Exasperated

I am exasperated with myself.
I can't stand myself.
I hate it when you don't want something.
Buut then, you kind of realize you do?
Maybe a little?
Like a little?
And then the what ifs drive you crazy.
Drive me bananas.
Like Gwen Stefani.
I hate it.
I hate not being realistic.
I hate not being level-headed.
I hate it when I let my mind wonder and then it comes crashing down.
Because I make it come crashing down.
I hate fairy tales.
Really I do.
I think I overthink a lot.
I think I need to stop overthinking.
I read this book on a girl who overthinks.
She fared pretty well.
Though it was a romantic book.
And I did want to break it in half.
But whatever.
It wasn't that bad.
Back when I read it in the seventh grade.
I always say, I will never dream.
I will not be a dreamer.
It works until it doesn't.
Then, it sucks.
Like right now.
Except not so much, writing has helped.
So much.

Great Expectations

I have great expectations.
I cannot wait for this year to end.
I mean, semester.
I want to start anew.
To see new people.
To get refreshed during the summer.
Recharge my batteries.
Learn new things, meet new people, change.
That's what I desire.
Change.
Not a streetcar named Desire.
Change.
Except not in Obama form.
More like changes in my life.
I don't usually like changes but well, I need them sometimes.
Sometimes, they are so important.
It is like Spring.
Winter erases everything and spring brings change.
The earth needs spring like I need change.
It'll be different or so I hope.
New classes, new people, new house.
This is just good.
Actually, it'll be great.
I need this so much.
I cannot wait.

So,

I saw a cute Asian guy.
Just thought I'd let you know.

more on this later, perhaps tomorrow

"Scoop: Why should you like me? I'm arrogant and difficult. But I'm very smart. So you'll put up with me. What?
Heidi: What what?
Scoop: You're thinking something.
Heidi: Actually, I was wondering what mothers teach their sons that they never bother to tell their daughters.
Scoop: What do you mean?
Heidi: I mean, why the fuck are you so confident?"

readjusting to the dark

Immediate blindness.
Instability as you stumble forward.
Your hands become your guide.

Biologically
1-Cones denature
2-Rods activate
3-A series of action potentials

Aurally
1-Buzzing of the light has ceased
2-Silence at its best
3-You pick up on the minimal sounds of the night

Tactilely
1-Your hands merge onto walls and surrounding objects
2-One thing connects to the next
3-Textures are more apparent

Visually
1-Shadows overtake life
2-A few faint lights appear
3-The moon lights the path

Olfactory
1-Indistinguishable scents
2-Each new step brings a new experience
3-There's an air about the darkness you have to be in to understand

Psychologically
1-Your thoughts are interrupted
2-Questions arise
3-Is there someone[thing] behind you?

101

I am here.
In my friend's dorm.
Waiting for my other friend to pick me up.
This got me thinking about dorms.
And dorm mates or roommates.
This is a hard subject.
You are living with a complete stranger.
At least for the first few weeks.
It's worse than marriage.
I don't see how dorms fit into the scheme of college.
You can meeet people without having to live with them.
Sharing a room with a complete stranger can be hurtful.
Like, this one girl I met.
One of her roommates is racist.
She's Korean and her other roommate is black.
It makes for uncomfortable situations.
Situations that are not necessary in life.
I mean, why is it necessary to experinece discomfort?
Dorms are not always bad news.
You CAN meet amazing people.
You CAN become besties with your roommate.
But it doesn't happen so much as people like to think.
Most of the time it is friendliness bordering on tolerance.
I am not a strong person.
I could never live in a dorm.
I would seriously want to kill my roommate after a few weeks.
I need space.
For myself.
My ideas.
My thoughts.
I guess I am being a little picky.
Spoiled even.
But it's just because of my temperament I need to be people free at times.
I am social and whatever but I need time by myself.
To recollect.
Think.
Meditate.
Laugh.
Yes, I did just admit I laugh by myself.
I guess that's not normal.
Whatever.
Dorms are hard.

