So close to home....

I may have had a minor meltdown. Finals week, stress, emotional, underlying tensions...they all lead to this sort of thing. I guess it's not so surprising. Sigh...Maybe I should explain.

So, here's what happened. Two people on exec board told me they didn't see the point of one of the things that I ask of them. Something called OTM's -- Of The Months. They're basically recognitions of things that people do, or a program, or an organization, or just something that's done something awesome in the past month and deserves a little praise. I submit them to the IACURH powers that be, and they -- exec board, members of RHA (but we haven't really explained OTM's to others in the general assembly, so they don't do them...because they don't know) -- are supposed to write them and send them to me.

Well, I was told that it was pointless. Mind you, one of these guys has only given me, like, one, and the other has not given me any. That's not a very good standpoint to be arguing from. I mean really, get off your lazy ass and do it, dammit! But I digress. I am not, how shall we say, good at defending myself. I can start an argument, but I stumble for words, and I am not a debater. But, of course, one of the guys -- the guy that matters -- is on debate and loves to spar with people like this. I do not. I hate arguing. With a passion. I think it's stupid. But that's beside the point. The point is, he is good at it, and I am not. If it were a fight using writing, I could totally kick his ass, but alas, it was impromptu and I found myself struggling to find words and even get my brain to function properly. In my fury, I just started spouting out the different things I do and asking what the point of any of it was, and why I shouldn't just quit, because hey! He thought my job was pointless anyway. At least it got him to shut up. Then the president had us focus back in, and we were dismissed.

Now here's the stupid part. The other one -- the one that's not submitted any, and started the whole stupid fight in the first place -- said a few seconds later when I almost bumped into him, "Oh, better move out of the way. We all know Becky hates me." And I dunno. I was already upset because I felt like I'd just been called unimportant and useless, and I was frustrated because nothing had been accomplished. And I don't know why he says that anyway -- that "Becky hates me!" -- because I've never given any indication that I do hate him. But that just killed it for me. All the frustration, and hurt, and really stress and emotional strain just came boiling over in the form of tears and the only thing I could get myself to do was burst through the door and past him so he wouldn't see me cry.

One of the girls caught up with me and realized I was crying. She asked why, and I explained my frustration, and she consoled me on the walk back to my apartment. Then I went to my room and had a good, legitimate cry. That is, of course, until I decided I felt too alive and warm, and the solution to that was to go out into the cold on a walk with only a hat and hoodie. So, I went quite numb, but at least I didn't feel as much. Of course, I wound up seeing the debater through the window of the library. Which only made me upset again, and feel embarrassed (not sure if he saw me or not, but I still looked like hell). Then I texted Victoria, because when all else fails, call on your best friend. She made me feel a lot better. Then I decided I should talk to the president. I mean, I shouldn't be made to feel like that, you know? So, I texted him, and he said to meet him in 30.

So I went to his apartment, and he immediately started apologizing, and said that this needed to change, and that it would change next semester. Which is nice. It does need to change. I love the people on exec board to death, but some of the attitudes need to be fixed. Not all of them -- just a few. There's so much potential, but I feel like there's a bit lacking in the motivation department. Anyway, he told me that I was loved, and that they all think I'm wonderful and fun to be with, and that if I think anything else, then it's a lie. That's really what he said. Straight up, "It's a lie." Which I needed to hear more than he'll ever really know. If there are two things I struggle with more than anything, it's insecurities about my leading abilities and just friends in general. I think I've mentioned before how I'm scared that people are only nice to me because they were raised by good people, and taught to be nice to everyone, even the annoying freak shows. But secretly, they talk about me to others like, "Oh, she's so obnoxious and annoying and hideous." As for my leadership abilities, I think I've never felt like a good, confident leader. And while I was Battalion Commander, and Rifle Team Commander, I never felt like I deserved it. I always felt like I only got it because of my sister, and I even had a "friend" in JROTC tell me that straight out once. He also told me on a regular basis that I shouldn't be Rifle Team Commander, and that he deserved it and the only reason he wasn't was because 1st Sgt hated him. (Gee, thanks. Douche.) So I think as NCC, a small part of me is always afraid that someone's just going to come up to me and say, "You got this job by mistake. Even though you were the only one who ran for the position. But we've found someone better for the job. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

And I know it's stupid, and I know it's silly. But between the two of them, those guys really brought my deepest insecurities to surface, and just made me feel terrible. It's the one scab that Satan likes to pick at it, and man, does he know how to pick at it or what. So when Shane said that...I almost wanted to cry again. For a different reason this time. Just because it's like God knew exactly what I needed to hear; that I am loved, and that I do well at my work. And honestly, I've told this story several times, to most of my roommates, two close friends, my RA, and my counselor. But this is the first time I've admitted to even myself about the insecurity part of it all -- out loud, anyway. (Sort of.) I've mulled it over in a few conversations in my head, but this is the first time I've thought about how what Shane said touched me. I knew it did at the time, but I hadn't thought much of it since. And it's almost like God is speaking to me again through it. Because Satan has been gnawing at me, in the back of my mind, telling me I'm not good enough, for so long that I think I almost started to believe him. But no. I am good enough. I'm loved so much, it's crazy. I have such wonderful friends, and that night, God showed that to me. And even though two of my friends hurt me that night, I still love them. Because I know they didn't mean to; I know that Satan tried to use it to make me beat myself up, but God used it -- is still using it -- to help me with my much older wounds. 

