True or False: The Dreamboat Overseas

(T/F): You make me smile.

(T/F): I think this won't work.

(T/F): I adore you.

(T/F): We're connected.

Wickedly Ridiculous Items I Want In My Dream Home...

- claw-foot marble tub

- sky blue walls

- a study, complete with an epic bookshelf and a writing desk

- big, big tree with tire swing

- four-poster bed

- hardwood floors

- fireplace in living room and bedroom

- white-washed kitchen table that sits four

- french doors

- a big overgrown garden...english style

- a lazy pond with pretty lilly-pads

- a chicken coup, with chickens!

- a stone tea kettle, painted fire engine red

- an old fashioned gas stove

- doors with skeleton key locks

- a winding staircase

- an antique bureau, painted sunflower yellow

- shutters on the windows, mint green

- a parlor... with big open windows... and a cute little table to serve tea

Vegetarianism: What's the Big Fucking Deal?!

About a week ago I made a not-so-unusual decision to improve my diet and to start focusing on getting myself in shape again... trust me, this lazy hibernation has been going on for far too long.

So, I'm browsing through different options, figuring that this or that is going to be pretty hard to maintain considering I'm a full-time student, and I have a job, and I take a dance class... that doesn't leave me with the time or energy to pick and choose.

Then, it dawned on me...

I'm not really a fan of barbecue...
When I eat greasy meat I feel nasty and bloated.

Light bulb!







What if I just illuminate the meat from my diet?
Considering the food I really enjoy is all grains and fruits anyway... this makes for a very pleasant and easy decision.

A week ago I became a, you guessed it, Vegetarian.

I can honestly say it isn't as hard as I thought it might be.
I avoid meats, and generally eat grains, and starches, and fruits.
I'll sneak the occasional egg for breakfast in the morning, but it's not a sin.

Alas, here I am, feeling really healthy and adjusting my body to this shift... and I'm suddenly getting all sorts of brash interjections from friends and family alike.

"You won't get enough protein and you'll die." Being the main "concern".

People... don't you think I've put good thought into this?
Do you realize that there's more than one place to get protein?

I mean, sure, meat is good for you... but on a whole, I didn't even like the shit... except when it was lathered in grease and tasted too good to resist (the only reason being BECAUSE it was lathered in grease).

I can honestly say I'm proud of myself for making a decision like this.

It's going strong, and I want to be supported, not getting eyes rolled at me.

People associate vegetarianism with liberals and PETA and all sorts of retarded crap...

I don't care about bunnies getting stripped of their fur, okay?
I don't give a shit if you run over a kitten or eat a stake medium rare, it's not the end of the world.
I think PETA is retarded and that animals are good eating... just not for me.

I like my fruits and my veggies and my breads, is there an issue?

I'm not going to die.
I make sure I get more than one dose of protein-friendly foods every day.
Peanut Butter. Hummus. Lima beans.
Yum yum.


So get off my case because I'm trying to improve my health.
And stop asking me if I've suddenly stopped bathing and decided to live naked among the lemurs in Madagascar...

The past, the present, The Future.

I've come to realize how far down this road I've been traveling, and how things are suddenly branching out and creating new paths and new opportunities. It's really exciting for someone like me to realize that life is getting to the point of adventure, thrill, and intrigue.

I'm going to be twenty years old.

I remember when I was twelve and I looked at a twenty year old with complete and utter wonderment. I thought that that person had all of the answers. They lived on their own in some swanky uptown apartment, and did cool shit... like road some bike with a basket around, splatter painted the walls of their bedrooms, and took black-and-white pictures of old people holding hands in the park.

Now, I'm on the brink of being twenty... and I realize that I'm sort of living the way I envisioned a twenty-year-old to live. (At least, within my means.) I don't have all the answers, and I never will, but somehow I think I'm going to be okay without knowing everything. The path is shaded, but it's there.

It's funny how the worst thing that could have possibly ever happened only catapulted into growing up... it was a reality check I needed.

That 'worst thing' was the death of my grandmother last year, on November 10th.
For all intensive purposes, she was my mother.
While I've always somewhat had a strained relationship with my biological mother (her eldest daughter), she encouraged me to try to understand her, and in the same instanced shaped me into the woman I am today.
I admired her so much for her strength and for her quiet mind.

It's going to be a year since she died, and I'm still trying to collect myself.
I thought I couldn't go on without her, but her death intensified my desire to want to do something extraordinary with this existence- the only one I've got.

I've been toying with the idea of not finishing school... right now, however, I'm thinking I will. I've come this far, I want that degree in my hand. But the credentials of it are really sort of ridiculous. I don't learn sitting in a classroom, I need to be out in the world and experiencing. I feel like that's my calling.

Sometimes I feel like I don't need a degree to dictate that I have intelligence, or to say I'm certified to help this person or that person.

In fact, I don't believe in it at all.

I feel as if most people say they're in school, or going through it, just to prove to the people around them that they can make something of themselves when really... really, making something of yourself should be about the people you touch, and the works you do, and the stories you have to tell afterward.

