Sunday, November 21, 2010

Like Sunday Morning

Okay, let me start off by saying I'm not an expert in love.  Like, at all.  But I've learned some things in my past encounters with the opposite sex in romantic settings and I've learned a lot with the guy I'm with now.  And I'm incredibly content so I wanted to share it with you.  Those of you who are reading, of course.  And interestingly enough, they have to do with YOU and not so much with the guy.

First and foremost, when you start seeing a guy and you start accumulating facts about who he is, you HAVE to do something: you either have to accept him for who he is or you have to move on.  And once you make that decision, don't look back.  I know it sounds way simple, but it's true - it'll save you and him lots of fights, tears, and insecurities.  There may be something he does that you're not used to (in my case, Goatboy didn't like to plan.  At all.  And he would ask me to hang out - seriously - a few hours beforehand - sometimes ASAP, and cancel plans last minute.  Though, he hasn't done the latter in a while.).  But you have to decide, okay, do I care about this personality trait more than I care about him?  I felt that I cared more about my guy than his non-planning capabilities and accepted that he's not like me.  And now I appreciate that trait because in a way, it keeps me on my toes.

Second, recognize that relationships are NOT like the movies, books, songs, television shows, fics, etc.  Another obvious one, right?  Well, this sort of ties into the first one because what if you're crazy for a guy who's not exactly romantic?  Well, have you accepted him?  I guarantee you that if he feels the same way about you, he'll show it (though you may not notice it because you have these preconceived notions of what romance is and what a boyfriend should be), whether it's walking you to your car, holding the door open for you, curling a strand of hair behind your ear, or other actions that may be somewhat subtle.  DON'T TAKE THEM FOR GRANTED!  You'd be surprised that guys today don't do this stuff.

And finally, expect nothing EXCEPT 1) faithfulness (if you're at that stage), 2) respect/being treated right, and 3) honesty.  Don't expect him to text you every day or to see you every day.  Don't expect him to pay every date or to ask you to spend the night.  Don't expect him to say you look beautiful the first time you have sex or to hold your hand in public.  Your expectations will not be met because you and him are probably on different pages in regards how either of you should act, save for what you SHOULD expect.  Plus, when he DOES text you or invite you over or whatever, he'll be doing it because he WANTS to do it. 

Anyways, that's my take on everything.  And I'm crazy happy right now.  But who knows what will happen in the next month - week - hell, who knows what'll happen tomorrow.  I'm not expecting anything, and yet I'm happier than I have been in a while.  :)

Thursday, October 21, 2010

I Will Survive

Not to go all Gloria Gaynor, but I realized it's true.

Last night, I had a dream the world was coming to an end.  People in my family died.  Strangers died.  Everyone around me save for a few people were dead.  But I wasn't.  I was quick-thinking, I was fast on my feet, and yeah, I was scared shitless, but I was trying to keep as calm as possible.

I'm a romantic.  Not in the cliched way or anything, but I like to make the guy I'm seeing happy.  Whether that's taking him to a Ducks game or dropping off a gift certificate at his house when I know he's at school, it doesn't matter.  I love surprising him.  In a way, it's kind of selfish because MY happiness only increases knowing that I've made him happy.

But the thing is, if it goes south with Goatboy and we end up not seeing each other, I will survive.

I mean, what else is there?  Survival is something I've had to learn at a young age.  I've survived three deaths in my family.  I've survived my parents' divorce.  I've survived breakups and a very bad relationship.  I've survived heartbreaks.  I've survived being abandoned by two people who I thought would never abandon me.  I've survived.

I was reading this month's Cosmo, which happens to be the Bachelor Issue, and I read this one guy's quote, saying, "I won't start dating a girl unless I think she could possibly be The One.  Which is why I like to take things slow."  Obviously I'm paraphrasing.  But I've come to realize that I'm the same way.  I don't date a guy if I don't like him or if I don't think it's going to go anywhere.  That would be a complete waste of both our time.  Now, let's back-peddle a bit.  I'm not saying Goatboy's The One or anything, but he could be.  I'm open to seeing where it goes.

Having said that, I'm also experienced enough to realize that given today's romantic environment, there's a good chance that - especially since we're both really young - it won't work out.  That doesn't mean this is a waste of time because I like him well enough to give him the chance to either change my mind or fall in love.  I can't say which path we'll go down because we haven't come to that fork yet.

If it turns out that he ends up going right instead of left, if he's not as crazy as I am about me, if he doesn't want to see me anymore, of course I'll be hurt.  Goatboy is the first guy I've been instantly comfortable with, ridiculously attracted to, and has opened my mind to concepts I haven't thought about before.  And I hope I've done the same for him.  But if not, if it doesn't work out, I'll survive.

I won't call him or ask for another chance.  I won't try to win him back.  I know that maybe that's what many people say - they'll fight for the one they love and all - but that's not me.  If he wants to go, I won't stop him or try to change his mind.  It's his choice and I have to respect that.

And through the tears and feelings of loneliness and tubs of ice cream, I know that I'll survive.  I'll move on.  And I'll be a stronger person.  And in a way, I'll be excited because I know that while Goatboy was an amazing guy and I was lucky to have known him, my real soulmate, a guy who'll love me for exactly who I am, is out there looking for me.

And all the pain will be worth it.

Friday, October 1, 2010

My Happy Song

Everyone has a happy song that may or may not reflect who they are.  Sometimes the song is predictable and consistent with a person's favorite artist.  Sometimes it's nostalgic, maybe a song you used to listen to with a close family member.  Sometimes it's an inside joke between you and your best friend.  Sometimes, it's that one song that perfectly expresses exactly how you feel about that special someone.  Sometimes it's all of that. 

And sometimes, it's none of that.  Sometimes, it doesn't make sense.  Sometimes, our happy songs creep up on us and we don't realize that it's our happy song until we find ourselves dancing and smiling and reveling in the fact that the song doesn't make sense, was never released on the radio because it was made strictly for a movie that wasn't very popular, and is by an actor who's on House now but wasn't that big back then.

My happy song since the beginning of my sophomore year of high school is "Sheets of Egyptian Cotton" by Jesse Spencer, and it was made for the movie Uptown Girls with Brittany Murphy.  I haven't listened to it in a while, but as I was composing a tracklist for my birthday, I realized that this song just HAD to be played.  How could it not?  This was my HAPPY SONG.

Sure, there are other songs that represent me and that I love and that make me feel nearly the same way as this song.  There are songs by better known artists, songs that make sense, songs that are more popular, but I don't care.  This is my happy song.  I get the same feeling every time I hear it and that's it.  I start dancing, I close my eyes, and I get this ridiculous smile on my face.  The feeling I get from it is pure and utter happiness.

And that's what makes it my happy song.  Because no other song on the planet can evoke such pure happiness from me.

I'd love to hear what YOUR happy song is.

And luckily for us, happy songs can be played over and over and over again and still give us those good vibrations.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Responsibility and other depressing aspects of adulthood

There are two major decisions that I've made this past year that are, what my parents have termed, as responsible.  The right decision.  Even though I wish I could have made the wrong one.

Now, I should probably clarify: I actually made these decisions myself.  My parents, my friends, nobody forced me to make one decision over the other.  I made these decisions, which means the consequences, the actions that subsequently followed my decisions, were of my own choosing and I can't blame anyone but myself.

