I Am Stranded

Christmas came! And passed. Much too quickly. I'm somewhat upset about not being able to go around singing Christmas Carols at the top of my lungs without getting strange looks from people. But it is rather nice to not feel guilty about listening to music that is not Christmas themed. So I am pulling out my favorite bands again. Dr. Dog, Cold War Kids, Anberlin, Switchfoot - it's fantastic. And, at the moment, binging on folk music.


But, as happy as that makes me, I want to go home. See, the thing is, I'm stranded. Stuck might be more accurate a word, but Oh Well. Half way through Christmas day (while I was in the process of writing down all of the publishers belonging to my books), The Boy showed up to take me to his house. We winded up playing Scattegories and Apples to Apples until one in the morning. Which meant that my ride home was mucho tired and I got to stay the night. Cool, okay, I can crash here.

Then, today, it begins snowing while he was at work. I had stayed so that he could take me out shopping for something after work. Now, we live an hour away from each other, so, when snow began coming down, and his parents who used to live in a snowless Florida began freaking out... I was doomed to stay. So here I am, wanting to go home and paint.

So instead I blog. Brilliant, I know. But since I was on the computer playing on Youtube anyway, I figured, why not.





This is what I am listening to, by the way. Good stuff. But not the song I was looking for. Merrrrrr.......

You know, I could be productive and write something. Or read the book sitting in my bag that I NEED to finish. But wait, BAHAHAHA. Me? Do something productive? Nahhhhh. That's silly. (Remember, I like to procrastinate.Being productive is as likely to happen as me having musical ability is. Possible, but not too probable)

I just realized, I am the only girl in this house. Besides the mom. Three boys. No wonder I feel like I'm going slightly insane. Too much testosterone. Which is not sexist by the way. Too much estrogen makes me really tired and worn out.Video games and angry games of Monopoly and really weird singing... Yeah. Not stuff I am that used to. For various reasons, but still. It's getting to me.

The snow is really pretty though!! I want to go out and play in it! One problem though. I came here wearing fake Toms shoes, so I might as well go out barefoot. Lovely. We tried to solve the lack of snow stuff problem with fun results. The one Bro, I fit in his jeans.

Nothing too special, right? He is probably a foot taller than me and not exactly fat. I'm short and my love of food shows. But, buuuutttttt.... His pants fit me. Perfectly. It's wonderful! My own pants are so much long -

Bro #2 is singing Hannah Montana. And Dancing. This is hilarious, guys. I wish I could show you. He even has a hairbrush.

I think I will now be social and stop talking to people that, well, I can't see. Not even sure you are actually reading this. And if you actually are Hello =) But, goodbye! I'm off!

With a Week 'Til Christmas

 

Christmas is in a week. I have yet to get most people gifts. This also includes obtaining the necessary supplies to make people things. As I am finding that I can spend twenty minutes painting something, spend a total of five bucks (at most) and viola! the perfect present. Problem is, I have no money (I kid you not. I have absolutely NO money) until Friday. Friday, I have my sister's birthday party. Then Saturday I have a trip to the City. Sunday I have something. I forget what, but you don't plan on stalking me, so it matters not. I pretty much have Monday and Christmas Eve left to shop and make stuff.

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I really don't care that much by the way. I now have an excuse to lock myself in my room blasting Christmas music and getting paint EVERYWHERE. 

Like this!

 Except I am female and a bit older... So it looks even more ridiculous and is probably ten times harder to clean up. Ask my bathroom sink, which is now stained this ridiculous pink. And my cat, who is now spotted green on her paw. 

I love painting. I love mixing colors and playing with textures and having little dots all over my hands and my pants. I love creating things. I love watching how the same colors put together can give off a dark mood, then I use them again and they are all hopeful and happy.  I love the feeling of having accomplished something that I poured part of myself into. 

Wait. Wait a minute. This sounds... Kinda like... writing... Hmmm.... (Why am I overusing the wonderful ellipses?)

Funny. Since I am writing again. When I should be doing other things. 

