*Charades*

Ok, so here's the story: I started with an idea. An idea for a story--sorry, wrong word...novel? yea, I'll go with that--for a novel with a pretty great plot line. The details were missing, but the plot line was there and solid. But you can't write anything without some details, can you? And the details weren't there because it was set in the Victorian Era and, well, I don't live in the Victorian Era and never have.

I started to research that time period, but, because the magic of the internet has decided to cease to exist, I couldn't anything good. My first few chapters sound like pieces of...crap(with a few momentarily spots of brilliance{yea, I sound full of myself}).

So, a new novel was born. One with a similar plot line but more vague, unfinished. But the details are all there(well, most of them). That's the important part. And so I began and here it is in all it's wordy glory, The First Chapter:


It’s too late. She’s made up her mind. I’m going to have to go to that stupid party. There is no way around it. I knew it would come to this, but I give one last feeble attempt to convince her otherwise. My voice comes out a strained sound, just above a whisper, “But Mom, why in the world are you forcing me to go to a party? Shouldn’t you be doing the opposite, trying to keep me from having any fun? Even though that’s basically what you’re doing by forcing me to go.”

I mumble the last sentence under my breath. She hears it—I can always tell—but goes on as if I’ve said nothing.

“Piper, that’s enough. You’re being ridiculous,” she replies. “Your sister is going. You can go as well.”

“But she has nothing else to do. That’s what her life is. Her thought process basically goes like this: partying, me, friends, me, pretty, me, money, me. Besides, I don’t want to go with her. Going is bad enough, but with her?”

I’m lying. I’ve found I do that a lot lately. The truth is, I am completely, and totally, one hundred percent jealous of Anna. She’s the most popular girl in school—and a year older than me. I have maybe two good friends—at the most. She gets invited to everything. I get invited to nothing. She’s absolutely beautiful and looks just like mom. I look nothing like either of them. There is no resemblance at all between my mother and I. the difference is almost abnormal, a total anomaly. My mother and sister are fully gorgeous, like angels. I wouldn’t be surprised if they sprouted wings and flew off to heaven.

They have perfect, tanned complexions. Their noses are small and straight, and their faces are heart-shaped. Their full lips are perfectly shaped and just the right shade of almost-scarlet, fitting in perfectly with the roses in their cheeks. Long, wavy, chocolate-brown hair falls in cascades over their shoulders, twisting and turning at just the right spots, always perfectly messy. Perfectly in place. Never a strand hanging in the wrong spot. How can curly hair look that perfect?

My hair could never look like that. It’s a ridiculous mess of blonde, inflexibly straight and utterly screwed up. I can never get it to do what I want it to do; I can’t pin it, put it up in a bun, braid it, pigtail it, or even keep it down without it looking pitiful. The lank strands fall where they may, and I cant do anything about it.

None of our other features are remotely alike either. My nose is nowhere near small and my lips form a thin, rose-colored line, breaking up my face, dividing chin from upper lip. My face is long and ovular and my cheeks are never rosy. My entire face is pale as can be. A ghost. That’s what I’ve been frequently called since I move to this sunny, little hell-hole people like to call South Carolina. I could attempt to tan, but no sun would ever bring color to my face. I will always be pale. Always. I can’t even get through a day of school without someone telling me I look sick or telling me that I’m pale—as if I didn’t already know. My eyes are the same way. Not a day passes that I don’t get a comment on them. They are a bright, luminescent green—almost like an emerald, hard and solid—nothing like the delicate, cerulean eyes of my mother and sister.

The only other person I’ve seen with eyes like mine is Miss Abby, my tutor. Her real name is Abigail ­­____—she actually wants me to call her Miss Abby. Weird, right? She used to be my nanny, but when I got older, and didn’t need a nanny anymore, she took her place as my tutor. My family has always had that kind of money. My dad is a lawyer and my mom is a real-estate agent. The perfect example of a Pawley’s mom—it’s too bad we’re about fifteen miles north of Pawley’s Island.

