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Thanks, Dr. Phil

Dr. Phil makes teenagers lives terrible. This man takes the worst teenagers in America and displays them on national television, points out their flaws, and in turn makes the parents watching at home believe that normal teens do the things advertized. This then makes the parents Nazis in their children's lives, therefore, making their lives terrible.

Parents need to grasp that not all of the things he states apply to every single teenager. For one, we're not all walking hormones with guns. We can act civil. But it's not the teenaged boys whose lives get strained. It's the females. Dr. Phil has a way of addressing problems that point more towards the safety and purity of teenaged girls. One episode, the mother of the "wild" girl referred to the boyfriend as a "gang-banging drug dealer." And when asked to take a drug test, he replied with "do you want me to take a gang-bang test too?" The boy obviously had no respect for anyone. And obviously, this is the prime example of every other boy in America. On top of the terrible teen, the name of that episode was "Hands Off My Teen Daughter."

I guess it's not Dr. Phil that I dislike. It's the misinterpreting parents that adore him. I can understand watching his show to learn a little and feel better about how your kids aren't as bad as those featured. But the parents that watch and take detailed notes on just exactly how their teens think and act based on those troubled kids, that's when the lines of reality TV and actual reality begin to blur.

Dear parents,

Not all teenagers use their cell phones to take nude pictures of themselves and show everyone. (We'll leave that to the politicians.) Most teenagers are not into whoring around and trying out vast arrays of drugs.

Not all boyfriends are going to beat your daughters up. If her boyfriend likes to spend time with her, it doesn't mean he's starting to isolate her from her family. You'll know if he starts to do that, because he'll actually be doing that. Not all boys are going to take advantage of her. Yes, boys are pigs and she'll have to be careful, but you have to hope that your parenting skills work out now that she's on her own. The more you smother her and try to control her, the more she's going to do the opposite.

When she's 17 (and... let's throw an extra 143 days on top of that), her asking if she can go places and do things that don't include entertaining you, it's really more of a courtesy. She's telling you what she's going to be doing in a nice way; she's not actually asking for permission.

Your kids are not as problematic as the ones that are featured.

-Sincerely,

Your [behaved] Teenagers.

222 Days Until I'm 18

Or at least, that's what the time span calculator says. I trust it. As a matter of fact...

Years: 0.61
Months: 7.30
Weeks: 31.72
Days: 222
Hours: 5329.00
Minutes: 319,740.00
Seconds: 19,184,400.00

All until I'm 18.

I just thought that the "222" was significant. The number 2 has been my assigned lucky number since birth [February second, or 2/2, as 2:02 am].

Freaky? A bit. I'm okay with it though. It's kinda cool to have something unique about your birthday.

Gosh. 222 days. Can't. Wait. In a sense, yes, I can wait. I'm not necessarily ready to give up my high school career and grow up so fast. I'm not really ready to be close to graduation, and in turn, be close to walking out the door and being a forgotten student at The High School. However, being an adult will be very much appreciated. I know, I know, "you kids want to grow up, blah blah blah." It's not that I want to grow up. I just want to escape. Being 18 will give me the unconditional lift I need to feel good. I'll be able to literally walk out the door, and not be breaking rules. I'll be able to get a job and support myself. I'll be able to be the person I want to be, 100% of the time, and not the person Sparta wants me to be, or thinks I am. 17 years and 143 days into an act. It's a mandatory act. It helps me survive the household.

One would think that being 17 years and 143 days old, that person would be allowed to express themselves without being beaten with words and judgments. Being confined in a house for 17 years and 143 days is most certainly a jail sentence.

Being afraid of the world is a terrible way to live. Sparta wouldn't open the windows all day last Halloween. "They'll be able to look into the windows and see us. That's why."

"Mom... it's noon...."

"You don't get it, Breanna. You think you're so smart. Satan is watching everything you do. He's waiting. You have to learn to be careful out there. MAYBE YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO ME ONCE AND A WHILE. I'M NOT STUPID. LORD, YOU'RE AS NUMB AS A BOOT."

Numb as a boot. My favorite Sparta quote. I've been hearing it since I was little. Mainly used for when I'd frustrate her with my undying stupidity, I've grown to hate the expression. And boots.


