October 1st, 2007
|06:59 pm - love|
When I think of all the couples in my family, I can think of close to none who seem as though they really, truly love each other. My grandparents dated each other for no less than EIGHT YEARS before finally getting married. Apparently my grandfather was a major commitment-phobe. How can you love someone and not be sure whether you want to spend the rest of you life with them until eight years and several ultimatums later? You can't.
It's like my sister and I are making up for all the past lack of true love in our gene pool by both simultaneously falling into intense, magical, too-good-to-be-true love...or something. I don't know. I shouldn't even TRY to say what people do and do not do when they're in love with someone. It's very complicated.
September 25th, 2007
|09:53 pm - I Think I'm Bipolar|
My emotions go from blissfully happy to completely dissatisfied.
Right now, I'm happy. About 3 days ago: hell. I'm getting sick of it. I can't wait to go on The Pill.
P.S. I think I must be the luckiest girl in the world. It scares me that I found such intense love so soon in my life. I'm beginning to fully realize how unusual it is.
September 11th, 2007
|09:34 pm - Subject|
1. I got an 89% in Algebra II.
2. NC Legislation can suck it.
3. I'm still in love. We've been going strong for 11.5 months now.
4. I'm still *technically* a virgin.
5. I'm so fed up with school. I want A's this semester, dammit!
Elaboration on #2:
I'm too tired to talk about it.
Elaboration on #3:
Richard is my best friend and my boyfriend, and it's wonderful. Sometimes we argue, and sometimes we're a little mean to each other, but most of the time we're so happy is scares me. I didn't think I would ever want to spend my entire life with one person, but alas, it is the case.
Elaboration on #4:
Virgins seem scarce these days, don't they? For anyone interested in the roots of human sexuality, read up on Bonobos (sp?). Truly fascinating little chimps that screw like rabbits (and GUESS WHAT? they even have GAY SEX. take that, homophobes!).
June 19th, 2007
|08:15 am - Mmmm|
Yesterday I was lying on the floor while my freshly showered boyfriend stood over me and told me that he had missed me so much the night before, it had felt like he’d been cut in half. He then snuggled down next to me and rested his mouth against the side of my neck, and we drifted between watching a movie, sleeping, and doing other, less-innocent things that I don’t feel like mentioning here. I love being in love. Everything feels so comfortable.
May 27th, 2007
|10:26 am - Congrats: you're a spoiled brat.|
I abandoned dedication to updating this LiveJournal due to the fact that all of a sudden it felt pretentious. Why the hell was I so pompous as to think that people actually gave a damn what I thought? It makes me cringe to read all of the entries from my Awkward Years, or even the entries from just a few months ago. But it seems that I just can’t help but make a fool of myself, so here I am again.
I was wrong about love, by the way. It isn’t little. It’s enormous. And it’s very consistent. It’s like even when I’m ed off, I’m still happy. Which doesn’t make any sense at all, I know. But there you have it.
School is done for the semester. Thank goodness. I hate school. I mean: I genuinely HATE school. Just writing about it makes me feel a tad sick.
I got two A+’s, four B+’s, and an unknown grade in Algebra II. Acceptable. I’m kind of proud, I guess.
Nope. I take that back. I’m not proud. Anyone could have done that.
I can’t stand Academics (as in the people, not the schoolwork). It’s like they feel their somehow more intelligent than everyone else simply because they’ve mastered the incredibly complex concepts of Memorization and Rule Following.
And what’s more: a scarily (but not coincidentally) large portion of Good Students (I’ve been playing with capitalization lately, have you noticed?) have moderately wealthy, college-educated parents. Huh.
NO YOU GOT A 2150 ON YOUR SAT, YOU HAVE A STACK OF EXSPENSIVE SAT PREP BOOKS AND A $150 PREP COURSE AT YOUR DISPOSAL.
I mean, should you really feel proud of yourself for making an A in Italian when you’ve had a private tutor for the past four years? Should you really pat yourself on the back for getting into college when your parents have been tailoring your education since middle school and holding your hand throughout the entire application process?
For god’s sake: HOW COULD YOU NOT DO WELL IN SCHOOL?
And yes: some incredibly well-off students do not do so hot it school. Those aren’t the kids I’m talking about. Obviously.
The kids I’m talking about think that it is completely necessary to say that they are taking “HONORS Chemistry,” rather than just “Chemistry,” and “AP U.S. History,” rather than just, “U.S. History.” And believe me: there’s really not that big a difference.
I’m just so fed up with snobs. The southern expression, “she thinks her don’t stink” comes to mind when I think about the social circle I’ve been a part of my entire life.
I guess it’s my anti-academic, not-wealthy boyfriend that sort of opened my eyes to all of this. And I am so ashamed of the fact that I am one of Them. I am a snob. And I’m not going to stop being a Good Student. But I am going to try to be less haughty about it.
April 8th, 2007
|11:47 am - Academic Excellence My Ass|
I’ve been attempting to make a list of potential colleges for about four years now. Am I wrong for thinking that a good reason to reject a university is because it is entirely too university-ish? Am I wrong for being confused as to what an excellent football team and the existence of sororities and fraternities has to do with academic excellence? Am I wrong for being turned off by the notion of a school that molds its students into “the next great leaders of America?”
