Itty Bitty Little Rant

I just have to get this one off my chest.
A girl who graduated with me had a baby her junior year of high school. She was the Teen Mom of our school...glamorous, always looked great and none too bright. Everybody was thrilled when they found out she was keeping the baby, even though she was only 17 and her foster parents would have to do most of the childcare. But she didn't care a whit and floated effortlessly through labor and the rest of high school. This evening I logged on to Facebook to this:  "SO! [boyfriend]  AND I HAVE TALKED THIS OVER AND.....WE ARE GOING TO TRY FOR ANOTHER BABY IN A FEW MONTHS! WANT THIS ONE TO BE PLANNED! WE ARE REALLY EXITED FOR [baby #1] TO HAVE A BABY BROTHER OR SISTER NEXT YEAR!!!"
 Oh. Em. Gee. You're telling me you are nineteen years old with a twenty year old boyfriend, a two year old son, and you are trying for a second child?!?! What in the heck is wrong with you?! You don't need another baby, you need counseling! Jeebus. I'm seriously amazed at the stupidity of my classmates. This is why people form Tea Parties and vote for Sarah Palin. Because their two children under the ages of 5 have sucked their brain cells out...if they had any to begin with.

Da Wizdom Toof Advenshure

I didn't mean to look all pitiful and stuff. Really. But I was still kind of woozy from the anesthetic. So, here is Chipmunk Gigi.

This was yesterday, about 3 hours post-op. Puffy cheeks, glazed eyes....yep, looks like a wisdom tooth surgery. 


I was pretty nervous, this being my first surgery ever. Would I embarrass myself? Would I be in agony? What if I turned out to be one of those rare people who can feel the pain but is under the anesthetic so they can't say or do anything?
Dad picked up Boyfriend and me a little before 8:30. It was a quiet two hour drive to the oral surgeon I'd been recommended to see. 
And I was hungry. We stopped at Burger King and I eyed Dad's breakfast sandwich enviously, knowing it would be days before I could handle solid food. 
The two of them came to sit with me while I was getting prepped for surgery, which was heartening. I was terrified, and the heart monitor showed it. But, as Boyfriend the Medic pointed out, my blood oxygen level was "prefect." Cool. 
I'd also never had an IV put in me before, (believe me, Boyfriend has offered) so that was new. It felt like cooling menthol in my arm, and it was not altogether unpleasant. The surgeon arrived (my heart rate spiked), Dad and Boyfriend left, and the go-to-sleep stuff was put in the IV. I wanted to be aware of every moment as I fell asleep. It was strange, not at all like drifting gently off. I got very dizzy and it was lights out for this girl.
The first thing I can remember after coming to is the nurse showing Boyfriend in. I think I remember trying to smile. He later told me I was pretty silly. I sang "my milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard," when Boyfriend said we could go get a milkshake later if I wanted. I also told him I had "Big Yellow Taxi" by Counting Crows in my head, which had been playing at BK, and sang, "They paved paradise and put up a parking lot." I told Boyfriend I had to pee, he asked if I'd need help, and apparently I glared at him and said, "I can wipe my own butt." Good thing Dad wasn't in the room at the time. 
We stopped at a gas station for me to pee and get a blue slushie, which I could barely get in my mouth. That's one thing I did not expect: not being able to open my mouth more than a half inch. Nor did I expect the sore throat, which has yet to go away. 
My best friends throughout the experience have been Boyfriend, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, milkshakes, and hydrocodone. Ohhh, I love that hydrocodone. It makes the pain go from "Owwww this really sucks" to "yeah, it hurts." I am also thoroughly enjoying the high-end Snuggie Boyfriend gave me for my birthday. 
Well, I'm going to try to tackle some mac n cheese. So far my greatest accomplishment has been mashed potatoes. Mmmmm...

Happy Hanuchrismazaa

This has to be the hardest, weirdest, busiest December of my life. When I was a kid, December was the best month of all. My birthday and the end of school and Christmas combined to make December an exciting, joyful time of year. 

I'm grieving for my grandmother. Rose Boffa Hoskin died at 89 on the afternoon of December 10, 2010. She was very ill, but she passed away peacefully. 

