"Beware the banana curls" and other such nonsense

I have trouble talking to people I don't know. That said, its a wonder I make any friends, especially since the expression on my face is usually a mix of apathy and slight distaste at the goings on of the world. I don't mean to have this face, but I don't smile as often as some others.

I find a lot of people from this strange, mysterious force that drives people together when they are thrown into crowds of people they don't know.

I first realized this strange occurrence when I was waiting for a bus at an airport. There were only men in business attire (If I could have gathered the gumption to speak to them I might have died happy) besides a gorgeous blond chick and I.

This blond chick looked the opposite of a person I would normally converse with. It was obvious her clothes were name brand, her matching luggage set was baby blue, she wore over-sized sunglasses and held a latte in her free hand. And her hair was too perfect (I make it never a rule to trust people with perfectly curly unnatural curls produced by a big-barrel curling iron).

Well she sits next to me and begins speaking. I'm shocked because a) she's talking to me and b) she's being extraordinarily nice and friendly. In my head I'm like WTF, but I manage to politely respond. By the end of the bus ride we are practically BFFs and I know that she's a pageant queen from a private school in Georgia and she knows all of the particularly interesting stories I tell anyone (like how my dog is crazy or how I live practically alone and watch Bones and eat ice cream or go to Denny's with the gang--my life in 26 words).

Then I never see her again. I doubt I thought about her once until I wrote this blog entry. This is a sad fact, but an inescapable one. What would we do if we kept in close contact with all the strangers met on buses, planes, at camps? I could never keep up with that many Facebook friends. I don't think I have space in my brain for that much detail.

The good of this all: the knowledge that in strange, awkward situations, there is always an emergency friend to turn to, to make that bus ride with suit wearing men you don't know less awkward. And I think there's a message in here somewhere about not judging a label-whore by her banana curls.

Your butterfly,
Regette H.

Summer's Plan

The other day I received an e-mail from a boarding school in Michigan.  At first I was like "what would I do in Michigan?" and thought nothing of it.  Then I thought "going to a boarding school is totally badass," so I clicked the link to their page.

And what do I find?

My ideal school.

No joke! It's everything I've dreamed of in a school.  It focuses on the arts while still emphasizing academics.  It's a boarding school far, far a way so I wouldn't have to worry about my family, and I would be surrounded by millions of kids just as nerdy as me, some of which with sexy accents.

But then I thought, "hold up, girlfriend! You just decided to deny institutions like that because they're communist and try to make you their idea of a musician.  Why the hell would you want to go there?"

I'll tell you!

I'm going to start a revolution.

Starting at this boarding school, I'm going to tell these kids what REAL music is.  Explain to them the concept of passion.  Try to help them think an original thought.  You see, these kids have been on the conveyer belt their whole lives...  They're like the piano kid in "School of Rock".  I'll be their Jack Black and teach them there's more to music than playing with perfect pitch and rhythm.  There's more to music than playing what the man tells you to play!

Revolution is the start of evolution.

Who's with me?

Less than three,

~ Summer

Summer's Hero

What is a hero?

Is it someone who saves a baby from a burning building?

Someone who runs a soup kitchen?

Someone who dresses in skin-tight clothing and shouts lame catch phrases?

Possibly.

However, my personal hero is none of these things.

He is Daniel.

Daniel's music teacher once told him "music is communism, but you're playing democracy."

I suppose this was meant as a negative thing, but I like to think that Daniel took this in stride; I would.

I think a more accurate statement would have been "orchestra is communism", as music itself is self-created but orchestra members are taught to be like their neighbor and do what the man tells them to do.

In any case, as a violinist in an orchestra Daniel was expected to...  Well, be like his neighbor and do what the man told him to do.

So what did he do?

He suddenly started playing the soundtrack of Jurassic Park while the orchestra was playing Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 in a concert.

Now, your hero may have arrested a criminal, saved a dolphin, or helped your grandmother across the street.

My hero?

He got kicked out of an orchestra for beating the system and f***ing the institution.

Now that's what I call inspiring.

Less than three,

~ Summer

Regette's fear of short boys in fedoras

I have this theory that not only do girls have a type that they prefer in guys, but there is a type of guys that prefer them. Unfortunately, these types don't always align.

For example, I like well-dressed men  that are considerably older than me. Yet I find myself chased by short fedora-wearing boys. Which wouldn't be a problem, but my experiences with them have conditioned me to be wary.

Instance one: I was in Target (that's were all the cool kids hang, obviously) in the shampoo aisle, and a guy about my age and height wearing a fedora passed by, giving me the eye. I saw him five more times while shopping, and once in the parking lot.

Instance two: I went on a quasi-date with the rat bastard that was supposed to take me to prom. I knew he was about my height, but I was OK with it. However, to my horror, what does he wear on the quasi-date but a fedora.

Instance three: In DC a while ago I went to a dance a hotel. A short boy in a fedora asked me to dance and I politely declined because I did not know him. After he pleaded with me, I
consented. Then he told me all about how it "was fate that we met tonight" and "that I was such a classy lady." Which brings me to two new life rules.

Rule 96 section 1: Do not, under any circumstances, date any one that uses the words "lady" or "naughty" to describe you.

Rule 96 section 2: Run if "fate" or "destiny" or the phrase "will you have my babies?" is used in context in any conversation with a guy.

Anyway, this guy followed me to a movie that was playing in a conference room of the hotel and sat next to me. Then he asked for my phone number and I pulled the shameful rejection tactic of the fake number. In the morning at the free continental breakfast he tracked me down and asked if I had gotten any of his texts (plural?!) I (again, shamefully) lied and said my phone didn't work so far from home. Then I left as quickly as possible (I might have ran.)

And that's why I'm afraid of short boys in fedoras. I suppose well-dressed, considerably older men  are probably afraid of me. For justifiable reasons.

Your butterfly,
Regette

On Homework and Procrastination----a confession from Sayuri

It's that time of night again, time for the dreaded "what's due tomorrow?" question that plagues the day before classes resume again from the fabulous break known as a "weekend". I, the "morally sound country girl who knows all the words to Seether", must admit that I am also a chronic procrastinator. This would not be a problem if...well, to be honest it isn't really a problem LOL. Although sometimes it means that sleep and I take a break from being BFF (FFFFFFFFFFFF)'s, it also means more time for my friends, family, and just general goofing off. It leaves plenty of time for me to conquer the frontier, experience the Oregon trail (gotta love facebook games), blog, travel around stumbleupon, watch ALL of Titanic, listen to Nickelback, etc., etc. So instead of writing my 100-200 word letter to the editor (word count based on the requirements of the newspaper NOT my written communications class) about how wonderful my alma mater is, I am typing to the viewers I love so dearly.
     It should be noted that not everybody can pull off my procrastination. It doesn't work for everybody. I cannot write essays early or they have no focus, can't read when I have lots of time or my mind wanders and I am left wondering what I spent the last three hours attempting to read....and just to show how distracted I get, there was a three hour pause between writing the above, and writing this sentence. Wish me luck, I need all of the help I can get LOL.

                 ~A procrastinator at heart,
                                                   Sayuri~

Gliffing paradoxes--Reg, sci-fi,and butterflies

I have a love-hate relationship with paradoxes. Which, of course, is paradoxical, because I love them at the same time that I hate them.

I referenced some posts ago the butterfly paradox. The paradox is this: once a philosopher dreamed he was a butterfly. Once he woke he wondered if he was the butterfly dreaming he was the philosopher or the philosopher dreaming he was a butterfly. Quite a pickle, if you ask me. As a child I had similar thoughts about dreams and what is reality, making this "butterfly paradox" particularly interesting.

Pondering paradoxes is lovely because it gives my brain something to wrap itself around without solving. Something to attempt but not complete. The "why" of them makes the world a mysterious place, less dreary and common. Solutions are boring. That's what happens in Statistics.