I miss The Guy. It's been well over a week.

I guess it seems a little... meh. Whiny. I feel I'm whiny. That's what this blog has turned into. My personal whine site.

Anyway. The whole root of my anger towards being an inmate and living with Warren Sparta is quite possibly that in itself; not seeing The Guy. It's frustrating.

I feel best when I'm around him. He doesn't make me feel insignificant, or belittle me. I'm adored.

Then I go home and feel like shit. For days. I ask to see him, she says no.

The thing I'm worried about most is that he'll get tired of waiting. Lots of girls want him. Lots. Like, infinite multitudes. I'm not worried he's going to find enjoyment in other girls in my absence; I think he kinda respects the relationship too much, on top of just being uninterested in others. But waiting. So much waiting. I knew this summer was going to be hard. It's one of the worst times to start a relationship [for me], right before summer vacation. I see no one. Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Sometimes. But most of the time it just saws through your body. It makes you tense and cry and miss them. It makes you sick and scream. After a while, in most cases, it makes you forget why you liked them. It detaches you from them. You begin to forget what it feels like with their arms around you, or what their hair smells like. No one can tend the fire, and it dies. Then it's just two strangers sitting on a train, on opposite ends.

I don't want that to happen to us.

I still remember all the little things. [For god sakes. It's only been a week.] But still. I'm in it for the long haul. Little breaks like this without him won't make me forget him. And I'm lucky that he's not average. Average guys do forget in a week.

We got together on May 22nd.

22.

My number, perhaps?

We can see what we want in coincidences.

I want to see that as a little sign that it's all going to be okay. That this is real and right.

Twenty-two.

Senior.

So now I'm old. A senior? Great.

I've been waiting for this time forever. To be a senior is to have power and importance. I don't feel powerful or important at all. In fact, I feel a lack of connection to the rest of the school. There were three classes ahead of ours freshman year. We got to know the sophomore and junior class well and looked up to them, not just as inspiration but also physically. We watched as the seniors we barely got to know walk down the center of the gym during our first time witnessing the Senior Assembly. We awed at their gowns. We applauded at their successes. And we ached to be them.

The next year, we watched as about four of our oldest friends walked down that same path. We still wanted to be them, but we knew we were going to miss them. And we did, but there was only a handful to miss.

This year. We sat in the bleachers. We watched as most of our friends sisters and brothers walked down the path of no return. We sat there are watched as their memories started to fade into future events that didn't include us. We watched as they accepted their last awards at The Town Name's High School. We didn't want to be them then. We cried for the loss of our classes, lunches, and practices together. We wept. We all wept. No longer did we want to be them. We wanted to go back to being a naive freshman who thought that four years was actually a long time. We, as a class, mourned the loss of the lives we had. We're no longer looking forward to stare at the backs of the older kids. WE are the older kids. We are the backs that people look at. And sooner rather than later, we will be the seniors that make juniors cry. 

I only cried for twenty minues during the SATs.

SAT scores have been revealed. I've got to say, I'm not completely bummed. I got above a 460 in everything so this means I don't have to take most of my finals.

As a matter of fact...

490- Reading
480-Mathematics
550- Writing

I'm a little disappointed because I really wanted to get over a 620 in one of the Englishes, I would be free of Mr. English Teacher's English Final. But, I did not. Now I have to brush up on everything and do well on it. But, due to incentives from all the teachers, I will not have to do a chemistry, math, or history final. All I'll have is pottery, ASL, and English. Not bad for end of the year testing. I'm super excited over the writing score; I kinda kicked the essay's butt. I don't think that I can go into detail about it online (can I?) but basically I only referenced to one book as one, really specific supporting detail over the topic. I got a score of 4 from both readers. I was expecting something less because I spent the beginning ten minutes trying to find my thoughts, and literally erased and re-started the essay about four times. It wasn't a "4" worthy to me. Granted I'd like a 6. That would be nice.

I would re-take the SATs next year, but then I'd be re-taking them next year.

I can always assume.

Wow, fourth quarter is over.

