Post from Xanga: May 10

My bedroom is like a tiny, little box. It's cluttered with things from my  few hippos to hundreds of dollars in jewelry, and even more books. It adds up to make me. Remnants of Harry Potter, and so much makeup and clothing. Dirty laundry lies on the floor, and old letters and passed notes and trinkets are hidden in boxes in my closet.

Tonight, my dad said to me, "She thinks I don't love her."
"You don't love her, I replied." We were talking about my mom.
"You know that, and I know that, but she only suspects that." He paused, but only for a breath. "I do love her, I'm just not in love with her."

He told me about how bitter my mom is, and that we both owe her a lot. But, I shouldn't live with so much guilt, and I shouldn't sob over her guilt tripping me for asking my dad to do the dishes.

"Four years ago, you stopped talking to us," he began. When I stopped talking, I became angry and hostile with them. And, he knows I went through something in school, but I stopped talking to them and chose to handle it on my own. He acknowledged that I handled it pretty well, but "You have to stop blaming us. You have to stop blaming us for something that we couldn't have helped, that wasn't our fault. It wasn't our fault or your fault, and you have to let go of that anger."

It all went out into the open. He doesn't love my mom. My mom is a resentful, bitter person. I blame them for something they couldn't have stopped or helped.

High school ends in a month exactly. I graduate on June tenth.

Originally, I was going to write about how I don't want time to pass this way. How I lived two years in silence and on autopilot, and I feel it returning. Each morning it feels like a chore to get up. The highlights of my days are never great enough, so they just melt into the monotony. Each night I become progressively more tired and bored and so tired. I feel it. The way I put all my focus into one aspect of my life, like prom. Then everything else melts away, and I just devote myself to the single cause. In freshman year, Rupert Grint occupied my mind constantly.

I feel the last moments of high school collapsing into a lackluster haze I will one day regret not better spending. Then, all at once, my internal problems cease to amuse me. I forget to be self-involved and gossipy, and I am thrust into the reality of my life.

While crying over my mom, I said I didn't want to go to prom anymore. I don't. My dress and my shoes are tainted by the bitterness my mother pelted at the silk, and now my gown reminds me of hatred. I don't know if I will go. It would hurt Eugene if I didn't.

Prom was my motivation. Once I graduate I'm going to leave the county. Then, I will return home and attend a local college, where I will stay for an undetermined amount of time. Meanwhile, the marriage of my parents has reached its peak, and I have waited for this all my childhood. They're both so tired and angry that they can only avoid it through spending hours watching television, a success if they can stay in the same room. And, I see it happening and I have used the same words my father used.

They also know. They know I blame them and I haven't forgiven them. I don't know how to stop blaming them. I know it's irrational and wrong, but they are still my parents. A child thinks his or her parents are invincible, and they will always be protected by their magical parents. I never left that mentality. It still feels like, every time they have an opinion on my life, that they have no rights to these thoughts. I made myself the person I am today, and I to through the worst time of my life, with so little help. They don't deserve to be part of my future. I'm still angry. I still blame them. I don't know how to let go.

High school ends in exactly a month. I thought things were going to be easier than this. That, somehow, I had made it and things would fall into place. Surprises of surprises, I was wrong.

Thirty-one days, and I don't know what comes after that.

Quick update for all the people who don't read this blog.

1. The school music teacher engraved my personal cello with a school barcode. He held my cello hostage (had it repaired) for three weeks, and I cried when it was given back.
2. The German came and left. She and I did and did not get along. It was quite complicated. On a personal level we got along, but on a social level we are very different people.
3. I am not leaving state for college, which was my dream (my primary motivation throughout high school). I have spent the past week pondering the meaning of life and crying a lot.
4. I have started reading a lot of cooking blogs. I'm baking something for all the high school teachers who impacted me. I like cooking and baking, especially for other people.
5. I stopped taking pictures (and blogging here) because I am really quite lazy. Sometimes I wear an outfit that I really like and think, 'Damn, I wish I could post this.' I could, but I don't because no one except for myself cares.