I don’t want to be a leader. I really don’t. I am perfectly content being a follower. Besides, why should a school endorse power hunger?
I don’t want to go to college. I wish I could paint. I’d move into a ty apartment, call myself a bohemian libertarian, and never have to deal with snobby academics and narrow-minded college admissions officers ever again. Wouldn’t that be grand?
I want to get the hell out of Durham, the hell out of my house, and be able to spend the night at my boyfriend’s place without causing major social controversy. BUT, I also don’t want a grown-up job or final exams that are worth 100% of my grade. So what am I to do?
I know I’m being unreasonable. I really do. But I can’t help it. Lately I’ve been feeling discontent with almost every aspect of my life.
I feel so sorry for Richard and Robin. I really am high-maintenance.
February 15th, 2007
|06:32 pm - Lightly Row|
I have played the violin for close to 11 years. I never really WANTED to play. What I wanted was to be exactly like my big sister, and she just so happened to be a Suzuki student. My parents thought it would be an excellent idea.
I was six.
By the time I was seven, I wanted to quit. I prepared myself for a very serious discussion with my parents, only to be shot down within a matter of seconds. Quitting, they said, was not an option.
Here’s the part where I wish I could say this was an entry about how by being forced to stick with the violin for a decade has taught me the importance of commitment.
I despise the violin with every fiber of my being. And I continually prepare myself for very serious discussions with my parents, only to be told that quitting is STILL not an option—or at least until I turn 18.
But the hatred goes much deeper than just hatred towards the actual instrument. I now officially ALL classical music. It literally makes me feel ill.
Funny how parents forcing their children to do an extra curricular activity simply because it will look good on a college application kills their love for an otherwise good thing; isn’t it?
This semester I made a breakthrough: I managed to convince my parents to let me drop out of the Durham Youth Orchestra and replace it instead with the Young People’s Performance Company.
What still upsets me is that I had to FIGHT for it. I had to FIGHT to do something that I loved, that would look equally good on college applications, and that would make me happy simply because “quitting is not an option.”
What, pray tell, is the logic behind sticking with something you loathe purely because you’ve been loathing it for 10 years?
February 5th, 2007
|05:23 am - People Who Think Politcal Correctness is Gay Are Gay|
I hate people who think it takes too much energy to be politically correct. For heavens sake, saying things that are offensive and derogatory just because everyone else says them, has said them, and will continue to say them, doesn’t make them any less offensive and derogatory. I only wish I was brassy enough to tell people who say things like “political correctness is gay” just how stupid and ignorant they sound.
I cannot believe that whether or not a person is politically correct has become a characteristic as distinguishable as whether or not a person is pro-life or pro-choice. Honestly, how can you possible disagree with political correctness? That’s like spitting on the Civil Rights Movement, thinking the Women’s Rights Movement was a joke, and supporting gay-bashing all at the same time. Congratulations. You may be cool and socially acceptable among an unfortunately vast majority of people, but you’re still a horrible person!
It’s just so immature. The reasoning behind a lack of political correctness is nothing more than an idiotic laugh and a “’cause it’s dumb.” Brilliant. Glad to see people think things through before forming opinions.
If I have to hear people sneer at me for having a vagina one more time, I swear I will start running as fast as my legs will carry me, straight into a brick wall.
I am very fond of my boyfriend. In fact, I dearly love him. I do not love the “gotta keep your pimp hand strong” comments he gets from his friends every time I tell him to shush in class.
Um, it’s not funny. It’s really, really obnoxious. And no, I do not need to be more laid back. I think keeping my mouth shut and letting remarks like the previously mentioned slide as though I have a sense of humor about it is plenty laid back. I reserve the right to be royally pissed about things that, gee, I actually have a right to be pissed about.
Now I’m not saying words like “bitch” and “whore” do not have a place in today’s society. A bitch is an un-spayed female dog, and a whore is a prostitute.
And I have to admit to liking the idea of an oppressed group claiming a word originally designated to degrade them and turning it into a term of endearment (i.e. what the gay community has done to the word “queer”). BUT, it is NOT okay for someone (ANYONE, not just a white person!) to use the N-word just because they add a half-hearted “haha” into their tone of voice.
I mean, if “haha” cancels out the offensiveness and hatred in a sentence, then I fully plan on walking around saying “people who believe in God are stupid, haha.”
Oh, does that seem harsh? WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE?
And while I’m happily prattling on about oppression and hate, what the HELL is up with the whole white-guys-can’t-date-white-girls-who-date-black-guys thing? Why the fuck not? Am I missing something here?
True story: last year I told Bri that I thought a boy named (lets just call him) Bartholomew was cute. Bartholomew was black. I didn’t see any problem whatsoever. Then, thanks to mutual friendships and opportunity, Bri managed to weasel my name into a few conversations with him, and somehow I found myself “talking to him.” When I mentioned this to my mother, she told me that she had no problem with me dating a black guy, but white guys would. In fact, she told me that, quote, “white guys won’t touch you if you date a black guy.” I was outraged. I didn’t believe her. I thought she was trapped in the days of her rural Kentucky teenage years.
