C'est pour vous

Why should  I care?
You don't care or notice.
I am so sick of this.
Okay?
Okay.

Une coquille de noix

Question: What do you like about you?

Response: First, to be noted: I think the reason I write in Question: Response format is because I miss English class, and it just feels organized and oh so English. I feel if it were an assignment, Mr. Macmillan would appreciate it for all its organization and reverence. Just blabbing now. I hope this blog entry doesn't end up sounding immodest. Because it is also to be noted that for every thing I like about myself, I critique four other things that I do. Ryan says it is unhealthy. I just call it progress.

• I like my hair. I don't like my hair as much as Allison's hair, but I like it enough to be satisfied with its length and the funny shapes it makes in humidity and the funnier shapes it makes when I wake up and it is dissatisfied. I have decided that I am going to keep my relationship with my hair in good spirit for the rest of my life, and not ever dye it again- and if I go grey at 25 like my father, I will cut it all off and have grey pixie hair, enhancing the fairy effect. And that is that.
• I like the way that I have no trouble expressing myself. This is not always an attribute that is appreciated by the public, probably, but I think it is silly to hold anything in. If I love you, I let it be known. I will not shy away from awkward topics, and I certainly will not tiptoe around your feelings. I will not be openly crass or rude to someone (I hope), but I will not lie or hide away a truth that may or may not hurt you. I don't believe in it. I like me for doing this- because I know so many who don't, and it's frustrating to me and the people around them. It makes my relationships more passionate and feeling, and it makes my human bonds stronger. I think. Maybe.
• I also like how I have no trouble trusting people or sharing anything with people: if I like you, and I'm feeling a good vibe, I will tell you everything there is to know about me and why I am the way I am- if you want to hear it. I'm not introverted, and I refuse to shy away from possible relationships that can be formed or salvaged. 
• I feel like when I really apply myself, I can get something done. I accomplish the things I am passionate about. I try my hardest. Usually. *Cough cough.*
• This isn't, per se, about me...but sort of. I love the people in my life. I hate many people in my life. But mostly, I love them. And I think they love me. Maybe. So I think that counts. 

• I like my romper. 

 

My question is this:

Where is your most favourite place to be in the whole wide world?

Le pouvoir absolue de jrb

nothing about us was perfect, or clear-
but when Paradise calls me, i'd rather be here-
there's something between us that nobody else needs to see

Pendant que mon episode de Buffy se charge;

I realise that May has been a bad month for blogging. For not just me, but for all of us, and I can only think of one reason why this is so:

Rootbeer floats.

No- hear me out. (I am awful bored because I had to wake up early because Kaylie had to run away with her boyfriend Wewic to go to Banff just now, which I found extremely offensive, as did my REM's.) This is for real, though, I promise.

P.S. Ryan, I think you should take me to Banff. We would have so much fun and wreak complete havoc on that poor town. I would probably make you stay in the car, so as not to frighten the wildlife.

But anyways:
You see, root beer floats are an example of a pairing of things that you wouldn't expect to go well together, but they do (in most people's opinions. Not in mine. But this is currently a moot point.) Just like bungee jumping and hallucinogenics, or mathematics and hallucionogenics, ice cream and root beer are two very appallingly and drastically different substances that, when combined, make a dynamic duo. Much like blogging, and, per se, the flow of ideas and words and thoughts to be interpreted into entries. The problem is is that root beer floats have become such a world wide phenomenon that excites tastebuds each and every day, people are starting to lose interest in other possibilities of dynamic duos (i.e. useless tidbits of information about your every day life and sharing online)- they fear (naively) that no other dynamic duo can possibly be as dynamic or fluid a duo as a root beer float. In short, people are scared to try combining new flavors and ideas, all because your every day person is weighed down with the godly presence of the root beer float.

But you see, then there are people like me, who do not like root beer floats- I still see the possibility of retaining the ingenuity of blogging about useless things, like this.

c'est le temps d'essayer a defier la gravite

We're sexy- what can I say?

So go us- after all those months of tone-deaf torture, illnesses, absences, broken bones, tears of joy, mirth, and pain, body odor and sexy sweaters, beautiful costumes and...not-so-beautiful costumes... We're all done. Over and over and through and through...or whatever the song says.
It did all come together, though- I congratulate each and every one of us on this. We were fantastic. What else is there to say?

And now, in the world of Caroline/Hannah/Lyndsay, the following decisions have been made for next year's musical theatre class:
We will be doing Peter Pan. 'Nuff said.

Peter: Lyndsay
Wendy: Hannah (at last, I can have my demi-love interest with the Unterschultzer. Dream come true.)
Captain Hook: Caroline
Tinkerbell: Kaylie
Smee: Eric Miller!
Tigerlily: Amanda

That's all we have so far. But please, contact us for further information.

Des reponses

In regards to Hannah's question, "What the fuck?"

1) A statement evoking a feeling of bewilderment.
2) Utter disappointment and confusion.
3) Perhaps about why Rachel didn't write a new question.

But more importantly...