My Secret Admirer

Today, my secret admirer gave me flowers. Two synthetic roses. Everyone asked who they were from, and I told them quite happily. I skipped around the classroom in my awkward, jerky movements I make when clearly excited.

Then I ran off to find my secret admirer and tell him off. How dare he give me roses? The entire point of a secret admirer is that he's a secret! If he starts giving me flowers, then people will know who he is. If I let him give me flowers, the next step will be serenading me in the hallways! That simply will not do. How could he ever be so reckless and exceedingly bold?

Or, maybe, I am sad. Maybe I went to class and saw my friend had forgotten the flowers her boyfriend gave her. Maybe I skipped around to go find her and return them. Maybe I just found the idea of someone giving me flowers quite exhilarating. Maybe I have wanted a boy to give me flowers ever since seventh grade.

But, that's only maybe.

Maybe, someday, a boy will really give me flowers. Not a secret admirer, or a fallacy, but a real boy who really likes me. Maybe he'll give me real flowers; like sunflowers, tulips, or maybe even roses. Maybe I'll be able to walk around with the flowers all day and feel significant. Maybe he'll give me flowers more than once, but not so often it's not special. Maybe it will be wonderful, or it could be terrible.

Maybe the flowers would wilt. Maybe I would drop them and they would be ruined, or someone would bump into me and crush them. Maybe he would look at the flowers and look at me and think I'm not very wonderful anymore. Maybe I will have forgotten to take my allergy medicine, like I did today, and the flowers will make me unhappy. Maybe, no one will ever give me flowers.

But, maybe it could be wonderful.

But, that's only maybe.

Yesterday, the second, marked 100 days to graduation.

The kids going to UC's don't start school until August, September, or whenever. One of the schools I was accepted to has orientation in mid-July. Another school, the school I just got a $12000 yearly grant from, has orientation the day I come back from Europe. I have 104 days until I go to Europe to only come home long enough to be able to leave again.

104 days until everything changes. I have goosebumps whenever I think about it. I waited so long. It was so long. Sometimes I cry thinking about how long this was, and how difficult it was to get here. Now, the end is in sight. I can leave and never come back. I never have to go back to where it happened or see any of those people again. I never even have to see my friends or my house again. Finally, my past will just be part of me and not something I face every day. I won't be stuck, trapped here.

I cry knowing that in 104 days what once seemed unattainable will have been conquered.

Lately, I have pondered the expression that good things leave to make room for greater things. I wonder how that applies to my life. Does it imply that great things become good things? What about things that in unarguably bad? In the most recent context, I wonder if it applies. I wonder if Marching Band left me with a broken heart, a cracked spine,  and a feeling of abandonment so I could pick myself up again and find Journalism. Is Journalism the great thing to make up for Marching Band? Was Marching Band, my rock in junior year, merely a good thing?

Every morning, Journalism class makes me prepared for the day. I feel accomplished when I turn in articles, I learn when advanced staff reviews my articles with me, and I have a purpose in trying to change the way my peers view our school. I laugh with the kids in the class, and we accept each other. When I spent time with just four of them, I had felt like I had gone on a greater adventure than I have in months. Journalism might be the path I want to follow in life.

I heard this expression a few months ago, through my ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend. I never wrote about that ... calamity-like situation, and I never intend to. But, it was a turning point. Anyway, she wanted that to be her senior quote. I remember wondering if she thought my ex-boyfriend was the great thing she gained from her ex-boyfriend. I remember scoffing because I know he won't be a great thing for her. He isn't a great thing for himself. Spite aside, the expression has floated through my mind.

99 days to graduation. 104 days to Germany.

Journalism Part 2: Growing Balls

Simon started a blog today:

But the reason for this post is because Elizabeth R. shook off her “socially awkward band kid” image when she approached a young man, that she was eying throughout the day, and had a two and a half minute conversation.
Congrats Elizabeth!! Angelica, Angelica, Vincent, and I were the witnesses of you growing “balls”.
We all have new found respect for you Liz! This post is to you.