The longer I'm in college the more I realize it's a debauched myriad lie of higher learning... where "Beer Pong" is the national sport, and "How Many Lays" the slogan.

I don't want that, and never have.

However, some good things have come out of this whole new world...

I've moved out, and learned to live under a roof with completely different personalities than what I was accustomed.

I have a job where I make enough money to support myself.

Still in school (whether I like it or not), and toiling.

And... and my direction is becoming clearer and clearer.

See, in the beginning I thought I wanted to perhaps be a linguist. I love studying languages, and going overseas sort of sealed my love of foreign places. But then I realized if I wanted to actually make a living, I'd have to have at least five languages under my belt. A whole lot of classes, and a whole lot of brainpower that I wasn't willing to commit to. (Trust me, if i don't want to learn something... I'm not going to learn it.)

But I love to write, so I sort of decided Journalism would be my target.

I didn't like the idea of following other people around and badgering them about their personal lives, so I did a little research... and that's when I discovered what I want to do.

I want to write for a humanitarian journal.
And for those of you who don't quite know what that is... think along the lines of National Geographic... but focusing on the people of third-world countries and their cultures.

It's not set in stone, nothing ever is.

But I know that I want to help people.
I feel my best when I'm out in the world, getting my hands dirty, and exploring the meaning of life.

I want to try other things as well...

photojournalism
fashion photography
painting
novel and poetry composition
entrepreneurship


But whatever I do end up doing in the end, I'll do it well.

I want to be known by those who loved me as someone who went out there and did what she had to do, followed her beliefs, and lived fully and openly.
That's all.
Nothing more or less.

Misinterpretations, Methodical, Men...

I've come to realize over the course of my very brief dating career, that I haven't dated all that much, or all that well...


Ever since 6th grade...that fateful ill-fated puppy love with a boy who truly liked me, and to whom I squashed mercilessly by failing to understand his feelings... I've had possibly the ultimate shitty luck where this tangled web of business is concerned.


For example, my first "serious" boyfriend was a stint with a biker, he was eighteen, and I sixteen. I marveled in true and utter wonderment of him until he dumped me faster than a hot tamale on the 4th of July for a big-breasted short shirt in a Mustang GT.


I hadn't yet gotten to second-base, and already I was krill to the dating scene as we know it.


My second serious boyfriend was a year and a half younger than I but oh, who am i kidding? Age is but a number- right? No need to be ageist when you have this smashing fellow who's on your level, meets your needs, and appears to have himself on the level, correct?


Wrong.


So wrong.


Mr. Level left this old bag of horse feed after a little over a year of tumultuous canoodling, promises of college live-in situations, and eventual marriage on a little island in the south pacific by a Haitian spirit healer...and why? Oh, there was some hot young thing with synthetic weave and eyeliner thicker than tar.


So here I've been since.


Only two serious situations down under my belt, and I couldn't be more confused or disoriented by the very IDEA of being with someone for an extended period of time.


Sometimes I like to wonder what's the point of it all... I mean, is that all there is in life? Women, being told from the earliest age that we're princesses that need to be treated as such by men who don't exist? That marriage is the ultimate form of euphoria, and if you don't find someone to marry eventually then you're a lesbian, a feminist, or just plain weird?


Don't get me wrong! I've had my fair share of guys pining for my hand...(not all at once- but you get my picture)...


A.) There was "S." from orientation, who gladly bought me anything I wished and whined and dined me until I wanted to gag for lack of independence (or breathing room, for that matter).
B.) There was "D." from a fraternity, who, though witty and amusingly charming, failed to clarify what it was that was happening between us, and therefore lost my regard.
C.) There was "C." from a mutual acquaintance, who took me to a rock concert and proceeded to be extremely awkward about his lack of financial and emotional stability.
D.) There was "P.", whom I met while in a college course, who I convinced to go on a date with me only to discover that, after locking lips, he was only meant to be a very best friend/brother sort.
E.) There was "R.", a foreigner who swept me off my feet with a sneak-kiss and intellectual conversation before I realized he was stringing me along (in true Scandinavian fashion).


Sigh.


It is a history that I look over and could truly laugh at.


Perhaps I'm picky.
Perhaps I think too much.
Perhaps it's my own special combination of neurotic and insane.
I've been told all of this before.


But I'm a modern, assertive, independent woman... you know, I've convinced myself I don't need a man.
Sure, it'd be nice if he takes you out, brings you home, canoodles and wants to spoon after. That's a winning combo! It'd be even better if it wouldn't be weird after, and he'd look at you and smile and just tell you it's official. There's no room for inhibitions here, people, we're young! There's time!
But if we're young, why are we so damn afraid of commitment?
You know, I'm might be scared, but I'm not stupid... I know a good thing when I have it.

Or I thought I did.

I thought I had two good things, before they walked.
And I'm sure one of those poor guys I was involved with after the fact thought they had a good one too...
before I walked.