I hate paradoxes because they make no gliffin' sense. As a struggler finding the meaning of life, unsolved mysteries as to whether I am a zebra swallowtail butterfly or a human being do not bring me any closer to answers, they piss me off.

I'm ranting about paradoxes because I was watching a sci-fi television show (Dr. Who), all invested in the astonishingly hot main character to fall for the cute red-head, when this random 40ish woman with ugly hair shows up claiming to be his wife.

Not. Ok.

Later, some cheesy special effects and weird hard-to-believe sci-fi faux-science later, it is explained that they both travel in time. In opposite directions. The first time he met her, she knew all about him. Then she died. They keep meeting, and the more times he sees her/gets to know her, the less she's seen/knows him. Which is another stupid gliffing paradox.

But, minus the cheesy sci-fi, is poignantly romantic. Which is why I can't stop thinking about it.

Always your butterfly,
Regette

Summer's Holidays

And so I tell you...  Happy Easter.

On large holidays, I become a closet coffee drinker as my extended family does not approve of my habit.

This may not seem like a big deal to you, but to me it's COLOSSAL.

It's like if you walked into the room with your kid and your family was like "Sorry man, you can stay but your kid is too ugly.  It's gonna have to wait outside."

Or if you walked in the room and they were like "Sorry! We don't like your soul.  GET OUT!"

Yeah.  It's more like the second one.

So anyways, to compensate for this, I have to guzzle GALLONS of coffee before someone comes over to find me.

Yes...  They find me.

Then I have to speak through my nose so that they don't smell the coffee on my breath.  This never goes well...

"So Summer, how's work going?" "Hwee, hi hoyyk hwee hi huhooh." "I'm sorry, what?" "Hi hwet, hi hoyyk hwee hi huhoohhh.  Hoo howw?"

Yeah.  I'm not exaggerating.

After they give up on talking to me, there is food to eat and water to drink but NO COFFEE.

Which means there is no laughter to be had, no smile to give, and no moment to be shared.

Then come the pictures.

"Okay everyone, SMILE!"

Yeah.  Like THAT'S going to happen.

Anyways, this is my kooky way of saying Happy Easter to all of you.  I hope it was great, and that you were able to share it with those you love!

That is all.

Less than three,

~ Summer

My mad, ridiculous dog. Oh how I love her so--Regette

Most of the time, my dog is an exceptional judge of people's characters. Except for the fact that, much like her owner, she goes crazy for any reasonably attractive man between the ages of 16 and 35. Nonetheless, most of the time she gets it right.

Like the time she tried to bite dad's 20-something stripper girlfriend. It was just a warning nip really. As if too say politely, "I don't really think things are going to work about between you and him." My dog, as usual, knew that she'd leave, and she did. A similar incident occurred with a totally smashed woman on Fourth of July.

Or when she sees my grandpa. She does not genuflect as when she sees my dad, but politely sits, waging her tail and waiting to be petted. With babies it's similar. They can pull her tail and even take the toys out of her bed, but she remains unusually docile.

So yesterday when I let her outside for her normal morning routine and she dashes down the road and circles the scary man hanging around the neighbors place, baying as if she'd treed a raccoon, I forgive her. Even though I had to sprint down the hill in my tie-dye heart shirt, sweatpants,  and waving clips in my hair (think curlers but slimmer and clip-like) shouting "Please do not try to pet my dog, sir, she's a biter!"

Your Butterfly,
Regette

P.S. My dog's mostly a lover. In the infamous words of Sayuri to my dog, "Keep your tongue in your mouth and your paws on that side of the bed!" Which is a useful phrase in any context, not only applying to my crazy dog.

Summer's Antis

It's official.

Old people hate me.

I don't know if they have a mental list containing all the necessary elements one needs to gain their approval, but if they do I've managed to lack every one.

For one thing, my hair is wrong.  One time I was in a bathroom washing my hands and minding my own business while countless old women attempted to fix their appearances.  When one offered me her hairbrush and I politely declined, she oh-so-politely mentioned how "the new style must be bad hair." Now, those may not have been her exact words, but her intention was crystal clear.

My second problem is my incompetence...  Apparently it is thriving.  I swear, every time I try to do anything professionally some old crone walks up to me, grabs my arm, and say "how are you hanging in?" in the most condescendingly sympathetic voice they can drum up.  If they were genuinely concerned with my well-being it would be one thing, but single-handedly trying to force me into a grocery bagging position is another.  I swear, the next time one of them asks I'll say "oh I'm fine, but would you like help remembering which retirement home you live in? It must be terrible going this long without your Alzheimer's medication."

Thirdly, I have a rotten personality.  Well, that observation could be chalked up to brutal honesty...

Now, before you get the wrong idea, I feel I should clarify: I don't hate old people.

They just hate me.

Am I sad about this?

Not really.

Am I proud of this?

A little.

Less than three,

~ Summer

Regette's Diary-- insight into a life of someone sick during spring break

And the Dailydust blogging pals presents: Regette's Diary

Dear Diary,

Today I flirted with the check out man at Target using only my eyes for I can hardly speak due to chronic bronchitis. He was probably 30, and his face had a tattoo. He told me to have a nice day.

 I went home to my house and took a nap on the couch/bed. I did not go to my actual bed because it is too much work to jump from the doorway, over the pile of crap, to the bed. My dog jumped on me and I hid my head under the covers saying "bother, bother, bother."

I woke, watched Dr. Who for 5 hours (because I believe bow ties and tweed are sexy) and read funny articles on Cracked.com. I checked facebook 5 times, but there were no new notifications. It made me sad.

 I drank coffee(click here too) and I took lots of meds to stop the pounding in my skull. Then I ate Hamburger Helper for dinner because that's what bachelors eat and my chef is a bachelor. I could not taste it because my nose is stuffy. It was bland.

I saw my cat had disemboweled a gopher on the porch because he loves me so. He must have devoured the rest of the remains. I thought of the poor wee gopher and I cried.

Your butterfly,
Regette

p.s. that was a reference to this vid. My day wasn't bad (eh. but it wasn't great) and I did not cry. But there was a dead gopher.

A Midnight Rendezvous with Sayuri

So, it's approximately 12:54 a.m. here, and I am awake writing a research paper for English. Ahh, the glories of procrastination. So naturally, in the middle of my writing, I thought "hey, I should post and let the world know what's up"....so here I am, posting "what is up". Around 2 hours ago, I went for a moonlit stroll around the lake with my guy where we discussed random things, both silly and serious. We then proceeded to talk for a couple of hours and BAM...two hours later here I am, sprite & a kit kat in hand while I continue to procrastinate on my paper. IF any of you blog readers out there would care to write my English paper for me within the next...oh, 8:30 hours, you just might be my hero =P lol. Just kidding guys, I frown upon academic dishonesty....I am also rather hyper at the moment so forgive any strange jumps...my thought process is just on fire...and now I must return to my paper ( =(  <---- super sad face)....and I shall let you all know how it goes.
    
With love and distraction,
                 ~Sayuri~

The wonders and horrors of polite speak-Regette tells it like it is

Having a job in customer relations and a voice equivalent to a donkey with strep throat is a less than ideal situation. My warbling caw inevitably inspired a "you should save your voice, dear." Which of course, is merely polite-speak for "you should save my ears, dear, from the sound of mucus gurgling in your throat as you speak." Though I knew the person's intent, I didn't feel offended.

Polite-speak can be lumped in that category with white lies and general praise. This is the talk used to tell a girlfriend her new haircut is swell, Auntie her cooking spectacular, or reassure a melodramatic rat bastard of undying acquaintanceship.

After my recent experience with Regette's cure-all and Sense and Sensibility (which involved not a small amount of me cursing the television with "Spit it out you lousy, worthless, d-bag-bastard-twit faced-gliffing idiot! Tell her the truth Hugh!") I came to the conclusion that life would be better without polite-speak.

