Last night, just as I was about to bury my sorrows in some noodles with soy sauce and tuna (I have the weirdest comfort food), Ember called me up, crying.
One thing led to the next and I found myself at the Pepsi Center (sports stadium/humongo concert venue) preparing to see, of all people, Taylor Swift.
I'm not a fan of country, nor of her particular brand of pop, but Em had sounded so devastated over the phone that I agreed to go with her. Hell, free concert? I'm there. I'll try anything once.
The concert was more interesting than enjoyable, and I found myself paying more attention not to the songs Taylor sung, but how she sang them. She's peppy and charismatic, and her concert was well-staged, but underneath all of her pop-princessatude I could tell she was actually grateful to be where she was.
What really struck me is how gorgeous she is. Not like, dayummm-I-wanna-get-inside-that gorgeous, but like wow-just-wow gorgeous. She's got this porcelain doll thing going and her hair seemed to be impossible to mess up.
What really amazed me is how devoted her fans were. The stadium was sold out (15,000 seats! Jeez!) and the crowd was loud as fuck. Denver crowds are usually louder and bouncier than most, but this was like a whole new level. People brought signs and wore t-shirts and were jumping around for the whole show.
It all got me thinking, how great would it be to be in her shoes? The show brought me back to the days before I knew how the world worked and I found myself wondering how amazing it would be to be alone on a huge stage, commanding a stadium; to perform in front a huge crowd like that, all screaming and dancing, and to hear them sing the words of a song that I wrote back to me.
But then, there's always the scandals and paparazzi and everyone knowing your personal shit and the constant, unrelenting judgement from people who've never even met you. I don't know if it'd be worth it.
Fame is such a volatile thing, and, especially pertaining to musicians, can be so fleeting. As a naïve kid, I wanted my 15 minutes and didn't realize how harsh it would be when I would get to minute 16 and realize that someone else was the center of the media's attention. These days, I'm preparing to apply to Harvard, because the odds of me actually getting famous for anything become slimmer with each passing cigarette.
I'm still not a Taylor Swift fan, and probably never will be, but props to her for being able to inspire so many.
Julia
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Blastorama
Oh sweet Jesus, what a night I've had, my friends. Skylab was ridiculous. This was one for the record books. There was kandy, creeping, partying, and above all: fluffies!
So here's how the evening went down:
After an afternoon of friendly bullshit (there was a snafu with my group and Lionboy and one other girl ended up not going, so we gave Lionboy's ticket to this girl Dimples) and kandy-making (kandy are those colorful beaded bracelets that people wear/trade at raves), my buddy Ember and I got all primped and prettied up (raver style!) and embarked on our journey to Denver.
We picked up Dimples and drove to the Denver Colosseum and as we were walking in, security took my pacifier necklace. I was so sad, I had just made it and it said PLUR on one side.
Anyway, the rave itself kicked massive amounts of ass. The main stage was sick as fuck and the DJs were ridiculous. And the people! Soooo many people, all jamming and being crazy together. It was like heaven. The vibes were really good, especially considering how big of a rave it was, and I danced with lots of people and made tons of new friends. I gave away almost all of my kandy too, which is fun because I know that my art is now circulating the community, going form wrist to wrist, but now I need to make more for next weekend.
Ember and Dimples kept getting creeped on by old dudes. There was this one who was really amazing at light shows who ended up dancing with Dimples. She had a blasty blast, but then the guy turned around and I realized that he was like 40. EWWW!
The most surprising part of the evening was when I ran into Fsb. Literally ran into him. Ember was pulling me through the crowd and I accidentally rammed into him, not realizing it was him, and when I looked up to apologize, there he was. Yes, Fsb was there, looking like an idiot, completely out of his element, but there. I said hi and hugged him, but then Ember pulled me away to go dance.
Seeing him threw me off a wee bit, but I took a bump of molly and got over it.
Around half-way through the night, this kid that was hanging around us let me borrow his gloves (they were rave gloves with lights in the fingertips) and I started finger tutting just for fun. Before I knew it, I had people literally lining up to get light shows from me. It was crazy as hell! One minute I'm joking around with my buds, and the next, I'm blowing people's minds.
The thing about light shows is you don't have to be too amazing at them for the person you're giving it to to love it, because the person is almost always rolling their balls off on ecstasy or tripping acid. Sometimes I'd bust out a crazy in-their-face move and they'd freak out. One kid was rolling so hard that after I was done with his show, he literally had a stiffy.
At one point, while we were all dancing near the main stage, a fight started to break out, so we booked it away from that area and way deep into the crowd. We ended up next to this group of college student who had never been to a rave before and who were all rolling for the very first time. They were super nice and invited us to go party with them after Skylab ended.
Which we did. After the rave ended at 3, we drove to Boulder instead of home to Hicktown and hung out with these two college guys. It was chill, we just talked and smoked a lot and watched the sun rise. Then I had to get Ember home so we peaced out and the most amazing Saturday night I've had in a while was over.
Oh! And here's my rave outfit:
Can't forget the fluffies!
Teehee.
So I just realized that I still have that random kid's gloves... I wonder if I'll ever be able to return them to him.
I love being a little raver kid.
Julia
So here's how the evening went down:
After an afternoon of friendly bullshit (there was a snafu with my group and Lionboy and one other girl ended up not going, so we gave Lionboy's ticket to this girl Dimples) and kandy-making (kandy are those colorful beaded bracelets that people wear/trade at raves), my buddy Ember and I got all primped and prettied up (raver style!) and embarked on our journey to Denver.
We picked up Dimples and drove to the Denver Colosseum and as we were walking in, security took my pacifier necklace. I was so sad, I had just made it and it said PLUR on one side.
Anyway, the rave itself kicked massive amounts of ass. The main stage was sick as fuck and the DJs were ridiculous. And the people! Soooo many people, all jamming and being crazy together. It was like heaven. The vibes were really good, especially considering how big of a rave it was, and I danced with lots of people and made tons of new friends. I gave away almost all of my kandy too, which is fun because I know that my art is now circulating the community, going form wrist to wrist, but now I need to make more for next weekend.
Ember and Dimples kept getting creeped on by old dudes. There was this one who was really amazing at light shows who ended up dancing with Dimples. She had a blasty blast, but then the guy turned around and I realized that he was like 40. EWWW!
The most surprising part of the evening was when I ran into Fsb. Literally ran into him. Ember was pulling me through the crowd and I accidentally rammed into him, not realizing it was him, and when I looked up to apologize, there he was. Yes, Fsb was there, looking like an idiot, completely out of his element, but there. I said hi and hugged him, but then Ember pulled me away to go dance.
Seeing him threw me off a wee bit, but I took a bump of molly and got over it.
Around half-way through the night, this kid that was hanging around us let me borrow his gloves (they were rave gloves with lights in the fingertips) and I started finger tutting just for fun. Before I knew it, I had people literally lining up to get light shows from me. It was crazy as hell! One minute I'm joking around with my buds, and the next, I'm blowing people's minds.
The thing about light shows is you don't have to be too amazing at them for the person you're giving it to to love it, because the person is almost always rolling their balls off on ecstasy or tripping acid. Sometimes I'd bust out a crazy in-their-face move and they'd freak out. One kid was rolling so hard that after I was done with his show, he literally had a stiffy.
At one point, while we were all dancing near the main stage, a fight started to break out, so we booked it away from that area and way deep into the crowd. We ended up next to this group of college student who had never been to a rave before and who were all rolling for the very first time. They were super nice and invited us to go party with them after Skylab ended.
Which we did. After the rave ended at 3, we drove to Boulder instead of home to Hicktown and hung out with these two college guys. It was chill, we just talked and smoked a lot and watched the sun rise. Then I had to get Ember home so we peaced out and the most amazing Saturday night I've had in a while was over.
Oh! And here's my rave outfit:
Can't forget the fluffies!
Teehee.
So I just realized that I still have that random kid's gloves... I wonder if I'll ever be able to return them to him.
I love being a little raver kid.
Julia
Friday, September 23, 2011
The Return Of Rocket Jesus
After a day full of money-spending, adventures, highway driving, and badly-done British accents (I wish I were British...), I am now writing this as I wait for the dye I have just applied to the tips of my hair to develop fully. More on that later.
Yesterday sucked. Like, a lot. But I suppose you need rainy days to make the sun shine brighter, and today was sunshiney all over the place.
Academically, I'm in a positive place. I wrote down a list of goals and stuck it to my vanity mirror with zebra-sex-duct tape so I could see them every day. I think things are falling into line and my priorities are sorting themselves out rather nicely. Harvard undergrad pre-law program, here comes a whole new kind of crazy ;)
As for how I'm feeling about Fsb? Pah, I say.
Nothing cures disappointment like a little hair dye. My chosen color for this evening is Manic Panic's Pillarbox Red, and it's been a very therapeutic process so far. I've only dyed a bit of my hair, well a little more than a bit, but it's not like, a full-blown head transformation. That happens next week.
