So Yeah, Time To Get Sorta Serious

Bloggie,
       So I've lost five or more pounds in the last two weeks. I'm was really surprised to be truthful. You see, I'm sorta on this diet. Officially I'm sorta telling people that it's under 1000 calories a day, but to be truthful I wouldn't be happy if I ate 1000 calories. So I guess I'm on a 500 calorie diet though I wish I could be on a 300 calorie diet. But 300 calories is little when you realize how many calories are in food. I went to the store yesterday with my mom to pick up somethings my mom needs to make the dessert I'm bringing to the Junior Leaders potluck on Friday (of which, even though I'm bring it, I can't eat because it's dessert and dessert is never healthy), and I almost had a meltdown. I kept checking all the labels on the foods I want to eat and then almost cried when I realized I can't touch them at least until my birthday (which is when I need to fit into this beautiful dress I saw online for my Sweet Sixteen even though I can actually have it made basically in any size, I want to look good in it, and I'm not sure if I'm going to do it in this color and please ignore the price -- I'm well aware I'm out of my mind). I left there very depressed to say the least, but it will be worth it in the end.

      I've picked up many diet tips like how sugar free gum helps you curve cravings and burn calories. Not many, but if you chew a stick of gum for an hour you can burn 10-11 calories, and adding how many calories your burning by chewing gum and not picking at food, that's 35-40 calories and hour! I know, not a lot, but it's a start. I also drink A LOT of water (strangely I don't need to pee more then usual) and I've also tried the bouillon cube thing (if you put a bouillon cube into hot water you can make soup that is only 5 to 15 calories depending on the calories in your bouillon cube; sadly I haven't found the one that is only 5 calories) and I've been eating a lot of salad with a piece of chicken breast and two table spoons (the serving size) of light French dressing. Then I'm at camp and this week I'm with Unit A (the 5 and 6 year-olds) so I've been on my feet all day (I swear most of the five pounds have been lost just in the past three days).

     I had 780-810 calories on Monday (which is a lot if you ask me, but at least I'm under 1000, even though I sorta binged that day by accident) and I had 497 yesterday (which is getting better) and today I've had 310 by now but I haven't eaten dinner yet. I'm going to probably do the boullion cub thing with a piece of chicken breast. I'm adding the chicken breast because if I don't then my mom will give me another talk about the line between eating healthy and being malnourished. Which is ridiculous since if you look at me you'll seen that there is no freaking way I'm malnourished. But I guess one of my aunts (she's actually my mom's first place cousin so that makes her my second place cousin, but since she's in her thirties I call her my aunt) suffered from an eating disorder when she was like in her teens or early twenties and all she did was eat salad and exercise like crazy until she was like really sick. Like  you could definitely tell she was anorexic or something.

      So when I said that all I wanted to eat was salad and chicken my mom gave me a speech. Then yesterday when I told her I wish I could eat ice cream, but I already had consumed 400 calories for that day, she gave me another speech saying 400 calories is basically nothing. Which is a ridiculous things to say because 400 is a big number. She was all like "Most diets are supposed to be over 1000 calories" and I was like "Over 1000 calories! That's nearly half a pound!" Which led to another talk about vitamins and nutrition and blah, blah, blah. All the stuff I already know of because of the internet. I plan in taking vitamins soon. So I can stay healthy and all. Plus, taking a few pills of Vitamin D a day will burn about 225 calories a day! I do a lot of research.

      Overall this is going quite well. I just need to keep the eye on the prize. And when I seriously need something sweet I just drink Diet Coke. 0 calories but definitely good. Once the school year starts I'll being eating less calories because I'm going to do the bouillon cube thing for lunch. I'd say wish me luck, but I don't need it. You know why? Because I have this.

OK, I don't really, but I wish I did. If he were real, I would marry Neville. I'm in love with Neville Longbottom. Why? I'm not sure. I think it's because he's always been the good guy. He's an all around good person who cares for his friends and even though he's sorta dorky, he is willing to die for what he believes in. I loved the part in Deathly Hallows Part 2 when he was all like "It doesn't matter if Harry is dead, people die everyday. Friends, family." And then he said more and basically ended it with saying that Voldemort will die on vain and pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of the sorting hat like the BMAF he is. If only he were real, is only....

                 
            P.S. There is this Facebook like page that I totally agree with. It's called "Only Neville can go into battle in a knitted cardigan & still look Badass."Which is totally true:

Point Proven.

                  ~XOXO, 

                           Ariana

What Musicals Mean to Me

Dear Bloggie,
         I went to see Hair today. You know, the musical. It was so wonderful that I almost cried. Especially when I saw (insert character name that I can't really write or it would ruin the story) dead at the end. You see, I love musicals. I wish I could sing and dance so I could be in them, but I can't. So instead I just love seeing them. Most of the musicals I have seen are the movie versions, though for the first time last February I saw one live at the big theater in my town, the Bushnell. It's called Spring Awakening and it was just fantastic. I bought the CD shortly after (the CD is of the original Broadway cast, of which includes Lea Michell for those Glee fans reading) and it's one of my most listened to CDs.

      While I love musicals, I'm not exactly the type that loves happy ones. My mom wants to see Wicked in the fall, and yeah, I've been wanting to for a couple of years now, but I'm not sure if I really want to anymore. Not because I don't think it's good -- I've heard quite the opposite -- but because it seems too happy. I know it sounds weird, but I guess the sadder musicals like Spring Awakening and Hair and Rent (which I've seen parts of the movie version so I know what happens) move me more. And that's why I love musicals, because they're an experience. Sitting in a room with hundreds of other people as actors stand on stage not so much acting, but becoming the characters they play. It's an emotional experience that moves me in a way that just listening to a CD or just watching a movie can't. When you combine music with a story and acting you create something so amazing.