I’ve always secretly wished to look and be like my mom. I put on this façade that I can’t stand her or the rest of my family—the rebellious teen act—but just like it is with my sister, I really do aspire to be like her. I don't hate her at all. But nothing about us is the same. Nothing. We aren’t even the same size or body-type. She’s a size two. Skinny as can be, but yet still not small. She’s not because she’s tall. About five foot seven. Not small at all, but she just looks so tiny compared to me. I’m already up to five-nine and still growing. I wouldn’t call myself a monster, but I am tall. I wouldn’t call myself fat either; I’m just…not a size two. My hips are larger, and my legs are longer. My body is disproportionate. I’ve learned to live with it…to an extent.

The differences don’t stop there. They go deeper. If you compare our personalities, it’s even worse. We are farther from each other in that aspect than we are in any other. Her happy demeanor follows her everywhere. She’s one of those people you can’t help but love. I’m nothing like that. Sometimes, I try to be, but my miserable attempt at appearing cheerful doesn’t work. It doesn’t fool anybody. Everyone can see right through my charade. They know I’m not the happiest person.

I’m not depressed. I just have a lot of trouble calling this place home. It never feels right, the word ‘home’. When I say it in my mind, it’s like that one puzzle piece that never fits, no matter how hard you cram it. When I say it out loud, I have even more trouble. I try to refrain from using that word in reference to my…current living situation. Living is South Carolina is not the jolly experience it’s cracked up to be. It’s hot, humid, and has mosquitoes that eat you alive.

The day we moved here, when I was in second grade, was the worst eighteen hours of my life. We spent forever loading up the moving van and then we drove all the way from New York. That’s a lot of time to be cramped in a tiny Honda with a bunchy of bags and suitcases. The worst experience of my eight-year-old life.

New York. That’s the place I call home. That’s where my family is. My real family. That’s where we left them behind. This family here is different. Not the same. Fake.

People ask me how I remember what it was like…I was just eight, but I remember everything. Like how we used to sit in the living room after dinner and tell stories. Stories of school. Stories of work. Made-up stories. Ghost stories. Just stories. We would laugh, scream, and cry together. Whatever we did, it was always together, as a family. As a whole. It was always real. Here, nothing’s real. We never sit after dinner and tell stories. We never talk like we used to. We never do anything together. We aren’t a family. I know it sounds lame coming from a seventeen-year-old, but it’s true. I miss the ridiculous stories. I miss talking to them. I miss my family.

I look up into my mother’s sky blue eyes. They are searching mine, trying to fathom my thoughts. She’s caring. That’s important. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but I know she’s caring about me. That’s all that matters right now.

“There will always be another Saturday to go to Felicia’s house or hole-up in your room—whatever you’re planning,” she says. “This weekend your are going to go to this party.”

What is wrong with her?

“Fine,” I say, groaning. I shouldn’t cop an attitude with her. It will just make everything worse, but the frustration and resentment is building up inside of me. My blood's boiling. My skin prickles and my lips purse. I can’t just do nothing. I can’t be forced to go against my own will.

“But—”

“But nothing!” she says, raising her voice and cutting me off. “This is final. Conversation over!”

I hate it when she does this. I can’t handle the pressure. A person yelling never helps calm me down. It does the exact opposite. Shouting just makes me upset. And once I cry, I can’t just cut it out. As soon as the first tear drops, a hundred more will follow. My eyes sting with the burn of oncoming tears. They threaten to flood over the ledge, to run down my face in a pouring river, falling fast. I have to close my eyes to hold them back; my eyelids act as a dam, keeping the tears inside.

Thomas Sutton, my father, walks around the corner. I know it’s him even with my eyes closed. The way he steps, placing one foot after the other in a steady pattern. The way his presence feels. I can just feel him standing there. He has a commanding quality about him. Walking in, he stops the tears from bubbling up. I am free to open my eyes and take in the sight of him. He is tall and broad shouldered—a football players build. His hair is the perfect shade of sandy brown, matching his tanned, olive skin. Despite his rough looks, he has laugh lines etched into his face. The laugh lines that come from many years of his joyous character. He is very well known for his lively personality in and out of the courtroom. His kind nature is what I prize most about having him for a father.

“Now, what’s going on here?” he asks jokingly, as if he hasn’t heard every word from the other room. He’s trying to break the tension. It works. He doesn’t have to put much effort into it. He easily cuts through the strain in the air.

