Saturday, August 30, 2008


lol @ McCain and his choice for VP. Talk about a choice solely based on shock value. Mrs. Sarah Palin is pro-life, anti-gay marriage, PRO drilling in Alaska... which is all good and fine... until this:

In May 2008, Palin objected to the decision of Dirk Kempthorne, the Republican United States Secretary of the Interior, to list polar bears as an endangered species. She threatened a lawsuit to stop the listing amid fears that it would hurt oil and gas development in the bears' habitat off Alaska's northern and northwestern coasts. She also called the global warming theory supported by Kempthrone and most scientists "unreliable", and asserted that human activity has not caused Arctic ice to melt. She said the move to list the bears was premature and was not the appropriate management tool for their welfare.[84] (

Which I a little bit have a problem with...(Especially since I just saw a really sad commercial about Polar Bears going extinct =( ) but whatever.

I am a little confused as to why Mr. Senator believes her to be qualified for the position. People complain about Obama's lack of experience.. check out this chick!! If he wanted shockvalue he should have chosen Condoleezza Rice... and FEMALE. Oh but wait, they both share a strength in foreign that would be of no help... Now tell me, how does Palin give John any advantage? The only thing HH says she can think of is all of the Hillary supporters who are on the fence about Obama might vote blindly for McCain because there's a woman on the ballot.

Considering how EPIC of an election this is, Boys:

I am a little dissapointed in your choices... however, either way, we're growing as a country, which is always good.

Oh John McCain, you silly republican presidential candidate you!!

Friday, August 29, 2008

HH&I's Friday night. has provided HH & I with entertainment for our Friday night.
Here are a few things we have "Stumbledupon"

The second and last one are my favorites....


Km and HH

We'll meet Athena later today.

I am in Classical Mythology. She's pretty much reading the power point word for word... and I have it in my lap, printed out. I am so bored. I find it odd that this woman studied Greek Mythology ... isn't it weird to study something that isn't real? That's like me majoring in Harry Potter....

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Change of Major

Dare I say it...

I haven't been instructed to read short stories in a long while, much less write about them. The last short stories I recall reading from high school that I loved were, "The Death of Ivan Ilyich", "Young Goodman Brown", "Samuel" & "The Occurrence at Owl creek Bridge"

Tonight my assignment is to read "Hills Like White Elephants" and, "The Black Man and White Woman in the Green Boat" (or something like that<<)

I absolutely love short stories, and I love writing about them. I can say that I enjoy this almost as much as I enjoy acting. I could sit in my room for days on end and read, and only now have I been reminded of it. 

[This is not a suck up section Daddy....] I am extremely grateful that my father exposed me to books, stories and poetry before the school systems ever did. I feel like it gives me a heads up. Dad had me reading a lot of Poe's short stories, which fascinated me. The re-reading them in my English course allows me to see them more clearly and decipher what they mean. It's good to know what we're talking about in class. Thanks Pop. 

Dearest Father

I do believe there has been a misunderstanding. I am a fan of Mr. Poe, and in fact was actually excited to read The Cask of Amontillado. How could you think otherwise!?!?


Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Page 698

"[Edgar Allen] Poe's life was short and unhappy, if unhappiness can be short."- Jorge Luis Borges

"If in many of my productions terror has been the thesis, I maintain that terror is not of Germany , but of the soul."- EA Poe, after being accused of imitating the "mysticism" of German romantic writers.

University Life: Day 2- WAKE UP.

Today is proving to be much more relaxing. I absolutely love riding my bike- except when it's blistering hot... So the clouds have been my friends lately. After a nice, brisk bike ride I find myself in philosophy (at 9am). I am awake and ready! And then class starts... and I am no longer awake and ready. We are going over everything I already read in the book last night, which I suppose is a good thing. Repetition is a form of learning, right? The minute David (a grad student) starts talking, I completely become tired and can think of nothing other than caffeine and very occasionally what David is saying. I attempt to take notes. I'm basically rewriting what I wrote last night. Whateva. The hour of class consists of debates over what an argument "really is" and HH and I's text conversation (she's in Physics in the next building over) which goes a little something like this: 

Me: So tired
HH: Bored
(5 minutes later)
HH: So very bored
(2 minutes later)
Me: Need coffee
HH: Me too
(repeat about 7 times) 
We really have nothing else to talk about, but texting each other provides hope that there is life outside this very boring class, and soon, it will be over. 

