Willy Nilly

Confession: It really has not been my most healthy weekend ever.

It's terrible. If I wasn't fat before I surely am now. But what a yummy fat it is.

Speaking of cats, I like 'em. I like 'em a lot.

Feline characteristics are a pretty much deeply rooted in their typical stereotype of being dignified, snooty and lazy. They wear all the pants, they could care less for human interaction and yet we continue to coo at the wittle baby kitties and slave away the rest of the cat's existence, trying to not take it personally when they nuzzle up every corner of your body but can't stand your touch once you want to pet them.

But!

Like any species, cats have their oddballs. Such as this little demon of love:

...ps I'm talking about the wet ball of fur there :P

This cat. This cat is a fiend. A conglomerate fiend of about 5 different Animal Kingdom branches.

This cat looks like a cat. But he's really a dog (one of those cute dumb dogs). And a bird. And a goat.

And also Spiderman. Not sure what branch that is.

This past weekend, that lovely lady in the picture, demon cat's mommy, and her hubby went on a lake trip with her family in celebration of Memorial day and so I apartment/cat-sat for them. It was only a couple days but I can safely say that that "cat" should never be left alone for more than 24 hours at a time, if that even.

Usually, when you enter the house after a period of it being empty, the cat doesn't appear for a minute or two. Hiding out till suddenly he just pops up and you have no idea where he came from. Which would be exceedingly creepy if he didn't have a look in his eyes that suggested he was gazing at purple mushrooms sporting orange afros and singing christmas carols (speaking of 'shrooms' that "cat" is seriously, seriously on drugs). But no, this particular weekend after being left alone to whatever his little demon heart desires, I open the door and he bolts like there's no tomorrow and he has to run around the world before it ends. I didn't even realize he'd escaped till he spent a crazed second flailing around my legs as if the sun had actually blinded him. He teetered off at a speed unsafe for his condition (exemplified by his near run-in with the back of the stairs) and I chased him to the parking lot.

I got him back in the apartment and he didn't leave my shoulder for the next 10 minutes. Not draped over my shoulder like those cute baby gorilla's in Tarzan. Like a parrot. Standing on my shoulder. Turning around, shoving his stinky little booty in my face, whipping my eyes with his tail. He meowed. He chirped. He nuzzled and he clawed. He jumped, ran, bounded, flipped and juggled invisible playthings in thin air.

Boyfriend and I came back the next day, wary of his attempts to escape. He was just as hyperactive and cuddly as before. When we tried to leave he was right at our feet, blocking the door from even opening. We tried to distract him with a playtoy by tossing it into the kitchen, but once the doorknob made the slightest click his ears perked up and he was back with his nose in the crack. So boyfriend went back to the kitchen, jiggling the toy so the "cat" came back, got tangled in and suddenly we were in a 007 movie and he had just set a bomb and the word was, "GO! GO! GO!!"

I ripped open the door, he tumbled past me and I snapped it shut just as demon "cat"s baffled face bounded within 2 feet of the closing door.

That cat eats anything.

He chases and chews on his own tail.

He literally plays with nothing. Batting at it. Biting, scratching and practically having a seizure.

He climbs up walls, furniture and door screens.

He makes sounds unbeknownst to a cat.

He's not a cat, and I love him :)

Blessings in Disguise

I love funerals. That may seem a tad strange, but I do. All the ones I've been to at least. I love the celebration they are of a life well-lived. Remembering the moments when a person has touched and inspired you. A reminder to love the people around us.

I got roped into playing harp for my neighbor's mother's funeral today and it was lovely. Weird to think that commemorating a death would be the best way I could spend my morning. But it is, I'm so glad I had the opportunity to be there.

The speakers loved their mother so much and that love shined right through the tears. They were tears of love, tears of missing someone so special. I didn't know the woman, Velma Jennings, but throughout the service and even now I wish I had been able to meet her during her life. They had a more recent picture of her, in black and white, on the front of the program and I was amazed at the bright, happy sparkle evident in her eyes. Even in a cheap, paper print her light was apparent. Her daughter gave a "Life sketch" for Velma and I honestly was moved almost to tears. The story of Velma and her husband, Paul, was so touching and beautiful.