I think on a minor level He was reminding me that all is not roses and daisies when it comes to love, and that man does disappoint us, no matter how close you are, and that God will never disappoint. I think I forgot that for a while. But I don't think I will again. And that's not to say that I'll never trust again. It's just that people disappoint you sometimes, and sometimes you disappoint others. But God never disappoints, and I forgot that I should rely on Him and His plans, not my own. Because I screw everything up. Oh well. He still loves me.

But yeah. There's my lovely little pouring out of my heart. I hope you enjoyed reading about my insecurities and how I had a nice little cryfest and a few nice realizations. I go home day after tomorrow, and it'll be nice and calm. Actually, no, my sister'll be there. It'll be chaotic. But at least I can sleep as long as I want, no homework, and lay around in my PJ's all day. And no drama. I can't wait.

Stumbling Around

I don't believe in love at first sight. I think it's absolutely ridiculous. Love is something that takes time, and I really don't think you can be "in love" just by looking at someone. I can suspend reality long enough to watch a chick-flick, where a couple meets, knows each other for a week, stumbles around until the last five minutes where they realize all of their feelings and admit it to each other, but it's not real life.

That being said, I do think that sometimes you can just sort of know that someone is going to be important in your life. Do you know what I mean? Not, "I love him, and I'm going to marry him! ...Now what's his name?" I mean...you just know that whoever they are, they're going to have an impact in your life. It's just this feeling you get, just a sort of instantaneous knowledge. Maybe that's what the movies are picking up on. You do, after all, write what you know, so movies, TV shows, books, and other literature do reflect the real world in some ways. We all would like to think that when we meet "The One" that we're going to just absolutely know that they're the one. But that's not necessarily true. I mean, come on? How many couples have you known where they didn't really like each other when they first met? But perhaps, sometimes, you can know that someone is going to play an important role in your life. Maybe it'd be easier if I just told you a story.

Once upon a time, I was a timid little college freshmen, in the cafeteria for lunch. I'd barely said goodbye to my mother, and was attempting to adjust to my roommates, whom -- I was slowly coming to realize -- were psychotic. I was getting up to go get some water, when I noticed there was a very attractive young man staring at me. I immediately felt self-conscious. And it was different than one of those awkward moments, where you're totally zoned out, only to realize you're staring at someone, or you're looking around the cafeteria and someone looks up at you at the same time your gaze falls to them. No. This was different. And I still remember my first thought. "Oh, crap." Because I knew -- I knew -- that no matter what I did, I was going to fall for him. And I have. We've yet to ride off into the sunset. Shoot, I haven't even made it to a ballgown scene. It's obviously a work in progress. If this were a movie, I'd say I'm maybe, beginning of the middle? Maybe a little bit earlier than that.

And what happened next you may ask? Did he stroll up to me, wink, and ask me for my number? Did I casually walk by, sit down at his table, and introduce myself? The honest answer? No. No, I didn't. Because he terrified me. Crazy, right? I knew this guy was going to be important in my life, and I couldn't even talk to him. I couldn't really talk to him until the very end of last year and a lot this year. I've changed a lot since I first saw him across the cafeteria. How I feel about him has changed. I actually got to know him, and he's an amazing guy. Last year, I knew that he'd be important somehow. I'm still not 100% sure on how he's going to be important, but it's still just a feeling that I have. I knew that he was attractive, and that he seemed sweet. This year? This year I know that he's sweet. And smart, and funny, and a dork, and amazing. Before it was a small infatuation. Now? How should I put this...When I don't see him, I feel down, and bummed out.  My day sucks a little bit if I don't see him just once. And when I do see him? I feel so unbelievably happy it's crazy. Just seeing him once can brighten my whole day. And if he says hi to me? Well, might as well put that day down under "great." Sometimes -- okay, a lot of times -- I find myself absolutely speechless around him. And I don't know why. It's just, I don't know what to say. But then there are other times where we're talking, and it's amazing, and I just love spending time with him.

My feelings for him are getting stronger, and I know it. I wish so, so bad that I could fastforward to the part of the movie where we finally realize how much we care about each other, and wind up together. (Again, that's about the last minute and a half to five minutes of the movie.) But you know what? We're enthralled by the movies, TV shows, and books because of the hour and a half (or 300 pages, or 5 books, or 8 seasons) of stumbling around. When the couple gets together, it's great, and we're happy, and knowing that their lives together afterwards is going to be exciting and full of love is the best news ever. But secretly, we love the suspense, wondering, "Will they get together now?" And I think that's what life is all about. It's the middle that makes life exciting. The end is fantastic, and the beginning is what hooks you, but the middle is the reason you stay. It's the messy, sticky, tough, complicated middle that makes you keep watching, or reading, and waiting. Maybe I'm crazy, but it's the messy, sticky, tough, complicated parts that make life worth living. Because if life were easy, what'd be the point? If "he" had come up and asked me out right there in the cafeteria, I would have said no. I didn't know him. There was no reason for me to find him in the least bit interesting. I didn't know he was sweet, or funny, or a dork, or smart. I probably wouldn't have associated any of those qualities with him. And I don't think he'd be the guy he is if he had done that.