Finally I am downstairs drinking a blended iced vanilla latte and blogging. At which point HH texts me to say that she's off to her Calculus class... taught by a Chinese professor with an extreme accent. She says she can't understand ANYTHING. I laugh and tell her that's what she gets for being so dang smart. I asked her to record him...! 

I am more relaxed now. I have mastered the art of locking up my bike. It still takes me about 2 minutes, but I can do it. I managed to fandangle my schedule so I'm not traipsing around campus trying to get to my classes in an absurdly short amount of time.  I think I am going to do well here. This latte drinking, hall sitting, macbook blogging, apartment living, cute teacher life is totally my style. 

I'm off to read Edgar Allen Poe's "The Cask of Amontillado" *so excited :D*  n

Monday, August 25, 2008

The H in 103H

Waiting outside for my Honors English class... everyone is early... Honors kids...

Uh, ok. First day of classes? First day of freedom?

My Philosophy 110 class, is like high school- big boy style. Which basically means, I don't have to attend if I don't want to. That is all. Everything else... the same. Class size? 30max.  Same stupid clock on the wall, same silly desks... etc. Which, I suppose, I am ok with. 

Riding my bike has been quite the adventure... TRYING desperately not to run into people has become my main goal for today. Seriously people, let's look where we're walking. It's hot. I got to my first class and was practically dripping in sweat. Oh winter, where art thou???

I am sitting next to the Steward Observatory right now... in some shaded courtyard where it's maybe 96 degrees instead of 97. I have a class here today...but before then I have to trek across campus to another far away place. 

I have a two hour gap between my first class and my last three classes. 10-12pm.  I'm not sure what to do with my time. i am sitting here blogging for fear that if I get up and walk somewhere, I'll be, yet again, drenched in sweat. Yuckk.

I suppose if it wasn't hella humid outside, and sticky and hot, I'd be OK.

And for all that complaining I suppose I should write one good thing... The trees are nice. 

Oh and it might rain!

I will probably update again later today =)

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Sense of self

Who I am today is made up of every breath I've taken since the day I was born. Every experience, good or bad, has molded and shaped me into the human being I am right in this moment. And in every other passing, I am changing and evolving, just the same. I harbor just as much resentment as anyone else, spinning off from childhood incidents, certain people, certain situations, reactions I had to various things etc. I place blame just as freely as anyone else, and I feel that even though that blame is placed, it is placed in the past. With what strength I have I do my best not to bring that blame with me into the future, but I must say that I am rarely successful. Just like you, I am only human. 

It was never that I wasn't more than grateful, more than appreciative, more than lucky. It was never that what I was given wasn't enough. It was always that what was being taken from me was so much greater than anything I could have received. Something that was taken, a void that was left, a hole that wasn't, couldn't be, still isn't filled. Blame aside, it's my journey, my mission, my purpose to fill that void, learn from my mistakes and those of others and find my peace, my happiness, among the experiences of the past. I must find myself and in doing so, conquer my fears. I must overcome those obstacles that people have laid before me, and through them, learn my beliefs, my character... learn me. To them, I am, in my happiest of moments, and in my clearest thoughts, nothing but grateful for helping me to learn who I am, and more importantly who I don't want to be. 

What do I do?

I wake up. I go out to check all my websites, in this order: Because it's Sunday, I check Livejournal first, because I know all the secrets have been posted..

Dad's Blog 
HE's Blog 
HE's brother's Blog 
Tm's Blog 

Then, I sit and stare at my computer, wondering if there's anything I need to google. If not, I just go and lurk my Facebook some more. 

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Oh yeah?

I have far too much fun with my new roommate. I am seriously laughing 24/7. It's brutal. 

Friday, August 22, 2008

"Sange meh!"