He has this effect on my mother. Before the words are even out of his mouth, she puts on this would-be charming smile and swoons over him. It’s like he’s her drug-dealer and she’s in some serious need of crack. Maybe that’s not the best way to describe it, but going to a school like Waccamaw—where there are a bunch of druggies—drug references are the first to come to mind.

But, anyway, you get the picture. It’s disgusting. Public displays of affection are not on the top of my ‘favorite things list’. When my mom is done falling all over my father, he looks at me with sympathetic eyes.

“You know, honey,” he says to my mom. “Maybe you shouldn’t force Piper to go to this party. She obviously doesn’t want to go…”

“No. I want her to be more social,” she says. “I want her to be more like Anna, and go out with her friends.”

Typical.

“But none of those people are even my friends!” I say, practically shouting. “And why can’t I, just for once, be like myself instead of Anna?”

“You don’t want to be more like yourself if yourself is a hermit. You’ll end up alone with tons of cats.”

“No. I do want to be myself. And I am not a hermit! Just because I don’t decide to act fake like all of you, doesn’t mean I’m an unsociable hermit!”

I see it. The look on her face. A look like I’ve just slapped her. I knew that it would hurt her. It just…came out. I didn’t mean it. Okay, so I did, but I didn’t mean to say it.

“Piper, please. Stop shouting,” my father says, consolingly. Then he turns to my mother. “Sweetie, maybe Piper can go and if she feels like leaving, she can. It doesn’t matter if she stays.”

I roll my eyes. My father sees it.

“I don’t care if you go for an hour, or a second. Just go. It will make your mother happy and it will stop all this god-damn arguing.”

There he goes again. Making peace. Why does he have to be so good at it?

“All right, but I am going to leave. I know I will,” I say.

“That’s fine with me,” he says.

Here, my mother joins the conversation again, “Fine. I just wish she’d be more sociable.”

There’s my cue to roll my eyes again, so I do. He sees it, again. He grins, and, of course, starts to laugh. He’s done it again and so proud of himself. He can’t help but laugh. And when he does, I’m reminded of just how much I love that sound.


That's it. How is it?

P.S. Emilea: You will be happy to know, I only edited this 1 1/2 times(it may need just a little bit more though) I did the whole thing once just for typos(errors in spelling, accidental letters--and numbers--etc.) Then, I did it again actually editing the content.(I count this collectively as once)
Then, I did the 3rd and 4th paragraphs once more because they were stubbornly adverb-filled(and still kind of are)

P.P.S. Caroline: Definitely not as good as yours but still hoping it's good. Is it? I'm dying to know. Was I mistaken in posting it for all the world to see? Was I right in doing it?

Questions? Comments? Concerns?
Comments especially. please.
luvya
♥Heather

It's official...

I'm going with the modern version...way better.

I would post some of the first chapter, but I'm completely shy about it until it's edited absolutely and completely down to the bone. All scraps and extras gone. Just the necessities and best left.

But things I've definitely decided on:

~her name is Piper Marie Sutton
~her sister's name is Anna Leigh Sutton
~her father's name is Thomas John Sutton
~she live about fifteen miles north of Pawley's Island
~she moved here from New York in second grade
~her real mother's name is Abigail _____(last name to be determined)
~her best friend's name is Felicia Jane Forester(totally stole Dean's last name for that one)
~her real mother poses as her used-to-be-nanny turned tutor
~she's real close to Miss Abby^^
~she hates South Carolina
~the guy's name is Jackson ____ _____

that's all I've got for now on definite facts
I'll post more later
luvya

August Rush

I went to go see August Rush today, with Caroline.

I'm in love.

With the movie August Rush and with the kid August Rush a.k.a. Evan Taylor a.k.a. Freddie Highmore and with Louis Connelly and the people who wrote the story, Nick Castle and James V. Hart and Paul Castro.(oh, and Jonathan Rhys Meyers, because he's awesome and because he plays Louis)

It is now my favorite movie.

It might possibly be the best movie I've ever seen.

It really was that great.