We were too loud and rude when leaving the campus, people looked at us. But, we're always the group that's way too loud. Our journalism class consists of a bunch of loud cultures. We have a Filipino, an Italian, a Jew, a Mexican, and an El Salvadorian. It's in our blood to be too loud and to eat too much. There was a presentation on avoiding stereotypes in the paper and everyone wanted to go.

"Are you serious? Look at the kids in our class, if we stereotype one group, somebody pipes up and is like, 'hey, that's not true!'" Then Simon supported me by making a comment about me being white or Jewish or homely. I don't remember. It didn't support my idea, but we all laughed.

As we waited at the bus stop, I saw the staring boy sitting by himself. I told Angelica 1 to look, and she started freaking out. Everyone started freaking out. Angelica 1 said she wouldn't be my friend if I didn't go over and talk to him. Everyone started saying I don't have any "balls" and ... they peer-pressured me. I told Angelica 1 if she called the bus station to see when the bus was coming, and we had more than two minutes, I'd go talk to him. So, she whipped out her phone and said I had three minutes.

Initially, I took about three steps in his general direction, but abruptly stopped behind a bush. I just happened to stop in the most stalker-like place, but it was unintentional. They all thought I wasn't going to do it. Angelica 1 had already looked away when I walked over to him.

He was looking in the other direction. I sat down and he smiled at me. It was very nice.

I introduced myself. His name was Jeremy (which I later found out is spelled at Jérémie). He asked my school, I asked his. I told him my friends were loud instead of telling him I have no shame, which was my first instinct. I asked where his accent was from because he had an accent. He said he's from Belgium. I told him my favorite science teacher is from Belgium, which isn't entirely true since Mr. Brown only lived there six years. Then I saw my bus so I told him I saw my bus. Angelica yelled my name as I stood up, so I said bye and walked away.

Everyone was freaking out. They had me tell them everything that was said and everything that had happened. Angelica must have hugged me five times. They exclaimed I have "balls." I said this is what we should put in the paper for reasons why kids should join next year.

When we were coming home on BART, I realized I have never done anything here. This was my first time taking BART into the city with friends; it was my fist time taking BART with friends. It was the first time I bought my own BART ticket, and the first time I rode a bus.

I hate it here because I've never done anything. There are so many places a person can go, so many places to see, and so many things to do. I've done nothing. My life is so secluded to my school and my parents and my temple. Now I am leaving, the time approaching so rapidly, and the opportunities I have missed and experiences I have never had are just becoming apparent. I guess this is what happens when you leave a place. 

Today was so wonderful. It was an adventure, even if just a slight one. I like the person I am, and the things I can do. I hope for more days like this, days of small adventures and horizon expanding. I can't wait to leave.

Journalism Part 1: Shoes

I remember waking up and getting ready in the morning. I remember initially going inside Angelica's car. I remember being in front of Vincent's house. I remember being at BART. I remember buying my ticket and I remember squishing three people into one seat. I remember people telling us where to go for the bus. I remember being on the bus. I don't remember any of the times in between.
Once we got to the school, Vincent bought coffee ... with my money. I lent Vincent money for the bus, I remember. There was a journalism conference in the city today. I woke up at 5:30, Angelica picked me up at 6:30, and the conference started at 8: 30. When we got to the school we were so early they wouldn't let us sign in.

Angelica and I went to the bathroom to be girls. She wanted to put eyeliner on my lower lids, but I refused because it makes me look like a raccoon. When other journalism kids from other schools started to file in, I said that we had to find me a white boy. Looking around, everyone was white or Asian. There were so many white kids!

We, being the psychotic journalism kids we are, stood in the corner and started referring to both of the Angelicas as mom, and Vincent as papa. Oh! We got lost on campus, too. Angelica 2 and Simon were Daphne and Freddie. Vincent was Shaggy and Angelica 1 was Scooby. I was Velma.

Inside the welcoming presentation thing, this boy was sitting in front of Angelica 1 and he kept looking at me. Then Angelica 1 became a spastic queen and noticed, and started counting all the times he looked at me. He was a white boy. They asked me if I wanted that one, him, and I said I didn't know.

