurd, or because we were frightened, but because we had failed her. Our flowers never grew. I was convinced Frieda was right, that I had planted them too deeply. How could I have been so solven? So we avoided Pecola Breedlove-forever."

Like I said, this book will blow your fucking mind. Not only is the plot suspenseful, but it's beautifully crafted with clear symbolism and valuable meaning and insight. The prose is stunning and rather unforgetable. It's about oppression, the need for physical beauty, the dark side of sex, and the power of shame. Depressing, oh hell yeah. But worthwhile? fuck yes.

Cheers to all and have a delectable afternoon!

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Another Short Story by moi

It happened at least once a day during her vacation with them. He’d come into her room and start touching her, caressing her, in all the wrong places. He’d look into her face, nose practically touching hers, his eyes glazed over, and say in a hushed voice filled with lust “You like that, don’t you.” His breath prickled away at her skin in the darkness of the room, making her shudder in disgust. She didn’t respond. She never responded. She was 7 and he was 65. He was her grandfather.
Every night before he made love to his wife during the summers she stayed with them, he’d slip down the hall silently to molest his granddaughter. No one knew, but him and the girl. This went on every year until she was 12. It was around that time that the unwanted kisses and touches just stopped. No words were spoken. There was no ceremonious detachment of his perverse and misguided sexual cravings from her young, feeble, body. It just dawned on her one day that he hadn’t touched her in awhile.
But even though she was free of his literal grasp, she never really felt free. Instead she felt haunted and dirty, crowded by her constant thoughts about it. She always felt covered in a coating of perverseness that permanently attached itself to every fiber of her being. No matter how hard she scrubbed. She still felt filthy.
So, when her father tried to hug her goodbye as she left for college she shrunk away from his arms and wiggled out of the embrace. She didn’t like to be touched by him. She didn’t like to be touched by any man. It didn’t matter whether they were normal men who were disgusted by child molestation. She just didn’t like to be touched. A sharp pain pierced her heart as she watched the hurt fall slowly into her Father’s eyes. He never did anything wrong, she thought. He doesn’t deserve this. He deserves so much better. He never knew. But still, she couldn’t do it. No more touching, she thought as she quickly pecked a kiss on her Mother’s warm cheek. No more.
She stepped into the driver’s seat of her parents old volvo, wearing a red sun dress, her long brown hair swinging down her back, waved good bye, and finally pulled out of the driveway. Her Mother and Father watched her. They watched the daughter they just couldn’t understand pull away from them and into a life where they would soon be pushed out of. They felt regretful. They never knew this girl. They saw her come in and out of the house. They watched her make straight As and perform in ballet recitals. They knew her favorite color and food, but they lacked the spark and warmth that goes a long with having a relationship with someone. She never opened up to them. They tried so hard to get to know her. But no matter how much they inquired about her day, it was always just fine. Nothing more or less. She never provided more than a sentence to them. And they didn’t know how to change that.
They felt like horrible parents every time they tried to pat her on the back. It was like she hated them. She moved away fast. She dodged their glances and hid the schedule for her soccer games, so, as to avoid having to interact with them when they assured her she did great.
She never wanted things to be like this. She just didn’t know how to act around the mother who looked just like the man who molested her or the father whose hands were the same size as his. Rejecting them was the closest she could get to remove the memory of her grandfather. But it wasn’t just them. Rejecting every touch, every smile, every possible friend, felt reassuring to her. She never wanted to explain why she was the way she was.
She only half listened to the music as she drove to Yale. The rest of her mind was consumed by its own thoughts and longings. If only she could feel good about the relationship she had with her parents. She was certain of nothing except for the fact that her parents deserved more and that she wanted more. She just couldn’t bring herself to hug them. It was so gross to her.
