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October 2008




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Oct. 11th, 2008

flower and clouds

Letters to the Future, Part II

Dear Husband,

First I'd like to mention, as I usually do, that I am sixteen and I don't know what it's like to be completely and utterly in love with someone, to want to spend every day with them, to think about them all day long, to imagine growing old. So by the time we're together, I hope I'm ready for all this.

It sounds like a crapload of work, marriage.

I hope I know what I'm getting into when I marry you. I just watched my mom's cousin get married, after only knowing the girl for a year (he proposed after six months). Is a year enough? Is one year an accurate preview of the next fifty? My own parents only knew each other three months, if you can believe that. I mean, I want to be sure I love you, it wouldn't be fair to you or to myself if I didn't want to give myself over completely.

If you are my husband and you are potentially reading this, then that means I went through with the whole deal thing. I don't play on ever having kids with no husband. I'd rather lose my dignity in a more fashionable and possibly unique way. This means I want kids. We have to have more than one, because we don't want the first one getting lonely, do we? And we can't spoil them at the wrong times, and we have to teach them. I don't want our kids to be mean or obnoxious or just plain old stupid.

We need a dog. Hopefully I'll have my Weinmations, but if not, we need to get on that.

And lastly...If you are my husband, it means I love you. A lot. As I said earlier, I'm not giving in after a mere three months or even six. If I marry you, then I am totally utterly completely sure I want you and only you. I act on impulse a lot, but never with something as [legally] binding as marriage. Ha. But seriously...I know in my heart that I already love you.

What a cliche phrase. Cheers, my life partner.



Oct. 9th, 2008


Letters to the Future, Part I

Dear Daughter,

When I was little, I asked my mom where babies were before they were born. She said they were in heaven with God, but once they were born and joined the rest of us heathens on earth, they forgot what it was like to talk to God one on one. It's 2008 and I'm sixteen years old, and hopefully, if you do exist, you are waiting up in heaven for me to be ready for you, talking to God about what a true heathen your mother is.

It's weird to think of myself as a potential mother; I always imagined myself with the whole big deal: a husband, kids, a home, and a career. That was when I was four and still believed I'd be a famous writer who rocked her own farm. I went through this phase of completely rejecting parenthood, and even marriage, but now I'm in that grayish area of, Hm, I really don't care what I'm doing later in life as long as I'm happy.

There are some things I want you to know, and the first is, I'm a horrible speaker. I hardly ever say the right things or roll my eyes at the right time even, and I'm a poor communicator. It may just be my own personal opinion, but I think I'm much better at writing letters. Which is why I write to you now, as a sixteen-year-old, because I know when I get older I'll forget half the things I wanted to tell you. So if ever in one day of your life I forget to tell you that I love you, don't take it personally. If I forget to say goodbye when you're on your way out to school, or I forget to say happy birthday or something else trivial like that, know that I, at the very least, think of you everyday. Just because someone doesn't say words, doesn't mean they don't feel them.

I want you to know that being sixteen is a real big mess. I consider myself different from everyone else, and I hope you do too. Like right now; everyone wears these hideous Uggs. But do I place those ill-fitted shoes considered so spectacular by my text-messaging, harlot-infected, stomach-pumped generation? No. That was a poor example, but I hope you catch my drift. I'm not the girl who spends her weekends sitting in someone's basement drinking, or the girl who wears jeans too short for her chunky legs, or the girl who can't stand to be ten feet away from their boyfriend. I'm the girl who writes songs on her acoustic guitar, slips herself onto the Varsity cheerleading team with no prior knowledge of how to be a cheerleader, refuses to cook because she thinks there's nothing wrong with packaged food, has at least one good friend in every clique, and likes to think of herself as an independent person with rather lazy qualities.

You, my daughter, will sadly probably fit this criteria too, though I do encourage you to try your own thing. As they say, to each his own. This may sound mean, but I hope you're not one of those Hollister-wearing girls who thinks she has to hook up with someone every week to be cool, who plays something ridiculous like volleyball and paints her room a shocking shade of purple and owns a pet rabbit. Don't be her, please.

Just know that being sixteen means driving, SATs, college visits, drinking, sweet sixteens, and a million other things. But really, it's just a number. Don't grow up too fast. Girls who try to grow up end up regretting it. Ask any adult, even those in college, and they will tell you they wish they were back in high school. High school may seem like a joke, but it's your last chance of no responsibility, until you're seventy and too old to even open your eyes on your own. Be open to responsilibity, but do take it easy. Remember to always give yourself some alone time to chill out and like, watch reruns of That 70s Show. You'll need that mental health time, no matter how much you deny it.