Well, for the most part. It's pretty incredible. I spent all this year complaining about how much homework (portfolio work) in English, and how many more entries I needed, and now it's all over.Granted, I'm so glad that I don't have the work hanging over my head now, but seriously. I'm pretty much done with Honors English 11. It's such a sad thing to realize. I really liked the conversations we had in class; I always felt so smart.

Now I'm off to AP English. It's not something I'm looking forward to. I have friends who say they wish they could go back to Honors English 11. I'm one of them now. We should get jackets.

I'll be with the same group of kids, yes. Maybe we can still govern our own book groups. I doubt it; I heard the class has a lot of busy work. So basically I'll be bored without any work. Lovely.

How many did I need again?

About three million more.

I've been looking back on the older posts (and even old journal entrees written in an actual journal... o_o) and I'm glad that I don't whine as much. Cassie's right. I'm a whine bag.

Anyway. So portfolios are due soon. Too soon. Mr. English Teacher, you enjoy this too much. I've got a terrible lit. analysis on The Great Gatsby and an unfinished story I was originally only experimenting with. Luckily, I know where I'm going with the plot, however, I'm terrible at condensing my work. There's no way I can write the story in the amount of days I have left. I know it was no excuse, but Drama really took a lot of my time. Not being on the computer that often at home really pulled weight on my (lack of) work. I just want to get a B in English again. B-? Sure. I need to get honor roll again. Then I'd have one whole year under my belt, as opposed to freshman year and sophomore year where grades went to hell and back.

I was thinking of the other story I had been working on, Nonexistent. >_> So much time was wasted on that story. I wrote it and finished it poorly. They Guy wants to read it. Lol, yeah right. The last thing I want is for him to read something I wrote. I don't let him see my drawings either. He's so much... better than me. Significantly better than me at nearly everything. It's a little disappointing. Time's going by so fast now. I want to be able to see him during the summer, and I will. I can't wait to take him to our towns' festival this summer. It's so lame and terrible. He's going to thoroughly enjoy it. KNOWING HIM HE'D ENJOY IT BETTER THAN ME. BECAUSE HE DOES EEVVEERRYYTTHHIINNGG BETTER THAN ME.

I'll Meet You There

Owl City is a pretty awesome musical group. I can see where some people would get bored with them, but then again, it doesn't matter what people think, right? I'm not one of those people who only listens to music that no one else listens to; but at the same time I'm not a pop culture buff either. I like to think that I have a nice variety of well known, kinda known, and unknown music. That way I can function in normal society, while still being different. When I find someone that listens to a group that I think is virtually unknown, it makes me so happy (assuming that the person is someone I'd like to have something in common with, not some gross, gnarly person).

Lately I've been listening to more A Perfect Circle. I've always liked their old album, "Thirteenth Step," and recently downloaded their second one "Mer De Noms." Not. Bad. At. All.

I forgot what possessed me to do so, but I used to have the discography. Well, my really awesome 4GB iPod didn't hold a whole lot of music so I ended up deleting most of their music. (Shut up, I was like, fourteen. I appreciated nothing.) Well, the other day I listened to music on the computer, and "3 Libras" came on, and when I heard the famous "you don't, you don't, you don't, see me!" I was all, "... :3" And do I am adding their albums back. It was sad at the time because that was a confusing time when I thought The Guy didn't like me as a person at all. I love when songs say exactly what I'm feeling. APC is a good translator. I'm a fan. My Best Friend likes them too. She's actually the one that got me into them what? Freshman year? She;s going through a hard time. >_> More like a hard year. I hate being so damn useless. I'm unable to comfort her. I make attempts, but they're all without winning.

The Guy is a pretty cool dude.

I'm happy. I'm really, really happy. He's pretty awesome. It's not even awkward having his mom be my teacher. Ha... I've known her longer than I've known him. That's odd, but whatever. She's super funny, and I'm pretty sure she approves of me.

For the viewers that don't know, she's my art and drama teacher. We'll call her.... Ms. Drama Teacher. The best part? My mom likes her. This is turning into something really quite.... right. I mean, I'm doing everything right this time. This is the first relationship I haven't hidden from her. Mainly because I'm not ashamed of the guy. I've risen my standards since last year. And one lonely year went by where sometimes I'd regret it, because it kinda sucks to be alone all the time. But It's so much more worth it to be with someone that is a respectable and kind and over-all nice guy.