Angelica 1 and I went to the first conference session together. It was about radio journalism. There was a more professional sounding name, but I can't remember it. This boy who looked JUST LIKE KURT was there. I stared at him all day. It too all my self-control not to touch his hair. The staring boy was also there.

After that presentation, Vincent and I went to the photojournalism presentation. We both had to go to the bathroom, though, so we left. There was something yellow in or on all of the toilets in the bathroom, all but one. I used the one that wasn't visibly yellow. I somehow managed to get soap on my pants, too.

When we finished our bathroom trips we went back to the presentation room, but the door was shut and locked. Vincent knocked and I tried my best to duck behind him. The room was very crowded, staring boy was directly across the room from me. Vincent and I stood in the doorway, and we had to hold open to door. The presentation was really interesting, and I learnt a lot of new concepts about taking photos for newspapers. It was sort of upsetting Vincent and I couldn't see the slideshow with all the ... pictures in it. I could see the staring boy stare at me, every once in a while.

Angelica 1 and I went to a presentation about ... something. I can't really remember. We were all just really hungry. Angelica 1 and I met up with Vincent to go to lunch. We couldn't find Angelica 2 and Simon, so we just assumed they would find their ways. Angelica 1, Vincent, and I followed the directions to get out of the building, but then everyone was just standing there.

I said, "Let's be investigative journalists!" After Vincent said he felt like we were supposed to go in a certain direction. We went in his direction to be investigative, and then everyone started to follow us. The people in charge assumed we were journalists and could figure it out on our own. Thank the journalism gods we were there, otherwise all the other kids would have starved.

Angelica 2 and Simon were already in the cafeteria; they saved a tale for all of us. When I sat down at the table, I saw staring boy at the table directly across from us. We all stood in line for lunch, Angelica 1 and I were together since vegetarians had to stick together. It was fun to sit around with my journalism kids. Angelica 1 and I have the same taste in white boys. We all talked about shoes and I don't remember what else. The keynote speaker talked for too long, though her presentation was interesting. Angelica 1, Angelica 2, and Simon all got seconds on the sandwiches. It was so funny. They just kept laughing. During the speech, I kept putting on lip-gloss. Vincent texted. Everyone else ate.

When we were finally released from lunch and the speech, we got to hang around campus for a while. I was very unladylike and wandered around while Angelica 1 and 2 were girls in the bathroom. When we were outside, Angelica 1 sat on a railing. I used a rock to help myself up, but scraped my hand in the process of trying to sit on the other railing.

"Elizabeth, why did you do that?"
"I wanted to be like you..."
"Aww!"

Then Angelica 1 and I went to a presentation on taking over the internet. It was very inspiring, and I think it was my favorite presentation because the speaker was really cute. We finally had our last presentation, and it was short. The conference ended at 3: 30. We were all just so tired.

Forget spring fever.

Many of my school friends are just beginning to feel the senior fever. It is finally clicking that this is our last year in high school, most of the plans we can make for our future have been planned, and everything we know is going to change. It took them so long.

I am itching, itching to leave home. I know I shouldn't. I know I should treasure this time left in school, but I simply cannot. I know I am going to regret rushing through the end of high school when there are so many opportunities to make now better. I feel like I can't do this anymore.

High School Experience:
Freshman year made me a victim of abuse and hormonal changes.
Sophomore year put me into a pit of depression and confusion.
Junior year was coming back to humanity.
Senior year is my first real attempt at being who I can be, who I should be.

Middle school was such a long time ago. It's weird to remember there was life before puberty. Before birth control came along to halt my menstruation-induced sickness, heartless people, and my run-in with Harry Potter fanfiction. There was a time when I was filled with school spirit, and I was popular.

Now I'm not so popular, but it also isn't so bad. I have friends. I have a personality. I have plans. Oh, the places we'll go. In middle school, we called ourselves the class of '06. Now we have sweatshirt and various other apparel to prove we're the first graduating class of the decade.