On the road again

Personal space is important.
This is true.
Personal space is even more important on a bus.
Personal space becomes a safe haven.
It becomes your bed, your safety, everything.
I am on a bus.
Right now.
I am absolutely hating it.
No doubt.
No lie.
I am in Fort Pierce.
I have still so many hours to go.
The bus people don't even have the decency of putting a movie.
Nope, no movie.
Just my pretty mind to keep me entertained.
And my phone.
And our blog.
Which I guess could be worse.
I have a food rations to last me days if I eat a cheese it per day.
I have an MP3.
I have a sweater.
I have a book bag.
And a little pillow.
My bus partner seems respectable.
Like he respects personal space.
And such.
I have the satisfaction of being the 100th post.
This is good.
Even though my tail bone hurts.
A lot.
I hate unpadded chairs.
They're not nice on the tail bone.
For sure.

i've had this song stuck in my head for the past week..

Why do you build me up (build me up) Buttercup, baby
Just to let me down (let me down)and mess me around
And then worst of all (worst of all) you never call, baby
When you say you will (say you will) but I love you still
I need you (I need you) more than anyone, darlin'
You know that I have from the start
So build me up (build me up) Buttercup, don't break my heart

"I'll be over at ten", you told me time and again
But you're late, I wait around and then (bah-dah-dah)
I run to the door, I can't take any more
It's not you, you let me down again

(Hey, hey, hey!) Baby, baby, try to find
(Hey, hey, hey!) A little time, and I'll make you happy
(Hey, hey, hey!) I'll be home
I'll be beside the phone waiting for you
Ooo-oo-ooo, ooo-oo-ooo

Why do you build me up (build me up) Buttercup, baby
Just to let me down (let me down) and mess me around
And then worst of all (worst of all) you never call, baby
When you say you will (say you will) but I love you still
I need you (I need you) more than anyone, darlin'
You know that I have from the start
So build me up (build me up) Buttercup, don't break my heart

You were my toy but I could be the boy you adore
If you'd just let me know (bah-dah-dah)
Although you're untrue, I'm attracted to you all the more
Why do I need you so

(Hey, hey, hey!) Baby, baby, try to find
(Hey, hey, hey!) A little time and I'll make you happy
(Hey, hey, hey!) I'll be home
I'll be beside the phone waiting for you
Ooo-oo-ooo, ooo-oo-ooo

Why do you build me up (build me up) Buttercup, baby
Just to let me down (let me down) and mess me around
And then worst of all (worst of all) you never call, baby
When you say you will (say you will) but I love you still
I need you (I need you) more than anyone, darlin'
You know that I have from the start
So build me up (build me up) Buttercup, don't break my heart

I-I-I need you-oo-oo more than anyone, baby
You know that I have from the start
So build me up (build me up) Buttercup, don't break my heart


...<3

I want world peace, such as.

I just finished watching Miss Congeniality.
Yeah, I like the movie.
Beat me.
I am a hypocrite.
I said I hate romantic comedies.
But I like this one.
And Legally Blonde.
And Mean Girls.
If you can consider that a romantic comedy.
I think it's more of a comedy.
I think Miss Congeniality is a comedy too.
There is like zero romance.
Except at the end.
Whatever.
Anyway, I wonder how a beauty pageant is like.
I mean, I wonder how it feels like.
I guess little pageants are OK.
But I'm talking about Miss USA or Miss Universe.
Which I think is an inappropriate name.
Universe is too big.
But I guess it sounds better than Miss Earth.
Or Miss Human Being.
I don't think animals would find her as attractive.
Anyway, I wonder how it feels to win.
She is obviously not the prettiest in the world.
There are so many undercover beautiful women.
Undercover in the sense that people don't notice.
Except for that one lucky guy.
The one that sees her beauty.
Loves her for it.
And many other things, of course.
Hopefully.
Either way, I just wonder how that feels.
I mean she is led to believe to be the most beautiful in the world.
Universe I mean.
I guess it feeds her ego.
Right?
I guess it does.
It would feed my ego.
Except she can't be so delusional to think she's the prettiest.
I mean, just take models.
They're usually beautiful but not named Miss Universe.
I wonder what that means.
I think it means Miss Universe is just a waste.
The pool of women is so little.
How can that work?
How can that be representative?
I guess I am being analytical.
Mean and obnoxious.
I just don't care.
Really.