You might also want to find your special talent in life. Everyone has something, even if you're not good at it. You're a beautiful and unique snowflake, no matter how many times Tyler Durden tells you otherwise.

Oh, that's another thing. I'm a movie binger. Everything you need to know in life can be taught to you in movies. But movies are always the extreme version of things; it's either severly depressing, or extremely glamorized. Take everything you watch or read with a grain of salt.

And in the case of retarded things like Twilight, take the whole freaking sack. Harry Potter forever!

I want you to know that in the last two years, I've decided who my permanant friends will be. I have four that I hold dearest, in addition to the few at school that I hold second dearest. As my sister always points out, I don't have friends from kindergarten anymore, like she does, who are amazing and wonderful and brilliant and perfect. My friends are flawed and I complain about them a lot. But at the end of the day, I don't think I'd trade them for the world. They are everything to me even though things get very strained sometimes, whether I admit it to them or not. Don't explode on your friends, they deserve more than that.

Also, I have two friends that deal with depression. Not clinical depression, the kind with pills and doctors, but just...normal everyday sadness and all that. there for them. Even if you have nothing to say, listen to their problems, their tears, their complaints and their yelling. Trust me, you'll need them someday when you can't deal on your own anymore. And if they ever, ever hint at doing something bad to themselves, put a stop to it. Tell them to call you when they need to, when they feel alone, just do anything to keep them with you. They will thank you one day, and you will thank yourself.

From friends, to family. Family is a pain in the butt. I cannot stress how much I want us, our family, to be close. I've had so many problems with my family and I don't want that to happen to us. I want us to stay strong and stay close. I want to be a stay at home mom with you, I want to play with you everyday and love you and be there with you. I want to give you everything my mother gave to me, because it's so important to feel a mother's love. A mother is the one person who shows up to every one of your shows, even though you can't really sing, or play guitar even. She cuddles you when it's cold and sprays you with the hose when it's hot. She is the first one to love you, the first one to know you're making your big entrance into the world. She buys you McDonalds and then take you to the park. She apologizes when she yells at you for cutting another car off at the intersection. My mom is my number one right now, and I want to be that for you. Because even though you're still up there with God and you're not ready to come down yet, I know you're thinking of me as I think of you.

Oh, and don't forget dads. Dads are a bit different. They teach you how to ride a bike, they come to first your basketball games, then your cheerleading games, even though they'd rather watch your old team play than you dance on the sidelines. But they mean well, they really do. Please be daddy's little girl for me?

Sixteen is a riot. Socially, academically, and physically. Don't be a slacker like me, all right?

Love love and love,

Oct. 4th, 2008


I don't know, how to make you grow

Jill and I have our first booked show this Friday.

Another person booked that night is Kate Royal.

Kate Royal has, perhaps, the most amazing song I've ever heard. It's called "To Make You Grow" and I strongly advise anyone reading this to look her up on myspace. She's not the British opera singer you'll find on Google; she's an indie singer/songwriter. And of course, I'm jealous of her. Her music is so real, and so beautiful.

I recently wrote a song called "Spinning Downwards" and it brought Jill to tears. She said she loved it, and we're performing it on Friday. Stephanie told me the other day that Jill said I don't realize how much talent I have. Lisa is always telling me how good I am, it goes without saying that my mom loves my music, and even my dad has said I write deep stuff, and Jesse and Kim love "Jimmy Not James", and Danny has said I have a real future...but why do I feel like so far I'm failing as a musician?

I'm doing the best I can. But my songs never feel as real as Kate Royal's, or even Jesse's. Maybe because all my good songs are about love, and I've never had a real love yet. At least my acting skills seem good enough to make them seem good.

My mom and Dad are cleaning out the attic for the first time, ever, I believe. We're getting central air and the guys need to get up into the attic. The dust makes me itchy so I've been staying out of their way, but so far I've seen some pretty interesting articles of clothing, including past Christmas and Easter dresses, and the blouse my mom wore when she and my dad were officially married in the court. I wonder what it must be like, to see all these things they once hid away in the attic; do they regret throwing them out? If it were me, I know I'd remember every single thing up there, who gave it to me, how I used it, how I feel about it, and why it's up in the attic.

