Another way to judge

Being a girl is not easy.

We are not only expected to look pretty at all times, but we are expected to put ourselves through many physical discomforts in order to achieve THE perfect look.

Nowadays it's a bit easier. You don't have to wear a corset (unless you want to), pants are allowed, and jeans and a t-shirt can now be considered sexy.

For some time I have been an advocate of the jeans and t-shirt ensemble, but as I grow older and observe successful women I've come to the conclusion that my favourite graphic tee and faded jeans just won't cut it.

Now, instead of spending money on random shirts I spend money on unique "attention catching" accessories.

I don't quite yet understand the power behind my flapper-esque beaded headband, or all my ornamental necklaces and bracelets, but I've noticed the change in behavior from others when I wear them.

It's hard to explain. I know it's shallow to think that how you dress affects how people act towards you, but think of it this way: There's a reason why business men all wear suits, and it's not because the lapels compliment their high cheekbones. You dress according to who you want to attract and who you want to repel.

For me, comfort is key. I wear what feels nice. When I dress myself I want to attract quirky, funny people who know how to have fun.

I have a myriad of outfits that are somewhat trademarked to me, and my friends are like this too.

Before I meet someone I usually size them up. Subconsciously I pick up on body language, manner of speech, and all that good stuff, but I still notice superficial things.

Most all of my friends have good hygiene, and dress casually. Is this a reflection of myself? I'd like to think so.

Judging is good, as is dressing to impress.

Dream is destiny

I think it's odd that I dream so often.

I think a lot, and by a lot I mean, I only speak 45% of what I think. I'm the type of person that makes lists and mulls over the day's events in my head before dozing off to sleep.

If I'm lucky I can avoid the list making by making myself drowsy watching TV right before I go to bed. This however, according to the University of Maryland Medical Center "....is often a bad idea. Television is a very engaging medium that tends to keep people up. We generally recommend that the television not be in the bedroom. At the appropriate bedtime, the TV should be turned off and the patient should go to bed. Some people find that the radio helps them go to sleep. Since radio is a less engaging medium than TV, this is probably a good idea."

The thing is, if I watch television right before bed I get vivid dreams that are more memorable and distinct. Weird? I think so.

Often during the day I experience Déjà vu and when I try to think "when have I done this before?" I remember bits and pieces from a dream that I had recently.

Just last night I had a dream that disappointed me. It was like small vignettes of this person and I, and all the major experiences I had with them. The beginning vignettes were memories, and the concluding vignettes were things that had not actually happened.

It was as if my dream was trying to conclude my questions and doubts about my relationship with this person through previous experiences I had with them.

Weird.

Jung, art, and a silent victory

To me, winning isn't what matters.

Of course, it's nice to do well and be the best, but "winning" in the traditional term at the end of the day is empty compared to other things.

Yesterday I participated in VASE (Visual Art Scholastic Event) competition and got a 4. 4 is the highest you can score, and also ensures that I get my letterman(!) jacket. Out of all the 500+ pieces only a fraction of those make 4's, and out of that fraction that makes 4's only 8-10% move on to state competition.

Part of the competition mandates that you have to complete an interview, and my interview, to me, was way better than ever getting into state.

When I first walked in I wasn't nervous, I just smiled, put my piece up, and sat down. My judge instantly recognized my piece, and asked why I had decided to portray Jung and his theory of archetypes.

I went on this long ramble about how I believed that every person is a character in someone's story, and how even though we may not realize it, we categorize people we meet in everyday life into certain archetypes.

Halfway through my elaboration he started to take notes, smiling. He said to me, "I don't care if you chose this room, or got here by accident, but I'm so happy I got to hear you say this. A few days ago my friend and I were talking exactly about this, and you were not only able to vocalize what we were thinking, but you were able to visualize it as well. You're smart, and not in the valedictorian way. You can be at the top of your class and still be an idiot.