If nothing else, I know that he has already impacted my life. Honestly, you could probably say that if not for him, I wouldn't be NCC right now. It's not like he suggested I be the NCC; didn't suggest I should be apart of RHA, even. But because of events -- which he may have unknowingly been apart of -- I became my stairwells representative. I loved it. I became the NCC. I didn't expect that. I didn't expect to get involved in anything, especially not anything that can sometimes be compared to Student Council. But I did, and I love it, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I love my job. I know it's stressful, and sometimes I complain, but I love my job, and I love the people I work with, and I wouldn't change anything for the world. So no, I don't believe in love at first sight. But I do believe in significance at first sight, and most importantly, I believe stumbling around is the best part of life. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to stumble off to bed. Stay ducky and lucky.

An Apology

So I took that other post down. I dunno, I felt kind of bad about it. It actually got one whole view, from AMERICA. Amazing, right? Since most of you are from Russia and Germany and other foreign countries. Seriously, what's up with that? How the heck do you people even get here!? *cough* Anyway....

Mostly, I took it down because my partner actually really started involving me. I wonder if he read it. I doubt it, but it's still interesting that he started talking to me about the "project" shortly after that. Probably just coincidence. But just in case it's not, and he did read it, and he's reading this, I apologize. I was just being cranky. That's not an excuse, though. Of course, you could just respond with, "I don't want your apology," which will lead to another argument about the whole forgiveness thing, but that's another problem entirely. (I don't care what you say, you can still forgive someone even if they don't want your forgiveness!)

So, the Upperclassmen Luau was like, ridiculously awesome. Seriously. I had a ton of fun setting up for it, and even disassembling it. Gah! I can't really explain why I have so much fun doing that sort of thing. Maybe it's just the people I'm with when I do it. The people I work with are absolutely amazing. I love them so much. When you're with fun people, doing work actually is pretty fun. I started to realize it at 48 Hours of Prayer, but it really hit me after My Generation. I just love RHA. The stuff we do is amazing, and the people who make the stuff happen are just so wonderful and fun and humble. The guys remind me of my JROTC buddies (only without a ton of inappropriate jokes), and the girls are really pretty chill (which is nice, compared to other girls who can be so high-maintenance). And even though I get really stressed out about my job, it doesn't mean I don't love it. I love doing the work stuff. Give me an order, and I'll follow it. I'm not the best at planning, but I try my best, and support my fellow execs.

Monday is our first meeting. I can't wait. It's going to be awesome. This whole year is going to be awesome. It already has been! I've had more fun these past 4 weeks than I had the entire 9 months last year! Sometimes I get stressed and frustrated, but overall, I'm happy. I feel like I've branched out more this year. In a way, I feel a little bit like I was being held back last year. This year...I dunno. It's just different. And I'm glad it is. Last year had some pretty good highlights, don't get me wrong. But this year has already had a ton of highlights, and it's barely even begun. It's gonna be a good year. That much I'm sure of.

Why I should never EVER live alone....

So I'm back at CCU, right? Right. Well, it's been fun. I mean, playing volleyball for the first time ever (love to watch it, never been brave enough to really try it), getting to work with the coolest people ever on campus, feeling like I might actually make a difference this year, rather than just sitting in the back of class, knowing all the answers yet keeping my mouth shut for fear of being ridiculed. But yeah. It's gonna be a good year. I know it -- I don't know how I know it, I just do. Maybe it's because I'm 19 and 9 is my lucky number. Maybe it's because I'm just stark-raving mad. I don't know why I know, but I just do.

So why am I sitting in my apartment, all by myself, eating a Hot Pocket at 9:30 pm, planning on sewing up a pair of PJ bottoms when I'm done eating? Oh, that's right. It's because I...you know, I don't know. I have friends. I could easily text them and ask to hang out. Some might even reply. But I'm too scared to. Maybe it's because they're not my close friends? But even then, when everyone else moves back to campus, what does that leave me with? Two, three people I can text and ask to hang out with? It's not like I can't make friends. I've been able to make friends since I could talk. I'm friendly (though some might disagree with that). I make friends everywhere I go. But I have this fear that they're only pretending -- that when all is said and done, I'm just that annoying kid that they talk to and "make nice" with because their parents brought them up right. Sometimes, I just feel like that little elf in Rudolph, who wanted to be a dentist, and everyone else looked at him like he was crazy. I feel like a misfit. JROTC was the place for the misfits of my school. There's a reason I was a part of it. And yeah, it's all in my head. By tomorrow, I'll have two roommates living with me, and I won't be all alone throughout the day, contemplating the meaning of life while a man with a heavy Mexican accent fixes the tiles in the dining room. But for now, I'm trapped in my own head, listening to its thoughts bounce around aimlessly. Ingrid Michaelson says, "Don't believe the things you tell yourself so late at night/And, you are your own worst enemy, you'll never win the fight." I feel like she's been in this same position. I think everybody has. Where you just want to say to your mind, "Would you PLEASE just shut up!?!" It never seems to listen to me.