An innumerable amount of time has been wasted with polite speak. Without it, flying barns would be irrelevant. Then it would be socially acceptable to say, "Hey you! You with the face! I want you" and the scary social shunning and consequent running of the hottie would be inconsequential because it would happen every fricken' day. Everyone else would think, "meh, w/e", his self-esteem would be boosted, and the pursuers time would not have been wasted in 6 years of dolling up and trying to sit next to him in English class.

Sarcastic, biting humor, (the malignant, hurting kind, not the bitterness I love so dearly) would also die, for it would not need to be used to hide hostile thoughts and feelings. In example, I give you an example from my life, in which I am a not-so-nice-person. I give you a recounting of the reply to the rat-bastard after he asked why I disliked him so:

Summer's Question

Today during my wild night of watching Gilmore Girls and researching colleges, I formed a question...

"What is up with women's obsession with wearing animal-print clothing?" I asked the throw pillows surrounding me.

The throw pillows merely shrugged, so I had to come up with my own theory.

In fact, I came up with three theories, which are listed below.

1.  They wish to convey some kind of doe-eyed innocence.

As you know, many animal-printed or fur-lined articles of clothing are product of some of the world's most innocent creatures, such as rabbits and zebras.  While no one would call a rabbit sexy or a zebra desirable, they are innocent, large-eyed creatures commonly preyed on by the more masculine hawks and lions.  Therefore, when a woman wears a zebra-striped top, she is subconciously hoping to attract a fierce, manly lion.  Or conciously.  Either way, it's disturbing.

2.  They wish to be seen as wild and dangerous.

I cannot tell you how many times I've seen women decked out in some sort of leopard-print or tiger-striped apparel.  I similarly cannot tell you how tacky I find it.  Regardless, it's out there.  Why? Women wish to be seen as wild, dangerous creatures prowling the jungle.  This theory is usually eminant in the older crowd; you know, older women looking for some excitement.  Come to think of it, I should come up with a theory as to why cougars are termed cougars when they wear tiger-striped clothing...

3.  They live alone.

Crazy cat ladies may be the leading consumers of animal-print clothing.  Perhaps they think their cats will call them mommy if they look like a cat...  Personally, I think their cats think "WTF lady, either give me food or go on broadway" when they see their owner crawling and meowing on the floor with whiskers drawn onto her face.

So there you go.

Personally, I don't think I will ever resort to wearing animal-print clothing under ANY circumstances.

Then again, I live alone...

Licking milk out of a bowl on the floor may be just around the corner.

Less than three,

~ Summer

Nonsense and Unsensibility- Regette's thoughts on the wonders of modern medicine

A good friend once told me about how hilarious Colonel Brandon from Sense and Sensibility seemed when she first watched it. The second time she watched it, however, she didn't find him that funny at all.

The difference? Post-operational vicodin.
Well, today was one of those strange, strange days. After coughing up some blood with the unspeakably gross snot-stuff that normally accompanies a cold, I went to the doctor. She prescribed some heavy duty antibiotics, some painkillers, told me I had bronchitis and a nosebleed at the same time (aren't I talented!) then sent me on my less-than-merry way.

I got home and made Regette's famous cure-all concoction*. Then, of course,  I popped Sense and Sensibility into the dvd player.

Lo and behold, Colonel Brandon (played by the same actor who plays Severus Snape) became hilarious and Mr. Palmer (Hugh Laurie from House) became a dreamboat. This is the world of flying barns. This is the world where Rose from Titanic ends up with Severus Snape. This is the world where Wasabi Goat cheese is edible (it was the only food in the fridge, well, that and baby carrots, which taste better because they are cuter than grown up carrots.)

I totally stole the carrot thing from my Honey-poo.

Your butterfly,
Regette

p.s. *I am not liable for anything that occurs after use of my famous cure-all. It is not FDA approved. It may cause serious side-effects and has not been appropriately tested. But if you have any pain what so ever, anywhere, any time, it will go bye-bye. Please consume responsibly. *

I don't want to give away my all of my secrets, so I can only reveal the first ingredient of four:

2 Cups freshly brewed bean juice/liquid love/coffee. Add cream and sugar to taste

Which is pretty much the only ingredient you'll ever need. Even if you are not in pain. Just drink more coffee anyway. Coffee is the meaning of life.

Death: an Embrace by Sayuri

As much as most hate to admit it, our lives are not our own. Each year, month, week, hour, minute, second, brings us closer to death; and part of life is accepting that. Death can be a scary thing. The idea of the unknown, not knowing what is going to happen, it's a scary idea. Death is just another beginning. Maybe if we had thoughts as fetuses the idea of birth was scary. Maybe (if you are a Buddhist) the idea of being a human while you were living life as a spider seemed like a terrible thing. Regardless, it's just another step. Everyone is mortal. For those of us who are alive now, we must embrace the fact that at some point, we're all going to die. It's not a bad thing. It's a breath of fresh air. A new place to explore. The first budding flower in the spring. Death, isn't a monster that we should fear, but another piece of the life we love. Death is a friend, a benefactor. Death brings us one step closer to eternal life with people we love. To quote a wise, wise man "be not afraid of death...be afraid of the un-lived life." (Tuck Everlasting).

             ~Sayuri~

The things you say when you have nothing to say...a reflection by Sayuri

It is a necessity to listen to this song as you read this post. SO turn up your volume and click here!

I have absolutely nothing to say. Not "I don't have anything important to say", not "I have nothing of consequence to say", not "I have nothing interesting to say"...I just have absolutely nothing to say. This is an unfortunate predicament and as of right now I have no cure as this has never happened to be before. So as I have nothing to say, I thought you could listen and enjoy Alan Jackson's "Remember When" because I think that a good way to lift spirits is to remember the fun times you've had. Today has been full of reflection. Good times, bad times, times in general. It's important to appreciate it all because although certain things may be little at the time, looking back they may actually be bigger than you imagine. The first time you met someone, the first movie night you had with your friends, the first time you had to tell your parents you were dating someone, the first Starbucks coffee you had...these things that are little may prove to be bigger than you think. So look back, look forward, and appreciate it while you're in the moment.

Guest Post by Honey!

I have come to the conclusion that house hunting is a lot like dating.

For the past month or so, my mom and I have been looking for a home to rent and I've drawn several parellels to finding a man.

1. We want what we can't have.

We saw several houses on Craigslist that were large and beautiful, but tragically out of our price range. We liked them, of course, because of thier size, location and look, but we may not have been as drawn to them if they had been in our price range -- the same way we occasionally find ourselves liking beautiful, but tragically unattenable guys.

2. We want what others want.

We were looking at one house, in particular, that my mom and I both liked a great deal, and which was affordable. After it became clear we would mostly likely get the house, my mom became worried, starting to wonder "why isn't anyone else looking at this house, is it not as great as we think it is?" proving that, as with guys, we are drawn to houses that others like as well.

3. Compatability is important.

Although we loved the house meantioned above, we decided against choosing it. It was beautiful, certainly, but there are more important things than that. We knew it wouldn't work well enough for us for everyday life, it was missing vital components such as closets and cabnits in the bathrooms. Just because a guy seems perfect and has a lovely exterior, like this house, if he's missing figurative cabnits and closets, he's not the one.

4. We get cold feet.

After we finally found the house we absolutely wanted and the landlords picked us, after we did the paper work and started making plans, after all that, my mom became worried once again."Are we making the right decision?" she asked me. "If I'm having doubts, does that mean something better is out there?" Even after we had hoped and hoped they would offer it to us, after thay proposed and we accepted, there was suddenly doubt in her mind. After going to the house once more, though, she knew she loved it, just as a nervous bride realizes she's making the right decision when she sees her groom standing at the end of the church, waiting for her.

