I haven’t been truly, red-faced, screaming, shouting angry for over a year and I can count all the times I’ve been angry on one hand. One, three fingered alien hand to be precise.
So when coach today pats my back and barks “get angry, Reg!” before I step into the ring, I can’t get angry. I get confused, a thousand conflicting thoughts bouncing about blindingly in my skull.* My throws are pitiful wounded birds and the resulting commentary from coach I take dutifully with pleading, drowsy eyes.
Its not like I don’t try to get angry. I think about that time my date for prom dumped me via his sister, the rat bastard with my ex best friend, the time my father dated a 25-year old stripper…
Nope. Still nothing. I must have an overload of that neurotransmitter gamma-aminobutyric acid, cause, as my psych teacher says “GABA drags ya…” It took me an entire day to work myself into annoyance at that prom date. I resent the rat bastard but I don’t hate him (even though he had the impudence to ask me why I hate him, that’s a story for another time…) And dad’s ex-girlfriend was sweet person when I got know her. It’s just that she made some ill-advised life-choices that led her to a part-time secretary job and a stripper pole.
It was after another ugly duckling throw that my coach came to a probable conclusion:
Coach: “Get angry! What if you didn’t get into the college you wanted to?!”
Me: “I didn’t”
Coach: “Think about people on welfare that don’t deserve it!”
Me: “That just makes me disappointed.”
Coach: “What about starvation?”
Me: “That’s depressing.”
Coach: “You ever seen a bear in the wild?”
Me: “Nope. Saw a mountain lion once though..”
Coach: “It was fierce…?”
Me: “I had a rifle. It wasn’t that intimidating”
Coach: “You’ll never be angry if you don’t quit rationalizing everything!”
The man that overuses exclamation points is right. I rationalize everything. There is no anger; Anger is divided into hundreds of subcategories, each of which has its own multi-syllabic name and appropriate reaction. Resentment, disappointment, and annoyance are just ways that I can rationalize human emotion. Human emotion that is inherently irrational.
Eventually all this denied expression bursts out, making episodes that are worthy of a day-time soap opera. The three times I’ve been angry were spectacular. Yet I still cannot throw worth a damn.
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*Summer, I wrote that alliteration expressly for you! Happy last day of March.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
So this is love....hmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm
Note: While reading this post, it is helpful for you to turn up your sound and follow the following link as it will explain the title: "So this is love" .
Am I in love? I don't know.
I think love is kind of like writing. I mean, consider it. Writing can be full of passion. It can be explosive, life-changing, something that kindles a fire in your soul. Writing can be boring or dull. It can make you look at it and ask "Why?". Why am I stuck in this particular spot? Why do I feel like it'd be more interesting to watch paint dry on my front lawn? How did I end up here? How do I get out? Writing can invoke any range of emotion. Writing can be real. Writing can be in your imagination. Writing can be anything you want it to be. Writing can show the world as it is, or how you wish it were. Writing knows that it has flaws, and embraces them anyway. It knows that although every page cannot bleed with new ideas and every book is not going to be the next bestseller, it still goes after what it wants with gusto. Writing is sincere. Writing can be mean. Writing can play tricks on the mind, the heart, the illusion of reality. Writing can make you feel content one minute and livid the next. The only way love is different from writing, is it's rather hard to give writing the "silent" treatment when you're angry at it.
Love can take on any shape, any form, any quality you desire. You don't just love sometimes, you love all of the time, even when it seems difficult. To quote a song, "love can walk through fire without blinking", and it's true.
I for sure am in like...but would I walk through fire for the person I like? Undoubtedly. Does that mean it's love? My answer is the same, I don't know.
Am I in love? I don't know.
I think love is kind of like writing. I mean, consider it. Writing can be full of passion. It can be explosive, life-changing, something that kindles a fire in your soul. Writing can be boring or dull. It can make you look at it and ask "Why?". Why am I stuck in this particular spot? Why do I feel like it'd be more interesting to watch paint dry on my front lawn? How did I end up here? How do I get out? Writing can invoke any range of emotion. Writing can be real. Writing can be in your imagination. Writing can be anything you want it to be. Writing can show the world as it is, or how you wish it were. Writing knows that it has flaws, and embraces them anyway. It knows that although every page cannot bleed with new ideas and every book is not going to be the next bestseller, it still goes after what it wants with gusto. Writing is sincere. Writing can be mean. Writing can play tricks on the mind, the heart, the illusion of reality. Writing can make you feel content one minute and livid the next. The only way love is different from writing, is it's rather hard to give writing the "silent" treatment when you're angry at it.