These decisions, you ask?  Well, the first one has to do with my writing: a publishing house actually offered to publish my book.  Of course, I was ecstatic.  This was my dream come true.  My mother, of course, reminded me to do some research in the company, especially since they wanted me to buy author's copies.  I had never heard of an author buying copies of their own book, and they weren't paying me anything either to publish my book.  So I looked into it, and while the publishing house is legit, it's a pretty shady establishment.  And here's the thing:  I look at my publishing house like I look at a potential boyfriend.    I'd rather be alone than in a bad relationship just like I'd rather be unpublished than published by a bad publishing company.  It sucks, but I knew it was the right decision.

My second decision was even harder because I really, really wanted this: the Eminem concert.  I've literally been counting down the days and I've been waiting - waiting - to see him in concert.  I've loved the guy since fourth grade, right?  So when tickets went on sale for this KROQ festival with him headlining, I jumped on it and bought two tickets.  No, I thought that I had seats and that he would open the festival - at noon, like the tickets said.  Well, two days beforehand, I was looking up some information on it, and it turned out that no, Eminem wasn't coming on until 745 at night, there would be no seats - standing room only -and it's in Fontana, a place I've never been to before and was at least an hour away.  In order to ensure I get good standing, I'd have to get there early and listen to bands I really don't care about.  Seriously, once I saw Eminem, I'd be heading home.  By that time - at night - people would be drunk, pressing up against me, I'm not guaranteed a good spot, spilling their alcohol on me, in a place that I'm not familiar with...  As much as I love Eminem -and I would die defending him how amazing he is - it just wasn't worth it.  So I decided not to go. 

I knew I made the right decision both times because it felt right when I made them.  I wasn't sad - bummed, sure, but not sad - and I knew something better would come along.

Like building character.

Being responsible.

An adult. 

I'm not exactly sure how I feel about this.

Well, at least my twenty-first birthday party will have a Jack Sparrow  impersonator.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Life is Beautiful

I knew this year was going to be the best year of my life, and it's not even finished yet.

Cosmo did this study where if you have something to look forward to, your happiness level was dramatically increased than those who didn't.  Let me tell you, I have many, many things to look forward to by the end of the year.

Take for instance this Saturday, where I will be going to an Eminem concert with Jessica.  Do you realize that I've been waiting to see Eminem in concert since I was in the fourth grade?  Sure, I had to wait ten years for it, but it's been a while since he was on the West Coast and I know - I know - that the wait is totally worth it.

Next, Goat and I are going to a hockey game - a Ducks game to be more specific.  He's a huge fan, so I got us pretty good tickets.

Then there's Jack Sparrow at Disneyland, and no, I didn't come up with it but I totally should have.

After that, there's Knott's Scary Farm, Halloween, Comic-Con tickets on sale, Robert Downey Jr.'s Due Date comes out, my twenty-first birthday, finals/end of school year, Johnny Depp's The Tourist, Christian Bale's The Fighter (Do you see how crazy-similar the titles are?  Totally a sign!) visiting my father, Christmas and then New Year's.  The month of October is also when I'm supposed to meet with my Jack Sparrow impersonator.

It's like one week after another has something I'm anticipating, and this excitement has made me happier than I've been before.  I know the things may seem minuscule - the movies or even the hockey game - but they mean a lot to me.  And I can't wait - but I'll have to.  And maybe this will somehow teach me patience.

Oh, and today?  Well today is International Talk Like A Pirate Day.  Practically a holiday made just for me and all those other pirates out there.

Life is beautiful and I'm so lucky to be living it right now... savvy?

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Introducing Me to Myself

So here's the deal - in the nearly twenty-one years of my life - I'm starting to get a grasp of who I am as a person.  I've learned this predominantly the hard way because I'm THAT girl who understands things but doesn't actually get it until it happens to her.  I'm not there yet - I may never fully know who I am in my entire being - but I'm on the road.

First and foremost, I'm a very impatient person.  This has gotten better, due in large part to my friends and family and even because of Goat, but I'm definitely not cured or anything.  And that's a good thing.  I'm the type of girl who gets tired of the games after a couple of encounters, eff it all, and will just ask a guy out.  If he says no, then I can move on.  If he says yes, then I'm glad I don't have to waste any more time waiting around for him.

Speaking of which, I don't like to waste my time.  If you're into me, then you're into me, and if you're not, please don't lead me on or feel obligated to go out with me just because you feel sorry for me.  I can't make you like me and I understand that.  Don't flatter yourself - I'll get over you.

I don't want to be conceited or anything, but I'm a nice person.  Like a really nice person in relationships/dating/whatever.  Not just with guys but with friends and family too.  If I care about you, I want to make you happy.  I realize that there are three responses to this - 1) I seem naive and easy to take advantage of.  2)  You feel bad about yourself so my surprises make you uncomfortable and you can't deal with that.  3)  It doesn't bother you.  I've been taken advantage of and I realize there's a risk that it can happen again or that a guy may feel threatened or even lose interest because of my sweetness because being nice isn't exactly sexy.  But I know that there's a guy out there for me who will accept me for that and even appreciate it.  So I'm going to take a chance and be nice, whether it's going on a surprise adventure to check out some wildlife or taking you to a hockey game.  I've found my inner-peace that I'm not going to regret it, no matter what happens.

I love Johnny Depp and Robert Downey Jr. and Eminem and (fill in name here).  As shallow as it sounds, these actors and musicians help shape who I am, and that's it.  End of story.

I get excited about random things.  Especially upcoming plans.

Which brings me to the fact that I really like to plan things.  I love organizing.  Every day, I make a new To-Do lists and I never leave my planner at home.

BUT I'm learning - thanks in large part to Goat - to live in the moment when it comes to relationships/dating.  Romance can't be planned.  And I've never felt happier than I am right now.

I love to dance.  In the car.  When I'm excited.  At the store.  In hip hop.  Pretty much in general.

I'm a really sweet person, but if you cross me or attack my friends and family, I will own you.

I'm not a fighter, but I promise I can cut you with my words.

I don't need grand gestures to prove someone is in love with me.  The little, everyday things mean way more.

I'm a very trusting person but if you break that trust, it's pretty much gone forever.  I say pretty much because I'm an optimist and want to believe there's good in everyone, which means that second, third, maybe even fourth chances will be given.  But break me - snap my resolve - and THEN it's gone forever.  Something inside of me will snap and I won't even be mad at you - I just won't care about you.

I will never have the perfect body and I will never, ever tan myself purposefully for a guy, or anybody for that matter.  Which means my skin color won't be even, but it will be mine.

I have my own quirky style and I love boots.

I will never date a guy who wears skinny jeans or Crocs or who drives a Hummer.

I believe in true love, but I'm not waiting around for it to happen to me.

I'm very independent and rarely ask for help.  But sometimes, I really need a shoulder to lean on and a comfortable silence because I haven't quite figured everything out yet and that can be overwhelming.

Sometimes I feel like it's me against the world, and that can get lonely.

I'll probably always be excitable and naive about certain things, but I'm open-minded enough to take in lessons life throws my way.

I notice things that not a lot of people notice and I remember a lot more than you would assume.  I don't know if it's because I'm a writer and am trained to notice quirky characteristics or if I notice because I care, but I do.

And most important I love myself.  I love who I am.  Don't get me wrong, there are days when I wish maybe my stomach was tighter or my hair wasn't as frizzy or did I really have to get a zit THERE?  But I like how I look and I like how I am as a person.  And it's just so easy to be myself - I don't have to pretend or feel obligated to be something you want me to be because I don't fit into what want.

That's all I have so far.  But I'm really looking forward to figure more of me out.  It's like a crazy adventure only I'm allowed to go on.  Because no one else will get the inside jokes.  And to be honest, I really don't want them to.