   There is a list of musicals I want to see one day:

• Rent
• Next to Normal
• Avenue Q
• Chicago
• American Idiot
• West Side Story

     Even though I prefer the sadder musicals, both Avenue Q and Chicago are happier ones. In the case of Avenue Q, I make the exception because it's funny. My friend Jake and I are always singing songs from it. In the case of Chicago, I watched the movie version with Renee Zellweger and Catherine Zeta Jones and loved it so much that I want to see it.

     I'm trying to convince my mom to see West Side Story next month when it comes to the Bushnell. Hopefully there are still tickets left and we can go. We'll see.
  
                      ~ XOXO,
                                  Ariana

Boys

Dear Bloggie,

  I wish boys knew how much control over a girl's heart they have. I mean, I'm might be all feminist-y, but that doesn't mean I don't like guys and don't fall hard for them. As much as I STRONGLY DISLIKE Fergie, I find that my life is similar to her song "Clumsy". I mean, I'm never not liking. I always have some crush or another. The only thing is that I never truly get over someone either, I just start liking someone else. That doesn't mean I don't like the other person, it just means that they are no longer my main like. Please don't think this sounds shallow, I'm only 14 and a half; I don't even know myself, never mind my heart.

   All I know is that I like a guy. His name is Zach. He's the one I wrote the Crushing poem for.

I personally think he's hot, except for the little moustache that teen guys always  love to grow, just to prove that they can.

   According to his Facebook profile (I friended him), he's actually 15. He must have stayed back a year somewhere along the line, but whatever. He's both a musician (i.e. the guitar above) and an artist. I've seen some of his drawings, and wow, he's good. My dream guy can draw and play an instrument -- preferably the guitar and-or piano. I also wanted someone who could write me a poem, but two out of three ain't bad. And I'm only just getting to know him, maybe he can write.

   I really like him, but of course he has one problem; he's not over his ex-girlfriend. I mean, he really thinks she's the one. But she broke up with him over a rumour and left him heartbroken. As a friend, when she came up in conversation I of course was all "She'll come around, don't worry!" Inside though, I was dying a bit. I was telling the guy I liked that his ex will come around. I hate irony.

   I mean, for God's sake, she plays the trombone! No offensives to anyone who plays the trombone, but come on! The trombone is a disgusting instrument. Serena played it for a year and I remember there is a part of it that your spit get's caught in and that you have to drain. I'm losing to that!

    Being my stalk-ish self, I went on his page to see what his ex looked liked. After seeing this picture (and clicking on her profile and seeing that she plays the trombone), I've come to the conclusion this is her.

   Obviously he doesn't have anything against chunky girls which really works in my favour. At the same time, my self-esteem just went down. If she doesn't have the best personality EVER, I'm going to seriously cry. Not to be mean, but she's geeky! And she's not even prettier than me. Yeah, she's still skinnier than me, but take away my weight, and I am so prettier than her. I'm also funny and nice and I can be the best girlfriend ever! But he is totally still in love with her.

   If he only could see that while he's crazy for a girl who has moved on, he has a girl totally crazy for him. Grrrr, it's not fair! I was looking for a song that fit my mood when I found this. I put is as my Facebook status while he was online. Not that he would ever know it was geared towards him. These are my favorite lines, the ones I used for my status.

If you only knew that I think about you

In a kinda secret way

I say kind of 'cause well it's obvious

I must be feeling these things 

Too bad you can't tell 'cause 

If you only knew

It would be a dream come true

Standing next to you

And I might go insane to know

That you feel the same as I do

If you only knew...

~ "If You Only Knew" - Savannah Outen

~XOXO,
         Libby

Movies & Other Distractions

Dear Bloggie,

    As someone has reminded me (*cough, cough* Cat *cough, cough*) I’ve been needing to update my blog. It’s not that I have nothing to say -- trust me, that will NEVER be an issue; I come up with random blog posts in my mind all the time -- it’s just that I’ve been too lazy to actually type it. But since I’m having a rather good day, I might as well.

   First off, as you may have noticed, I have redone this blog up. I preferred the only template, but it just wasn’t giving me the freedom I wanted. Now I have been able to add reactions and other pages -- two freedoms a premade template was not giving me. The tabs are simple and understandable. I have one tab for Home (where you are reading this), one tab for Current Projects (where you can find story ideas that I have put some or plan to put some work into; this tab is up, but not totally done. Still, there are projects posted there so check it out), Contact (where you can find information on how to contact me for whatever reason), and one labeled C.O.A.O.P (which will change as my most current projects change). Any story I am seriously working on will have it’s own tab.

   So now onto the real updated part. My life as a high school has been normal for the most part. Well, as normal as life at an art school can be. This guy I know named Hayden showed up in a dress today. The dress was borrowed from a senior who made it, and it was worn over his usual attire of skinny jeans a and a T-shirt, but the effect was still there. Specially when he went to the bathroom and stuffed the top. He tried to stuff it with paper, but it didn’t work. So instead he stuffed it with his socks which made it appear as if he just had one big breast instead of two separate ones.

   Now, onto the overly high school news. Jonah told this girl named Kayla who told my lunch table that he like this girl named Sarah (we call her Sarah Starfish). She’s the one with the ukulele. But according to Kayla, though Sarah Starfish considers him a dear friend and is even the one who has brought him out of his shell, she has no romantic feelings for him. Which, though it is mean, is good news to me. Sarah is pretty, nice, and fun/crazy. If she likes Jonah back, well I have no doubt that I will never have even the slightest chance with him.

   Today, as sometimes I do, I was able to watch a movie. I watched The Young Victoria, and am now watching 9, an animated movie about a rag doll that awakens in a post-apocalyptic future holds the key to humanity's salvation. I loved The Young Victoria. To begin with, I just love Emily Blunt and then there is just the fact that Queen Victoria is one of my favorite royals, second only to Queen Elizabeth the 1st.The movie was great and was filled with wonderful actors. I give it a ten stars out of ten. Between the acting, dialogue, settings and stage, and costumes, that movie was just plain brilliant.