And Freddie Highmore has always been one of my favorite actors, but now it's official. He is my favorite actor. By far. It's a landslide win. No doubt about it. And I love his eyes. His gorgeous, blue eyes that I could just stare at forever. But that's another story. I shouldn't dwell too long on his eyes, else you might get bored, and I don't want that.

That movie even made me forget about the horrible choice for Bella Swan in Twilight the movie.

For hours I didn't think about it once. And even now, it's not making me depressed because of the happy, internal impression that August Rush made on me. (person and movie)

I now want to buy a guitar or cello and name it August.

I can't wait until it comes out on DVD. I'm buying it instantly.

I am totally jealous of Daniel Radcliffe just for being friends with Freddie Highmore.

I want to be him. I am willing to play a guy in Harry Potter--Harry Potter specifically--just to be friends with Freddie Highmore.

He's one of those people that I would die to meet. I want to meet him more than Johnny Depp.

Scary isn't it?

But I'm not in love with just him by himself. It's his acting skills, his sweet nature, his altogether embodiment.

Same with the movie. It's the whole entirety of the movie, every character in it has depth and a story. Everyone is connected. Every actor is amazing.

But my obsession with this movie has only begun. I've only seen it once. The obsession will grow the more I see this movie. The more I learn about the movie. The more I learn about Freddie Highmore(like the shocking news that he turns 16 on Valentines Day, yes it's true, he's not really as young as he looks).

I love it.

And all in all, it turned out to be a fantastic day. Actually, yesterday was pretty good too. That's like a record for the past few weeks. Two days back-to-back that were good? Weird.

Well, anyway. The whole point is that I strongly advise going to see August Rush. It's amazing.

But, then again, you is Caroline and I went to see it with Caroline. And it's not like anyone else reads my blog...
ok
Im out
luvya♥

♥♥"I believe in music the way some people believe in fairy tales. But I hear it came from my mother and father. Once upon a time, they fell in love..."♥♥

Friends

after everything has been said and done
after the food has been cooked and eaten
after the dishes have been cleared and the table wiped down
I realize...There is at least one thing I can be thankful for.

The arguments, the fights, the make-ups, the break-ups, the insults, the bickering, the orders, and the annoyances can be ignored and the spotlight can be put on the thing I'm grateful for, My Best Friends.

Of all the things in my life, my best friends are what holds me together, help me handle the tough times, and give me honest criticism without being painfully harsh. They are the ones standing in a circle around me, pillars holding up the heavens, holding up my hope, keeping it from crashing down.

Whenever I need them, they're always there. I don't need my biological family, they are my real family. They are my real sisters.

They are always waiting in the wings to catch me if I fall. Always there to pick me up whenever I can't get up on my own. Always there to help me forget the bad memories, feelings, and thoughts and remember the good times we've had. They are always there, preparing for the worst, and making these times the best.

I am grateful for:

Caroline--My best best friend. For always being there to spend hours discussing books that we've already spent collective days discussing. For being such a good writer and inspiring me. For sharing common interests with me and making me feel like there is someone else out there as crazy as I am. For helping me become myself and not fear what people think of me. For being the perfect other half of those ridiculous best friend heart necklaces, you know what I'm talking about and your the one with Best written on it because you are the best. For always listening to what I have to say, even if I'm not saying anything. For knowing me. For being my best friend.

Courtney--God, how I love you in all your insane drama. For always being the strongest needle and thread I know, being able to patch things up after we have an argument. For being a friend amongst enemies. For staying by my side, even when you don't want to be there. For following me and keeping in step, never missing a beat. For being a good friend and understanding how I feel. For helping me let out my thoughts in angry rants. For giving me an outlet to turn to when I need someone. For being there.

Chloe--My rock. My steady hand. For being there to drop everything when I need someone to help me laugh. For being the hug that I need. For not letting petty things ruin our friendship. For being as ambitious as you are. For your insane hand gestures :). For letting our joke arguments go on and on, keeping something constant in my life. For being ready to kick anybody's ass that ever hurts me. For loving me.

Danielle--The abnormal creature. For being so ever-changing, bringing new spice to my life every day. For being so insanely crazy(and yes I do know that is redundant). For being an amazing artist. For helping me create the stories that I call my good times. For making me realize how great I've had it the past 5 years. For holding on through all of these years. For sticking with me no matter what. For being you.