This is the only digital photo of her I could find. It was last summer, when the family gathered by the lake in Michigan to celebrate Independence Day and summer and family. We were spending an afternoon at the beach. I remember how everyone fussed over Grandma, making sure she had something to drink, keeping her in the shade. My aunt Pat put the towel over her legs to make sure her feet wouldn't sunburn. You can see it all in her eyes. At that moment, she is satisfied. Her family surrounds her, it's a beautiful day. I can almost hear her sigh in comfort. 

I could write a book about her and my memories of her, but I'll just give out tastes in later blog posts. I think it's a good way to keep her memory alive.

Boyfriend and I moved into our first apartment two days after my 19th birthday. It was especially hard because we had almost nobody help us. Except for his brother helping move the bed and couch, we were on our own. But we're very glad to have our own little lovenest, even if the price is higher than we would like. Boyfriend has been wonderful about helping with the cooking and cleaning, which is very nice to see. Speaking of nice to see! 

Why yes, that is my birthstone! (Blue topaz.) Why yes, it is the most expensive piece of jewelry I've ever owned! Why yes, Boyfriend did give it to me! :) (insert swooning, goofy smiles and weak knees here.)

The end of the semester was insane. I was feeling better, but I could tell the mono wasn't gone. (There are times when I'm still not sure it's gone.) I had papers and projects due. Oddly, only two of my classes, English and Prealgebra, required me to sit down in a classroom and take a paper final. But this meant I had a term paper due for History, a huge written lab for Bio, and a final paper for Reporting and Newswriting. To say I was stressed is an understatement. My hard work paid off, mostly. 

English 1010: A

Reporting and Newswriting: A

Publications Production (Trail): A

History: B

Prealgebra: B

Biology: D

Yeah, I know. I cringed at the biology grade too. But a B in math! Hallelujah! 

And then there's Christmas. It officially begins in about half an hour, but for me it's already over. My brother was only in town from Sunday until this morning, so my parents both wanted to have Christmas with him. Naturally, my dad wanted to hog all of my brother's time here. We had present opening Monday night before the Chicago Bears crushed the Minnesota Vikings. Mom only got about a day and a half with him before we were shipped off to Dad's. The three of us had a small celebration (if you could call it that) and opened presents. Dad apologized for the lack of gifts. It made me feel...uncomfortable. A man should never have to apologize for what he didn't give. 

I came to Mom's for Christmas Eve, which has been extremely fun. We laughed a lot, ate traditional Christmas Eve pasta with clams, and opened tons of presents. 

Boyfriend called me, and I opened the gift from him. And guess what? I'm getting fish!! He bought me a fish tank and said we're going to pick out fish together!! And if we can handle fish, we're going to seriously consider getting a hedgehog! 

I got other wonderful things, too, like a handheld mixer, a crockpot, jewelry, money, and a lovely warm coat.

So...if anyone besides Boyfriend reads this, I wish you a Merry Christmas. If you don't celebrate Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa or Happy Hanukkah or whatever it is you celebrate. And if you don't celebrate anything, then I hope you have a good day. Everyone deserves at least one really solid good day out of all the days in a year, after all.

Peace on Earth, guys.

Sneaky Spleen

I have never been so aware of my spleen. Seriously, a three days ago you could have asked me to locate it and I'd just point in the general abdominal area. Now I know...it's tucked up under my left rib, but part of it comes down into my tummy. And I can feel it. Every time I laugh or burp or sneeze or yawn. It doesn't hurt, there's just a lot of pressure. I imagine this is sort of what pregnancy feels like...a pressure, a weight inside the body where before there was nothing out of the ordinary. On the upside, this pressure won't last nine months. On the downside, it won't end with something as wonderful as a baby.
Seven days until Gigi's 19th. Boyfriend went shopping this morning, Dad's asked what I want and beyond that I don't know anything. I'm hoping to get the usual cards with money inside. Boyfriend are going to need to eat eventually, after all. Turkey doesn't hold out for long.
Urgh. The Massive Headache has returned. It's been a companion of mine for about five days now. And does Tylenol take care of it? Of course not.
Stop complaining, Gigi. It could be worse.
Bah humbug.
OH!! Breaking news! Mom is getting out the Christmas tree to decorate! I love decorating Christmas trees!

Nothing Rhymes With Mono

What has two thumbs and mononucleosis?