Summer Loves Life

"Wake up in the morning feeling like P-Diddy..." - Ke$ha

Looking back on my previous posts, I noticed that most of them were some kind of complaint about symphony or society or the institution...  F*** the institution.

So, in lieu of this, I leave you with a list of the things I love about life.

I love it when...

- Voldemort doesn't kill my parents
- I turn on the TV and the creepy girl from the Ring doesn't kill me
- Darth Vader isn't my father
- Hobbits don't steal my favorite item of jewelry
- Dracula doesn't imprison my fiance, causing him severe brain fever
- David Bowie doesn't kidnap my baby sister
- I don't forget to take my son with me to France for Christmas
- Dinosaurs don't attack me while I'm going to the bathroom
- I'm not schizophrenic and my sister Stella hasn't married an abusive husband.

I love life.  Life loves me.  Everything in the world makes me happy...

Less than three,

~ Summer

Reg's rant on the precautions adults take to stop teens from being idiots-or, Reg is several not-so-nice-words that start with a, d, and such

I feel like a twit/schmarm/rat-bastard* hybrid when I say this, but the need for my oppressed view to be let out into the world overpowers the fear I have of societal judgment--I am morally opposed to assemblies that tell us not to drink, smoke, or do other dangerous teen things.

Before I'm chased down and killed by a mob of angry townspeople with torches and pitchforks, let me explain why.

These assemblies aren't the usual drivers ed/health stats and a warning. The assemblies employ psychological trickery/voodoo magic to bring their messages home. It's a simple process, when dissected. The assembly starts with some lighthearted games and t-shirts thrown about. Introductions are made. Then they show a traumatizing real-life video about dying tragically due to teen-aged stupidity. Then they scare the pants off us with more stats, and a lot of parallel structured hypothetical questions. These questions especially make the listener (or perhaps just me) feel like a twit-schmarm-bastard  because the person doing the questioning is the mother, girlfriend, or sibling of the deceased.

In example- "How would it feel, losing someone that close to you...forever?"
                   "How would it feel, carrying that coffin, knowing that the person you talked to just days ago was in it?"

This is the part I am most opposed to. After being forced into a suitably somber mood, these questions are asked, taking that transitory mood to the brink of depression for some of my peers. People cry at these assemblies. People have to go to the counselors after these assemblies. I know their intent is stop us from being idiots but I think there could be a less traumatizing way to do it.

For me, these assemblies make me frustratingly upset and not because of my debatably-intelligent opinions I form afterward about the morality of making students who are made to come to the assembly after having their mind effed by an AP Stats exam; I am ill at ease during the assemblies because those questions aren't hypothetical to everyone. Those questions aren't hypothetical to that boy that always stops people from saying "your mom jokes", or the choir-girl that missed three weeks of school last year. They aren't hypothetical to me.

No one should be forced to ask themselves those questions, even those that are not hyper-sensitive or that have undergone some tragedy. If there is no alternative to scare-tactics, then at least it should be used in moderation. Life as a highschooler is traumatizing enough.

Your butterfly,
Regette "au contraire" Henesey

p.s. All definitions from urbandictionary.com

*Twit-n.

The kind of person that makes a retarded chimp look smart. They often can be found leaving definitions for their own name or the names of their friends on urbandictionary.com

Schmarm-n.

1. to be creepy and suave at the same time, Typically an older male preying upon a younger victim leaving them with a dirty feeling. Perhaps how a drunken James Bond would act, and look

2.Overly emotional, sentimental and gushy so as to induce major eyerolling action in those of us with a modicum of good sense and self control.

Schmarmy is the one adjective that can truly be applied to any Lifetime Original Movie.

 

Rat-Bastard-n.

1.a person who intentionally or unintentionally causes issues which annoy you.

 

2.A bastard who is characterized by devious and base intentions.

 

 

The Beast/Beauty Conundrum-or rather, the most important, fundamental rule of Reg's existence

I recently watched Beauty and the Beast and felt supremely disappointed. Why would any beautiful, smart woman willingly love an ugly beast that threw temper tantrums, when she could’ve had a rich manly-man?

I also recently read The Phantom of the Opera. I felt extraordinarily disappointed at the end. Why did the beautiful (though admittedly less-than-averagely-intelligent) woman end up with the rich manly-man while the ugly beast that threw temper tantrums (that ended up in vastly more deaths than Beauty and the Beast) died alone after letting her go?

After I finished The Phantom of the Opera, I thought that it seemed eerily familiar. Then I remembered Beauty and the Beast. I had already formed my opinions on both of these pieces before recognizing their similarities. These contradictory views are making my head pound with cognitive dissonance just trying to compare them (That, or the pounding is because I had 5 mugs of delicious bean juice/liquid love/coffee yesterday, I have as of yet had none today).

Essentially, I am left with the question “Is the Beast/Beauty fairytale ending preferable, or the Beauty/Brawny?” It seems from my reaction to both that neither makes me any happier than the other. One incites my bitterness “Why do pretty people always end up together!?” The other halts my suspension of disbelief one must endure for Disney movies and Shakespeare plays with, “Why would a pretty person end up with a beast?”

My musing may be solved with some low-down, back-handed Disney magic: at the end of Beauty and the Beast, the Beast turns into what Disney must believe is a little girl’s ideal, handsome prince (though the prince looks suspiciously like an 80’s hair-metal lead guitarist [I would know this, but I will leave convincing the world of my near-god-like 80’s hair metal trivia status at a later date]). Therefore, in the end it is Beauty/Brawny again, the only difference less people brutally murdered. Thus proving a Beauty/Beast pairing is a fictitious. It does not exist, even in fairy tales.

An argument may be, “In Shrek they both become Ogres!”. Yet that is just it. They both become Ogres, essentially Beast/Beast action. If Fiona could have stayed beautiful, maybe, just maybe I would appreciate the ending of a love story.

But it would disprove one of my fundamental rules of life, and I don’t want to have to update the rules :

Rule 5) A couple can not be more than 3 steps apart on the scales of hotness or intelligence.

Corollary: Great wealth voids this rule.

Your butterfly,
Regette “au contraire” Henesey

p.s. Here is an extra-special-bonus fundamental rule of my life:

Rule 9) You must not date anyone younger than half plus seven years of your age. In example: Gliff wants to date Sugar. Sugar is 17. Gliff is 22 years old. Half of Gliff’s age is 11. 11 plus 7 equals 18. The youngest person Gliff can date is 18. Sorry, Gliff.

Corollary 1: This rule works in reverse with the oldest you may date, but is more difficult to find. I want to date Gliff’s older brother. He is 34. Half of 34 is 17. 17 plus 7 equals 24. Shucks, I can’t date Gliff’s rich, attractive brother.

Corollary 2: Richness and attractiveness makes Corollary 1 void.

The top ten mysteries clouding Reg's mind...

Today I have spent a copious amount of time pondering the mysteries of the universe. I have decided to devote a blog post to the most complex, enigmatic of them (or rather, the top ten):

(The jump break is only due to the length of the post. No serious content. I would just like you to see all of Summer's and Sayuri's brilliance)

Summer's Moo

"It's a b*tch girl, but it's gone too far 'cause you know it don't matter anyway." - Hall & Oates

Today I reached a level of unrelatability envied by cows.

Seriously.

Today in choir I looked at the people around me- actually looked them straight in the face- and realized that I cared nothing for them.  There was not one drop of emotion in my Emotion Tank, which is usually overflowing.  This is probably due in part to the fact that they also care nothing for me.  The only time they don't look straight through me is when I moo something unexpected, like "you're playing the wrong chord." Yes, to them I am a cow, with nothing but vast emptiness behind my big brown eyes.

You know why?

Because that's what I've become.

I don't talk, I move when moved, and I care more about food than the final concert.  When people look into my eyes hoping to spark some emotion with their own, I look back at them with an empty stare rivaling that of a dead man.  It's a bit similar to looking into their eyes.  However, there is one big difference...