Km: "What? What are you trying to tell me?"
Wg: "Sangeh meh!"
Km: "What? Wg, please, point... or something! Show me!"
Wg: "I said, SANGEH MEH!"
Km: *Looking hopelessly at Dg* 
Dg: "He said, change him.''
Km: *looking in horror at Wg* "Why would I need to change you Wg?"
Wg: *sheepish*
Km: "Wg...."
Dg: "He probably pooped."
Wg: "Yup."
Km: "UGH! WG!!!!"

I am babysitting the boys tonight. Dad and Nh have gone on a date. I don't mind at all. The four or so hours they're gone has proven to be quite a stress reliever for me. I enjoy painting, taking walks, and reading with the boys.

Before Nh left she explained to me several things: Make sure not to get Dg's cast wet, Dg likes Ravioli and Wg doesn't... etc. etc. Most disconcerting of all these things is this: "Wg is wearing underwear now" (after this sentence she gives me a funny look and says...) "But he is by no means potty trained!" At which point my heart sunk into my stomach. She explained that he should be fine, and is pretty good at going potty. Every five minutes after she and dad left I asked Wg if he had to go to the bathroom. His response was always, "Nope Km!" I should have known better. 

So now we're back at the beginning of the blog, this poop conversation. I tell Wg to go sit on the potty, as he walks away I can't see anything in his pants... so I sigh a sigh of relief. I am hoping he will do his business in the toilet. I walk into the bathroom to find a half dressed Wg with... well... poop all over his little white butt standing over the toilet. As I approach him I can see that he has dropped his underwear in the toilet. "WG! Why are your underwear in the toilet!?" Little Wg replies with, "You know, I am washing them." Simple. Silly. 

The rest, is history. 

It's more than a sticky situation

Recently a friend of mine from Jr. High passed away, BM. He and I hadn't spoken in quite some time, but nonetheless the loss was quite disturbing. I found out about his passing through Myspace... through which I keep in contact with most of my Jr. High friends. From what I have read/heard he overdosed on an anxiety medication- whether it was to get high, or accidental I am not so sure. Anyway, BM had a girlfriend, AM. Apparently some things have gone on between AM and BM's family (mostly his mother). AM, in her distraught state, has said some things that have worsened the already terrible burden on BM's family. BM's mother has taken over his myspace and continues to post bulletins titled "AM" where she leaves harsh words towards AM. AM never responds. 

AM and BM dated for a long while before his death, and I can only imagine how hard it must be for her not to have him around. While BM's mother is mature and probably more level headed than AM she continues to post hurtful messages regarding BM's death. This seemingly only makes the healing process more difficult for the both of them. She posts telling AM things like this- "BM is NOT watching over you, he is in paradise WITHOUT you." Regardless of the tiff these two women seem to have had it must be disconcerting to hear that about someone you love. In my humble opinion I believe BM's mother should leave well enough alone and get OFF her son's myspace, where things will only be made more difficult. 

What a sticky situation. 

Sunday, August 17, 2008

A new member of SA

Spring Awakening (currently on Bdway) is one of my favorite musicals of all time. The girl singing in this audio clip from youtube is the new lead on Bdway. I don't think it's Broadway quality if you ask me... heck! I could do that :p. 

Let me know what you think: 

32 inches of HDTV

My roommate, HH, and I are all moved in today. My first night in my own place is now upon me... and it feels awesome. We started the move on Friday the 15th, and now at 10:34pm on Sunday night we are settled ... with few exceptions. 

I would tell you how I really feel about my own place... but I haven't been here long enough to give a good idea. I feel very normal now. Grown up. Like I'm finally in with the rest of the world. I feel like I belong to a bigger, better community. I like living in an apartment... it's cozy. HH and I got home from a trip to my house (of course I forgot something) and upon arriving home we found two VERY LARGE june bugs on the window outside. We looked at each other and counted to three and RAN inside as to be very careful not to let the bugs inside. We are both freaks about insects... great. 

So now that furniture is in, and the 32'' HDTV her father purchased for us is up and running, along with the all important wireless internet... I think I'm cozied in. I'll update more later when I really have a feel for the place.

As of now, I feel pretty good, and safe! Which is important. :). This is a HUGE step. 