I know that I'm left of center.  I know that I'm quirky.  I'm not asking you to like me.  But accept me for exactly who I am and don't expect me to change for you because you'll be disappointed.  Because I wouldn't want you to change for me.  Who am I to tell you to change?  I have family and friends who love me for me and who knows?  Maybe even you will be lucky enough to bask in my light.  I have enough to spare.

Friday, September 10, 2010

College Essays

Before I begin this, I would like to thank my college counselor for telling me that I, as a transfer student, do not have to worry about writing an essay.  Turns out, as a transfer student, I'm expected to write TWO. 

Let me ask you a question: if you were guaranteed entry to your top university through some kind of program, your GPA, that sort of thing, would you take a few liberties with your essay?  Because I'm pretty much guaranteed a spot - though my fingers are still crossed - and instead of writing the typical college essay about how (enter tragic moment that happened to you) shaped you or a typical About You essay, I think I may switch it up.

Like, for instance, wouldn't it be way more interesting to write about your first time having sex and how that particular incident made you who you are today rather than a divorce, death, or poverty?  And hello, sex totally DOES shape a person, by the way.  Maybe sometimes even more than the usual response.  Maybe as a RESULT of those usual responses.  Or maybe the first time you saw Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl.  The first time you heard an Eminem song.  Your first kiss.  Your first love.  Your best friend. 

Or, if you had to write about yourself, I think it would be way more interesting to read about the fact that your role model is not some politician or good samaritan or anything like that, but Elle Woods from Legally Blonde, Cher from Clueless, Nat from Charlie's Angels, Lara Croft from Tomb Raider (as portrayed by Angelina Jolie) and Max from Dark Angel.  That you don't have a crush on Brad Pitt but Johnny Depp and Joel McHale and Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart.  That you have your own funeral planned.  That you like to go for random drives down PCH whenever you feel like it.  That you like to dance in the aisles of supermarkets.  That the best day of your life was at Alcatraz.  That you and your brother are as close as middle finger over index finger kind of close.  That you're a hopeless romantic and you try to infuse that in your writing.  That you're a writer and a poet.  That the only label you really see yourself as is blonde.  That you like to order things from Amazon.  That you know more about John Dillinger than most people because you're kind of in love with the guy.  Who cares if he was a bank robber and also dead?  Has anyone seen Titanic?  Love can certainly go on.  That you get amused and excited about the smallest things because you know that in life, the smallest things really count.

At least that's my humble opinion.  I mean, think about it.  If I was running for Miss America and I was asked what I wanted most for the world, I wouldn't answer world peace.  That's lame and impossible.  I would say, "I wish there were more bank robbers standing up for what they believe in and that they take the country by storm like John Dillinger did.  That's what I want for the world - another John Dillinger."  That's way more interesting - and honest! - than world peace.

We'll see what happens with MY college essays.  But if I'm guaranteed entry, I'm going to take advantage of the fact that I tend to use the right side of my brain - the creative, artistic side - way more than my left (thanks Physiological Psychology!) and make sure I write essays the Admissions Board don't exactly forget.

Monday, September 6, 2010

The Simplistic Nature of Grand Gestures

Ever since we girls were small and incredibly impressionable, we have been programmed to expect grand gestures from the opposite sex in terms of love and/or proof of love.  Think about all the Disney movies that involve a princess, a prince, and some sort of beast (though not, of course, THE Beast): the prince risks his life to slay the beast thus saving the princess and proving his love to her.

When we grow up, we realize that beasts don't actually exist - literally, of course - so we gravitate towards chick flicks that still have those grand gestures we so crave that may seem a tad implausible, but at least they're more realistic than royalty and monsters.  Noah hangs from a ferris wheel just to secure a date with Ally in The NotebookPatrick sings "I Can't Take My Eyes Off of You" to Kat during her school-sanctioned soccer practice, enlisting the help of the school marching band and getting a detention in 10 Things I hate About YouLandon marries Jaime even though they both know she's going to die, but he does it because it's on her List in A Walk to Remember.  In Love, Actually, the boy runs to the airport just to prove his love for the girl, Colin Firth learns a second language in order to propose to a woman he's known only a couple of weeks, and Hugh Grant goes to every single door in a rather large neighborhood in order to find the one woman he's smitten with.  In A Cinderella Story, Chad Michael Murray leaves in the middle of a very important football game of which he's a quarterback and there are college recruiters (one from USC!) in order to go up to Hilary Duff's character, apologize, and then subsequently make out with her in the rain.

Now who wouldn't want a guy to do that for them?  Any one of those grand gestures is beautiful, thoughtful, and magnificent.  But is it something we girls should expect from men?  Is it really fair?

I've been through my fair share of guys, and it's easy to paint every single guy similar to the last when, really, the only common element they may have is that any sort of relationship between me and him has failed.  Just because Number 24 stood me up three times in a row, just because the Italian took advantage of my generous nature, and just because Ice Cream dumped me because his friends didn't think I was popular enough doesn't mean that I should worry that Goat or whatever guy I'm with will do the same thing.

Every man is different.  I mean, okay, so every guy thinks about sex every six seconds and they all seem to rubberneck when a woman - who cares if she's pretty or not - walks by with a nice pair of breasts, but they're all different.  And as such, we shouldn't expect them to act the same.  We should trust in him that he's a good guy, we should trust in ourselves that we could choose a good guy to want to spend time with, and we should have faith in the universe that whatever happens will happen and nothing we do can prevent it.

And because every guy is different, we shouldn't expect ridiculously grand gestures from every single guy we're with.  Personally, I'm not into a whole deal of romance.  As silly as it sounds, I prefer a guy I can laugh with, be comfortable around, and be myself with.  I don't need flowers and chocolates and love poems or anything lacking substance.  That doesn't mean that I don't want to feel special, however.  Even if I am simply dating someone, I want to feel desired.  I want to feel like he wants to be with me, that we're just a little more than just friends.

My tragic mistake with grand gestures involved the Italian.  I wanted to feel special because he wasn't actually making me feel special, so I would ask for love notes or flowers or chocolates or my favorite Valentine's Day candy that, no, does not taste like chalk.  He, of course, would either buy these things in front of me, asking before he purchased them if this is what I wanted, or he would complain the whole time.  We were both at fault.  He should have done something in his nature, made some kind of effort to warrant me special and I shouldn't have asked him to do romantic things and then expect perfection when romance really wasn't in his genes.

What I now have to do is remind myself that grand gestures make for good movies but expectations for real men to do something similar is unfair and unpersonalized.  I'm sorry, but for future reference, I would rather be proposed to in or adjacent to Alvin Karpis's cell in Alcatraz than on a beach or during a picnic or at a fancy restaurant where I almost choke on the ring because how was I supposed to know it was at the bottom of my champagne glass filled with ice water?  Because Alcatraz actually means something to me, and the guy who actually wants to marry me should know that.

And maybe guys do partake in grand gestures but the simplicity of them gets drowned out by the grandness the movies portray.  Maybe something as small as walking me to my car is a grand gesture.  Number 24 never did that, and the Italian always complained whilst doing it.  Maybe it was offering to cook me dinner even though he forgot to tell me not to eat before I came over so I wasn't hungry and he ended up cooking just for himself before putting in a movie.  Maybe it's watching all three Pirate movies, even though he has no problem terming the third one as a "suckfest" straight to my face.  Or maybe it's when he actually plans to go to a hockey game a month beforehand even though he doesn't really like to plan for anything. 

Maybe personalized simplicity is the grand gesture, and these movies, with their scripted romance, fall just short of the mark.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Six Years of Goals

If I were to ever meet my fourteen year old self, I would be the first in line to slap her across the face and then pull her into a tight hug.  Because, really, she was kind of this brat who thought she knew everything when she was grasping for something to believe in after her grandfather died.