Behind my emptiness there's a sort of sullen contempt.

Behind their emptiness there's a sort of... emptiness.

Everyone thinks I just need to try harder...  What they don't know is that I'm actually trying very hard.  I'm trying to forget they exist.

Less than three,

~Summer

Taking up the challenge--a short post by Sayuri

One word to describe me....I think I will use silence. I mean, think about it. Silence can be comforting, it can be awkward, it can come at the best (or the worst) of times. Silence gives us a chance to reflect. Silence can be everywhere but it's also nowhere. It can be absolute & stubborn, or it can be calm and easy to change. I am silence. I embrace everything as it comes with an "it could always be worse" attitude and can can be either stubbornly set in my ways, or strangely willing to consider changing them. I can be patient (as in a long silence) or impatient (as in attempted silence). I can be a comfort, I can be awkward. Regardless, I'm me. Who are you?

How to cope with extroverted awkwardness--love Regette

Today, I was mocked for laughing at someone’s idiocy. The idea of it! Ludicrous, and not the R and B/hip hop artist. It made me a bit frustrated, almost…angry.

Yes, awkward person that mocked me for laughing at them, I do have coherent, intelligent thoughts. I only laugh because I don’t know what to do with awkward people. I don’t mean awkward as in the socially inhibited way that I am awkward. This awkwardness is far, far worse. The awkward people I speak of are in-your-face, sing-you-really-bad-popular-youtube-parody-video-song, awkward.

I laugh, because it is the compromise between punching my tormentor squarely in his nose like the Discovery Channel has told me to do if I encounter a shark or fleeing in terror. I laugh, because when those mocking eyes are singing that stupid “Friday Song” or whatever it is, as loudly as possible, much too close to my face, I feel like my life is a really bad joke. One of those jokes the boys tell on long, sports bus-rides. Except minus the part where some gets screwed.

For example, yesterday Honey and I walked my neurotic dog three miles. Of course, during this walked we ended up walking by a house with a suspiciously low fence, and a garden bursting with beagles. Now these beagles started howlin’ “A-woo-A-woo-A-woo”--(which roughly translates to “What you lookin’ at, you filthy b****. Move yo’ fat a** outta my street”), and my crazy mutt nearly dislocated my arm trying to get at them, all the while making this high pitched shrieking whine ( meaning “You wanna go? I may seem little, but you ain’t seen nothing’ ’till you seen 38 pounds of lean muscle come tearin’ after yo’ a**.”) Parents from a nearby little-league baseball game stared and the beagles disgruntled owner glared at me as he came after his own dogs with the garden hose. So I laughed.

I don’t so much mind that life is a bad joke, as long as I can find a smile in the ridiculousness of it all. I’ll just keep laughing--albeit a bit empty-headedly and socially awkwardly--but that’s how I’ll get through it.

Laughing works for me.

Always your butterfly,
Regette “au contraire” Henesey

A Cheese Sandwich from Summer

"Nothing really matters
Anyone can see
Nothing really matters...
Nothing really matters to me."

Today is already shaping up to be the roughest day of my life, barring the day I get my wisdom teeth pulled

I spent my morning taking state tests and listening to "Hotel California" in my head...As I have failed to mention earlier, I constantly have a song in my head and know not what silence sounds like...It must be very boring.

After this, I go to rehearsal for 3 hours where I will imagine taking over the room and barricading it with music stands... The casualties will be innumerable.

Still after that, I go to a welcome home party for my cousin where I'll be surrounded by tons of people I don't know and don't wish to know.

I'll come home at ten feeling crabby and gross and wishing I could drive far, far away without getting caught.

And yet...

None of this really matters, because tomorrow will come and all this will be over. I'll have a new set of challenges to deal with. I'll for new ideas, make new plans, tell new stories, and worry new worries. I'll be myself, just a day older.

See, we get so wrapped up with the problems of the present that we forget to learn what they're teaching us. Life is a state test question and it's up to us to decipher the meaning of it. Yeah, it's cheesy, but it's there. Open your eyes, it's there.

Unfortunately, its a little too early for me to digest all this cheese I'm spewing out. I'm a little too bitter about my crappy weekend and I've had a little too little of coffee to deal with it maturely.

All I'm saying is, try to think about how your current feelings, actions, and view points are affecting your future feelings, actions, and viewpoints. Do you like the image you're creating for yourself?

Less than three,

~Summer

The Fundamental Attribution Error-Regette blames her luck on her personality

Define yourself- challenge accepted.

Do so in one word? Well…

Literal:
Regette-name derived from the French Reginald, feminine Regina. From Latin meaning “King’s advisor.” See also Reg, Reggie, Reggy, Gina

(I hate to be a downer but...you know what a jump break means...)

A little bit of praise for my boys, the Boston Red Sox

That's right! The Red Sox won 2 of the three games this weekend against their nemesis the Yankees. Tonight they shut them out 4-0 with the Red Sox having 12 hits and the Yankees having TWO. In your face! (no offense NY fans lol). In case you can't tell, I am stoked...and a Red Sox fan.

             A sign that life is going right,
                               ~Sayuri~

The Way Things Are....a sort of daydream-like post by Sayuri

I can smell the rain. Can you? The air is dry as the Sahara, and the thunder is God practicing his bowling skills. The lightening is mystical. It lights up, a flock of faeries or angels visible for a pure second of time. The wonder of the storm frightens the young ones, but it's something I admire, something I aspire to. A storm. It's beauty in chaos, noise in silence. It's power and might, it's not afraid to be what it is. It's lovely. I catch myself wishing that you were here. Maybe, we'd watch the storm together. Maybe we'd laugh and talk and just sit and let nature be. Maybe we'd throw in a movie and just enjoy each other's company. Maybe it would be another memory worth remembering. Maybe you would have gone with me to the lake to take pictures of nature at its finest. Maybe you would've joked about throwing me in the lake. Maybe you would have cautioned me about the wisdom of going lakeside during a thunderstorm. Maybe I would've listened--most likely I wouldn't have. Tonight is full of maybes because the truth is you're not here. So I'll dream of what could be and I realize maybe, just maybe, you're watching the same storm with me.

                 ~Sayuri~

P.S. Summer..Challenge: ACCEPTED

The Definition of Summer

Have you ever tried to define yourself? It isn't easy.  The other day I tried to define myself out of boredom and it was quite difficult to  come up with a single synonym for myself.  Not to mention I got a little distracted...

"What is 'Summer'? I hate summer, it's the worst season...  Especially without an air conditioner.  Maybe I should create a Native American Air Conditioner Dance to make one materialize before me! Or start living at my school...  How come the school can afford air conditioning but not teachers? F*** the institution!"

Clearly I have a problem.

No one else can define me either...  The other day one of my "friends" was trying to hit on Honey (which was fruitless for obvious reasons) by trying to say that "Honey" is a synonym for sweetness and such.  Then, out of social obligation, said frienemy said "Summer is a synonym, too."  When I asked "really, what for?" the reply was "for...  Summer."

This is not only a reflection on the lack of creativity in today's youth, but a very definition of what is me.  I, by definition, am a social obligation.  I'm a third wheel for 50% of the time and a way to avoid an awkward situation for 49% of the time.  The other 1% of the time I'm high on coffee.  I'm the one you talk about on a bad date, the one you take on what the other party wanted to be a date but you're trying to turn into a casual movie.  I'm the one you call over while you're being hit on by a loser, the one you expect to distract said loser with amusing anecdotes and an inability to flirt.  I'm the ultimate dorky small-town big-smile friend...  Just call me Joan Cusack to your Julia Roberts.

In the end, I decided that the best synonym for myself was "able"...  Yes, just like Hester Prynne.  I have the ability to shift the spotlight of awkwardness from you to myself.  I also have the ability to make air conditioners materialize out of thin air.