The rest of life is just in sight, but that shouldn't trivialize where I sit now.  Whilst I stare at my prospects and try to still face reality, I pray for  no surgery. Please, please no surgery.

When I need giggles, I read this post. 

Blog Whored: Katja/ paperstarfruit

I want to go to New York. Yesterday, it was a fact. I never thought I'd want to go to New York. It sort of feels like my family's evolution. We went from the old country (which was a bunch of countries, in actuality), to New York. Then my parents went from New York to Texas. From Texas, my parents wound up in California. It is my ultimate goal to find my way back to the old country (like I said, are actually a bunch of countries), but for now I want to go to New York. I feel like I'm regressing in my family's ideals, but that's not actually a bad thing.

Since I'm not in New York, or the old country, I settle for here. I have friends here. I have my imagination. So, sometimes the weather is nice enough to let me forget I hate the weather here. I go on adventures with friends, usually Jeanie or Katja. This adventure was with Katja. We went to this wildlife preserve/ housing area/ beach walking path to take pictures. Well, we went there so Katja could take pictures of me.

In her blog, Katja raved about me. My favorite line of the entire post dedicated entirely to me was, "Astrid is the person who got me interested in fashion. She introduced me to this whole new world, this subculture, to this whole fashion blogosphere." Some people may know, but my favorite thing to do is introduce people to the internet. I am quickly finding out that another joyful experience is teaching people to be as excited about fashion as I am. Katja started blogging and became interested in fashion because of me. It's in writing!

Yesterday I didn't feel too lively. It translated into my outfit, which consisted of black Clarks' heels, dark blue tights from TJ Maxx, a dark green and blue striped skirt from Gap, and a dark purple sweater from Gap. Katja was one of the people who tried to turn my day around, and succeeded for a time. During lunch she bought me a cookie, and then after school we had this adventure. My heels were covered in mud by the time we finished. We are hardcore art, fashion, and nature enthusiasts. Well, she is.

I love Katja. I love days when I can enjoy my home. I love the prospect of leaving, even if I am scared.

Your horoscope for February 3, 2010

You might find that things are coming to a climax in your life at this time, Elizabeth. Emotionally speaking, things may be getting intense as people become more and more critical of you and your actions. When it comes to matters regarding love and romance, avoid over-analyzing every single movement and spoken word to death. Stop taking the romance out of everything, and just enjoy the experience for what it is.

Astrid of Sweden

http://www.goldinuniverse.com/showprofile.asp?id=3/6/4/0/5/1/2/7/&name=Astrid

Things You Might Not Know:

1. Instead of a backpack, I use a messenger bag for school. It is bright yellow and says "Reading Is Sexy" which makes me sad because I don't read as often as I should.

2. I read and wrote a lot in my freshmen year, I read a lot in my sophomore year, and I barely read and wrote very little in my junior year. I am try, very hard, to read and write more often. I got through the first three chapters of Jane Eyre tonight, and it is quite an accomplishment.

3. My absolute favorite chore is doing my laundry. I refuse to do laundry for other people, and I hate when other people do my laundry. I was my hands after I touch my dirty clothing. But, the thrilling part is when I get to take the lint out of the screen in the dryer. I become far too excited about lint.

4. I painted a cup with a Purple Hippo and hearts on it.

5. I am very obsessive and compulsive, but the type where things have to feel right. I will hate you in you sneeze into your hands. I count when pouring water into bowls and glasses. When I grow up and live on my own, I will count my blessings every day for being able to keep my home the way it should be kept.

6. I think I'm cooler because I was an internet child. I understand the format of HTML, though I can't write it myself. I have spent years being a blogger. I can navigate forums, and have been a moderator on two forums. I have dear  friends all over the world who I met through the internet.

7. My favorite food is toast.

8. I am a tea snob. On a regular basis, I drink Yorkshire Tea.

9. I eat at least one apple every day.

10. People tell me I am clingy and needy. I am because I have low self-esteem. I don't like doing things on my own, and I like being guided through things because I don't trust myself to do anything right. I think the only true confidence I have is when I blog, but I can't even vlog.