  One thing that I love about Queen Victoria, is that unlike Queen Elizabeth, she was able to balance out her love life with being a great queen. Queen Elizabeth gave everything, and got almost nothing in return. I feel bad for her since she had been in love, it just was that she could not marry him because of his unpopularity. She chose her country over love. I will never have to make such a drastic decision, but I just hope that my life will be balanced like Queen Victoria’s, not like Queen Elizabeth’s.

   9 has been a little dull up to this point, but maybe that’s because I’m not really paying attention. Tomorrow is the last day of my visual arts rotation. Next Monday I start Technical Theater for three weeks. I’m really excited.

   Well, that’s about all the time we have for today boys and girls, but don’t worry, I’ll post again. I love blogging too much not to :)

 

~XOXO,

     Libby

 

P.S. Tonight begins the new season of Criminal Minds. I heard on a radio advertisement that Tim Curry will guest star on it. Ever since seeing him one The Rocky Horror Picture Show, I have totally loved him. In I think he’s a good and funny actor sort of way of course. Check out The Rocky Horror Picture Show if you haven't seen it, it’s awesome. :)

How I Got My Phone Taken Away For An Hour, Saw A Hot Guy, Missed A Chance To Talk To Another One, And Still Found Time To Blog!

Dear Bloggie,
    Sorry, it's been a couple days. I was going to post yesterday.  I was tired when I got home and I had started working another book cover (which I still have not completed) and then ended up falling asleep right after dinner. I'm posting now though. So lets's get into it.

   On Wednesday we had our freshman seminar. Freshman seminar is basically this meeting thing we have every Monday and Wednesday instead of another art class. We meet with our freshman seminar advisor and talk or watch other students (older but maybe eventually it'll be us too) perform. I won't go too much into what they performed, but there was this really hot guy there.

   His name is Eli and he's a senior -- basically he's way out of my league. Still, he's hot. So being my natural creepy/stalker self what do I do? I take out my phone and take a stalkarazzi style photo of him. At the moment my cell is dead so I can't send it to my computer to upload, but I will next entry. Basically, the best way to describe him is tall medium built guy (average) with Robert Pattinson style hair (via first Twilight movie) but a face that looks like you took Robert Pattinson and crossed bred him with Jesse McCarthy, a younger version of Hayden Christensen, and Hunter Parrish (who I think is very hot, is one of a few people that my mind uses when I think of my character Ethan Stanford -- except Ethan is muscular and tan from being a lifeguard -- and, in my opinion, would make a great Peeta Mellark in the Hunger Games movie...).

   Sadly my FS (freshman seminar) advisor saw it and took it away from me. After FS I had to go to the office, sign a paper that said I understood the school rules and if I get caught with my phone out again my parent or guardian would have to come in and sign it out, and yada, yada, yada. Point being, I got it back but will be more careful with it in future situations.

   Today I passed up a chance to talk to Jonah. Why you ask? Because I'm a quiet idiot. He was sorta sitting by himself reading this book (yes, I looked it up and all...don't judge), when this girl I sit with for lunch (we call her Sarah Squishy -- you would be surprised how popular the name Sarah was in 1996, so many of the girls in my grade have that name!) went over and dragged him to our table. He was sitting right next to me. Seriously, right next to me. All I would have to have done was ask him a question or something.

   But no, of course I don't do that. That would require talking. What do I do instead? I follow his example and take out the Princess Diaries book (my cover looks like this, but it's soft cover) I am reading . Yes, it was as pathetic as it sounds. It's 100% official: I'm a failure at boys.

~XOXO,
      Libby

We Remember…

Dear Bloggie,

    Today, as you go on your way, remember those who died on September 11th, 2001. Nine years ago. I can't believe it. The thought that it has been nine years is almost as unbelievable as the thought that it happened at all. The thought that people could be filled with so much hate that they would hijack four planes and fly two of them into the World Trade Center. The thought that they would fly the other into the Pentagon. The thought that the passengers of fourth plane were able to stop the plane, sadly instead crashing into a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. These are thoughts that belong in a action-packed horror movie, not the news. Not history.

   So today, I ask you to remember. I don't care your American or not. I don't care if your , Christian, Jewish, Mormon, or Muslim. I don't care if your white, black, tan, yellow, red, purple, green, or blue. I don't even care if your skin is a rainbow. I don't care about any of the things that make us different.

    What I do care about, is what makes us the same. We are all people. We are all human. We all feel and hurt and love.We all have our faults and we all have our virtues. We have people who care and love us. We are alive. But on September 11th, that final category disappeared for 2, 296 people (including the 19 hijackers). Who loved and hurt. and felt. Who had families who loved and cared for them. Who were all people. All human. But now, nine years later, are no longer alive.

    We remember that day as a tragedy. But still, look at photos of September 11th and what do you see? The Twin Towers on fire. Fire fighters and rescue workers trying to save people, to at least find the bodies so the victims can be properly identified. But there are photos that aren’t as popular because they show how truly horrible that day was. One of them being “The Falling Man”:

 

 

   To be so desperate that the only way you have any shot at living is to jump. To know that there is no way your going to make it, but you could either wait for the flames and smoke to take you or jump into the cool blue sky. There is a video I was watching on YouTube called “9/11 The Falling Man”. It was not only about the person in the photo above, but also about the 200 people who jumped to their death that day. One man was talking about his wife who worked in the South Tower. He had called her at work and they were able to talk and say their goodbyes before she went to try to get out. They found her body outside her building. Not to say she couldn’t have fallen by accident, but in reality he even said she most likely jumped. But imagine, being stuck in a hot and smoke filled building. Wouldn’t you jump? To fly through the cool crisp air. To say, “I’m not giving in. I won’t let the smoke kill me.”

    These are the people we should see and remember. The people were trapped and desperate. These should be the photos we see, not only America coming together. Because, it wasn’t only Americas who died. It was people on trips form other countries. Business trips, family vacations, you name it. People in the planes, people in the buildings. They were there too. They were not Americans, but they were human.