Love can take on any shape, any form, any quality you desire. You don't just love sometimes, you love all of the time, even when it seems difficult. To quote a song, "love can walk through fire without blinking", and it's true.
I for sure am in like...but would I walk through fire for the person I like? Undoubtedly. Does that mean it's love? My answer is the same, I don't know.
The Capone Conspiracy, as seen by Summer.
Let me tell you something about music camp.
You pay hundreds of dollars to sit indoors for days hunched over a music stand wishing your headache would go away. Sure, it's usually in some beautiful location. Sure, there's usually some renowned conductor or musician there. But in the end, you end up with a sore hand, a lighter wallet, and an shorter summer break. Why do people go to these things again and again?
I'll tell you!
It's a little thing I like to call the Capone Conspiracy. It all started when Al Capone's illegitimate sons realized that, what with the increase of forensics technology, they could no longer use their father's methods of obtaining wealth. Therefore, they had to come up with a new plan of action. Suddenly, Bob (as his "brothers" called him, as they had no intention of learning his real name) had an idea: why not create a camp for music students that would take them for everything they were worth by promising them education and prestige? Wolfgang Amadeus, who had always resented his mother's not-so-subtle attempts to make him a musician, was all for an opportunity to screw over his musical competition. Thus, the tradition of music camps was started. It was such a wild success that the tradition was passed on from generation to generation of
Capones until finally, the rest of the music world wised up and started copying them.
And there you go.
Now, you may be wondering... How is this a conspiracy? The answer is this: it starts with a C, and I like alliteration almost as much as Regette does.
When will people stop viewing music camp as a necessity for all wannabe musicians?
When barns fly.
Less than three,
~ Summer
p.s. I wrote this before I read Regette's note about coffee, but as for my next post I have two words: challenge accepted.
p.p.s. I feel I should commend my fellow writers, Sayuri and Regette, for the stellar pieces they have written. They're helpful and insightful, and I found myself literally laughing out loud many times. Love you two!
You pay hundreds of dollars to sit indoors for days hunched over a music stand wishing your headache would go away. Sure, it's usually in some beautiful location. Sure, there's usually some renowned conductor or musician there. But in the end, you end up with a sore hand, a lighter wallet, and an shorter summer break. Why do people go to these things again and again?
I'll tell you!
It's a little thing I like to call the Capone Conspiracy. It all started when Al Capone's illegitimate sons realized that, what with the increase of forensics technology, they could no longer use their father's methods of obtaining wealth. Therefore, they had to come up with a new plan of action. Suddenly, Bob (as his "brothers" called him, as they had no intention of learning his real name) had an idea: why not create a camp for music students that would take them for everything they were worth by promising them education and prestige? Wolfgang Amadeus, who had always resented his mother's not-so-subtle attempts to make him a musician, was all for an opportunity to screw over his musical competition. Thus, the tradition of music camps was started. It was such a wild success that the tradition was passed on from generation to generation of
Capones until finally, the rest of the music world wised up and started copying them.
And there you go.
Now, you may be wondering... How is this a conspiracy? The answer is this: it starts with a C, and I like alliteration almost as much as Regette does.
When will people stop viewing music camp as a necessity for all wannabe musicians?
When barns fly.
Less than three,
~ Summer
p.s. I wrote this before I read Regette's note about coffee, but as for my next post I have two words: challenge accepted.
p.p.s. I feel I should commend my fellow writers, Sayuri and Regette, for the stellar pieces they have written. They're helpful and insightful, and I found myself literally laughing out loud many times. Love you two!
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Gender Dictionary...a wish-list from Sayuri
Have you ever had one of those conversations where you're sitting there with friends of the opposite gender and they branch off into a conversation in your native language, and yet you feel as though you're listening to some sort of strange, ancient, dead-for-a-reason language? I experienced that tonight. The topic of my demise? Four-wheelers/mechanics.
For example:
"Yeah man, this one has 32s and a lift kit (HA know what that is thanks to Reg)."
"Yeah, but I like the axle and the somethingorother to do with grills"
What I caught:
"Yeah man, this one has 32s (the number that comes after 31) and a lift kit (the thing that makes Reg's jeep crazy tall and awesome)."
