It Had to Happen Sometime

I decided to go ahead and get this over with. Let me just say that after all that's happened these past few days, I seriously considered deleting that last post. Then I thought to myself, No. That's not a good idea. You see, the last time I was sitting here typing, I was cradling a tiny, sleeping puppy in my lap. That was five days ago. Now, I'm sitting here alone in an empty house. There isn't any Bella to cuddle anymore. Just me.

This year has been anything but fun. In fact, it's been the complete and total opposite of fun. I've had to say "good-bye" to a lot of things. Good-bye, Dad's job. Good-bye, lifestyle. Good-bye, beach house. Good-bye, summer vacations. Good-bye, stay-at-home Mom. Good-bye, house. Good-bye, Boston. Maybe I'll see you later, Belmont. Good-bye, laptop. Good-bye, friend. Good-bye, happiness. Good-bye, comfort. Good-bye, stability. Good-bye, sleep. Worst of all, Good-bye, Bella...it sucks.

We got Bella in June. My mom and I had wanted her for about two years. We dreamed about her. We saved up for her. She had a name. She had toys and treats and more toys. She had our hearts, and we didn't even know her yet. Then, we found her, or, rather, she found us. She became real- a little, fluffy diva who yapped and ran and snuggled and chewed and jumped and kissed...

We couldn't afford to go on vacation this summer, so my days were filled with puppy-duty. I watched her while my mom worked. I slept on the couch the first few weeks we had her. She'd whine in the middle of the night, and I would get up to comfort her. She could fit in the palm of my hand. She had all sorts of funny faces and habits, like shredding the towel after bath time to take out her vengeance for being tortured with water and suds. Stuff like that that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. Because of Bella, I was happy during a tough time.

I saw her for the last time on Saturday. She turned 9-months-old that day. I held her on the way to the vet's office. She was so small and fragile, but she still fit just right in my arms. When they told us to leave her for the weekend, I walked out. I remember pausing outside thinking I didn't kiss her good-bye. What an odd thought. I wish I had gone back in.

Later that day, they called us and told us about the emergency operation they had to perform. We waited. They called again telling us just how bad it had turned out to be, no easy fix. We waited. They called Sunday night and said things were going "pretty good" but it was still too early to tell. We waited. I went to school Monday. Got called to the office just before 2nd period. She had died early that morning. I was crushed.

The truth is that I'm tired of there never being any happy-endings. I'm exhausted, really. For the first time, I could care less about Christmas. It's probably just going to be another disappointing, dull, and gray day. The summation of my year.

I got a dog over the summer. She was something pretty special. She was the tiny thread that held this shaky family together.

What happens now?

If You Give a Puppy Some Olive Oil...

This past week, my puppy, Miss Bella Naomi, has been battling a stomach bug. Did you know that such a thing existed for dogs? I didn't.

On a scale of big to little, Bella falls into the tiny range. I mean, she is itty-bitty. Because of her size, I am paranoid that just the slightest gust of wind will blow her away. Perhaps my paranoia stems from our first few days together when I got put on "baby duty" all by myself. She got sick. I freaked out. It was bad. Then, there was that time that we were sleeping together on the couch, and she rolled off...not good at all. Point is, Bella and I have already been through a few ups-and-downs together. I'll be the first to admit that I'm dearly attached to this little fuzz ball. After all of the time I've spent taking care of her, you might say that I'm borderline overprotective. She has become my baby, no doubt.

As you may imagine, I once again freaked out when she got the bug. She's really pitiful when she isn't feeling well. She just looks up at you with those sad eyes. That, folks, is what you call a "puppy pout." Bella usually barks and runs and barks and barks some more but not this week. Instead, she has altered her routine to shivering and sleeping and barfing, just like a sick kid. It's hard to watch. But, she is very good to snuggle with when she can't resist. I've liked that part of the whole ordeal. She makes a good snuggle buddy.

Thankfully, she has slowly returned to normal over the past day or two, but it is still a challenge to make her eat. Weighing-in at a whopping almost 4 lbs., she didn't have much to lose in the first place. Now, she looks like a scrawny weasel or something. She's stubborn, so making her eat isn't easy. Just a few minutes ago, I had a brilliant idea. I softened her dog food and put some olive oil in it (she loves that stuff), and she ate it!

Yes, it's a sort of pathetic when I get excited over feeding a Yorkie, but, nonetheless, I feel extremely accomplished.