Allison--My entertainment--in a good way. For being my sun, able to light up any day. For being so ditsy sometimes and accepting it(because you aren't really that dumb). For helping me accept myself. For making it through one year and sticking around for plenty more. For loving unconditionally. For being so nice whenever I need something nice said about me. For joining us willingly without fear. For being happy.

I love you all 10 times over, no 100 times, no 1,000,000:)♥
couldnt live without any of you. You are my life.

Not Quite a Chain Letter...a blog letter??

You know those stupid chain letters?? The ones that say if you dont send this to 20 people in the next 3 hours, you will see a dead girl hovering above your bed tonight with a sickle, stabbing you whilst kicking your nose intending to break it and cutting your hair until you look like a stray cat that's been starving for ten years with your tears turning into blood??

Yea, those things.

I hate those.

Alot.

So, Caroline, my one and only reader,(and whomever else may actually read this-not likely) I propose a task to you--something I stole from Libba Bray.

There is this game, and here are the rules:

The rules are that "each player lists 8 facts/habits about themselves. The rules of the game are posted at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed. At the end of the post, the player then tags 8 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog."

Sounds confusing the first time you read it...or at least...it did to me...anyway moving on.

Since I only know one person with a blog and that is you, Caroline you are the person I am tagging and I encourage you to pass this on, and I promise you will not wake up tonight with a dead girl hovering over you stabbing you, kicking you, and chopping off all your hair.

If you do...well...I'll know why you end up in the hospital with a broken nose and multiple stab wounds, with your hair chopped off. I will understand. I promise.

So here goes the eight wonderful facts:

1. I have so many inside jokes that I could go on and on with a list of things that even you, caroline, wouldn't understand. Such as... bunny in the sky; Swirling pink pile of DOOM; our mommy might take our dinosaurs away again; solid or liquid??; pronounciate or pronunciate?? and of course tons more I can't think of right now...
2. I walk, talk, eat, read, and do many other things fast. At an abnormally fast rate for a few of them, eating especially. Such as the other night for dinner when I ate 3 helpings before they all finished their first.
3. Me and Lorena have this Daniel Radcliffe thing where we tell stories about him and his crazy fans all the time even though both of us think he's funny looking and gay...yea...good times...
4. I bite my nails, as a matter of fact...while I was thinking of what to write for this fact, I was biting my middle finger nail on my left hand, it is now shorter. But that's something common...I wish I had something else cooler to say.
5. I absolutely love writing poetry but I hate how it sounds when I'm done. It's kind of like the writer's self-hatred I mentioned(and stole from caroline) earlier in a previous posting. Either I write using rhyming and have a love/hate relationship with the turn out or I write free verse and I think it sounds unrythmical(my own word invention) and I have another love/hate relationship with that. And I love the way poetry creates vivid images that just seem so emotional and I love it. But, alas, I hate my poetry...
6. The only time I eat mayonnaise is on a bananamayo sandwich(that sounds gross but it's actually good, and I dont even like mayonnaise)
7. One of my friends(who's practically being stalked--story for a later time) yells at me for reading all the time in my drama class and then she yelled at me for passing on my joy of reading to my friend zac and so she started reading and she's so into her book that if she has it with her, she reads more than me. So that brings being yelled at for reading up to about a billion times and sadly about 2 billion of those times are from my friend Katlyn, previously mentioned above.
8. I haven't gotten my mom to sign a required gradesheet in about a year, I've forged them all, most of the time because I've forgotten

Ok so here it is, pass it on Caroline, this game could get very interesting...or not, whichever

Im Out; luvya

so...like I told you--I haven't been able to get past this one paragraph in my story for Gov. school application. And this writer's self-hatred(yes I am stealing that phrase from you, Caroline. Who cares if it's plagiarism--WAIT! Its not because I just cited you! HAHA! found my way around that one! anyway...) is really annoying me! The irritation of it is nawing at every corner of my mind whenver I try to relax and get some sleep so I'm just going to edit the paragraph best I can, take a couple days break, then go back to my story.