Velma was diagnosed with Parkinson's for the last eight years of her life and not once did Paul ever give up on her. He would sleep on a couch beside her bed, holding her hand or singing to her. All their kids encouraged him to put her in a home before the worry and stress broke him down as well, but he would not. He explained,

"When I asked her father for her hand, I told him I would always, always take care of her. So that's what I'm going to do."

The dedication and pure love etched into that man's face as they spoke of his wife and the life they had together was enough to make my heart swell and my eyes well up. He was so sweet afterwards in thanking me for being there, too. I wanted to hug him for being such an excellent example of all the things good I see in love but I figured a strange 20 year old coming at a fragile old fellow like him wouldn't be the best for his tender heart and I didn't exactly wanna be the cause of another funeral in the family. So I stuck with a smile and a "thank you".

My point, however, is that this morning I woke up a bit on the lazy side of the bed. I didn't want to pack up my big, bulky instrument. I didn't want to clean out my car so it would fit in the back. I didn't want to drive to the church building, get all set up on the stand and plunk out some simple church hymn arrangements. I didn't know the woman. It didn't seem worth my time.

Oh, how wrong I was.

You can never know who you might learn a valuable lesson from. I'd never met this woman or most of her family. I only knew her granddaughter through a mutual music teacher as well as her son and daughter-in-law who lived next door. I wouldn't even say I knew them particularly well. But she taught me a many great thing by just being a wonderful woman who raised an exemplary family.

Laugh more.

Complete every action with love.

Spend the time it takes to show someone you care.

I believe I'm a better person simply because I attended this funeral today and felt this woman's spirit. Her precious, special spirit.

Please, don't take the people who pass through your life for granted. There's something to be learned from all of them.

Ask and Ye Shall Receive

Had a request for proof of paint being applied to boyfriend's toesies...

He's kind of the biggest sport that's ever lived. True story. You can also see how uber-talented I am with the polish...don't judge me.

Just because I'm frustrated: There has GOT to be an easier way to put pictures into these posts!! Am I just really incompetent and don't understand how to use this website or does everyone hafta drag their pictures through the pristine paragraphs that have already been written, screwing up the proportional indents and sentence spacing? Cuz it's extremely obnoxious over here in Doofus-land.

Anyway. This is another cake post!! Yay! I know you're excited. Except I have no idea if you're excited or not. I don't even know exactly who you are. Hi, you. Hope you are enjoying yourself here.

So I did indeed go back in time and attempt to recreate the Butterscotch cake I mentioned in my Radiation post. Erm, well I don't mean literally 'back in time', that's just silly.

So there she is. The beautiful creation fresh outta the oven. She looks great (but she's NOT). Turns out I forgot my secret-not-so-secret ingredient and the cake ended up a lot drier than my cakes tend to be. Twas very saddening. 'Specially considering the frosting turned out magnificent:

But wait! There's more! The hardest part about this cake (which is sad since I screwed up the easy part of simply baking the darn cake) is making the butterscotch topping. Involves boiling sugar for exact amounts of time and if you forget to time it you are in deep doggie doo-doo. OR you'll just end up with really runny sauce but it won't matter cuz it's just more sugar and everyone loves sugar...as seen below.

That would be the essence of nutrition at our most recent girls' night extravaganza. Cake, DP, chips and salsa...also other assorted goodies not pictured but I assure you. They were not at all healthy in any remote manner.

On a different note, I learned something about Ewan McGregor that night (other than the fact that he reduces me to the stereotypical, giddy, twitterpated 13 year old hormone-struck idiot girl that lives inside my brain)...boy can he sing but honestly? It kind of takes movie magic to complete the effect, and Moulin Rouge had plenty of movie magic going on. I was literally melting on the couch every time he burst into song but then I went home, youtubed the soundtrack and was sorely disappointed by how the songs lacked that intense epicosity so abundant during the movie. Twas my first time seeing that particular classic and while not my favorite it did have some, um...interesting moments.

And a terrible ending! My goodness, nearing the end I finally realized that it was looking more and more like a tragedy rather than a comedy and the sudden onset of death and despair didn't set well with my dear 13-year-old self.