But when she arrived at Yale and watched the families around her unloading trunks happily, she couldn’t help but long for a good hug. The kind she loved before he started forcing himself onto her. There they were: her roommate’s perfect family. She sat on her orange and turquoise bed spread watching them unpack, hands wrapped around each other lying still on her lap, legs uncrossed and knees turned in school girlishly. The family so loved by each other. “Oh, Krystal, what if you put this here,” the girl’s mother said as she tested a John Lennon poster out on the wall. “I can raise this bed,” the father said excitedly. “I’ve got my tools out in the truck, I’ll be right back sweetie,” he said giving his daughter a kiss on the forehead. She smiled at the girl happily. And the girl just sighed. She suddenly regretted insisting on going to college without her parents help.
A large lump grew in her throat as she thought of her parents sitting at home. Her dad would probably have a scotch out by the fire place as he read the latest John Gresham book. Her Mother would undoubtedly be outside in the garden, weeding. She wanted them so badly all of a sudden. She wanted her Mother’s sweet voice and her father’s assuring nod of the head. She thought she would burst into tears when Krystal’s mother asked where her parents were.
I have to get out of here, she thought. So, she ran out of the room just like she always did when things got tuff. She ran to a place she thought she could escape to, away from her thoughts. She ran all the way to a diner. By now it was raining. She sat there in a booth, soaking wet and drank chocolate milk from a straw. She tried thinking about the old music playing or the overpriced desserts on the menu, but all she could pay attention to was how much she suddenly wanted her Mom and Dad. She tried so hard to shake it off, but she couldn’t. Suddenly the wall she spent so much time constructing to keep people out slowly started crumbling. I want my Mom and Dad. She couldn’t deny it to herself or them anymore.
So, she searched her purse for her cell phone, I’ll call home and tell them I’m all moved in. That will be enough, for sure. But she couldn’t find the phone. She looked around the diner for a pay phone; there it was on the left wall, sitting idly with an out of order sign adorning the front of it. Oh well, she tried to tell herself, this is just another one of those random moods. It will go away, she thought to herself.
But the more she sat there the more she wanted to talk to her mom and dad. The lump attached to her throat would not remove itself. So, as she looked out of the big window right next to her, she decided she’d go out to the payphone outside. A little rain was worth it. I just want to talk to them. I have to hear their voices. But when she got outside, there was a fat white woman there already talking away at the receiver, her arms waving like she was in a heated argument. Fuck, she thought as the rain fell harder. Her cold breath making little clouds, as she wiggled around rubbing her own arms.
She stood there freezing in the rain, just waiting for what seemed like hours but was actually ten minutes. When she got in she dialed the numbers she knew so well. Hands shaking. It rang, once, twice, three times, “Hello” said her Father’s tired voice. She planned on just telling him that she moved in safely, but as she opened her mouth and began to speak her voice cracked. “Dad,” she said, beginning to cry. “Kate is that you, are you okay,” he asked hurriedly. He called out to her Mother “Sandy it’s Kate.” “Kate is everything okay,” they asked as she said Mom and Dad through tears. The rain fell even harder as she said the words she’s wanted to say all of her life, but never had the strength or nerve to commit to. “Mom, Dad. I just wanted you to know that I love you guys.” Tears were falling as hard as the rain. And just as she took a quick breath her parents said so seriously, “Oh Kate, we love you so much, sweetie.”
“I’m so sorry,” she kept saying through the rivers her cheek bones were making. “For what?” they asked. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say that.” She said. And with that she started a new chapter of what would be a much better life. With those words from her parents, she felt herself heal a little bit. It was like their love was the soap needed to wash off the filth that was so viciously put on her.
When she stepped out of the phone booth and back into the pouring rain, she didn’t feel cold anymore. Instead, she felt the warmth of good love from good people. She stretched her arms out and tilted her head back and just let the rain fall on her. She didn’t care that she was getting even wetter than before. She felt good and embraced. For the first time, she felt loved.

Monday, September 21, 2009


So, that guy I wrote about... the one I smoked and talked with for hours apparently had sex with his ex-girlfriend this weekend and magically fell back in love with her. ugh.

What a downer, eh? Well, I can't say I'm that hurt since we only hung out for like two weeks (grant it we were talking and making otu the whole time), but I can say I'm extremely disappointed.

I really thought he was going to be someone special. And mayte's comment about me deserving love made me so excited, because I do deserve a good boyfriend I can fall in love with.