"You have something, and are very lucky to have it. If the other judges were here to listen to you, there's no doubt you'd advance to the next level of competition, but they're not. Conceptually you're at a high level, however you're execution must mature also. Lot's of kids just advance because they can draw, or make things pretty, but they lack substance. Your work is not something everyone will understand, but that's ok, because the ones that do understand what you're doing will appreciate it far more than all of the still lifes and self portraits and photographs you'll ever have to compete against."

And I just sat there. I looked that the timer he had set and I knew we were about to go over the interview time, but that was ok.

We spent the next five minutes talking about technique, and he gave me lots of advice on how to control certain mediums.

I think I learned more in that five minutes compared to all the art classes I've ever been in.

I didn't advance onto state. So what? The advice that I got that day will get me farther than any medal or blue ribbon will get me.

What are you now, like, my dad?

I can understand when my dad gets protective of me.
I can understand when he pushes me to be my best.
I can understand why his feelings get hurt when I don't include him in my life.

However I cannot understand when other guys in my life are this way also.

So what if I don't tell you what I do on the weekends. Are you my dad? NO.

It's one thing to care about someone, and it's another thing to pry into someone's life. I owe no one who isn't immediate family any explanations of my personal life.

Even then, I need privacy. There are some things that I could never explain, never tell people. This right now, what I'm doing is supposed to help me open up, but I'm tired of all the interrogations and whatnot from people I don't consider as close friends.

YOU'RE NOT MY DAD. STOP ACTING LIKE ONE.

Not a monster, maybe future Kelly Cutrone

I find it so funny that there are some kids at my school that are absolutely frightened of me.

I don't know why. My handshake is pretty feminine.

Anytime there is a group project my peers either flock towards me, or away from me. It's either one extreme or the other.

Also, in my district of debate I'm supposedly super intimidating, and even compared to a snake! I heard this one kid describe me as, "...the nicest, stupidest person out of rounds, but a monster bitch when competing."

I never thought I was that much of a monster "beast" in debate before, but I guess I'm scary enough to make kids pee their pants. However, this makes a lot of sense now.... this one time during a round this girl was crying as I was giving my speech.... wow. I'm scary.

This is kinds making me consider maybe applying for a job with People's Revolution which is run by Kelly Cutrone. She's pretty darn beastly herself. I should totally take advantage of the fact that there are some people intimidated by me.

My house smells like vicks

So it's snowing in east Texas, and of course it's a really big deal. Just last week I was wearing short sleeved shirts and light jackets, and now? SNOW. EVERYWHERE.

The best part is the fact that tomorrow I don't have to go to school until 10 am. Best thing ever.

The only drawback is the fact that everyone is sick. My stepmom bought some liquid vicks, and now my house reeks of peppermint and menthol. Sexy, I know.

Right now I'm just trying to keep my head above the water because I'm about to drown in school work. Since I missed two days of school from being sick I had to make up two tests, and lots of paper work.

I've tried to come in early and get things taken care of, but at least 3 of my teachers haven't graded any of my tests and the last day to enter grades into the system for report cards is tomorrow.

FML. Oh well. I did my part, now I'm just hoping that my teachers aren't too busy to do theirs.

I just went up in my class ranking 5 places, I don't want to go back down!

Boys are Lame.

I heard today from a boy that if another boy sends you mixed signals it means he doesn't like you.

He then went on to tell me that if the particular boy we were talking about were to like me, he wouldn't show any interest in me.

However, it was last year when the boy we were talking about was sending mixed signals.

This year he shows no interest in me. If I go by what I was told today, then that means this one boy likes me.

However, I fail to see the logic, or the sense behind this conclusion because, let's face it: IT MAKES NO SENSE AT ALL.

Also, the boy I was talking to did not know the boy I was referring too for that long, nor did he know him as well as I did.

I am now at a loss. And boys are lame.

I know, I want

I hate it when people tell me that I don't know what I want.

I want to buy mint chocolate chip flavored lip gloss.

"Boys get distracted and turned off when you have ice cream flavored lip gloss. You don't know what you want, get the strawberry first and see how it turns out!"