Saturday, August 16, 2008


I think there's one in the bushes. ouch. scary.

People will say we're in love...

I have rehearsal at 11am this morning with Curley. We permed his hair last night... and sure as the sky is blue, he is a curly headed cowboy. 

I am desperately hoping that dad and unclej get here soon... I have three hours!!!!

Update: Dad just called and said 10 minutes :). 


I type this in my garage as I am awaiting my father and UncleJ to come and help me move some extremely heavy stuff into my apartment. I am so excited that they're helping me. There's no way I could carry half this stuff up a flight up stairs. =)

I got in around 130am last night and woke up at 630am this morning. Ew, let's not count how many hours...

I got some good advice last night from WP ( a cast member of Oklahoma ). He says, "Kate, don't do anything but be who you are. Just doing that is enough, I promise. Don't be who you think other people want you to be." Seems logical right? Sure enough it's always easier said than done... especially when the person you're throwing this advice at is an actor. He made me feel a bit better about things. Thinking about what WP said makes it easier to cope with what's going on right now amongst the cast. 

Life is confusing, don't you think? Somedays I really sit and ponder the point... not in a scary way... but in a really confused way. 

"We live and we learn to take one step at a time... it's going to happen when it's supposed to happen."


Sometimes it's hard for me to stand on solid ground. It's hard for me to balance everything. I tend to want everything now, and right now. I've forgotten how to be patient, how to be grateful for something I've waited so long for. So along with those other words of advice, WP tells me to be patient. Things don't need to happen overnight. For me, that's pretty much like walking a kid by a candy shop 84 times only to tell him that maybe next month we can stop in and look around... no candy promised. Patience? Gandhi would be ashamed of me...

Friday, August 15, 2008

Weighing The Dog

It is awkward for me and bewildering for him 
as I hold him in my arms in the small bathroom,
balancing our weight on the shaky blue scale,

but this is the way to weigh a dog and easier 
than training him to sit obediently on one spot
with his tongue out, waiting for a cookie.

With pencil and paper I subtract my weight 
from our total to find out the remainder that is his, 
and I start to wonder if there is an analogy here.

It could not have to do with my leaving you 
though I never figured out what you amounted to
until I subtracted myself from our combination.

You held me in your arms more than I held you 
through all those awkward and bewildering months
and now we are both lost in strange and distant

-Billy Collins

Thursday, August 14, 2008


12 years old and entering the 7th grade at a brand new Jr. high. This was me. 

My mom was a cheerleader in high school, and loved every second of it. She tried all throughout my childhood to push me in that direction, and when she did, I would just bounce back. I didn't much like the sport. Beginning 7th grade in a new school was daunting for me. My mom saw that they were having try-outs for a cheerleading squad at the school and signed me up. Both of us extremely nervous, she dropped me off. I signed in and was assigned a number. Some older girls taught us a routine, which we practiced religiously for the next week. I got help from everyone I knew, attempting to make my routine perfect. I was hoping and jumping in every second of my spare time, bound and determined to make this squad the place I belonged. A week later, I followed the same procedure, being dropped off, signing in, and posting my number visibly on my tshirt. We went over the routine again and then were sent in a classroom in groups of four to perform for the judges. I felt chubby in my shorts and shirt they had given me to wear. I surveyed the group and concluded that I was not as pretty, nor as thin as the other girls. By the time my number was called I had beaten myself down, almost to the point of tears. Of course, they sent me in with 3 of the most talented girls there. I was so nervous. I stared at the wall above the judges' heads and tried my hardest to smile. My mom had said before my audition, "No matter what, smile and look happy!" Oh boy did I try. I forgot the last half of my routine and couldn't do the required toe touch. I left feeling defeated. 

By the end of another long week I had convinced myself that I had done a decent audition, and half expected to make the squad. Mom and I hoped in her car and drove down to the school to see the list that had been posted. I was so nervous... completely immersed in the situation. We got out of the car and scanned the list over. In the four times we scanned it after the first, my number still did not appear. I was absolutely crushed. I sobbed in my room that night, to the point of making myself sick... even though this was something I had never been remotely interested in. I wanted to belong, that was the deal. 