   So again I ask, remember them. No matter what country your from, just stop and imagine what these people went through, all of them. The jumpers, the people on the four planes, the fire fighters and rescue workers, the people at the Pentagon, and the people who died of smoke, fire, and the Twin Towers collapsing. And, most of all, remember their families. The family members who are haunted by their unsaid goodbyes, and the family members who were forced to say them too soon. The children who lost their parents, and the children who lost their lives. 

 

(Pentagon…)

 

( Shanksville, Pennsylvania…)

 

World Trade Center (Twin Towers)

(Before……)                                                                     (After……)

 

    ~ Much Love,

            Libby

Yes, I Caught It From Cat

Dear Bloggie,

Me: Hello. I’m (insert real name) and I’ve become obsessed with Criminal Minds

CMA (Criminal Minds Anonymous): Hi (insert real name).

For those who have not gotten the point yet, here it is in simple terms: I love Criminal Minds. It’s really and awesome show. I love crime shows. Period. But the fact that Criminal Minds, unlike other shows (i.e. CSI -- Miami, New York, and normal –, Numbers, NCIS, ect.), actually gets into the criminals’ minds, really makes it interesting.

Right now it’s late (as always), but what happened is that I was watching Chelsea Lately when I decided to start playing around with my Photoshop. I only have 14 more days with it before my free trial runs out, so I’m trying to get the most out of it. If I had, like, $60, I would totally buy it for real. Sadly I don’t. So anyways, I was playing around with it when I came across a photo of Cat and me that my aunt had taken at graduation. I can’t upload it because of the type of folder it is, so it’s just sitting in my photo bin. I was looking at the picture when I got an idea. As always, my idea was nuts -- but I like it. Remember, I caught my craziness for Criminal Minds from Cat. What you are about to see is NOT my fault. So without further ado, this is what i came up with:

(When they get married, they can use this for their wedding invitation!)

But of course, this lovely photo would not be complete without the one thing all wedding should have (though most leave this out for some strange reason…):

(Beard Heaven)

Yep, the traditional wedding beard(s). Spencer is sporting a crazy-hobo beard, complete with a beard in it (that’s what the red thing in the bird is). While on the other hand, Cat went for a short and sophisticated 70’s porn star stache. Nothing says love like porn and hobos.

So now that I have reviled what goes through my mind, I’m heading off to bed. I can sleep assured that the world is a better place with a Cat + Spencer + Wedding + Beard + Porn + Hobo Photo. Because as you all know, Cat + Spencer + Wedding + Beard + Porn + Hobo = World Peace. See you later alligator!

~XOXO,

Libby

P.S. All you need in life is faith, trust, and pixie dust!

P.P.S By faith I don’t mean in God or whatever your religion is. I mean you have to have faith in yourself.

Good Girls: What's Their Problem

Dear Bloggie,

I can be rebellious. I can do things just to piss off my mom or see peoples reactions. I love my red hair, but when I pick a color, I normally go for one that will make my mom nervous. Basically, I'm a typical teen in that department.

Still, I'm sort of a good girl. I've never been in a fight (except for yelling) and I respect my teachers (though I curse them in my head when they annoy me). Like my mom, I'm a good girl. Most of the time. I still have my faults and I know it. I don't strive to be perfect, though I wish I did.

The idea of a good girl has always eluded me. Well, like always, when I have an idea I start rolling with it. And what starts simple always grows for me. This is how I came up with the idea for my new novel, The Curse of the Good Girl.

Never fear, I have not ditched C.O.A.O.P, I'm still working on it. But at the same time I'm brainstorming for this novel. I'm trying to storyboard but that's not going very well. Still, I'm having a fun time working on it and coming up with ideas. My main character is Chelsea Frayer, a seventeen-year-old senior who has her whole world turned upside down, leaving her scrambling to play her dutiful part as the good girl. The one who never argues or loses her cool. Who always knows how to act and react. Here, I'll just put up the summery I have right now:

Seventeen-year-old Chelsea Frayer’s senior year has started off less then perfect. Two weeks before schools begins, her long time boyfriend and love of her life Danny Price, cheats on her with her best friend Sydney Thorn. Chelsea, being a good girl, of course forgives. Her perfect eighteen-year-old sister, Tiffany, is pregnant and living in their parents’ basement with her fiancé. Her parents are possibly getting a divorce -– that is if they can stop having affairs and then making up by doing the nasty. She is unwilling nominated (and wins) the spot of school vice president, a job that requires her to spend time with class president Danny. And, to top it all, her cheerleading coach has been fired after caught steeling from the school!

Can Chelsea juggle a dysfunctional family, a flirty maybe not-so-ex, and a scheming best friend –- all the while trying to save her beloved cheerleading squad from demise? Let’s not even mention a certain brooding, artistic, musician who she might want to be more than friends with? What’s a good girl to do…?

What do you think? I like it (obviously) and I really want to write about Chelsea. She's an interesting character. She's the glue in her dysfunctional family, and the person friends go to when they have a problem. On the outside she acts perfect in every way because she sees it as her job. Even if she resents it. She hates the thought of ever being a girly-girl and finds marriage a sham. She is a character I'm having a fun time exploring.

OK, so it's late... -- OH SHIT! It's 2:10am! I have to get up at 6:23am! Goodnight!

~Libby

P.S. I downloaded a free trial of Photoshop and love it! I used it to make the cover. First, I used Photoshop to paint the pink background and add the girl, then I used picnik to add the title, quote bubble, authors name, and happy faces. Too bad my trial is only for 30 days; I only have 22 left.

Life Sucks…And Then You Die. Unless You Go To Hell, Then Death Suck Too.

Dear Bloggie,
So my love life is still pathetic. Even worse I’ve had two dreams this week that I was getting married. The first I was getting ready for my wedding – having been surprised that I was getting married in the first place, but just going along with it – when I woke up just as I was trying on the dress. I never saw my groom – duh, I never saw the altar – but I did see Dulian walking around and had a strong feeling he was the man I was going to marry.