Now, she's sleeping, and I can finally go to bed.

I feel like a teen mom.

I'm so Hollow, Baby

Not too many years ago, there was this decently popular singer. His name, you ask?  James Blunt.
Maybe you remember that song, "You're Beautiful," where the guy with the falsetto voice whined in a creepy, stalker-ish sort of way about some girl he saw on the subway. If you do, that's good ole James.

I remember my mom obsessing over that song to the point where she went out and bought his album. Boy, was she surprised. Those sneaky radio edits had kept her from knowing the true content of Blunt's music. So, at a semi-young age, I was accidentally exposed to the drug/sex culture within the confines of my mother's car. Awkward, right? Not really. I would snicker to myself when she'd forget to turn the volume down to mute the f-bomb. Deviously asking to hear the songs about getting high and lovers and bastard children, I felt smug making her squirm as we drove along. I hope I don't have kids like me.

The point is, I didn't get the reality of his music. That world of "bad" people who did "bad" things to help them forget the pain of break-ups and disappointments was as make-believe as a fairy tale. In my little bubble world, there was no need for such absurd outlets.

As I've grown older, his lyrics have taken on a new meaning. He's not just a melodramatic guy who exaggerates all of the crap going on in his life. He's the voice of millions of unhappy, disenchanted people like himself. His songs envelop the contrasting highs and lows of living. Life can be beautiful, and life can be hell. And, somewhere in the midst of all of the muck, people find purpose and meaning.

I don't know if I'd call myself a fan, but Back to Bedlam does give me a lot to think about. Maybe that's why I had the urge to go and dig it up out of the stack of long-forgotten CDs last week.

I'm Ready for My Close-Up

FPD theater...where to begin...

For me it all started in 4th grade when I landed the star role of Fairgoer #8 in Mrs. Archer's production of Charlotte's Web. Boy, I thought I was hot stuff. My one line was "That's some pig!" At least, I think it was something like that. I took my part very seriously...maybe. Honestly, I don't really remember the details. I just like to pretend like I do. I  do, however, have a vivid memory of singing Elvis's "You Ain't Nothin' but a Hound Dog" to a room full of my peers while waiting to go on stage because I was young and naive and thought stuff like that was cool. Misconception, much?

Since my 4th grade debut had had such a significant impact on me, I waited a whole two years before I even thought about doing another production. Yes, I'm being facetious about the major impact. I enjoyed theater, but since when do kids pay attention to what they like in elementary school?  I wasn't too big on the whole you-are-what-you-do craze.As far as extra curricular activities go, I took my time figuring out what I enjoyed. Theater this year.  A short-lived soccer career the next. Guitar lessons interspersed. A little bit of tennis. A smidgen of church choir. It was all the same.

Middle school was the defining point. Through a series of "trial and error"experiences, I found out that sports just weren't for me. That's what I get for being the girl who tore a ligament in her ankle by tripping in a very visible hole in the yard. Looking back, that was probably a sign that my talents were better suited elsewhere. So when athletics didn't work out, where did I turn to? Good ole' theater, of course. 

I enjoy surprising people. I like making others laugh. I love to imitate those around me, and I had have a large imagination. All of those things combined with my somewhat weird personality worked to attract me to the acting community. It's kind of like the Sugar + Spice + Everything Nice = The Powerpuff Girls. 

Weird + Imaginative + Imitation "Skills" + Any Other Unique, Innate Abilities = Thespian

My point in of all of this rambling: I like acting, and, because I like acting, I'm happy that One Act is starting up soon. Nothing like a big, dysfunctional family reunion of awkward theater kids, right? Well, I don't know about that. I've kind of been like that one cousin who shows up every now and then to surprise people by showing that I am, in fact, still alive. Hopefully, this year will be different, and I will participate more. After all, it is my last year at "the Day School." <-- I absolutely hate when people say that. 

 

Good Success. Maybe.

Wake up. Go to school. Go home. Do homework. Sleep. Repeat. It's a mundane existence, but that's senior year thus far. There's this urban myth that we've been led to believe: seniors have it easy. Pfft. Is that a joke? Naively, I used to think it was true. But, the last week of summer sent that misconception straight down the drain. Staying up through the night to finish in-depth discussion questions and summer Pre-Cal review problems to get me ready for this year's Calculus should have been my wake-up call. I don't listen very well, sometimes.