Yep. Yours truly has the kissing disease. Yaaaaaaaay.
(Thanks a lot, Boyfriend. I don't know if you gave it to me but I'm blaming you anyway.)
La Madre picked me up this afternoon to come home for Thanksgivin'. She took one look at my enormous left lymph node (it's covered up by my hair in the picture) and decided we needed to go see a doctor. Two and a half hours, one disgusted nurse, one painful throat swab and a needle in my vein later, Doc says, "You got mono." 
WELL CRAP.
I've read about people who've had mono. I know people who've have mono. And they all say something along the lines of "I was more tired with mono than I was after pushing my 10 pound son through my girly bits for 18 hours." Me? Tired? No sir. Well, I'm tired, but I'm not sleepy. I wake up at night at least three times. I'm restless during the day. Nap time has just never been my forte.
So now I'm sitting here trying not to shake my fist at the fates. Thanksgiving is tomorrow. Am I going anywhere? Nope. No holiday party for Gigi. My birthday is next Friday. Am I gonna be all chipper and dazzling like I always imagine I should be on the anniversary of my birth? Noooo. Christmas is in a matter of weeks. Christmas is my favorite holiday. WHY, GERMS?! WHY!??!!
Then I do the zen thing. I take a deep breath and think how Grandma Rose would think. Be a positive, cheery, everything's-fine 89 year old, I tell myself. And it works. Maybe I'll feel a bit better on my birthday. Maybe I'll make it through finals. Yes, this sucks, but this just might be the worst of it.
Ommmmmm....

Homemaking Heaven

Well, it's official. Boyfriend and I are moving out of Boyfriend's friend's mom's basement and into a legitimate apartment of our own. As soon as we can find one within our budget, that is.
I'm excited about having more than just a bedroom to share, of course. But the one thing I am really REALLY excited about? A kitchen of my own. I don't know, maybe it's an Italian girl thing, but I am unbelievably excited to have a place with a stove and a full-size refridgerator. I'm crossing my fingers for a dishwasher too, but if we don't luck out, I'll cope.
Naturally, I'm already drooling over the recipes I'm planning to make in our little love nest. Like frozen hot chocolate in the warmer months. Or these itty-bitty lasagnas. And of course a good staple like this easy bread. This little chickadee is one excited homemaker-to-be!
I'm trying not to think about the other things the apartment will most likely need, though. Boyfriend has banned futons from his life, so no Wal-Mart couch for us. We'll also need a dresser and probably a kitchen table and chairs, if we can get them. Luckily, Boyfriend doesn't hate thrift shops as much as he hates futons, so we'll probably end up there first. With luck we'll be able to find something from this decade.
Oh and Thanksgiving is day after tomorrow! My favorite gustatory holiday. My favorite Turkey Day food? Well, it's split between pumpkin pie and yams with lots of butter and brown sugar. Ohhhh yum. I'm drooling now.
Happy Thanksgivin'!

Literacy and Liberty

It's a good day to be a blogger in America. In Iran, not so much.
A young man my age has been imprisoned for speaking his mind online. (Allah forbid.) He could be whipped, sentenced to life in prison...maybe even executed, if his "crimes" are found to be just that horrible.
It troubles me very deeply that well into the twenty-first century, a teenage boy still can't express himself. He can't tell people what he's reading, what his life is like, or even who his friends are.
But if this young man has anything to be grateful for, it is that he is not a woman. If a female blogger were to be imprisoned, I cringe to think what might happen to her.
Iran isn't real crazy about having women who know how to read.
Can't we do something?
In the mid- to late-1800s, a revolution occurred in America that changed its destiny forever. Poor children of farmers became literate. They learned how to think for themselves, how to back up their arguments. America's children became powerful.
And this is what needs to happen in Iran.
Now, I don't claim to know anything about life in Iran, but I believe I can claim to have a decent grasp of history and how it repeats itself, as the saying goes. And so, if you teach the children of Iran to read and teach them there is more than one way to be "right" and sometimes nobody is "right," well, then...we've got a little bit of a healthier world on our hands.