It will be a great thing to do and fill the empty time of my miserable Thanksgiving break, when I will be forever doomed to hole-up in my room reading, writing, or sleeping because I will have absolutely nothing to do because my family isn't coming, I'm not going anywhere, my sister will be here but doing other things,--you know, the usual, hanging out with friends, arguing with my mom, that stuff--and most of my friends either have plans or for some reason we won't be able to do anything because thats what always happens(except for possibly on wednesday)

And because I have to take a break from writing to get over my writer's self-hatred, I won't, of course, be writing the very necessary part of my Gov. school application, and since I don't really like rhyming poetry and I'm not good at free verse, and it's physically--mentally, as well--impossible for me to write a good story 10 pages or less, I basically have no other option but to write a chapter of a novel and I can't just send in the first chapter and be done with it!

I have to write at least like 4-5 chapters of my novel for me to choose a good one that's under 10 pages that I like and gives an idea of what my novel is going to be about.

well right now, I'm going to stop wasting my time and writing energy on this blog and conserve it for when I do go to write my story in a couple days. That being said, I probably won't write anything else for the next couple days, so goodbye for now, and you can stop listening to me--or reading--talk(write) about my writing problems
Im out, for a bit longer
luvya

I hate that...

this abnormal tiredness is completely throwing me off.

The past two days after school I've taken a "nap" that has lasted at least 2 hours. That is such an anomoly that it's almost scaring me. So now its 6:40 and I'm completely worn out from my "nap"--ironic, huh?--and so I can't concentrate on reading and I'm not particularly fond of the TV right now, so I'm left to sit here and otherwise 'talk' to you(the one person that will ever read this).

And I'm completely fretting about my governor's school story because the last paragraph I wrote completely sucks and I don't know how to fix it. I would say just screw it and use a different chapter, but this is the key chapter of the book and even if I didnt use it, I'm such a perfectionist with my writing that there's no way I'll ever be able to ignore this dreadful paragraph.

And there's no way I can cut this paragraph out because it is kind of important. So whatever form of writer's block this is called--if it is writer's block and not just perfectionism--I have it. I hate it. I can't get around it. I want to strangle it and fling it off the Empire State Building.

My hatred for writing stories is somewhat ridiculous because I love to write. Writing is one of my favorite ways to use big words because I know that no matter how many I use, I don't need the criticism of my more vocabulary incompetent friends--I need the help of my friends with more extensive vocabulary--I won't have to repeatedly explain what words mean.

But I do hate writing when I get stuck and my mind refuses to work like this particular moment, where, all I can write, are stupid blog entries that will not get me into governor's school and therefore are of no use to me at all but yet I insist on continuing to waste my time writing them to vent my anger and frustration or otherwise just ramble as previously warned I would.

Continue to ponder that while I continue to ponder my story
I'm out--and tired
luvya

It's absolutely insane when...

...life throws curve balls at you. And I mean insane curve balls that not even Babe Ruth could even brush his bat against. Curve balls that--let's say--the likes of which haven't been seen or heard of in about 12 years.

All these years and I never thought I would ever hear from or about my cousin ever again and sadly also thought that I would never hear about my grandparents either. But shockingly, out of nowhere, my cousin found me--starting with my sisters--on myspace and has updated me--basically starting, once again, with my sisters--on things that have recently happened. The good, the bad, and everything in between. It's so crazy...

But what do you do when the good doesn't seem all that great because the bad and the in between are obscuring your vision of the good?

What do you do when you find out that your father does exist somewhere out there in the world and that he would like contact with you after 12 years?

Well...I say screw it, and if I would actually be willing to talk to him, I would say it to his face, I hate him.

He basically ruins my life, isn't there, doesn't even come in to contact with us at all in 10-12 years, and then all of the sudden wants to be there??

I think not. Now you can see the bad, or at least the in between because my indifference to him kind of makes it fall into the in between. The bad however, is joined with the good and vice-versa. So now that my cousin has gotten into contact with us, she tells us that my grandfather(on my father's side obviously) would like to talk to us too. Curiously enough, she says just grandfather not grandparents or grandmother. No just grandfather. Because, apparently, while the estrangement was continuing, my grandmother died of some sort of cancer. This is awful because, I loved my grandmother. And this happened two years ago and I just now found out.