11. I swear a lot.

12. My sense of smell is practically nonexistent. I have very sensitive hearing, but when I'm in a group of people I always find t difficult to hear. I have 20/ 13 vision (and that's why you should have voted me for "best" eyes.)

13. As a little girl, m favorite color was purple, but then I told myself to like blue because it was a more popular color.

14. I have always loved red hair. When I was little I would become entranced my hair dye commercials, the woman with the red hair and green eyes. I have also always loved freckles. When I was little, I would point out the light sprinkling of freckles on my nose to anyone who cared to look.

15. I used to carry around stuffed animals in public very frequently, but then I stopped. I realized it was bad for me to find it completely socially acceptable to carry around a stuffed elephant the size of my torso. I also used to talk to myself, not very often, but I did. I also stopped doing that because I knew it was abnormal.

16. A few years ago I counted the books I had. There were over three-hundred.

17. A year ago today, a boy asked me to be his girlfriend. I said really instead of yes, so then he said nevermind. Then he asked me again and I said yes.

18. Every year, our neighbors used to take us to see The Nutcracker. They have both died. But, I think it was in third grade, my dad and I were watching the orchestra pit when I heard a sound I loved. I asked him what instrument it was, and after a few minutes of trying to discern which I was referring, he told me it was a cello. In fifth grade when orchestra was offered in school, I cried and tried to not let anyone see.

19. I still receive holiday cards from my elementary school teachers. One has two kids, and when she was my teacher I caught her kissing her boyfriend on a school field trip. She ended up marrying him. 

20. I am terrified of birds. I especially hate pigeons and sea gulls, which many people are aware of. But, my most hated bird is the chicken. A chicken once bit my hand, and I think that started my phobia. When I became a vegetarian, I considered eating chicken one last time, out of spite.

21. I am terrified of goats and sheep. To this day, I cry when I go into a petting zoo. Like, seriously.

The extent of glamor in Marching Band.

I am going to take a few minutes to complain about my back.

In November 2008, I began to have back problems. It was the end of my first season of marching band, and toward the end it became difficult to carry my drum. My back would get stiff very quickly, and it cracked frequently. It didn't hurt all the time, though.

For winter percussion, I continued drumming and was put on a drum larger than my first. I had to wear a brace because I couldn't stand up on my own. Despite my worsening back pain, I continued playing. My drumming improved, I had a boyfriend, and I loved my friends in the drumline. Everyone who marched my drum had back pain.

Marching band season began again in July, I kept drumming. I was put on my original drum, but it was much more difficult. My back always hurt, at this point in time. It hurt to bend down, and my back would crack all the time. Toward the end of the season, I was put on the bigger drum. My original drum weighed about twenty pounds, so I assume the bigger drum weighed about thirty.

The day after marching band championships, I went to New York for a week. I fell asleep on the flight and didn't wake up until we landed. My back hurt so much; I couldn't stand up straight. For the next three days, I walked around with a hot water bottle. It was then I decided marching for another season wasn't worth it.

As time passed, the pain continued and worsened. Sometimes my back hurts so much I can't move. It cracks all the time. I came to the conclusion that I would have back pain for the rest of my life. Sometimes I cannot lie down flat on my back because it hurts to relax. My back swells about once a week, like it did today.

Friday I went to see my doctor about my back. I thought there must be something for the pain. After feeling my spine and poking in various places, my doctor referred me to get an x-ray. Six hours later I found out I have a stress fracture in my lower back, and I nearly have a different type of fracture in my shoulder blades. Once my insurance approves it, I'll have an MRI to confirm it's nothing more serious. Then I'll be put on medication for pain and supplements to strengthen my bones, and I'll start physical therapy. If it's something more serious, then I'll have to have surgery.

I'm old.

"The promised land (land is always a mother symbol) is described as 'flowing with milk and honey.' Milk is the symbol of the first aspect of love, that of care and affirmation. Honey symbolizes the sweetness of life, the love for it and the happiness in being alive. Most mothers are capable of giving 'milk,' but only a minority of giving honey, a mother must not only be a 'good mother,' but a happy person-and this aim is not achieved by many. The effect on the child can hardly be exaggerated. Mother's love for life is as infectious as her anxiety is."

