tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70394117337796550152024-03-06T02:48:02.488-05:00I'm Concernicus (For Your Sanity)The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-222133108277473742008-10-29T16:50:00.004-04:002008-10-29T17:04:48.586-04:00Love: One of the three.<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Hi.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">You see that banner I've uploaded below the IC label that says 'Purpose for the Pain'? Well, it's a journal by Renee Yoha and it's endorsed by To Write Love on Her Arms (twloha.com), which is an organization initiated in her name. I haven't read it yet, but I intend to. And although I have not yet read it, I have a pretty good idea as to what its content holds. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">We all have pain, some people in greater numbers. And we all have our own ways of dealing with that pain. But pain for pain's sake seems cruel and useless. Only when you find a purpose for your pain, something that's worth all the bad, does your life take on a meaning. If the pain is in a name or a cause or even a person then it's not pain to be regretted. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">I want that, too. I want a purpose for my pain. I feel all of this shit and I want it to make sense, for it to seem less cruel. I think I need that to be able to go on. Sometimes it just gets so hard and it seems too hard and I feel like I can't take it. It's a task for me to get out of bed and face a day that I already know will defeat me. And I feel dejected. I want to make bad decisions and act in a self-destructive manner because for me, none of my pain makes any sense. None of it does anyone any good, least of all me. At these times I am my weakest. At these times I am most vulnerable.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">That was pretty much the extent of how my day went. Another day defeated me and something told me that I'm in danger of slipping below the radar. Oh, how I don't want that! No one wants that.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Love,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">One of the three.</span></span></div></div>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-37783092391643099642008-10-28T08:47:00.004-04:002008-10-28T09:22:34.360-04:00Julia: Firsts of My 16th Year!<strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Hey Party People,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Something special-like is happening this Friday... It's my BIRTHDAY! I am turning 17 and this marks the age I will be when I go to COLLEGE! That it's so nearly tangible is increasingly frightening.</span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">A lot of firsts happened in my 16th year. December the 21st, I hung out with Sage Anne DosSantos for the first time. Sage, who cannot approach a person or even talk to them unless they initiate, was sitting in the Libs. I walked up to her because I knew that she was in my US History class, and asked her what the homework was (clearly I didn't know her because I now know that Sage doesn't even know what teachers she has because she uses class for sleeping, the slacker). She then told me that she had no idea. I assumed the chair next to her and just started gabbing away like a psycho to this random chick while she was trying to figure out the most polite way to get the hell away from me. We were not yet friends. But one day she invited me to her birthday gathering on a party bus. I was honored; little did I know she solely invited me because a couple of people bailed so she needed to invite more people. On the party bus, we formed a quick and effortless sort of friendship and went on to become the same person. Through Sage I met Rebecca, Christina, Rob, and almost everyone else whom I would include in my will. At the age of 16, I made true and life-long social connections; I met my friends whom are now something of a family. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">One week exactly after I turned 16, I received my Learner's Permit. This was the beginning of Julia's newfound mobility. Ten months and three days after I turned 16, I passed my road test on my first shot. Twenty-two hours later, I got in my first accident. In my 16th year, I got 5 new peircings. It was also in my 16th year that I first used a fake ID.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">When I was 16, I took my grandmother's credit card and went shopping online. I ran up a tab worth around $2,300. At 16, I finally paid my mother back for a Chanel bag I had bought in Paris in my 14th year that cost $1,280. This year was the brokest year of my life on record.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">In September of my 16th year, I got my first car: a 2009 SE Jetta, silver with anthracite leather interior. In early October, I finished my college essay and for the first time realized just how directly the actions I take now can affect my long-term future in a big way. I laughed and celebrated leaving high school, I cried and mourned leaving high school. In preparation for my 17th year, I received a surprise birthday event from my friends. However, this was still during my 16th year and it is counted as a 16th year first. I have never had friends who really care about my approaching birthday, let alone throw me a surprise for it. It was among my greatest firsts.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">And of course, my first blog!</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">A lot of other little things happened in my 16th year; to a select few, the words "Macy's," "No more than 6 garments...," and "funday," make a great deal of sense. While I cannot elaborate on them here, believe me, they were <em>firsts</em>.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">And now I'm going to be 17. A whole new batch of firsts are cookin' up and they're scents are undeniable.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Let's explore some possible experiences associated with 17:</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">College</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Senior License</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Greater access to more advanced fake IDs</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Older boys--by one year</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">... Who am I kidding? I've been pretending I'm 21 since I was 14.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">17 means a whole year of fun-er and naughtier experiences! And I'll be sure to let you all know if I get arrested or end up in the hospital or anything else out of the ordinary happens--which means I'll be here <em>a lot.</em> My life is anything but ordinary.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Love,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Julia Kathryn!</span></strong>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-23450495972873707962008-10-11T21:57:00.004-04:002008-10-11T22:03:00.749-04:00Julia: A Set<a href="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?.mid=embed&id=3930085"><img title="; )" height="400" src="http://img.polyvore.com/cgi/img-set/BQcDAAAAAwoDanBnAAAABC5vdXQKFl9BekpuVGFTM1JHVF9lNDhMM19vVHcAAAACaWQKAWUAAAAEc2l6ZQ.jpg" width="400" border="0" /></a><br /><small><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?.mid=embed&id=3930085">; )</a> by <a href="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/profile?.mid=embed&id=372147">JuliaKV1031</a></small><br /><small></small><br /><small></small><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><small><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">This is something that I made.</span></strong></small><br /><small><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong></small><br /><small><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Love,</span></strong></small><br /><small><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Julia</span></strong></small></span>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-4455281873129573742008-10-09T17:32:00.005-04:002008-10-09T17:43:55.476-04:00Julia: Going Nuts<strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">I'm sorry I haven't posted in a long while. I've been incredibly busy with college applications and keeping up in school. I've written my second and winning college essay, answered the four NYU application questions, asked Mrs. Carnahan for a recommendation, and have kept up with my grades. Right now I'm in a hurry to send my NYU application in by November 1st, the early decision deadline. </span></strong><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">I'm soo positive that NYU is where I need to be next year. I can nearly taste it. When things calm down a bit I'll restart fencing and guitar. Right now everything's just a little bit crazy. My biggest struggle is the essay and questions. I'm having trouble reducing the word count to the limit of 500 or less for the essay (and 500 or less characters per question). It's actually quite Hell-ish for me. You know that I like to be thorough and go on and on and on and on... Oh, I was doing it again, wasn't I?