Require my services? Call me.

I work for coffee.

Less than three,

~Summer

p.s.  I now challenge you to define yourself in one word and explain why you chose it.  You can do it, Sayuri and Regette! :)

What do.....a post of question and enlightenment by Sayuri

What do Plato, Thibaut, and I have in common? If you said more questions than they can answer, you're correct! Yay! Plato's Theory of Forms is the first concept. Basically, everything is manifested from our own minds. Simple. So the line between friends and more than friends? Equally simple? I think not. Thibaut & Kelly came up with the Interdependence Theory of love. This Theory says, simply, everything that happens to me, affects my partner. Example, I come home tomorrow and say "I got a promotion and have to move to China!"...this affects my partner. Equally, if I come home in a rotten mood, this also affects my partner because now he has to deal with me in a crummy mood. So, today, a friend of mine and I discussed the placing of this metaphorical "line" that according to society should exist, but does it? I think it does for the most part. I just think my friend Tom and I don't tend to follow society's concept of a "line".
Space means nothing to Tom & I. Apparently, we hold hands (according to my roommate, I have no recollection of this) without me realizing it (which is odd, even though I'm peculiarly unobservant). We goof off, he'll pick me up, tickle (well try to) me, watch movies with me (we watched The Swan Princess last night), and doesn't care when we (to use today's terminology) are "all up in each others' grill" :-P  Usually, the line would be crossed at hand holding, at an arm around the waist, at being approximately 5 cm away from the other person's FACE, but not with us. We're just like "huh, whatever." I have one thing to say to our strange, anti-societal line....FLYING BARN.

       Until I'm Saved by Grace,
                        ~Sayuri~

Summer's Date

Prom.

The socially obligatory event.

Nobody even aks if you're going...The assumption can be assumed.

This is the most important event of your high school career, and as such has an important set of rules:

1. Make sure your date is worthy not only of you, but of society's approval. At the very least, make sure he/she exsists. If you don't have a date, you'll have to create a huge, "fun" group to make it seem like you're having much more fun without a date. This option is more complicated but easier in the long run.
2. Find the perfect dress/outfit. Make sure it's more expensive than your neighbor's but not so expensive that you can't afford the shoes. If you find out that someone has purchased a similar dress, RED ALERT. You need to find a new dress and FAST. Who knows what you'll be left with if you dawdle.
3. Get your hair done. I suggest getting it done a few months in advance to make sure it's perfect. While you're at it, give your make-up a trial run as well. You never want to be left on prom morning desperately trying to find eye-shadow to match your dress...It's much easier to just figure everything out beforehand.
4. Make sure your date takes you to a nice restaurant for dinner; some place he can hold the door for you, and order for you without looking like a complete douche. The minute he pulls into In 'N Out is the minute you walk away. Metaphorically of course...Otherwise you might ruin your shoes.
5. Make sure you do something after prom because people are sure to ask. Some choose to go to a party, others choose to practice what they learned in health class. Whatever you choose, make sure you choose something. Otherwise you'll end up looking like a loser on prom night regardless of whether or not you actually went.
6. One more rule: never, ever, EVER opt out. Not going to prom is like buying off-brand clothing. It just shouldn't be done...Under ANY circumstances.

So there you have it...

I hope this list has been of some help to you. Of course, I'm not going to prom...

How could I?

I have a date with coffee.

Less than three,
~Summer

Regette is a butterfly, and always has been..

I’ve had quite a few people ask me “What is going on in that head of yours?” and I feel I should address this pressing issue. What is going on in my head, beside approximately normal blood flow and a caffeine high? My seriousness and reluctance to contribute meaningless sound to a conversation does not mean there is a three-fingered alien in my skull, as some may believe.

I hold my silence in most public scenarios for two reasons: firstly, until very recently speaking in any social setting of more than two people made me hopeless, tongue-stopping anxious. Secondly, I do not speak to people other than my friends unless I have something important to say. Contrary to popular belief, yes, I have an opinion but ,no, I don’t feel it’d benefit the immediate situation if this opinion was heard. Yes, I can hear what everyone is talking about and no, I’m not dgaf-ing in the back of the room.

I have an inkling that if my interrogators knew what I thought, they would be disappointed. My cognitions consist of the commonplace worries of school, sports, and work. I think about what I’m learning (except I don’t think about statistics), and I think about whether or not I left the stove on. I think about Denny’s and Graduation and the future and dog food and quesadillas and terms of endearment. I think about blogging a lot.

Sometimes I wonder about death and life. I try to deduce a meaning of it all. I try not to be bitter. I ponder the feelings of clouds after a good rain--Are they relieved from dropping the burden of the heavy rain? Are they puffy and swollen from the tears? I chastise myself for once again personifying the inanimate objects around me. I believe for a brief second I may wake up a butterfly that dreamed she was a human, instead of a human thinking of a butterfly. I give my dog speech “You so happy! Hi mommy! Baby says hello?” I realize that her thoughts are probably incomprehensible, even if I read minds. Her brain is alien to mine, like trying to play a DVD in a CD-ROM drive.

I’m never thinking of interesting things when I’m asked what I’m thinking of. With still nothing to say, I respond with a trademark sneer and eyebrow raise that I hope adds to the mystery shrouding the enigma that is me. What else did they expect? Did they seriously want to know that I was thinking about Jamie Bell in 1800’s attire, re-enacting the famous Colin-Firth-Darcy-after-a-swim moment?

Always your butterfly,
Regette "au contraire" Henesey

P.s. Still want to know what I think of? Here is a present--A stream of consciousness. Happy Un-Birthday:

“Breathe in, breathe out,” said Mr. Miage. What if I don’t want to breathe? Feesh don’t breath air. “What if I want to be just nothing,” I said once. Mommy laughed. Now I feel like crying. Pen too slow for thoughts. Less a stream, more a flood. Stream. Streamers. May poll. Mommy said when she was little there was a holiday for single childless women. How terrible. I don’t want a child. But I don’t want to be alone. Scratch that. I want a 3-year-old, tow-head blond boy with blue eyes. Meg says genetics make this impossible. My leg hurts. A clot? Nah, I’m such a hypochondriac. The Dish Network logo never quite hit’s the corner of the screen. Grandma and Grandpa cheered for it to hit that corner once. Tick-tock. Damn-Clock. Ding-Dong. The witch is dead. I remember when grandma gave mom a book on better mother-daughter relationships. Doggy at the window. Is he home? No. Frog goes ribbit. Maybe it’s one of those frog-toad hybrids that are around here. Wrist cramp. Carpal tunnel? Hypochondriac. No. No. Not him. English and a glance. I don’t care how you’d run the world you rat-bastard. Dog looks at me quizzically. Dish Network logo reflects B.A.M.F.edly off my cell phone. Heater roars on. Bre and I’d theoretically run the world differently. “Get rid of” everyone who disagrees. Discussion on Orwell. Good essay on “Politics and the English Language.” Chili’s tomorrow. Maybe see ... NO. I don’t care. See Summer surely. Concert thing with grandma. Is my brother going? Card for Sayuri. I said not to. People saying they understood made me mad. Cards made me want to cry. Text. Sunday night football theme. No, Monday. Made. Made. Made. Made me cry. Check text.

Regette proudly presents Honey's guest entry

Honey’s guest entry

Recently, as I was sitting with my beloved Regette and Summer, I got to thinking about the people we choose to spend our time with and why. Looking around, it is not all together clear why certain people are drawn to each other. Those girls over there-all they appear to have in common is their love of gossip, which is not limited to others, I realize, as I have often also heard them discussing each other. And that couple over there- does she not realize he doesn’t have the mental capacity to understand half the things she’s saying? I wonder this, because I know exactly why I get along so well with Regette and Summer. They are like me. They understand.