We watched Anastasia immediately thereafter. I've kind of been in love with Dimitri since my childhood so, whatevs.

Btdubs...this post has NO point whatsoever.

Ooh! Ooh! No wait, it does! I got a job. That's point-worthy. Go shopping in the Wal-Mart at the Riverview in mesa and I'll say hi to you (but only cuz it's my job. I actually hate you and would never say hi otherwise).

I'm kidding....or am I?

Live long and prosper.

Daily Tidbits

Premium writing time: after midnight.

Premium sleep time: ...after midnight.

....ohhh, I see where you're going with this.

No, you don't understand. It's terrible. Every night I choose between "ooh, bed sounds lovely!" and "must. tell. stories." Bed has been crushing the competition lately. In a very--soft and pillowy kind of elimination.

The problem is, I'm so much more clever-er when I should be sleeping. Heaven only knows why (as I think about it, maybe they don't either) but honestly, I'll take all the boosts I can get. The more random the better, right? I mean really, who doesn't like green-flavored goose feet.

Mmmm, TASTY.

I dunno, moving on.

In lieu of "firsts", if you've never swam--at night--while it's raining--with your significant other it should probably scoot on up to top priority. Naturally, you might hafta wait for the elements to swing in your favor but give a homeless man a cookie and I'm sure karma will deal you a good hand.

Swam? Swum? Swimmed?

Y'know, you kinda hit a major stopping and rethinking your life moment when you find yourself spell checking and grammar catching the jobs you're applying to: "I'm significantly more literate than the people that wrote this application form....lolWUT?!" Although, I must say, Albertson's is an extremely friendly site. After pretty much every other page of questions (I am prone to exaggeration, this is not one of those special moments) it would have a page primarily dedicated to thanking you and telling you to click 'next'. I mean it. That's the only purpose the entire webpage had. Call me crazy but it was a tad silly. Also, ever write a single word so many times it suddenly becomes unrecognizable to your brain? Like it was never a word in the first place? My name has taken on that light. Doesn't help that it's a plain ole word in the first place. I applied to WalMart, Home Depot, Cinemark, Lowe's, Bass Pro Shop, Albertson's, Fry's, Safeway and multiple nannying jobs--all online (except Cinemark. I lied. So shoot me).

Thinking back that list is pitifully inaccurate for portraying the amount of time and information I chugged out today, so just hear me out when I say: "Job hunting is the POOPS". The end.

But not the end!

Boyfriend and I tried, we sincerely tried, to watch 'Gnomeo and Juliet'...it may've been already knowing the entire plot, already knowing that I really am not the greatest fan of the plot in the first place or perhaps just a general lack of interest in the fate of the dueling, clanking, semi-creepy gnomes. The best part of that movie was the frog and the very, very, very beginning. Way at the front. With the gnome reading the scroll onstage. Fantastic. I laughed.

Yes! I know I can't rightfully judge because I didn't watch the entire thing...but I did enjoy the frog.

Elton John, the heart shaped orchid center and love at first ninja-spotting? Nooooot so much.

Then we tried 'I Am Number Four'......

Um....

Well, see I--I just......

Hm, how shall I put this nicely.....

Dear Michael Bay,

Stop. Just stop.

Talk about horrific one-liners and too much attention to the wrong part of the plot! I was gagging on the blanket the entire movie. But! We had great fun mocking each and every serious moment. I would love to delve into a rant right about this moment but ranting never does any blog any good. Ranting only spews the ideas all at once in no logical order, which makes sense in the moment to the writer but any poor reader trying to muck through has to wonder, "Were they thinking with the same brain when they wrote this?"

I was very much attached to the dog/camaro however (chimera, whatever, it sounded like she said 'camaro' which I found a lot funnier), and was quite upset and impatient when it looked like the beagle had bled to death, curled up in the puddled mess of the school shower room and nobody cared to find the hero-puppy who SAVED ALL THEIR BUTTS.

Just sayin'.

I knew he was a good gecko-dog-chimera from the very beginning.