I recently found this folder of poems I wrote at that age while I was in Michigan.  There were two main themes attached to the poems (songs, really), and one was infatuation and puppy love inspired by my first love A.  The second is this rebellion against my mother, doing things that she didn't agree with.  Like date a guy who was four and a half years older than me.

Luckily, I have learned my lesson (and also luckily, now that I'm twenty, four and a half years isn't as bad as when I was fourteen) and I'd also be the first to admit that I don't know everything, that maybe what Mom and Dad and Sue were saying wasn't because they wanted me to have a broken heart or to piss me off, but because they were just looking out for my well-being.

Another thing I found that was really interesting for me was that my fourteen year old self has a Goals That I Want to Accomplish List, just like me, at twenty, has.  And it's just interesting to see the similarities and differences both lists have, which, in its own way, reveals that while maybe some beliefs have changed, others haven't, and as such, has actually become a part of who I am.

My fourteen year old lists consists of the following: (and those that are bolded have been accomplished, mind you.)  Find someone who loves me for me.  (Maybe it wasn't like the movies, but I know that I loved A and that he loved me.)  Get my bellybutton pierced.  (Yeah, don't want to get that one done anymore.)  Fall in love.  Go to England.  Go to college.  (Technically, I'm in college, so I'm doing that goal as we speak.)  Become famous.  (Maybe not obviously so.)  Get married to the love of my life.  Have four children (at least one girl).  (I think if I have two kids, I'd be fine.  But we'll see.  I'm open to amending that one or leaving it.)  Go bungee jumping.  (Michigan Adventure style.)  Get my driver's licenseGo on a road trip the summer I graduate high school.  (Okay, so this technically didn't happen, but the one I went on with Ben, my step-brother, totally makes up for it.  Shenanigans doesn't even begin to cover what we went through for those twenty-four hours!).  Kiss someone under the mistletoe.  Kiss someone as the clock strikes midnight on the New Year.  Do something really romantic on Valentine's Day.  Teach A how to surf.  Go snowboarding.  Build a snowman.  (I think I attempted to build I chick snowman with boobs and everything, but building a snowman is way harder than I thought.  Thanks for lying straight to my face, Charlie Brown.)  Have a real snowball fight.  (With my brother, in Michigan.)  Graduate high school.  Makeout and dance in the rain.  (I don't care how cliche it is, I still want this.)  Watch a really romantic movie with my boo.  (I'm not as gung-ho about this one as I was back then, actually.  And I'm sorry for my terminology.)  Let my family (both sides) meet A.  (Yeah, not going to happen.)  Record a Christmas album.  (You have to admire my ambition.)  Go to a USC game.  Go to a Green Bay game when Brett Favre is still quarterback.  (Never going to happen now!)  Perform in front of a live audience.  (Welcome to choir, speech, and school projects.)

Now, here is what my twenty year old self has come up with in terms of where she wants her life to go.  Get a pilot's license.  (Probably because I'm afraid of controlling something that could very well kill me and I want to conquer a fear.  Plus, Papa always said it was a good idea to get one.  Just in case.)  Go to Chicago.  See the Biograph Theatre, Dillinger's grave, and Little Bohemia.  (One of the best times of my life - thanks Dad!)  Meet Johnny Depp and have a conversation with him.  Go to Alcatraz and into Alvin Karpis's cell.  (Another amazing time in my life - thanks Dad x2!)  Publish a book before getting my bachelor's degree.  (I was actually so close to accomplishing this one...)  Publish a poetry anthology.  Travel everywhere.  Meet Michael Keaton and have a conversation with him.  Fall in love with someone as brooding as Bruce Wayne and someone as charming as Tony Stark and have them love me back.  Meet Robert Downey Jr. and have a conversation with him.  Be a guest on The Daily Show AND The Colbert Report.  Go to Spike's Guys Choice Awards.  See Eminem in concert.  (This will be bolded, late September 25.)  See ACDC in concert.

Obviously I have shifted from romance and bubbly love to more career-oriented goals, but as you can see, love is still important to me.  And being loved back is important to me as well.

Maybe my fourteen year old self was a bit of a brat - a typical teenager determined to make her own path - and she did, for a while.  She's still on that path, but much more open to what others have to say in terms of advice, even advice she doesn't want to hear.  But she took a stand for something, fell down, and now she's standing in me, my twenty year old self.  And even though we're different, I'm not going to let her down.  Because she has potential, opportunity, and deserves the best in every aspect of life.

Plus, she makes lists just like I do, so she definitely has some redeeming qualities. 

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

The Problem with Labels

They lie.

No, seriously.

Have you ever picked up any food that has a label on it?  Did you know they're allowed to lie on the labels?  Like with Cheerios.  It says it helps with cholesterol.  But does it really?  I don't know because they don't regulate what the labels say.

I feel like that's the same way in life.  Since I've been single for a long time (and no, I'm not complaining), I've had a lot of time to think about relationships, especially my previous ones, and I've learned a lot about them and myself.  Maybe you guys all know this, but it's only recently clicked for me since I've been seeing this guy we'll call Goat because my best friend's little sister calls him Goat, but I don't know why because he doesn't sound or look or feel like one.  Oh, eleven year olds nowadays.

Anyways, I feel that in my previous relationships, I've always jumped at the chance to say, "Okay we're in a relationship.  You're my boyfriend and I'm your girlfriend."  Maybe it's my desire to grasp structure especially in something as uncertain as activities (such as dating, kissing, even sex) with the opposite sex.  But it's also the desire to know, from the get-go, where we are and where we're going.  "Okay, so we're in a relationship which means you're with me, I'm with you, no third parties, we're going to spend Friday and Saturday nights together and you're going to text me, blah, blah, blah."  Of course, I am somewhat exaggerating, but every time two people enter into a relationship, there is a list of expectations that come with them and if their expectations match up for the most part, then it's all good.  And when it doesn't, there's resentment because instead of doing something as simple as texting someone because they want to, they're doing it because they have to.

So when I first started dating Goat and I started learning more about him, I realized the fact that he doesn't like to plan nor does he have any expectation of where we're going freaks me out a little bit.  Where's my structure?  Do I hold your hand?  Can I text you when I see a guy walking around in a muscle tee and looking extremely gay?  Am I allowed to date other guys?  If I don't want to, do I tell them I'm seeing someone else or is that not allowed?  Can I have sex with you and not be considered a slut without an establishment of a relationship beforehand?  (Not that I think women who do this are sluts, mind you, but you never know how guys view a girl.)

After talking to Jessie and Susieee (my step-mom) and even my own mother, I realized something.  Every relationship is different.  Actually, scratch that.  Every encounter with the member of the opposite sex is different.  Previously, I rushed things and instead of being excited that a guy texted or called me at all, I was wondering why he didn't do it when he normally did.  I know I'm not the only person to blame, but my desire for structure overpowered my desire for romance.  I'm not saying both are mutually exclusive, but you can't really have them equally.  Planning for romance kind of takes the romance out of romance, doesn't it?

So with whatever I have with Goat, I'm not going to label it.  I just tell my friends "I'm seeing someone" because I am.  And that could mean anything.  I'm not a girlfriend, he's not a boyfriend, and we're not under the restrictions the word "relationship" has.  And I've found that I'm happy and this thing with Goat actually feels healthy.