Yesterday, for example, I went to youth group. It was an unusual night, where, instead of the normal sermon, there was a dinner and a talent show. I was late and had to wander through the room and around the tables to find people I knew. When I finally did, the table was full and I had to sit off to the side by myself. This was not the worst part, however. The worst part was their trying to include me, although clearly not wanting to, and drawing attention to me by offering their seats or some of their food. As I sat there, alone, embarrassed,, and in my personal hell disguised as a church, I couldn’t help but feel that if Regette and Summer were present, they would understand. In fact, if Regette and Summer had been there, I wouldn’t have been miserable at all. They would roll their eyes with me at the girls wearing heels, as if this was actually the fancy affair the youth pastor had tried to make it. And, while some cruel little twits laughed at a poor girl singing, they would have joined me in my death-stare. Here we were, at this place that was supposed to be accepting and they were making fun of people. I wanted to slap them. Of course, I guess this wouldn’t have been very Christian either. Regette and Summer would understand this, though, and they would easily pick up on the not-so-subtle remarks I was making with my eyes and facial expression. So, as I glance around, I can only hope that these people have some secret, unknown reason for liking each other. It makes life suck a whole lot less.
　

Summer's Peeps

Have you ever spent much time around music people?

I have.

Have you ever spent much time around music people and not wanted to kill yourself?

I haven't.

If you have spent some quality time with these gems, you know that there are three types of music people:

1. Jerks who think they're better than everyone else
2. Nice people who know they're better than everyone else
3. Confused people who don't even know how they got there

The first type is generally the most common. Somewhere down the line, someone told "Katie" she was the best to avoid an awkward situation. Since then, "Katie's" been wearing those words like a hat and no one has had the heart to tell her it looks bad on her.

The second type are the worst. They're sweet, talented, confident, and almost always the best looking. They're so perfect that you want to stab them with your fork but they're so nice that you want to stab yourself for wanting to stab them. I'm telling you, AVOID THESE PEOPLE LIKE THE PLAGUE.

The third type is your best bet. They're generally the most chill and know more about Blacksabbath than Bach. They're just all "WTF, how'd I get here?" and you're just like "I don't know man, but this is some weird shit." Seriously, these are the most normal musicians you will ever meet.

So there you go.

If you've had to deal with these "people," I hope I've painted them accurately.

If you haven't, I hope you never do.

Music people.

Them's my peeps.

Less than three,
~Summer

A Reflection on Today: A Post during Written Comm. Class by Sayuri

Today, is a drift-worthy day. A day to sail down a river with Huck Finn or steal someone's fake appendage like  Good Country People. Today is a day to get stuck on an island with Miranda and Ariel, to stand up against Big Brother, to make witty remarks about the size of your nose or the lack of intelligent responses those who make fun of you possess. Today is a day to curl up with a novel and get lost. Go fight the Civil War, meet Benjamin Franklin, create Frankenstein's monster (as the inventor/creator's name was Victor Frankenstein...his monster was technically unnamed...and was the monster really a monster or a product of his environment? The world may never agree). Today is a day to do absolutely nothing but relax and travel through time and situations in the way only a good novel can. Today is your day. Today is my day.  Seize it.

This post is dedicated to my Sugar-poo-pumpkin-pie-puddin’-pop-love-um’s (Honey)- Reg

My fiancé (…let’s call this person Honey…) and I are tired of all these over-used clichés that are “terms-of endearment.” Just because couples are not usually capable of independent thought does not excuse us of unoriginality! I’ve heard "Babe" and "Sexy" more times than I care to count. To try and spark the creativity of others, I have compiled a list of all the endearments I could think of (instead of studying). I have separated them into the four categories that for some ancient and unknown reason are the only four acceptable categories that terms of endearment come from. Perhaps someone can benefit from the list and use the exotic “Mi Amor” or nauseatingly-sentimental “light-of my-life” once in a while, and give the “Babe”s and “Sexy”s a well-deserved rest.

Food related

Sugar-pie-honey bunch

Puddin’ Pop

Puddin’ Pie

Sweet Pea

Cookie

Sugar

Honey

Apple-of-my-eye

Sweetie

Sweetheart

Sugar Plum

Pumpkin

Pumpkin Pie

Animals

Pet

Love bird

Pigeon

*name* + poo

Poo bear

Fox

Kitten

Physical description

Angel

Beautiful

My lovely

My pretty

Cutie

Doll

Baby Doll

Symbolic depictions of love and marriage

Dearest-to-my-heart

My heart

My-other-half

Light-of-my-life

My light

My life

Love-of-my-life

Love-ums

My lovely

My love

Love

Love of my life

Dear

Dearie

Blessed -precious

Precious

Baby

Baby Doll

Mi Amor

After producing this comprehensive list of gushy, fluffy, love, I had to ask myself a few questions:

         Why is it that my “Pet” is alright, but my “B****” is not? Why not my “Okapi”?
         Why would anyone want to be called “Pumpkin,” which is a giant, bulbous squash?
         Why is “Lady” so creepy?
         Why is the only character from Winnie the Poo on the list “Poo-Bear?” Why isn’t it OK for me to call Honey “Kanga” or “Piglet”?
         Why “Pigeon”? They aren’t even cute.


The conclusion: Love turns ordinary, intelligent humans beings into oxytocin-doped morons that use nonsensical syllables and cheesy nick-names instead of the beautiful name his/her significant other’s parents gave them.

Make me a damn sandwich, Okapi!-
Regette "au contraire" Henesey

"Tangled" up: A post of random happenstances by Sayuri

That's right my friends, it is approximately 12:53 am and I just returned from watching the movie "Tangled" with my friends. How old are we? Well, I'm glad you asked. We range from 18-22 and are college students. We are pretty awesome I must say--keeping in mind that Summer & Reg are equally awesome even though they are far away from me =( [epic sad face]. Tangled is a wonderful movie, for those of you who haven't seen it, that instructs one on how to use kitchen items in new and creative ways. Frying Pans are AWESOME ! Follow the link to see more (which is highly recommended).
At this point I have a post due for Geography, a paper due in Psychology, an Annotated Bibliography due tomorrow AND a lesson plan to come up with for tonight. What do I plan on doing the MOMENT I post this? You guessed it, homework. Hours upon hours of homework.................HAHA just kidding. Let's not get carried away. I will be spending tonight in dreamland and working on homework at work--work study jobs are great for that.
This weekend I went four-wheeling (I was even taught how to drive one!), pet a mule (very exciting), learned how to make Maple Syrup (from the time you pull the sap from the tree...which we did!), saw some of the cutest kittens ever, and listened to Beethoven being played by my friend...the same one who mentioned the flying barn subtly that seems to permeate this blog. So, off to bed I go my friends.

           Making sense of it all,
                                ~Sayuri~

Au contraire, you rat bastard- with love, Reg

I am so happy, and I can only I hope that someday you too can have the chance to be as lucky as I am. For I have my “special someone.“ That extra-special someone. The one who I want to contradict every time he opens his mouth.

This is an extraordinary relationship between a girl and her nemesis. He gives me someone to shake my fist at, growling “Damn you.” He makes my day better, because I can blame all my troubles on him. I can vent on his latest atrocities to my closest friends, releasing my own pent up frustrations.

He’s like that neighbor that always blows his leaves onto my driveway. I can count on him to always wake me up at 5 o’clock in the morning to the sound of the leaf-blower and he can always count on finding those same leaves on his porch when he gets home from work (Metaphorically of course. I would never do that…)

I’m not advocating being spiteful and vindictive toward everyone who slights you, and I’m not condoning scapegoats or other, darker things. I’m trying to advise that every girl needs a little competition. Thus, if you find yourself in a debate class with some ill-informed boor, go ahead and invalidate every point the makes. When speaking to him, make every remark subtly sarcastic. As long as you don’t throw any flying barns at him, your mental health will benefit and he will be blissfully unawares.