It's just so hard to find someone when you're all dark and twisty like me. Although, I will admit that this year I've become much less dark and twisty and have been a lot nicer to people as opposed to last year's cynicism and grouchiness.

Idk. we shall see. i'm moving on and still dreaming. one day some glorious man will prove me wrong about my distaste for male gender.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

The Good Life.

Soo... I've been doing a lot of research on the two different careers I want. In case you don't know, I'd like to be either an English professor teaching American Lit. or a Book Editor at a publishing company. But after the research I've decided there's only one thing that I REALLY wnat to do and that is to work for a publishing company in New York City. The job descriptions fits my personality perfectly. You read manuscripts sent in by agents, etc. all night and then pick out which ones should be considered. Then you edit the manuscript down and work with graphic designers to find an acceptable cover and you schedule events to promote the books. You also wine and dine with poets and writers galore to push your company. Doesn't that sound scrumptious?

Anyway, I spent the last hour googling publishing companys and internships for this summer. They all seem like so much fun.

I can just see myself now, waking up in a soapboxed sized apartment with books and clothes thrown everywhere only to go outside into the greatness of NYC to my little office decorated with plants where I'll spend my time reading and writing and eating lunch with poets.

My name's Danni and i'd like a big blue.

Last night was rather enjoyable. Alcohol was involved of course (it always is with me). My friend Michelle and I started drinking in the early evening and then went to a beach themed party at ten. We were so drunk by the time we got there that we just acted silly the whole time. For example, we decided to change our names. For the whole night I introduced myself as Danni (with an I of course) and Michelle introduced herself as cruella (yeah, like 101 dalmations). We drank like 5 mixed drinks called Big Blue (named after our school's mascot).

It was really nice. Michelle is very nice, and smart, and funny. We just randomly met one day at a housing meeting and hit it off so well. I literally said, "You seem really cool. We should be friends." And that's exactly what happened.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

The Day I was a Bird (a short story by me)