Secrets and Satin

Boyfriend's birthday was pretty great. :) I got home from working on the Trail (for NINE HOURS) at about 2 a.m. Shortly after, Boyfriend came home VERY drunk. As in, he called me to help him down the stairs. He was very silly and loud, but hey, he was happy. I thought, "Oh geez...I've got to document this." So I took a cell phone video. Which mostly consists of him giggling.
About 15 minutes later, he gives me a sort of glazed look and says, "I think I'm going to throw up."
And boy, did he.
He was puking pretty continuously until 4 in the morning. I was worrying continuously until he felt ok enough to come to bed. (He didn't want me to see him in such a weak, icky state, so he made me stay out of the bathroom. Didn't stop me from worrying.)
He was hungover most of the next day. He was okay enough to go to dinner, though, which was good because we had big plans :) We went to Wyoming's Rib & Chop House, one of our favorite restaurants. I spoiled him rotten, too. He got filet mignon with crab legs, red zinfandel and an appetizer of buffalo chicken tenders. (Which were AMAZING.) I got pot roast, which doesn't sound fancy but the Rib & Chop House has the best pot roast I've ever tasted in my life.
I got Boyfriend satin sheets and a book of 21 poems I wrote. He likes my poetry, and his old sheets were worn and torn, so I figured he'd like them.

In other news, Boyfriend is playing emo covers of rap songs while I kind of do homework.
I'm so sick of homework!!!

My Buddaluvoo

Buddaluvoo.

It's a code word. Not really. Say it aloud. Dare you.

"Buddaluvoo."

It started with a back-and-forth conversation. Some may have called it an argument but in reality it was nothing of the sort. I was telling Boyfriend it was too warm to wear pants. Boyfriend said it was cold enough. No, I said, it's not. "But I love you," he said, all doe-eyed and adorable.

Now how in the heck could I argue against that?

So now it's a non-word we use. Just a quirk in our relationship. A quick, nonsensical way to let the other person know we are thinking of them and love them very much.

By the way, I was right. It was much too warm for pants and Boyfriend was miserable.

My Resurrection

WAKE UP.

Get your lazy brain out of this chasm. Wake up. Pick up a pencil, start pecking at keys, start singing again, start dancing again, eat less, spend less, forgive more, love more, and, oh yeah, listen to more music.

Excuse a little personal chastising. But I've been so damn lazy about this blog and it's time to shake myself awake from this little personal writing sleep I've been in.

I write for English class and for the college newspaper. I read only the newspaper and books required for classes and almost anything StumbleUpon sends me. I write poetry, but I have to force myself. I'm trying to put together a book of 21 poems for Boyfriend's 21st birthday. I don't write for me anymore. I don't keep a diary anymore.
But dammit, I can at least keep a blog alive!

Personal life, snapshot.
Boyfriend and I just finished one of my all-time favorite movies, Amelié. He liked it, to my great relief.
Indecisive about my hair. To cut? Not cut? No more dying until I have money, I'm afraid.
Speaking of...Boyfriend and I are so poor we literally don't know where our next meal will come from. We've decided to move in together next semester. I'm ditching the dorms and changing my meal plan.
One week until he turns 21. One month until I turn 19.
Grades are fair, except math. I'm struggling. But I got an A+ on a 5 page paper last week. And the editors of the paper have made it clear I'm their target to become next year's editor. Friggin' two-year college.
Halloween is coming. I'm going to be a flying rainbow unicorn, Boyfriend is considering being a bum. (Cutest bum ever, I say.)

What I'm watching
Currently I'm watching Jesus Camp. Very provocative. I really want to tell the camp leader lady that all those kids who are "speaking in tongues" are actually just trying to please their parents and fit in with their church/society. C'mon lady, wake up.
I love how she talks about "fat, lazy grownups" who aren't good enough at spreading God's word. Hey look, you're overweight too, ma'm!
Oh no. Now she's saying how awesome President Bush was. Oy vey.

My connections
Okay. Here we get into the realm of Who I Am. I was born without a real religion. I was baptized Catholic in the bathtub by my grandmother. (In the Catholic church it's allowed to do that if a priest isn't handy.) I wasn't introduced to the Catholic church until the age of 7. At 8, I was baptized. I began attending after-school programs to learn about Jesus and the Church. When the time came for my First Confession, I wussed out. I asked if I could just write my sins on a piece of paper. (I WAS EIGHT AND SHY.) Priest, old meanie, said no. Mom and I left the church. We returned when I was twelve and our parish got a nice, fat, happy priest. I was a believer. It felt right, most of it made sense. I liked that our new priest didn't mind admitting that there were times in history when the Church was wrong. I felt love from God. As high school advanced, however, I became more focused on homework and less focused on religion. By graduation, I was no longer attending church, not even once a month.
And I sort of miss it. I don't miss the reminders to go to confession. I don't miss feeling guilty every time I chose to participate in the eucharistic part of Mass. But I miss the love I felt from my mother and my grandmother because we shared that special part of our relationship. I miss having a place to have my questions answered. I miss the guidance. I miss the church dinners and the sense of camaraderie. I miss knowing I could walk into church, kneel, and feel something move within my heart.
I'm living with my boyfriend now. He's scorned the Catholic church several times in my presence. But he's also taught me about Mormonism, a religion he once adhered to. Now he's a atheist or an agnostic...it changes from week to week. I do wish we shared a faith, but for now we disagree on some things. I guess it's just a part of life. I'm not going to try to get him to believe in anything, though. I'm not going to tell him Catholicism or Mormonism or Buddhism is the right way, because I'm not really sure what The Right Way is myself. I don't think there is just one right way. He agrees with me on that, at least. For now, all I need him to believe in is the power of our love.