It's hard to relax when you know there at least a 1000 other productive things you could be doing like writing those college application essays  or reading that Frankenstein novel for English class. I don't give a rip about those things at the moment. I'm tired, burnt out, exhausted etc. The shocking thing about it is that it's only September not April or May when I have a right to feel like that. We've only been in school like what? A little over a month? It's pretty pathetic that I'm already contemplating jumping out of the window to hopefully break my leg. That way, I can have an excuse to sit and rest. 


I've worked hard for 13+ years of my life. Call me crazy for wanting to quit now, but I desperately need a break. "Senioritus" has hit me hard. I deserve a little slacking off here and there. All seniors do. We're tired from all the meaningless busy work and tests and quizzes and papers and applications, so back off and leave us be. I think when this year is over, I'm going to crawl in bed and cover up and go to sleep for a few months. Maybe then I can begin to catch up on the hours of sleep I've missed out on over the years.

An Affair to Remember

Around this time last year, colleges and universities from all around the country began the courting process. They tried to win me over through letters and e-mails telling me how "special and unique" I am. They claimed that they wanted to be a part of my life that I would treasure in the years to come. Basically, it was all a bunch of "b.s."

Those once endearing letters in the mail began to be a nuisance- a real pain in the you-know-what. Don't even get me started about the e-mails. No matter where they came from, they all had the same thing to say just in different words. Maybe I was playing hard to get, but I was not interested in being told of my "uniqueness" if the colleges didn't have anything to give back. Is that so wrong?

I got to the point where I'd just look at the envelope and toss it into the garbage. It was kind of fun , to be honest. UGA. Trash. Tech. Trash. University of Ohio. Trash. I could go on and on. But one day, something unexpected happened. An untouched envelope laid in a stack of dejected "junk" mail that would never be opened. Just as I was about to throw it away, I noticed the address read Boston, MA. Curiosity got the better of me. Skeptically, I tore the envelope. Hesitantly, I read the contents expecting the same-old same-old. Boy was I surprised.

People Watching Clubs, lobster dinners, and a Quidditch team to top it off. How could I not be in love? The spark was there. Boston University and I had immediate chemistry. Over the weeks and moths that followed, I eagerly pursued after BU. I had to know more. It made me giddy and nervous to think that I might have found something I could see myself committing to in such a huge way. My first meeting left me with butterflies and a case of cold feet. Maybe I wasn't ready for this after all. But, as they say, distance makes the heart grow fonder, and I began to pine for Boston, so much so I dragged my mom and grandmother up there in the record setting rain during March. It was cold. It was wet. I LOVED it.

The city held such a charm over me like I had never known. Big city life, clean atmosphere. I must have seemed like I knew what I was doing because my first night there a Harvard Med student asked me for directions on the subway. Coincidence or fate? There wasn't that overwhelming, touristy sense of awe and excitement that I had felt the first time I visited New York City. It felt it natural. It felt like home.

Now the application process is upon me. I know in my heart where I'd like to be, but Boston and I may be no more than star-crossed lovers. Regardless of what happens, it was an affair to remember.

As The World Turns...I Sit and Think.

hey <- courtesy of kristen (not in it's original form)

i'm not quite sure what to put here at the moment so i'm going to pull a faulkner and give this stream of consciousness a try. my version, that is. inverted sentence. walrus. that was the first thing to come to mind. pickle. scratch-and-sniff pickle sticker. unicorns without horns. purple. blurp.

now, it is kritsten's turn to implant an idea into my mind. i believe this is called "inception."

kristen says: "i'm the one. i'm the one who wears the pants."
i think: "i'm the one. i'm the one who does the dance."

kristen says: "birds can fly so high and they can 'crap' upon your head..."
i think: "middle school."

kristen says: "i'm likin' this. your's is 10 times better than mine right now."
i think: "that's what she said. no. duh. mine is better."

colby wants a turn. go, colby. now.

colby says: "flippin' fish head."
i think: "flap jack."

colby says: "..." colby doesn't say anything because she is now distracted by vee's input on last night's episode of "secret life." go figure. fake teen pregnancy is like sooo totally interesting.

ugh. i wish i hadn't eaten so much food in french last period. i hate how i have to be a fatty and eat everyone's food so their feelings don't get hurt. like that muffin i had to take with me. i think i might barf. for real.

british accents ahh the most fun to speak in. at least at the moment.