(Side note: Bartholomew and I never dated. He was childish and desperate and I was a commitmentphobe. He’s still adorable—in a kid brother kind of way. But that’s beside the point.)
When I started public school this year I was horrified to discover what she said is STILL true. Lots of white guys won’t date white girls who have dated black guys, and some black guys won’t date black girls who have dated white guys. If that statement made you dizzy, it’s because it made race relevant. Now, if people want to be lazy about what comes out of their mouths, maybe they should forgo ethnicity rather than political correctness.
I fear I am teetering on the edge of rambling. So I’m going to stop.
December 17th, 2006
|01:47 pm - I Hate Standardized Tests and Dirty Dishes|
Sometimes I feel as though my life consists of perpetually unloading and re-loading dishwashers. It is one of the few things about my weekly routine that has not changed at all since I was about seven-years-old.
When I was in the first grade, we were all assigned a day of the week to bring something in for Show-and-Tell. I got Thursday. I used to look forward to Thursdays.
Now I dread them. Thursdays mean a full day of school, a three hour orchestra rehearsal, returning home at 9:30 p.m., shoving down dinner, stressing myself out over uncompleted homework that’s due the next day, and finally making it to bed by midnight.
And I don’t even have a job. Can you imagine?
I like working. I like being employed and I like making money. But I also like the idea of going to Grad School. And my parents, though generous enough to pay for the first four years, won’t give me a penny should I decide to go for my Master’s. I will have to be a full-time college student, with a job.
I hate college horror stories. I freak myself out about that particular subject quite enough without someone putting terrifying notions about all-nighters and social isolation in my head. My Civics/Economics teacher made a consistent 4.0 throughout all four years at UNC. He did so by possessing a truly grotesque work ethic and sitting outside in 20 degree weather at four o’clock in the morning with a big blanket to keep him from freezing to death. The idea was that the cold air would keep him awake long enough to study a sufficient amount of time every night when he got home from work.
“Otherwise,” he said casually, “I’d have just fallen asleep.” As though sleeping is something only lazy people do in college.
I’m a pretty good student. But I am not willing to kill myself via academics.
I don’t understand the concept of frat boys and sorority girls. They’re supposed to be stupid, sex-driven, bar-hopping, youths who fail English 111 because they were in a constant state of hangover the entire school semester. But…they got into college? They had to have had god grades and a decent SAT score. Which means they had to have cared about their futures during high school? So why throw it all away in college?
Speaking of the SAT. Earlier this week I heard someone refer to it as a money-making scam. It had always struck me as odd that you had to PAY to take the SAT, and I love any reason to deepen my loathing for its existence, so I decided to Google it.
I couldn’t find out exactly where the money goes. Thus, I have decided to dub the SAT as yet another cover-up.
I got my PSAT results back this month, and while they didn’t SUCK, they certainly didn’t blow anyone away. Plus I bombed the math section. Again.
However, I am not ashamed. My score, translated into SATish, would have been a 1710. I have an ‘A’ average. A kid I know who has a ‘C-’ average got a higher score than I did. He is a great deal more intelligent than me. But I will undoubtedly do better than him in college.
I hate standardized tests.
October 28th, 2006
|04:25 pm - 25 Minutes|
The air is different in October. It is cold, clean, earthy, and crisp. Inhaling October air is like inhaling the thirst-quenching property out of a glass of water. But perhaps I’m being melodramatic.
I measure my life in Octobers. The events that unfold in this month are more distinct and easy to recall than the memories tied with any of the other eleven. Not that each of the other eleven doesn’t bring back its own fond recollections—October’s are simply different.
Like most people, winter makes me sad and spring makes me happy. Fall evokes the perfect balance between the two. I have difficulty finding balance all on my own, so it’s always nice when the weather does it for me.
Last October I think my hair was short. I lived in my brown suede hat trimmed with fake fleece, and went dressed as a MasterCard commercial for Halloween. I was single and had no idea that in November I would go on my first date, and from that first date would stem a whole bundle of experiences with the opposite sex.
Seven months from that first date, I received my first kiss. Four moths from that first kiss, my first boyfriend. In between both extended periods of time there were several innocent crushes and more than several instances where I was pursued. Okay, not more than several. But a few.
The things I disliked about boys, I have accepted. The things I liked about boys, I now adore. The things I thought to be true about boys, are still true.
I have been, thus far, disappointed, enraged, upset, and thrilled by the male species. Sometimes I wish I was braver, bolder, and less of a prude—but I have found that boys seem to like my just the way I am, and that is satisfying.
I am a horrific flirt. As in, I suck at it. I have learned to simply talk and carry myself in a way that projects confidence—and it works wonders. Another small accomplishment.
Right now, I am working on SLOWING DOWN. For some reason the prospect of not having enough time has always frightened me. Even when I was as young as seven-years-old I used to start to cry when my mom would set the timer for the end-of-year test.
But 25 minutes to complete 20 questions really isn’t that bad.