There I was standing in the sunshine, my head tilted back, with one pig tail in my mouth, looking into the deep blue yonder that made up the sky. The breeze swayed around me, caressing my bare legs and arms. I was eight years old and the world felt like mine for the taking. It was there in my front yard that I played my games filled with imaginary people living playfully in their beautiful and colorful imaginary worlds. And it was there that my heart broke for the very first time.
That day I had pretended to be a bird. Birds always seemed like such lovely creatures to me. They were often colorful and they sang little songs that warmed the hearts of those around them. They flew, so free, into the sky with no restraint, but their own desires and appetites. So, yes, that day, playing all alone (as usual), I pretended to be a bird.
I spent hours creating a nest big enough for me to sit in. My objective was to make it look realistic. So, I ran around the yard with my lanky legs dressed in bright blue shorts, looking for branches and pine needles that I could push together. After much time and with great patience, I had sculpted what I thought was the most beautiful and useful, human sized bird’s nest.
I sat in the nest, with my legs tucked under me, the backs of my bare feet behind me, looking up toward the sun. I flapped my arms around, keeping my elbows tucked in by my underarms, going “Caw, Caw.” I felt so peaceful and at ease, just sitting there basking in the rays of summer. But after a few short minutes, I grew tired of just sitting idly in the nest. So, I ran stealthily back inside, leaving the heavy front door open behind me, to find one of my favorite Junie B. Jones books.
After a few minutes of searching my bookshelf I discovered the deep purple covered book, adorned with the face of an independent 8 year old tomboy- a hero of mine- that I cherished so dearly. I grabbed it and then ran back out; fearing that wind or some other element beyond my control might disrupt the nest that I had put so much work into. When I got back to the nest, I let out a sigh of relief. There it was, perfectly intact just as it was when I left. However, the scenery surrounding it had suddenly changed.
Instead of seeing an empty street lined with cookie cutter faux colonials, I saw kids playing. Girls and boys littered the street, moving around on bikes and roller skates, there was even a go-cart. A pang of envy and fear erupted in my chest. These were the kids that made fun of me. These were the kids that left me out. They wouldn’t treat me like everyone else. Instead they treated me like a leper for some reason unbeknownst to me. They called me names like “retard” and “freak.” And they laughed at me in a symphonic chorus when I failed to return an effective insult. But oh how I wanted to ride in that go-cart.
Attempting to ignore their presence, I settled back into my nest and opened my book. But the book could have been upside down for all I knew. No matter how hard I tried to focus on the words, my eyes kept moving up and looking over the page, to where the kids were playing. Their presence was like a magnet, pulling my attention unforgivably without a break in time.
I felt so sad sitting there all alone in my bird’s nest. I felt like a fool. There I was with dirty bare feet and a stained tye dye t-shirt, while the girls I wanted to play with, wore crisp white knee socks, hopping around doing double dutch, laughing and loving each other all the while. My friendships with imaginary people were like pieces of earth and mud in comparison to the fire of theirs. Theirs were real. And I was jealous. But I was also hurt, because they rejected me so often. How could I want to be friends with people who made fun of me? This irony left me feeling even more foolish and out of place.
I was lost in my thoughts and emotions, so, I didn’t notice a boy come up to me. There I was staring stupidly into a tree thinking my thoughts, with my mouth hanging open, when he said “wake up, freak.” I turned to look at him, all five feet of him. He had curly brown hair and an arrogant smile on his pale white face. His t-shirt informed me that he played baseball for some little league Dodgers team, while, his dirty hands showed me he liked to played ruff. I was scared. This was the boy who’d laughed his hardest once when I fell off the monkey bars and busted my lip open. I was crying hysterically out of shock and all he did was laugh. Instinctively I had called out for my Mother who was miles away at work. He laughed even harder at this, but only until the teacher came rushing over to my aid. I hated this boy.
“What do you want,” I said with attitude. “I just want to play,” he said innocently. I was literally speechless. I was shocked, by how genuine he seemed. I didn’t know what to say. “No you don’t,” I yelled on the side of caution. “Relax, butt head. I just think your nest is cool,” he said. I looked at him wearily. As if to put up a white flag, he asked me to teach him how to build one.
I was suddenly ecstatic. Here it was. The moment my Mother had promised me. The moment when someone actually wanted to be my friend. I was rushing around my yard helping him put together a nest when I decided to just give him mine. Giving up my nest and making a new one was very worth having a new friend I thought. He thanked me graciously. I was about half way through with the new nest when the girls that I secretly wanted to be friends with showed up. At first I was excited, because I thought that they would want to join us, but instead they chanted “Eeww” ceremoniously, saying “Jeremy loves Kim.” They laughed like little baby hyenas. I looked at Jeremy expecting him to yell back at them in my defense, I had given him my nest after all. But instead he just looked at me with disgust and informed the girls that he was just using me for my nest. They all laughed harder. And as they did so, my body temperature rose as my stomach dropped.
What world is this, I thought. Why is it that I can dream of such nice people, but they can’t exist? I was angry. No I was furious. No, better yet, I was ape shit insane. I screamed at them, as the straw broke my back. I had no restraint left in me. I suddenly felt free as I saw their laughs and smiles drop into frowns. “Shut up,” I screamed over and over. I felt wild and savage and oddly free. And I could tell that I was scaring them. Good, I thought. You deserve to feel small and threatened, just like you make me feel.
But, no. Jeremy refused to fall down to my wrath. Instead, he kicked a part my nests, grabbed my book and ran away with the girls going full speed. I saw them mount their bikes and peddle out of the cul-de-sac, snickering at my outburst all the while.
I refused to accept the situation. So, I raced after them, running as fast as my legs could go. I was no longer Kim. I was no longer human. No. I felt like I was the combined spirits of every kid who had ever been picked on relentlessly by other children. I felt hungry for justice. And they were my food.
After a few minutes of full fledge sprinting, I caught up with them. They were sifting through the very appealing furniture Mrs. Minowitz left out at her curb for trash pick-up two blocks down. I took advantage of the fact that they didn’t see me coming. I ran up right behind Jeremy and literally kicked him in the butt. “Give me my book back,” I screamed at them through angry tears, dust from the day’s work caked onto my face. I was shaking. They noticed this and laughed once again, but this time there was a sense of fear in their laugh. They saw the raging beast in me ready to depart from its cage, ready to take back what had been stolen so viciously.
“No,” he yelled defiantly. He looked me up and down as if to judge what he saw in front of him. Sizing me up, he said quietly “You stole this book from me.” Before I knew what I was doing I started kicking him and punching him, screaming, “I hate you, you liar, give me my book back.” The last words seemed to fall off the cliff I was holding up with my anger. They parachuted down through my sadness and crumbled in my tears. The girls just stood there, showing no sympathy. True monsters, I thought as I attempted to catch my breath.
But before I could think anything more or say anything, Jeremy chucked the book forward at me. It soared straight toward me with fierceness and hit me hard in my chest. The book’s spine hurt as it collided with my sudden inability to breathe.
And then they ran. They ran fast and hard away from me down the street. But I didn’t care. All I thought about was how pathetic the book looked on the ground a page torn and crumpled at my feet from harsh handling. I saw my Mother’s face, a somewhat distorted reflection of my own, flash inside my head. She was happy and smiling, as I looked at the book for the first time. It was a present from her. I fell to my knees, right there in the street and picked it up. I cradled it and felt grief pour through my veins like cold water from a faucet. I felt grief for the book. And I felt grief for myself. This wasn’t the life I imagined. Sitting there, in the midst of the other kid’s dust with my dirty feet and hands, I cried without restraint. And I felt my heart break for myself. I felt my spirit truly crumble into a million little insignificant pieces for the very first time.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Welcome to Woodstock