I felt this way last night. I went for a second walk because of it. I was going absolutely crazy! I wanted to run -- run!! I don't run! Ever! There has to be a cockroach flying at my head for that to happen. But sometimes I just get this urge to run and run and run and run. I don't even know where to, but I just want to run as far as I possibly can, and then run some more. Is that normal? Probably not. I'm a little bit more than crazy. What usually winds up happening, if I'm actually free to do so at the time, is I go for a walk. I blast my music as loud as I possibly can, and drown out my thoughts. It's good at its job. Though there is an occasional moment where I feel like the music isn't loud enough and try to turn it up even louder. I'm probably going to blow out my eardrums that way. I really shouldn't go for another walk today. I already went for one this afternoon. I prefer them at night, but it's getting late, and I'm not even close to being done with this.

Names will be omitted, not for confidentiality's sake, but for my dignity's. This is, after all, linked to on my Facebook, and it would be just my luck for people to read this -- particularly one. Anyway, let's just say that there is a certain boy who is annoying the ever living crap out of me. And he's not even doing it on purpose. But he's managing to make me very angry and frustrated at this moment in time, and it's getting ridiculous. It's like, one second I can be the happiest girl in the world, just because he knows my name. But then other times he makes me feel like the spider I killed earlier in the RHA meeting -- small and insignificant. I know he doesn't mean to, really, I do. But sometimes, it just...really sucks, ya know? One second I think he likes being my friend, and then the next I feel like I'm that kid who everyone knows has a crush on the most popular guy in school, including him. He tries to avoid her, but somehow she just keeps popping up at his house, offering friendship bracelets and some weird collage of pictures of them that look both photoshopped and stalker-ish.

For the record, I'm not that kid. The most I can ever be accused of is staring for much longer than necessary, which, I'll have you know, is how I first spotted him! Yeah! So if you want to go on blaming someone for staring, blame him! I was just sitting there, minding my own damn business, eating my food and trying to not look as nervous as I felt as a freshmen, when I look up, and he's just sitting there at a table with his friends, staring at me. The most gorgeous guy I'd ever seen in my entire life, with the most beautiful eyes I've ever beheld. What was I supposed to do? Pretend like it was nothing? Yeah. That's easy to do. Especially when you go to as tiny of a school as I go to; after that, every time I turned around, there he was! Looked up during chapel one day, and bam! He was in the bleachers across the gym, directly in front of me. How is it my fault!?

I've probably said too much now. Well. It's not like I care. I'm perfectly capable of holding my head high. If, on the off chance, he's stumbled upon this, and actually read it, and figured out that it's him, then I don't care. If he's got a problem with my having feelings for him, then that's his problem, not mine. I'm a wonderful liar; I can pretend very easily that I'm just his friend. I'd just like to say, that I thought it was guys who were always complaining about being "friend zoned." Guess what? It's a two-way street, boys.

I shouldn't live alone. I think to much when I can't talk to anyone else but myself. And it's a wonder I can survive through meals, to be frank. I actually can't wait for the cafeteria to open. My God, I'm going crazy. Stay ducky and lucky.

Your job's a joke, you're broke, your love life's DOA!

Yo. I feel like those lyrics are very fitting for my life, particularly at this point in time. I looked at my bank account the other day (I wouldn't have if not for the fact that my mother needed to know how much I had). It was not good. You know what else isn't good? Driving into houses. But I did that, too.

Don't look at me like that. You don't say to someone who has no idea what they're doing to drive out onto the street. Now, I pulled out just fine, and made the first turn. Buuuuuut, at the stoplight, when I turned, I accidentally kept turning, went over the curb, into the ditch, and bumped the house at the end of the ditch. It's not like I rammed into it and demolished the house. It's hard to do that at 3 miles per hour. But still. It was a horrifying experience. The guy who was teaching me got out and was talking to the owner of the house (who was really very nice and understanding. He wasn't angry at all) while I took the time to, very maturely, burst into hysterical tears and came to the conclusion that I will never learn how to drive, I fail at life, and will now take the bus/subway/taxi service/carpool to get places. If you've ever seen How I Met Your Mother, and know the episode where Ted tries to teach Barney to drive, that's scene crossed my mind every once in a while. If you don't know the scene, it's season two, episode 17, "Arrivederci, Fiero." It's towards the end. (Don't think I'm one of those freaky people who watches TV shows so much that she's memorized every second of every episode. I looked it up after my "incident" so that I could feel a little better.)


I'm quite sure that I'll look back at this and laugh. Shoot, I can laugh about it now. But seriously, the idea of getting behind the wheel again is terrifying. Why -- WHY -- would anybody in their right mind get into that death trap!? I know, I know. Overreaction much? Well, I can't help it. I had a friend once tell me that we fear what we don't know -- well guess what? I don't know how to drive, I don't know anything about driving, and yes, yes I do in fact fear it because I haven't got a single clue about it. Suddenly, the whole NCC job doesn't sound so bad. That's easy. That doesn't cause death. (Well, it may cause me to have a stroke, but you can live after a stroke.) But I'm so much better at learning things that require brain power; not things that require multi-tasking and paying attention to the things around me. I'm too easily distracted. I'd be one of the insane people who drives off the seawall, completely sober and in broad daylight. I'd have been distracted either by some seagull, or worse yet, by trying to be a good driver and checking my mirrors and other parts of my car.