The second dream I had last night. This one I actually did get married, but it was very simple and I can’t even remember it. All I know is that I got a feeling that we were married. I also can remember that we had to keep it a secret because of our age. The whole dream was weird because not only did I get married, but I was also a spy saving Dulian. After saving, we both became a super spy team. It’s actually funny if you think about, especially since I also remember that we attended a Renaissance Fair after.

I have now kissed four guys in my dream – one of them being completely made up from my imagination (and hell is my imagination good, because I really wish that guy was real) and another being an actor – and zero in real life. This is sad.

I’m starting to feel like I will never have a boyfriend. Someone must have forgotten to fill me in that this past week was Get-A-Boy-Friend-Week. Neena has gotten a boyfriend. Cat as gotten a boyfriend (I saw his Facebook picture and he is hot – in a he’s dating my friend sorta way of course. I mean, as exemplified by Dulian, the type of guy I normally like has blonde or brownish hair with blue or green eyes, basically pretty white boys. But even I must admit that that he is very good looking. She defiantly traded up from her last boyfriend, who actually turned out to be creepy with stalkish tendencies. Way to go Cat!). I’m happy for them, really. But I wish I would be the next to get one. Not that my mom would really let me date. But we could keep it secrete for a little while. Plus, I’m sure if I actually had a guy asking me out and my mom met him and everything, she would let me date. With restriction, but she would let me date.

So I was feeling blue as I started to write this all down – having basically written this whole post after the tile popped into my head – when I decided to look for some pictures to go with them. I was just looking for one that went with this post – borderline emo – when I found this funny picture.

Next to it were other funny pictures.

(The butt sex one is my favorite. It's the funniest, don't you think? )

Now, as I end my post, I’m not so blue. Thank God for funny pictures. And the internet since with out it I would have never found the funny pictures. :)
~ XOXO,
Libby

P.S. As you may have noticed, I have decided not to sign off as Carrie for a while. Carrie is…I don’t know who Carrie is. She is a part of me who loves to write about creatures of the night and magic and all its beauty. She is headstrong and knows what she wants and won’t change for anyone. I just don’t feel like her right now.

Right now I feel like Libby. Scared. Exposed. Raw. I’m not in my comfort zone. I’m worried about which road I will choose, if I haven’t already chosen one. Libby is a free spirit who doesn’t like to be caged. She doesn’t know what she wants or who she is. Half of her doesn’t want to find out, instead floating around on her clouds of dreams and fantasies. The other half wishes she knew the answers. Wishes she could – just once – know what she wants and who she is.

I know I sound crazy, but sometimes I just feel like I’m not (real name) because instead I’m other people. Who others want me to be. Who I want to be. But in the end I’m not even sure who I want to be. Oh Great, I’m starting to sound like a stereotypical teenager with all this “I don’t know who I am” crap. I really need to self actualize soon or I swear I’m locking myself in the attic until I’m twenty. Hey, on the bright side, maybe if I don’t eat all that time, when I come out I’ll be skinny enough to get a boyfriend. :)

P.P.S Happy Fourth of July!!! I’m stuck going to my little cousin’s sixth birthday party, but I hope you all have a good day in whichever way you choose/forced to spend it. :)

P.P.P.S I really need to stop adding so many damn smiley faces. :)

P.P.P.P.S. I just noticed that last month (June) I posted the most times in a month yet, 11. Obviously June was a screwed up month for me. :(

P.P.P.P.P.S. Ha! No happy face this time. But wait, that’s just because I’m back in the blues. :(

P.P.P.P.P.P.S Oh God, I’m so going to end up in the funny farm. Aren’t I?

I’m A Bigger Shame to All Feminist than Taylor Swift

Dear Bloggie,
I am a shame to all feminists out there. I really am. I thought I was a good feminist. I believe in equal rights and pay for women. I am Pro-Choice (even though personally I could never have an abortion) because I believe a woman should have control of her body and be able to make the life changing decision to be or not to be a mother. I even read articles and stuff like that so my knowledge on feminism can be greater! Except for my love of Taylor Swift music, dream of being or feeling like (the later being more rational thinking) a princess, and having no problem taking my husbands name someday when I get married (I don’t really like my last name or I wouldn’t change it when I get married) I thought I was a pretty damn strong feminist. Well, for a fourteen year old feminist.

That all changed today when I made the greatest fool of myself. At least I was alone when I did. What happened was I was logging onto my email about ten or so minutes ago when I noticed it said I got a friend request on Facebook. Guess who friended me? I’ll give you a hint; I was supposed to tell you about him today anyways. Yep, my new crush (Dulian Progonati) friend requested me. Of course I almost jumped for joy, then tabbed the page and went on Facebook in 1.5 seconds.

The only thing was I had heard he had a girlfriend, but that was back in September. At the age of thirteen (he’s a year younger than me) most people aren’t in relationships that long, but I had to check. So I went on his page and checked his info. The problem is that I have my language set to Pirate English, which is funny, but hard to understand. So being a overly romantic twit I am, I changed my language to normal English (actually it I changed it to English UK, but it’s still the same so I don’t know why they give you the option between English US and English UK) and went back to his profile so I can see if he has a girlfriend. This is what I saw (I took out his siblings and birthday part for his privacy):

About me
Basic info Gender: Male

Birthday:
Siblings:

Relationship Status: Single
Interested in: Women

Looking for: Friendship
Dating
A relationship

Religious views: Albanianism

As you can imagine I was relieved, but at the same time I felt so stupid. I totally had a freak-out (a happy freak-out but that’s not the point) because I guy I’m crushing on friend requested me. It’s not like he asked me to marry him or something, he just simply asked to be Facebook friends! And now I feel like a stupid girly girl. I mean, I’ve always been girly, but I swore to myself I would never again act like a moron because I like a guy after I got over Brennan Graham, the guy who I crushed on from third to sixth grade. Though he had made it extremely clear he didn’t like me and had actually treated me kinda bad, I only got over him after he graduated from eighth grade (he was two years older than me) and I never really saw him again.
I only admitted this to Serena and maybe to my guy friend Corey (we had been three way talking on the phone a lot in the beginning of 7th grade, one of those times we revealed secrets to each other. I don’t remember it was then that I revealed this secret) that I kept on liking Brennan even after he was paid by two girls in my class (I forgave them pretty quickly, and decided never to bring up that subject around them again for the safety and mentality of all involved) to ask me to dance. I thankfully had turned him down because I didn’t have the nerve to dance with him. When I later found out he was paid, I was furious. But what can I say, he’s hot and I fell for him again. This time secretly.