-The Art of Loving

I used to say my iMac was my soul mate.

Sometimes, I feel like I will never be able to rely on anyone. People have this tendency to let other people down. Dogs don't always respond when they've been called. Cats actively dislike me, by spraying my shoes.

The thing is, even when I try to branch out, I just become dependent on new people. Let's think about this.

Starting in September 2008, I became dependent on Chris. He was the only person in Biotech who knew about what had happened in Biology class just two years before. I clung to him for support, which turned into friendship. The friendship then became dependence. Somewhere in the same period as being dependent on Chris, I shared my neediness with the band. This lasted until July, when Chris and I broke up. For a while, I was still dependent on the band but then it became difficult. In November, I broke up with the band and became very dependent on individual friends. Now I am beginning to see who my friends are dependent on, truly loyal to. I see that I am nothing more than a thoughtless, disappointing, burden to the victims I choose as my support.

The other night, I cried to Crystal. I was dependent on her in eighth grade, and afterward we never regained that. But, still, we have some sort of bond. Whenever either of us is terribly sad and lost without a doubt, we turn to each other. The day I realized Chris and I were over, I told her. The other night when I felt my new supports ending, I called her.

She said I couldn’t think of life as a series of losses. Sometimes things don't go as well as we intend. I shouldn't think of my past as a mistake, rather just something to build on. Life is not a series of losses. The only person I can rely on, be dependent upon, is myself. For even when I let myself down, I can't leave.

This new viewpoint is difficult for me. I am a social creature. I like spending time with people and being around people and watching people. I like becoming close to people. To the people I recently feel distanced from; I do not know how to manage a balance of friendship without reliance.

Through all of this, I think to myself, 'I can't wait to leave.'

Then, it hit me. I know where to find true belonging. In a pair of boots. The pair of boots. In my opinion, a girl needs a pair of boots. Not just any pair, though. Every girl should have a pair of soul mate boots. I don't know how else to put this, or explain it less psychotically.

I just think boots are a necessity for any middle-class or above girl. I don't mean boots that look like slippers or rain boots, but a pair of stylish and functional boots. Some people like lace-up, combat boots. Others like over the knee boots with four-inch heels. There is something in-between, and I think that is where I land.

 

For the longest time, meaning since July when I became a fashion freak, I have looked for my soul mate boots. I think part of the problem is that I expect The One to just pop out. Whenever I look in stores or online, there are plenty of boots that are nice enough but nothing pops. Maybe if I knew what I was looking for I could find what I want.

In this TV show I watch, Being Erica, the main character (Erica) works for a publishing company. She's editing a book called The None. It is about love. The plotline is that instead of looking for Mr. Right or Mr. Right now, people need to realize that relationships have two-sides. There will never be a Mr. Right unless you're a Ms. Right.

This leaves me with a few questions, though. How does one acclimate to a pair of boots? I cannot shrink my feet, in theory. And, since I cannot adapt to a pair of boots, what if I never find The One? What if, just like my actual soul that is destined to stay locked up in myself, my soles are destined to roam in shoes that are merely protection from the harsh world?

Maybe, though, I just need more time to look. Maybe, I will find The One and the right pair of boots will fall under my glance. Maybe, my soles will be well cared for. Maybe, my soul just needs time to figure out how to fit in, despite only belonging to me.

Today, I feel like Elle.

This is what I look like when spending the day doing chores.

I love this nail polish. A friend lent it to me. It looks just like the shade The Clothes Horse wears.

I'm just popping by to send out some SFE emails. I slept away the day, and now it feels like my day has just begun. I have so much to do before tomorrow evening. I must clean my room because I have yet to ask about the ABQ. My parents would undoubtedly say no if my room is still the mess it is.