</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">I also got a new car! Yay. But I don't have much time to celebrate, gotta get back to the apps...</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">See you soon (hopefully).</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Love,<br />Julia</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">PS. Did I mention my birthday is at the end of the month. October 31st, Halloween. No wonder I'm such a witch. (It's also the day before my ED deadline; now that is something scary.)</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">PPS. "Thanks for the candy."</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">... (butterfinger)</span></strong>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-51460004201780364092008-09-25T23:37:00.001-04:002008-09-25T23:38:51.296-04:00Julia: Nabob and Boogle<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.5in"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">So, last time I posted, I told you all that I have decided to grow up and, ya’ know, let nature take its course.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Well, it’s been 22 days since my last post and it’s been 22 days of putting my theories into practice on this new school year.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">I have learned quite a few things… three of which I hold to be most valuable.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">The first is that growing up isn’t necessary simple or pleasant.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">The second thing I learned is that we all must do it anyway.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">The third, and perhaps most valuable, lesson that I have learned in my three weeks of being a high school senior is that one must never waste a wish, an opportunity, </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">or a good friend.</span></span></i><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Good friends are really hard to find.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">There are about six and a half billion people on this earth and the fact that all humans seem to do is interact with other humans and yet few of them are loyal and sincere does, at times, make me feel down.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">But there is a bright side.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">The people that are </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">good</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> friends, because they are not in plentiful supply, are to be cherished and appreciated.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">People seem to be really fond of wasting time; but every second I spend being less than my best person is such a shame and a waste.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">People fight over stupid, </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">stupid</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">, things, and that is a shame, too.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Because people lie to each other all of the time and stupid boys don’t have a problem with tearing apart an honest relationship; but even so, any boy who has done that is not at fault.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Only girls are at fault for letting trivialities drive apart their friendship.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">I don’t want that to be my story.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">I don’t want to lose a friend over that sort of thing.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">I refuse to.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">And even if you can get past the indiscretion, that still isn’t the hardest part. </span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">A wise man named Albus Dumbledore once said, “It is far easier to forgive someone for being wrong than for being right.”</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">(He said this of Percy Weasley, FYI).</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">And basically what this means is that stupid people have stupid pride and, as a device of human nature, it is really difficult for people to put their pride aside and put themselves on the line.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">And when two very stubborn people butt heads… well, that just means that two best friends don’t exchange a single word for a couple of weeks.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">So, to review: What truly is important in this fleeting lifetime?</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.75in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops:list .75in"><span style="mso-list:Ignore"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">-</span></span><span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">To seize each opportunity and seize each day.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.75in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops:list .75in"><span style="mso-list:Ignore"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">-</span></span><span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">To value each friendship and observe the ability to put your convictions aside, whether they are right or wrong, for your friend.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.75in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops:list .75in"><span style="mso-list:Ignore"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">-</span></span><span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">To smile at random people.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.75in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops:list .75in"><span style="mso-list:Ignore"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">-</span></span><span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">And to use words like ‘nabob’ and ‘boogle.’</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">I’m serious.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Love (with all of my heart),</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Julia Kathryn</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">PS. Nabob is “any very wealthy, influential, or powerful person,” and ‘boogle’ is a name given to a group or pack of weasels.</span></span></p><p></p>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-20409001423007700972008-09-03T00:51:00.007-04:002008-10-28T20:10:47.296-04:00Julia: Never-Never Land = Life With Mom at Thirty<span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)">Okay... so two days from today (one day, actually, considering it's 12:51 AM), I begin the first day of my senior year. AKA the first day of my last year of high school. AKA the last year of hell. AKA the year before the rest of my life starts. And although I claim high school was hell (and, believe me, it was--</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-STYLE: italic"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)">is</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)">), and although I am eager to leave it, I am also nervous to leave it... I'm nervous to even start the first year of my last year here--the end of which year signals my free fall into the real world. The real world is one that I like to think I know much about but in reality know that I probably understand little of. I'm scared. I'm really scared.</span></span> <div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)">I hate high school but by the same token I don't want to leave the comfort it represents. I know that girls are bitchy, rude, and immature and in knowing this I know what to expect of them and can easily anticipate what will happen next (as well as what will happen next-next). It's okay to me. I don't like it but I get it. I can even somewhat ignore it. It's something similar to symbiosis although I imagine it's not as peaceful and I am certain that it's not voluntary. If I could do without catty teenage drama, I would.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)">And I have the opportunity. All I have to do is work my ass off now and that is how I get out of here. But what happens when I move on to the bigger and better? What if that just means that the problems are bigger and the people are better at deceiving me? That is not comforting.