So you can see how my experiences with guys in that past have caused me to be more rational. I can like a guy, but the second I start acting like a love sick moron it’s just sad. I’ve obsessed all this week over the fact that he says hi to me everyday at camp (he works there with me as a junior leader) but actually freaking-out just because he friend requested me? That’s sad. Especially since he friend requested my cousin Brandon who also works with us. I doubt that means he likes him! I’m living in the mall of patheticness, I know.
~XOXO
Libby

P.S. The picture I included is of Dulian, but then you probably already guessed that.

Crazy Driving Grandpas, Dream Homes, & an Obsession with Meg Cabot

Dear Bloggie,
As promised I’m back to writing properly and normal like – well as normal as ever. So today is Father's Day as you all know. I hope you guys all celebrated and treated your dads really well. Since my life is a little empty in the father front, I celebrated it with my grandfather. My grandfather has always stood as a father figure in my life, even if maybe not the best of them. To say the least he’s a real character. I swear he’s going to get us in trouble one day with his driving skills. He’s one of those people who are a lousy driver but still likes to curse people out. Normally he curses people out in Portuguese, but even then many of the words (like son of a bitch, bastard, ect.) sound pretty much like they do in English. Normally when he does this I laugh, but sink into my seat just incase.

Still, despite his antics, I love my grandfather and I know he loves me. Mom still tells me how I’m the reason her and my grandfather started talking again. When my mom found out she was pregnant with me and told my grandparents, my grandfather was furious. He’s kinda old fashioned so, even though she was 32 and it’s not like she got pregnant young or anything, he saw her as disgracing to the family when she had me out of wedlock. That anger and disgrace lasted until he held me.

After my mom had me she caught and infection – she had a C section and unfortunately the doctors messed up a bit – so a nurse would come to the house to check her out or something. One day they needed my grandmother’s help with something so my grandmother went into the living room and had my grandfather hold me. Up until then he was still in anger/disgrace so he hadn’t paid to much attention to me, but as soon as he held me the disgrace melted away. I was a cute baby. Don’t know what happened.

I still remember watching cartoons with him when I was little – the old ones like Looney Tunes, not the sucking ones they have today. That and I used to help him out in the garden and sit on his lap. He might not show that much feeling – many Portuguese men don’t, they act like compassion is a disease, that’s why I’m never marrying a Portuguese guy, most become grouchy with age – but I know he cares. He just shows it in his own way, yelling is his favorite. I still remember when he yelled at my mom for not wearing a coat. She’s a grown woman but still he acted all father like. Maybe he should have done it with less yelling, but it’s a family thing, were loud and fantastic yellers.

I also have a confession to make; I’m obsessed with Meg Cabot. She’s like the awesomest writer ever. From all the writers who I dream of being in their place one day, Meg Cabot is on the top of my list. She’s really understands teenagers. I can barely even describe how much I admire her! I love reading blogs, so of course I keep up with her blog. She’s actually part of the reason I started my own blog.

Last but not least: I found my dream house. So yesterday I convinced my mom to drive around Old Wethersfield, a part of Connecticut that is made up of almost entirely old houses ranging from before colonial times to early 1900’s, some more modern houses mixed in here in there, but not many. I just love this area so much. Towards the end of the area is the cove, but now that I think about it I mentioned this all before since it’s basically the backdrop for my story Incandescent. Well we were driving around when I saw this old house. I remembered it from last time, but I hadn’t gotten a close enough look. This time I got a picture.

Right now it’s a bed and breakfast, but hopefully by the time I’m married and starting to have children, it will be up for sale and I will be able to raise a family in it. I just love the house. I already can imagine turning the side house (most likely the maid’s quarters or a garage back in the day) into my writing office. Since I want to have many kids (5 to 8) I’m probably going to need my own quiet area to write in. I can just picture my life in this house and let me tell you, I like what I see... :)

Hopefully God will answer my desperate and untiring prayers and let this house be for sale when I start having kids and moving out of New York and back to Connecticut to raise them (as my dream life would go).
~ XOXO,
Carrie

What Do a Fat Girl & a Moped Have In Common?

Dear Bloggie,
So recently I have chosen to write on a schedule. Well post on you, not write my story. I’ve tried working on my story (well stories since I’m also working on Confession of an Optimistic Pessimist, not only Incandescent), but every time I go to write I end up nit picking so much that by the time I’ve written two sentences it’s been over an hour. Yeah, that's no good. But I’ve come up with a schedule to post on my blog. I’m going to try to post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I’m pretty sure I can keep up with it, except for maybe on Fridays. If I don’t post on Fridays I’ll defiantly write on Saturday.

So why don’t we discuss the title of this post: What Do a Fat Girl & a Moped Have In Common? I’m almost done with reading a book called The Earth, My Butt, & Other Big Round Things by Carolyn Mackler. It’s actually a pretty good book; I plan on writing a review for it when I’m done. Ohh, that reminds me. I just finished reading the second book in the Immortal Instruments series, City of Ashes by Cassandra Clare. I’ll write a review for that also, maybe this weekend since I already have planned what I’m posting on Friday. But that’s a subject I’ll approach later in this post. Now back to the title.

The girl in the book (Virginia Shreves) is overweight (not as overweight as I am, but only the people on the Biggest Loser are as overweight as I am) and lives by the “Fat Girl Code of Conduct”, rules she made up after hearing a joke on the radio that goes like this:

Question: What do a fat girl and a moped have in common?
Answer: They’re both fun to ride, as long as your friends don’t see you.