So to answer my own questions, my structure has disappeared, at least in relation to this particular guy.  I can hold his hand if I want to.  I can totally text him if I see a guy in a muscle tee walking around as though he's God's gift when, really, he's God's gift to men.  I'm allowed to date other guys, but I don't have to.  And to be honest, I really don't want to.  And yes, I can tell whoever does ask me out - if they ask me out - that I'm seeing someone.   And of course I can have sex with him without being considered a slut, because, let's face it, if we've been on a number of dates where he hasn't tried anything yet, I think he knows me well enough to know I don't just sleep with anyone.

The best thing about being label-less with Goat is that it's the same for him.  Because he's not a boyfriend, he doesn't have to text me or see me or spend time with me.  But he does because he wants to.  Because he saw some guy in Crocs or some girl in Uggs with their jeans tucked in it and he just had to share it because he thought of me.

And that makes me feel just a little bit extra special.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Planning to Go with the Flow

I realize I haven't written in a while.  I could blame many reasons for this, but I'll just be honest: I got lazy and my inspiration ran dry.  I'm not entirely sure if I've recovered my muse or not, but I feel compelled to write, and that has to be a good sign, right?

All my life, I've been a planner.  This probably stemmed from being the first-born, the first grandchild thrust with ridiculous expectations set from a particular group of grandparents, the fact that my father is also a planner, and that there have been many events that have been outside my control.  Death, change, loss, disappointment, and the like is nothing new to me.  And no matter how much I've tried to prevent it or to better it, I have failed.  It was going to happen, despite my best efforts to the contrary.

Which is why I like to have structure.  With structure comes control, and if I'm in control, I feel calm, collected, and accomplished.  Before I go to bed, I think about things I have to do tomorrow, not with dread, but with anticipation.  Hang up pictures on my walls?  Do laundry?  Write?  If I'm especially bored in a lecture now that school has started, I flip open my notebook and pretend to take notes when, really, I'm making lists.  Like To-Do Lists.  Those are my favorites.  When I check off something I've done, I get the satisfaction one might feel for doing well on a test or achieving orgasm.

My friends think I'm ridiculous.  And, okay, I can sort of see where they're coming from.  Planning a time to make plans may seem a little excessive, no matter how normal it is to me.  But I think they love me for it too, and whether they admit it or not, without some of my plans, events and things may not have happened.  Plus, there was a study in Cosmo that said people who have something to look forward to were happier than those who weren't.  So even a credible source was justifying my lifestyle.

But in my twenty years, I've realized that in some aspects of your life, there shouldn't be plans.  And when it comes to courtship, there shouldn't be any plans.

This was obviously hard for me to grasp, especially since I'm seeing this guy and I like spending time with him.  There was a point in our courtship when I was worried I had ruined what we had by asking to have a sex talk (to which he replied, "You really like to plan for everything, don't you?") when really, I just wanted to be prepared.  Things just felt... off.  But then I talked to my step-mom and she said something so simple and so life-changing that it stopped me:  "You can't ruin it if he's the right guy."

Then I talked to my best friend Jessie because a girl can't just talk to one person, and she told me that the guy should be lucky to be with me.  That I'm beautiful and smart and talented and if the guy can't see it, then he's a douche and I shouldn't waste my time on him.  And really, there was no reason why I should be so caught up in this one guy, especially if we're just dating.  I should be happy with myself, and normally I am.  You shouldn't make plans around a guy who you're not sure will call you to hang.  You should live your life and if it's meant to be, it will.

And then, life just clicked.  I realized that I should enjoy the moment, enjoy the time we have together.  Make plans means there's some form of obligation.  But if there are no plans and he does text me from Vegas to tell me that he's staring at this guy who's wearing socks and Crocs (disgusting, by the way), it's because he wants to, not because he has to. And surrendering, putting your trust in the universe and knowing it really, truly does have your best interest at heart, is kind of liberating. And I've been happier now than I was wondering if I should make plans, deciding not to go to a movie in fear that he may text me.  

Because once that clicked for me, let me tell you, he texted me while I was in Prince of Persia.  Then he texted me the next night.  And then he texted me a couple of days later.  And it was like a happy surprise, a reward for having faith.  Not only in the universe or in him, but in myself.  That I am worth it.  That he should be lucky to spend time with me.

And okay, I know I'm going to have trouble with it. So I'll just do what my father does: I'm going to plan to not have plans. Because that totally works.

Or I'll just plan something that actually constitutes me having plans.  Like my twenty-first birthday party that, okay, is maybe exactly three months away, but hello - it's my twenty-first and there's so much I want to happen that it needs to be planned so far in advanced.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

The Karpis Girl

Have you just liked someone or something, and multiple people you may or may not be acquainted with just look at you and say, "How did you get into that?"

Yeah, welcome to my life.  Apparently, due to the fact that I have blonde hair, big boobs, and am from Southern California, I am expected to be into certain (and normally feminine-fashionista) things.  Except I tend to be nothing what you'd ever expect.

I'm kind of a nerd.  And I mean that in the best way.  I'm smart - both with grades and with random topics.  However, I do admit; I have my moments.  Sometimes, I don't get jokes and they have to be explained to me.  But the joke is still funny once I do get it.  Anyways, I'm a nerd, especially when I get really, really into something.  And no, fashion isn't something I'm into most of the time.

Piracy and 1930s gangsters are two topics I am really into and know a lot - more than any average citizen - about.  I love learning about things I'm into, so I read and watch as much as I can.  And since one of my two favorite gangsters stayed in Alcatraz for nearly twenty six years (the longest inmate to ever do that, by the way), I had to do research on Alcatraz, and even more than that, I had to go to Alcatraz.

Allow me to introduce myself:  Hello, I'm the [Alvin] Karpis girl.  The people who worked at Alcatraz actually addressed me as such because a couple of months ago, I wrote their park system, asking about his cells and time in the bakery.  Duh.  If I'm going to make the trek up to NorCal, I want to get (my father and grandparents') money's worth.  Plus, I want it to mean something to me.  The thing is, I got a response back, and the president of the Night Tours actually escorted me personally to his cells, let me go in them - for a gangster geek like me, I was in Heaven (despite being on Devil's Island).

But what everyone kept asking me, including my grandparents, asked me was this:  "How did you get into Karpis?"  "Why Karpis?"  Because apparently it makes sense if I got into Al Capone or even John Dillinger.  No one really knows Alvin Karpis even though he was the lone 1930's gangster (and Public Enemy Number One) to survive.  Prison.  Shoot outs.  Being in the same room as J. Edgar Hoover.  He's a survivor.  But I like the fact that no one knows him - it's like I have a secret; a big beautiful secret that if you're not in on, hey, guess what, your loss.

So the question is kind of offensive to me.  However, instead of retorting, "Why the fuck not?" or "Because he's Alvin FUCKING Karpis," I refrain.  Because I have to remember - these people aren't in on the secret.  They don't know how great he is.  So I explain that while reading Bryan Burrows' Public Enemies, I really got into Karpis's story (along, of course, with Dillinger's).  But it's more than that.  And that's a secret I will keep.  Because people who aren't in on the secret don't get it.  And having to explain it?  Well, that's like having to explain a joke.  Some people still find the joke amusing (me), but the majority of the population still won't get it - and you're the weird one.

I'm weird enough as it is.  The only two people who haven't asked me that question are my parents.  As much as they're different, they recognize that my eccentricities make me who I am.  Like the fact that I have Karpis's mug shot as my background.  My mom didn't even blink.  That's just who I am.  And I think they love me for it.

Plus, let's be honest, I teach them things they'd probably never know.  So when they're old and are playing Trivia Pursuit and there's a question about piracy or gangsters, they'll look at the sky (because I'll be in my mansion away from them doing my thing while they do theirs) and say, "Thank you Heather."  And I'll say, "No biggie."