I've known a few people who were taught how to drive by their eventual significant other. An elderly woman I knew had a crush on who would become her husband, and he taught her to drive. She drove his car into a fire hydrant. My mom's friend did something, but I don't remember what. I just know it was about as great as my thing. And let's not forget the Disney movie Cow Bells, where the cute cowboy tries teaching Alyson Michalka's character to drive stick, and his truck rolls down into the lake. Firstly, the guy teaching me is like, thirty years older than me, so that'd be a negatory anyway. But if the guy I liked taught me how to drive? Dude, I'm nervous enough when I get behind the wheel. Why add that kind of pressure?? I'd wind up either melting into a puddle, or actually driving through a house -- most likely with his car -- and after that I'd ask him to pretend he didn't know me so I could slip under a rock and never come out again. If nothing else, I'd no doubt wreck and burst into hysterical tears. And I'm not one of those cute girls when I cry, like you see in the movies (who also mysteriously wake up with perfect hair. When I wake up, my hair's in all different directions!). No. No, I look like a train wreck. Tears, snot, and -- depending on how upset I am -- drool: everywhere! I look like some sort of red, puffy, snot monster. Let alone the fact that men are not readily equipped to deal with sobbing women -- heck, I can barely handle it when a girl I know starts crying. I've gotten better, but I also had a lot of experience the past year with girls crying at random. It would not be a pleasant experience for anyone involved.


What was my point to this again? I seriously have no idea. Um...well...I had a good dream last night! And yesterday wasn't so bad. Today was pretty good (except for the brief period this afternoon when I felt ill). So, hopefully this week is picking up. Here's to staying ducky and lucky. (And red, puffy, snot monster-y free.)

Oh, Gud....

I hate driving. I'll grant you I haven't driven since I was three years old, but the whole fiasco was probably so traumatizing and distressing -- what with my sister jumping out of the car, claiming today that she did it in an effort to go get "help," but I know the truth -- that I must have decided right then and there that the whole "driving" thing wasn't worth the hassle. I don't remember it; it must have been so terrifying that I blocked it out. Yeah. That's it. It has nothing to do with the fact that I had only just reached the age where people start to remember things.

But really, after the day I've already had, and it's only barely after noon, I'm sure that I hate it. I took the driver's ed class online, and got it all done and finished. I got my certificate and was finally able to go down to get my permit. Holy gud! (Anyone who gets that reference gets a gold star. Go ahead, buy some gold star stickers and give yourself one. You deserve it. Anyone who doesn't, you're missing out on one of the best shows in modern television, that will make you laugh your butt off. Unless you're one of those that hates laughing, in which case, I can't see why you'd go to someone's blog, because half the people think they're comedians -- exhibit A -- and really, you have a completely different problem that I'd have to address.) The paperwork! I always second guess myself on what they're actually asking on that kind of stuff. Seriously, why can't you just spell it out in big, bold letters: FOR THE 19 YEAR OLD GIRL WHO IS JUST NOW GETTING HER PERMIT, SIGN HERE!!! That would make my life so much easier. But no. They have to have hard questions, like, "Name" and have "Last, First, Middle/Maiden," which is completely out of order. Why do they do it like that? That's just silly. And then there's "Address," and "Phone Number," and "Suffix" and I'm just standing there with a pen, thinking to myself, "What the hell's a 'suffix?!'" And then a bunch of teenagers that are the appropriate age of 15/16 to be getting their permit come in, because they just can't WAIT to hit the road, and I'm still standing there with my pen, trying to remember where the gud I was born. My mother had to help me with more questions than I'm proud to admit.

Then we get to the desk, where the lady seems kind of mean and impatient -- though that may have just been my nerves making her seem like some evil fury from Greek mythology -- and I put "Grey" for my eye color instead of "Hazel" like my ID says, so she said I could either change it on my ID, but it'd cost $11, or I'd have to surrender my ID. The ID that I need to get back to gudding college. And it's not even my fault about my eye color! They can't frakking decide on a frakking color already! "Oh, we're gonna be green!" "No! Let's look blue today!" "Oh, hey, Becky, your eyes are grey, that's cool." WHAT THE HELL!??!?! Oh my God, whyyyy do I have eyes that can't make up their gudding minds!?! So I "surrender" my ID to the lady, then pray that I don't have too big of a hassle if I haven't received my license by August 12th -- which I probably WON'T -- and have to use the paper permit crap they gave me when I'm trying to get on the plane, and now I can't help but think, "Why, why didn't I just ask if I could change "grey" to "hazel" to fix this whole mess!?" She also says that since I checked "organ donor" they'd have to change that, too, because it's not on my ID, which is stupid, because I know for a fact that I checked organ donor when I was filling out my thing for my ID, they just didn't put it on there. So she gives me my permit and asks if we want to set up an appointment for my actual driver's test. My mom asks when the soonest opening is; the lady says August 14th. Yeah. You notice the difference between that and the date above? You see the problem with that? You see why this lady is slowly starting to transform into a fury before my very eyes, ready to devour me and take me down to the Underworld kicking and screaming? You see why I wish the pen I've been using actually DID click into a sword? (Can you guess what I've been reading lately?) She asks if my college is in Texas. No. No it is not, you malicious creature. She said most of the other DMV's will probably be alllllll full, just like this one. She suggested maybe Texas City, where I may be able to take it the first week of August. We say okay, take my paper permit (with a horrible picture, by the way, despite the fact that I'm having a good hair day. Stupid cameras), and leave.