My Floating Participle

When you say "almost deployed" I hold my breath briefly but release it in a gush when I recognize the meaning of the word "almost."
December is a happy month, or it's supposed to be. My birthday. End of semester. Christmas. It would be so hard to endure happy times without you by my side to enjoy them.
And then I realize...you talk like you're certain you'll be deployed eventually. Which means there will be hard days without you to lean on and happy occasions you won't be there to share.
Good thing my momma taught me to be an independent woman.
She just never taught me how hard I could fall in love.

I've been thinking about shoes and weddings and pink lately. Don't know why. Wedding season on the brain mixed with inherent girlyness could be the culprit.

End old job: Monday, June 7.
Begin new job: Thursday, June 10.
Car shopping Tues/Wed. Very little to no breathing room.

I want to show you the way lightning bugs look in a Chicago backyard on a warm July evening.
I want you to smell the forest at the edge of the pseudo-sea.
I wonder if you'd like dancing in the rain as much as I did.

Tired to the point of zombieland.

One. Two. Three. Four.
Four people who seem to actually care.
It's like we turned our tassels and suddenly I was borderline friendless.

Introversion is often looked down upon by the more extroverted of American society. We are shy. We are thinkers. We take things in, soaking things up like a sponge, the better to attempt to make sense of this world and the people in it.

I just want to read and write and color all day. Let me have my childhood back. I won't waste it this time. Promise.

In the box of jewelry she left us, there was a tiny silver ring with a pearl set in it. Looking at it, I wondered what inspired her to buy something so graceful. The rest of the queen's riches were dazzling, but that ring, tucked away now in my own jewelry box, is more intriguing than any.

The parents are branching out. I always thought I'd be the one dating now, not my parents.
We're dating, I guess. It feels more like...being best friends and a ton more.

My legs feel as if they're not attached to me anymore, and I'm just floating. Maybe my head will brush the ceiling. Or maybe I'll just go to bed.

Kids These Days

Okay, society, I've had it. I kept my mouth shut when you glorified cod oil, I went along with the game when you elected George W. Bush president, I even kept quiet when you decided making men look like wussies in commercials is okay. But today is the final straw.

When will you let kids be kids?

Exhibit A: The trashy swimsuit. While working out, I noticed a girl at the pool. She couldn't have been more than eight. Her skinny little friend was wearing a cute halter one-piece. But she (a little on the childhood chubby side, just baby fat) was wearing a cut-out. Yup. Fabric over the important parts, that's all. Since when did seven-year-olds become sex symbols? I've seen toddlers in mini skirts, for Pete's sake! I feel like telling these dumb moms to cover up their little girls before some creeper decides their little girl's Hannah Montana bikini means they're "asking for it."

Exhibit B: The blog. I ran across the blog of a twelve year old today. A twelve year old. This girl can't even spell "megabyte" yet, and she has a blog? Kids, in my day these were called diaries and we didn't let the universe know we had a crush on Derek or Josh or whoever. This kind of cry for attention is what leads to cocaine habits and teen pregnancy.

Seriously, when did kids go from drawing on the sidewalk to drawing on the iPad? When did the Nintendo DS replace the Harry Potter Book? Kids these days....

Good morning, Interwebs. Been a while, ain't it?
Truth be told, I sort of forgot I even had a blog. I'm sorry. Tears, wailing, gnashing of teeth. Are we friends again now?
Last you knew, I was the end of my junior year and dating a sophomore. Today I am nearing the end of my senior year and dating a 20 year old. Psh. Changes much?
Lee and I had issues, big time. The break-up was messy and ugly. Since then I've grown...really, we both have. It's been a tough year for both of us.
MISSION: GIGI'S SENIOR YEAR. STATUS: SUCCESS
Not to put too fine a point on it, say, I'm the only bee in your bonnet!
In other words, good year for me. Rough. But good.