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Dear Cute Guy who sits two rows in front of me in my math class and looks like Aaron Eckhart except with a squared face (aka Phil),


No, I haven't forgotten about you, even while I was on a rollercoaster with another guy who I may or may not like anymore and who may or may not be interested in me to text me in order for us to hang out again.  But I digress.  Obviously a lot has changed since I last wrote to you.

Including the whole part where we talked today.  For the first time.

I stayed after class to ask the professor a question regarding our upcoming midterm and found myself standing next to you as you watched the professor go over another problem with another student.  Maybe it was because it was just you and me or maybe it was something else, but you started talking to me.  And despite the little flutter in my heart at just being in your presence, I felt completely at ease with you.  And that's probably why I asked you your name before introducing myself to you.

You left after that, but...

You should probably know (though you probably never will) that when we shook hands, I felt sparks fly.  It was something I have never felt before (much like my love at first sight encounter with Joe from Tahoe) which is why I'll never forget it.  Who knows what will happen between us, if anything, but that moment is something that will stay with me always.  Because you made me believe in something I always knew was out there but wasn't sure if it would ever happen to me.

So thank you.

I'll see you Thursday.

And if you need a study buddy, I'm available.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Valentine's Day

Yes, I'm a day late.  But do you know why?  I was actually really busy yesterday!

I've always been somewhat indifferent to Valentin'es Day only because it was a rare occurence when I actually had a boyfriend during that time (and said ex would ruin the magic by buying his gifts for me right in front of me after asking if this was what I wanted...).  But I'm not one of those people who hate Valentine's Day or is bitter because it's just a reminder to all us single people we're still single.  I don't particularly care because I don't mind being single.  Most of the time.

Valentine's Day, nevertheless, has always been special to me because it is the holiday I used to share with my Papa.  I mean, we celebrated all holidays together, but this one was special.  Every Valentine's Day, we always exchanged Valentines, and we were always each other's Valentine.  I remember he would buy a whole box of those cards and only end up using two - one for me and one for my brother.  Sometimes he would buy two boxes in order to make sure our genders weren't threatened one way or the other.  And he would always give us a five dollar bill in the Valentine.  I thought I was the coolest kid on the block.  On my end, I normally hand-made my Valentines for him, and after looking through my grandparents' things years later, I saw that they kept a lot of them.

We got Bingo when I was in  first grade, and you can tell by his unique name that I was creative even then.  Of course, after a couple of years, I was unsatisfied with simply just naming him.  Bingo had to have a birthday too.  So Papa told me I could pick any day, and that would be Bingo's birthday.  So I picked Valentine's Day, because it would make the holiday even more special than it already was for us.

When Papa was in the hospital, I went out of my way to make him the best Valentine ever - I drew a heart and wrote him a poem, and then I taped candy hearts on it that had messages I wanted him to read.  The one that went right in the center was 'You're my hero.'  And he kept those up too.  He died a week and a day later, and though we couldn't be together for our holiday, at least I got to send him my Valentine.

Even though Papa's gone, we're still each other's Valentine.  Simple as that.

But Valentine's isn't about loving someone else who also happens to be your partner.  Valentine's Day is about love in general.  My brother signed a Valentine card with all of our inside jokes in it, making me laugh at seven o'clock in the morning.  Mom and I ran errands and sang to Phil Collins and Rod Stewart.  I even visited my old park that Papa would take my to every weekend just so I could swing.  Yeah, I was the oldest person actually using the equipment, but I didn't care.  I took an online Administration of Justice quiz, and I think I kicked ass on it.  I read and I wrote.  And then me and my other Valentine, my best friend in the entire world, Jessie, went out for Tai food and then laughed our asses off at the movie Valentine's Day.  It was one of the best Valentine's Days I've had in a while because I felt loved and I felt special.

But I loved myself too.  I wanted to have fun, boy or no boy, so I did.  And it was one of the best nights of my life.

And when I got home to find the boy I liked commented on one of my Facebook pictures?  Well that, my friends, was just icing on an already delicious cake.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

On being a Pussycat Doll

Okay, let's get one thing straight: I'm not officially a Pussycat Doll.  But I consider myself one.  Just like I consider myself a Cosmo girl.

But it's because I believe in what their message says: confidence in your career and your sexuality, and who you are as a person.  Being ambitious is actually a good thing.  Being sexy is not being slutty.  I could go on.

Anyways, the reason I'm talking about the Pussycat Dolls is because for the last thirty days, I have been doing their workout pretty religiously.  Okay, so to better understand it, I should probably explain the workout to you.  The workout is broken down into three different dances - Robin Antin is the creator and choreographer of the Pussycat Dolls, and she, along with four other girls, teach you the dance moves.  Then you "perform" the dance routines to songs such as "Don't Cha" and "Buttons."  This is preluded by a warm-up and followed by a cool-down.

Now, if you know me, I absolutely love to dance.  To be, dancing isn't exercising, it's expression.  It's freedom.  So I love it.  Plus, the moves are fun and sexy so it boosts my own confidence.

Many people have criticized the workout because the dances are really only thirty seconds, give or take, but this is great because it makes each workout (if you break it down by each dance) about twenty to thirty minutes.  At least I love it because it's not too long but it's not too short.

The most important thing, to me anyways, is the effect of the dancing not only on my body but on my mind and my spirit.  Thirty days have gone by and I already notice a difference, especially concerning my legs and arms.  But that's not why I'm doing this (though I do want a Kathy Griffin rockin' bikini bod by summer).  Well, that's a lie.  I do want to tone my body.  But feeling the effects of dancing has me doing it for other reasons as well.

Interestingly enough, working out makes me eat healthier.  After working out, I grab a bowl of fruit, not a cookie.  I'm just not in the mood for anything heavy and sugary, you know?  Not when I busted my booty.  Now, that's not to say I'm a crazy health nut.  I'm not.  I still eat cookies and croissants, but not as much as I used to.

The most important thing though?  I love myself.  Not that I never did.  I guess what I'm saying is that I appreciate myself more because I'm working hard for it.  When I look in the mirror, I see the elements of my hard work, not what I have to work on.  (Though I do have those days, just like anybody.)  And I'm much more confident in my body which makes me more confident with who I am as a person.

Being a Pussycat Doll is empowering.  And I love it.  I love me.  And not to be arrogant, but some guys... I think they love me too.  

Monday, February 8, 2010

One little word

Okay, I'm going to be honest.  Before something happened to me today, I truly believed that one word was just too simple.  How could one word be so entirely powerful?  Even marriage promises are two - "I do" - (unless, of course, if you want to pirate it up and use "Yargh").

But I digress.

I'm only twenty years old so I don't have too much life experience.

However, I must admit that this particular word completely knocked me off my feet.  Of course, the circumstance must be very particular - the speaker of the word, how this person says it, the history of the two of you; the list goes on.  And the circumstance which it was uttered, at least for me, was very particular, and worked out in my benefit.  Very much.  I have no idea if it means anything, really.  Who's to say?  But it still makes me feel good just thinking about it.

The word?  It wasn't love or fuck nor was it amen or hallelujah.  It wasn't a yes or a no.  It wasn't a maybe or a like.

It was hello.

Do you really know what the word hello means?  It means 'I notice you and I want you to know that I want to acknowledge you.'  If someone you don't know (especially a cute, really tall basketball player) tells you hello, you should realize just how lucky you are.  In that one instance, you're special.