I've never cared about driving. This has not helped. And it doesn't help that when people my age find out I haven't gotten my license yet, the conversation is as follows, because after having the conversation so many times, I've slowly gotten more indifferent about it:

Them: You don't have your license?!
Me: No.
Them: What?! Why??
Me: I dunno. I just never got around to it.
Them: Geez, when I hit 15, I got my permit right away! I couldn't wait to learn how to drive!
Me: ....
Them: It's so nice to drive. The freedom, the open road, the independence...
Me: ....
Them: Bla bla bla, I can't believe you wouldn't want it, bla bla bla, cars, bla bla bla...
Me: *thinking* Why the gud should I care what you think or want? Do I look anything like you? No, thank God.

I'm sure they have good intentions, but they seem to not realize that their opinions are no different than those of the 15 and 16 year olds who told me the same thing when we were that age, and I've heard that reasoning for the past 4 years or so. The only reason I'm getting it now is so that A.) I don't have to worry about it, and B.) In hopes that maybe those people will shut the gud up.

The sad thing, that whole fiasco was only icing on the metaphorical cake. Today I woke up and my brain decided to poke me over and over again in the sensitive, stressful areas. Let's see....

1. I go back to school in less than one month. 
2. When I get there I'll have a job with RHA, and I have no idea what the heck I'm supposed to do as NCC. 
3. I have almost no money, because I was offered a babysitting job at the beginning of summer, but the lady wound up not needing me, and since I had thought I was going to have a source of income, I didn't really try getting any other job. By the time it was clear she wasn't going to need me after all, it was too late in the summer for anyone to hire me, because by the time I'd get hired, I'd only have a month till I had to quit, and what employer in their right mind would hire someone like that?
4. Because I have no money, I have no idea how I'll buy any of my books.
5. I don't know my future roommates that well/at all, and I've tried to get us to talk some, but they seem to not want to talk at all. Here's hoping we all get along, because I don't want drama roommates like I had last year.
6. I have no boyfriend. Which, really, I haven't had one since between now and, well, my time in the womb, so it's not like that's not any different than normal. But still, it'd be nice to know some guy found me just a little bit attractive.
7. Not gonna lie, I've put on a couple of pounds since being home. I blame it on the fact that summer makes me so supremely lazy that you're lucky if I change out of my PJ's, and as such I've barely done anything like the walking I did while at school. It also doesn't help that while I ate ice cream almost every day at school, it was a smaller portion, and I probably ate less food due to the fact that on some days, particularly Fridays, the food was unidentifiable, and on the weekends it was "fend for yourself!" so I sometimes ate something simple, such as noodles. My mother makes the best food ever. I actually get seconds.
8. Let's not forget that the left side of my face has decided, "OMG, let's break out!" Woo-gudding-hoo.

I know, I know. My life could be so much worse. But you know what? I'm always the optimistic person, trying to find the bright side, and reminding myself that I could be so much worse off, and everything will be okay, and that "Que sera, sera," and "C'est la vie," and everything happens for a reason, and all of that crap, but just for once, I'm taking the time to say, "Oh my God, what am I going to do!?!?!?!!" I'm taking the time to say, "I wish I was 9 years old again. It was so much easier back then. And fourth grade was fun, and 9 is my lucky number, and you'd think 19 would be lucky, too, since it has a 9, but it's kind of failing me right now. Maybe it's because 1 plus 9 is 10, and 10 is just a stupid number." I'm listening to music that makes me feel better, not because it's perky, but because most of it is more depressing. And not in the R&B-girl-singing-about-looking-out-the-window-at-rain-and-her-love-is-gone kind of way, in the Alternative-Rock-guy-talking-about-how-he's-better-off-without-his-ex-and-is-more-likely-to-use-the-word-"gud"-than-"love"-in-the-lyrics kind of way.

But that's it. When I hit "Publish," I'm done with this pity party. I'm back to the jokes, sarcasm, and laughter, that are probably some deep psychological coping mechanism, but it's worked so far and I've yet to explode. Tomorrow I will probably start my driving lessons, and I'll also be visiting my best friend, which is very much needed. This was an excellent stress reliever, to be perfectly honest. Besides, I needed to post something else. Those other two posts are more serious and almost sound pompous than funny. Not that most of you care. But I tried to make this more funny; partially for your sake, and also for my own, because if I don't try and humor myself while writing this, I probably would have had some sort of psychological nervous breakdown, and none of us need to see that. So, stay ducky and lucky.

