May 15, 1999; in which she is the Queen of Procrastinators

I was going to post this closer to the date it was written, but things happened, and I'm guiltily giving it to you now:

May 1, 1999

Vital Information:

This may inspire a 'duh' of disgust in most of my readers, but I'd just like to bitterly inform you that when a package says 'open by pulling tab,' they are lying. The correct wording is 'to tear the box open in such a way that it's impossible to conveniently reseal it, be an idiot and pull the tab; c'mon, we dare ya.' But it was edited for lack of space on the tab.

Minivans do not have the ability to swerve like small compacts. They give a passenger a gut-wrenching pulling feeling, while compacts provide a squeel-worthy thrill. But then, the fact that compacts have this unnerving tendency to drift towards curbs (rather than the less nerve-damaging oncoming traffic) adds many points to the minivan.

Happy National Matt Day! Happy International Matt Day! Happy International Matt Day (observed)! and Happy National Josh Day! and Happy National Josh Day (observed)! Soon to be announced: International 'Ladies' Day!

When you begin to write a soul-baring letter to someone, and in that letter you finally describe and admit all the problems you've been having lately and all that beautiful stuff that you would never even think in the presence of this person, rest assured that the next day it will seem like all the problems have disappeared. You'll think that the letter has become obsolete, and forget about it. And now I'm left with four pages, front and back- mind you, of information that I have no idea what to do with. I have a feeling that I'll throw them away, the problems will return, and we'll create this disturbing cycle of insecurity. I simply cannot wait.

Technical end of Vital Information.

Guess what? Day after I made the above observation, the problems emerged again. Some might say that I actually want them to, which is why I think they did, but I think it's just because they're there and I can't ignore them. Problems are problems, and eventually I think they need to be solved. I want to know how, though.

Real end of Vital Information, because after this it's simply babble.

Tonight I went out with the others, and I was surprised by how accustomed I've come to laughing out loud all night, singing, and basically having constant fun. I missed my regular group so much; I was thinking about them the entire night (they were all at a club function that made them unavailable until 11:30 at night, so that's basically why I was out with the others). Everything reminded me of other times I had had with different people. We were stopped by a train and actually waited for it to pass rather than going on a wild search for the nearest crossing. We passed a 7-11 and didn't stop for Slushees. We passed a McDonalds and no one commented on the fact that there was a McFlurry advertisement on the sign, let alone mention the fact that they wanted one. We passed the infamous Amoco station where we waited for a car to be returned for almost half an hour. We didn't listen to Radio Disney (we're all ears!). The Oldies Station was on, and Stand By Me started playing. I had to mouth the words, rather than belt them out for fun. We went straight down a straight road, and cars were always around us. There was silence. I never once gasped for breath because of a hysterical bout of laughter. I came home at an acceptable time for my parents. All in all, I came home with a deep sense of emptiness and loss. I used to have fun in that situation; now, I just can't believe they thought Ray Liotta was in Star Wars.

The difference is that the others hold me apart from them. I'm a 'genius,' I'm in an AP class, I'm in choir (instead of band), I have opinions on world issues and can hold my own in an argument, I enjoy acting out (meaning: movement that is not based at all upon athletic ability or competition; just letting the groove take you where it wants you to go), and I instinctively reject their negative opinions of the people and things I love. The group I missed tonight does not really hold me apart. Yes, we all recognize the differences, but they do not handle the differences in the same way the others do. The others isolate you with them, while in the group I feel like I'm a member despite, or maybe because of them (the thing is, they don't matter at all). Perhaps that's because there aren't as many differences keeping me apart from this group though. There are so many between me and the others. The only real thing we have in common is that we attend the same high school, and even there we can't connect because it's become a competition between us. I'll admit, the whole thing is frustrating. I try, I really do (and I'm sure some of them do too), but the click isn't happening.

I mentioned the AP class up there, so I consider that to be a good enough excuse to wade through that subject for a moment. Our exam is two weeks away. Two weeks. Fourteen days until my nerves get wound so tight that if anything, anything all, confronts me in a negative way, I'll just go off and never come back. When our teacher tells us about it, I practically get tears in my eyes; I'm that bad. I think that after my massive amounts of studying, there's no way I'll do horribly, but I really want to do well. I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really want to do well. I did not go through this class and pay $75 to get a 3. So, we start hitting the books today, and do not feel neglected if I neglect you for another two weeks. If you don't know me, though, I'll love you forever if you keep your fingers crossed for me. And that's a promise.