See, I'm playing a leading role in my school's production of Les Miserables (google that shit) and my director has ordered me to sacrifice my hard work and hair bleach to my role. As Eponine, apparently one cannot have platinum hair, as it doesn't 'fit'. I'm tearing up on the inside, because I loved my platinum hair, and this is the second time in a row that she has forced me into dimming my glowing tresses. This time, due to the extent of damage my hair has accumulated from all the bleaching, I have to keep it dark for fear of it starting to break or chunk out.
But I ain't going out like that! So before I dye my hair down to a boring, natural color (as was instructed) I am dyeing it a few crazy, completely unnatural colors, the first of which is this lovely candy red.
Oh! My little timer's gone off... I'm going to rinse out my hair...
~roughly 45 minutes later~
Holy Rocket Jesus, my hair...!
Pictures tomorrow, with my Skylab outfit.
Teehee ;)
Julia
PS: Why am I using so many winky faces? I feel like I'm being creepy... ;)
Yesterday sucked. Like, a lot. But I suppose you need rainy days to make the sun shine brighter, and today was sunshiney all over the place.
Academically, I'm in a positive place. I wrote down a list of goals and stuck it to my vanity mirror with zebra-sex-duct tape so I could see them every day. I think things are falling into line and my priorities are sorting themselves out rather nicely. Harvard undergrad pre-law program, here comes a whole new kind of crazy ;)
As for how I'm feeling about Fsb? Pah, I say.
Nothing cures disappointment like a little hair dye. My chosen color for this evening is Manic Panic's Pillarbox Red, and it's been a very therapeutic process so far. I've only dyed a bit of my hair, well a little more than a bit, but it's not like, a full-blown head transformation. That happens next week.
See, I'm playing a leading role in my school's production of Les Miserables (google that shit) and my director has ordered me to sacrifice my hard work and hair bleach to my role. As Eponine, apparently one cannot have platinum hair, as it doesn't 'fit'. I'm tearing up on the inside, because I loved my platinum hair, and this is the second time in a row that she has forced me into dimming my glowing tresses. This time, due to the extent of damage my hair has accumulated from all the bleaching, I have to keep it dark for fear of it starting to break or chunk out.
But I ain't going out like that! So before I dye my hair down to a boring, natural color (as was instructed) I am dyeing it a few crazy, completely unnatural colors, the first of which is this lovely candy red.
Oh! My little timer's gone off... I'm going to rinse out my hair...
~roughly 45 minutes later~
Holy Rocket Jesus, my hair...!
Pictures tomorrow, with my Skylab outfit.
Teehee ;)
Julia
PS: Why am I using so many winky faces? I feel like I'm being creepy... ;)
Thursday, September 22, 2011
A Little Story
This is how my day went. Schadenfreude lovers, eat your heart out.
I woke up at exactly 07:01 and screamed "SHIT" very loudly, because I hate it when I miss my alarm. At 07:02 I shoved my contacts into my half-open eyes, and by 07:08 I was running out the door and to my car, fully ready to speed all the way to school in the hopes of getting to French on time.
Except my car was awash in a thick layer of frost, which I had to spend ten minutes scraping from the windshields and windows. Frustrated, I finally began to drive to school, and about a block away from my house, I realized that the driver's side of my windshield was completely frosty again. Only the driver's side.
So I pull over, get out of the car, fuming, and realize that my windshield wiper has broken. I fix the damn thing, with the skin on my fingers tearing off because the metal wipers are frozen and it's cold outside, and get back in my car and once again embark on my journey down the highway through farm country to get to school.
I've just exited the highway and have turned on to the penultimate road of journey, a narrow, 2-lane road right through the center of the even hickier-than-Hicktown township where my high school is located, am flying down the road at 70 mph, and suddenly, a hay-bailer pulls out in front of me.
For those of you blessed enough to have grown up in metropolitan areas, a hay-bailer is a huge tractor-looking thing that farmers drive up and down their fields after a harvest. The machine turns the remainder of their crop into bails of hay, which the farmers then sell to horse ranches and stuff. Hay-bailers are about 10 feet wide, and can reach speeds of 20 mph on a good day.
I ride down the rest of the road at 20. Miles. Per. Hour. My knuckles are white and my jaw is clenched so tight I feel like I'm coming down off an extasy roll. I tailgate the hell out of the hay-bailer, but it's too wide for me to safely get around it without put my car through a fence or into a ditch.
When I finally pull into the school parking lot, it is 07:40. I am half an hour late to school and the halls are empty as I hurry through them.
I am almost to French when the security guard (who masquerades as a 'hall-monitor' except hall monitors don't carry pepper spray and undercover cop badges) whose name is Jesse apprehends me. He yells at me to get to class, and before I can stop myself, I shout back at him "Suck my dick, Jessica!"
The look on his face is priceless, but then he drags me to the office and sits me down in front of the principal. Oh joy. I listen to principal of my school lecture me on respect for authority and the importance of being on time for like, an eternity (the fucker is an auditory narcissist, I swear, he just went on and on and on) and then they finally let me go to French without anything more than a warning not to do it again.
By the time I drop my bag beside my desk in French, there are 10 minutes of class left.
The next few hours are tedious blur, but according to my planner, I've been assigned a veritable mountain of homework for the weekend.
At lunch, I'm not hungry, but my friend buys me a coffee. It's black, just the way I love. It's a nice gesture, probably the highlight of the day.
I'm about to finish the cup, lazily browsing Facebook on my phone, and I notice on the news feed that Fsb and his ex (yep, the one who fucked Wsb) are all cute and cozy again. Well, that's nice.
As I'm driving home after school finally ends, a bird shits on the upper left corner of my windshield.
I get home, and am about to light up a cigarette, because heaven knows I deserve one, when I get a text from Fsb letting me know that he and his ex are officially back together. Why he'd tell me, I have no idea. I haven't hung out with the kid in about a month.
At this point, my stomach is in knots, and I don't think I can stomach my cigarette, so I return it, unlit, to the pack.
It is now that I receive a second text from Fsb, telling me that he hopes I'm ok.
At this point in the day, after every fucking domino that fell, I just collapse onto my bedroom floor, laughing my ass off. I laugh and laugh until my abs ache, because there is no way in Hell that I'm going to shed a single tear even on this mother-of-all-bad-days.
There is nothing to do but laugh. This day has sucked like I never even thought was possible.
I seriously think God is trying to tell me something, something like "FUCK YOU." or "I don't give a shit about you." or "I don't exist, love, stop asking me for shit."
Something like that.
Julia
I woke up at exactly 07:01 and screamed "SHIT" very loudly, because I hate it when I miss my alarm. At 07:02 I shoved my contacts into my half-open eyes, and by 07:08 I was running out the door and to my car, fully ready to speed all the way to school in the hopes of getting to French on time.
Except my car was awash in a thick layer of frost, which I had to spend ten minutes scraping from the windshields and windows. Frustrated, I finally began to drive to school, and about a block away from my house, I realized that the driver's side of my windshield was completely frosty again. Only the driver's side.
So I pull over, get out of the car, fuming, and realize that my windshield wiper has broken. I fix the damn thing, with the skin on my fingers tearing off because the metal wipers are frozen and it's cold outside, and get back in my car and once again embark on my journey down the highway through farm country to get to school.
I've just exited the highway and have turned on to the penultimate road of journey, a narrow, 2-lane road right through the center of the even hickier-than-Hicktown township where my high school is located, am flying down the road at 70 mph, and suddenly, a hay-bailer pulls out in front of me.
For those of you blessed enough to have grown up in metropolitan areas, a hay-bailer is a huge tractor-looking thing that farmers drive up and down their fields after a harvest. The machine turns the remainder of their crop into bails of hay, which the farmers then sell to horse ranches and stuff. Hay-bailers are about 10 feet wide, and can reach speeds of 20 mph on a good day.
I ride down the rest of the road at 20. Miles. Per. Hour. My knuckles are white and my jaw is clenched so tight I feel like I'm coming down off an extasy roll. I tailgate the hell out of the hay-bailer, but it's too wide for me to safely get around it without put my car through a fence or into a ditch.
When I finally pull into the school parking lot, it is 07:40. I am half an hour late to school and the halls are empty as I hurry through them.
I am almost to French when the security guard (who masquerades as a 'hall-monitor' except hall monitors don't carry pepper spray and undercover cop badges) whose name is Jesse apprehends me. He yells at me to get to class, and before I can stop myself, I shout back at him "Suck my dick, Jessica!"
The look on his face is priceless, but then he drags me to the office and sits me down in front of the principal. Oh joy. I listen to principal of my school lecture me on respect for authority and the importance of being on time for like, an eternity (the fucker is an auditory narcissist, I swear, he just went on and on and on) and then they finally let me go to French without anything more than a warning not to do it again.
By the time I drop my bag beside my desk in French, there are 10 minutes of class left.
The next few hours are tedious blur, but according to my planner, I've been assigned a veritable mountain of homework for the weekend.