It took me...oh, about five months to decide to go to a local community college where my dad works, which was my original plan. But then Michigan State University said, "Hey, you're not too dumb...we might give you a full-ride." So I wrote an essay and gathered letters of recommendation and MSU said, "Nah, never mind, you're not as cool as we thought. You can't join our club."
Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Warning: the following is on the list titled "Things My Mother Will Never Know"
In December I met somebody. A friend invited me to a party in another town and said I was supposed to come along to keep her "friend's" friend company. She intended to sleep with him, but made a few mistakes, and he and I ended up talking a lot. And then kissing. And two months later, on Valentine's Day, Cody asked me to be his girlfriend.
Today, we've been together for nearly three months. I took him to my senior prom last weekend and we had a blast. He'll be working in my town soon, which I'm looking forward to. Also, we're going to the same college in autumn, which was a surprise, since we were doing this college plan separately. We love each other, but we're not the sort of couple to follow each other to college just to stay together.

In other news, my brother (hopefully) flies out for Italy day after tomorrow. With all the ash from the stupid Icelandic volcano, his flight may be grounded.

Also, Lee got in a skiing accident 3 or 4 weeks ago. He's home now, and he'll make a full recovery, but it was pretty scary there for a while. Now he's healing and going back to his dickish self and reminding me why I stopped going out with him in the first place.

Anything else? Hmm. Graduation in two and a half weeks. Put my emotions in a blender and press "pulp."

Newest poem:

I can’t seem to write about you.
Every poem is wrong, all wrong.
I write about the way you drive and
the way you make love. Not good enough.

Delete.

I write about your embrace. Still
not good enough. I string together
sentences about your laughter
and the way you can’t dance.
No, no. Still all wrong.

Delete.

I listen to every song that’s ever
reminded me of your kiss, your eyes,
your smile. I am not uninspired,
I just get distracted by memories,

half-ghostly visions of you
in front of me, beside me, curled
around me.

You are the best writer’s block
I’ve ever had.
Save.

I have Mrs. W for a sub. Which is...and experience. Ben says he loves her. I'm not totally sure but I think Matt hates her. And me? Well, I haven't decided yet. She's got this weird nasal voice...but she isn't afraid to sass whoever walks through the door. She's got chutzpah.

L'homme Armé is epic.
And I am bored. There's nothing for me to do, which comes from people being lazy and being given the jump page, which is nearly always the last one done. At least they gave me an easy one.

Gosh I just wanna go do something worthwhile. Like get my bike from my dad's and ride it around town. I'm looking forward to having self-propelled mobility. Definitely.

I'm poor. I'm hungry a lot. And I've gained weight.
Life kinda sucks.
Then why am I so happy? Is it the flying leaps I take instead of just walking up to Lee and giving him hugs? Is it listening to my favorite songs over and over? Is it just...life? Maybe I'm just grateful for the sunshine of spring.

I need to get out more.

Blueberry bagels with cream cheese rock my world.

I have this endless feeling like I'm just waiting. And I don't know what for. I guess that's what they mean when they say "waiting for the other shoe to drop." I don't know what's going on.

I want to LEARN. I am so tired of sitting around doing nothing. I should find online lessons. A month or so ago I found a link to a free thing on psychology. I should look that up. Good Lord...make Mrs. W shut up.