I was watching my recording of the play last night. Our voices are magical together. :3

I found love...

.....for pancakes. Nah, just kidding. I'd like to think I have a normal feeling towards pancakes, not an obsession.

But I think I found reasonable capacity for love. You see, it's actually a really good story. Y'all know I got the role of Ariel in Footloose. Well, this awesome thing happened where the guy that plays my love in the play is super duper in real life; he's a genuinely nice and understanding guy. I've obviously known this for a long time, but having to spend long hours day in and day out (oh darn) with him, I've grown to know him a lot better. If I were to describe the best kind of guy for me, he would seriously incorporate all the things The Guy stands for. (I'll refer to him as "The Guy" here, so as to not use his actual name; Mr. English Teacher will probably know who I'm talking about anyway, but the world doesn't need to know.)  I've been waiting so long for him to not be preoccupied with girls. Being new to The Town, (and having a reputation of being incredible before actually coming here) everyone was nuts for him. Seriously. I haven't met a girl here yet that wasn't attracted to him. It was actually pretty discouraging after a while. I thought he'd never be free long enough to notice me.

Just talking to him for a little bit and you'd realize he commits to whatever relationship he's in for the long haul; he doesn't just date for the sake of dating.

This is where my plan gets in action.

All Drama Club we've been getting closer. There are actually some pretty interesting stories about how we got to be where we are. One being the oh so famous kiss between Ariel and Ren (main characters). It. Took. Forever. He was nervous; he just couldn't do it. I (of course) was all "OH IT'S FINE. I'M GOOD." But he as all "....it's personal to me." Now, me, being my awesome self, took that as, "HE DOESN'T CARE FOR ME. I'M FOREVER ALONE."

Eventually we worked on it enough (stage kissing, it's different. The guy's supposed to put his thumb on the girl's lips and he kisses that. T_T) so that it wasn't awkward.

Well, anyway. So this past weekend was the showings. One on Saturday, and two on Sunday. Like always, we hung out a lot. Little things like holding hands in between scenes took place. I, of course, enjoyed every minute of it. But there was always a little bit of doubt in my mind. I was unsure if he was returning the kindness because he didn't know what to do, just to be kind, or if he actually really wanted to. So, moving on. Sunday, we just got done with the first showing; it was successful. We had about two or three hours until we had to preform for the last time and like normal, we hung out.

:)

I know Mr. English Teacher probably doesn't care to listen to MORE of my droning on about The Guy in  dreamy tone.

But hey, I can't help it.

It's hard not to think of your new boyfriend like that. ;D

Reflecting

As you followers may know, this blog is an assignment for my English class. This entails very little guidelines, but occasionally forces specific entrees out of me. This is one of them.

I did a report on vouchers via Prezi, and was recorded in class. It was a terrifying experience.

Luckily my thoughtful, wonderful, and insightful English teacher, [Mr. English Teacher] has allowed me the honor of critiquing myself.

For starters, on a positive note, I looked like I had confidence, which I was actually pretty nervous. My knees were shaking and everything. I knew my information well enough to handle the questions thrown at me, and I was able to not completely read from the slide and my note cards.

Now, for the unpleasant part of reflection. The negatives. Well, I said the phrase "you know" too many times. It was like when people say "like" and "uh" too much, and instead of listening to their work, you end up counting how many times they say it. Well, that was me with "y'know." Also, I swayed a little. I also found flaws in my presentation [as linked above]. I had WAY too much movement in my prezi. I got carried away with the zooming. It's kind of cool on the computer screen, but extremely obnoxious on Mr. English Teacher's smart board. On some mechanical levels, I could have taken more time to make my information not so vague throughout the presentation. I started out with a lot of really awesome info, but ended up not being able to fit it in logically. If I had spent more time on it, it would have been better.

At least taking honors English 11 has shaped me into a great presenter. I've molded a standard for myself to be able to give a presentation, recite poetry, and play characters into a play. I've improved on annunciation and projection. I will never fail at presenting.