At lunch, I'm not hungry, but my friend buys me a coffee. It's black, just the way I love. It's a nice gesture, probably the highlight of the day.
I'm about to finish the cup, lazily browsing Facebook on my phone, and I notice on the news feed that Fsb and his ex (yep, the one who fucked Wsb) are all cute and cozy again. Well, that's nice.
As I'm driving home after school finally ends, a bird shits on the upper left corner of my windshield.
I get home, and am about to light up a cigarette, because heaven knows I deserve one, when I get a text from Fsb letting me know that he and his ex are officially back together. Why he'd tell me, I have no idea. I haven't hung out with the kid in about a month.
At this point, my stomach is in knots, and I don't think I can stomach my cigarette, so I return it, unlit, to the pack.
It is now that I receive a second text from Fsb, telling me that he hopes I'm ok.
At this point in the day, after every fucking domino that fell, I just collapse onto my bedroom floor, laughing my ass off. I laugh and laugh until my abs ache, because there is no way in Hell that I'm going to shed a single tear even on this mother-of-all-bad-days.
There is nothing to do but laugh. This day has sucked like I never even thought was possible.
I seriously think God is trying to tell me something, something like "FUCK YOU." or "I don't give a shit about you." or "I don't exist, love, stop asking me for shit."
Something like that.
Julia
Monday, September 19, 2011
Awkward Boys Are Awkward
I need a new hunting knife.
All my friends at work have really nice folding sport knives, and I want one, so that I can show it off and be all "I can carry this as part of my Search and Rescue pack" and "I deboned an elk!" too. Also, they really are useful for SAR, even though I don't go on too many missions these days.
Fsb has one that's rainbow. Seriously, a rainbow knife. The entire damn thing is shiny steel alloy that's been coated in titanium oxide stuff that causes the metal to shine all rainbowy. It's so sick.
Anyway, awkward knife-lust aside (not a serial killer, guys, really, when you live around this many rednecks it's hard not to pick up on certain things), it's been one of those randomly nice days again.
Yet again I am in the 'can't complain, but heavily bored' state of mind. With homecoming out of the way, my grades really high (won't last, but it's nice for now), and a full week until Skylab, there's really not too much stuff going on, so I have to rely on what little slivers of interest from boy-folk I can get for entertainment.
Of course, Fsb randomly texted me the other day, but by the time I checked my phone, it had been like an hour and a half and it would have been odd for me to text back when he had probably sent the text to several people as a ploy for conversation, which I'm assuming he got within that hour and a half, and was no longer in need of, especially from me.
The thing about Fsb that I've figured out is that he has this way about him that makes you feel like you need his approval, and it's 50/50 that you'll get it or not. But his approval, whether I have it or not doesn't actually matter, he just makes it seem like it does. I don't even think he realizes that he does it.
So, leaving that one where it lies as I have vowed to close the book on him, and therefore shall not, repeat, shall not pick up my phone and text him because now I'm wondering again about the way his puzzling little mind works. Shall not. Really.
In other boy-related news, this emo-esque guy I met at a party told me that he was interested in me, but got non-interested vibes back so he gave up and dated my friend. To which I was like, Yes, definitely not interested in the guy who adds literally 8-10 new girls as friends on Facebook every day. If I had known, maybe I would've done something about it, stupid!
But I didn't say that. Instead, I said "Oh. Thanks." because what else does one say to the semi-(who am I kidding)-really-cute guy who tells you you're gorgeous and then says he lost interest?
It's sort of a cluttered situation. Not quite messy, but not exactly pristine when it comes to the level of awkwardness that will inhibit all future conversation. He's going to Skylab, I hope if I see him there it won't be too awkward...
Speaking of awkward, there's a rather obnoxious boy from choir who's been trying to get my attention lately. He's a little emo kid too. God damn, am I a punk-magnet or something?
Anyway, this kid has been going to very weird lengths to try to impress me; he keeps switching up his game every time he realizes that I am still [veryveryvery] uninterested and it's becoming rather interesting to see which tactic he'll try next. He's already tried the boast-about-past-hookups tactic, the I'm-a-badass-because-I-did-drugs tactic (which totally backfired when I called him on being full of shit, which he was. I don't think the kid would recognize an acid trip if elephants in blue tutus were defining it for him), and most recently, the I'm-a-raver-too! tactic.
He almost had me on that one, and then I asked him if he'd be going to Skylab and he said "what's that?" And then his clever ruse was found out. Any real raver, especially one who clued in in any way to the community, would know exactly what Skylab is.
Skylab is the biggest indoor rave in Colorado, it happens annually, and is huge.
Emochoirboy = Poserific!
It'll be interesting to see which tactic he employs next; if he keeps trying anyway.
Ah, such fun.
For as much as I bitch and moan about how ugly and unattractive I perceive myself to be, I'm evidently doing something right to at least be capturing the attention of a few punk rock boys, even if I can't capture the attention of the Fiestyskaterboy that I actually find intriguing. I don't even know if I care right now, I mean, bipolar self-esteem aside, I'm fairly sure of myself these days.
I don't need a man.
Especially not a puzzle or a punk.
Fuck that shit :)
Julia
All my friends at work have really nice folding sport knives, and I want one, so that I can show it off and be all "I can carry this as part of my Search and Rescue pack" and "I deboned an elk!" too. Also, they really are useful for SAR, even though I don't go on too many missions these days.
Fsb has one that's rainbow. Seriously, a rainbow knife. The entire damn thing is shiny steel alloy that's been coated in titanium oxide stuff that causes the metal to shine all rainbowy. It's so sick.
Anyway, awkward knife-lust aside (not a serial killer, guys, really, when you live around this many rednecks it's hard not to pick up on certain things), it's been one of those randomly nice days again.
Yet again I am in the 'can't complain, but heavily bored' state of mind. With homecoming out of the way, my grades really high (won't last, but it's nice for now), and a full week until Skylab, there's really not too much stuff going on, so I have to rely on what little slivers of interest from boy-folk I can get for entertainment.
Of course, Fsb randomly texted me the other day, but by the time I checked my phone, it had been like an hour and a half and it would have been odd for me to text back when he had probably sent the text to several people as a ploy for conversation, which I'm assuming he got within that hour and a half, and was no longer in need of, especially from me.
The thing about Fsb that I've figured out is that he has this way about him that makes you feel like you need his approval, and it's 50/50 that you'll get it or not. But his approval, whether I have it or not doesn't actually matter, he just makes it seem like it does. I don't even think he realizes that he does it.
So, leaving that one where it lies as I have vowed to close the book on him, and therefore shall not, repeat, shall not pick up my phone and text him because now I'm wondering again about the way his puzzling little mind works. Shall not. Really.
In other boy-related news, this emo-esque guy I met at a party told me that he was interested in me, but got non-interested vibes back so he gave up and dated my friend. To which I was like, Yes, definitely not interested in the guy who adds literally 8-10 new girls as friends on Facebook every day. If I had known, maybe I would've done something about it, stupid!
But I didn't say that. Instead, I said "Oh. Thanks." because what else does one say to the semi-(who am I kidding)-really-cute guy who tells you you're gorgeous and then says he lost interest?
It's sort of a cluttered situation. Not quite messy, but not exactly pristine when it comes to the level of awkwardness that will inhibit all future conversation. He's going to Skylab, I hope if I see him there it won't be too awkward...
Speaking of awkward, there's a rather obnoxious boy from choir who's been trying to get my attention lately. He's a little emo kid too. God damn, am I a punk-magnet or something?
Anyway, this kid has been going to very weird lengths to try to impress me; he keeps switching up his game every time he realizes that I am still [veryveryvery] uninterested and it's becoming rather interesting to see which tactic he'll try next. He's already tried the boast-about-past-hookups tactic, the I'm-a-badass-because-I-did-drugs tactic (which totally backfired when I called him on being full of shit, which he was. I don't think the kid would recognize an acid trip if elephants in blue tutus were defining it for him), and most recently, the I'm-a-raver-too! tactic.
He almost had me on that one, and then I asked him if he'd be going to Skylab and he said "what's that?" And then his clever ruse was found out. Any real raver, especially one who clued in in any way to the community, would know exactly what Skylab is.
Skylab is the biggest indoor rave in Colorado, it happens annually, and is huge.
Emochoirboy = Poserific!
It'll be interesting to see which tactic he employs next; if he keeps trying anyway.
Ah, such fun.
For as much as I bitch and moan about how ugly and unattractive I perceive myself to be, I'm evidently doing something right to at least be capturing the attention of a few punk rock boys, even if I can't capture the attention of the Fiestyskaterboy that I actually find intriguing. I don't even know if I care right now, I mean, bipolar self-esteem aside, I'm fairly sure of myself these days.
I don't need a man.
Especially not a puzzle or a punk.
Fuck that shit :)
Julia
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Grindfest 2011
Ahh homecoming, the joys of dancing, dressing up, and catty drama all rolled into one night.