Edit: Guys (I love how I say it as if someone's reading this). I drove into a house. It didn't do any damage on either end, but...*sigh* I'm screwed.

Chivalry Vs. Equality

A few weeks ago I was with a group of friends. We're in this...club? Organization? Eh...anyway, we're a group on campus. We were having a meeting outside (always a bad idea. We were even more easily distracted than usual, and you just don't stick your ADHD president outside for a meeting), and we got to this table to have it, but there weren't anywhere near enough seats. One of my friends, a guy, said that the girls should all sit and the guys would stand (all three of them). A girl replied with, "No, we wanted the vote, we'll take all that comes with it," which I found amusing, simply because I had watched Leap Year the night before and figured that's probably where she got that line from. But he responded simply with, "It has nothing to do with the vote. It's called chivalry."
This is the same friend that a few weeks before that probably thought I was weird because I found it slightly bothersome that the Red Power Ranger was never a girl. I mean, it never made me not want to watch the show, it's just kind of...bothering, I guess. It's not irritating or frustrating...it just bothers me to some degree. They've had the Yellow Ranger be a guy, and they've even had a Light Blue Ranger be a girl. But why not have a single Red Power Ranger be a girl? Even when there were tons of Rangers for the police force in S.P.D., none of the background Red Rangers (to my knowledge) were ever female. Now, I could be wrong. It's obviously been a while since I've watched the show at all. But I don't remember there ever being even a background one. And yes, my "extensive" knowledge on Power Rangers probably is rooted in the fact that I watched it up until high school. Don't hate; you know you loved the cheesiness of that show.
What is the point of all of this? I honestly don't know. I don't feel quite like sleeping yet, even though I'm tired. I wanted to finally update this blog (I'm done with freshmen year, by the way. Back in the beautiful nation of Texas). These specific thoughts kept floating around in my head. Pick one and go with it. I guess my "point" is that I'm not one of those crazy feminists, who hates men and wishes women could rule the world. I personally prefer hanging out with guys over girls, because quite frankly, girls are psychotic (sorry men, but it's time you knew the truth). I grasp the concept that men are stronger physically; that women really shouldn't go to combat zones on purpose in wars because there are things that can be done to them in a torture room that is more harmful to women than men; I don't really like the idea of a female pastor; etc., etc. But there are other realities I grasp as well, like the fact that women are not weak; that they are still very capable of handling themselves; that God uses women just as powerfully as He uses men. Maybe what I'm asking myself is what is the line between fighting for equality and accepting chivalry?
I like to think that chivalry is not dead. I don't want it to be dead. The day that men stop acting like gentlemen and the day women stop requesting them to treat them like ladies might as well be the death of humanity. There is nothing wrong with a man making a woman feel special. I think it's when the man stops treating a woman like she is something special that there is the problem. It's when he forgets that woman is his better half -- that before God made her, he felt lonely and incomplete -- that trouble begins. When he treats her as if she is not capable of handling herself in many situations, or he forgets God's use of women throughout history and the Bible, or he treats her as if she is beneath him, and not at the same level as him. When a woman is paid less than a man at the same job; when a woman is cheated into paying more for a car than a man; when a woman is patted on the head and told, "Be a good girl and go back to the kitchen where you belong" -- that is where inequality comes into play. But when a man is doing a woman a kindness, such as holding the door open, it's not because he thinks she's too weak to open it. It's because he believes -- quite rightly -- that she is one of the most amazing creatures God has put upon this earth, and she should be treated as such. Paying for something, like dinner or a movie, shouldn't be taken as a threat by women, either. Any man that exhibits chivalry isn't trying to "one up" a woman by paying for the meal; he's just trying to make the evening into a relaxing time for her, so that she doesn't have to be worrying about how much money is in her wallet.
This friend of mine -- the chivalrous one -- has said more than one thing to me that I haven't forgotten. There's something else he has said that comes to mind very easily, and remembering it brings me comfort when I'm afraid, for some strange, unexplained reason. Maybe I'll write about it another time, but for now, I can't help but be happy to know this young man, because he's made me stop and think about chivalry versus equality and quite frankly how I feel about the whole subject. I think my conclusions are clear -- I'm a romantic who wants to be treated equally, but also like a lady. I'm not some feminist who hates men and demands more than just equality. I may dislike men on occasion, but no more so than any other girl -- or better yet, a Taylor Swift album. I go back and forth between liking a guy and hating his existence just as easily as her -- and I'm sure the same goes for quite a number of other teenage girls. But anyway, the point is, know when to pick your battles. If a guy is opening your door, chances are, he's just trying to be a gentlemen, like his mother raised him to be. If he's telling you about staying in the kitchen...well, punch him.

Time for me to go to sleep; goodnight. Stay ducky, stay lucky.

An Introduction

I'm a college freshmen, second semester, with two roommates that drive me up the wall, one that is good, and surrounded by an endless expanse of snow and geese. I aspire to be a writer, and yet often times when speaking I ironically have a hard time articulating myself. I'm extremely close with my family, and as such have been feeling the usual boughts of homesickness.