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)">But I can handle it. And I'll have to. I have no choice. I'm not Peter Pan. I can't stop myself from growing up... Actually I can. But staying this age doesn't bring me the glamor of never-never land; it just means I'm single, broke, and living with my mother still at thirty.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)">Ick.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)">I'll pass.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)">So, in conclusion, I have decided to grow up and simply let you all know how things go along the way.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)">Love,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)">Julia</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,102,204)">PS. I got my driver's license today (September 2nd, I mean). Go me.</span></span></div>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-30348863647592644382008-08-19T20:49:00.004-04:002008-08-19T21:00:17.566-04:00Julia: Cheshire Cat<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I do often find myself to be just like the Cheshire Cat. He is an enigma. And like myself, he also wasn't designed to be understood. This is because he simply doesn't make any sense.</span></span></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJwAj5QMz5t0SCNxdStuTXtN6cY65GWStUGC_l918oU1aldChGeg4AUzEmXjwB-msljU7Zf11wqBQ42xZvu32SNcv-S9okKbCv6_RT2oRMxeoHUadSnSHOfdIXfxJfHJvXu1pevCb8wE/s1600-h/not_all_there_thumb.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJwAj5QMz5t0SCNxdStuTXtN6cY65GWStUGC_l918oU1aldChGeg4AUzEmXjwB-msljU7Zf11wqBQ42xZvu32SNcv-S9okKbCv6_RT2oRMxeoHUadSnSHOfdIXfxJfHJvXu1pevCb8wE/s400/not_all_there_thumb.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236395962485170786" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Do you see what I see now?<br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Love,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Julia</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;">PS. One day I will be gone... and all that will be left is an eerie sort of smile.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;">Maybe you know it?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;">Cheshire Cat certainly had it right.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiibB-mfXeGs2lVHBfwjInHITnY_WZRxy1p-ZJ_7Wa5jBgGU-pAWQWw-3rtFREWQf5Epu7BRe3poMTQxVFHWBzK00xEmYCbqiIR5wT0FobdzRG9LSZUHSMWSW56Xa7r35Ph2rr4nXsAQ4k/s400/cheshire+cat.JPG" /><br /></span></div></div>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-40041472356965195262008-08-17T22:49:00.004-04:002008-08-17T22:56:47.650-04:00Julia: We All Have These<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;">Hi.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Today was a bad day.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">A really bad day.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">I woke up this morning and I was scared that it would be a bad day.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">And then I was mad that I was right; that’s how bad the day was.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">It sucked.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Nothing went right.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">No one seemed right.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">I didn’t feel right.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">It was one of </span></span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">those</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> days.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">The ones that you’d probably rather be prosecuted in court for witchcraft in 1690s Salem than keep on keeping on to see if tomorrow is better or just as sucky.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">The ones that rob you of any remaining will you had from the last really bad day right out of your soul.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">And at the end of the day, your sources feel totally depleted.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">All the sucky wrongness of the day exhausts the hell out of you and there’s no energy left to contemplate dealing with the consequences tomorrow or what part you contributed to the vortex of shit that was that day.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">There’s no energy to think of what you might have done wrong.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">There’s no energy to think of how to make things right.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">There might be a teensy bit of energy left to begin plotting revenge against other wrong-doers of the day, but not if that means that you have to exert yourself physically or mentally in any way (revenge-plotting comes rather easily to some people—like me).</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">And sometimes, when I have days as bad as these, I start to feel somewhat suffocated in the sense that I want out of the current circumstances of my life but am resignedly devoid of the ability to escape them.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">I start to feel like I need to just get the hell out.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">And right now.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Like I’m losing control; like I’m no longer the captain of my own ship.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">That is the worst feeling.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Ever.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">It can drive you to do crazy things.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">It can take you to an undeveloped place most people wouldn’t care to be.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Insanity takes over and you do things you don’t like and say things you don’t mean.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">You do these things just to prove that you can.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">To prove that you <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">are</span> the captain of your ship and that means that you can run it in to the ground if you’d very well please.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">And the worst part is: it mostly just hurts yourself.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">And after the bad day… you guessed it: only you are left to pick up the pieces.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">It’s self destructive and it’s ugly.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">It was a pretty bad day today.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">I hope tomorrow is better.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Love,</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Julia</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">PS. Regarding tomorrow: it will be better.</span></span></p>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-74672441706772845002008-08-16T19:41:00.014-04:002008-08-17T22:28:07.389-04:00Julia: I think these are almost too funny.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDipI24Ld_wBcSWmrlx1zf53Pi5nvF3lzzWLRAvPNVasp5Apu83eVNcgwQfwOdyxZ2Rbemv_3rHZDa66YMxM6GpbLKcK5wd_UnFtbPv30KaAKyYCld_9C8LJF0fbiLb1-HoU9cbB3-YM/s1600-h/clowns+eat+people.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDipI24Ld_wBcSWmrlx1zf53Pi5nvF3lzzWLRAvPNVasp5Apu83eVNcgwQfwOdyxZ2Rbemv_3rHZDa66YMxM6GpbLKcK5wd_UnFtbPv30KaAKyYCld_9C8LJF0fbiLb1-HoU9cbB3-YM/s200/clowns+eat+people.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235328132885361154" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; ">If you were thinking that this makes no sense... then you have its essenc</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; ">e </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; ">nailed.</span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "> It really doesn't make any sort of sense. It's just funny. Tee hee.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold; ">There are all these people... girls, mostly... who think th<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; ">at since they were the first cool kids <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; ">on the block to like a band that they now have a patent on that band. --></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; ">These two are<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "> funny satires on </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; ">those people.