Such as:
1.) Calling the DMV that way I can drive my car. (Oh, yeah, I have a car! It's white and has a tiny crack in the windshield. And has an automatic seat that creeps me out and makes me squeal. There are dents all over. Basically, I love it!)
2.) Taking a trip to my high school that way I can send my transcript to my college and maybe, I don't know, attend classes!
3.) Sew the bag I'm making for my sister's birthday. Which is, heh heh, tomorrow.
4.) Do my laundry - I'm in serious need of socks and underwear. Things I can't wear for five days in a row.
5.) Clean my room. A tornado did not hit it, so I shouldn't confuse people. 

Actually, I should probably end my babbling now so that I can get at least one of those things accomplished. Maybe. If not, I can do it tomorrow, right? =)

December is here!

 

Three weeks until Christmas is here. I have three weeks left to stress out about presents and money and finding the thing I need to get my license that way I can drive the car I found (only 400 bucks. If we didn't know the person who owns it, it would be 1600.) to the college I have applied to.

But, to take the stress down, I only have five books left before I hit the 100 mark for this year. My goal had been 75. So this makes me very happy and gives me some happiness in all the wonderful stress accompanying me everywhere. And I mean it when I say everywhere. I used to destress during showers. Oh no! Not anymore! Now I am fretting over what to say to whom about various things and what to do about what and buy this for this person and crap, I get paid twice this month and the one paycheck goes entirely to a car - ALL I WANT IS TO LAY IN BED AND READDDDDD!!!

Then my laptop broke.




Which was entirely my fault. I kinda might have forgotten it was open when I tackled someone and then in the process tackled the laptop and now the screen is really cool looking but entirely useless. Like the cookie I burned the other day that looked like Maine.

 I had been using it (the laptop, not the cookie) to keep track of the many books I have out from the library and so when it broke and I couldn't, I freaked out. Even more so once I discovered that all the library receipts had disappeared. And... and... the car broke down. So the books due that day couldn't be returned. I really really needed to be able to just sit down and read. Or write. But people wouldn't let me read and none of my characters would cooperate.

Thankfully, I have my job to go to every morning.

I know. Le gasp. I like my job. Actually, I don't like it. I LOVE it. I get to play with little kids and get paid for it. And now that it's the Holiday season, I get to have fun singing Christmas songs with them and painting their hands to make little Manorrahs... Menorahs... Yeah... And we make holiday themed foods (like latkas. i love latkas). It's fantastic.

So between that, the books I smuggle in (while on dates and every time I am being driven somewhere -besides insane), and being able to belt out Christmas songs at the top of my lungs, I can handle the stress. Well, no. That's a lie. The whole presents thing haunts me, but, that's fine. It's the only way I will be able to chip away at the list of people to buy/make stuff for anyway.

What Writing Does

       

I am failing at NaNoWriMo worse than I failed algebra (I rocked pre-calc by the way, even though it's ten times harder. No idea how that happened). I write solely during church services. Oh, and waiting at the psychologist's office - for my sister, surprisingly enough. That's about once a week for maybe two hours tops. Not much writing gets done.

But, beautiful thing writing is, I still feel the effects of it. I'm not sure whether that's good or bad, as, well, you'll see.

So, since I can't say anything about my writing, outside of it going somewhere slower than a sloth, I have a list of things writing does. Some of these may just be me and my weirdness, but other things are pretty universal. Outside of occasional freaks who write simply because they are good at it and might as well be clipping their nails. By the way, those people are not humans. If you meet one - RUN, very far and pretty darn fast.

1.) It helps express emotions.
     Writerly people either have a ton of emotions that are everywhere and everyone can tell what is going on because it is practically written across their faces or they hold it all in and seem to be a constant weird. I tend to be the latter one unless PMSing. Then, forget it, you know exactly how I feel. 
          Note that the latter kind of writer is not emotionless. We are not Bella Swan and walk around either looking like walls or we are about to barf. 
                  
                                                            Not us. Not in the least. We spaz at least.

