Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Master POW.

Dear Diary,

It's interesting how differently each persons' mind thinks.
I just Googled exactly how many thoughts a person has a day, to give you the no diggity truth-underlying truth behind the truth and...
Nah, I just made that up that explanation.
I just wanted the right number.
But since each mind thinks differently, I got three different answers.
Some people say that a mind thinks of 60,000 different thoughts a day. Others disagree because according to Google and random strangers on the internet (who are most most-likely creepers, stalkers, and either overly-eccentric freaks or affected weirdos), a person thinks of 50,000 thoughts a day, although some say a person thinks 15,000 thoughts per day. Obviously we don't remember most of them but we remember a few. The ones that stand out.
Me, That Girl for instance. I'm not one to stand out. You see me in your English Honors class, or maybe P.E., or possibly in the hallways walking past you once in a while on your way to 5th period Drama. Your thoughts go to:

Damn she's really skinny. She's seriously in need of some KFC, BK, and McD!
Though I only hear you tell me, "Yo beezy! Nice jeans!"
Curse my skinny ass!
Oh wait, it seems as if I'm already cursed.
UNcurse my skinny ass!

But don't worry, I know what your mind is thinking of. In Will Smith's words (from the crackalackin' show known only as The Fresh Prince of Belair):
Mama knows; go on child, mama knows.


Anyway. I just got back from LA for a funeral and I must say that it was the most depressing trip I've ever taken. And that's only half because of the funeral. On the positive side of things: I almost rode in a limo, I kind of stayed at the Hilton for one night, and I'm the tannest I've been in 2 or 3 summers (although I have the strangest foot tan from my sandals).

Sounds like a weird trip? You know it G[oofy].
Actually, I had the strongest urge (no not to boogie the savanna nights away) to blog during the whole trip, but unfortunate fortune made it so that I was equipped with a sole cell phone and my brother's Blackberry to blast 90's alternative pop-punk away, blocking the sound of the disharmonious conjunction of adults bickering.
So, to break it down for you (the trip that is; I'm not about to start break dancin'), I'm just gonna list all the cynical notes that I took on my broken-screen cell phone from Verizon Wireless notepad on the car trip to, from, and in LA.
Basically, these were my at-the-precise-moment-notes (with a couple words added in such as "And," "The" and other further explanations, as well as conjunctions to connect my batshit crazy thoughts):

Day 1 [Going to Bakersfield to make a "half-way rest stop" as determined by the Mother, although Bakersfield happened to be 50 miles off the normal route to LA. This caused tension, arguments, and yelling in the car. A thermos was thrown. Meds were previously taken. Ranting started...and continued...
and continued. And this note started.]

I am starting to think way too much.
I am starting to think the shit out of myself. Non-literally.
That Girl, don't overthink it by saying it too many times. Leave it alone. Leave it be. Be like a bee and buzz away from that topic. Don't stay on this topic. Change the topic. No stop. Non-stop? No. "No, stop," is what the previously stated was meant to state. Wait, what was I thinking of?
Oh man, this must be what repetitive thinking feels like.
I'm repetitively thinking too much about thinking too much and thinking I'm thinking too much about thinking too much. Shit, I'm running out of room in this notepad note. I'm gonna have to start a new note. Damn.

Still Day 1 [At Bakerfield hotel. It's surprisingly nice. Though the room is a bit cheap looking, it comes with the standard ConAir hairdryer slightly too loud for comfort and a T.V. with the cable channels known only to the surrounding residents of the resident, natch. Before telling you this note, lemme back you with some information about how I got to thinking the topic I wrote about in this note. I was flipping channels at about 1 AM because I couldn't seem to fall asleep, and of course I ended up watching George Lopez and Made on MTV. I really like these shows actually. Both cheesy with morals, but that's alright.]