Over the years, I have been called "honest." Not necessarily in "not lying," about things (because let's be frank here, as the song goes, we all have our Dirty Little Secrets), but in being blunt about how I feel about something. I admit that I'm not necessarily the "nicest" person all the time; sarcasm and rudeness come swiftly to my tongue and often times I'm biting it back. But when it comes to friends, despite my sarcasm, underneath you will find that my teasing is merely how I express my fondness. I know, I need a new way to express these feelings, but hey, nobody's perfect. However, when it comes to people that I do not like, there is a distinct difference in my teasing. My bluntness comes forth even more so, and I give them the gist of how I feel without ever actually stating it.

So, here are my honest opinions about things. Typically things about how I don't understand about humans in general. They're such a weird species. I mean let's think about this, okay? They would, hypothetically, call anyone from Mars a Martian, yes? Because that makes "sense." But do you realize that that gives them the idea that we're called "Earthlings?" I mean, we are, but so is my dog, my best friend's cat, and fish that swim in the sea. I love my dog. But on the scale of "lifeforms" I don't want to be confused for her. The Martian equivalent of a dog would also have to be called a Martian, because it's from Mars. And who are we to name them, anyway? What if they have a name? How would we feel if some aliens came here and started calling us some weird-o name that was way off base? I mean really....

"Before Facebook, I..." This is one of my favorite starts to a Facebook status that people like to post. "Oh, we used slam books in my day!" or "I poked my friends for real." You know why I love them so much? They're posted by teenagers, who are in high school, and not even seniors. Well, let's see here...Facebook was opened to high schoolers by 2005. So basically, when you were in 5th grade, you had a slam book? Because it wasn't too long after that -- just a few years -- that everybody could get a Facebook, and we all know you had one as soon as you could (and let's not forget the lovely MySpace). So, you had a slam book...when you were in elementary? Okay. That makes sense.

Speaking of Facebook, am I the only one to notice the abundance of teenagers who like to take pictures of themselves, in front of a mirror, in the bathroom, with their cell phone? "Cool picture, bro. LOVE the toilet in the background." Or guys that think they're God's gift to women, and love to take shirtless pictures? I mean, a few have a nice six-pack going on, but even that's just, "...Why?" Because if we're being honest, while a good, buff guy is nice to drool over on occasion, preferably during a chick-flick, it's not really at the top of women's lists of Their Perfect Man. A lot have "good looking" on it (which I don't understand myself, but I'll get back to that), but "abs of steel" are really only ever icing on the cake -- an added bonus, but not something required or really even desired. In good shape, yes, but he doesn't have to be able to bench-press four times my weight or something.

The Perfect Man is far too boring. Perfect is boring. Why get Prince Charming? I mean, sure, I'd love to be swept off my feet, but there are already like, four princesses fighting over Prince Charming over there. Why join that cat fight? And of course, "tall, dark, and handsome." From what I've found, the more I've tried to narrow down my "type" the more I realize that there is no set order to any guy I like, personality-wise or looks-wise. I'll finally determine I like guys with dark hair, and then find myself falling for a blond. I'll think it's all about tall, and realize that the guy I like is probably only an inch taller than me. Blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes, grey eyes, hazel eyes -- the day I settle on one will be the day Colorado has normal weather. Quite frankly, looks are fleeting. I'd rather have someone whom I can love for the rest of my life, not someone who's gorgeous the first few years, and then after that, he's just a jerk, or someone I'm not really in love with. And speaking of love...

"I love you, I say -- just not today." Maybe I'm just a grouchy English person, but could you people figure out what "I love you" means? I am sick of reading statuses about how you're so in love with someone, even after your break-up, and how you blame yourself, and you went out with them for a week. Love is not at all like that. Being in love with someone takes time. Which is why the multitude of chick-flicks as of late where two people know each other for about a week get engaged by the end of it have begun to bother me. "He's my Romeo, and I'm his Juliet!" Okay, so, he falls in love with every beautiful woman he sees, gets over-dramatic about it each time, and you're going to marry him the day after you meet, and you plan on killing yourself when he's yet again a drama queen and kills himself? Honey. Think about this one. Look, I don't care how in love I may be, I'm not going to kill myself over some boy that I've known for less than a week and my parents wouldn't even approve of (don't get me wrong, though; Shakespeare is a total beast). I think I can make better life decisions than that one right there.

So, if you've stuck around you really must be bored, or have no life, or I've offended you somehow with what I've said. Well, here's a news flash -- you shouldn't care!! My opinions are my own, and yours are your own. If you don't agree with what I've said, because you think that you can fall in love at first sight (I stand by "lust at first sight" myself), or because Martians should be called such because you feel the name is appropriate, or because you really think you are God's gift to women, or hey, maybe you think that ugly ducklings just can't be lucky, that's your opinion. Don't just go, "You're wrong! >:(" Give me a reason for being wrong, if you feel that I am; give me your side of the story. Tell me why you prefer your opinion. Or just take a deep breath, and appreciate how we all are created equally and completely differently at the same time. Now, I bid you adieu. Stay ducky, stay lucky.