Actually, it was more of a full day and then full night ordeal. Here's how the shit went down:
At around noonish, my darling Lionboy (the quintessential gay best friend) picked me up and we took our buddy dress shopping. Upon failure to find a dress for her, I took her back to my house and dyed her hair in order to lift her spirits. After an hour with me, the tips of her hair were fiery apple red. Spirits: lifted.
Then we all went to meet up with the rest of the group at the little community theater where they all do shows (I don't, though, awkward) and we got all primped and prettied up in the dressing rooms there while a few of the people in the group did pre-show. Once everyone was all glammed up and looking fabulous, we caravaned to dinner.
On our way out, one of the actors at the theater jokingly commented that I looked like a grade-A hooker, which prompted the taking of this photo:
And many, many jokes throughout dinner relating to my [questionable, though wholly made up] occupation. Honestly, I could have looked sluttier; but the combination of the short dress AND the platform wedges AND the platinum hair created a rather trashy facade.
Don't give two shits, I was still the hottest one in our group.
Anyway! After dinner plus a few hits from Lionboy's pipe, we were ready to go into the dance.
The music was great, but there wasn't much actual dancing going on inside. You see, grinding is not dancing, grinding is merely a carnal expression of untamed sexuality. It's dry humping to the beat. Still fun though :)
One of my good friends won homecoming king, and we proceeded to shake our asses in victory all night long. Oh, did I mention, my dear buddy was the first gay homecoming king my school has ever seen? Boy can shake it like no straight man ever could.
Two hours and many grind-lines later, the dance ended, and we all piled back into the cars and went to this kid Alex's house.
Upon arrival, we changed and went into his TV room, where on the coffee table was more alcohol than I have ever seen in my life.
And that's where things begin to blur. I remember drinking a lot of Malibu mixed with orange juice and mango tea, then proving my manliness by shooting whiskey (I was the only chick in the joint who could take shots without chaser), kissing Emily while flipping her boyfriend the bird, and falling asleep around 6 in the morning.
Yep. I'd say I had a fairly successful Saturday night.
Next weekend, Skylab.
So pumped.
Julia
Actually, it was more of a full day and then full night ordeal. Here's how the shit went down:
At around noonish, my darling Lionboy (the quintessential gay best friend) picked me up and we took our buddy dress shopping. Upon failure to find a dress for her, I took her back to my house and dyed her hair in order to lift her spirits. After an hour with me, the tips of her hair were fiery apple red. Spirits: lifted.
Then we all went to meet up with the rest of the group at the little community theater where they all do shows (I don't, though, awkward) and we got all primped and prettied up in the dressing rooms there while a few of the people in the group did pre-show. Once everyone was all glammed up and looking fabulous, we caravaned to dinner.
On our way out, one of the actors at the theater jokingly commented that I looked like a grade-A hooker, which prompted the taking of this photo:
And many, many jokes throughout dinner relating to my [questionable, though wholly made up] occupation. Honestly, I could have looked sluttier; but the combination of the short dress AND the platform wedges AND the platinum hair created a rather trashy facade.
Don't give two shits, I was still the hottest one in our group.
Anyway! After dinner plus a few hits from Lionboy's pipe, we were ready to go into the dance.
The music was great, but there wasn't much actual dancing going on inside. You see, grinding is not dancing, grinding is merely a carnal expression of untamed sexuality. It's dry humping to the beat. Still fun though :)
One of my good friends won homecoming king, and we proceeded to shake our asses in victory all night long. Oh, did I mention, my dear buddy was the first gay homecoming king my school has ever seen? Boy can shake it like no straight man ever could.
Two hours and many grind-lines later, the dance ended, and we all piled back into the cars and went to this kid Alex's house.
Upon arrival, we changed and went into his TV room, where on the coffee table was more alcohol than I have ever seen in my life.
And that's where things begin to blur. I remember drinking a lot of Malibu mixed with orange juice and mango tea, then proving my manliness by shooting whiskey (I was the only chick in the joint who could take shots without chaser), kissing Emily while flipping her boyfriend the bird, and falling asleep around 6 in the morning.
Yep. I'd say I had a fairly successful Saturday night.
Next weekend, Skylab.
So pumped.
Julia
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Triumph!
There's just something about slipping on a pair of high heels that makes me feel like I can kick the world in the face. It's like, BAM, look at me now. I keep it classy, though, and on the few times a week when I do wear heels, I never bust out the hooker-wear. I try to keep it demure-ish.
I get weird looks when I wear heels to school, but I don't care, at least I have the courage to wear what I want. fPlus, heels give me an added few inches, which is always nice when you're as tiny as I am.
Moral of the story:
I bought my very adorable homecoming dress today, along with a pair of heels, well, wedges, that can only be described one way, as my buddy Taylor demonstrated when I tried them on:
"Those look like sex! On your feet!"
Wow, that really wasn't a moral at all...
Yep.
Pictures on Sunday, after the dance :)
Today was one of those randomly fantastic days, it was a nice change from the usual stress-filled ones. And it's a Thursday! Usually this shit doesn't start improving until at least noon on Friday... maybe Jesus just loves me. Ha. Only about half of you will understand why you should laugh right now.
Anyway.
Apologies for the bipolar self-esteem posts...
I'm very lost right now. I keep swinging between the extremes of feeling like a sexy bitch who doesn't give a fuck what the world thinks and a timid little chubby girl with too many flaws to hide. Most of the time I can keep up the bravado, but on here, where I let myself speak freely, I end up spewing a lot of self-pitying, self-hating crap.
In all honesty, I'm very confident in who I am, I just have issues with how I look. Right now, though, I'm starting to swing back towards the sexy bitch side of the spectrum, and I expect I'll stay there; at least for the weekend.
Also, Nutella can cure any level of a bad mood! That stuff is awesome.
Julia
I get weird looks when I wear heels to school, but I don't care, at least I have the courage to wear what I want. fPlus, heels give me an added few inches, which is always nice when you're as tiny as I am.
Moral of the story:
I bought my very adorable homecoming dress today, along with a pair of heels, well, wedges, that can only be described one way, as my buddy Taylor demonstrated when I tried them on:
"Those look like sex! On your feet!"
Wow, that really wasn't a moral at all...
Yep.
Pictures on Sunday, after the dance :)
Today was one of those randomly fantastic days, it was a nice change from the usual stress-filled ones. And it's a Thursday! Usually this shit doesn't start improving until at least noon on Friday... maybe Jesus just loves me. Ha. Only about half of you will understand why you should laugh right now.
Anyway.
Apologies for the bipolar self-esteem posts...
I'm very lost right now. I keep swinging between the extremes of feeling like a sexy bitch who doesn't give a fuck what the world thinks and a timid little chubby girl with too many flaws to hide. Most of the time I can keep up the bravado, but on here, where I let myself speak freely, I end up spewing a lot of self-pitying, self-hating crap.
In all honesty, I'm very confident in who I am, I just have issues with how I look. Right now, though, I'm starting to swing back towards the sexy bitch side of the spectrum, and I expect I'll stay there; at least for the weekend.
Also, Nutella can cure any level of a bad mood! That stuff is awesome.
Julia
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Eyeliner: A Love Story
5 Years Ago:
There I sat, in front of a small mirror, surrounded by the girls in my pre-professional dance company, as my director instructed us all on the exact and precise art of applying stage make up ourselves, without the help of our mothers, and in a manner which looked completely uniform. My left eye watered massively as I drew a shaky line beneath it, having never used an eyeliner pencil, let alone any other make up, of my own volition.
My legs were folded beneath me, feet clad in satin pointe shoes, itching to return to the floor and begin rehearsing again. I glanced at my left eye, with the thin black line I had drawn no where close to my lash line staring back at me.
Mortified at my inexperience compared to the other girls on the company, I sat, frustrated, turning my attention to my right eye, and wondered why anyone would want to wear make up anyway.
4 Years Ago:
I sharpened the shrinking knub of liner and turned to face my reflection in the mirror atop my bedroom vanity. My pale, slight features smirked from beneath dark locks of hair strewn over the sides of my face, straightened and side-swept to punk perfection as I listened to my mother shrieking outside my closed bedroom door.
"Stop putting all that crap on your face and get to school!" She was saying as I drew thick lines to surround my eyes. I glanced at my closed door, at the neglected pointe shoes hanging off the knob (I had left the company when the director instructed me to lose weight), and smirked again.
Those days, with nothing to keep me going but the fleeting pleasures of pissing people off, I dressed in black and wore massive amounts of eyeliner as a symbol of my rebellious spirit. I set the knubby little khol pencil down on its sacred perch upon my vanity, tugged my long sleeves and bracelets down over my wrists to hide the fresh scars from my daily routine of self-hatred, and rammed my door open, forcing myself to face the day ahead.
3 Years Ago:
Brunette (remember her?) sat on my bed, playing with her pack of Marlboro Red 100s and texting our friends Blonde (remember her too?) and Candy. We were preparing for an outing at the local mall; a sad little collection of shitty shops and a single photo booth.