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu0b14B6JZTGuvzsycd1ueXO02lrdkoZNVTOFgKrt5OevQSNdBAIjaXJuIXaabrdbXxtC1sHA99SC06yovcGxU7PL8mUkWvNC16QoNLAdMtnPgA2vMcbUDHjYnI4229Ji_lvKe5gRgWBo/s200/bandsthatdontevenexist.png" /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4M6623ycYiVHsDdqL8Ut4kTp9IO2DvOuXcQPdfKs9UEWFzVs7vbc0NSaKTWAPvc-1qy-RB0OAq44XkIt6M10FgWpMtV0P7h_w8sJavF7NMwisVhHOGBHA6sJ03wWn8bb5O6AP3gXT4oQ/s200/soindiethat....jpg" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold; ">I have tons more, too. (I literally have thousands on my computer... one's that are way funnier than these, as well.) I'll post more at a later time/date.</span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">An undetermined amount of love (though it's sure to be a lot),</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Julia</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">PS. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">People should take their “I want you to like me” stickers off of their foreheads and put them where they’d really do some good—on their mirrors.</span></span></div></div>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-34973777289195560722008-08-16T17:28:00.012-04:002008-08-16T19:35:11.745-04:00Julia: This is Notoriously Deep<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">There is this incredible view just down the road from my house.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">The visibility of the distant landscape is unhindered by houses or trees or any other obstruction.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I like to go there sometimes when the clatter in my head becomes more that I can manage.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I sit on the curb facing an empty, house-less lot and watch the sun set against the perfect blue sky.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I give my worries to nature as the light breeze soothes my anxiety.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I’m too young for this anxiety.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">When I go there I can see the reds and oranges and blues and purples that grace the sky just as the sun prepares to sink beneath the horizon; I can see three or four clouds, all with their silver linings, that I know must separate us from God’s kingdom; I can see the way a strong beam of light escapes the protection of a cloud in front of the gradually descending sun; I can see the way the whole scene reflects onto the calm Hudson.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">With this vision, I know I am experiencing one of God’s daily miracles.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I know that the panorama before me that is sprinkled with life, emotion, and the depth of love cannot possibly be incidental or the product of science alone.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I can very clearly see the face of God reflecting in this sight, his masterpiece, which is one of those majestic commonalities that our fast, mundane world so frequently misses.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">If it hadn't brought me such great joy to be a catching a moment by my hands that seemed to be so tangible, the kind that greats like Steinbeck, Hemingway, and Whitman wrote about, it might have brought me sadness and pity for those not seeing what I was seeing on a day like that.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">When I looked at the sky, I knew that there was more up there, just beyond the clouds.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I knew that the light pouring out of the break led directly to the Heavens.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">For a moment, all of the noise in my head was dulled and I felt the most beautiful silence.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">The din was completely sedated.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">And for the expanse of this wonderful moment, I stopped being angry about things happening halfway across the world, I stopped being angry about things that happened fifty years ago, and I stopped being angry that my mother doesn't take me out driving as often as I’d like her to.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I realized how angry I always am.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">How tense, bitter, and cynical I’d become.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Just then, for the briefest time, I became the sort of optimist that I usually belittle.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I looked up, and I was looking at infinity.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">It’s important not to get lost in the endlessness of the sky.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">It’s meant to motivate and inspire, not engulf a being like the black wave or the means reds.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">If I don’t forget that all of this exists for the love of man, then I feel comfort in knowing that the force of the universe is on my side.</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">I would never dare to tread on its toes; I wouldn’t last against such a formidable opponent. For this moment, we were quiet together in perfect coexistence. My mind was at ease.</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">When the silence finally left my head, I yearned to call it back to me just as God calls his children back to him.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">But I could not.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">It was part of that day, and that day was now over.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">The moon that was but a faint outline for several hours prior to sundown had at last claimed its reign over the great night sky and was emanating its brightest glow.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> Its light touched the city in the South and the mountains in the West. </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">And although I could not find the North Star and I could not spot my favorite constellations (excluding the Big Dipper, as that one was still visible) because of the city lights that extended into my small suburban town, I knew that they were still there.</span></span></span></span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">And although the sight of the magnanimous sky can have the effect of making a small girl feel lost in a big world, I knew that I was still there, too.</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Love,</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">Julia</span></span></span></p>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-29599877963583068122008-07-19T13:13:00.005-04:002008-07-20T13:59:59.765-04:00Julia: All Credits to Dove<div><object width="346" height="296"><param name="movie" value="http://moviestore.campaignforrealbeauty.com/moviestore/dsef07/embed/dovefilms.swf?flvLoc=http://moviestore.campaignforrealbeauty.com/moviestore/EvolutionsLow.flv&seekTime=15&freeze=true&cc=US"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://moviestore.campaignforrealbeauty.com/moviestore/dsef07/embed/dovefilms.swf?flvLoc=http://moviestore.campaignforrealbeauty.com/moviestore/EvolutionsLow.flv&seekTime=20.5&freeze=true&cc=US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="346" height="296"></embed></object><br /></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">I think </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">everyone </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">needs to see this clip. It's really fantastic and reflective of the monster that our society has become.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204);">Dove's tag-line: No wonder our perception of beauty is distorted.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;">And another...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><object width="346" height="296"><param name="movie" value="http://moviestore.campaignforrealbeauty.com/moviestore/dsef07/embed/dovefilms.swf?flvLoc=http://moviestore.campaignforrealbeauty.com/moviestore/dsef07/Onslaught_US.flv&seekTime=15&freeze=true&cc=US"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://moviestore.campaignforrealbeauty.com/moviestore/dsef07/embed/dovefilms.swf?flvLoc=http://moviestore.campaignforrealbeauty.com/moviestore/dsef07/Onslaught_US.flv&seekTime=20.5&freeze=true&cc=US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="346" height="296"></embed></object><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;">Love,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 102, 204); font-weight: bold;">Julia</span></div>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-85195869817256453902008-07-11T00:03:00.006-04:002008-08-16T19:34:30.271-04:00Julia: Meet Jane and Montgomery<span style="color:#cc66cc;"><strong>Hi everyone.</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><strong>When do you know that it’s time to let go?