I don't think The Great Gatsby is that great of a masterpiece. Sure, it might illustrate the social barriers of the society it describes, but couldn't a person understand them by just reading a good history text book? Given, it's a nice story. It's a little quick for my taste, but I suppose that's good thing when you're talking about a book for school. I'll equate it with Of Mice and Men- it's a classic that everyone reads once or twice, but is never on the top of anyone's favorites list. My pet peeve with Gatsby? Carroway and Jordan didn't get together, and I had such high hopes for happiness when they first kissed.

'Matrix' is not necessarily a good movie. Kudos on the special effects, and what would a Keano flick be without the classic 'whoa' line, but it's Japanese animation with the same theme of finding freedom in a horrible, constricting world. After the fifth time they kill the bad guy, I decided it was just getting ridiculous. Too loud, too jerky, too 'i really don't care anymore.' My high points: the second Star Wars trailer and Keano Reeves decked out in all black (which is just the sexiest ing for a thin, semi-muscular, semi-tall guy to wear. yum.). So all in all, I was happy for maybe five minutes out of the five hours I was gone. Wait, that's not accurate- I also had a chance to swing above the loneliness, which took up a good five to t minutes.

Okay, I think I'm finished with the criticism of the media in my life lately. Let's move on.

Oh! Sheryl Crow was too great. Ditto for Semisonic. I was so impressed with the concert, and it provided such an emotional high for me. Standing up in the balcony of the Arie Crown Theater, clapping, dancing, singing, cheering, etc. with y r best friend is the perfect way to spend a Friday night. Semisonic I had never really heard before, but the fact that they can all play the piano (the drummer does it while he is playing the drums), their music is that clean-cut, rock all night kinda s ff that just gets your soul movin, the lead singer does this wonderful hip/pelvis thing, and they proclaimed that we blew the f-n' roof off that place, I'm effectively twitterpated (you should also probably know that the lead singer was wearing a very dark blue shirt and black vinyl pants. this definitely tipped the scales in their favor). I was actually overcome with this want to run down to the stage and tell them how absolutely wonderful they were and how absolutely wonderful they had managed to make e feel in a little bit over a half hour. I'm sure Erin would have come with me. And then, when Sheryl came out, she immediately began loud and strong. This woman is the meaning of confident, and she invites audience to share it with her. Sheryl Crow's music had actually quality; this is not an artist who fades after two or three hits. She had definite lasting power, which is why I admire her so much. And if last Friday weren't enough, she's coming back for Lilith Fair in August. We can't wait.

At the moment, I have not written one word of this in code. It's going to be such a bitch to go back over each paragraph. I've got to stop rambling, it's getting inconvenient. Have you ever asked yourself why you read this?

I'm Student of the Month in my school again. Last year, I named the complimentary bulldog that us wonderful students get R. Octavius Elexander. This year, he's C. Theodore Sebastian. The first initials have no commonly-known name associated with them. I wonder how mad a child would get at me if I named them a capital letter and a period rather than an actual name. You know, like "Hi, this is my daughter, U." Hell, I could go in alphabetical order too, and maybe if I have twins, one could b T. and the other could be T! (this would the second one, because it's a surprise that he's there at all). They wouldn't hate me, per say; they'd admire their mother's creativity and bribe their father into secretly changing their names to Jane and Wally Of course, Octavius has always had a delicious sound to it, don't you think?

I'm wrapping this up now. A recent article I read that focused on the health horrors of using a computer has kind of made me self-conscious about my wrists (although I'm not too sure about the source, since they never once mentioned the as factor that other goddesses could tell you all about). Here's something from Paula Cole, "Tiger": I'm so tired of being shy, I'm not that girl anymore. I'm not that straight-A anymore. Now I wanna sit with my legs wide open and laugh so loud that the hole damn western world will turn and look at me. Look at the tiger jumpin' out of her mouth. Have a beautiful May, darlings.

This is recent though:

May 14, 1999

It's over. We spent- how many months?- killing ourselves over European history and two weeks reviewing ourselves to an even colder death, and now it's over. From this point on, it doesn't really matter. There's nothing we can do about it a way, so the only thing left is to look forward to The Phantom Menace. But, you wanna know a secret? I don't think I did that well. The essays are vomit. Pure vomit.

Of course, that doesn't stop people from telling me I did fine. I'm going to get a five. Pish. Go away. I need my time to be disappointed, to kneel down and cry, to say 'hell to the college board,' to live among those who don't know, and then to find solace among those to whom it doesn't matter. I need July 1st to come right now, so I can call the hotline and find out how I did. I need to be wrong about my disappointment, actually.