I've been listening to kind of sad songs again. I go on these kicks where I just listen to really solemn songs for like weeks at a time. My two favorites of the moment are "L'homme Armé" from The Armed Man soundtrack and "The Way Down" by The White Tie Affair. I've also been really into newer stuff in history, like the 1991 oil spill and the 9/11 attacks. It's tough, it's depressing, but I still find it fascinating. Gosh why do I have to be such a history buff? There's like no jobs out there that make good money that require a background in history. Unless you want to be a museum curator. Which I actually would love. I think that would be so cool. You'd get to learn oodles, and you'd get to do cool stuff like putting mummies through x-ray machines and stuff. Gosh I love archeology and things like that.
I've decided that I'm going to give the Star Trek movie a try. I was initially very much against it because I thought Hollywood would ruin it, but I hear that even die-hard fans are okay with it. So maybe it'll be ok. Plus, the guy who plays Captain Kirk is pretty hot. Yum. :)
I have an interview for LINK crew today. They had a lot of applicants, so I'm desperately hoping that I'll get in. I want to be a leader so bad, probably worse than a lot of other kids. We'll see.
I also have training next week at Cowtown Candy. Meanwhile I'm still looking around for another job. I think if they open the Walgreens soon I'll apply there. :)
Gosh. Last night I was crying. And then he called me. And all I could think about was how lucky I am.
I always go to sleep pretending/thinking of his arms around me. I can't wait until the night when we can fall asleep together and wake up in the morning with our arms around one another. We've sort of done it before, but only for a few hours. It was heaven.
I'm writing again. I don't mean blogs and stuff, I mean essays and fiction. It feels sooo good to be writing. I hate writers block with a passion. It's really depressing.
One day I will beg my mother to let me into school during the summer, and we will take turns riding my scooter up and down the hallways and we'll laugh ourselves sick. I love my mom, generally speaking.
75% of me is really really sad that Ben is graduating soon. The other 25% is thinking this separation will be a good thing. He needs to cut the apron strings and branch out, and I need the freedom to breathe and not be pulled down by just one best friend. I've felt just a tiny bit suffocated lately.
The Maverick sells frozen yogurt. For like $2 for a good-sized bowl. This is a miracle.
Stupid lactose tolerant people.
L'homme, l'homme, l'homme armé,
L'homme armé,
L'homme armé doibt on doubter, doibt un doubter.
On a fait partout crier,
Que chascun se viengne armer
D'un haubregon de fer.

The man, the man, the armed man,
The armed man
The armed man should be feared, should be feared.
Everywhere it has been proclaimed
That each man shall arm himself
With a coat of iron mail.

<3

My Identity Crisis

Yesterday I realized something. My best friend likes who he's becoming. And for the hundredth time in my life I asked myself, "Do I like me?"

In all honesty, sometimes I exasperate myself. I often feel like I need to grow up, and then somebody will come to me for advice and I'll feel more adult than ever. 

I don't like how fast my emotions change sometimes. One moment I'll be smiling, and the next I'll be bawling like the world is ending. 

Yesterday at Young Life, Mikey gave a testimonial, which made pretty much everyone tear up. But I felt stupid because I really started crying toward the end. Mikey said, "No matter what stuff you're going through right now, God loves you." And I knew in my heart that I didn't fully believe it. I want to. But with all the crap that's been in my life in the past few months, it's a little hard to believe that I'm not totally abandoned. Because that's how I feel. I feel like an orphan. I don't have parents, I have two people who feed me and nag me. That's it. Parents talk to you. Parents consistently show their love. And I know that if I were to say that in front of people, many would be shocked. "But your mom does love you!" 

How would you know? You don't see our relationship as it is. You see it the way you want it to be. But isn't that just life?

I've had two or three mysterious bruises in the past week. I don't understand where they're coming from. I don't bruise easily, so you'd think I would remember where I got hurt. 

I love popping my joints. It feels so good.

15 minutes. That's how long I have until I leave this accursed school to perform with some of my best friends. I hope all goes well. 

I'm pretty sure Cap is perpetually irritated with me now. Sad face. I totally adore him.

I want to work at Cowtown Candy so badly. I'm going in for an interview sometime in the next week or so. Yay Gigi! I really want a full-time job there this summer. That would make Gigi very happy. Otherwise Gigi will have to work at Walgreens or something ridiculous and meaningless like that. 

I love driving. Seriously. L-O-V-E it. 

I like singing too. I like singing while I drive.

I am super-excited for prom. I've been looking for ideas for what to do with Sara's hair. She'll look gorgeous no matter what, of course. 

My patootie is in pain. 

I kind of want Lemon Heads. Which I haven't had in like a year. Or more. 

I'm broke. Super broke. I only have like 20 bucks left in my checking account. Oh well. That'll change at the end of the week. ^-^ I'm still über careful with my money, generally speaking. But yearbooks are $60 this year!! That's ridiculous!! I'm thinking of asking my mom to go halfsies with me. Then I'd only pay $30, and it'd be our yearbook, but people would sign it to me. Hmm.

Seven minutes. 

My butt hurts so bad. Owwwww.

I'm such a history nerd. Ugh. Sometimes I roll my eyes at myself. 