<br /><br />There is always that resounding truth in the front of your mind telling you that there is still a chance [of whatever the matter is], be it .0000.....1%, and that this “thing” is still out there somewhere in the universe. It tethers your hopes to life and gives you some false sense of optimism. I know, I know... you’re lost right now, just bare with me for a moment.<br /><br />You see, this is the way I think of it: Usually your conscience is portrayed as two miniature versions of you sitting on either shoulder. In entertainment and cinema, one you usually adorns some sort of wings and halo set giving the audien<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYpNhC_2E6cZca0QJ6rGkkVK6xXsodub1N_tMDY5xPlzPdc9klzYZfubB4OnGZoTbJ8jmAkObE_1ONzQdK0cKx3ZFkwfOw2Kedu9RCrXVkcXVAtIsgsb40ubmxk_zBsZzQ35idmmIChLw/s1600-h/cons+homer.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221946089917000178" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYpNhC_2E6cZca0QJ6rGkkVK6xXsodub1N_tMDY5xPlzPdc9klzYZfubB4OnGZoTbJ8jmAkObE_1ONzQdK0cKx3ZFkwfOw2Kedu9RCrXVkcXVAtIsgsb40ubmxk_zBsZzQ35idmmIChLw/s200/cons+homer.jpg" border="0" /></a>ce a sense that this you is your pure, angelic form (what Sigmund Freud would probably refer to as one’s “superego.”) It is also routine for your other shoulder to play host to your devil self. This is provided aesthetically via red horns, a tail, and a forked staff. This is essentially Sigmund Freud’s personified vision of one’s “id.” (Leaving the central you to act as Freud's "ego," of course.) </strong></span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><strong>In compliance with classic theatrical portrayals of such a scene, the two exaggerated versions of you proceed to bicker over potential courses of action (occupying opposite spectral platforms as they occupy opposite shoulders), in turn leaving the original, mundane you just as, if not more, confused and undecided as before. </strong></span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><strong>This, my friends, is called cinematic cliché. I’d go on a rant divulging my utter distaste for use of clichés, but in the interest of arriving at some sort of apex in my youth, I’ll simply said that this can, at best, provide comedic relief. Because, really, that’s just not how it happens. We’ll save my ironically trite rant of clichés for a rainy day. I digress.<br /><br />Anyway, I see the whole “conscience” thing quite differently in my head. I still see a me on either shoulder, however they are not wearing any sort of festive costume that can be found at Party City for candy begging (and Julia-birthday-like) holidays. No, they just look like me, adorning my regular old get-up; it’s really very simple.<br /><br />I talk to them, which is to say that I talk to myself. Quite often, really… but we already knew this.<br />This is all relevant to the topic of letting go, I promise. I’m just laying down the bricks.<br /><br />So these people on my shoulders differ from the trademark picture of conscience in yet another most significant fashion. While the theory of miniature versions of you on either shoulder offering both advice at the opposite ends of the spectrum as well as an exchange of witty and almost friendly banter is both cute and creepy, it was originally invented as a simplified manifestation of personal moral discretion that can be most easily understood by an audience in which one must assume that it isn’t altogether bright enough to figure these sorts of things on its own. It’s like Hermione Granger or Dumbledore; JK Rowling once said that if any new theories need to be introduced in the Harry Potter books concerning the wizarding world, she would use either Hermione or my good pal Albus as a device with which to present the information to her readers as it makes sense due to their slightly ominous presences throughout the book.<br /><br />Do you go with the Devil, whose advice is consistently most appealing but almost always selfish, indulgent, immoral, and/or illegal? OR do you side with your right shoulder-dwelling Angel, who's advice is reliable though often more selfless and rational than instantaneously gratifying? The Devil does an excellent job of promoting the irrational and impulsive option that most likely pays off immediately but is not, however, always beneficial to you/others/society from a long term perspective.<br />But you get what you want!<br />And you get it now!<br />But at what price?<br /><br />The answer seems clear: it's usually somewhere in the middle. It’s rational and sane, which means it’s a good thing that so many on this earth are just that. That’s why we don’t have economic problems; that's why we <em>all </em>agree across the nation on every little thing. My God, if you couldn’t hint the sarcasm in that statement, then there’s just nothing that I can possibly do for you! Nevertheless, the reasonable enough, well-adjusted individual would, if only given the choices of the two extremes, ideally choose to be the angel.<br /><br />Here’s where our (as in, reader vs. Julia) situations part ways. I have a Julia on each shoulder, appearing to be neither demonic nor angelic. All the better with which to fool me, my dear! The truth: they are both devils, using their silver tongues and quick wits to influence every decision I make. They tell me what I want to hear, but not what I should hear. They lead me to my own doom, one that I arrive at expecting cookies. They own me and prevent me from <em>ever letting go of any <span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-STYLE: normal">matter</span></em> that they can coax me into believing possible, the little Tykes. And, even though I know this, I continue to fall into their traps time and time again. They don’t like me, which is fucked up due to the fact that they are me. </strong></span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><strong>Jane, on the right, and Montgomery, on the left, are 100% pure evil. They exist entirely; I would never call them imaginary friends. I only have room for one imaginary friend, and his name is Shiloh. My boobs are Jumanji and King Kong and I have a whole lot of body parts named Martha… but none of these are as damn manipulative as the three inch versions of myself whom won’t even like me via familial (if you can call yourself family) obligation. Some [well balanced] individuals have a visual manifestation of a conscience of moral discretion (as was mentioned), whereas I have only a visual manifestation of my own poor, convoluted judgment… as if I needed additional reminders of how insane I am.<br /><br />Anyway, the little devils don’t let me forget anything and they completely own my soul… but, ehh, what can ya’ do?</strong></span><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Tell me I'm crazy. </span></strong><div><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Now tell me you love me, anyway.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Love,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Julia</span></strong></div>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-17049893917077587792008-07-08T21:59:00.009-04:002008-07-11T22:33:35.444-04:00Julia: My first, albeit short, book review.<strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Book: <em>Prozac<span style="color:#cc66cc;"> Nation</span></em><span style="color:#cc66cc;"> by Elizabeth Wurtzel</span></span><span style="color:#cc66cc;"> </span></strong><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><strong>Rating: <span style="font-family:webdings;">a</span>Must Read<span style="font-family:webdings;">a</span></strong></span><br /><br /><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><strong>Okay, so this book I just started and finished yesterday, <em>Prozac Nation</em>, has changed my life.<br /><br />Not really. It just gave me insight to truths I knew yet couldn’t possibly articulate for myself. Not only was it incredibly moving and not only did it hit all too close to home, but reading it was like reading pure poetry. And if anyone can appreciate poetry, I assure you, it is me (having read <em>Leaves of Grass</em> thirty times, at minimum. It looks like it’s</strong></span> <strong>been through World War II, which, of course, it has.) It is absolutely beautiful rhetoric and prose; the articulation could hold your attention all on its own; the story is ground-breaking, in addition.<br /><br />I would love to recommend <em>Prozac Nation</em> to all, but in the interest of being honest, it just isn’t a book that I feel would appeal to all audiences, though I desperately wish it did, that it could. I don’t think everybody would be able to sympathize, let alone<em> empathize</em>, as I did; especially not if the topic at hand is particularly foreign to the reader. But, definitely give it a shot. With the right candidate, it could truly be life-altering. Or enlightening, at the very least.<br /><br />Needless to say, I loved it.