I know, ha-ha funny. I’ve heard this joke before on TV or something, and I guess I never really thought much about it. Maybe I even consider it kinda funny. But while reading this book it really got me thinking, it’s kinda true. Not many guys go for fat girls, but it’s more because of their looks than the girl’s personality. That also got me thinking about the “Fat Girl Code of Conduct”. Here, I’ll post it:

1. Any sexual activity is a secret. No public displays of affection. No air-kisses blown across the cafeteria. No carefully folded notes passed in the hall. No riding the moped in public.
2. Don’t discuss your weight with him. Let’s face it. You both know it’s there, so don’t start bemoaning your body and pressure him into lying, i.e., “What are you talking about? You don’t look fat at all.”
3. Go farther than skinny girls. Find ways to alert him to this, such as sluty comments prepped into the conversation. If you can’t sell him the body, you better overcompensate with sexual perks.
4. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, push the relationship thing. Everybody knows that guys hate discussing relationships, so make it easy on him. Same goes for dates to movies and dances. Bottom line: Let him get the milk without buying the cow.

So that is the “Fat Girl Code of Conduct”. I know it sounds sluty and easy, but I really made me stop and think, I am the cow. What guy really wants this *makes motions to her body*! Yeah not many unless he gets the perks and doesn’t have to tell anyone. I won’t follow all of them, but I will most likely follow the majority. I won’t do the public displays of affection (unless he wants to) and I defiantly won’t discuss my weight. Hell, I can’t even discuss my weight with my own friends. If I did it would go like this.

Friend: I’m so fat!
Me: No you aren’t your sooooooo skinny. Are you kidding me? I’m fat, your not.
Friend: …

I’ve actually had many conversations with friends that were like this, awkward silence. It’s not like they can say I’m not fat, when hello, I am. I can only imagine how awkward it would be to have this conversation with a guy who I want to/ have made out with!

I don’t think I could follow number three though; I don’t have the nerve to be that perverted with guys I like more than a friend. I can joke around with guy friends, but not guys I like. I feel too weird about it. Number four maybe, but I’m not sure. I like giving people the “I don’t give a shit” attitude, but I really do. I’m sentimental and a hopeless romantic. I love watching romance movies and have seen the Notebook more times than I can count. I don’t believe I could truly pretend that I don’t even know him during the day and then make out with him at night. I’ll probably hurt more than it’s worth.

This post was supposed to be short but then I got carried away, so why don’t I finish up by telling you what I’ve been planning for the past week or so. This blog is getting a makeover. This Friday, before my graduation you’re going to see some changes. Yes, my life is still at a crossroad, but it’s time I choose a path. If you live your whole life at a crossroad, there is no point to living.
~XOXO,
Carrie

I Still Miss You....

So yesterday in class we were talking about symbolism and comparing the symbolism of a white umbrella in a short story we were reading, to the symbolism of a collection of glass pigs in the book The Pigman. The Umbrella stood for something we could not have. For material objects that as humans - and especially in American culture - we let control our lives as objects of love and affection. Think of it. I know I do the same thing, but I'd rather have designer things that I don't like and hurt me (shoes) than have comfy shoes that come from Walmart.

The pig collection stood for love that the old man in the story had for his recently deceased wife. They had collected one each year of their marriage, so in the end it represented his last physical link to her.

This in turn got me thinking about love and my own "pig collection". I have written and rewritten this paragraph, saying seven things that are my Pig collection, but it's not true. In reality I have three things that I would go into a burning building for. One is the last gift she gave me, a tea set. It got it for Easter of 3rd grade, after my aunt found it in my grandmother's closet. She had been saving it for my birthday. It's not fancy, probably didn't even coast $15, but it's the last thing she gave me, so I hold on to it. The second is a pink purse like wallet that she gave me at the beginning of 3rd grade, before the stroke. The last, and my most cherished is a little wooden box.

When we were going through my grandmother's stuff after she passed away, i found a little wooden box. My aunts didn't want it, so I was I got to keep it. Inside I put some of her jewelry, a picture of her parents (my great-grandparents), a picture of my mom and two aunts, a hand painted by my great-grandmother handkerchief, and most of all her wallet. It's old and made of leather. On the front is a hand painted face like the handkerchief, but I find it the most precious for some reason. There is about two dollars in coins inside, but I can not nor will I ever be able to spend it.

I still miss my grandmother even though it will be five years in December. I know it's not right, but I think I might have cared more for her than my mother. She was like a second mother to me, except she never nagged or yelled, she just cuddled and made me feel batter when I was upset. It's hard without her, my family sorta broke after she died. My aunt moved out after getting a job at Trinity college, and now at the University of New Hampshire. My other aunt, well I guess things are almost the same with her. My grandfather has a girlfriend now, but that's not really a bad thing, though my mom acts like it is. But I guess the biggest break was my relationship with my mom. After my grandmother's death things changed between us, and not for the better.

~XOXO

Carrie

Daddy Issues

So even though no one is reading this, I have decided to blog today. Today’s subject is about father. They say every little girl needs a dad in her life to show her a good male role model in her life. They say that a girl’s father is the most important man in her life, but I wouldn’t know that. So this song got me thinking…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1yJqDTSufBE

This song has always stuck with me in my head because of my relationship – or shall I say the lack of one – with my own father. It always thought it was half my choice and half that he didn’t give a damn except to harass my mom since he only called a couple of times every other year saying he wanted to talk me them yelling at my mom when she said I didn’t want to speak to him, but last year he passed away and that got me thinking about the other half of my genetics.
So in December I decided to look up his obituary and see if could find out how he died since my mom didn’t know – she only found out when she filed her taxes last March. When I found it I was surprised to see that I was mentioned. I didn’t even think he remembered my full name never mind his family did that they put me as his child. My other family.