Lastly, if you ever are looking for a complete and total waste of your time and energy, I know the best deal you can find:

Try cleaning out a pool while a storm's brewing. Nothing like scooping up zillions of little tiny leaf pods with an inadequately small and ripping net whilst the little buggers are flying off the trees, bouncing off your head into the water as you work.

It's kind of the most frustrating thing I've ever done. Minus painting a grizzly's toes. But I've never done that.

Only my boyfriend's.

Not quite sure it would be that much of a different experience.

Have a splendid day wherever you are, whatever you're doing, unless it's illegal in which case I don't know you and withdraw myself from the situation.

Refer to Day 1

Remember when I said that this blog was "more for my benefit than yours"? I'd just like to remind you of that as you go into reading this completely nonsensical, idiotic post.

Now you can't hate me. Er, well I guess you can...by all means, you can. But you have no excuse to blame me for it. Go on hatin', haters.

You know what I like? I like mail. Not the silly 'E' kind, though that's nice and all. I mean the hard copy, hold-it-in-your-hands, smell the stamp kind. No, I don't smell stamps when I get mail but I suppose they smell nice. They taste nice now...most of the time. Mail is the perfect example of feeling worth something. Somebody took time out of their day, their lives (takes more than a day of effort to send a letter -- I would know) to write down a bunch of words ON PAPER, all old school-like, brave the gaggy taste of licking an envelope and stuffing it in the mailbox with the rest of their bills and such. Finding that envelope with your name printed on the front and an actual return address is like finding a signed note from God "You are loved".

That may or may not be a tad of an exaggeration...depending on how pathetic and desperate you are.

I also like productivity. Even the smallest of achievements gives me a smile-boost for at least a day or two.

And dirt! Dirt is nice. Specially if it got a bit wet and now sticks to your toes in brown goopy glops. I like knowing the earth is there and still kickin'.

I love water. The sound, the feel, the look, it's all beautiful. I love floating halfway down in the deep end of a pool, like I'm a hummingbird hovering in air. To fly would be the best realization of any dream. Water's about as close to that as I'll ever come.

I love food. Too much. End of story.

Sometimes I forget about the things I love in the face of the things I love not-so-much.

Like tests. And sick. And unemployment. And being left alone. And filling up my car at the gas station but turns out they stop you at $50...I don't like getting to $50 for my cute little car.

But I love people. Many, many people. I love the sun, and light. I love night and the moon. I love breezes, and treezes (the pretty green ones for climbing) and clouds that look like Nemo. I love movies, I love pillows, I love puppies, kittens, otters and platypus' (...platypi?). I love laughing, I love eyes, I love listening.

There's so much to love! Why would I waste time fretting over the lesser-liking stuff? It is good to dislike now and again, because then loving feels so much better after that. Woot juxtaposition.

Today I proved myself to be a real girl. I mean that in a not-so-great way.

Confession: I empathize with the male population. Girls are way too complicated, obnoxious and confusing for the human brain to handle and unfortunately, mine tends to function more like a guys' than not so I probably understand myself much less than anyone else....though I have a slight suspicion that's how the entire world is. Funny how the people you spend the most time with have the greatest potential to surprise you.

And so, today, when I was expecting to have boyfriend all to myself before I wouldn't see him the rest of the weekend and then he drops this bomb on me, "Oh. I think I might just go hang out with _______, since we don't have any plans...if that's okay with you."

I turned into those girls I hate.

The possessive, bossy, monopolizing girls who crush their boyfriends spirit and manhood with their pinky. Their pinky of selfishness.

It was ridiculous and stupid and I knew it, but that just made me all the more frustrated and of course, I took it out on him.

Stress + hormones + a-ridiculous-amount-of-estrogen = crazy girlfriend Hope. I am proud to say however, I did not cry. If it had been that week, however, that would be a completely different story.

No, this story is just pathetic, dumb and embarrassing. I pouted. I whined. I made myself into a real fool. Though I did have a good point at the time. It's completely unfair for him to say "if that's okay with you" because then I really only have 2 choices:

• Let him do whatever he wants and be a miserable closet loner
• Be the bad guy and endure self-generated visions of bad mouthing by boyfriend's peeved buddies

Neither of which sound particularly enjoyable. I ended up picking a terrible combination of the 2, by beginning to be the bad guy but not having the guts to stick to my guns, ending up making a horrid mess of confusion and ill-will but having the best intentions at heart, trying to see what would make him happy, understand it and go with it.