My bedroom is a mass of clothing, basically. This is appalling, but I am still living out of my suitcase. I have clothes piled into the suitcase I took with me to New York in November. My drawers are open and filled with wrinkled, unfolded clothes. My desk and chair are piled with clothing. My closet is organized, though. It was so packed with clothing I could not fit anything in, so I spent a few hours pulling out the hangers not weighed down with clothing. Then I grabbed the clothing I never wear. Now I have room in the closet. Now I just need room to walk.

For the few people who read my blog, what is a fashionable way to wear jeans? It is funny because Second Skin just blogged about rarely wearing jeans. Tomorrow, I am teaching Sunday school. The most practical thing to wear would be pants, since there will be much bending down and sitting in awkward places/ positions. I only one pair of dress pants, which happen to be ill-fitting, and a few pairs of jeans. I would like to impress my temple members and show off the few ounces of style I have, but I am at a loss for jeans. Whenever I wear jeans to school, it just feels uninspiring. How do you make jeans attractive? Even Second Skin didn't make me jump for joy at the prospect of wearing jeans. That says a lot because she has made me lust over faux fur. If she can't convince me that jeans are the way to go, then I don't know what will.

"Today is a most auspicious beginning for a new stage in your love life! "

Your horoscope for January 8, 2010

There is no denying the romance that is in the air today, Elizabeth. You drift through the day in a bit of a haze. Your head is in the clouds and your feet barely touch the ground. If you're already married or in a close relationship, perhaps you've fallen in love with your partner all over again. If you're single, perhaps you've just met the man of your dreams. Whichever it is, know that today is a most auspicious beginning for a new stage in your love life!

How interesting, really.  If you are here due to reference on Ck's blog, I am sorry to disappoint. I have yet to write about our Starbucks adventure, which includes my raging sex-appeal. I will blog about it sometime soon, but not now. I had to write something else, which I have done. Now I have to edit something somebody else wrote, and then I can go to sleep.

I, aside from being a blog whore and seemingly Starbucks whore, am a journalist. I am new, inexperienced, and hardly talented enough to be called a journalist, but I am. I am even becoming infamous, if I want to give myself a compliment.

In a manner much different from what is expected, I wrote a news article. I attempted for it to be unbiased but, it is actually positive. (What? Astrid is going to write something positive in the newspaper?) I've tired out my pessimism for at least one issue, and instead I am raving about Students for the Environment, more commonly known as SFE.

I am president of SFE. This club keeps me so much busier than I expected. Despite just starting out, it brings me exquisite joy. Typing of exquisite, I want to show you two things.

http://www.lelook.eu/street_style_models-lelook_in_london_saliendo_de_topshop-729.html

http://www.modcloth.com/store/ModCloth/Womens/Outerwear/Coats/+La+Mode+Coat

I'm angry. I'm in the library. I had to get out of the house to get away from my mom, to get away from that life. All I wanted was to go to the library and have time to cool off. I wanted to blog. But, I can't blog. For some inane reason, Xanga is blocked at the library. Why would Xanga be blocked and not ... blogger? What the hell? I'm just pissed off and I don't want to write about it here. Omg.

Today, I like my face.

Katja: Blog about it! Duh!
Me: I will! I just need to take a picture.
Katja: Haha. You're so lovable

Me: I think I sort of look like a skittle.
Katja: You look hard and tough but in reality you're really chewy??
Me: Doesn't that always apply to me? No, I'm just very vibrant.
Katja: I don't know, I haven't bitten you. O:
Me: You're one of the few.
Katja: Hehee

The ABC's of 2010

Relating to the subject of your blog, write the first thing that comes to your head when you see the letter.

 A- Astrid!

 B- Boys.

 C - Cooking.

 D - Dogs.

 E - English.

 F - Fashion.

 G - Germany.

 H- Hippos.

 I-  Independence.

 J- Jews.

 K - Katja.

 L - Location.

 M - Massachusetts.

 N - Nail polish.

 O - Oatmeal.

 P -  Pie.

 Q - Quixotic.

 R - Rome.

 S - Sweden.

 T -  Time.

 U - Um.

 V - Venice.

 W - Weather.

 X - Xylophone. 

 Y - Youth.

 Z - Zoo.