Some pointers for finding that special someone:

1. He is unusually charismatic and everyone loves him (this leaves the world blinded to his many faults, which you can discover!)

2. He misuses large words, but is left uncorrected the majority of the time (you can correct him)

3. He is opinionated (It is not fun to debate a moderate)

4. He pronounces certain words according to their IPA pronunciation in dictionaries (I.e. Piano is PiAHno, Encyclopedia is EncycloPEHdia)

5. He has a nick-name for his surname (This fits well with “Damn you ____!”)

6. He has in some way wronged you (your completely logical reason for being a not-so-nice-word-that-starts-with-a- “B”)

*Just a little piece of advice: Don’t hate the poor fool. It’s better to laugh at the both of you than malignantly at him. Sometimes, life should be like a sitcom.

Nothing to say and no way to say it- Reg

Meh.

I haven’t the energy to be witty right now (am I ever?). If you wish to be entertained, follow a link. (I hope you and I have similar tastes……in comedy)

http://www.stumbleupon.com/sustacken.kth.se/lists/best-forestry/2001-05/jpg00000.jpg

http://www.eviloverlord.com/lists/overlord.html

The Answer....a short post by Sayuri

For those of you who have followed my inner-search, you will immediately know to what this answer applies.


 YES.

Summer's Reply

I suppose you all have read Regette's ode to April...


Surprisingly, this post didn't make me angry.

It made me sad, thinking about poor Regette thinking for all these years that April is better than March.


So, out of the kindness of my heart, I've constructed a reply to her blog explaining how all her reasons were...  Oh, how should I put it...  Wrong.


And here it is.

Top 10 reasons why March is better than April:

1. If March weren't "an entire month of school without a break", April would cease to be so special to you because it would no longer promise the long awaited Spring break.  Without March, April would be ruined.

2. Yes, March is mostly winter. However, winter is my favorite Season.  In fact, out of Vivaldi's Four Seasons, "Winter" is the most spectacular and awe-inspiring...  Even the slow movement! Also, you cannot use people with disorders to praise a month.  What about people with allergies? They are virtually screwed in the spring.  What about people with Narcolepsy? Due to spring break, there are more people on the roads at night and thus more people at risk of being hit by a narcoleptic driver.  Therefore, people with disorders are not effective evidence to prove a point.

3. St.  Patrick's day is not typically considered a religious holiday, while Easter is.  What about Jewish people? They don't get presents on Easter.  What about Jehovah's Witness children? They don't get to delight in leprechauns or the Easter Bunny.  Therefore, holidays are also not effective evidence to prove a point.

4. Are you insinuating that no murders have occurred in April? If I were you, I would do a little more research...

5. In March, you are blissfully unaware of whether or not you were rejected from colleges and thus can continue your daydreams of coffee at Harvard or reading in Yale's library.

6. I...  Have no problem with this reasoning.

7. Who freaking cares?

8. April needs a special occasion such as April Fools Day to make it special.  March, however, need only be March to be special.  March very much pwned.

9. I don't have T.V., and therefore don't care. 

10. There are less months until you die in April.


And there you have it.


Less than three,


~Summer.

Don't Drink Plain Coffee From Starbucks... Just look what it did to Summer.

I can't tell you why, but there are fishies to the right of this page.

They are mulitcolored, and follow your cursor.

As I didn't know where they came from or why they were there, I found them highly amusing.

I named them Justin Bieber, James Stewart, Jess Mariano, Justin Bieber, Justin Bieber, and Justin Bieber.

I pretended that I was my cursor and that they were all flocking around me.

Then I realized that I was sitting at home playing with virtual fish because I couldn't think of anything to post about.

Life is a funny, funny thing, no?

Less than three,

~Summer

"Sleep is a symptom of caffeine deprivation."- Regette's one true love

I like my men like I like my coffee; strong, sweet, and hot as hell.

But I like my coffee more than I like my men. Coffee stimulates my mind and warms my soul with its embrace. Coffee and I never have an awkward moment. It can’t one-word text me and I never have to wait for it to call me. Coffee never tells me that eating doughnuts will make my butt big. If somehow coffee leaves me I can quickly find another, one that’s just as good as the first.

Coffee brings out the best in me. It cheerily wakes me up every morning. It keeps me awake during my classes and work. Coffee and I party all night with our friends without breaking the law. When I wake up in the morning I know it’ll still be there, waiting in the kitchen.

My grandma would never allow me to have coffee until I was 16. Now, I finally understand. I wasn’t allowed to date until I was 16 either. In my life, my past experiences have taught me not to believe in men. But, in the words of a wise-man, “Everybody should believe in something. I believe I'll have another coffee.”

Rejoice! It is finally April!- Regette taunts Summer with her love of Spring

Top 10 reasons why April is better than March:

1. In the years 2001 to 2020 Easter will fall 14 times in April and 6 times in March, therefore more Spring breaks will occur in April. When spring break doesn’t fall in March, March will be an entire month of school without a break.

2. March is mostly winter. People with seasonal affective disorder are sad during winter. April is spring. People with seasonal affective disorder are happy in spring. Therefore April cures depression.

3. Leprechauns don’t bring presents like the Easter Bunny.

4. On March 15^th Brutus stabbed his BFF.

5. Most colleges admissions decisions are done by April and the stress of not knowing is over.

6. April 1^st is an excellent excuse to give your least favorite person brownies laced with a laxative. This would be generally frowned upon in March, instead of seen as an excellent prank.

7. National Geographic expedition week is in April.

8. In a Google battle of March vs. April, when I typed in April it suggested “April fools!” and for March it suggested “March 2011.” April pwned.

9. Good prime time T.V. resumes in April (Bones) after taunting me with only two new episodes in all of March.

10. There are less months until my birthday in April.

A Social Disease- Regette learns to use a jump break, and thus save the world

I hate to be too serious, but sometimes, late at night when I think about blog posts for the next day, I can't help but be serious. To save you from any unwanted contemplation, I've included a jump break. Thus, if you are feeling light-hearted, you may skip the seriousness, and move on to something more entertaining (such as coffee, and flying barns).

Summer's Addiction

Life is like a maze.

You're just going along...  In a maze...  Looking for...  Okay, this metaphor is really not working for me.

Ahem.

Life is like the weather.

You can always count on it to be there, but can never count on it to be anything more than unreliable.  Sometimes the weather is gorgeous and you feel you could never be discontent again...  Other times, it's miserable and gross and you wish you lived in a bubble that would shut it all out.  Still other times, it's dead boring and you hardly notice it's there.


Today, I would like to dedicate this post to the one thing that I can always count on to turn my miserable sunny days into gorgeous cloudy ones.  The one legal thing, that is.

Coffee.

Coffee is my drug and my anti drug.  Coffee is my true love, and helps me cope with my lack of love.  Coffee helps me up when I'm down and helps me down when I'm stuck up.  Coffee is there for me in sickness and in health, and without it I would have no identifiable personality.

My friends tell me it's wrong for me to love you the way I do and my family frowns upon it in a way only families can, but I don't need their approval to do what I know is right.  Coffee, our relationship is the only thing right in a right-handed world.

Without coffee, life is like a maze; it's confusing and makes you feel sick to your stomach.

But with coffee...

The possibilities are endless.

The sky's the limit.

Coffee = Life

Oh! How I love life.

Less than three,

~Summer

Repitition is....Repetition is....Repetition is.... you've just been attacked by repetition ~Sayuri~

I am the planner. I plan.
I am the ear. I listen.
I am the voice. I speak.
I am the soul. I am heard.
I am a human. I make mistakes.
I am the wind. I kiss the world.
I am the sun. I cast light in the dark.
I am the dark. I make you thankful for the light.
I am who I am; I am me.
That is the only person I wish to be.

~Sayuri~

P.S. Goin' out of town for the weekend. Be back in touch Monday! Stay strong & drink coffee my friends