Now, I finally get why Renee Zellweger said and Beyonce sang, "You had me at hello."  I get it now.

And hopefully, more hellos will follow.  :)  

Monday, February 1, 2010

A particular sort of life experience

Okay, so for those of you who don't know me, I am highly attracted to older men.  Like, seriously.  It's strange and off-kilter but it never really bothered me all that much.

But I have a surprise for all of you.

The guy that I am crushing on right now (Can a twenty year old 'crush' on someone?) is a year younger than me.  Right.  I know.  (And no, he is not cute guy in my math class who looks like Aaron Eckhart.)  Let me give you a little time to digest that for a moment.

Okay.  Are you good?

Let's get on with it then.  Anyways, I went to the homecoming game which was last Wednesday (homecoming game being basketball, not football) on some whim.  Thank you intuition.  And a lot of the players are in my criminal justice classes because the coach is friends with my professor and tells his players to take the classes because they're easy.  And they are.  But that's beside the point.

And I recognized this guy from my class, and there was this immediate attraction to him.  When he played, I could not take my eyes off of him.  He was like this bright, burning flame and I was this moth, hopeless from the moment that my eyes caught sight of him. 

Now, I'm a complete wreck.  In the best sort of way.  You know how when you're in middle school and you have a crush on the jock while you're the shy artistic nerd and he suddenly becomes the sun to your earth - you completely revolve around him?  Yeah, that's me but at a college level.  I mean, time goes fast when he's around and slow when he's not, but he's not my entire life.  He's more like the moon to my earth.  I think about him a lot, but only at certain points in time because I have a life besides him, and my life doesn't feel over when he's not there because I know I'll see him eventually.

I have no idea if he even knows I'm alive.  I mean, I think he's glanced over at me a couple of times, but I can't exactly tell at a basketball game.  And I would talk to him except he sits on the right side of the room in class while I'm in the middle.  Hell, I don't even know if he even knows my name.

But since I've matured (shocking but true), I've learned that I need to live in the now, and who knows if anything will happen between us?  But it makes me feel good while I'm here so I had better enjoy it.  It's been nearly two years since my last relationship, and I'm at the point where I do want a new, fresh, healthy relationship.  If it lasts a day or a year, it doesn't matter.  I just want to fall for a little while.

And though I'm keeping my options open, I'm hoping it will be with this guy just because it'll be new, different, and exciting.

And one hell of a life experience.    

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Johnny Depp is not dead

I hate internet death rumors, but I haven't really been affected by them.

Up until this one, where apparently Johnny Depp died instantly in a car crash in Bordeaux, France, and the crash was induced by alcohol.

I wouldn't let myself believe it until I did some research, and of course, the whole thing is bullshit.

I don't understand why people do what they do, nor do I understand why people need attention by saying a beloved celebrity has died.  Especially my beloved celebrity.  If they hurt him, they hurt me too, and that's that.

I really don't even want to think about what would happen if he really had passed.  I can't.  So I won't.  But I know when he does, he'll be immortal because that's just the way he is.  And if anything, he'll live forever in my poems, my stories, my essays, my clothes, my movies, my posters, my journal, and most importantly, my heart.  Because I won't let him die.

Friday, January 22, 2010

A connection of sorts

Today is the second anniversay of Heath Ledger's passing.

Last year, I wrote a song about him, one that I'm really proud of.  This year, I'm hoping to see The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus, his last work (and the fact that Johnny Depp is also in it is just icing on the cake).

When Heath was alive, I thought he was incredibly talented, but I honestly felt indifferent about him.  I loved him in 10 Things I Hate About You and A Knight's Tale, but Johnny Depp has always been my number one.  But I have to admit that instead of being the typical pretty boy actor, he did quirky things.  In fact, he wanted to have Johnny Depp's career - he wanted to choose things, not based on how much money it would make, but because of a script.

The day he died, I was in the car with my ex-boyfriend and his mom, and they were taking me home.  We were listening to KIIS FM, and when the announcement was made, I didn't believe it.  I couldn't.  When I got home, I immediately went on Perez Hilton and there, in black and white, was the truth.  He had died.

The first thing I did was call my best friend Jessie.  We weren't really talking then, due to said ex-boyfriend, but that didn't matter to me.  When we were in middle school, we divided our men, as we called them.  I had Johnny Depp and Billy Boyd while she had Orlando Bloom and Heath Ledger.  In a way, we bonded over Heath Ledger, and through his death, we eventually managed to save our friendship and become best friends once more.

Then there was The Dark Knight.  I, like everyone else, saw it for Heath Ledger's portrayal of The Joker.  It was, by far, his best performance.  I don't believe that the role killed him at all.  And I believe  he truly deserved his Oscar, his Golden Globe, and every other award he won postmortem.  I don't care that he died when he won.  He deserved them.  He was already getting Oscar talk BEFORE he died.  Just because he died shouldn't change anything.

I'm not sure how to explain how I feel about him because I never met him, I wasn't crazy about him when he was alive, and truly, I'm no one special.  But I feel this connection to him now that he isn't there.  I talk to him sometimes, and I like to think that somehow, he listens.  I'm not sure why I feel this strongly about someone in death rather than life, but I'm sure I'm not the only one.

Currently, I have pictures of him hanging in my room.  He's smiling in all of them - you know, that boyish, disarming smile - and it's bittersweet for me to look at them.  But it always makes me smile.  Actually, he always makes me smile. 

It's definitely weird, being connected to someone I don't even know.  But we're all connected in some way, aren't we, more so than with others?

And connections, especially strong ones, are always muses in disguise.  Why do you think I'm constantly writing about Johnny Depp?

But this day belongs to Heath, and to commemorate him, here is a part of the song I wrote for him last year.  It might not mean a lot, but it does so for me.

Heath likes to caress my face

With a delicate feather from his wings
And I try so hard to stay awake
Because I don’t want him to leave just yet
He whispers promises in my ear
And it sounds just like a bittersweet lullaby
He wipes the tears from my eyes
And disappears with the night

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Dear Cute Guy who sits two rows in front of me in my math class and looks like Aaron Eckhart except with a squared face


So you probably don't know me - actually, you don't know me.  At all.  I'm not even sure you know I exist except I think you were looking at me once.  But I can't be certain.

But my heart jumps a little bit whenever you walk into class and my eyes stray over to you as the teacher starts talking about sets and subsets and everything that I can't remember off the top of my head. 

I'm sorry.  Sometimes, I ramble a bit.  Anyways, I just wanted to tell you that I haven't felt this way in a while.  Not that I'm in love with you or even like you in that way.  But you make me nervous, and being nervous around a cute boy is always welcome.  It makes me feel silly and I really like feeling silly.

So thank you.

--Heather (The blonde girl with freckles.)

P.S. -  If you could just acknowledge my presence in any way, it would make my day.

Monday, January 18, 2010

There's just something about Robert Downey, Jr.

When I was a kid and Ally McBeal was still a show that my parents were enthused about watching, I remember catching the previews for it on my favorite television network, Fox.  And to this day, I remember seeing Robert Downey, Jr. as some lawyer who I can't remember.  But even at ten years old, I knew there was something special about him.  I can't explain why or how or anything like that, but I knew I was drawn to him.

Then, a few years after that, me and my now ex-boyfriend went to see Zodiac, and there he was again.  Though Robert's (I may call him Robert?) part wasn't big, it didn't matter.  He still had his easy charm and confident swagger that caused him to steal every scene he was in.