I took the sparkly black liquid liner liner that I had just learned to use and painted sloppy winged lines on my eyelids. I applied a few (hundred) coats of mascara, face powder, and the pink strawberry lipgloss that I thought made my lips look pouty. I pinned my short dyed-black hair out of my face and assessed my neon outfit. The whole all-black-all-the-time thing was old.
I turned to Brunette and realized that we were both wearing the same purple skinny jeans. My heart sank as I realized that she was much skinnier and much prettier, and I quickly changed into a pair of black jeans, because after all, black is slimming.
2 Years Ago:
I sit in the middle of the only math class I've ever enjoyed/succeeded in, next to Cassi and Kayli (who both thought it would be cool to end their names with a lonely little 'i') and glance at my pockmarked reflection in the little compact mirror that I carry everywhere.
There are bags under my eyes due to my hangover, yes, a hangover on a Tuesday, and my reddish, half-bleached hair is clipped out of my face, revealing my abnormally large forehead. Cassi says something odd and I giggle, trying to draw on my eyeliner quickly before our teacher returns from her trip to the bathroom.
As soon as I've judged my minimal makeup to be sufficiently ugly-covering, I relax and lounge in my chair. I've worn sweatpants today, the ones with the high school mascot's name up the side of the right leg and a paw print on the left hip. I feel gross-ish, but my friends don't say anything and I'm too tired to care.
1 Year Ago:
I sweep my yellowy hair out of my face and stare hard at myself in the mirror. My ponytail is higher than I ever thought humanly possible and my makeup is adorable; green eyeshadow and glitter to match my new cheerleading uniform. I pick up the thin, angled brush I use for gel liner and lean in to the mirror.
As I paint perfect, smooth lines onto my eyes, I try to remain clam. I chant cheers in my head, going through the motions and practicing my facials. I can barely breathe in my tight uniform, and yet I seem to be hyperventilating. I am about to cheer at my first varsity football game, with a team that I know I'm beginning to hate but can't quite seem to accept it.
I know the captains hate me and I'm too chubby for the uniform. I feel pale and scrawny, especially in my school colors, and I can't help but wish that I didn't have to leave my house looking like some albino pep squad freak. But I've signed up for this; for performing and acting perky all the time and being completely clean and sober and saintly (God, it was hard).
I look at my reflection and barely recognize the pretty little cheerleader in the mirror. That blonde, smiling girl in the green uniform with the bow in her hair, looking like the epitome of everything I'd once hated. Who was she?
This Morning:
I let loose a stream of champion cursing as I tear through my makeup collection frantically. I'm already late for school having woken up a mere 5 minutes ago. I push my pack of American Spirits aside and scan my vanity for the item that eludes me.
I glance up at my reflection, already dressed in record time in a tight brown mini skirt with my tribal crop top slouching over my shoulders. My platinum hair is straightened and smooth and 90% of my full face of makeup is on (also in record time), and I feel on the verge of pretty, except for that one little detail that I literally cannot leave the house without, and oh God, I seem to have lost it.
I've lost my eyeliner.
As realization floods over me, my hands tremble and I reach for my black eyeshadow and a small angled brush, which will have to do. For the first time in years, I'm without the staple of my confidence, the holy grail of my morning routine, and the catalyst for my 'pretty'.
I manage to line my eyes fairly well with the shadow, but it's just not the same. None the less, I haven't got time to fret too much about it, and I hurry off to school, where oddly enough I receive several random compliments regarding my general appearance within my first few minutes of walking into class.
Today, apparently, I'm finally noticeably good-looking.
What?
Julia
There I sat, in front of a small mirror, surrounded by the girls in my pre-professional dance company, as my director instructed us all on the exact and precise art of applying stage make up ourselves, without the help of our mothers, and in a manner which looked completely uniform. My left eye watered massively as I drew a shaky line beneath it, having never used an eyeliner pencil, let alone any other make up, of my own volition.
My legs were folded beneath me, feet clad in satin pointe shoes, itching to return to the floor and begin rehearsing again. I glanced at my left eye, with the thin black line I had drawn no where close to my lash line staring back at me.
Mortified at my inexperience compared to the other girls on the company, I sat, frustrated, turning my attention to my right eye, and wondered why anyone would want to wear make up anyway.
4 Years Ago:
I sharpened the shrinking knub of liner and turned to face my reflection in the mirror atop my bedroom vanity. My pale, slight features smirked from beneath dark locks of hair strewn over the sides of my face, straightened and side-swept to punk perfection as I listened to my mother shrieking outside my closed bedroom door.
"Stop putting all that crap on your face and get to school!" She was saying as I drew thick lines to surround my eyes. I glanced at my closed door, at the neglected pointe shoes hanging off the knob (I had left the company when the director instructed me to lose weight), and smirked again.
Those days, with nothing to keep me going but the fleeting pleasures of pissing people off, I dressed in black and wore massive amounts of eyeliner as a symbol of my rebellious spirit. I set the knubby little khol pencil down on its sacred perch upon my vanity, tugged my long sleeves and bracelets down over my wrists to hide the fresh scars from my daily routine of self-hatred, and rammed my door open, forcing myself to face the day ahead.
3 Years Ago:
Brunette (remember her?) sat on my bed, playing with her pack of Marlboro Red 100s and texting our friends Blonde (remember her too?) and Candy. We were preparing for an outing at the local mall; a sad little collection of shitty shops and a single photo booth.
I took the sparkly black liquid liner liner that I had just learned to use and painted sloppy winged lines on my eyelids. I applied a few (hundred) coats of mascara, face powder, and the pink strawberry lipgloss that I thought made my lips look pouty. I pinned my short dyed-black hair out of my face and assessed my neon outfit. The whole all-black-all-the-time thing was old.
I turned to Brunette and realized that we were both wearing the same purple skinny jeans. My heart sank as I realized that she was much skinnier and much prettier, and I quickly changed into a pair of black jeans, because after all, black is slimming.
2 Years Ago:
I sit in the middle of the only math class I've ever enjoyed/succeeded in, next to Cassi and Kayli (who both thought it would be cool to end their names with a lonely little 'i') and glance at my pockmarked reflection in the little compact mirror that I carry everywhere.
There are bags under my eyes due to my hangover, yes, a hangover on a Tuesday, and my reddish, half-bleached hair is clipped out of my face, revealing my abnormally large forehead. Cassi says something odd and I giggle, trying to draw on my eyeliner quickly before our teacher returns from her trip to the bathroom.
As soon as I've judged my minimal makeup to be sufficiently ugly-covering, I relax and lounge in my chair. I've worn sweatpants today, the ones with the high school mascot's name up the side of the right leg and a paw print on the left hip. I feel gross-ish, but my friends don't say anything and I'm too tired to care.
1 Year Ago:
I sweep my yellowy hair out of my face and stare hard at myself in the mirror. My ponytail is higher than I ever thought humanly possible and my makeup is adorable; green eyeshadow and glitter to match my new cheerleading uniform. I pick up the thin, angled brush I use for gel liner and lean in to the mirror.
As I paint perfect, smooth lines onto my eyes, I try to remain clam. I chant cheers in my head, going through the motions and practicing my facials. I can barely breathe in my tight uniform, and yet I seem to be hyperventilating. I am about to cheer at my first varsity football game, with a team that I know I'm beginning to hate but can't quite seem to accept it.
I know the captains hate me and I'm too chubby for the uniform. I feel pale and scrawny, especially in my school colors, and I can't help but wish that I didn't have to leave my house looking like some albino pep squad freak. But I've signed up for this; for performing and acting perky all the time and being completely clean and sober and saintly (God, it was hard).
I look at my reflection and barely recognize the pretty little cheerleader in the mirror. That blonde, smiling girl in the green uniform with the bow in her hair, looking like the epitome of everything I'd once hated. Who was she?
This Morning:
I let loose a stream of champion cursing as I tear through my makeup collection frantically. I'm already late for school having woken up a mere 5 minutes ago. I push my pack of American Spirits aside and scan my vanity for the item that eludes me.
I glance up at my reflection, already dressed in record time in a tight brown mini skirt with my tribal crop top slouching over my shoulders. My platinum hair is straightened and smooth and 90% of my full face of makeup is on (also in record time), and I feel on the verge of pretty, except for that one little detail that I literally cannot leave the house without, and oh God, I seem to have lost it.
I've lost my eyeliner.
As realization floods over me, my hands tremble and I reach for my black eyeshadow and a small angled brush, which will have to do. For the first time in years, I'm without the staple of my confidence, the holy grail of my morning routine, and the catalyst for my 'pretty'.
I manage to line my eyes fairly well with the shadow, but it's just not the same. None the less, I haven't got time to fret too much about it, and I hurry off to school, where oddly enough I receive several random compliments regarding my general appearance within my first few minutes of walking into class.