I've been sick twice so far, and it's hardly October. My road test is scheduled, I have a show coming up, and I'm unofficially Captain of my JV tennis team.

I should be happy.

Sep. 1st, 2008

flower and clouds

Scarlet Thunder

This is for anyone reading this, please please please please please check out my music page! I just shelled out $50 for two songs and I want some feedback! I would really love it if you could just visit the link below, listen to the first two recordings, and let me know what you think back here. If you have a myspace feel free to add us and comment there. Thanks a million! 

flower and clouds

Disney Hater

I never like Hilary Duff, and I certainly don't like Miley Cyrus, but there's something about Demi Lovato that I find extremely interesting. Her single, Get Back, is extremely catchy; I've already got it on my iPod and I can play it on guitar. I've never watched Camp Rock, so I don't know how her acting is, but she has a nice voice, and her music isn't so bad.

ReaganPalooza had a cancelled show today so they played at Jill's house for her family barbecue. As it slowed down I played Misery Business with Jill. To put it shortly, I messed up, we were off, and it was kinda really bad. I need to get over nerves and stage fright, like now.

I spent the day at the mall with my mom and Alli. I really do love my mom, even though I've been so short with her lately, and she's been noticing it too.

Short blog, but really, that's all that's worth mentioning for now.
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Aug. 30th, 2008

dream big


I'm seeing Journey, Cheap Trick, and Heart tonight at WOODSTOCK, of all places. Why am I not pumped for this?

Because I'm going with Stephanie, and she and Jill are in a major silent rift, using me to pour all their complaints about each other to. Jill went out with Tim on Thursday night to a parking lot, where he took her driving and then they hooked up in his car, without her mom knowing because of course she'd say no. Stephanie spent the entire evening in my room, making me worry just as much as her. Jill's mad that Stephanie's trying to be her mom, and Stephanie's mad that Jill's being irresponsible. When I hear Stephanie's side of the story, I'm with her, but when I hear Jill's side, I'm with her too. How the hell do they expect me to make my own opinions?

Stephanie is right. It's wrong of Jill to go out with Tim, who is virtually three years older than her, when we know her mom doesn't want him driving her anywhere. It's wrong of him to let her drive, she's only fourteen. Stephanie doesn't like the idea of them just hooking up with no strings attached, she thinks Jill will get hurt. And I can't blame her for thinking that, Jill did go into some serious depression back when she first met Tim. Stephanie, and I, also don't like that Jill wanted us to lie to her mom if she called us and asked where Jill was, even if this scenario was unlikely to ever happen.

But in a way, Jill is right too. She may be fourteen and always go for older guys, but that's her decision. She's a teenager and she should have fun, it's okay for her to rebel in her own way. She was only a mile from home, Tim is, essentially, a good guy, and she had her phone on and was answering our texts. Stephanie can tell her when she's uncomfortable and when she thinks she's doing something wrong, but she can't expect Jill to listen. Jill may be immature, severely immature, but she promised to me she wouldn't do anything other than make out with Tim, and I have to trust her.

Stephanie said Jill is very manipulative, and I agree with that. I've been trying harder to not let her influence my way of thinking. So I'm going to make my decision here, without either of them yapping away in my ear. I DON'T feel comfortable lying to Jill's mom, but if worst came to worst, I would do it. I don't know if I completely trust her to not do anything with Tim when she gets older and more comfortable around him. Of course, like Stephanie, I will always worry about her because she's the youngest, she's not as mature as she thinks she is, and she's always breaking her mother's rules. I WILL let her do whatever she wants to do, unless I see something seriously wrong with it, then I'll talk to her about it and probably beg her not to go. If she isn't home by when she promises she will be, you will bet I will jump in my car and hunt her down, with Stephanie in the passenger seat right beside me.

So there, that's it. That's my final word on it. Jill can consider it permanent probation.

In other words, aside from this rift, I got my schedule. It has frees all over the place and no elective. But frankly, I don't feel like changing that. I don't want to have a full schedule again like last year. I need to focus more on actual school work. I'm not doing a winter sport either. As my mother keeps pointing out, this year is so academically important. I need to take it easy on the extra activities. No more repeats of last year, which warrented more freak outs than actually occurred.

