I am a Silly, Silly Girl.

At this very moment, I ought to be slaving away over Jane Eyre stuff. Instead, I am going to record what I have just realized after self-reflecting for the past half hour.

I am a silly teenage girl who has no idea what she is doing.

I want to live in a neighborhood of make believe where I can sleep till nine, read all day long, watch wonderful films unceasingly, write memorable novels, be in love, and wear pretty dresses or pyjamas all the time. What major would get me on the road to that career? Which colleges offer that major? Where am I going to find enough wonderful films to be able to watch them unceasingly? And how will I read while doing that? And who will pay me to do it?

Unfortunately (or fortunately, as I may feel tomorrow), I live in a real-life life. I have to figure out what I'm going to do next year, apply for a job, do laundry, shower, and, presently, wake up at seven.

Right now, I need to work on Jane Eyre so that one of my favorite teachers will not be forced to say unhappy things to me tomorrow...

Goodnight!

You must have been a beautiful baby...

"You must have been a beautiful baby, 'cause baby, look at you now!"

I love jazz vocalists because they can get away with lyrics like that, lyrics that make me smile.

On the other hand, Justin Timberlake sings lyrics like, "You're out of this world, but you're not green." He gets away with it because he is adored by millions of hormonal females worldwide. Personally, I am not in favor of that method of approval.

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Upon re-reading my past posts, I've realized that things seem a lot funnier when I don't take a dozen paragraphs to explain it. Thus, this entry is succinct and to the point. Thank you.

THIS is the best time of my life.

I've had yet another philosophical conversation with my best friend.

This afternoon, I realized that I had left all of my homework in my locker, thinking that I had no homework at all. Really it is nothing since it's only typing up a short skit that we wrote in French class (I'll probably write about that sometime). Nevertheless, I needed to go back to school and get it.

Fortunately, just before I walked out of the door, my dear Amy called because she was in the area and wanted to do some normal teenager stuff. (Normal teenager stuff with us is rarely normal.)

After picking up my homework, we ended up in Balboa Park which, if you're unfamiliar with San Diego, is a lovely historical park filled with museums and theaters and other fun things. Also, it contains a fountain (well, several, but one fountain fountain). Balboa Park is also where I always end up whenever I am free to drive wherever I want.

We found a spot to park right off, which is somewhat unusual, especially since this spot was located in the parking lot right beside the fountain fountain. Needless to say, we parked there, but soon discovered that the fountain fountain was drained! We had intended to wade a bit in the fountain fountain (as is expected in our social group), so we were a little disappointed. However, this meant that we could walk to the center of the fountain fountain without being blasted by the geyser located there.

Here I must note, that for most of my life, I have been somewhat timid. I don't talk to strangers, I avoid eye contact with attractive young men, and I do not walk about in fountains or sing in public (excepting theatrical presentations). In the past few months though, I have become more bold. I still don't talk to strangers, and I still have trouble making eye contact with attractive young men (especially attractive young men who are also strangers), but now, I walk about in fountains and, extremely often, sing in public.

Unfortunately, I must admit that I am still timid enough to be paranoid that the geyser would suddenly blast water 20 (30?) feet into the air whilst we were standing nearly directly over it, and I ran to the edge of the fountain and sat.

From there, we continued on our little jaunt into the park. Meanwhile, I began to sing (inspired by the birds flying around), "Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?" Throughout our excursion, I sang this song. Amy didn't even seem to mind.

As we walked, we discussed mortality and art and how unfortunate it is that life takes planning and budgeting and rationality, and as we left the park, I said:

"Wouldn't it be nice to fast forward to when we have everything figured out and settled?"

Amy, being the wise little thing that she is, replied:

"No, it would be nice if life worked backwards where we were born old and unknowing and matured into our youth with the knowledge of a fifty-year-old." (This idea kind of fumbled when Amy went on to explain that we would be twelve giving birth to old people...)

I still think it would be nice to skip this awkward crossroads stage altogether. Really, it would be great just to be young and know everything forever.

But being with Amy and many others is worth all the indecisiveness and pressure. Honestly, friends really do make this whole transition thing a lot easier.

It's nice to know that God really does know what He is doing.
("Do not fear, only believe.")

This is the best time of my life?

This past week was the opening of my high school's production of Fiddler on the Roof. Since I am a part of this production, I have been at school all day everyday this week (except for today which was Saturday). As exhausting as it is, I am told that when I am old and grey, I will think of this last month of my final year of high school as the best time of my life.

I doubt it. The best time of my life will be spent in Antarctica with my handsome husband who is unknown to me at this moment. The Antarctica bit is still a little uncertain at the moment also. It might turn out to be Prague, Venice, Calcutta, etc., but I really am aiming for Antarctica.

Antarctica?! you might ask, What in heaven would compel you to go there willingly?! (I said "might" because some of you may already understand or even sympathize with such a desire.)

I understand your confusion, but I ask you to think about it. Antarctica is beautiful, not in a pleasant way, but in a magnificent way. Plus: imagine being somewhere as desolate, lonely, and magnificent as the South Pole with the one person you love the most. It seems a lot less lonely and desolate and a whole lot more magnificent. Also, there are penguins. (And don't you dare say "But there are penguins elsewhere in the world" because I know that. Penguins are just a perk to going to Antarctica.)

Anyway... Back to Fiddler. My part is the grandmother who comes to Tevye in a dream to tell him that his daughter should marry the tailor. I know that really doesn't help those of you who are not at all familiar with Fiddler, but oh well. The point is that I get to wear old age make up and to walk around all hunched over, and my hair gets to be sprayed silver.

Thus, I am already as old and grey as I will be when I think of this as one of the best times of my life.