Today, apparently, I'm finally noticeably good-looking.
What?
Julia
Monday, September 12, 2011
Fish Can't Fly, Stupid!
I am surrounded by literally piles of homework right now, but I've been taking notes since 3 and I need a wee bit of a break, so hey, Blogger, what up?
About that poem I posted yesterday, that will be the first and last time I ever write poetry outside of a school assignment, so don't expect too much more of that ;) I don't know why I wrote in poem-form... I just felt suddenly artistic like that.
Despite the morbidity and such, I actually had quite the weekend full of shenanigans. Here's what went down:
Saturday- Drove up to Red Rocks with a bunch of people, didn't actually see the show (It was STS9, so it's not like we missed much) and instead hung out and got fucked up in a party bus. All the busses park in the dirty south lot and everyone just does like a pre-show ragefest. It was hella fun.
Lot's of drunk girls. Everywhere. And drunk boys. They were dancing around near the port-a-potties. But mostly, it was drunk girls, waiting an hour to pee.
We went walking through the parking lot and found 12 unopened beers, plus a gallon some dude filled up for us from a keg, a half pack of perfectly good cigarettes, a hit of acid, and a half-gram of molly.
We all decided that Red Rocks' parking lot was way cooler than the actual ampitheatre.
Also, sitting on top of a subwoofer that currently has dub blasting out of it is basically the coolest thing ever.
Sunday- I had to sing at a district-wide memorial concert, where my school's choir sang the cheesiest patriotic songs in existence, then sat through a bunch of boring speeches. It was slightly awkward because that boy from the beginning of the summer, the one who I fooled around with and then found out he was fooling around with several other girls (not Wsb, before him!), well he was there.
In the bright side, I did get to wear my pretty red dress.
But after the concert, my friends and I went an en epic Taco Bell adventure, and I have never been so stoned in my life!
After I got back, I cut and dyed Lily's hair, and it turned out fantastic. I added layers, razored the ends for texture, then dyed her fringe and the bottom layer orangey red. It looked like sex. I think I'm going to charge a tiny fee and do a bunch of my buddies' hair for homecoming of something to pick up a little rave money. I'm rather proud of myself.
Anyway. Now I suppose I must return to the, brace yourself, 40 pages of notes that are due tomorrow, along with the 15-page vocab packet. AP, I love you, but you're bringing me down.
Julia
brownie points to the person that can tell me the two LCD Soundsystem song titles that I referenced in this post.
About that poem I posted yesterday, that will be the first and last time I ever write poetry outside of a school assignment, so don't expect too much more of that ;) I don't know why I wrote in poem-form... I just felt suddenly artistic like that.
Despite the morbidity and such, I actually had quite the weekend full of shenanigans. Here's what went down:
Saturday- Drove up to Red Rocks with a bunch of people, didn't actually see the show (It was STS9, so it's not like we missed much) and instead hung out and got fucked up in a party bus. All the busses park in the dirty south lot and everyone just does like a pre-show ragefest. It was hella fun.
Lot's of drunk girls. Everywhere. And drunk boys. They were dancing around near the port-a-potties. But mostly, it was drunk girls, waiting an hour to pee.
We went walking through the parking lot and found 12 unopened beers, plus a gallon some dude filled up for us from a keg, a half pack of perfectly good cigarettes, a hit of acid, and a half-gram of molly.
We all decided that Red Rocks' parking lot was way cooler than the actual ampitheatre.
Also, sitting on top of a subwoofer that currently has dub blasting out of it is basically the coolest thing ever.
Sunday- I had to sing at a district-wide memorial concert, where my school's choir sang the cheesiest patriotic songs in existence, then sat through a bunch of boring speeches. It was slightly awkward because that boy from the beginning of the summer, the one who I fooled around with and then found out he was fooling around with several other girls (not Wsb, before him!), well he was there.
In the bright side, I did get to wear my pretty red dress.
But after the concert, my friends and I went an en epic Taco Bell adventure, and I have never been so stoned in my life!
After I got back, I cut and dyed Lily's hair, and it turned out fantastic. I added layers, razored the ends for texture, then dyed her fringe and the bottom layer orangey red. It looked like sex. I think I'm going to charge a tiny fee and do a bunch of my buddies' hair for homecoming of something to pick up a little rave money. I'm rather proud of myself.
Anyway. Now I suppose I must return to the, brace yourself, 40 pages of notes that are due tomorrow, along with the 15-page vocab packet. AP, I love you, but you're bringing me down.
Julia
brownie points to the person that can tell me the two LCD Soundsystem song titles that I referenced in this post.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Trembling
The morning is clear and quiet,
The more pious among us head to church.
This is seemingly just another rural Sunday,
But as churchgoers pass by roses on the roadside
And little flags carpeting the cemetery,
They recall that at this exact hour ten years ago,
Our nation was struck to its knees.
For me, a memory stirs of my parents hurredly
Blocking the TV, pressing the mute button
And forcing smiles as they sent me to walk to school.
I walked into my quaint 1st grade classroom
To see my teacher shaking.
She sat us all down in a group,
Then asked if anyone knew what had happened.
My young, naïve classmates looked at each other in
Profound confusion.
My teacher then proceeded to calmly explain:
We had been attacked, many people had died, and our country
Was in danger.
We were in danger.
In the days that followed,
Amongst nightmares of Taliban hiding in the bathtub
And the talking heads on news networks
Using new words like "terrorism" and "civil threat",
Did I try to make some sense
Of the image cast across America:
Two towers burning as the rest of us watched in horror.
Men jumping to their deaths,
Running screaming through the street,
Or being hauled out from underneath scaffolding,
Covered in blood and barely moving.
As this day falls again, and I recall a full decade of
Bullshit that followed,
I am once again a tiny first-grader,
Looking up into the tear-filled eyes of my parents,
Trembling.
Julia
Ps: you should all read the poem 'Self-Evident' by Ani Defranco. Just do it...
The more pious among us head to church.
This is seemingly just another rural Sunday,
But as churchgoers pass by roses on the roadside
And little flags carpeting the cemetery,
They recall that at this exact hour ten years ago,
Our nation was struck to its knees.
For me, a memory stirs of my parents hurredly
Blocking the TV, pressing the mute button
And forcing smiles as they sent me to walk to school.
I walked into my quaint 1st grade classroom
To see my teacher shaking.
She sat us all down in a group,
Then asked if anyone knew what had happened.
My young, naïve classmates looked at each other in
Profound confusion.
My teacher then proceeded to calmly explain:
We had been attacked, many people had died, and our country
Was in danger.
We were in danger.
In the days that followed,
Amongst nightmares of Taliban hiding in the bathtub
And the talking heads on news networks
Using new words like "terrorism" and "civil threat",
Did I try to make some sense
Of the image cast across America:
Two towers burning as the rest of us watched in horror.
Men jumping to their deaths,
Running screaming through the street,
Or being hauled out from underneath scaffolding,
Covered in blood and barely moving.
As this day falls again, and I recall a full decade of
Bullshit that followed,
I am once again a tiny first-grader,
Looking up into the tear-filled eyes of my parents,
Trembling.
Julia
Ps: you should all read the poem 'Self-Evident' by Ani Defranco. Just do it...
Thursday, September 8, 2011
D is For Lysdexia
Tomorrow I'm seeing the Les Miserables Broadway cast tour in Denver! I'll be missing my last two classes of the day, and I'm rather excited :) Aside form that, I'm going to write a fairly light-hearted post (about fucking time, I know..) in order to further avoid the 30 pages of AP Euro notes that I have to take.
I mean, I loves me some fucked up European dudes killing each other for hundreds of years on end, but I honestly can't be arsed to write pages and pages of notes on them right now. Just can't focus.
Writing this post is proving to be a bit of a chore as well... I keep having to go back and rewrite things and delete little pointless bits of crap, honing my unedited thoughts into a slightly more polished form. Usually I don't edit too heavily, if at all, but my brain is all over the place right now, and my dyslexia is all like "fuck you" and therefore every other word I write is tremendously misspelled. (I'd like you all to know that I misspelled "misspelled" and had to go back and fix it.. irony, thy name is dyslexic daughter of two people who have minor literary degrees)
Maybe I should just blog in pictures, sounds, and motions.
Which reminds me, I've begun posting on my photo blog again. There's a link to it on the upper right side of this blog, I'd appreciate it you would check it out :)
Usually, the lighter, shallower stuff goes on there, and my life goes on here. It's like a balance.
Speaking of balance, though it's been eluding me lately, I think I'm finally beginning to bring some semblance of equality back into my life. I feel very zen today, which is a nice change form the usual chicken-with-its-head-cut-off feeling. What with school kicking my ass, and then rehearsal kicking it more, usually I'm crazy stressed all the time, and then we get to the weekend and I bitch about being bored because I have nothing to do.
That's changing as my workload lessens and becomes more manageable and my weekends become more filled with plans. It's like things are finally falling into place and the chaos inside my soul is quieting itself down and taking a breather.