      Well, anyway, those emotions need to get out somehow - or in a healthy nonallovereverybodywithinreach way. Writing does that. Having a bad day? The character has a bad day or goes through something or the pen is suddenly on the verge of breaking through to the other page. And whenever the writing is over, it's all good. We don't have to pretend to be okay or go around stomping/crying everywhere.

2.) It gives us something to do in class or at the doctor's office or anywhere boring.
     This is pretty much self-explanatory. But just in case you haven't been anywhere boring lately (I envy you. Please share how this is possible, maybe take my place at the doctor's office), sometimes, in life, things happen that have us sitting there not entirely sure what to do, our attention on nothing in particular, sleep seeming really exciting. But, suddenly add a pen and some paper and viola! Suddenly there is nowhere you would rather be. (This is a great way to get through class because it looks like insane note-taking, given a few pauses over possible grammatical errors or the name of a character, when the teacher sounds like he came from Charlie Brown's world.)

3.) Writing provides a fantastic way to scare people away.
     This is something entirely optional, but if ever looking to scare someone away, just look to whatever story you are writing at the moment and I promise you, something can be found to gush over that will scare that annoying guy who keeps on smiling at you away. Perhaps it's a death you are absolutely torn over (begin crying and snotting everywhere if at all possible). This is considered abnormal because aren't we in control of who dies? So why do we get upset over character's deaths? (If this question is asked, feel free to glare and begin shouting at the top of your lungs). Or maybe you are absolutely ecstatic/very very mad over a romance. Either way, extreme feelings towards a romance and going on and on about how amazing/annoyingwhydidtheyhavetoenduptogether? can scare someone off.
      My personal favorite is when a language being created is mentioned and then the language is used. That can be scary as heck. Or so various guys I scared away have said.

Without writing...

4.) Helps with sanity.
     Seriously. It does. Those voices going around your head that just don't make any sense? Try writing them down. Suddenly there's a story and they are happy, and when the story is done, gone! Unless you beg them to stay that is. Some are just that loveable.
    Writing really does help me with my sanity. I can tell when it's been too long since I sat down and wrote if things beginning making less sense and I'm depressed and angry and acting really weird. If I'm suddenly acting like five different people, chances are I need to write. And then I write and almost instantly am back to good ol' optimistic, freaking people out, bouncing off the walls me.
    And, when stressed, instead of dealing with all the crap that can come from that, simply writing really eases the stress and is something productive. So instead of going insane from stress, writers try to write.

5.) Writing is a way to escape reality
     Life sucks. Let's face it. There are bad people and the news is scary and Billy Graham is alive when we thought he died ten years ago (or maybe that's just me...?). And there's not much magic left to reach out to and grab ahold of. Even if you try to, someone is there saying it's not scientific and thus not real, you are insane. Sometimes it is enough to make the beautiful things fade away and you are left with a burnt biscuit that is glaring at you.
     Writing helps us remember the good, helps us to see it in everyday life and situations. We give our characters hope and find we have it ourselves; it was just buried away somewhere deep. And even if the ending isn't a happy one, my goodness, something turned out alright. Things all worked out in there own sad, beautiful way.
          To get to that place, we must first delve into another's reality and stop living our own lives. When we pick up the pen (or begin pounding on a laptop), it's like that moment when Lucy whisks the covering off the wardrobe. It's exciting, unsure, and the beginning of a journey, en escape from whatever war is happening in our own lives. We go on adventures and meet new people and help them. Sometimes we visit old friends and learn more about them. When we come back, it's as a new person it seems. And we are slightly better suited for reality. We come out of our wardrobe of words knowing that there is a certain magic in the unfairness of life.

6.) New Friends!
     Really. I kid you not. Writing is pretty solitary for most people and writer's aren't always the best people persons. But when a writer meets another writer, there is something there that breaches awkwardness. Even if all they do is talk about their characters and how upsetting the characters are and the inksplots that may or may not look like a cow that appeared randomly on a leg, nothing can take the place of a writerly friend. It's fantastic.
    And fun! So much fun! Having someone who shares your weird pains and fears that deal with beings that do not live in this reality is fantastic. At times it's as though that other person is a drug and you walk away from them high. You can scare people together! And learn each others' languages! Argue about what genre a story belongs in!