<br /><br />There were numerous quotes that made me stop reading and reflect immediately. I’ll share one such quote:<br /><br />“…to drag your feet here, there, and everywhere, nowhere at all… I must move, must get farther and farther from this fire that’s going to burn all of me down. It is cold outside, but I’m crazy from the heat.”<br />Page 208, <em>Prozac Nation</em> by Elizabeth Wurtzel<br /><br />My next book: <em>Cirque du Freak</em> by Darren Shan<br /><br />Bare with me, here.<br /><br />Love,<br />Julia </strong></span>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-11379452827319870422008-07-03T12:57:00.014-04:002008-07-11T00:03:33.767-04:00Julia: Cultivating a Balance<strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">What is beauty?<br /><br />According to mass media, feminine beauty is defined by: </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><br />Thin torso<br />Large breasts<br />Unhindered complexion<br />Impeccable bone structure<br />Smooth, equally pigmented epidermis<br />Straight nose<br />Perfectly aligned and whitened teeth<br />(Typically) Light eyes<br />Long eye lashes<br />Full lips<br />High cheek bones<br />Lavish hair<br /><br />That’s quite a lot to ask of any individual. One of the flaws of society is this demanding standard. We all struggle trying to amount to the airbrushed goddesses that appear on the front covers of magazines. We complain that ‘that’s not what real people look like.’ Yet, truly, <em>we</em> have set these unapproachable heights that we so openly rebel. <em>We</em> put the money in the pockets of “perfection.” <em>We</em> have set the ideal so far above our heads. And, honestly, we <em>want</em> to see attractive people on our TV screens. Admit it; soap romances wouldn’t be nearly as heated within the audiences if participating parties were uncomely. We want to see this… because we want to be this. It’s like crack.<br /><br />Why? What’s the obsession with the “Size Two” look? I know, I know… this is an exhausted topic. “The true beauty is within… blah, blah, blah…” So you’ve heard it before? Of course you have. I’m not going to rant about the terrible demon that the Hollywood Vortex presents to society; I am the worst offender. I want to be beautiful with the rest of ‘em, truth be told.<br /><br />Sure, our shallow society does get me down. But I can’t entirely part with it. Reasons being: 1) In the epic battle of the social repulsion vs. morbid isolation dilemma, I bathe with the monsters; 2) I’m not trying to tell you that I’m not a monster, myself. I am a monster. Perhaps less so, granted. And perhaps I’m a different brand of monster. But I am not without my flaws… though I never claimed to be.<br /><br />Nevertheless, I’d like to break the tension by telling you all that I think I’m beautiful. There are, of course, those moments in which I slip beneath the surface and all of my suppressed insecurities float to the forefront. But I fight these moments and just try to be the best version of myself possible. And that includes physically.<br /><br />So, right on to beauty; just don’t let it be everything. There’s this miraculous thing that I’m trying to cultivate: a healthy balance. Socially, academically, physically, mentally/emotionally, etc. In this way, it’s hard not to be pulled in several different directions and slip beneath the surface once again. But I’m guaranteed to screw up at least 37 more times this month in all different sort of variations. The only hope that I have is that when I do, as it’s entirely unavoidable, I can pull myself together quickly and learn from each misstep. There’s not much else I can do. It’s apart of letting go but holding on at the same time. Balance.<br /><br />And I know this fact more than most: it's easier said than done.<br /><br />So, what I mean to say is that we all mess up and get caught up in our worldly trivialities... but when that happens, I know that I'm not a bad person and that my friends will be there for me. We need people there for us or we just won't make it. I'll always be there for you, ready to catch you when you fall.<br /><br />Why? Because I love all of you, and those who mess up need my love even more.<br /><br />Love (always),<br />Julia</span></strong>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-6243073916248393612008-07-01T22:12:00.003-04:002008-07-02T20:40:25.169-04:00Julia: I ask THE question.<strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">There’s this word that we often toss around: love. She loves him; he loves her. I love you; you love me. I hear it all of the time...</span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">But, when speaking in terms of romanticism, does this ambiguous and nearly indefinable word have one tangible meaning that can be manifested in a people? I’m sure it does. However, the even more perplexing riddle is: what <em>is </em>that meaning? Is it only present when fireworks go off at a kiss? When your stomach does a flip-flop at the sight of your object of affections? When you don’t mind the otherwise insufferably irritating sound of his/her cow-like gum chewing? True, this could be love… but must it be love? Is love something that develops? Is the love-at-first-sight to happily-married-couples ratio one to one million?<br /><br />The greatest mystery of our time on earth is the ultimate and persistently inexplicit nature of love. Sometimes the love in one’s heart can be contained inside a [metaphoric] box, while at other times it is as large as the sun. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Is there such thing as young love? We often hear of high school sweethearts who married, grew old together, and never tired of each other. Is this luck, perhaps? Perhaps the person that they thought they loved as a teenager turned out to be the person that they were madly in love with as adults. Coincidence? It could be. It also could be a great and spectacular illusion.<br /><br />Or it might be this concept of ‘Soul Mates’. I truly do believe in it, as cheesy as that is. I believe that there is one person in this world, only one, that we can fully give our hearts to. One person that we ought to be with; a person defined at our birth and theirs. Sure, there are illusions. But that’s all they are: illusions of something real. I see it as though there is a magnet inside me and a corresponding magnet within another and the universe is pulling us together because we are <em>supposed</em> to find each other. I think this comforts me because I can leave the tasking responsibility of finding my counterpart up to fate and I can quit trying so hard… and quit worrying, to boot.<br /><br />However, I worry anyway. Come on now, we all knew I would.<br />This post has served no recognizable modicum of practicality as I initially intended to write it in order to reconcile my demons and achieve a peace of mind. Nevertheless, I enjoyed writing it immensely. I always enjoy sharing my thoughts with those who care enough to read them. In writing this, I sought some sort of solution for the vast range of feelings that have harbored within me lately; a cure for my plague… but I think I’m even more confused now.<br /><br />So, tell me… what is love?</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Love,<br />Julia</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">PS. I'm not through with this topic yet. You'll hear more of love from me.</span></strong>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-27240896091437716972008-06-24T09:15:00.001-04:002008-07-02T17:25:56.695-04:00Julia: Bigglewhitz.<strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Riveting post, my dear Sage (feel free to imagine this statement in a British accent--I said it in one). I feel compelled to add one thing; stress one point, if you will. Since Sage and Julia met... years and years ago ; )... we have spent nary a day apart. The same goes for Rebeccavich Evanovich. There was that one incident, "Puerto Rico," (still sensitive to mention) and we all know that the effects of this were... near fatal. This is precisely the Julia-withdrawal that Sage mentioned below. We almost didn't make it. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">The problem, you see, is that the three of us, we are very strange. Strange and unusual. It takes special people to tolerate our shared company. Very special people, indeed. We almost can't stand ourselves, is the truth. So anyway, it is by the Grace of God that we found each other. And without Sage's person, without Rebecca's person, Julia isn't just one-third of a person... she's one-third of an incredibly obnoxious and psychotic person. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Please applaud my up-and-coming loneliness. <em>I</em> wouldn't even be friends with me.<br /><br />Who knows, maybe I'll lose the few dwindling threads that tether me to any modicum of sanity. Probably I will.