I realize now that, hey, that was my first audition. Just another brick in the wall of Kateonbroadway.

Edit: I am comfortable in my own skin now, for the most part, and confident in my talent. I no longer beat myself down before an audition, but push myself up, confident that I can go in and do my best, and if they shouldn't like what they see, then I need to move on. Maybe I've come a long way since the 7th grade... here's hoping. 


When I was in the first grade I met a girl named Raquel. She was a little African-American girl with braids all throughout her hair. She and I befriended each other, and over time came to be quite the pair. I don't remember much of Raquel, but I do remember my very first sleep over ever, which was at her house. Our mom's met up at Chuck E. Cheese's fed us, and let us play for a while. When we tired of the ball pits and broken games I went home with Raquel and her mom. I was OK at this point, carrying my Little Mermaid sleeping bag, I might venture even to say that I was excited. It was dark outside when we got to Raquel's house which signaled bedtime. Her mom set up a Disney tent for us in Raquel's room-making this whole ordeal ten times more exciting for our seven year old selves. We laid in the tent and giggled, only to be hushed by Raquel's mom again and again. Finally, Raquel's mom went to bed, and left us together in the tent. I remember it being pitch dark. I laid awake inside the tent. After some time Raquel started to snore, which frightened me. I had never heard anyone snore before. I wanted to go home so badly. Every tiny sound made me jump. I was uncomfortable. I wanted to go home. Home, home. It took all the courage I possessed to knock on Raquel's mom and dad's bedroom door. Her mom came to the door in a little nighty and asked me what was wrong. Teary eyed I said, "I am scared and I would like to go home now." I felt my stomach drop when she said it was too late to go home, but first thing in the morning my mom would come pick me up. I felt a tear roll down my cheek. This was the most afraid I had ever been, and I didn't know how to deal with it. I wasn't in control at all. Raquel's mom told me to wait on the couch, and after what seemed an eternity alone in the dark she came out of her room, laid down with me on the couch, and flipped on the television. I vividly remember a commercial with a goldfish in a bowl, one I found to be quite funny. I remember drifting off to sleep, feeling safer. I have no memory of the morning, or how I felt afterward. I have disliked sleep overs since. I like to be in my house, with my things, and my own family.

The fear I am feeling regarding moving out is very much the same fear I felt that night at Raquel's. Completely new and I am left to find the tools to deal with this completely new situation...only this  time there's no one to hold me through it. This is me, never getting up to get Raquel's mom, but staring up at the Disney tent in the middle of the night and comforting myself to sleep, even through this new, intense fear that I had never felt. This new, intense fear that I have never felt. 

"That's about as fer as I can go!"

I want to write, blog etc. I have nothing to write, blog etc. about. 

A million things are running through my head. Buzzing around fast and loud, and it's all I can do to try and slow one down, recognize it, and move on to the next thought. So many things are happening now at once, and I don't know where to put myself into the equation. I'm a little nervous about acquiring a roommate. That's someone else to think about 24/7. Not that I mind being respectful and mindful of, it's just weird. I don't know all. Talk about a trip. 

I have butterflies in my stomach, branching all the way to the tips of my fingers. So much so, I feel like I might vomit. Gross. I'm nervous. I'm nervous about him and her and them and it... and for now that's about all I can decipher. 

My blogs today are making NO sense.

Sometimes, I touch the screen of my Macbook, in hopes that one day I'll find that it's secretly a touch screen!!! 

I really, really want an ipod touch. OK $300 I don't have =(.

Moving on out... to the West side!

I should be packing right now but I, kateonbroadway, am a master procrastinator. I could think of ten billion things I believe are more important than packing. Except my nana just walked in and will probably scold me for not packing...ehh, whatever. 

Something dawned on me today. I am the kind of person who places all their eggs in one basket. I focus on one thing, person, event at a time and often find it hard to focus on anything else. As soon as the excitement of thinking about this one thing, person, event passes... I am down until I can find something else to look forward to. I personally find it difficult to focus on an overview of things. I can see that it would be much better to focus on a bundle of things, as not to be disappointed when the one basket with all of my eggs breaks through. This is something I really need to work on. 