"Yeah, but I like the axle (a form of deodorant? oh wait, that's axe...) and the ________ (strange word that was slightly mumbled) grill thingymawhatsit (the thing that you peel dead birds out of on the front of your truck OR something metallic that rappers wear in their mouth)."
Yeah, the guys didn't make fun of me at all.
So for the gentlemen out there, don't make too much fun when the girls don't know what strange, archaic or alien language you are speaking. Spell it out for them... L-I-T-E-R-A-L-L-Y.
For those of you ladies who know your four-wheelers and the mechanics, you're awesome. Share some of the knowledge with us less-fortunate gals.
I suppose the gentlemen reading this who know what the grill thingymawhatsit, the axel, and the 32s are may occasionally like some insight into the mind of a female, or then again, maybe not. Either way, I'll throw some generalizations out there.
"I'm fine.": 100% different from 'it's fine'. Sometimes the girl really is fine, and sometimes the girl is not fine and would like you to be a mind reader (yes, I know it isn't fair), realize that she isn't fine, inquire after exactly what it is that is wrong, and do something about it (either offer a suggestion, a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, or just someone to cuddle with for awhile til everything stinks a little less).
"It's fine.": as in 'Hey, do you mind if I go out with the guys (omitting: again for the third night this week even though I was supposed to fulfill some kind of engagement with you)?' 'don't worry about it, it's fine.' NO it isn't fine. This is trouble my friend. Stock up on flowers and apologies now.
"Subtle" actions girls sometimes do*cough* FLYING BARN *cough* to let a boy know she is interested:
(again these are GENERALIZATIONS and by no means apply to every female)
Until next time,
~Sayuri~
P.S. Still working on the whole "love" thing. I'll let you know when I figure it out :D
For example:
"Yeah man, this one has 32s and a lift kit (HA know what that is thanks to Reg)."
"Yeah, but I like the axle and the somethingorother to do with grills"
What I caught:
"Yeah man, this one has 32s (the number that comes after 31) and a lift kit (the thing that makes Reg's jeep crazy tall and awesome)."
"Yeah, but I like the axle (a form of deodorant? oh wait, that's axe...) and the ________ (strange word that was slightly mumbled) grill thingymawhatsit (the thing that you peel dead birds out of on the front of your truck OR something metallic that rappers wear in their mouth)."
Yeah, the guys didn't make fun of me at all.
So for the gentlemen out there, don't make too much fun when the girls don't know what strange, archaic or alien language you are speaking. Spell it out for them... L-I-T-E-R-A-L-L-Y.
For those of you ladies who know your four-wheelers and the mechanics, you're awesome. Share some of the knowledge with us less-fortunate gals.
I suppose the gentlemen reading this who know what the grill thingymawhatsit, the axel, and the 32s are may occasionally like some insight into the mind of a female, or then again, maybe not. Either way, I'll throw some generalizations out there.
"I'm fine.": 100% different from 'it's fine'. Sometimes the girl really is fine, and sometimes the girl is not fine and would like you to be a mind reader (yes, I know it isn't fair), realize that she isn't fine, inquire after exactly what it is that is wrong, and do something about it (either offer a suggestion, a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, or just someone to cuddle with for awhile til everything stinks a little less).
"It's fine.": as in 'Hey, do you mind if I go out with the guys (omitting: again for the third night this week even though I was supposed to fulfill some kind of engagement with you)?' 'don't worry about it, it's fine.' NO it isn't fine. This is trouble my friend. Stock up on flowers and apologies now.
"Subtle" actions girls sometimes do*cough* FLYING BARN *cough* to let a boy know she is interested:
(again these are GENERALIZATIONS and by no means apply to every female)
- Scenario 1: Jane is going to the store. Jane calls/texts/e-mails/facebooks/tweets (not all of those cuz that may be a touch creepy, but just like one...) John to see if John needs anything from the store.
- Scenario 2: At that same store, Jane picks up a little trinket of some sort (like a snack food) that John likes so she has it to offer when John comes over to hang out.
- Make excuses for physical contact (i.e. play fighting/wrestling, leaning during movie or similar circumstance)
- She asks questions about things that you like frequently. If she didn't like you, she probably wouldn't care that your favorite color is puce and you don't like your Aunt Marilyn because she smells of onions like the kind that made you vomit as a child. Trust me, she wouldn't.