When I had first encountered Robert, I was too young to comprehend all the scandal and problems he was going through.  After watching Zodiac, I knew more about it and felt that he was truly coming to his own, that no matter how many times he came back in this entertainment world, he would somehow succeed.  I try to rtationalize why, at my age and with my uninformed mind, I believed in him.  He would get clean and be okay and then he wouldn't.  It was like a bad cycle that seemed endless.  But me trying to think logically about faith would be like trying to define love.  It's not quite possible.  All I knew at the time was that somehow, he was going to succeed, and I would be one of the many people behind him, not the first in line but definitely not the last, waiting for that day.

That day finally came when Iron Man opened with Robert as the star.  He was a super-hero; an arrogant, intelligent, and very attractive super-hero.  The ultimate deadly weapon and an exaggerated version of the actor himself.  The cast, the script, the effects, and Mr. Jon Favreau as director were all superb.  There wasn't just one person who made the movie.  But I went because of Robert (and because my brother wanted to see it).  That was Robert's comeback, and since then, he's been on fire.

His beautiful wife is probably the biggest reason he's stayed on the straight and narrow, along with his beloved son.  (This, of course, is all conjecture on my part, so please don't quote me.)  But above all else, Robert had to want it.  He had to want to be clean, better, focused.

And we are so lucky he wanted it badly enough.

Last night, Robert won a Golden Globe for his portrayal of Sherlock Holmes even though the safe choice would have been Daniel Day-Lewis in Nine.  Both phenominal actors nominated with other amazing actors.  But Robert has never been the safe choice which is probably why I bet on him in the first place.

What can I say?  He hasn't let me down yet.

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Hot Tub Time Machine

Check out that title to this post.  That, my friends, is a real movie.  And guess who's going to be the first in line to see it?  (And no, I'm not kidding about any of this, by the way.)

Now, I must say that I am a proud, independent woman who thinks for herself and does what she wants to.  But when an actor goes on The Soup to promote an independent movie that also happens to star John Cusack, then I have no problem doing exactly what they tell me to do or see whatever movie they tell me to see.  Even if that movie is called Hot Tub Time Machine.

I think maybe the biggest reason I'm excited to see this movie is because I'll actually get see John Cusack in a film where he's not cynical about something.  Like in 2012, but funny.  Don't get me wrong.  John is perfect at doing the cynical thing, but I can't wait for him to make me laugh.  Intentionally.

Plus, the cast itself is great.  I have loved Rob Corddry since The Daily Show and he stole every single scene in What Happens in Vegas (Why else would you see that movie?) because of his dry wit.  I swear, The Hangover was hilarious, but if Rob was in it?  It would be even funnier.

And let's not forget Chevy Chase!  He went on The Soup to promote the movie, and if it wasn't for him, I probably wouldn't have found out about this diamond in the rough.

So excuse me if I'm as excited for this movie as I am for Iron Man 2 (but not as excited as I am for Alice in Wonderland).  Maybe if you saw the trailer, you would be excited too.

Trailer  <--- Oh!  And look!  There it is! 

Check it out.

I know it might seem silly, and you cynical John Cusack impersonators might even say it's stupid.  But luckily for me, I don't listen to people (unless they have a nice face, are decidedly older than me and of the opposite sex, and have acting and/or singing talent) because I really am a strong, independent woman.

So go see this movie, out March 19!  It would be stupid not to.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

The Last Moments of Freedom

As the clock ticks away the minutes of my freedom due to school starting tomorrow, I can't help but recollect this past winter break.  Currently, my brother and I are watching a documentary of The Simpsons because it's turned 20 (I'm, like, two months older, by the way) and we are laughing and reminiscing because that's what we do.

But when it comes to winter break, I would have to say that this is probably the best one I've ever experienced.  I mean, don't get me wrong.  It started out really rough.  We couldn't go anywhere because we didn't want to waste gas, we were living off of Top Ramen, and we didn't have a Christmas on Christmas.

However, we went to see our father up in Michigan, and we got to play in the snow.  Like, real snow.  But there was a heater in the house, so it balanced out.  You know it's cold when you breathe and you see your breath, but when you inhale, you choke on that previous breath.  Oh, and Dad hid our Christmas present in the snow and gave us treasure maps to find it complete with helpful stick figures.  Our presents were hundred dollar bills.  Yeah, my father is...  Well, I'll let you fill in the adjective.  My preference is unique.

When we came home (thankfully with no delays concerning airports - you never know with Atlanta), money was still crazy tight, but we had sunshine. 

And then, a miracle happened.  We got some money - not a lot - and had a real Christmas.  (A real Christmas that involved a palm tree as a Christmas tress and no unwrapping gifts unless Amazon boxes count.)  And being somewhat spoiled, I got what I asked for.

For New Years, we kept it on the lowdown.  Mom was falling asleep in her chair while me and Patrick watched Jennifer Lopez attempt a comeback in a gold catsuit with Ryan Seacrest and Dick Clark.  The ball dropped, and the first thought that popped in my head was happiness and family - the most important thing in my life.  Followed, of course, by Johnny Depp.

Oh, and then we went to Disneyland.  TWICE.  Can you believe it?  Of course, I experienced my fair share of irony there (I've been walking into this park since I was kid, every time seeing that Mad Hatter hat.  The one day I actually attempt to buy it, they decide they're not selling it anymore.  It's okay.  I ordered one online, but still.); I always seem to.  But both times were amazing, and luckily, I did everything I needed to do there.  The fireworks brought tears to my eyes, but that was to be expected, and I zonked once my head hit the pillow.  That's how you know you've had a good day - how tired you are once it's come to a close.

I've been letting my inner Pussycat Doll out with their workout tape and dancing.  I've been a pirate more than a number of times.  I've been playing with my dogs.  I've been listening to Frank Garrett with my brother.  I've been shopping with my mother.  I've been playing in the snow with my father.  I've been writing my stories.  And I've been smiling, even during the tough times.

And you know what?  I'm pretty tired.

Friday, January 1, 2010

Mind, Body, and Soul: 8 2010 Resolutions

For whatever reason, I have this feeling that 2010 is going to be nothing short of extraordinary - even life-changing - for myself.  Because, numerologically speaking, it is my 8 year, I have made up eight New Year's Resolutions for this year that will benefit my mind, my body, and my spirit.

1)  Read all of Jane Austen's work, as well as the complete collection of Sherlock Holmes.
I have read Pride and Prejudice, Sense & Sensibility, and finished Emma today so I have four more stories to go where Miss Austen is concerned, and have started A Study in Scarlet with Mr. Holmes.

2)  Work-out - in some way - twice a week.
Not to lose weight, but to tone up.  Plus, exercise gives you endorphins, endorphins make you happy, and happy people don't shoot their husbands.  They just don't.

3)  Maintain my 4.0 GPA.
Kind of self-explanatory...

4)  Finish the five stories I have finished/planned.
If I can write 14 in a year, 5 is no big deal.

5)  Write and send in 1 10,000 - 15,000 word story.
Just for the experience, just to be able to say that I can.  And who knows what'll happen once I take a chance? 

6)  Write poems so my total is 300.
I think this won't be too bad.  I love writing poetry, and 89 won't be too many compared to last year's resolution.

7)  Every night, before going to bed, think about absolutely nothing.
Because I am a being that thinks about things all the time.  This will humble and relax myself, and maybe my being will be more content and calm with life.

8)  Really trust my intuition.
Because it's always write, and it's a part of myself.  And it always works in my favor and wants to help me.  If not me, then who am I to trust?

Eight seems like a big number, but I think I'll be able to accomplish them because they're things that are good for me, and they're things that I want to do.  :)  So happy New Year's all.  And happy New Decade.  A new beginning, far from any sort of ending.