Oh And Also...

 

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. 

Oh Lawds

I need about ten more posts to fill my English class quota. I've been super busy with Drama Club, a history project, and just plain life. I have none, but it sure takes up a lot of my time. I spend most of it pretending to be awesome. My history project was on the 1950's. I like the style. But being the first to present is death. My class is outspoken. Unruly. Kinda like this.

Why can't they be more...... More like this.

Then I'd be able to present without feeling like I want to strangle every single one of them with the intensity of one thousand men.

No... One thousand suns. THE INTENSITY OF ONE THOUSAND SUNS.

Every two sentences someone screamed nonsense. And every three sentences someone asked a stupid question.

"HEY ARE YOU DOING THE 1950s?"

"WHAT'S A POODLE SKIRT?"

"DID YOU KNOW ELVIS DIED ON THE CRAPPER?"

"I'M TWELVE."

"WAIT. DON'T GO SO FAST. I'M TOO BUSY BEING ANNOYING."

 



Then the awesome kids who were the worst got really mad when we handed out the test and they didn't know any of the answers. Tough luck. THEN they all complained because they wanted to go next and we had to take two classes to present a twenty minute project.


Well, at least it's Friday.


Lol... Friday.....

Friday, Friday, gettin' down on Friday.

I'm Wanted

These headphones are too big for my ears. I really dislike when ear-buds just rest in the outside edge of your ear. I feel like the music escapes too much around the openings. I much prefer in-ear headphones. I find that the bass is much more impressive and the sound quality in general is far superior.

...Obviously not as superior as these home-made headphones by the hunky intellectual badasses.

MY TECHNOLOGY BRINGS ALL THE NERDS TO THE COMPUTER LAB. AND THEY'RE LIKE, IT'S BETTER THAN HERS. -SNORT- RIGHT. IT'S BETTER THAN HERS. I CAN TEACH YOU, BUT I'D HAVE TO USE MY INHALER FIRST.

Speaking of inhalers, I've discovered something about myself. I have Asthma. Yeah, you see, blog readers, a few years ago I used to try to run around the block. Unfortunately, I was about five million pounds and couldn't seem to drag my whale body around the paved roads. I blamed the stress on my lungs on that very fact. So the other day I decided that I was no longer as whale-ish and should attempt to complete the task that I never was able to.

And I did it.

I ran around the block (and yeah, it's not that far, maybe a third of a mile). I was able to do it! My body was able to run around the block without the terrible stresses or vomit that I would have to endure before.

With that said.

About half way around I realized my lungs started to burn. I ignored it because I was in the zone. I was also listening to Daft Punk, "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger" and was very motivated. As I continued the run, the burning started to get progressively worse to the point where I had to slow down. I never stopped though. I rounded the corner to the long stretch home. So of course, I sprinted. By the time I got to my driveway, I was tasting blood in the back of the throat, my lungs were on fire, and the tightness in my throat was beginning to be prominent.

I walked through the door and realized that it was a mistake to be so driven to finish the run. For the next hour my lungs burned, and with every breath I took it was more pain being injected to the area. Within minutes of stopping the run my throat almost completely closed up. I don't know a different way to explain it other than having to breathe through one of those "Capri Sun" straws. I also had that nostalgic feeling of having to throw up, mostly because the pain was unbearable.

Luckily it did subside eventually. The only reminder of the event was the terrible mucus that accumulated in my lungs, and decided to stay there for DAYS after. It was pretty terrible to have to breathe and hear the rattling of my insides. I had such a terrible cough that after about three days my mother asked me if I was smoking. I would have been all sarcastic and say "AAWWWWWWWW YEAHH" but then she'd take it literally and kill me. I can't tell her of my asthma, mainly because I'd be forced to explain to her that I ran around the block.

Running around the block is illegal in my house because I'm not allowed out of it. So, I'll just wait until I'm eighteen in ten months and go to the doctor's then. I also have to get my thyroid checked. My birth-mom and her mom (and darn near the whole family) have thyroid problems. They were all pretty fat too, before they got their pills for it and lost a lot of weight. That's why I'm hopeful for the future; I'll get all this fixed.