- She remembers everything you've told her. Even the most minute detail, like whether you like certain random foods (such as pineapple, avocado, or lamb), the names of your pets, or the name of the middle school teacher who gave you your first F, etc.
- She is interested and may actually pursue your interests, this is a good sign if she didn't previously pursue them before. For example, she may have an instruction manual for a four-wheeler on her desktop when she's never been on a four-wheeler before, or she may be looking up books such as "Farming for Dummies" because she wants to understand what makes you tick.
Until next time,
~Sayuri~
P.S. Still working on the whole "love" thing. I'll let you know when I figure it out :D
This post has no title, just words and a tune-- Regette muses on music...and uses alliteration in the process
Hello world. Anyone listening? Besides my co-conspirators Sayuri and Summer, anyway?
When I put the elephantine 80's-esq headphones on and turned on my ipod touch for some bedtime tunes last night, I couldn't repress this feeling of nostalgia. I mused:
Songs are incredible things. Though I do not buy into that crap-ola one choir clinician told my choir, that "songs are landscapes to be painted" and "every song ever heard changes a soul." I doubt he's ever listened to "Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo" by the Bloodhound Gang.
The magic of music lies in its power to evoke memory. Maybe its a person, a place, a smell or an emotion. Perhaps its all of these.
I won't bore you with talk of the temporal lobe and memory, so I'll get to the point:
The horrible truth of why I posted this? I need to find some new songs, because I'm pushing the shuffle button faster than a squirrel on methamphetamine. Every song is about my brother, my ex-best friend, the rat bastard, my mother. The ones that aren't tied to a specific memory stir that best-forgotten chill of unrequitment and loss.
Well, I guess there's always ABBA to turn to in times of need. I haven't found a way to make "Dancing Queen" depressing yet.
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Sayuri or Summer, my darlings, I dare you to write a post solely devoted to coffee. I'm tired of seriousness today :P.
When I put the elephantine 80's-esq headphones on and turned on my ipod touch for some bedtime tunes last night, I couldn't repress this feeling of nostalgia. I mused:
Songs are incredible things. Though I do not buy into that crap-ola one choir clinician told my choir, that "songs are landscapes to be painted" and "every song ever heard changes a soul." I doubt he's ever listened to "Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo" by the Bloodhound Gang.
The magic of music lies in its power to evoke memory. Maybe its a person, a place, a smell or an emotion. Perhaps its all of these.
I won't bore you with talk of the temporal lobe and memory, so I'll get to the point:
The horrible truth of why I posted this? I need to find some new songs, because I'm pushing the shuffle button faster than a squirrel on methamphetamine. Every song is about my brother, my ex-best friend, the rat bastard, my mother. The ones that aren't tied to a specific memory stir that best-forgotten chill of unrequitment and loss.
Well, I guess there's always ABBA to turn to in times of need. I haven't found a way to make "Dancing Queen" depressing yet.
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Sayuri or Summer, my darlings, I dare you to write a post solely devoted to coffee. I'm tired of seriousness today :P.
Emotions, feelings, and other such hum-drum nonsense--Sayuri's latest realizations
Some days it seems that most answers regarding emotion can be summed up in "sometimes".
Examples:
" Sayuri, does that boy you like text/email/call you often?"
"Sometimes."
"Regette, do you like him or like-like him?"
"Like-like him...sometimes."
"Summer, do you feel like murdering the people who created the "Summer Passion Band"?"
"Sometimes."
Sometimes, falling in love is a terrible thing. Sometimes, falling in love is a wonderful thing. Sometimes, falling in love is a confusing thing. Sometimes, I think we are just--by nature--confused.
I'm sure you're asking "Is Sayuri in love?" .... If I said the answer was "sometimes" would you kill me? However, No, the answer is not "sometimes". I am currently a subscriber to the confused state of being. I, as Regette mentioned, am one of those literary girls who dreams of one day finding her Mr. Darcy. I believe I will examine what I think love is, and get back to you on whether or not I am in it. After all, sometimes if you wait for something good, it has the potential of becoming something great.
Until the barn flies,
~Sayuri~
P.S. For those of you "Literary Girls" I highly recommend you check out this excerpt...and for those of you who are not, you should read it anyway =D
http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/1h4nfq/themonicabird.com/post/3273155431/date-a-girl-who-reads-date-a-girl-who-spends-her
Examples:
" Sayuri, does that boy you like text/email/call you often?"
"Sometimes."
"Regette, do you like him or like-like him?"
"Like-like him...sometimes."