If I can't sacrifice for him, how can I expect it from him and what kind of relationship would that be? Awful! That's what!

Turned out ________ was busy and we spent the rest of the day together anyway and it was lovely. Minus the awkward, "Oh-no. Hope's mad at me. Better shutup." phase from boyfriend in which I was convinced he was annoyed with me and I shutup as well which only furthered his belief that I was angry. This continued until we were perusing the Fry's for some pork and beef in stony silence, when he mentioned that his face was tired from swimming (whatever the heck that means) and I sighed in relief, "Oh so then you aren't mad at me?" and he stops dead by the cheese aisle and cries, "I thought you were mad at me!" and we proceeded to revert back to holding hands, laughing and going about life as normal.

Communication. LOVE IT.

Horny Ducks

It's a sight. I assure you.

Wait, you think I was kidding? Guess again. We went to the lake today, and when I say 'we' I mean me, the boyfriend, boyfriend's dad, boyfriend's dad's girlfriend and boyfriend's dad's girlfriend's daughter. Yes, it was only in the upper 70's today. Yes, we didn't get out there till after 4. And yes, I am still sick. Twas lovely, really.

Actually, with the higher altitude, it kind of evened out the pressure inside my head from the congested sinuses and it indeed felt better...or something like that. In any case, my head hurt less. Genius!

But! When we were coming in, boyfriend and boyfriend's dad's girlfriend went to get the truck and trailer whilst the rest of us waited in the drifting boat. The ducks swarmed. And I mean swarmed. It was like, ignition off--DUCKS!! Everywhere. I guess they wanted noms or something. So me and boyfriend's dad's girlfriend's daughter got out the leftover bags of chips and began distributing the wealth. I think I saw them foaming at the mouth...er, bill. Not even two seconds later, apparently they got a tad too excited and whoop-se-day-zee Mr. Drake is suddenly hitchin' a ride on lil' Ms. Ducky and they go scooting away, hootin' and honkin'. Only, it looks a bit more like UFC mixed with boat racing. They were biting and flapping and all around beating each other up. Poor BDGD (bf-dad-gf-daughter) thought they were actually fighting and was horrified by the violent acts of the "duck-on-top". I was more baffled by the strange behavior until BD stepped in and clarified, "Oh, they aren't fighting...they're doing something else."

Oh.

Well then.

No more bbq chips for you!

Oh, the things you'll see at Saguaro Lake.

On another note, this week may be the end of all sense of intelligence I have left. I used to think I had a pretty decent brain, well enough for education...then I got into college. And progressively sank lower and lower on the "dedicated student scale" (it exists, I promise). In community college. I'm not even at a university yet! It's terrible. My motivation plummets after the first week of the semester. As if it was super high in the first place.

And the worst part? Education-schmeducation. You wanna get anywhere in this world it's all about who you know. Who you know? Who do I know?! Nobody, that's who!

[Speaking in terms of social status. You guys are awesome, but would any of you be able to reference me to Alan Menken and get him to let me play harp in any sort of orchestral ensemble he's conducting? Prolly not]

I'm also awfully good at accidentally burning bridges with even the most impeccable of intentions. So either I need to make a breakthrough as some sort of self-made prodigy OR I can move to kansas where no one will know me, my reputation or the difference between a Harp and a Carp. Either or.

SO, school's kicking my trash, life's buzzing on without me and maybe if I gulp down enough children's medicine my nose may stop trying to out-run Niagra Falls and squash my brain at the same time. That or I'll overdose and slip into a grape-flavored coma and dream about telly tubbies fishing for moons in a pond defying gravity so that they hafta look upwards to follow their line.

On the plus side, I asked boyfriend and he promised he'd love me even if school says I'm an idiot. Not sure whether to overanalyze that and be offended or not. I'm selfish enough not to care.

Ducks are hypersexual, and school is dumb.