Writing does so much more, by the way. It's like peanuts. Thousands of uses and purposes. There are even people who claim to be allergic to it (those people we feel really sorry for. How can they live without writing??). And a whole ton of people take is for granted and dismiss it. Use it only for their sandwiches. Such a waste. But writing stands firm in its wonderfulness.

It's also hilarious at times....

                      

People Suck abut Anberlin is Amazing

People Suck. Absolutely positively suck. They enrage me and cause parts of me that really enjoy weapons to flare up and wish the peace-loving part of me weren't so strong outside of my house.

Happy, I know. But people just keep on failing and keep on giving me reason to dislike them and want to incinerate them on the spot and then bring them back to life because I would rather not have guilt eating me up all my life. They ruin everything! Not just lines in the grocery store or movies that could be good or my drive home from work. Nope. That was too easy. Now, they have to find new inventive ways of ruining my concert experience.

I'm used to the typical Concert Jerks. You know, those people who believe that even though they are five times your height they need to push past you to stand in front of you? Or the drunk people who smell so strongly of alcohol it feels as if you are the drunk one? But the people I had to deal with really brought out that secret psycho killer in me.

I am all for Dancing at concerts. The jumping up and down and fist pumping (Okay, maybe that's not dancing, but it's the closest thing for most people at a rock concert). Some swaying. Maybe even hip movement. But when the dancing takes over twenty feet and involves insane groping, tongues flashing everywhere, and pelvis interaction that normally makes babies - I now want to see you thrown out.

And it wasn't just a single person, or even a person and their Person. Nope. It was a whole group of ridiculous people who seriously need to learn the difference between their bedroom and a concert.

I should have known to run and hide when I first looked over. She was wearing tighter-than-skin pants with a tighter-than-skin shirt that covered very little of her feminine charm. And there was a guy slung around her hips. I decided not to be judgmental.

Ten minutes later the group is next to us. And now two guys are hanging on her. I turn to say something to The Boy and holy bits and pieces! There is a hand down her shirt. Does anyone else find this awkward or is it just me?

By the time the main band came on, I was trying not to puke as the group, now directly in front of us, began trying to have sex. Then more joined. Lovely!! And then were moving back, to allow for the space needed to do... stuff. Within five minutes, all because of this "dancing", we had gone from within reaching distance of the stage to so far back I could hear myself singing along to the songs. And the wonderful sight of pelvis thrusting and moaning and groping and stuff I try to avoid was still right there.

Until I decided, what is ten feet anyway? And went back even further.

But, outside of that, the concert was amazing. The first two bands - unknowns with really attractive members and amazing vocals - were good. I later bought their CD and got made fun of for being "adorable" when asking them to sign. And the headliner - Anberlin - was amazing. This wasn't the first time I got to see them live, hopefully not the last, but I was still amazed. Especially because I'm not the biggest fan of their newest album, Vital, but the songs were up to par live.

To anyone who is a fan of Anberlin  - seeing them live is totally worth it.

NaNoWriMo Begins to Infect Me

It's a week into National Novel Writing Month and.... I have written very little. It's a bit of a disappointment. But. BUT BUT BUT. I have a title. Which may not sound impressive. At all. But I have this habit of avoiding naming my stories as if they are the name of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (is that secretly saying that everything I write is evil?).

                                         

The story has nothing to do with him though. Or, as far as I can tell it doesn't. Who knows? Little psychotic Belle/Macy/Lily might have a secret obsession with him. Believe you me, that would not be surprising. Her one joy in life is freaking people out with how dark and creepy and morbid and awkward she is. When she was four she would threaten to tie her parents to their bed and light the bed on fire - and laugh as they burned to death. So taking a fancy with a certain Creep would be right up her alley.

She's actually the one who whispered the title to me. I think it's lame and cannot see the relevance of it for my life, but she is insisting it will fit perfectly in the end.

Comatose. The name of the first Skillet album I bought. So it feels all unoriginal and slightly stupid, but hey, I have a name.