<br /><br />I don't need them anyway. I hardly make use of them as it is.<br />Jane and Montgomery make sure of that.<br /><br />Love,<br />Julia<br /><br />Or maybe Julio.</span></strong>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-81176254002082424902008-06-23T23:42:00.000-04:002008-06-24T00:50:48.665-04:00Sage: [enter IC girl here] Withdrawal<span style="color:#33cc00;">Hello readers! It has been far too long! I know, I have missed you as well. </span><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">However, it is Julia whom one should worry for. I fear she shall not make it through the week ahead. You see, Saturday is the last day either of us shall see Revs (she leaves for camp) until the school year begins once again. It shall be hard enough to make it through the summer without her *tear*, but for Julia, this coming week will be hell, itself, for I leave Sunday morning to Fordham University in the city for ten days. I should expect her to spend unrelenting hours at her desk. I expect several new blogs, and I am sure to return to innumerable facebook wall posts, bumperstickers, and phone messages.</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">Regrettably, both Revs and I have already experienced what is known as “Julia-withdrawal,” and it is about time that the tables were turned. It is a difficult and painful process. Hours seem as long as days, and weeks as months. Rebecca and I braved the process, but I fear Julia has underestimated the effects of “Sage/Revs-withdrawal.”</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">I know most of you are sitting here thinking ‘It’s only ten days…’ Well, you simply do not understand… As Julia explained below, any one of us three is completely useless on her own. I mean, a third of a person could not be very valuable, could it? There is very little we are capable of as individuals. You know what they say, “united we stand, divided we fall.” United we… survive? Yea, that sounds about right.</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">So, please, keep Julia in your prayers. The poor girl needs all the help she can lay her hands on to begin with. And, as for IC withdrawal, we pray it is an experience none of you have to suffer throughout your lives.</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">In Conclusion - :p</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">P.S. Another prayer request: Please keep our dear Robert in your thoughts, for he is one of the few who suffer from IC withdrawal on a semi-daily basis. We love you Rob<3</span>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-50125286533634698272008-06-23T21:25:00.000-04:002008-07-01T23:01:55.641-04:00Julia: The Burden You Carry (As My Friend)<strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Okay, so following this Sunday, I am going to be alone FOR TEN DAYS. Some people might say that Julia Venditti is one-third of a person; that Sage DosSantos is one-third of a person; that Rebecca Evans is one-third of an <em>actual</em> person. Alone, none of us is worth very much. Personally, I rather live my life at their sides; and with them at mine. I prefer not to go very long periods of time without seeing these girls. Some people might call this the art of “<em>best friend-ship</em>.” I think that this is more than appropriate given the significant portion of my time allocated towards them; and happily so. I love them. They really came to me as angels this year.<br /><br />If I’m being honest, had they not come into my life some eight (8) months ago, I might not still be here… on this earth… with all of you. They aren’t just best friends; they aren’t just family; they <em>are</em> my life… and not in the trivial teenage sense. These girls could trash my stuff, hurt me physically and emotionally, and try to push me away the hardest they can, but it will <em>never</em> work. They are so stuck with me.<br /><br />The burden of saving a girl’s life: she’ll never let you go.<br />I just hope they never want me to.</span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Love,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Julia</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">PS. To be fair, a certain 'Robert' (AKA the love of my life) has also helped so incredibly to salvage my life. This blog just focuses on the up-and-coming absense of these girls in my life for ten days on Sage's behalf and, as for Revsicles, <em>the whole fucking summer.</em></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">PPS. Shoot me? Thanks.</span></strong>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-66341650097274167312008-06-08T22:55:00.000-04:002008-06-08T22:58:09.286-04:00Julia: The Woes of CDO<strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">What is CDO? It's like OCD, except the letters are in alphabetical order, as they should be.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">I like when things repeat in patterns. Am I the only one?<br /><br />Rising order, descending order, symmetrically, or even in defined increments. All fine.<br /><br />What ‘things’ am I speaking of that must repeat as such, you ask? Anything, I answer. Shapes, objects, numbers, people.<br />Yes. To answer your inevitable question, people can, in fact, repeat in patterns.<br />If you neither understand nor empathize with this situation, then congratulations, you don’t have OCD.<br /><br />Nevertheless, I will elaborate. Come along with me; come upon this ride of example.<br />I am a girl scout (HA, fucking HA—I’m getting into a good college) and recently embarked upon the gold award mission. The number our troop (yes, there are more of us) was originally assigned was 2881. This number gives me the chills just writing it. Yes, we’ve established that I am insane. So anyway, I could not, would not have this absolute travesty of a number, 2881 *heebie jeebies occur*, continue to… be. What I see when I look at this number is—even, middle, middle, odd—I tilt my head due to the asymmetrical imbalance of it all.<br /><br />FYI – Our number is now 2884. This is acceptable. Although 2882 would have been orgasmic, 2884 is acceptable.<br /><br />That is all.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Love,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Julia</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">(JU-LI-A)</span></strong>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-82669059102843292442008-06-02T08:52:00.000-04:002008-06-02T08:54:06.835-04:00Sage: What makes Julia Venditti tick?<span style="color:#33cc00;">Welcome, one and all, to the one-time only, in depth tour of the elaborate inner workings of Julia Venditti's frightening mind - Make no mistake, what you are about to see will astound and amaze you. Things you will witness on this tour may seem nonsensical and will most likely have no comprehensible value whatsoever. </span><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">My name is Sage DosSantos, and I will be your tour guide for this evening. Please keep all appendages inside the vehicle at all times, as chains and other restraints have proven unreliable. </span><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">The only reliable, physical restriction one will see on this tour, can be found just around this turn. On your left, you will see a grouping of fairly large-sized steel boxes or crates. Inside these boxes are well, put simply, people. These people include: myself, Rebecca Evans, several of Julia's family members, several 'prospects' (who will not be named for confidentiality reasons), and many others. Unfortunately for them, those boxes will never be opened. </span><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">Moving on! Oh! Watch your heads! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that was a flying monkey, one of several you will see throughout the night. In fact, I believe we just got a new shipment this morning! I heard the young man in the back mention something about this impeccable darkness. Well, Julia never was that bright of a girl, so one cannot possibly expect her mind to be any different. </span><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">This, my friends, is where the snitch is kept. If we all stay perfectly quiet we may get a glimpse of this mystical creature. Look! There, you can spot a bit of a gold sheen and one of those gorgeous wings! If you look carefully. . .Oh! Damn those flying monkeys! Well, I'm happy enough we got to see it at all! Oh look here, we are coming up on the quidditch field, the last of our drop offs. I am going to be honest, I've been in here for quite a while, and I still don't quite understand the basics of the game. . . I know the bludgers are charmed to beat the living shit out of the players, the quaffle is the one that you shoot through the goal posts, and the seeker has to catch the snitch, which is an actual living creature. That's about all I know. </span><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;"></span><br /><span style="color:#33cc00;">So, that is the end of our tour, please purchase something from our gift shop. But, before you leave, please take notice as to the complete lack of sanity in the events of this night. Perhaps, after your experiences here, your understanding of JK Venditti may have evolved and grown. Thank you and have a good night!! </span>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-83081222374218525262008-05-31T02:49:00.000-04:002008-06-01T17:30:32.449-04:00Julia: Please Enjoy.