Gold Nuggets

Here's a glorious piece of advice for all you lovely people:

Do not, I repeat, do NOT get any kind of sick/ill/diseased the last week of school...in case you forgot, those days contain FINALS. And lots of them.

Who the beep gets sick and rejoices, "Woot! Now I have every right to stay in bed and study my butt off!" cuz that's exactly what I wanna do when my head is committing mutiny right in front of my face...sort of. That was my boyfriend's ever timely optimism shining through. What a peachy child he is.

This weekend should have been calculated planning and studying of various musical courses but instead it turned into me blobbing on the couches of multiple friends, sucking up water like some sort of mutated maelstrom (bonus to being sick: you get to think up awesome words like "maelstrom" that you would never use otherwise), and obliterating every kleenex box in sight. Remember me mentioning superpowers? There's another one.

In all reality, I would rather be sick now and just slug my way through this final, last week of school than be stuck with this debilitating bug for the first darn week of summer. That would be a bummer (another fact: rhyming is a lot more comical to a clogged brain). Plus it gives me a slightly-less-than-pathetic excuse as to why I may or may not inevitably FAIL said finals and the classes wherein they apply to.

MacGamut. It's a curse.

All in all, though, just skip the sick and stay healthy. I'm not sure what I did this time to fall ill, usually I can kinda think back and say, "Yeaaaah, I guess that would make somebody sick" but this time it snuck in whilst I was sleeping.

Although! This just came to me-- being sick is the perfect time to test your significant other. If they can still smile at you and kiss your forehead after you've been wallowing like an obese walrus (can they even be obese?), surrounded by tufted remnants of what used to be a pile of tissues, complete with unwashed hair and slimy vaseline surrounding your dripping nostrils, not to mention the squalid squelching sound (I am on a roll with these literary puns and stuff!) of your sniffling then you may have just found the only saint walking this planet. Or possibly my boyfriend. So back off. I'm possessive and have a fascination with shovels.

Just kidding.

...Maybe.

In other news, I experienced possibly the most entertainingly awkward situation of my young life today. My grandmother, bless her, has followed the way of all the earth and is currently vegging at a sort of mini old folks' home. I say 'vegging' cuz they give her pills to help her "relax" and she kind of relaxes a bit too much. But anway, today being Mothers' Day, my dear sweet mother had the brilliant idea of dragging our ridiculously-obnoxious-to-move harp halfway across the valley to go play music for these elderly folk. Little did I know there would be a grand total of 9 occupants in this cozy little home with about 2 who are actually lucid. We set up to the complete glazed unawareness of the cute old people and my sister and I played a small selection of shorter songs for them.

But that's not the awkward part. I love old people, I had no problem doing this. Granted, I'm not sure some of them were even aware of their surroundings but that's beside the point. One fellow, I'm guessing late 80's, was having a bit of trouble remaining awake. Only, every time he drooped even halfway into napping-mode he'd immediately begin moaning. Not a quite little mouse moan. That guy can project...in his sleep. It was like a perpetual old man orgasm. I didn't know whether to blush or laugh.

I hope I die before I get to that point. If I don't know where I am, who I'm talking with and can't keep up with which meal goes when I don't think I really need to be a showcase on how to drool pretty pictures on the armchair.

Just sayin'.

Well, Happy Mothers' Day and I'll let turn the time over to these good fellows--

Radiation? Kryptonite? yesh pleashe

Some people are born with super-powers. Some talk to animals, some grow green things like they were Mother Earth herself and some can blow multiple hours of the day like Time Travel by getting on the computer (or maybe we're ALL blessed with that special, special gift).

Mine?

I can bake a fantabulous cake even after screwing up the entire recipe process. It's legit. And I'm not talking out-of-a-box fake cake--I mean pull down the falling apart, perfect 30's housewife Betty Crocker cookbook and start with sifting the dry ingredients.

Sometimes, they're really awful mistakes. Like, "Wait a second...was that baking SODA or POWDER??...oh boo" or even, "What?! They wanted me to put cream of tartar in it?...isn't that supposed to go on fish??" (cream of tartar NOT the same as tartar sauce. btw.) Other times it's as simple as, "Doo-do-doooo, pouring batter into the pan, wheeeeee....DANG IT!! Forgot to grease and flour it" /FACEPALM.