OMG CUTE STORY TIME:
So I was pawing through my rack of hoodies (I have a standing coatrack in my room that holds only my multitude of hoodies) and I came across a hoodie I wore a lot over the summer, and I felt something in its pocket. I sometimes leave random shit in the pockets of jackets, always assuming that I'm going to wear the jacket again soon enough that I'll find whatever I left. Except, I never do.
Anyway! I reach into the pocket of this particular hoodie and find a lighter. Not just any lighter, Wsb's lighter. It was blue and not incredibly unique, but it seemed to signify all of our late-night adventures, and then I smiled and missed him a little bit. Not too much, just enough to have a little 10-second flashback to kissing him on his front porch.
And right at this moment, the song "When The Day Met The Night" by Panic! At The Disco came on my iPod. Listen to the song, it's probably my favorite one they've ever done, and you'll understand why I was like "dawww!".
Sigh. Summer is over.
Julia
I mean, I loves me some fucked up European dudes killing each other for hundreds of years on end, but I honestly can't be arsed to write pages and pages of notes on them right now. Just can't focus.
Writing this post is proving to be a bit of a chore as well... I keep having to go back and rewrite things and delete little pointless bits of crap, honing my unedited thoughts into a slightly more polished form. Usually I don't edit too heavily, if at all, but my brain is all over the place right now, and my dyslexia is all like "fuck you" and therefore every other word I write is tremendously misspelled. (I'd like you all to know that I misspelled "misspelled" and had to go back and fix it.. irony, thy name is dyslexic daughter of two people who have minor literary degrees)
Maybe I should just blog in pictures, sounds, and motions.
Which reminds me, I've begun posting on my photo blog again. There's a link to it on the upper right side of this blog, I'd appreciate it you would check it out :)
Usually, the lighter, shallower stuff goes on there, and my life goes on here. It's like a balance.
Speaking of balance, though it's been eluding me lately, I think I'm finally beginning to bring some semblance of equality back into my life. I feel very zen today, which is a nice change form the usual chicken-with-its-head-cut-off feeling. What with school kicking my ass, and then rehearsal kicking it more, usually I'm crazy stressed all the time, and then we get to the weekend and I bitch about being bored because I have nothing to do.
That's changing as my workload lessens and becomes more manageable and my weekends become more filled with plans. It's like things are finally falling into place and the chaos inside my soul is quieting itself down and taking a breather.
OMG CUTE STORY TIME:
So I was pawing through my rack of hoodies (I have a standing coatrack in my room that holds only my multitude of hoodies) and I came across a hoodie I wore a lot over the summer, and I felt something in its pocket. I sometimes leave random shit in the pockets of jackets, always assuming that I'm going to wear the jacket again soon enough that I'll find whatever I left. Except, I never do.
Anyway! I reach into the pocket of this particular hoodie and find a lighter. Not just any lighter, Wsb's lighter. It was blue and not incredibly unique, but it seemed to signify all of our late-night adventures, and then I smiled and missed him a little bit. Not too much, just enough to have a little 10-second flashback to kissing him on his front porch.
And right at this moment, the song "When The Day Met The Night" by Panic! At The Disco came on my iPod. Listen to the song, it's probably my favorite one they've ever done, and you'll understand why I was like "dawww!".
Sigh. Summer is over.
Julia
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Greying
"Vague sound of rain
pierces through my song again,
but I get distracted by the way his toes move when he plays,
So I'll just let it burn."
First verse to the song I'm listening to right now, Sorry by Maria Mena. It's raining outside and the song oddly fits, its calming but sad. I don't usually listen to wispy, indie girls with their guitars, but for some they're all I want to listen to right now.
Im sitting here all curled up in my friend Hope's sweatshirt and drinking cinnamon cocoa, feeling for the first time that summer's ended. I mean, despite having school, it's felt like summer wasn't truly over. I've been staying up till the wee hours of the morning every night and partying every weekend, but tonight I think I'll go to bed early. It's finally sinking in that summer is gone.
I feel older, especially looking at my little sister who is just beginning to hit her formative years, and thinking how she's got no idea what lays ahead of her. She cannot fathom the hurt and the happiness that life will wind up bringing her way. I remember the naïve years, caring only about the little things and not giving a fuck what boys thought or if I had any money. I miss them slightly.
Anyway.
I've just thought of a playlist for greying, rainy days like this. Like, the perfect hot-beverage sipping soundtrack.
Here:
Sorry - Maria Mena
Lullaby - Jack Johnson
Banana Pancakes - Jack Johnson
Drops of Jupiter - Train
Chemicals Collide - Cloud Cult
Yep.
Julia
pierces through my song again,
but I get distracted by the way his toes move when he plays,
So I'll just let it burn."
First verse to the song I'm listening to right now, Sorry by Maria Mena. It's raining outside and the song oddly fits, its calming but sad. I don't usually listen to wispy, indie girls with their guitars, but for some they're all I want to listen to right now.
Im sitting here all curled up in my friend Hope's sweatshirt and drinking cinnamon cocoa, feeling for the first time that summer's ended. I mean, despite having school, it's felt like summer wasn't truly over. I've been staying up till the wee hours of the morning every night and partying every weekend, but tonight I think I'll go to bed early. It's finally sinking in that summer is gone.
I feel older, especially looking at my little sister who is just beginning to hit her formative years, and thinking how she's got no idea what lays ahead of her. She cannot fathom the hurt and the happiness that life will wind up bringing her way. I remember the naïve years, caring only about the little things and not giving a fuck what boys thought or if I had any money. I miss them slightly.
Anyway.
I've just thought of a playlist for greying, rainy days like this. Like, the perfect hot-beverage sipping soundtrack.
Here:
Sorry - Maria Mena
Lullaby - Jack Johnson
Banana Pancakes - Jack Johnson
Drops of Jupiter - Train
Chemicals Collide - Cloud Cult
Yep.
Julia
Monday, September 5, 2011
That's It, I'm Moving To Saturn.
My voice is still completely shot. I'm frittering away my time on Facebook and I can't seem to find a good form of entertainment. And since no one can hang out, I'm stuck inside my suffocating house all day, texting people and feeling like the emo kid in the corner.
AND THE FEELINGS OF UGLINESS CONTINUE.
I'm so down, even dubstep is not lifting my mood.
This is not a good situation, guys.
I've decided to simply close the book on Fsb. If he wants to hang out, he can come to me. Which he won't, I know it, because I know him. Except I don't know him. He's the only guy that's ever been this much of a puzzle to me, and he remains fairly enigmatic, but I suppose he thinks he's figured me out, so while I'm still thinking about his mind, he's no longer interested in me.
That's fine, he hasn't, and when he figures out that I'm a little deeper than he initially thought, he might come back. Or he'll get bored and desperate and hit me up. And I'll go to him, because that's what he expects, and maybe I'm just a little desperate now too.
No. No, I'm better than that. Hopefully. Ok, I hereby resolve to not initiate any further conversation with this boy. Book of Fsb: Now Closed.
In other news, I talked to Wsb for the first time since he left today. Well, not talked.. I left him a message. It was short. Just like 'Hey, I miss you almost, how's life?'. I don't know what I feel now that he's worlds away and Fsb is no longer manipulating my thoughts towards him. It's sort of like he's a memory, like he himself doesn't exist, and all that I've got to hold onto is this lingering essence and the imprint he's left on me.
I don't even know what we had.. Looking back after giving it some time, it definitely was not love. Not that I ever thought for more than a fleeting second that it was, I just didn't know how else to classify such an intense relationship. I'm labeling it in my brain as a summer romance.
But now, for the first time, there are no really important guys in my life. Like, Fsb was never a potential relationship, and there haven't been any other romantic advances lately. It's a very odd feeling.
Society has conditioned me to think that I need a boyfriend, bit I know I don't, in fact, I know that a boyfriend is a terrible idea. But all that societal conditioning has made me subconsciously feel constant need for male companionship. And it's stupid, but I can't help it.
Maybe I need to stay completely alone for a while and get my brain back in check. For the past few months I've been all vulnerable and romantically inclined, and that's becoming detrimental. All this romantic desperation is very unlike me. This whole vulnerability thing is definitely not something that can continue.
My heart is starting to crumble from neglect.
I think I'll let it.
Julia
PS: I've had an epiphany about drugs: DON'T. Like, it's fun as hell, but I'm sort of bored with going nuts for a few hours and then feeling like shit afterwards. There's kind of no point, you know? Not that I'm completely stopping, because there are certain raves where it'll basically be a requirement, but I'm definitely going to lay off the mind-altering substances for the most part. Like, I've got better things to do and all.
Raves, however, Imma keep going to those. At least I can feel pretty somewhere..
AND THE FEELINGS OF UGLINESS CONTINUE.
I'm so down, even dubstep is not lifting my mood.
This is not a good situation, guys.