Moving still seems surreal. I don't believe it's actually happening... this is fueling my justification for procrastination. 


Rehearsal Diary: See if I'll marry you!

Not sure what number diary this should be....but hey, it's a rehearsal diary nonetheless. 

So, I am making friends with the cast. We've, at this point, established enough inside jokes for me to feel like I fit in. It's all turning out pretty well actually. Sure, there are some issues... the pianist is a little nuts, there's no backstage room, and definitely no air conditioning... but it's good company and lots of laughs. 

The lead boy, Curley, has straight hair.. so this friday we're having a perm party in order to make him look more like his insane parents should've named him Curley. This should be really funnn. 

... that's it for now. Oh, and I really need to memorize my lines... it's really hard to square dance with a script and pencil in hand!

Monday, August 11, 2008


My whole summer has just been thrown off. I feel like I should be in school....=(


The last time I cried this much was when I found out we weren't going to have a musical. Something I had waited for since my freshman year, something to work towards, something to look forward to. I remember sitting in the middle of my bedroom floor sobbing, unable to form words between my gasps for air. I remember trying to tell my mom what was wrong. I am still trying to figure out why I put so much stock in that. 

That experience didn't teach me a lesson, build my character, or make me stronger human being. It made me a bitter person. 

Love always,  

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Always & Forever

I love my daddy.

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Downward Spiral, Anyone?

Watching lifetime and binge eating. 

I am trying so hard to lose weight, and I am definitely not helping myself right now.

Friday, August 8, 2008

"You simply cannot do anything for a broken toe."

My toe is broked. lol.

 Ahem, My toe is broken. Er, sprained, fractured, injured etc. My mother, the nurse, can't seem to tell me which it is. After asking her what the hell she went to nursing school for if she can't tell me if my toe is broken or not, she says nonchalantly, "I am not a doctor." Boy, do I hear that excuse a lot. 

So my toe remains (let's use a safe word here...) injured. It remains injured, and throbbing, and swollen and partially purple. It's my big toe, if you were wondering. 

*Edit: How I did this to myself: Upon leaving my mother's bathroom I slipped on some water near the door and fell feet forward. My toe hit the door then jammed beneath the door and the floor (the door was closed) leaving a huge gash on my foot as well. Ouchie. If it doesn't make sense to you, that's OK. It didn't make any sense to me either. 

Rehearsal Diary 3: Show it to me before opening night

Last night after rehearsal I was standing outside with some of the cast members chit chatting about new musicals and such (nerdy theatre kids...) and my director comes out the door and makes a b-line for me. She pulled me in close to her and said, "Honey, I need you to be louder, and more confident... like you were during auditions!" Taken aback I promptly assured her that I don't know this music, and as soon as I learn it she will hear the confidence & volume she requests. 

This angers me. Never before in my life have I heard this music. Tonight was our first rehearsal, and needless to say I've been listening to the OBC recording, some parts are left out and were never recorded. I have NO IDEA what these parts sound like, so upon singing them, Yes, I am a bit hesitant. "You need to show it to me before opening night", she reprimands me. 

I'm angry. I get into my car and call my voice teacher begging for an emergency lesson. So today at three I will go into my lesson & learn my music. 


One step at a time

Today was the fourth day in a row that I've gone to the gym. Yay for me. Seriously, this is an accomplishment for my lazy bones.

The lady at the LA Fitness desk is really rude. Really, really, rude. It's not anything she says, it's just her demeanor... luckily I'm not the only one who noticed it. The guy behind me commented it on it as well. 

Yay gym time!