fear of sleep

I'm one of those people.
The kind who dislike sleeping.
The ones who know its a waste of time.
The type who would rather be doing other things in life than lie down and dream for 7 hours.
As Bon Jovi said, "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

One Flew Over L's Nest

My sleep schedule has been disrupted.
Yes, disrupted.
Sleep is very important to me.
I suffer from Lateness Impairment.
I cannot stay up late.
It takes a lot from my body.
I have set a bedtime for myself.
My parents never did, so I did.
My bedtime is 10:30.
It is the best time for me.
Later, I cannot function the next day.
Properly that is.
When I was little, I used to do a little happy dance when I went to sleep.
It made me happy.
So happy.
It still does.
It is so sad to say that this beautiful time of my life is being interrupted.
Without any care for my well being.
My sleep has gone to the birds.
Literally.
The little beasts decided they wanted to chirp by my window every morning.
Around 6:45 a.m.
What do those stupid birds think they are?
I mean, seriously.
They go a-chirping so loud.
It wakes me up.
It makes me mad.
It makes me want to shoot them.
With a BB gun.
There are other windows.
Other people.
People that think they "waste" one third of their lives sleeping.
People that like birds.
I hope spring passes soon.
So they can stop chirping.
And leave me alone.
So I can sleep.
And be happy.

he squints when he smiles tooooo!!

http://i.imgur.com/annBL.jpg

du la nostalgie

and sometimes you close your eyes and see the place where you used to live, when you were young.

I really like that line from the song, it gives me goosebumps every time.
I suppose it's because I have closed my eyes and remembered exactly where things used to be, where people used to live, and who was always there. But it seems like each time I visit New York, I get a shock of reality.

I generally stay at my aunt's house in Queens when I visit. Before it was my aunt's house, it was my grandmother's, and before we moved here we lived across the street from my grandmother's home. Hence, every time I stay at my aunt's house, I'm across the street from where I used to live.

I see the changes the family who moved in made to the house: the unnecessary iron gate they put up around the house, the driveway they remodeled, the rose garden they replaced with multiple potted plants.

Each time I go back, I make it a point to visit my former neighbors who I consider to be my third set of grandparents. Each time I'm about to leave their house Alexander (the man) says to me, "Boy, you guys were the best neighbors we ever had. I sure wish you had stuck around and I could have seen you girls more often." And Rosemary (the lady) adds on "Don't be strangers now!" as she's hugging and kissing us goodbye.


You see that park in the background, I used to play there, every week. And that table where the old men are playing chess, my grandfather used to play chess there.

My favorite part of it all was the swings in the back (you can't really see those in the picture) but that's where my mom met a woman who had a daughter my age named Elena. We became really good friends as a result, and I actually still talk to her today, it's nice.

Her birthday was earlier this week, that's why I'm remembering all this. I called her and we had a pleasant conversation, it was a trip down memory lane. It was as if nothing had ever changed.

Dearest Diary,

I hope I can mend my ways.
I hope that by calling you dearest, you'll feel appreciated.
Loved.
Full of life.
I want to apologize.
Very sincerely.
I just want to assure you.
Put your doubts to rest.
Bury them under 6 feet of dirt.
In a concrete box.
I will never forget you.
Ever.
Though it seems that I have replaced you, I haven't.
I love you.
I know you might not believe me right now.
But it do.
This blog will never replace you.
This blog is another friend.
A good friend.
A person can have two or more friends.
Really, this is true.
I kid you not.
Take Danny Tanner.
He has two best friends: Jesse and Joey.
They're a happy trio.
We will be a happy trio.
Trust me.
It's just that I'm in the honeymoon phase.
It'll pass.
We'll be reunited again.
Like old times.
Like always.
I don't want to promise you anything.
Because I don't like breaking promises.
But I will try.
I will try for everything to be the same.
Believe I will.
I'm know this letter is getting long but I needed to soothe your mind.
It is just that this blog is different.
It is not only me.
It is keeping my friend's thoughts too.
It is special.
You're special too.
I know that you'll always be there for me.
Whenever I need to vent things.
Thank you.
Love,
rii

I'm so excited and I just can't hide it

The title says it all.
I can't wait until the day comes.
The reason for my excitement comes in the form of a movie.
Yes, a movie.
But what a movie!
Here's the link:
http://movies.yahoo.com/movie/1810127231/video
Watch it.
Love it and just...basically love it.
Dare to tell me I am wrong.
Because I am not.
I cannot wait.
Really.
I just can't.
At all.
Yeah.