I'm really dumb sometimes.

But the mistakes get fixed, conversions are found, magic tricks performed and voila! Stick it in the oven and set the timer. Somehow, they always come out pretty darn good.

Disclaimer: I'm 20, mkay? When I say "pretty darn good" and "fabulous" I mean relatively speaking. Don't come knocking wanting some 5-star confection that tastes like it was made from Heaven's clouds. Ain't gonna happen, sorry.

I also haven't made the same cake twice, yet. It's too much fun to try a new cake, see how it goes then eat to my tummy's delight (or distress if there's no one to share with. Too much cake = BLARG). Once I've expended my recipe options I already know I'm going back and making this Butterscotch Fudgy scrumdiddleyumptious manifestation I procured a few months ago.

At this point you may be asking if this post has a point....kinda sorta maybe a little but actually no. Mostly I made a cake yesterday (One Egg Marbled) and I had this genius "lightbulb" moment of making a "cake" segment for this blog (think Gru).

BUT! Here's a stretch of a moral for ya. Mistakes are inevitable. If you're so exactly careful enough to avoid mistakes of any sort the fun gets all drained away. Not to mention mistakes help us learn. Learning goooood. Make brain better. And to top it all off, it turns out just fine in the end anyway. So big whoop if a couple steps went awry somewhere in the middle there, stick it out to the end and enjoy the satisfaction of completing something. Whether it be a cake, school or life.

Woot cake.

Oh, story behind the cake. So, my boyfriend is really super cool and got a job with GoDaddy.com cuz he's a computer nerd and I love him. It's been a scary period of unemployment so this job is kind of an answer to lots of prayers. Thus, the celebration cake! yay!

And now, for your benefit...Creepy Jesus:

The end.

Lessons in Blogging

I still haven't decided if I'm cool enough to make a schedule out of this. If I promise to write every Wednesday, it won't happen because then that allows for deadlines and more procrastination and believe me, I don't need any more practice for perfection on that.

So!

Lesson #1: Don't make promises when blogging. Especially when the time of posting is hovering around midnight or later. Bad idea.

Lesson #2: ...actually, that's kind of it for now.

I said in my last (/first) post that I would talk about my terrible haircut next. Turns out it kind of looks fabulous today. Go figure.

But I really do hate it. In a slightly-less-than-hate way. Hate is such a strong word. But I really just wanna constantly pull on the ends so it will grow faster. Short hair is such a hassle. I thought long hair was obnoxious in the shower (which it is, woot buying conditioner every month) but short hair is ten times worse once you're out of the shower.

• Lather product through it, to avoid sporadic strands that defy gravity.
• Blow dry in a yoga position from hell that's like that one tree thing except I'm a weeping willow, bent over at the waist. What we won't do for volume.
• Remember in "Up" when that adorable little girl takes off her pilot helmet and all of a sudden there's an array of hair filling the entire screen? That's what I go through every time I come up from blow drying.
• Comb the beast!
• Oh boo. Forgot to turn on the straight iron.
• Twiddle thumbs.
• Oh! okay! that's hot. Straighten hair. Did I mention I'm kind of a boy inside and girly things like cosmetics and beauty don't exactly come easy? I'm also pretty sure my hair is made of pure stubborn.
• Good enough. Styling? Style....style...ponytail? No, too short. Um. Bobby pins! No bobby pins to be found (there IS a bobby-pin gremlin. I swear to you. He also likes hair ties and socks). Stare at face in mirror and wonder what ever possessed you to get a haircut.

Often some of those steps will repeat themselves multiple times due to an inadequate job on my part.

And so. I hate. Short hair.

Not to mention it really just doesn't feel like ME. I've always, always had hair longer than my shoulders. Long ponytails and braids, messy buns that cover the entire back of my head, practically drowning in my own hair when I go swimming, that's the hair I'm used to. The hair that makes me feel pretty.