"Summer, do you feel like murdering the people who created the "Summer Passion Band"?"
"Sometimes."
Sometimes, falling in love is a terrible thing. Sometimes, falling in love is a wonderful thing. Sometimes, falling in love is a confusing thing. Sometimes, I think we are just--by nature--confused.
I'm sure you're asking "Is Sayuri in love?" .... If I said the answer was "sometimes" would you kill me? However, No, the answer is not "sometimes". I am currently a subscriber to the confused state of being. I, as Regette mentioned, am one of those literary girls who dreams of one day finding her Mr. Darcy. I believe I will examine what I think love is, and get back to you on whether or not I am in it. After all, sometimes if you wait for something good, it has the potential of becoming something great.
Until the barn flies,
~Sayuri~
P.S. For those of you "Literary Girls" I highly recommend you check out this excerpt...and for those of you who are not, you should read it anyway =D
http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/1h4nfq/themonicabird.com/post/3273155431/date-a-girl-who-reads-date-a-girl-who-spends-her
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Summer Pulls an All-Nighter
There is a spider on my bed.
At a young age I diagnosed myself with arachnophobia, not because I had a fit or fainted anytime I saw a spider, but simply because I didn't like them.
When I say I didn't like them, I mean in a scream-and-run-as-fast-as-possible kind of way... You can imagine why no one wanted to share a room with me.
For some odd reason, I got better with age... In fact, I've gotten to the point where I can almost look at a spider without spazzing out. However, today was not a day for spiders... Possibly because I had just watched "Indiana Jones" and felt like there were tarantulas crawling all over me. So you can imagine my fright when I saw something crawl ominously quickly in my peripheral vision.
Did I mention the lights were off? Yeah. It was almost completely dark.
So I stared, paralyzed, at my computer, trying to convince myself that "it's not a spider... It's not a spider". Mustering up all my courage, I turned my head a sharp two inches to the right.
What do I see?
A spider.
A big, fat, ugly spider crawling with all its might away from me.
Naturally, I used my ninja skills to scream and throw books on top of it. The result? I have no idea.
There is a spider on my bed.
Goodbye, chances of sleep. Goodbye.
Less than three,
~Summer
At a young age I diagnosed myself with arachnophobia, not because I had a fit or fainted anytime I saw a spider, but simply because I didn't like them.
When I say I didn't like them, I mean in a scream-and-run-as-fast-as-possible kind of way... You can imagine why no one wanted to share a room with me.
For some odd reason, I got better with age... In fact, I've gotten to the point where I can almost look at a spider without spazzing out. However, today was not a day for spiders... Possibly because I had just watched "Indiana Jones" and felt like there were tarantulas crawling all over me. So you can imagine my fright when I saw something crawl ominously quickly in my peripheral vision.
Did I mention the lights were off? Yeah. It was almost completely dark.
So I stared, paralyzed, at my computer, trying to convince myself that "it's not a spider... It's not a spider". Mustering up all my courage, I turned my head a sharp two inches to the right.
What do I see?
A spider.
A big, fat, ugly spider crawling with all its might away from me.
Naturally, I used my ninja skills to scream and throw books on top of it. The result? I have no idea.
There is a spider on my bed.
Goodbye, chances of sleep. Goodbye.
Less than three,
~Summer
"For those that can't do, teach, and those that can't teach, teach gym"... a belated entry from Regette
Sometime at about 11 o'clock last night I realized I was born to be an English teacher. After three of my closest family members agreed with the Lang teacher that I should be an English major in college ( the same teacher who I thought to be merely manipulating me like some twisted psychological experiment), I suddenly saw all the warning signs I'd been racing by.
For one, I'm a failed novelist. And a failed poet. That has to be some requirement.
Secondly, I'm the go-to girl for essays. Need a re-write? Give the essay to Reg. Afraid of the dreaded "F"? Reg will peer-edit it for you.
But most glaringly of all, I've the love life of an English teacher. Not that love "literary style" would be bad, (hasn't every girl had dreams of her own Mr. Darcy?) but finding it is a problem. The day the world produces a man that doesn't give me the white-eyed look of a bull calf being branded (among other things) every time I mention Orwell's "Politics and the English Language" on a date is the day Sayuri's barn grows wings.
Sure, I've tried "dumbing it down," but it never seems to work. If I'm texted "Hey you, whatcha doin," I'm going to answer truthfully.