Now I wonder how much did he really care for me? My mom always told me that his side was worth nothing; whenever I messed up she would say I was one of them. To a child who only knew her father’s side as losers and jailbirds, this was as bad as a name you could say. But did he love me? Did he really want to meet me? His daughter.

I don’t know whose choice it was anymore for us to have no relationship. Was it mine or his? Or maybe – if my feelings are correct – it was my mom’s choice. They broke up before I was born but he was in my life for a little while after. I don’t know for how long, but I can say this, I have it on tape of him holding me at my baptism when I was three months old, and a picture of my older half sister standing next to me as I blew out the candles at my second birthday. Memory wise I only remember having forced visits with him when I was three or four in New Heaven (the town he lived in). After that it was the once every two years phone call in which he would ask to talk to me, I would say no (actually yell, scream, and have a fit that I wanted to be left alone), and he would threaten to bring my mom to court again because he claimed that she was the one not letting me talk to him. In some ways I think she was.

From the time I could remember New Haven was an ominous place because it meant him. From the time I could remember I have been told that his side was trashy losers (not stated that way but defiantly meant that way) who would all end up in jail like he had when he was younger (like in his twenties). From the time I could remember I feared becoming of them. A low life. Worth nothing. Crap.

A two/three/four year old doesn’t come up with that on its own. All my life that’s what my mom’s side has described my dad’s side and I took every word of it without question… that is until now.

I don’t blame my mom, she loves me and was probably protecting me by doing something she thought was right, but I don’t think it was. He remembered my name. His family did. A family who I thought didn’t give a crap about me. I looked up my half sister and found her on Facebook, but I don’t have the verve to friend or contact her. What if she really doesn’t care about me? But what if she does? I did some further research and found out that she attended a technical school. I know that doesn’t sound big, but this is a girl who lived in New Heaven, Connecticut. To me that means she didn’t want to go to a crap public school, so she tried for a school that would give her more of a chance. That shows me that she isn’t crap.

I want to contact that side of my family. I want to know how my father died. But I’m scared. Scared of what might happen if I am wrong. Scared of how my mom will feel about it. I still remember one of the mandatory visitations. My father had asked me if I knew how to write. I was three and proud of this accomplishment so I said yes. He asked me write my name on the blackboard. I was hesitant because I didn’t want to show too much interest, but I did it with prompting from him and the social worker. No big deal I thought. Well it wasn’t until I told my mom and grandmother as we got into our car to leave. She acted like I was told her that we had made friendship bracelets, told life stories, and braided each other’s hair from the way she was upset, saying along the lines that because I did that I wanted to be part of their family.

I didn’t, all I wanted to do was show that I could write my name. After that I was careful with my actions and made many loud and temper-tantrum throwing comments on how I didn’t want to see him every time we went for our mandatory visits. When he stopped showing up, I wasn’t forced to see him anymore. I never saw him in person again.

With in the last two or three years I have been thinking about that side, I had plans to contact him when I was in my twenties and situated so either way things went I would be ok. When he died that obviously changed. I wish I could speak with him. Find out the whole truth and not what truth my mother told me. I don’t believe she was trying to be mean, I just think she was so scared of losing me that she wanted to make him out to be the devil himself. Seriously, she calls him Lucifer or He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named when she refers to him!

She had to have loved him at some point; my mom was never a slut who jumped in bed with anyone. They had been dating for a couple of years before I was created. So doesn’t that mean there had to have been a good part of him? I found an old letter written from my mom to him. It was a love letter written saying that she loved him, and was only scared of him cheating on her again that why she was they way she was. That’s not good that he cheated on her, but she was so in love with him that she would take him back after cheating, that meant something.

I hope someday I do work up the never to contact my sister, but until then, I’ll just sit her and imagine how that side will be. No matter what my mom thinks they are my family too. That is if they want me.
– Carrie

P.S This is my favorite part of the song Confessions of a Broken Heart (Daughter to Father) by Lindsay Lohan, I relate most to it.

Daughter to Father, Daughter to Father
I don't know you, but I still want to
Daughter to father, Daughter to Father
Tell me the truth, did you ever love me?
Did you ever love me?
These are the Confessions, of a Broken Heart

Love Sick

Hi my many readers. NOT! No one has read this, but then I'm not exactly a very exciting person. Whatever. "So how's life" you ask? Well for starters my life sucks. Actually that's for starters, middlers (I know that's not a real word, but I think it should be, just like the unword computering that my friend Neena uses) and endings. I'm totally in love with this guy in my class, but he doesn't feel the same way. I know, when I say this you imagine a guy who looks like this...

(I actually used to have a crush that reminds me of this random guy, his name was Brennan, and yes, he was hot!)


But sadly no. The guy looks more like this....

Except he has short brown hair and glasses. They say love is blind, though I don't believe it. It's not that I don't see his faults - he's chucky (which so am I, so I can't say much there), is slightly annoying, pervy humored, and likes to talk about drugs even though if he had every drug in the world layed out in front of him and Obama's and full support for him getting high, he probably wouldn't have a clue on what to do and how to start. I see all those things and know those should be warning signs and turn offs as they are for every other girl I know, but for me they just make up a guy I'm in love with. I love the way his cheeks and ears turn red whenever he's outside on a cold day or when he gets embarrassed, or even just when he's talking so much that his adrenaline is running high. I love the way he smiles, sorta more to one side, and yes he has braces. Just reading what I have described him as makes me what to hit myself over the head and hope that I wake up from this love spell I seem to be under, but still I can't.

In the end of the day it doesn't matter what he looks like, but that he can make me laugh like no other. Whenever he's around I just can't help but laugh because he is funny. And isn't that what we all want? In sixty years when I'm seventy-three going on seventy-four, that hot-jock-like guys aren't going to be hot anymore. But in sixty years if I marry a guy who makes me laugh, I'm going to still be laughing as we watch our grandchildren play while rocking in our chairs. That's what we all truly want, the person that will still be there making us feel happy and alive to the very end. That's why I'm in love with him. But if only he saw me more than a friend, then we could get somewhere.

~Carrie