I didn't make Varsity tennis, there were only about five spots, I believe. But that's okay; of course, I was initially really upset. But now that I'm back on JV I'm once again older, experienced, and good at what I do in comparison to everyone else. Yes, the freshmen this year are a million times worse than ever could've been expected, but I think I can handle that. There's an excellent chance I'll be Captain as well as play first singles, which is the highest ranked position. Kim and I have cupcakes to make and eat, and Lizzee and I have so many fun practices and games ahead of us.

Jesse came home yesterday. She absolutely hates college. We visited Kim at the mall in Coldstone, where she works. I didn't buy anything, I only had five dollars on me, so I hit up the free samples likewoah. Cake batter is love.

And, now that my bolded out decision is made, I'M GOING TO SEE JOURNEY! I've become fractionally more excited about it.

Aug. 28th, 2008


Why I Hate Recording

The metronome in the back of your head, tick tick ticking. One, two three four. One, two three four. A constant reminder that seconds are being siphoned off you life, that time really is passing, that everything is slowly becoming one long countdown. It's the rhythm you keep in your head, playing it over and over again until it's practically etched in stone. The ticking becomes a part of you, it dictates the way you form your words, how many beats to hold out one sound, how the phrases roll off your tongue. You tap your foot to the beat, bob your head in time with each drop of a noise, and even match your breathing to the constant ticking. Tick tick, tick-tick, tick. One two, and three, four. You lift your hand, ready to play along to the metronome -- match your own inner beat with the artifical one roaring in your ears. Five six seven eight. Bring your hand down and strum. But when you fingers find that first note, that ticking inside, the one from your brain or your heart or wherever it comes from -- screams at you to follow it instead. Ignore it, ignore it, listen to the ticking in your ears, not inside of you. Play what's given to you. Do what's written and meant to be read. And you keep in time, for a little while. Until the song gets so big you can't help but strum harder and faster, or it gets so soft that it would be a shame not to slow down let your guitar just be. And slowly the metronome fades away, drowned by the one fighting within you -- that beating you can't ignore, the one that starts up as the music begs to be brightened. And who are you to not listen to the music within?

But his voice comes over; fuzzy, unfamiliar, tired, worn, judging-but-not-really-judging:
Let's try it again.
And again.
And again.
And again.

Warped and twisted, this song wrenches itself from your being. So innocent it once was, that frail little moment of time decorated with words that spoke the truth and music that tugged your heart. But now, it's been pulled through microphones and wires and computers and pushed out of little speakers, to match the metronome and your poor excuse of a voice -- that's not music, that's technology, pulling apart the words that were meant to be heard in person. The metronome has invaded your mind, taking up the space that once held thoughts and feelings, now only a tick-tick-tick that dominates everything from your steps to your words.

Sounds nice,

they say.
And me?
Sounds nice,

I repeat.

But when did the metronome become so nice?

Aug. 20th, 2008

retro flowers

Those College Kids

Well, tomorrow's the last day before Jesse goes off to college. It's not like we won't see her until Thanksgiving, she's coming back every other weekend. She's basically an hour away from home. But really, it's a big step away.

We're having a tie-dye party. Kim will be there and so will Jesse and some others. It's going to be sad, I know it, the last time J F Squared will be together. It started out as one junior and two freshmen. Now it's two juniors and one freshman. How strange it is, to think that it's been almost two years since I met Jesse and befriended her. I still don't know how we became so close. I think it was because I was new and she was so much like me, and I just opened up to her the way I'd never opened up to anyone. That first year was the greatest of our friendship; things got a little tainted afterwards from my immaturity and her growing friendship with my sister. But I will miss her. She's been such a great friend.

And Alli. There was that big gap where we hated each other. Now we're just starting to be friends again and she's leaving. I think I'm going to miss her the most, strangely enough. Everyone always compared us, saying I'm the better one, the nicer one, the cooler one even when she was always cooler than me and had more friends. They'd laugh and we'd talk some mild trash about her, just poking fun here and there. Now I think I'd automatically defend her instead of instigate the negative offense against her. We were born best friends, we grew apart, and then we came together again. She's leaving on the first. Who will I rant to? Who will I depend on for rides? Who will pay for my chicken fingers and fries when we go out? Who will do things for me when I get nervous? Who will ditch first period with me when I'm afraid to face a teacher whose homework I didn't do? The FOIL effect is what makes us so compatible. (Alli's FOIL method: Our mother is the forty four-year-old version of me. So Alli grew up the opposite of her, and when I grew up I became the opposite of Alli, making me so much like my mother.) We've been getting along so well, I don't really want to let go of it. Once she leaves it'll change, even when she comes back.