For example, my latest victim:
"Whatcha up to?"
"Reading..."
"Whatcha reading?"
"The Beautiful and the Damned by F.Scott Fitzgerald."
I had a faint glimmer of hope. Perhaps he had spark noted the Great Gatsby senior year? Maybe for once we could talk about something other than how mediocre I felt that day?
"Do you like reading?" I sigh. No new talking point.
"No. I'm a member of the anti-fiction league." I felt bad after saying that. Maybe he wouldn't understand the sarcasm. I added "JK!" and ":D" in rapid succession. Two of the more intelligent additions to our conversation.
"Oh...good. I was worried."
I'm doomed. Doomed to an eternity of pedantic novels, bad essays, and men I can't have conversations with.
I don't even particularly like cats.
For one, I'm a failed novelist. And a failed poet. That has to be some requirement.
Secondly, I'm the go-to girl for essays. Need a re-write? Give the essay to Reg. Afraid of the dreaded "F"? Reg will peer-edit it for you.
But most glaringly of all, I've the love life of an English teacher. Not that love "literary style" would be bad, (hasn't every girl had dreams of her own Mr. Darcy?) but finding it is a problem. The day the world produces a man that doesn't give me the white-eyed look of a bull calf being branded (among other things) every time I mention Orwell's "Politics and the English Language" on a date is the day Sayuri's barn grows wings.
Sure, I've tried "dumbing it down," but it never seems to work. If I'm texted "Hey you, whatcha doin," I'm going to answer truthfully.
For example, my latest victim:
"Whatcha up to?"
"Reading..."
"Whatcha reading?"
"The Beautiful and the Damned by F.Scott Fitzgerald."
I had a faint glimmer of hope. Perhaps he had spark noted the Great Gatsby senior year? Maybe for once we could talk about something other than how mediocre I felt that day?
"Do you like reading?" I sigh. No new talking point.
"No. I'm a member of the anti-fiction league." I felt bad after saying that. Maybe he wouldn't understand the sarcasm. I added "JK!" and ":D" in rapid succession. Two of the more intelligent additions to our conversation.
"Oh...good. I was worried."
I'm doomed. Doomed to an eternity of pedantic novels, bad essays, and men I can't have conversations with.
I don't even particularly like cats.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Cute People Play Dirty... According to Summer, that is.
As of today, I officially hate cute people.
Don't get me wrong, there are a few awesome ones here and there, but as a whole? They are an evil, evil group.
Example 1: The other day, a little girl who can't be more than 8 years old made fun of my shoes. And when I say "made fun of", I don't mean a mere "your shoes are stupid"... She full-on, all-out called them "huge" and "floppy". When I threatened to use them to step on her, she merely laughed... Well, she didn't so much laugh as she did cackle. What is the world coming to when the cutest little girl in the world has a more maniacal laugh than I do?
Example 2: Today, one of the most adorable little guys in the world called me a pansy. A freaking pansy. I didn't even know girls could be called pansies with a negative connotation, but apparently they can. Naturally, I vowed to be mean to him for the rest of the evening, but he's so cute that by the end I was apologizing to him. I haven't apologized to someone since... Never. And how does he thank me for breaking the ice between me and apologies? By accusing me of stalking him. Please... I only stalk Starbucks baristas.
Example 3: Justin Bieber still hasn't answered any of my fan letters.
So there you have it. Three examples of three of the cutest people who have turned their backs to me. Well you know what I say? Let's turn our backs on cute people! For generations, cute people have reigned supreme, using their cute faces to distract us from the evil that lurks inside them. But not any more! The reign of the cuties is over... This is the dawning of the age of the dorks! Start bringing out your baggiest clothes, clunkiest shoes, and largest glasses, because before you know it all these items and more will be on the cover of every fashion magazine. Stay tuned for this radical revolution!
Less than three,
~ Summer
Don't get me wrong, there are a few awesome ones here and there, but as a whole? They are an evil, evil group.
Example 1: The other day, a little girl who can't be more than 8 years old made fun of my shoes. And when I say "made fun of", I don't mean a mere "your shoes are stupid"... She full-on, all-out called them "huge" and "floppy". When I threatened to use them to step on her, she merely laughed... Well, she didn't so much laugh as she did cackle. What is the world coming to when the cutest little girl in the world has a more maniacal laugh than I do?