I have met a wonderful guy who I really like and who just happens to like me back. It all started with a cigarette. I was at this woodstock party off campus where you dress like a hippie, smoke pot, and drink cheap beer all night. The house was really trippy. They had a huge big screen tv that played footage of the real woodstock all night and they had music from the 60s just flooding the air. The ambiance was perfect. And of course there was some pong. Well, since I am indeed addicted to smoking, I had to step outside to smoke. And there he was. Smoking himself. We started talking and then stayed there talking for like two hours. We talked about everything. Life. Love. Depression. Religion. Politics. Drugs. It was rather magical.
The party was eventually busted by the cops, so, we ran away together with our friend Isabelle. We all went back to her house to drink some more. When all of a sudden I see two of my "friends" walk out with handles (bottle so big they need handles, just in case you don't know) and start walkign around campus. SO STUPID. cops are everywhere. I go to school in the middle of a rather metropolitan city where crime occurs, quite often to say the least. So, yeah, cops... are everywhere. And they're just walking around drunk and oblivious. Anyway, I chase after them to tell them to stop when all of a sudden cops jump out of the bushes and yell at us to stop. I swear to god, my heart skipped a beat in that moment. My stomache dropped and all I could think about was being arrested after doing a breathilizer. Well, as these thoughts race through my mind the boys throw the handles over a fence and one of them starts running from the cops. yes, he fucking ran and left me and theother boy in his dust. I thought I was going to either cry or pee my pants. The cops ran toward us and demanded the boys name, which I gave, hoping it would get me out of trouble. But they still wouldn't let me go. I started to beg a little and they yelled at me to stop talking, but finally after much yelling at me and giving the other boy a citation they let us go. I wasn't in trouble thank God. But I found out later that the boy who ran was eventually found, tackled, and arrested. yikes.

Anyway, I called miles right away and he met me in the middle within seconds. He wrapped his arms around me as I shook. He even picked a flower off a tree to make me feel better. I was grateful.

Since that night, miles and I have hung out non stop. He's kind of amazing. He doesn't care that my room looks like a disaster site littered with books and paper scraps. He doesn't care that I'm always hungry. And he makes me feel beautiful. Sometimes we just lay in my bed, silently, listening to the lyrics of good music. It's the best feeling.

I am very excited to see where this goes.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Friday, September 11, 2009

Today will be better I swear.

"you've got a fast car, but is it fast enough so you could fly away? you've gotta make a decision. you leave tonight or live and die this way."