I've decided to simply close the book on Fsb. If he wants to hang out, he can come to me. Which he won't, I know it, because I know him. Except I don't know him. He's the only guy that's ever been this much of a puzzle to me, and he remains fairly enigmatic, but I suppose he thinks he's figured me out, so while I'm still thinking about his mind, he's no longer interested in me.
That's fine, he hasn't, and when he figures out that I'm a little deeper than he initially thought, he might come back. Or he'll get bored and desperate and hit me up. And I'll go to him, because that's what he expects, and maybe I'm just a little desperate now too.
No. No, I'm better than that. Hopefully. Ok, I hereby resolve to not initiate any further conversation with this boy. Book of Fsb: Now Closed.
In other news, I talked to Wsb for the first time since he left today. Well, not talked.. I left him a message. It was short. Just like 'Hey, I miss you almost, how's life?'. I don't know what I feel now that he's worlds away and Fsb is no longer manipulating my thoughts towards him. It's sort of like he's a memory, like he himself doesn't exist, and all that I've got to hold onto is this lingering essence and the imprint he's left on me.
I don't even know what we had.. Looking back after giving it some time, it definitely was not love. Not that I ever thought for more than a fleeting second that it was, I just didn't know how else to classify such an intense relationship. I'm labeling it in my brain as a summer romance.
But now, for the first time, there are no really important guys in my life. Like, Fsb was never a potential relationship, and there haven't been any other romantic advances lately. It's a very odd feeling.
Society has conditioned me to think that I need a boyfriend, bit I know I don't, in fact, I know that a boyfriend is a terrible idea. But all that societal conditioning has made me subconsciously feel constant need for male companionship. And it's stupid, but I can't help it.
Maybe I need to stay completely alone for a while and get my brain back in check. For the past few months I've been all vulnerable and romantically inclined, and that's becoming detrimental. All this romantic desperation is very unlike me. This whole vulnerability thing is definitely not something that can continue.
My heart is starting to crumble from neglect.
I think I'll let it.
Julia
PS: I've had an epiphany about drugs: DON'T. Like, it's fun as hell, but I'm sort of bored with going nuts for a few hours and then feeling like shit afterwards. There's kind of no point, you know? Not that I'm completely stopping, because there are certain raves where it'll basically be a requirement, but I'm definitely going to lay off the mind-altering substances for the most part. Like, I've got better things to do and all.
Raves, however, Imma keep going to those. At least I can feel pretty somewhere..
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Manly Tones
So the rave was... not what raves usually are. It was tiny, admittedly hella fun (but probably only because of the group I went with), but interesting. The headlining DJ kept staring at me and smiling.
After it was over, we ended up chilling and chain smoking, giving the evening the customary post-mortem. We all had a great time and felt really stoked on the whole night. The go gos loved our group and the photographers took tons of pictures of us, not to mention how much we got checked out by all the cute guys. It was a huge confidence booster.
And then, today, I've felt completely the opposite. I'm speaking in manly tones due to the chain smoking, and after showering the rave away, I feel rather unattractive. Despite being the object of several dudes' desire last night, today I feel wholly undesirable.
I'm beginning to realize that to Fsb, I really was just convenient. And it was fun, and I can't blame him, but it's still sort of a shitty feeling to know that we'll probably never get any farther than this. Maybe that's just the way it seems right now... I don't know. Fsb's not really a hopeless romantic, so I don't expect any adorable shit. He seems to be constantly preoccupied, which means that I obviously don't matter too much in his grand scheme of things.
Eh. On to the next one, I suppose.
On the bright side, I GOT ME SOME FLUFFIES!
Lookit.
Please excuse the extreme whoreishness of the outfit, I took the picture after I was already all dressed up for the rave.
Anyway.
Please cheer me up, few and foreign followers. If you leave a rhyming couplet as a comment, my day will significantly improve :)
Julia
After it was over, we ended up chilling and chain smoking, giving the evening the customary post-mortem. We all had a great time and felt really stoked on the whole night. The go gos loved our group and the photographers took tons of pictures of us, not to mention how much we got checked out by all the cute guys. It was a huge confidence booster.
And then, today, I've felt completely the opposite. I'm speaking in manly tones due to the chain smoking, and after showering the rave away, I feel rather unattractive. Despite being the object of several dudes' desire last night, today I feel wholly undesirable.
I'm beginning to realize that to Fsb, I really was just convenient. And it was fun, and I can't blame him, but it's still sort of a shitty feeling to know that we'll probably never get any farther than this. Maybe that's just the way it seems right now... I don't know. Fsb's not really a hopeless romantic, so I don't expect any adorable shit. He seems to be constantly preoccupied, which means that I obviously don't matter too much in his grand scheme of things.
Eh. On to the next one, I suppose.
On the bright side, I GOT ME SOME FLUFFIES!
Lookit.
Please excuse the extreme whoreishness of the outfit, I took the picture after I was already all dressed up for the rave.
Anyway.
Please cheer me up, few and foreign followers. If you leave a rhyming couplet as a comment, my day will significantly improve :)
Julia
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Fluffies
I am on a mission. There is going to be a theme rave tomorrow night and I am scrambling around for an outfit. This is becoming an emergency situation, y'all.
And yes, I am one of those ridiculous kids who dresses up in skimpy neon outfits for raves. The only thing I am missing is a pair of fluffies. For those of you who don't know, fluffies are those furry leg warmers that rave kids and go-go dancers wear to cover up their sneakers. Google them, they're awesome.
I found some really adorable, cheap ones on eBay, but I don't have time to wait for them to be shipped from Gloucestershire. This rave is tomorrow night!! T-minus 20 hours. I needs me some fluffies right NAOOOO.
>:(
The theme of the rave tomorrow is Alice In Wonderland.
I'm thinking of going as a playing card, a half-painted rose, or maybe a flamingo. Something minor that only people who have read the book would know about. I don't want to be one of 17 Alices all vying for attention from the photographers, I'd rather be a little more subtle than that.
Ha.. subtlety at a rave, like that's gonna happen!
Julia
And yes, I am one of those ridiculous kids who dresses up in skimpy neon outfits for raves. The only thing I am missing is a pair of fluffies. For those of you who don't know, fluffies are those furry leg warmers that rave kids and go-go dancers wear to cover up their sneakers. Google them, they're awesome.
I found some really adorable, cheap ones on eBay, but I don't have time to wait for them to be shipped from Gloucestershire. This rave is tomorrow night!! T-minus 20 hours. I needs me some fluffies right NAOOOO.
>:(
The theme of the rave tomorrow is Alice In Wonderland.
I'm thinking of going as a playing card, a half-painted rose, or maybe a flamingo. Something minor that only people who have read the book would know about. I don't want to be one of 17 Alices all vying for attention from the photographers, I'd rather be a little more subtle than that.
Ha.. subtlety at a rave, like that's gonna happen!
Julia
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Wake Me Up When September Ends
No seriously; I'd rather spend this month in a medically induced coma than deal with the immanent shenanigans that I know will be ensuing.
I don't know how much actual blogging will get done because this month is going to be full of rehearsals, raves, and massive amounts of homework (thank you, AP classes, thanks so much). Who knows, maybe I'll post everyday.
I leave my shit unplanned :P
My pupils are basically the size of small UFOs right now. I just went to the optometrist to get some more contact lenses, and the guy like, assaulted me with eye drops and a flashlight. Then he sat there for half an hour waiting. When I asked what he was doing, he said that he needed to dialate my pupils so that he could check my eyes.
I thought "Hell, I could have just dropped some acid and saved you 30 minutes and your precious eye drops." I thought this, but did not say it, because I don't think optometrists tend to approve of recreational drug use.
Anyway.
It's a brand new month. Woo?
I've got techno blasting into my skull and a bowl of ice cream sitting beside my computer. I suppose life is lovely. I'm hitting that apathetic time when you really don't have too much to complain about, but life is boring as fuck. I'm going to have to think up some crazy, stupid adventure to entertain myself.
Perhaps I shall call Fsb...
Julia
I don't know how much actual blogging will get done because this month is going to be full of rehearsals, raves, and massive amounts of homework (thank you, AP classes, thanks so much). Who knows, maybe I'll post everyday.
I leave my shit unplanned :P
My pupils are basically the size of small UFOs right now. I just went to the optometrist to get some more contact lenses, and the guy like, assaulted me with eye drops and a flashlight. Then he sat there for half an hour waiting. When I asked what he was doing, he said that he needed to dialate my pupils so that he could check my eyes.
I thought "Hell, I could have just dropped some acid and saved you 30 minutes and your precious eye drops." I thought this, but did not say it, because I don't think optometrists tend to approve of recreational drug use.
Anyway.
It's a brand new month. Woo?
I've got techno blasting into my skull and a bowl of ice cream sitting beside my computer. I suppose life is lovely. I'm hitting that apathetic time when you really don't have too much to complain about, but life is boring as fuck. I'm going to have to think up some crazy, stupid adventure to entertain myself.
Perhaps I shall call Fsb...
Julia
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