It's funny how society has led us to attach to that one aspect of yourself that makes you feel worth something and with even the slightest change, it's severed. I was lucky and blessed with a full head of hair. And lots of it. I'm actually still a little steamed at the stylist who cut my hair because she just started thinning it before I knew what that funky gadget she was using did. I like my hair. I like the color, I like the texture, I especially like how it glints almost auburn under water. But I can't really see it or feel it anymore because it doesn't extend farther than my chin. I feel exposed, vulnerable. Like a flower stripped of it's petals. Which is just silly because there's nothing essentially wrong with that. I realize that. I do. But I don't have to like it. So I don't.

I'm still beautiful. My boyfriend still loves me. But I'm allowed to have a preference. Don't try to tell me that because I don't like my hair short I have self esteem issues and need help loving myself. It's hard enough feeling pretty without the whole of society breathing down my neck about "Love Yourself!" and "Born this Way" and the tidal wave of happy hug-a-soul movement going around. How I feel, is how I feel. You don't get to dictate that. I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't need your affirmation to insure my self esteem.

My short hair is dumb.

One of my pinky fingers underwent a bit of abuse and is now shorter than it should be. I call it my "midget-digit".

I have bunions so my toes are a little funky.

I have a bazillion freckles.

My shin bones are very bumpy and I'm not sure why.

My nose is slightly too large for my face.

I haven't got a filter, so my brain often thinks it's brilliant and pours words out my mouth that procure looks like I just suggested taping cactus to our heads for hat-wear.

I've got a laugh that makes you wonder if I'm either imitating some primitive animal or possibly in so much pain I'm about to spontaneously combust. My boyfriend coined it "obnoxious".

But that's okay! Because I'm different and I like different. Different means I'm not gonna get lost in the crowd. I'm also a little bit taller than your average girl so that helps.

Anyway. Get outside! Go do something! I promise, productivity is the perfect cure for the slumps. Even if it's just tidying up your room or baking a superb cake.

Mmmm, cake. I think I'll do that today.

Celebrate life!

:)

Regret? Throw it out the window.

Well. I have now joined the blogging world...I might regret this later. Hopefully not, but we'll see how good I am at sticking to it.

For any who may be reading this at any point in time, just know that this is really more for my benefit than yours. I'm what you might call a pathological pack-rat. What I mean by that is the only real way I get any semblance of sanity in my life is by writing out what I keep stored in my mind for much too long a time. So here is my next attempt at keeping relatively sane...enough to keep the men in white coats off my back a little longer.

Plus! Headed to California in barely over 3 months now and I doubt I'm gonna wanna sit down at my cute little desk and pull out my cute little journal and scribble down cute little thoughts with my cute little pen after I've been constantly standing up and dealing with tourists all day long. Oh believe me, I'm more stoked for this internship than anything I've ever done before in my life ('specially considering it's kind of THE biggest thing I've ever done....seriously. You think I'm kidding. I'm not.) but I am not disillusioned by the fact that Disneyland is the "happiest place on earth". Love it there. Know I'm gonna hate it for a good percentage of my internship. It's inevitable. People engender animosity. But luckily, I've got a background in music and personally, I have no doubt that singers are inherently designed to be the biggest divas that will try your patience to no end (utmost sympathy to pianists everywhere. Be strong, guys. You're not alone.) and so I feel a bit more prepared to deal with customers with heads too big for the doorway...given the fact that Disneyland is designed to be 1/8 scale smaller to average buildings and such.

But anyway. Regret. What a dumb invention. Here, let me make a mistake and be stuck with living it over and over again in my head throughout the rest of my life...when nobody else remembers. Now remorse, that's sublime. Good job, Timmy, glad you know cutting your sister's hair while she's sleeping is WRONG and that you're sorry, but poor little Timmy doesn't hafta lay awake at night and apologize to his wife of 15 years for his crimes against the female gender when he was 5.

Regret is only guilt. Guilt is only a byproduct of feeling ashamed. Shame only comes when you have to answer to someone else. Let it go. Apologize where you need to and get on with your life. You're missing what's happening now! Forget about last week, last month, last year, get out into today! Learn and move on.

In other news, I hate my haircut. Tune in next time for the 'why'! :)