So, the annual poem/short story/photo book-thing that my school prints every year came out last week. Students submit their work, and then a group of kids picks the best pieces and they get put into this, well, I guess you can call it anthology. The school calls it Facets. It was the most depressing thing I have ever read. Every poem is about unhappiness, divorce, low self-esteem, loneliness, heartache, or death. One was about beating a little puppy to death, for goodness sake! One was entitled "Suicidal Tendencies"!! The pictures weren't that bad, some were actually good. But I tell ya, I want the school to have one big group hug and get over themselves. They all think they're so deprived, so alone, so unhappy. It may sound narrowminded of me, but I believe that most of them are really full of it. Next year, I will finally submit something. It will be entitled ' (c: ' and it will be happy.

My mom spent an hour on the phone this Wednesday, and she ended up with six tickets to The Phantom Menace. We're going at 11:30 in the morning the day it opens; it's the second showing at our local movie theater. I'm positively giddy. I bought my friend Star Wars toys for her birthday last week, and one of the things I gave her was a moving Obi-won Kenobi figure with a small six-inch lightsaber. I'm incredibly jealous, not only because Ewan McGregor is just the Jedi heart-throb I've been longing for, but because I really want to have my own lightsaber. I guess I'll have to force my father to return to Toys 'R' Us again soon. :) I also have four awesome Star Wars pens- Obi- won Kenobi, Liam Nieson (whose character I kind of know, but don't feel like looking up at the moment), Jar-Jar, and Anakin Skywalker (complete w/backpack). I love writing with them, because I can really believe that the Force is with my words. Can you tell that I'm obsessed?

Last thought on this: Wouldn't it be completely awesome if George Lucas, at the end of the third movie, had Luke, Leia, Han, and/or Chewie accidentally run into each other? Here are our scenes: Luke, Leia, and Han are teenagers, all walking around a busy metropolis area on some planet. They all pass each other uneventfully, but then at different times (or the same time, can't decide which I like best), they look back. The Force is calling to them. After a moment, each turns and continues on. Rose is on the edge of her chair, giddy tears forming in her eyes. OR Leia goes with her father on a diplomatic mission to Wookie-Land (note: this completely wrong name is being used for lack of the actual planet), and Leia literally runs into Chewie. Some sort of indirect run-in between Han and Luke (which could totally happen, since Luke lives right by Mos-Esley, and Han obviously goes there a lot), in which they also experience some sort of fleeting feeling of connection, and then shrug it aside and move on. Wouldn't it just be the coolest?

Have you ever seen Bringing Up Baby? Aw, that's simply one of the best films I've ever seen. Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn, and a brilliant supporting cast chasing two leopards and a bone. I would fall in love with David too, and Susan is just too lovable to not want as a sister. And if your wondering, this comes from the fact that it was on the other day due to Katherine Hepburn's birthday.

This is definitely a movie day. Next week I'm going to be seeing Elizabeth in AP class, and then two weeks after that the teacher is hoping to show Saving Private Ryan (which I'm opposed to since I really don't think I can handle the first 25 minutes again. Can you say Ah! ?) I think thinking about movies calms my nerves after such a horrendous experience.

Predicament: If your 'best friend,' whom you have not been getting along with very well lately, tells you about this letter that just puts everything she's been thinking about with your relationship down in black and white and how she wants to give it to you, but she's not sure she should, and then she tells you that she finally sent it to you online after about a week of you asking/ demanding to see the letter, would you take a week to read it? If the last real thing she said to you in reference to the letter questioned your 'best friend' standing, would you take a week to read it? Would you expect her to feel good about the fact that you know it's an important letter, and yet you take a week to read it? Would you be surprised to find out that some of the questions she asked you in the letter have been ironicaly answered with the fact that it took you a week to read it? Well then.

Today is a beautiful day. Kiss a bug.

Hey, the University of Chicago wants me. Take that, Wellesley.

My instincts say that I should go now, because I have a German project, a health project, an English research paper, and a chemistry test that I'm drastically not prepared for. The silly thing about listening to them, though, is that I'm well aware that I won't be doing anything to prepare myself for the coming school week after I turn off the computer. I'll probably watch TV. Anyway, here's the quote, which is actually an entire song: Natalie Merchant, "The Letter" (hm, where's she getting this, I wonder) from the album Tigerlily- If I ever write this letter, the pages I could write, but I don't know where to send it, you have vanished, heaven knows where you live, heaven only knows. If I ever write this letter, bitter words it would contain, just an unrequited lover, wishing she had never spoken your name, had never known your name. But if I ever write this letter, the truth it would reveal, knowing you brought me pleasure, how I'll often treasure, moments that we knew, the precious, the few. Sniff. And yet, ha.