Sorry Excuse For A Man

These are lyrics to the song "Me Too" by country star Toby Keith. I just so happened to hear the song on my way home from the gym:

If i send you roses for no reason at all
If,out of the blue,i stop and give you a call
Once in a while,it's breakfast in bed
And then pull the covers back up over our heads
If i call in sick just to stay home with you
I want you to know why i do what i do
It's my way of
sayin' what i can't express
But i want you to know,girl,
i'm doin' my best

i'm just a man,that's the way i was made
I'm not too good at
sayin' what you need me to say
It's always right there on the tip of my tongue
It might go unsaid,but it won't go undone
So when those three little words come so easy to you
I hope you know what i mean when i say,me too

If you should wake up and catch me
watchin' you sleep
And i break the silence by
kissin' your cheek
If i whisper
somethin'you don't understand
Don't make me repeat it,i don't know if i can


Me too,me too,hope you know what i mean when i say
Me too,me too


This is ridiculous. While the first stanza of the song is cute/romantic, the chorus and everything else to follow is ABSURD. "Oh, I'm just a man, that's the way I was made, I'm not too good at sayin' what you need me to say." Mr. Keith is using his gender as an excuse for his inability to tell his significant other that he loves her. I know plenty of men who can say "I love you" without having to write a song about their struggle to do so. More over, they DON'T struggle to do so, because that's what you DO when you LOVE someone, Toby- You tell them you love them. I find it disturbing that, Toby, living with this woman, or at least spending the night, (which he alludes to by his "breakfast in bed, and then pull the covers up over our heads" line) can't tell her that he loves her.

"If I whisper somethin' you don't undersand, Don't make me repeat it, I don't know if I can." Loser. Toby Keith is a loser. Any man who relates to this song is a loser. I understand that many people have "I love you" phobias, but really... he doesn't know if he can repeat the sweet thing he just whispered? ... Doesn't that just seem... foolish? The song, meant to be romantic ( I assume )... is dumb. Plain, flat out, dumb. Just a man, blaming his gender for his inability to say the words 'I love you'. 

I understand that Mr. Keith is trying to convey his feelings in a romantic way, through a song he's written, but really, he's only representing himself in an extremely stupid way. 

This angers me. It's really causing me to be flustered. Which is hindering my ability to write coherently. DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT IM TRYING TO SAY?

Thursday, August 7, 2008

The Last Supper

Some of my good friends from HS planned this event entitled, "The Last Supper" and invited everyone we know. It's a dinner party at one of the finer restaurants in town- I was invited. Am I going? Yes. Will it be painfully awkward? Yes. Is it something I feel like I need to do? Yes.

The last time we had a gathering like this, it was disastrous. I still wish to attend. Closure, ya know?

(The last dinner outing)

In Old New York

CC is moving to New York City to go to some acting school. He's moving next week, around the same time I'm moving out.

It's hard to get a grip lately. It's proving difficult not to compare myself to everyone else. I don't really know where I'm going, or who I am, or what I want, and I constantly feel like I'm behind. This is a lot more difficult than I thought it would be, this college thing. Frightening, really. Not the college part, the real life part.

I am really going to miss my cat. And my momma.

Apartment it is.

People at the University are silly. They have no idea what they have open, they just know they have openings, (how is that?) ... they can't garuntee that my roommate and I will be together, and they won't tell us which residence hall we'll be in... and I don't want to be living in the ghetto... so Apartment it is.

No news is good news...

I'm working out at LA Fitness today, and to pass the time I watch the TV's they have mounted on the ceiling and struggle to read the fast moving captions (because there isn't any sound). After The View the news comes on. None of the news is good news. Burn victims, injured construction workers, fifteen car pileups, missing children, etc. The most disturbing of stories was a 12-year-old little boy who brought a gun to his Jr. High. When asked why he brought it, he told authorities that a boy at school had been bullying him. Regardless of the bully, guns are not OK (obviously), but it completely broke my heart that this boy felt so much in danger that he thought bringing a gun might fix his situation. Even more unsettling is that he thought to bring a gun in the first place, and EVEN MORE SO... WHERE DID HE GET THAT GUN!?!?

I resolved to staring at the wall and watching the people at the level below me for the remaining 22 minutes of my workout. The news is just too depressing.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Dorm v. Apartment

So today they called my roommate and offered her a dorm room. Last week they called me and offered me a dorm. My roommates father, a very pushy man, seems to think that he can get her and I a dorm room together. I can't decide, I am terrible at decisions. Which would I rather?? Shared showers and lots and lots of girls, or more space, less girls, and my own shower...

So, here we go again, nothing can ever just stay the same. Always decisions to be made. Yuck.