Example 2: Today, one of the most adorable little guys in the world called me a pansy. A freaking pansy. I didn't even know girls could be called pansies with a negative connotation, but apparently they can. Naturally, I vowed to be mean to him for the rest of the evening, but he's so cute that by the end I was apologizing to him. I haven't apologized to someone since... Never. And how does he thank me for breaking the ice between me and apologies? By accusing me of stalking him. Please... I only stalk Starbucks baristas.
Example 3: Justin Bieber still hasn't answered any of my fan letters.
So there you have it. Three examples of three of the cutest people who have turned their backs to me. Well you know what I say? Let's turn our backs on cute people! For generations, cute people have reigned supreme, using their cute faces to distract us from the evil that lurks inside them. But not any more! The reign of the cuties is over... This is the dawning of the age of the dorks! Start bringing out your baggiest clothes, clunkiest shoes, and largest glasses, because before you know it all these items and more will be on the cover of every fashion magazine. Stay tuned for this radical revolution!
Less than three,
~ Summer
Palm Reading Faux Paus...Sayuri Style
What's up y'all? So today (although technically as it's 0230 am I mean today & yesterday) was a pretty crazy day. I spent most of it in airports ogling at technology and how we, as humans, now forgo conversation with fellow human beings that are physically in front of us, instead preferring the security of the internet and social networking.
Now, however, I am back at school for the end of the semester and spent this evening attempting to read the palm of a friend of mine. Keep in mind, me + any activity after 1:00 am = bad mix. Throw in a few hours of attempting to read science journal articles that used phrases such as "structural antecedent"--hours later and I am still in the "what the heck is that" stage of comprehension--and Googling how to palm read and trying to apply it practically to my friend, let's just say it didn't go well...His reading couldn't have been more off if I told him he was going to be the cat in the hat in Dr. Seuss's book "The Lorax". What? Doesn't make sense? The Cat in the Hat in the Lorax? EXACTLY!
So, quickly throwing in the towel on the whole palm-reading thing--apparently not the career foretold in my tealeaves--we instead moved onto astrology where we hunted down his sign and proceeded from there. Much more accurate.
Insane way to spend a morning--casting homework aside for astrology? Definitely. Fun? For sure. Do it again? Probably not for awhile....haha yeah right. We may not read palms for awhile (at least not accurately), but we'll definitely be up late again.
"Oh look! A flying barn!"
~Sayuri~
Now, however, I am back at school for the end of the semester and spent this evening attempting to read the palm of a friend of mine. Keep in mind, me + any activity after 1:00 am = bad mix. Throw in a few hours of attempting to read science journal articles that used phrases such as "structural antecedent"--hours later and I am still in the "what the heck is that" stage of comprehension--and Googling how to palm read and trying to apply it practically to my friend, let's just say it didn't go well...His reading couldn't have been more off if I told him he was going to be the cat in the hat in Dr. Seuss's book "The Lorax". What? Doesn't make sense? The Cat in the Hat in the Lorax? EXACTLY!
So, quickly throwing in the towel on the whole palm-reading thing--apparently not the career foretold in my tealeaves--we instead moved onto astrology where we hunted down his sign and proceeded from there. Much more accurate.
Insane way to spend a morning--casting homework aside for astrology? Definitely. Fun? For sure. Do it again? Probably not for awhile....haha yeah right. We may not read palms for awhile (at least not accurately), but we'll definitely be up late again.
"Oh look! A flying barn!"
~Sayuri~
Sunday, March 27, 2011
An uncharacteristically cheesy entry from Summer
Warning: This post contains an unsafe amount of cheese! Proceed at your own risk...
Have you ever thought your life was not only insignificant, but a hindrance to those around you? I know I'm not the only one. The other day I realized that by merely existing, I had driven two people apart- two people I care deeply about. Needless to say, this epiphany left me more than a little sad.
Now, before you write this off as a journal entry of an emo, let me assure you: there is a point to this.
When I realized this, I also remembered something else: the reason for my creation. Whatever your parents told you, you weren't brought by the stork or left on their doorstep by the circus. You were created by God, and you were created for a reason. Whatever your religious beliefs, you were created for a reason. So whenever you feel like you're only here to rake havoc for those around you, remember that there's someone out there just waiting for you to change their life- this time for the better. My goal in live is to find that person. What's yours?
~ Summer
Have you ever thought your life was not only insignificant, but a hindrance to those around you? I know I'm not the only one. The other day I realized that by merely existing, I had driven two people apart- two people I care deeply about. Needless to say, this epiphany left me more than a little sad.