So, all I've been doing since school started is fucking school. I've taken no breaks to pleasure myself with phone calls to friends or trips to the gym. I've just been working. peck. peck. pecking away at my computer. I take smoke breaks, yes, to listen to my ipod. But everything else is dedicated to school. And that makes me feel zombie-esque, especially since most of what my school work centers on is only moderately challenging shit that takes hours to memorize. On the weekends, when I'm finally done, I just chase after freedom from school. I suck it down until I forget about all my obligations. And usually I drink until I'm shitfaced or lying in my underwear next to some snoring guy in some random bedroom on a street whose name I never know. This is not good. And it's obvious enough that I don't need to explain why. I mean, living life that way is fucked up and it will screw you over in the end. My liver will fail me. My mind will rot. And I might lose my hair. It sounds fun, and it is fun for a little bit, but after awhile... it just gets old, and the hangovers, get painfully familiar, and you just get tired of it all.

Anyway, this weekend I plan to change. I plan to better myself. I will only drink 'till I glow and get sloppy. I will not drink until I'm leaning over a toilet. I will not make out with strangers. And I will not make a fool of myself. And when Monday comes, I will relax. I will take everything in stride and I will not let myself get overwhelmed with the need to produce perfection. Like I said, I will relax. And I'll sleep peacefully. My life will be better... hopefully.

I'm starting to feel silly though with all these goals. I want so much to change. I want everything. And that scares me, because wanting to change everything means getting rid of all that I have. And I'm not sure whether I'm ready to get rid of the manic, pot smoking, writer/wreck of a freaky, and dark, and twisty girl. Weird, huh?

Sometimes I feel like I don't even know who I am anymore. I'm at an age where the things I make habits of will begin to deifne what type of adult I will be. So, I'm going crazy trying to figure out not only who I am, but what I want to be, and what I don't want to be.

Right now, I just want to be a strong, educated woman who I can be proud of. I don't know if this lady will smoke or not and I don't know if she'll run 5 miles a day and swim laps to stay healthy. I just know that she'll be proud of herself. This is all I'm sure of.

P.S. I ahve to write a short story about childhood for my creative writing class. I will post the whole thing on here soon, but for now, I'll leave you with a little clip that sort of captures what the story is about. But I will tell you ahead of time that it's about a little girl who's constantly picked on and eventually stands up for herself.

Alright clip goes as follows:

What world is this, I thought. Why is it that I can dream of such nice people, but they can’t exist? I was angry. No I was furious. No, better yet, I was ape shit insane. I screamed at them, as the straw broke my back. I had no restraint left in me. I suddenly felt free as I saw their laughs and smiles drop into frowns. I felt wild and savage like. And I could tell that I was scaring them. Good, I thought. You deserve to feel small and threatened, just like you make me feel.
But, no. Jeremy refused to fall down to my wrath. Instead, he kicked a part my nests, grabbed my book and ran away with the girls going full speed. I saw them mound their bikes and peddle out of the cul-de-sac, snickering nervously all the while.
I refused to accept the situation. So, I raced after them, running as fast as my legs could go. I was no longer Kim. I was no longer human. No. I felt like I was the combined spirits of every kid who had ever been picked on relentlessly by other children. I felt hungry for justice. And they were my food.

Sooo, what do you think? Too intense? Too lame? Let me know.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Some days are better than others.

It started with rain, no, more like drizzle this morning. I stupidly left my building wearing soffees and flip flops to go to the cafeteria during what was basically a shower of rain. I was cold, wet, tired, and cranky. Then when I got to the cafeteria, they were all out of bacon... my favorite breakfast food. I had to eat cereal instead. alas, I get back to my room and realize I am running late for class. So, I rush to shower and put on what I hope was an atleast semi- attractive outfit. I was in a bad mood this morning. All I wanted to do was wear all black and just sit in class with a hat and sunglasses on with coffee hoping to blend in with the wall. But Latin teacher tells everyone we're doing skits today. So, now, I can't just blend in with the wall, no, now I have to actually get in front of the class and act (I played the narrator). ugh. Then I get to the cafeteria for lunch and I spill a glob of mustard and ketchup and mayo (all mixed together) in the crotch of my jeans. lameo shlamo. what a troublesome day.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

"That's why her hair's so big...It's full of secrets."