Lists are important to me today. Today is a good day. Perhaps my good days have lists.
Or lisps. Depending on how you feel about the value of consonants. So I was going to write this whole lovey-dovey statement...until I realised it's almost eleven o'clock and I still don't understand whether realised is spelled realised or realized and I have no more time to make any sorts of realizations, OR realisations.
But because we are pretending tomorrow is our special day instead, I feel it is fitting for me to get lovey-dovey tomorrow, and not today, on account of many things, none of which are interesting or blog-worthy in the slightest. However, apple cider vinegar is gross. Just sayin.Hopefully Caroline is not pulling my leg and it will be worth it.

Et puis, un an; fois deux.

Le fatigue

I ADMIT IT, HANNAH ET RACHEL: I HAVE NOT BLOGGED IN A WHILE.

But, to be fair...I was in Whistler, BC, having an awesome time and wearing my vocal chords thin and raw, and eating graham crackers, and making new best friends. Oh, and let's also comment on the fact I didn't sleep. At all. I blame you, Lisa, for being so gosh darn sexy- it makes it hard for me to sleep in the same bed as you when I would so much rather be doing other things.
...like pretending to be cowboys and indians.
...or tigers?


No, but seriously. Whistler was just a blast and a half. I made friends out of acquaintances, and spent too much time with my boyfriend* (now I'm acting silly like him and he's sick of me) and too much time with a paper stuck to my forehead. Also, that whole singing until your lungs burst thing? Not a good plan when you have a musical theatre show coming up- ie, Monday, Tuesday** - but hey, when was planning ever my strong suit. Never. Exact-a-mungo. ***
I guess I'm just really likin' the footnotes tonight. What can I say.

I feel content with the world, right now, surprisingly. I can't imagine why, because my day was not successful. In fact, you could say my day was 'the anti-successful.' First off, I didn't get much sleep, on account of over-long band concerts and early morning dentist appointments. Then there was a hiatus from the anti-success in the form of a Chai latte- but it was just not my day, because with half of my mouth frozen it was almost impossible to ingest said Chai latte without it spilling all over my beautiful scarf, and so by the time I could drink it it was lukewarm. Ick. But I still drank it, because I needed to calm my math-test nerves.
Unfortunately, math test was just as bad as Kaylie promised.
And then there was musical theatre for most of my day. Which would have been fun. Except I can't sing. Tired vocal chords. 'Nuff said.
Yeah, I'm getting tired of recounting my day.
At the moment, I am drinking orange pomegranate tea and watching Supernatural. Perhaps this accounts for my good mood.

(I salute Rachel Schneider's idea...and seems how Hannah answered your question already, Rachel, I will answer Hannah's to the best of my ability and then perhaps concoct one up myself, so long as my tea doesn't get cold in the meantime.)

Question: How do you know that what you feel is actually what you feel? 
Response: What you feel is completely your own. Other people may try to describe it through poetry, songs, and sacred rites on bathroom stall walls- but this is just how they feel about the feeling, and we mustn't confuse this with how we, truly, are feeling. This is why art and personal expression are so vital, are the life force that brings us all together, and yet, sets us apart. Without a form of personal expression completely available to us, we would fall in danger of exactly what you ponder, Hannah; to feel as someone else feels, and not as we, ourselves feel. Ie: Cliches are bad news; they try to define our feelings from someone else's heart.
So that is how I feel about that, I think- it actually does take effort to really and truly feel how you, yourself, feels- you have to make sure you aren't imitating a feeling or personality that will always be different than your own. As long as you take the time to realise exactly what the enzyme that stemmed your feeling is- to understand it, and embrace it...you should feel as you truly feel.
Does that make sense?
I think it makes sense to me. It doesn't have to make sense to you. That's the point. 


My question for you participating bloggers: Life is like a bowl of cranberries....why?

*Boyfriend. Neener. Tomorrow is out two-year anniversary type deal. *Insert lovey-dovey feeling here.* Probably I will blog about this tomorrow. After our musical theatre thingie. Fuckthat.
**Starlight, Starbright. I may not be able to sing yet. I hope I will be able to. But because I feel bad that I've been dissuading possible victims (*cough cough* audience members*), I'm now inciting you all to come. Yes. Tickets are on sale in the caf at lunch, I think.
***This phrase is from my childhood. I believe some sort of cheetah said it on a Magic Schoolbus: Rainforest Edition computer game.

Je suis

...When I straighten my hair, I feel like I am performing sacrilegious rites.
...When I pluck my eyebrows, it makes me sneeze.
...When I put in contacts, it makes my nose run and sometimes bleed.
...When people pick at cuticles (whether it be theirs or mine), I feel nauseous.
...When I feel uncomfortable, I pass out.
...When there is music playing, I have to sing along.

Etablir un conclusion

I'm just sayin'....

Today was a nice day.
I got new underwear.
I danced.
I ran.
I sang.
I watched a silly movie with a silly boy.
I read more about Pastafarianism. You should convert.
I celebrated Wizarding Independance Day.
It's my aunt's birthday today.
I wish my birthday was on Wizarding Independance Day.
I think I would highly enjoy that.