I want to buy Ayn Rand books.

"No one even reads her anymore except those creepy kids at Barnes and Noble. Plus, you're just going to catch the attention of random old people. You don't know what you want, you should buy something lighter first."

I want this specific kind of guy.

"You can't know what you want in a guy. There are so many types that you haven't even met yet. You don't know what you want, why don't you try dating around first in order to see what all you're missing."

I want this haircut.

"You're not a hairdresser, why don't you listen to a professional. You don't know what you want, just try this haircut, and if you don't like it, your hair will grow back anyways."


I may be young, I may make mistakes, but they're mine to make. I know what I want, and I'm tired of people telling me that I don't know. I do know, in fact, I can make decisions on my own. Granted, they lack the wisdom that comes with age, how am I to acquire wisdom, empirical knowledge, and experience unless I do things for myself.

Also, I don't want to try over and over, searching for something that I like, or that works for me, just because what I want isn't what people think I need.

I make it a goal in life to get what I want, not what I need, that way if I die tomorrow, I die happy and content. Also, oddly it ends up working out to where what you want is what you need.

Random yes, but it just now occurred to me that Howard Roark in the novel is a ginger, and I'm a bit disappointed that Gary Cooper wasn't one.

Just Dance (it'll be ok)

I am not a slow dancer.

I am a jumper, fist pumper, move around the room and dance in large groups type of person.

Last night I went to Band Banquet, which may sound nerdy, but in all truth only 100 of the 300 people there were actually too nerdy to dance.

Since I wasn't in band I had to ask around to find someone who'd be willing to bring me in as their plus one. It wasn't easy, but my friend Austin was able to convince this freshman guy to take me.

I told him straight up, "HEY. I'm going to party. I just want to get in. I'll buy my own ticket, you don't have to get me flowers, you don't have to take pictures with me, you don't even have to dance with me, unless you want to. Also, I don't do slow dances, unless you're gay."

The whole night I danced with my friends, did a few slow dances with my gay friends, lots of the aforementioned fist pumping and jumping, and tons of group dancing.

My "date" however spent most of the night brooding in a corner, bad mouthing me for not being attached at the hip to him. A few times he poked his head out of his moody corner, only to try to make me feel bad for not sitting out on all the fast songs with him. I danced at least 3 slow songs with him, just to see if he would stop crap talking me, but no.

There still were things said behind my back about me, but I didn't care, because I got what I wanted, which was a pass into band banquet so I could dance and party it up with my friends.

So another lesson learned. Never go to dances with a Freshman.

Pain, I am a pansy.

Sorry for the lack of posting, and reading, and commenting guys. I have a decent reason, I swear!

And this time it's not just me, on my bed, watching hours of Project Runway, ANTM, and Golden Girls.... Well ok, I was doing that, but prior to watching the tube I was puking my brains out.

Wednesday I either got food poisoning, or caught a nasty bug... either way I blame school. After lunch, during a math quiz I felt queasy.

Not wanting to be "one of those kids" who pukes in class, and is then made fun of for the rest of the year, I quietly rummaged through my folder for my bathroom pass, handed it to my teacher, and them proceeded to race to the bathroom.

I barely made it in time before chunks of lasagna and stomach acid were spewed everywhere. TMI, I know, but for the rest of the day anything I ate, or drank was quickly upchucked 15 minutes later. My parents, worried about me getting dehydrated took me to the emergency room where from 8 PM - 1AM I was hooked up to an IV of Phenergan, half awake, trying to convince myself that this nasty bug was not going to keep me from missing the Art Symposium at Kilgore college. It did, but at least I'm recovering now.

Thursday was the worst. I didn't even realize that you could be sore later from dry heaving. All night chest pains kept me up, and the only thing I had to look forward to in the morning was the promise of applesauce and dry toast.

But oh well. Puking and dry heaving pains aside I learned a valuable lesson about myself: The recent AcaDec picture is a new all time low for me because it seems to remind all of my friends about the "mathletes" from Mean Girls.