..Pants on Fire!"

Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off.
According to Panic at the Disco.
Which I guess can be a good statement.
But not a good song title.
I mean, can you make it any longer?
Lying is someting very fun.
I do agree in that sense.
It spices up your life.
But only sometimes.
I am only talking about lying about little things.
Like age and such.
Not big things.
Like death and such.
Sometimes, it is easier to lie than to tell the truth.
Example: "hey, where are you going?"
It is easier to say, "dinner with my friends"
Than "scavanger hunt with my friends".
You have to then explain what a scavanger hunt is.
Etc.
Lying is easier.
I hate explaining things.
It takes energy.
Energy I wish not to spend.
Lying is not good by any means.
I know that.
Even "white" lies are bad.
The fact that they're "white" doesn't make them any better.
I mean, a color doesn't change morality and ethic.
However, lying is a part of life.
A necessary part of life.
Be it good or bad.
I have lied.
I won't stop lying.
I guess that makes me a
"Liar, liar..

from an old sister to a new sister

I called you, but you didn't pick up.
I'm here to talk if you want to; if you don't, that's cool too.
I don't know much on the situation, still I know your family will make the best of it.
You always do.
On the bright side, at least it's an addition to the family, not a loss, right?
Or I guess it balances out the death that took place two weeks ago?

First conversations can be awkward, they just tend to be that way.

Sometimes similarities aren't so bad.
Remember, you don't always have to like your sister--there will be discrepancies and just bad times, but in the end, I'm sure you'll find something you like about her.
That's just the way it is.

I'm guessing she's older.
Remember last week when I told you I looked up to my older sister, but I couldn't say exactly why? I said that I just thought it was something all younger siblings experience. Well, I'm sure you'll be able to say the same in a matter of months, or maybe years. Because, let's face it, it takes time to get to know someone.

Have patience if she's younger, because, well, she's younger. And if she's older then I guess the same applies. People can be weird oftentimes, and if you dismiss an idea right away, then you'll never know what could have been.

I'm just a call away if you need me, and if don't, I guess I'll do homework. (Funny?) but really I mean it.

I guess if I think of any other things I'll add them here, and if I don't then I guess I won't.

Beginnings

We had our first talk yesterday.
It was a very awkward talk.
I am an awkward girl.
Awkward girl + awkward situations = disastrous awkwardness.
Yup.
Not your run of the mill awkwardness.
Most certainly not.
We didn't know how to begin.
We dabbled in a lot of subjects.
Mostly personality.
The conversation went.
Her: I like math and reading.
Me: Me too!
Her: I like history.
Me: Me too!
Her: I don't really have many friends.
Me;: Me too!
Her: The shows I watch are The Big Bang Theory, CSI, etc.
Me: No way! Me too!
Her: People think I'm mean before they get to know me.
Me: Me too.
That was basically it.
We have so much in common.
It is not good.
Not good at all.
People that are like me, I tend to hate.
A lot.
Example: Karina in middle and elementary school.
I hated her.
She hated me.
Two words would equal battle.
No exceptions.
I hope we have more differences than similarities.
That way we can stand each other.
Hopefully.
So our relationship won't end with casualties.
I don't like casualties.
Casualties are not good.
Just ask World War Two.
I hope that our inbetweenies are better than our beginnings.
I hope our end comes from death.
Not battles.
I hope for so much.
I hope that God will be good.
Like He always has been.
Like always.