But getting the silver out of my hair is a hassle. It means washing my hair multiple times, and after staying at school till 10 or 11, one doesn't feel like getting in the shower or sticking one's head in the sink. Neither does one feel like getting up half an hour early to do so. Thus, I wore my grey hair to school on Friday, and apparently, it wasn't that noticeable, and as I am told, it looked quite natural.

I don't know if that is good or bad.

Either way, I can't wait to be a real grandma and have real grey hair. I don't care what anybody says; I think that time of my life may very well rival Antarctica with Mr. Whoever-it-will-be.

I Have A Friend...

There is a young man I know who is very good at saying the most awkward things at the precise moment that the statement would be the most awkward. Usually, he doesn't say the statement. Instead, he sings it.

As you already know, this past weekend, I went to see a play at my best friend's church. This young friend of mine came along.

He's always a blast to have around.

Anyway, he also had an interesting experience in the bathroom of this church. It must be noted that his experience was in the men's bathroom (I don't know how it smells in there) and that his experience in the bathroom was much more interesting than my discovery of potpourri.

On the way to the church, we had been listening to the soundtrack of A Chorus Line because we are Broadway musical people. If you aren't familiar with that musical, many of the songs are rather awkward in and of themselves. Awkward in this sense means that some of the lyrics make me blush. One of the songs describes a dancer's feelings of inadequacy concerning her appearance, and it is severely gender specific. Another song describes another dancer's feelings of inadequacy concerning her vocal talent, but she states that her friends tell her that she has the perfect voice for singing in the shower. (This is important information to remember.)

When we got to the church, we headed to the bathrooms, he to his and me to mine. There we parted ways, and the following is his account of the events in the men's room:

Upon entering the men's room, he found a shower. (We are somewhat unsure of the purpose of the shower there, but I've found upon research that many church bathrooms also provide showers.) Because of the afore mentioned song, my friend felt the need to enter the shower and sing, and the first song that came to his mind was the other afore mentioned song (the severely gender-specific one). After singing a few bars, he exited the shower to find an extremely confused and somewhat disgruntled young man standing in the bathroom. Luckily, my friend is also very good at ignoring awkward situations, so he cheerfully greeted the young man and proceeded to use the utilities as he had intended.

Since then, the whole event has become an inside joke between him and me, but all that this entails is him repeating the awkward statement again and again. Luckily, I am also rather practiced in the art of ignoring awkward situations, and I simply laugh and slug him in the shoulder. Really hard.

Perhaps It's The Potpourri

Amidst my adventuring this weekend, the one thing to note, the one thing that I have really learned, is that all of the women's restrooms that I have visited at various churches smell the same. Many of them look similar also, but the smell is definitely distinct.

While we attended our old church, being under the age of ten, I spent a lot of time in the bathroom, so I am very familiar with how that one smelled. It wasn't until I started visiting my friends' churches that I began to notice the similarities. This weekend, I attended a play at my best friend's church, and not to my surprise, the women's room had that same smell.

It isn't a bad smell at all. It's really rather floral, I think.

Anyway, as I sat in the little pinkish-colored stall before the play at said church, I began to ponder (and compose a show-stopping, Broadway number about) the smell.

Since I am untrained in the art of pinpointing the origin of smells, I decided that an effective method of determining the cause would be to note the other similarities of the bathrooms.

Nearly all of the church bathrooms I can remember have similar pink-ish colored stalls. Given that the color does vary from rose to mauve or maroon, the walls are always very alike. And the floor tiles always seem to be a color close to that. More obvious similarities are things like the toilet, the sink, the tissue, etc., but those are all things that most bathrooms have and are not exclusive to church women's bathrooms.

However, none of these things are known to give off a pleasant, floral aroma.

After I had spent longer than necessary inside the stall considering this dilemma, I emerged and proceeded, as is generally accepted, to wash my hands, and there on the counter beside the sink sat the obvious solution: a small basket of potpourri.

As my memory raced and confirmed that I could remember seeing potpourri in many of the other bathrooms I had visited, my heart sank a little bit. How anti-climactic, how disappointing it was to find that the answer to my theological ponderings was something so common and simple.

I shared my findings with no one...
Until now...

First Impressions

My ideal first impression upon meeting any of you would lead you to deduce that I am incredibly intellectual, fiercely individual, and altogether lovely. For this to occur, you would probably have to notice me by chance from across a small, cozy bookstore, I would have to be wearing a mauve-ish sweater and an incredibly flattering woven skirt of some sort along with a cute pair of reading glasses, and my hands would have to be cradling a book of wide renown but which is not commonly read by people of my age group (something along the lines of War and Peace, or anything else by Tolstoy for that matter).

Unfortunately, if I were actually to meet any of you in person, the first impression that you would have of me would probably lead you to assume that I am a loafer who shops primarily at places like Walmart or Target and has no greater than a seventh-grade reading level. This would occur because you would notice me by chance from across Barnes and Noble, I would be wearing worn-out blue jeans, a pseudo-stylish shirt, and no make up, and my hands would be cradling some novel from the juvenile fiction section (something along the lines of Peter Pan or Stuart Little, or anything by Roald Dahl for that matter).

Luckily, your first impressions of me will be made entirely on the internet. Cheers! However this means that you may deduce almost anything about me, but I'm a very optimistic person. I try not to let others' opinions influence me too much.

Anyway, to get to the point, I've decided that I need a place to publish funny things that occur to me or happen to me. These things may just be funny to me, but I am sure (or rather, I am hoping) that there are others out there with a sense of humor similar to my own who will also appreciate the everyday, mundane, funny stuff that goes on in my life.

The End.