Ugh, college. You're eating up my friends.

Aug. 9th, 2008

dream big

Lost Relations

First there was that couple-hour-long rift between me and my dad, as posted on Xanga. In short, he compared me to Alli, who is a complete failure in his eyes.

Today, it was from my mom.

I know she doesn't have many friends and she's stressful and forgetful. She's dumped her problems on me before, and she knows I'm uncomfortable with that. Today she pulled me away from going with Stephanie to get her hair dyed blue so she could buy me a bathing suit. It's important to know that I hate shopping, and I don't want another bathing suit because I'm uncomfortable with displaying my body like that enough already. Plus, Lake George is the only time I'd ever use it. Swimming in pools grosses me out.

We got to the store and, oh ho, no bathing suits. She asked me if I wanted to look around. I said no. I thought she was going to leave then, but she had to stop and look at stuff, at which point I said, "Can we go?"

I knew she was ticked as soon as she started speed walking to the car. Surprisingly she held her cool until we got to the car, exploding in yells of you hate our family, we're such a bother, you always hang out with your friends and never us, you'd rather stare at each other, you hate our house, you never want to be with us, how do you think that makes me feel, I can't go through this again, I really will go crazy... Am I really THAT similar to Alli? Is she serious? I've never done anything even REMOTELY comparable to what Alli did to her. The only thing Alli and I have in common on the subject of our parents is they don't know how to raise us.

My mother is jealous of the time I spend with my friends. Not once did I say a word to her in the car, no apologies of defending of myself. I let her go off. But seriously. I don't even ENJOY hanging out with my friends half the time. I LIKE being alone. She knows nothing about me. Maybe I'd have more fun with her if she didn't always talk like I was a two-year-old who couldn't speak English. She talks like that to everyone. She acts stupid, almost on purpose, to seem funny. I can't stand how she acts. I don't like having friends over my house because I am embarrassed by her. I am. That's it. I'm totally and utterly embarrassed by the way she comes off. People say, oh, she's the nicest person ever. She's nice because she doesn't know what else to be. It drives me crazy. I wanted to scream at her, "Go get your own friends!" I don't want friends. I don't want family. Maybe it makes me selfish as a person, but I'd rather live alone in the middle of nowhere than with a ton of people fighting for my attention. It's who I am, I can't exactly change my interests. I'm selfish, I'm conceited, end of story. Leave me alone.

Aug. 7th, 2008

orange me

More Drabble Type Things

I thought I was over my little Harry Potter fan fiction addiction. Apparently I still have to get a hit every now and then, and today's little glimpse into the fan fiction world came out as this tiny drabble. Back in my obsessed days, I had plans to write a romance based story, with a prologue and epilogue by Remus Lupin at Bill and Fleur's wedding, and then varying between James's and Lily's points of view. I'd even throw in one chapter from Sirius's view, for comic relief. That was a bust, of course, because I can never follow through on anything. The only scenes I had in mind, and had even completed a few of, were the epilogue, prologue, Christmas with James, Lily, and Sirius, Lily needing tutoring by James, an attack on the school, James filling the Great Hall with lilies for Lily, which she finds appalling, and the last real chapter which involved something to do with James having to rebuild a greenhouse he destroyed in a prank and filling it with Lily's favorite things. Today, the instance of their first kiss together came into my mind. What if it wasn't as spectacular as all these other fan fictions of their love are? What if James was disappointed by their coming together? I fleshed out two possible ideas for this to happen, and here is the first. The second will come to follow, as soon as I write it out.

Synopsis: Someone (in this case, Sirius does it as a joke, until I find a better character to fill the void) puts a spell on Lily and James so they can't enjoy their first kiss and won't fall in love. Maybe I'll have Snape do it, in which case I'll edit it if I do decide that. Anyway, they know about it, forget about it, and kiss anyway.

Hope anyone who reads it enjoys it. Any comments are accepted, I only ask that you not judge me as a hypocrite. Writing romance and fluff is not my calling, and it hasn't been since I was a tween in puppy love. This type of genre doesn't come from me unless it feels like a good idea, and this felt like a good idea. Enjoy.

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