I want to run away. It's time for something to happen in the life of Gigi. Prom is coming, but that's not good enough. Gigi needs to get out of her normal environment. Gigi needs to get lost and make new friends and be responsible for herself. Gigi is good at traveling. 

Ah, I take it back. Prom will be awesome. 

Four minutes.

I'm listening to a happy song and all I want to do is cry. I keep trying to cry. But nothing is working. I need to cry.

Thanks, Mom and Dad. I thought I was okay, finally. Thought I was basically cured. But hey, what's it to you? Your perfect (or not) little girl is just a polite robot who occasionally acts out and sometimes smiles. Either way, it's just a malfunction. Kick the machine and it'll start working again. Right?

Sometimes I still get the temptation to drive into the other lane...just to see what would happen. But I don't want anybody else to get hurt.
Hey, I'm not suicidal.
Just experimental.

I collect experiences. I guess that's why I'm a slightly strange person.
I put my little glowing experiences in clear glass jars with the lids shut tight, and I save them all on a shelf. Sometimes I take them down and just look at them. A few are ugly. A few are beautiful. All are fascinating.

Blood is cool. I've never been a fan of slasher movies. Natural blood, calm, clean blood...now that's beautiful.

Funny how I make such binding promises.

Dresses are my new favorite thing.

Sometimes I hate the telephone.

I need somebody to hold my hand. I need a beating heart to listen to at night. I need kisses on the back of my neck and whispers in my ear.
Technically I have these...they're just not easily accessible.


Bummer.

Just a moment ago I read this: http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5hY9EJOvoVv2Mwr_gn_bKdoVG5MGQD976CVL81
The article (from the Associated Press, pretty much the best news source on the planet) says that a little war has broken out between Catholic bishops and Notre Dame University. Notre Dame invited President Barack Obama to speak at its commencement ceremony this May, as is the custom for new presidents. However, many Catholics are shocked at the thought of someone so vehemently pro-abortion speaking on a Catholic campus.
Um.
Excuse me?
President Obama is pro-abortion and he supports embyronic stem cell research. But if I remember correctly, those topics don't generally appear in graduation speeches. Usually commencement speeches are focused on the future and hard work and hope. Obama is good at hope. It's his word.
I really don't understand two main things about this "issue." First, that it has become such a juvenile argument. As a Catholic myself, I can understand the anger and resentment that fill pro-life hearts around the world at the thought of a pro-abortion leader. But as a near-adult, a rational thinker and a politically-inclined teen, I can't see why they must attack Obama's ideas on this level. A more appropriate course of action surely lies elsewhere.
Secondly, I don't see why it is being blown into such huge proportions. I actually discovered it via Catholic e-newsletter. The newsletter was a link that led to dozens of other links which led to countless stories about the conflict between Catholic bishops and Notre Dame administrators. Why must we make take this particular opportunity to demote abortion? There are plenty of others.

My Sick Mildness

It's a bad day for me. I feel sick, through and through.
I woke up feeling sick to my stomach. This isn't unusual for me, (maybe I'm hypoglycemic?) but today I just felt...sick.
I feel sick inside too. Like there's something rotting in me. It's not a good feeling. (Well duh.) I feel like I'm in pain. I should be used to not feeling "good enough" but I'm not. Never quick enough, smart enough, thin enough, beautiful enough.
Never enough.
"Mild depression." That's what they call it. It's kind of like saying "mildly poisoned" or "mildly drowned." Mild. Like salsa.
Am I still not over it?



I guess not.

Happily Ever Afters

Not simple love, not complex love.
Love in its purest form, coupled with passion.
I never knew passion was a separate entity from love.
I want him.
I crave him, stronger than any drug or cup of coffee.
There’s a hunger in my heart, in the pit of my belly.
And I wonder if he feels this too, or if I just love him too much.
I hope it’s the former.
There have been moments
When we clung to each other
Like the only two survivors
In the entire world.
Survivors of what?
The throes of teenage heartache, heartbreak, depression and love?
Broken homes, changing views, hot-as-hell opinions?
Maybe we’re just survivors of each other,
For each other.
Fairytale love.
That’s what I call it.
Not real fairytale love,
Where The Prince and The Princess meet at a ball,
Fall madly in love,
And live Happily Ever After.
No, this is the Real Fairytale,
In which the prince and princess meet
In the dark basement of a church,
Shyly admit their feelings on the Internet,
And begin dating two weeks after the princess
Was dumped by a minor duke.