Life Unexpected

Big news are like the atom bomb.
They change your life.
Unlike the atom bomb, they don't necessarily have to devastate it.
Whether they be good or bad, your life will be rocked.
Like a boat.
I got big news this week.
It rocked my boat.
Hard.
Like Rihanna.
Or week old bread.
My news changed not only my life but the life of my family.
My big news:
I have a sister.
It feels nice to say it.
Errr, write it.
It helps.
So I end with the big news.
So it can sink in.
Feel normal.
Though it is not.
I have a sister.

metawriting--going over word limits

It's an uncalled for occasion, an unwarranted surprise.
You're like butter on a roll:
impressed with yourself, yet in slight disbelief that you can be doing so well, especially this late in the game.
When you started writing this paper it was a mission, you just couldn't get the right words and phrases.
Everything just sounded choppy and distraught; the sentences all came together in paragraphs, but stood uniformly, not relating to one another.
A daunting task that exhausted every imaginative, philosophical, and reflective bone in your body.

But why would anyone do such a thing? Put limits on the art of words; sounds pretty masochistic if you ask me.
I suppose it's all done in good intention, no [sane] one wants to sit around reading a paper that's unnecessarily long and perhaps boring too.

Anyhow, you struggle and persist.
You enter that last period and a smile begins to break; you've finished, you've really finished. Next time, I won't procrastinate, you think. You're re-reading your oeuvre, your opus, your grand masterpiece, when you remember one fine little detail: numbers.

After all, it was all a game of numbers, and you were just too caught up in your literary world to recognize it. You begin to take it apart, word by word, sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph. Oh, the constraints of word limits!

Pride and Joy

I did that horse in eight grade.
I like that horse.
A lot.
I don't understand how I did it.
How I could draw such a horse.
But I did.
And I'm glad.
It's not my best.
It is made out of glue and yarn.
Very elementary, my dear Watson.
Still, I think the outcome is beyond elementary.
Let me describe how the process of construction went:
I cut a picture of the horse out of the magazine.
I drew the outline of the horse on the paper.
I took a bottle of glue and yarn.
I had to hide the yarn because the other kids might need that color and then it would run out.
It HAD to be the same color AND texture.
You see, there was cheap and not so cheap yarn.
I used the better kind.
It took me around two months to finish it.
I had to make sure that there were barely any spaces between the string of yarns.
It had to look impeccable.
And it did.
Yup, I tooted my own horn.
Patted my own back.
I thought it was beautiful.
My teacher even asked me to sell it to her.
50 dollars was her price.
I did not accept.
It was my pride and joy.
Like Stevie Ray Vaughan's "sweet little thang".
I still love that horse.
Like I did the day I glued the last piece of yarn.
The background isn't that great.
But the horse.
The horse is a thoroughbred.
No doubt.
My pride and joy.

what's this agrout?

HOLY JESUS IT'S MARCH.

i find out very important news at the end of this month (and April too, but i really just care about March for now).

in honor of March, and the school i'm waiting for, i've decided to begin a project called groutffiti.
i appreciate writing, when it's good. and for some reason when it's in unexpected places, like on a bathroom stall, or coming from an unexpected person, like you, it's like 583390470 times better.

i heard of this thing called groutffiti, which is essentially witty writing on the grout between tiles in a bathroom, when i was at the Portland airport, waiting to be picked up with a couple of strangers.

one of the strangers was a guy from Kansas City, Missouri and he told the group that the thing he was looking forward to the most on this visit was the art in the bathroom stalls. we all gave him blank looks, and he was surprised that we had never heard of it, because apparently the place we were going to was notorious for its bathroom art/writing.

it's a tradition, actually.

it was arguably one of the most creative bathrooms i've ever been in. and a few conversations caught my eye, like a list of the sexiest historical figures and there was a wall where students using that stall would add on to a story that had been started.

anyway, it was extremely interesting to look at, and i regret not taking any pictures of it. upon my return to school, the writing on the bathroom here proved to be bland and distasteful in comparison. like, "W loves X," "I hate Y," or even "Z is a slut." REally? step it up, girls.

in an effort to do something about this, as ridiculous as it sounds, i'm undertaking a new project for the month of march called groutffiti.

vandalism? i guess.
but in my defense, i've never written on a bathroom stall, and this won't be necessarily targeting/hurting anyone.

i have 3 months of school left, might as well make them interesting, right?

photo cred:http://www.flickr.com/photos/dougfelts/2275621073/in/set-72157604027111045/