Anything that can go wrong will? Yeah thanks Murphy.

So so so popular. Check out how popular I am. People come from long and far to read my words. The pressure's on to be a real stand up comic.

... I've got nothing.

So Donald Trump might be running for president. This makes me very interested in politics all of a sudden.

"We interrupt this broad-cast of 'Rare Native-American Instruments of the 18th Century' for a message from your leader, President Trump."

I would absolutely love to watch all that comb-over making a speech on the future of our country in his Trump accent... or Traccent, as I like to say. I'm curious as to what he'd do as president.

Trump check-list ... or.... "Trumist For Check-Trumping," as I like to say.

1- Gain American's trust
2- Fire everyone
3- Invest in war efforts new sciences on hair growth
4- Learn the native tongue of the Navajo Code Talkers

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, GIVE IT UP FOR THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES

What Are The Differences?

Everyone gets down in the dumps sometimes. Sometimes something can trigger a certain sadness that really has no obvious origin. In extreme cases this can drag out for long periods of time and become what doctors call "depression." It's difficult to spot, She's heard. When She's feeling a dragging sadness that lasts for what feels like forever, it's hard to not think of the medical alternative. However, after the episode, She questions the strength and liability of the event. She hates questioning Her own honesty to Herself. Talking about it just feels like She's whining about useless things; normally it is useless. Something insignificant can be the one thing to send Her down. When "down" She has no control of what She feels. Sometimes things are clearer to Her, sometimes everything is a million miles away through a fog. Her best art work comes from the deepened state of mind. Isn't it terrible that She has to be depressed to create something She's proud of?

She's struggled with this internal wreckage since She was a kid. At the time, She was unaware of what it really was, and expressed it through anger. Now She holds it in. She feels it simmer inside Her all the time. Even when times are going well, there's just a tang of being helpless within Her thoughts. It takes so much effort to make it go away for an event.

People don't like the depressed. They don't accept them. And why should they? We're no fun to be around. She's created a public profile. A face, if you will, that She can carry throughout the day to make Herself merge into society. She jokes, She laughs, She smiles. But She also remembers.

There are times for Her to feel genuinely okay. And for a matter of days, sometimes weeks, She can shove the hurt away. And right when She thinks that She's defeated this monster, it devours Her. And for days, sometimes weeks, after that, She's being sucked of energy. Her body is tired. Her mind is restless. She sleeps too often, as if to escape, only to dream of it and feel it's grip on Her. Tears well up behind Her closed eyelids. She decides to avoid sleep and the hell that goes with it. All that does is drain her.

During rehearsal, the energy She has to crank out to not only act onstage, but also to be the social person everyone likes and adore is so demanding.So when that person that She's working on the production with looks at Her when She's off guard and exhausted, forgetting to hide Her saddness, and that person says "Can you please just, STOP?"

She get's mad.

If She could "just stop" She would, okay? She's sorry that this inconveniences you.  She's sorry that she forgot to play the roll of Herself for you. She's sorry that she can't live up to the expectation everyone else holds for Her. And She's sorry that you can't see what She's dealing with, because if you could? You wouldn't be snapping your hypocritical oppinions at Her. She thought that the your marks would indicate that you understood what She felt. But you don't. She wasn't talking about it to you. She wasn't begging for your sympathy. And She wasn't doing the one thing that makes Her the most angry; pretending to feel this way. So. Many. People. Pretend. They pretend to be depressed. They pretend that they're hurting. What for? So they can get sympathy and attention. Anyone who struggles with it knows there is no needed sympathy. They want to be alone. So those pretenders, who act the part for maybe a three day span (if they're really dedicated), give it a derogatory twist. It's already bad enough. So go be sad, hurt, or angry. Be anything but the term "depressed," because attention whoring and momentary sadness is not it. Don't brag about it. Depressed people don't want to be depressed. And newsflash? They CAN get mad. They're not pushovers all the time. She gets pissed. She gets so angry with everything. She never speaks about it. She never retaliates.