Now, before you write this off as a journal entry of an emo, let me assure you: there is a point to this.
When I realized this, I also remembered something else: the reason for my creation. Whatever your parents told you, you weren't brought by the stork or left on their doorstep by the circus. You were created by God, and you were created for a reason. Whatever your religious beliefs, you were created for a reason. So whenever you feel like you're only here to rake havoc for those around you, remember that there's someone out there just waiting for you to change their life- this time for the better. My goal in live is to find that person. What's yours?
~ Summer
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Sayuri's late night chatter
I think this one will go out to all of the lovely ladies out there that are having issues with guys reading the "subtle" hints that we girls like to toss out there. The hints that say, very quietly, EARTH TO ______!!!! I LIKE YOU!!!! You know, that kind of quiet. According to a friend of the male persuasion, if we expect guys to pick up hints, they have to be "about as subtle as a flying barn.". Who would've guessed that the slight change in our tone of voice, which was kind of a "DUH" to us, would not even be registered by the male brain? Not I, for sure. So there you have it girls. Want to get a man to notice the hints you're throwing his way? Make a barn fly.
Aside from that, although I have yet to finish it--crazy slow internet--, I highly recommend the movie "Listen to Your Heart". It's a wonderful movie about a young man who wants to be a composer who falls in love with a deaf young woman. It's heartwarming and endearing, and the cast isn't too shabby either.
Til next time folks.
~Sayuri~
Aside from that, although I have yet to finish it--crazy slow internet--, I highly recommend the movie "Listen to Your Heart". It's a wonderful movie about a young man who wants to be a composer who falls in love with a deaf young woman. It's heartwarming and endearing, and the cast isn't too shabby either.
Til next time folks.
~Sayuri~
Friday, March 25, 2011
Summer in the Spring (a cheesey title for a useless subject)
It is Spring.
Today I found out that my string trio, formerly known as the Johannson Studio Strings, has officially changed its name to "The Summer Passion Band". As flattered as I am by this sudden shift of spotlight from our red-wearing concert master-wannabe violinist/singer/violist/cellist/whatever (who thinks he's Charlie Daniels on the cello), I couldn't help but pick up on the subtle hint that I need to be more passionate with my playing...
By subtle I mean in a brick-hitting-the-head sort of way.
However, I don't want to be difficult so I shall do my best to succumb to their wishes of my becoming more "passionate".
So... If I murder them both in a fit of "passion", will they be proud of me?
Today I found out that my string trio, formerly known as the Johannson Studio Strings, has officially changed its name to "The Summer Passion Band". As flattered as I am by this sudden shift of spotlight from our red-wearing concert master-wannabe violinist/singer/violist/cellist/whatever (who thinks he's Charlie Daniels on the cello), I couldn't help but pick up on the subtle hint that I need to be more passionate with my playing...
By subtle I mean in a brick-hitting-the-head sort of way.
However, I don't want to be difficult so I shall do my best to succumb to their wishes of my becoming more "passionate".
So... If I murder them both in a fit of "passion", will they be proud of me?
Life According to Regette (Regette 2, Rat Bastard 1)
I am at war. It's time everyone knew that I am at war with a certain rat bastard. Oh, sure, I told him I don't hate him, but what do you say to someone who asks? Can you really not hate the person that dumped your brother for your best friend?
I mean my ex-best-friend's-boyfriend whom she dumped your brother for?
Well, I guess I don't hate him. Hate's a strong word. It's just that the situation gives me someone to shake my fist at and shout, "Damn You!!" to.
So, anyways, I'm warning you. Not just you, but every rat bastard out there. It's 2 to 1, and I'm going to win. Winning....
I mean my ex-best-friend's-boyfriend whom she dumped your brother for?
Well, I guess I don't hate him. Hate's a strong word. It's just that the situation gives me someone to shake my fist at and shout, "Damn You!!" to.
So, anyways, I'm warning you. Not just you, but every rat bastard out there. It's 2 to 1, and I'm going to win. Winning....
"The Past is Prologue": The life & times of Regette, Sayuri, and Summer
Interesting daily tidbits from Regette, a socially anxious girl who "doesn't achieve more than she has to", Sayuri, a morally sound country girl who knows all the words to seether, and Summer, who rocks to Bach (not really) but she hangs out with people that do and has a BA band named after her (a string trio).
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