Of course, the three people hanging telling the story won't tell me their names. Maybe I can threaten to send them off to fight a war or into a collapsing building or something life-threatening to get them to spill. Having to put ________ where all names should be is sad and frustrating as I begin to think I am a complete failure at being a writer.

Which I am, I'm sure, but do I really need to be told so through a lack of names fifteen pages in? No, not really. I much prefer having The Boy laugh at whatever obvious mistake I made.

Well, of to sew some pants, throw some pillows, and dance in the snow.

On the Risk of Being Mushy

I have decided that the best part about any romance is the tacky quotations I can procure and pretend I want to happen in real life. You know, the part where the guy declares his undying love and the girl goes all mushy and then they kiss and happily ever after? Then the guys watching it roll their eyes and the girls go "Awwww!" Yeah, that part.

I actually really hate that part. Hated it. I would roll my eyes, maybe even laugh, 'cause seriously, what guys says those thing? No guy who isn't a fictional character. (Thus the lack of amazing romantic quips from any of my male characters.)

And then I met The Boy. I should have run away screaming and throwing things as soon as my lovely friend said anything about how perfect we would be for each other. I should have kicked him when he stared at me and shook his head when I was muttering about how I am a useless stupid human being. I should never have said anything about liking being the one in darkness because then no one had to see my face and then he never would have said "But I like seeing your face, it's beautiful."

And I would have never found myself thinking OhmyGoodness. An actual real-life breathing boy that I know said that! 





Love Comments


But then, I wouldn't have been being a grouch today and stomping around grumbling about anything I could when a certain Person wrapped his arms around me in a hug. And that made me smile. 

And if that hadn't happened this wouldn't have happened:

The Boy: Do you know what is one of the best things in the world?

Me: Erm... Bagels?

The Boy: No, silly. When I see you smiling like that.

And suddenly, I was in a book. Or a movie. And the Perfect Guy was looking at me and saying that me smiling is the best thing in the world. And I went all mushy and there was a kiss. But instead of rolling my eyes this time, I closed them and thanked God for giving me a guy straight out of a book. 

Two Years Later...

I am too lazy to start a new one. And wanted to have one now that I finally have access to a computer every day. Something I abuse on a regular basis. (Thank you Pinterest for sucking up hours upon hours of my time). So I am simply taking this one back up. (Although, maybe I am no longer that Mindless Innocent...)

First thing first - my writing. Ha. Fail. Joke.

Well, the past year was anyway. I have written only fragments of anything. Unless an essay, research paper, legal briefing, and hundreds of letters to one (very real) person count. The year before though was a beautiful one. I steadily worked on a story every day for two months. Didn't get very far, but it taught me a few lessons here and there. I figured out a bunch of things concerning Galsha, especially "religion" wise. That was a fantastic journey. Then - this was my shining moment - I finished a story. Oh yes, wrote every single little bit of it from start to finish and strung it all together and named it and every character within its words. In only two months.

Most of it was crap.

 My friend loved it (probably because she was practically the father of the thing, staying up late most nights to help me "feed" the "baby" and giving me encouragement whenever I needed it). Her mother thought she had officially lost it when she began squealing in excitement and jumping up as if she had won the lottery when I read her the last sentence. 

Which meant I had to look it over myself. Shadow People was a TOTAL wreck. But, hey, I completed something which was more than I could I could say for any other tale I was working on.

I began revising the thing in the beginning of the summer and am still daunted by the prospect.

Yet, I still plan on completing my other projects and scaring myself even more. At some point or another.

In other news... I have turned into a mushy mess of a hopeless romantic.

It's awful.

The last few books I read had me in tears. I now want to watch romantic flicks. Luna no longer annoys me. Not that she is around much any more to annoy me, but if she were we would get along splendidly. Well, as long as I wasn't mad at a certain boy person.

And... and... I am going to be setting out to write a full-blown romance. The way I think they should be done. With plenty of verbal and non-verbal smack-downs, plot twists, friendship, a ridiculous best friend, and no sex. Unless it's ridiculous best friend Number Two making some obnoxious comment.

Well, I am off to eat some pasta, paint some wood, and read a book.