She tried to fix Her imperfections. She just wanted to be normal in a crowd, but extraordinary when examined. In turn She successfully ruined Her self image and didn't even accomplish Her original goals.

Given a second chance She probably would have done it all again.

And that's the part that gets to Her the most.

It's Addicting

Dubstep is actually pretty awesome. It's not "techno," it's way more intense. Although techno is also awesome in its own way, dubstep really quenches my thirst for a good beat and interesting treble scenes. One of the best bands to find this godly music? Skrillex. Check them out. I've been addicted to them for months. The guy that makes the music (Sony Moore) has a specific style. An avid listener will be able to listen to a song of his and automatically know that's his work. He's done some mixes of popular songs like "Bad Romance," which is a risky choice considering if you mess up a popular song that all the norms listen to, you're career and credibility are done.

The current song I'm loving is "Weekends" by Skrillex. Very, very nice. It can make anyone dance.

I'm not always in the mood for dance music. I mean, I'm one who can appreciate and enjoy a song with meaningful lyrics (like Friday), but constant philosophical and inspirational music can grow old too. I have yet to find a dance-song with actual lyrics that mean anything.

That's why I'm content with having varied music on my iPod.

Dubstep --> Oldies --> Metals (of all kinds) --> Techno --> Slow and Meaningful --> Completely useless

Yeah. Those are all legit styles.

You Bleed Just To Know You're Alive

I wonder about dying sometimes. Not in an odd "I'm into death and guns and being sorry for myself" way, just, "what happens?" Growing up in an extremely difficult "religion" to escape, anyone in the family would refer me to their version of the Bible. I don't consider myself part of their religion, but I'm not about to dismiss the initial concept of God either. Mainly because I honestly don't know. I'd like to think that there's someone, somewhere looking out for me and helping the world be a better place. Personally, I think that it's completely up to the person to decide if they want to believe, and when they believe, their form of "God" appears. Someone who is bound and determined to disprove any "power from above" will never change and believe. (Unless some life changing trauma happens and that makes them change their outlook.) To be honest, I have absolutely no idea what to think about any of this. I don't want to be apart of the religion the family's in. The mind set is the most sexist, annoying, and illogical set of ideas I've ever seen. "God" is one thing. "Religion" is another.

I had this really awesome conversation with a good friend a while back. We concluded that, long ago, people needed a way to control mass amounts of people. So they put "God" in their eyes as a means of control. It was never questioned, and always reinforced. After centuries past, people started to attain the ability to make money and live on their own. They got to thinking about the concept of "God" and started to doubt it. Then the powerful people made up something more powerful than even God.





Money.







To be honest, I don't want to upset anyone. I just blab my thoughts and hope people agree.

Titles are for squares.

And I, sir, am most definitely NOT a square.

Goats are pretty awesome. I like goats. We should get together sometime and talk about goats.

Remember when we were kids and our advisers used to force the laws we must abide to down our throats? I was thinking about how illogical they are. Perhaps it's my teenage rebelliousness, but rules from childhood are more often than not proven to be useless.

Simple rules like "look both ways before crossing the street" are pretty good. But those are just common sense.

I'm talking about the ones that are created by parents with special interests to control their kids for life. One of the most common broken rule that I've noticed around my peers is the one about virginity. "Keeping it until marriage" they always used to say in elementary school. And especially if one comes from a generally over-religious family, that sentence is constantly awarded. But when kids hit high school, and even some in middle school, start realizing that they have the power to please, they suddenly forget their mom and dad's teachings and just go out with who ever they want. Parents that continue to reinforce their abstinence mind set on their kids, actually force them to go out and rebel faster. Then the parents get suspicious and angry and start making ridiculous requests, allowing the parents to lose credibility and sanity in the kids' eyes, so they don't actually listen to the parents any more.

And that's how babies are made.

Luckily for me, I have not had to deal with all of this. I'm about as much of a hermit as one can get.

I really don't go anywhere. I'm always either at home or at school.

I really wish I'd go out for a walk or something. It really has been nicer lately outdoors.

But I'm always confined inside.
  

I Have To Be More Interesting

I've been informed that I might have a narration voice? Cool. Blogging? I honestly never thought I'd be a "blogger." It's just kind of a giant whine bag of a web site. But guess who's a hypocrite?

MMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

So. I guess I'm going to start blogging now...

What to blog about? I mean, what is the real point of a blog? Besides whining, ranting, and feeding into ones conceded nature? I guess everyone on the internet will get to know me. That's actually pretty terrifying. I'll have to be virtually anonymous; no more information than what I'd put on a greeting card for your co-worker's baby shower. Just my first name and general information, where stalkers can't find me. Ah who am I kidding. Stalkers wouldn't stalk me! I'm not interesting. I'm not even counting on one person subscribing to my blog. But hey? If I get an audience this could be the first time in history that a mass group of people are interested in what I have to say!

Well, subscribers, I'll let you get to know me. Wait, no. I can't have you be called "subscribers." That's too professional. I'll call you... Minions? Puppets? Not followers... that's cliche. I kind of like minions.

Well, MINIONS, the name's Bre. But you can call me "Dearest Overlord" for short.

I really like cats. I have cats. I like the odor of cats. I had a cat suit. Sometimes I would dress up as a cat. And Meow. As a cat. But then, I grew out of my cat suit. And resorted to growing out my body hair... and pretending to be a cat. Meow...

That was a joke.

I'm more of a dog person.

I have dry humor. It comes in handy when talking to Brits. Dark humor is also a wonderful asset to have when talking to foreigners.

I don't get the point of love letters. Yes, a long while ago they were romantic. Written with the beautiful calligraphy of a feather dipped gently in ink and gracefully drawn on a page in the light of an oil lamp. Back in the day people's feelings were foreign, and saying lines like "I live for you" or "you're my air" or "love at first sight" was unheard of, and made the unsuspecting women fall in love. But today? With the resources we have? The Hollywood references? Everything you could possibly say in a love letter has already been done. Everything magical about love has been dissolved and exposed. We don't even hand write anything anymore. I have never, and will never, receive a love letter hand written. The closest thing I'd find is probably "hey u r kool wanna go out with me on a date 2night?" in a message on facebook.

There's not a whole lot of wooing in my life.

I guess that's it for today, minions.

Quarter Four, number one.

Wow, Friday was busy. I had to do a lot of presenting and performing. O.O

In your class, actually, was the beginning of it. I had to present my project on school vouchers, which went okay. I didn't gather the intensity your smart board would put on my obnoxious movements in Prezi. Toward the end of my visual roller coaster, I added a lot of back and fourth movements. It looks really cool on a computer screen, but on the large plane? Wow. It would have been sickening. So I made a (literally) last second decision to manually click on the places for the last few "slides." Obviously the clicker was sensitive to different areas, making the last twenty seconds or so very messy and ending abruptly. With all that going on, I realized I spoke too fast the entire presentation. I had my timing down to around seven minutes at home, and even when I presented for Cassie and Melissa. But when I got up there I just plowed through everything I rehearsed to say. Figures. I have no idea what my time was, but I'm guessing it's not too long. >_>

However, I was happy to see that peoples' responses were generally good. I'd give it a good.... 56% of people that said "You weren't nervous at all!"

Which made me giggle because I was so nervous my knees were shaking. I'd probably fall over if I tried to walk around during the presentation.

Anyway. So then after school I had auditions for Footloose. (which I'd been fretting about for over a week, and maybe even contributed to my nervousness in English...) I went third in auditioning. I didn't even have my lines in hand until I walked through the door because I was so early on in the event. I had just learned my auditioning song the night before. A High School Musical song actually. Everyone asked what song I chose. Lol, I never answered. This is why.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=znLmkH6H7Vs

Don't listen to the whole thing. Your ears will commit suicide. Her voice is so whiney and annoying.

Anyway. So the audition went on. I tried out for the lead, Ariel, and also for the second lead, Rusty. (Ariel's best friend) I knew I wasn't going to get either one, but I figured "shoot for the lead and be happy with what you land."

The hardest part was reading from a paper that I had never seen before and be expected to give the emotion that's needed for the part. It's the Crucible all over again.

But apparently I did okay.














OKAY ENOUGH TO GET THE LEAD.