Now there's the good and the bad. My cousin, who I'm so glad to have contact with now, has told me that my grandfather would like to see us too, but that my grandmother is dead, that my father, who abandoned us, would like to see me(never going to happen), and that she lives near us.

The new problem is:

what in the world do you say to a cousin you knew last when you were 2?
what do you say to a grandparent that you last remember seeing age 6?
what do you say about your dead grandmother, that you didn't know died?
what do you say to the family members about your lack of interest in seeing your father?
how do you handle yourself when you finally see them, when just thinking about makes your eyes water?
how do you handle the stress of all this while still trying to go about normal life?

I have no idea.

I would like to answer them simply:

"Hey, I've missed you. I'm so happy that we could meet today."
"Hey, I've missed you too. It's good we could see each other today."
"I loved her so much. I only wish I could have been there that day, or that she could be here today."
"Oh, um, it's just that I have soo many other things on my mind, I haven't had time to think about it."
You walk in with a smile, simple as that.
What stress?

It's too bad none of these are existing options. Too bad you can't just pretend like it hasn't been over 10 years. Too bad you can't just make this have never happened. Too bad your life was this way to begin with.

The next few weeks will be very interesting--and virtually impossible to handle--but I'm ready(I hope) So...
Im out
luvya

Volleyball Fundraiser

it was cold. The wind was wipping across my face. I looked up at the sun. It was still low in the eastern sky. Too early to be really awake. Saturdays are meant for sleeping in. Nobody was coming. So we waited. And waited. And waited...

Oh look! she cried. Theres someone coming...

Ugh! It's just Keri! She's just pulling her car up.

And then it was Brennan.

And then we waited. And waited. And waited...

It was still cold. Not as cold as before. The sun was approaching being directly overhead. Noon was close...

OMG! someone's actually coming!

5 are lined up. Finally people are here!

We finished those five and dried them off. The sun is directly overhead. We were getting hungry...

OH look! Burgers! yumm...

Oh of course they came then. When we were eating.

Scarf them down ladies, scarf them down!

We finally got busy. My hands pruned. I held a torn up sign for about five minutes. Then he called me back.

Drinks! I needed drinks!

Here we go. Its over now. The sun has moved to the western sky. Our time is up. Exhausted and wet, we went home. All in a day's work. 45 came. 275 made. More to be collected.

Funny things to know about Daniel Radcliffe

OK...so here I am, sitting in drama, and Lorena comes up to me and says, "Hey, I've got another Daniel Radcliffe story."

Now this has become a common thing between us--talking about Daniel Radcliffe that is--so this isn't completely weird but still abnormal in the slightest

It started out by talking about the Harry Potter movies and she brought up Equus which is the play that he did where he was on-stage completely nude(her bringing that up, however, was very weird) so we started talking about how so many people went to see that just to see Daniel Radcliffe naked, otherwise they would only get to see it in their dreams. Well when she brought that up I couldn't help but tell her about someone reaching up, while he was doing the nude scene, and grabbing his boxers off the stage. She cracked up about this so we started talking about crazed fan stories.

Then, I said, "What was so funny, was that, there was this interview with him, Rupert Grint, and Emma Watson, and he had to say what the craziest thing was that a fan had ever did, and apparently some girl--they were at a stop light(or traffic light as he calls them in his British lingo)--but she crawled out of her car, through the window, and into the window of his limo while they were stopped, and was suspended across the cars!"

Now she busted up laughing at this just like any sane person would and I said, "But Emma Watson thought that he was going to tell the story about a fan who was wearing nothing but a towel! and apparantly the fan that crawled between the cars had a sign that said something like 'Future Mrs. Daniel Radcliffe' "

so anyway back to today when she said she had a new one to tell...

CRAP! I forgot the story! UGH! well I guess I'll have to get back to it when I remember but for now...I'm going to add the video of the interview on here...

well I was going to but its being ridiculous and not letting me so here's a link to it on YouTube.com

http://youtube.com/watch?v=oAQeUMh02XE

UGH! this blog turned out more aggravating than I thought it would be! but at least I got a good laugh out of watching that video for about the 100th time
well I'm out
luvya