Monday, August 4, 2008

moving out, moving out.

I am moving out of my Nana's house this week in order to watch Aj and Cj while my mom is at work. I need to watch them because they refuse to spend the night at my Nana's. So, I've got to uproot myself so they can stay in their own beds. This is nice, really, really nice.

Sunday, August 3, 2008


Decora is my Nana's cat. Nana named her Decora because she matches the decor of her house....yeah. What she lacks in personality she makes up for in fluffiness and softness. Tonight Decora is laying on my bed... sleeping... or lounging... or whatever it is cats do. I start to sing and she lets out this wretched meow. I stop, and her meow stops. I think I know where she stands on issues of my vocal talent.


I lurk youtube and watch all the people singing renditions of Broadway songs that are one million times better. Of course, I know this should inspire me to be better... make me work harder etc. But can I just say that right now in this moment it makes me want to rip my vocal chords out and never sing again. I'm allowed to feel that way right?

Friday, August 1, 2008

Realizing it's no longer all about me.

I'm moving out in fourteen days. Moving into my own apartment with a girl I've only met once. I'm excited. I'm very excited. I thought that at this point in my life my mom and several other family members would be up in arms about me moving out, sharing my nerves and excitement. This is not so, or not so the way I imagined. They're letting me go. I am being let go. The extreme attention I have required throughout my youth is also going away. I will be in my own apartment, paying attention to my own self, and just like every other grown up in the world, I will see my family once or twice a week (maybe more at first). Scary. Scary may not be the right word. Daunting. Daunting is the word I'm searching for. Let me give you an example:

Finding Nemo. Nemo is flushed down the toilet at one point in the movie (sorry for those of you who haven't seen it... but jeez.. if you really haven't seen it... I suggest you get with the times) Nemo slips and slides down the sewer and lands in a part of the ocean that has never been explored by him. This is how I feel. Don't over analyze it or it could become a very disgusting analogy. All I'm saying is, it's no longer all about me... I am being let out of the nest to fend for myself... and this is what I wanted.


Testing the waters

Dad says that we don't spend enough time together, he says he feels as though we aren't close enough to fight. Tonight he asked me if the communication was more authentic in person, I answered 'yes". However, I think the communication through blogs is more honest. I suppose you could say that this is a daughter testing the waters. I tell my mom everything... or I have told her almost everything. More so now that I'm inching closer and closer to my eighteenth birthday. Dad is a different story. Dad and Mom have had different sets of beliefs for as long as I can remember. Beliefs as well as theories on the best ways to raise their daughter. They've each treated me differently, and in response I did the same to them. Neither was better, neither was bad, they were just, very simply, different. In a way, as I get older, I am learning to appreciate the behaviors and lessons I was exposed to from each of them individually. From them, I have learned a lot about what I want to be, and what I don't want to be. My mom has always been more of a friend than a parent, and I have treated her so. I tell my mom virtually everything knowing there won't often be repercussions, nor disappointment on her behalf, because she's always been more lax than most parents. This is not to say she didn't watch me very carefully, and encourage me to do the right things, she was just always apt to treat me as an adult, probably at times when I shouldn't have been....but ehh... anyway...

Blogging allows me to test my waters with my dad. I feel more comfortable slowly easing him into my reality over internet space than walking up to him and blabbering away. Mind you, it's not that I have been bad. Not that I have done anything I wouldn't post on this blog, it's that my dad has always treated me as his daughter, as his little girl, unlike my mother who treated me as a friend, and for a little while now I have played the part of an older daughter, not so little anymore-- or trying not to be. It's just different, and before I confuse you, dear reader, or myself anymore on the matter, I am going to end this blog!

Tick tock goes the clock... but what is it really saying?

A girl on facebook writes in her status, " the monosyllable of the clock is Loss, Loss, Loss." I beg to differ. I feel as though the monosyllable of the clock is gain, gain, gain. Each second past is a second gained in your life. A second full of life. The seconds that add up to your long 80, 90 hopefully 120 years. I thought about this on the way home from Dad's tonight. Talk about the glass half full....
Since when did I adopt the practice of positive thinking?