<span style="color:#cc66cc;"><strong>Considering my post entitled "Inadequacy," I thought this picture to be overwhelmingly appropriate. Please enjoy.</strong></span> <div></div><br /><div><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><strong></strong></span></div><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5206431189617075058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivA7RxneC3QdEse54feae4NoeGIEqgT57D5JaFIVaCPEHZ_KsdqyBFFCu5qriwzIKF9z3pn_ESksl5a4s1bQeF8ktsQlU08wWFRUWE81V7kGuJ4n1DABCadfRSf9ULo0MO_jpHuchxKaU/s320/inadequacy.jpg" border="0" /><br /></strong></span><div><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><strong>Love,</strong></span></div><div><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><strong>Julia</strong></span></div>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-58737136705557208322008-05-05T21:26:00.000-04:002008-06-08T23:26:39.191-04:00Bamboozle Pics!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNiKJomwpHoYAn1e-mS0kikUY-pu7E7FRzwSgruTcZLnw-g43kZFt-tawBPZGXFfnzrtmPKAsW6oelr7CJ7kIUAsD_lPMkmI6PwNeO3ldIvv_Ozk27vIkBjJvy-FHZJq6-9JFfpGJr9GQ/s1600-h/bamby1.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6666;"><strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197072540202604610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNiKJomwpHoYAn1e-mS0kikUY-pu7E7FRzwSgruTcZLnw-g43kZFt-tawBPZGXFfnzrtmPKAsW6oelr7CJ7kIUAsD_lPMkmI6PwNeO3ldIvv_Ozk27vIkBjJvy-FHZJq6-9JFfpGJr9GQ/s320/bamby1.jpg" border="0" /></strong></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><span style="color:#ff6666;"> Us before leaving for Voccaweedoozle... err, I mean Bamboozle.</span><br /></strong></span><span style="color:#ff6666;"><br /></span><span style="color:#ff6666;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><br /></strong></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhtVJcUV9Q0R6QDBxsZoMHUW7UBYDOpCR1GCfvqQ-4ZgJdUVyipBBWF9GeAL4tYTjeOkt1tQe4ho5DdfY0Kl-FA7QIfg5qA8cXM06GtXKcggurDGZ1O2Hb5WIn_2XV7WZtPSamlImXvj4/s1600-h/voccaweedoozle4.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#ff6666;"><strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197072544497571938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhtVJcUV9Q0R6QDBxsZoMHUW7UBYDOpCR1GCfvqQ-4ZgJdUVyipBBWF9GeAL4tYTjeOkt1tQe4ho5DdfY0Kl-FA7QIfg5qA8cXM06GtXKcggurDGZ1O2Hb5WIn_2XV7WZtPSamlImXvj4/s320/voccaweedoozle4.jpg" border="0" /></strong></span></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong><span style="color:#ff6666;"> Rebecca and Julia... Don't ask what they're doing. Trust me, you'd rather not know.</span><br /></strong></span><div> </div>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-87908812373884751002008-05-05T16:16:00.000-04:002008-05-06T20:31:45.050-04:00Julia: On Happiness<strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Happiness. What does it mean to you?<br /><br />For a long time I thought it was walking around in utter euphoria. The birds singing to you, animals breaking into the house to help you clean, a cramp in the face from an excess of inexplicable smiling, etc. That’s bull shit. If you live every moment of your life like this, I’m happy for you. I, however, am not a cartoon. And such a constant cheeriness is quite exhausting.<br /><br />I’ve recently learned what, in my opinion, happiness is. It is the ability to feel content where you are, just as you are. Happiness is so much simpler than it is perceived to be. Throughout my life, I’ve said “If I just had [insert noun],” or “If only this changed… then I could be happy.” I’m not unique in this way; I see people do this all the time. But it’s never enough, is it? We always want more, more to validate us and fool us into thinking that we’re not miserable. Happiness is the point in your life when you feel like you belong in the exact place that you are. Although, as I said, it’s a simple concept; absolute contentedness is so rare. The societal chase for materialistic things or extraordinary circumstances is encouraged by nearly every force surrounding us.<br /><br />If you strive to walk around in euphoria, you never will. That isn’t, nor should it be, the common goal. Stop transferring your pains onto other things and people. Stop expecting outside forces to take them away. Sure, they distract us well. But once you’ve lost the adrenaline high that comes with retail therapy, you’re just as miserable as you ever were; the only difference is that you’re now $1,200 under because of your fabulous Chanel bag. Yes, it is fabulous; nevertheless, yes, your boyfriend still left you.<br /><br />Where’s the <em>happy</em> medium? I’ve traveled all over the world and returned to find my problems exactly as I left them. You can run but you can’t hide.<br /><br />I say, let’s just be happy. Let’s just choose to be happy. Let’s all be good to one another. Let’s stop this nonsense. Cruelty. There’s nothing in it. I have never understood the mentality of a Sadist. I don’t feel better about my life when the lives of my peers crumble. And that poor wallflower in the corner; why are you picking on him? What has he ever done to you?? Ever? <em>Let’s all be good to one another.</em> Love<em> is</em> the answer. It is! If we can make people feel like they’re loved, we can tether their hopes to life by making them feel worthy. Doesn’t that sound worth it? It does to me. I don’t put people down when I can build them up. I wish people would adopt such a philosophy. I mean, really… we have so much to deal with in life without the added burden of peer cruelty. I love all of you. All of you are worth so much in my eyes. If we can love and be loved, we’re on the ultimate path to happiness.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Love,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Julia</span></strong>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-16111068471106032682008-04-28T21:38:00.000-04:002008-04-28T21:44:18.398-04:00Sage: Is the glass half full, or half empty?<span style="font-family:verdana;color:#33cc00;">So, life sucks.<br />Yes, I'm aware.<br />Too bad for the rest of you who have yet to reach said conclusion.<br />There is a certain point in which one begins to recognize the deep inescapable depression that is life. Now, this is not to say that one is depressed, only that life IS depression, and one's own personal sanity is dependant on the outlook with which one views it. There are three lenses through which life can be viewed - impartially, optimistically, or pessimistically. Of course one would think that the optimistic will lead the best, most providential lives of the three. This assumption is awful and, more often than not, will bring about inauspicious results. If one always anticipates the best out of life, one will often be disappointed. It is rather obvious that a pessimistic outlook can only be detrimental to one's experience throughout life. However, it is more likely to have one's expectations exceeded with such a view. Whereas, if one goes through life with an impartial view on life's numerous and varied occurrences, one will never be disappointed with the often negative outcome. In conclusion, I recommend to live one's life with little, if any prospects, and therefore, never feel the heavy depression that is pressing down on us all...</span>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7039411733779655015.post-27826048789149215392008-04-28T17:43:00.000-04:002008-04-28T18:02:49.122-04:00Sage: Trivial Teenage Problems...<span style="color:#33cc00;">As a teenage girl, I recognize the numerous and varied situations one can get into involving boys...<br />More often than not, they cause incomprehensible amounts of pain, and can even destroy friendships. Unfortunately for most, the triviality of such issues is not realized until it is far too late.<br />Not until one has caused irreconcilable damages does one realize the stupidity of her actions. To let a boy come between two best friends, is to destroy a wonderful relationship for one with little respect that will end dramatically soon enough. Is the destined friendship between two girls really worth the insignificant relationship of a boyfriend?</span>The IChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05818898277489209347noreply@blogger.com0