I just now realized (like a week later) that a few people have given me one of those blog awards. So, er, cheers to some random facts about moi.

1. When I was little and I couldn't sleep I'd make both my parents come in to my room and sing me to sleep. But instea dof the typical lullabyes most kids got, my parents would sing "Under the board walk" to me. lolz. They just randomly picked it one night and I fell in love. I insisted on it every time after that. My dad would scratch my back while he and my mom just laughed and sang. Those are honestly some of my best childhood memories. I am the third of four children. So, to have attention like that from both mom and dad is a big deal.

2. I love birds and trees. If ever I get a tatoo, I promise you, it will pertain to either a bird or a tree. I don't know why I love those symbols so much. I just know that every time I see a picture of a bird or a beautiful oak tree, I feel safe and complete.

3. I love it when people use "mother fucking" as an adjective... 0.o

4. I am a smoker.

5. I'd like to go to Hong Kong one day and eat spring rolls. Then I'd like to go to Russia and where super tight black pants with a striped turtle neck. I'd wear dark red lip stick and drink whisky all day.

6. I like it when people are good at accepting compliments. For once I'd like someone to say, "why, thank you" instea dof "ohmygosh, no, way, I look so fat."

7. I'm not good at being around mean people. my skins not so tuff.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

There is nothing quite like college football.

Last night I went to my school's first football game in basically 60 years. Tailgaters were everywhere. And the smell of bbq and pride created the perfect ambiance. My school is huge and therefore our campus is huge, but that didn't matter the campus was still completely covered with tailgaters and blue shirted people with face paint and confetti. Then when we got to the stadium the most exciting things started to ahppen. Well, first of all, I must add that tickets were sold out. So there was not an empty seat anywhere. Then two guys jumped from an airplane and parachutted down to the field all the while doing flips and spins and other cool things. I posted some pictures of it. When the kickoff came, canons went off (the area surrounding my campus is all about some military bases, hard core Navy shit). The game ended with fireworks and the spirit of a win. A good time was had by all.

Friday, September 4, 2009

busy bee on amphetamines

Hola amigos. As you can tell from the title of this post, I have been ridiculously busy. And as such, I have missed out on the simple pleasures of blogging and talking to my best friends on the phone (sorry kait!). And at this moment I am feeling rushed seeing as I only have twenty more minutes to surf ze web and blog, before i have to go to my bio lab.

Well, as I've posted before, I want to become more active this year. I want to make new friends and do stuff. Last year, all I did was homework, hangout with my roommate, homework, and hangout with my roommate... which was nice and all, but it could've been better.

So far, I've tried out for club soccer. I went to the informational meeting and got all these handouts and met a lot of new people that seem really nice. Practice starts next week, yikes! I'm not really nervous about conditioning, because I already run three 1/2 miles at the gym everyday and lift weights. What I'm nervous about is working with the ball. The only experience I have with soccer is one season of JV. And I wa son the bench that whole time! I think it'll work out though for the best, because I'm going to work really hard and do everything the coach tells me. That should be good enough, right? Anyway, I have to act as a ball girl tonight for the real girl's soccer team.

Besides that, I applied for Fall Formal Greek Rush week. Oh my goodness so nerve racking. Each day is full of meets and greets, but you only get to progress with it throughout the week if you're invited back. So, lets say some sororities invite me back on Tuesday and then change their mind. I won't be able to go back on wednesday. If no one bids on me, I don't join a sorority. It's all up to them. I hope they like me. My mom and I are going shopping for some new shit, that way I'll have some cute dresses. One of my greek friends said it's important to look and act memorable at these things. If you don't stand out, they won't remember you and thus will not invite you back. zo scary. But I'm not too worried, because even if I don't make it, I still have great friends ( even if not very many) to spend my time with.

There are so many more things I have to say about these two topics and a bunch more to bring up, but alas I have no time to do it at this moment. And therefore, will write back when I do.

Adios amigos.