I've figured something out. You know that girl (HAH, that's a pun. Get it? That Girl comparing herself to "that girl"? Feel free to bow down to the master of plays on words. You may call me Master Play On Words. Or for short: Master POW. That's hella cool dude. Master POW? That's when you know you're ballin'.
Wow...big hello to sleep deprivation. Sorry about that.) who is always agreeing yes to whatever her popular friends say? I call her the "Yes" Girl, although, you could easily call her That Girl. Well, I have found the reason why I always agree with what my so called "popular friends" say. It's not that I'm afraid of rejection. I just don't give a shit about what they think of me, and I don't give much of a shit about them either with their bitchy ways and whatnot. I don't really care if they think that I'm the "Yes" Girl, and I don't think that a person who talks down to other people their classify as "uncool" deserves my honest opinions on most things. Sure, sometimes if I'm bored or feel up to it I give them a cutty response to their current topic, just to justify my being in the "cool" crowd. I give just enough to be "cool" but not enough that I have to try. I don't really want to be popular, but I don't want to be against the "popular" people. SO, I might as well take their side. It's easier this way. It's true when they say that it doesn't take much to be popular.
This sounds stupid, but I'm gonna say it anyway...I guess that I feel secure enough in myself to-instead of put down these people who I don't care about-agree with people who obviously have problems with self-esteem (i.e. the putting down people to make themselves feel better) that way I can make them feel more secure in their choices and overall self.
Then again, it's too late in the morning for me to now be held responsible for things I say.
Good night.

Day 2/3 [Days at the actual funeral, and in LA.
I want to type more about my LA trip and the most awkward meeting of my so called "popular friends" at the mall downtown (Who did not invite me to come with them, but hugged me when I saw them and smiled like they were genuinely glad to see me. I was looking at bras by myself in Victoria's Secret. I didn't invite anyone for the reason of me always doing my bra shopping solo. Why do your friends need to know if you can't fill out a 34A pushup?) when I came back to the city, but it's getting late. I'll have to tie up all the loose ends of my posts I talked about this time, as well as the Stella story later cuz I'm feeling super sleepy. This is my last note from LA for this post.]

I just met my grandma's deceased brother's son's daughter who happens to be my age, but looks like my brother's age...plus 5 years. My brother is 21. I just turned 15. She just turned 15. Do you see how this would be awkward for me?
She was a little bit on the heavy side, yet not at all what you would call fat. Her legs were a little thick, but they were shaped. She was extremely tan and had the kind of body that guys look at on Facebook and leave comments like: "Sexay ;)" and "Damn mami, you got it going on!".
The other day my mom told me that while she was driving down our block to pick me up, so I wouldn't have to walk up the big hill our house is on, she looked for the skinnest girl on the street. She said that when she saw me, she was thinking that it probably wasn't her daughter because this girl looks like a stick. Go me.
My mom also told me that the big, tan girl at the funeral must eat a lot because "You have to eat a lot of food to be that big." In my opinion, she didn't look fat at all. I wouldn't call her big; I would call her normal. She seriously just looked healthy and that she had some meat on her bones. In a good way. I'd trade my body for hers in a Kellogg's Snap, Crackle, and Pop.
[I just added the above, from the top of my head. I'll tell her what I noted down in the notes on my phone now.]
Her body was slammin'! Okay, well maybe off the backboard-around-the-rimin' to some people. She can wear those sexy black stilletos with the thick heels and look great (though she almost toppled over once) unlike me who looks like I'm deliberatively trying to look taller and that the shoes are too much considering my overall size. If I ever wore stilletos, that is. What I would do to just look sexy in a dress and not "cute"...


I would like so much to quote the book How I Spent My Last Night on Earth right now, but I can't seem to find where I put the book. I read the whole thing during my LA trip and dumped it somewhere in my house after. Probably under a shoe. Maybe a cantaloupe? Bittermelon? Who knows. What I remember from that book is that the main character says somewhere in the book (Though the book had way too many stereotypes about cliques-the author talks about guys worshiping a new carburetor in a car, jocks tossing a football, and burn-outs doing drugs right in front of school? I don't think so. What car? We can't drive until 16 and by then you get the junkiest car from your parents that nobody wants to ride in, jocks don't have a football to toss around-everyone's happy enough to find a tennis ball in the halls to throw at eachother when the teacher comes to class late, rambling about something of no use, and even burn-outs are smart enough to be doing their stuff behind the school. ) somewhere in the book Allegra says that un-mating walruses (I think it was either walruses or seals...walrusii?) were jumping off a cliff. The scientists were puzzled, baffled, and, not bamboozled, but confused. They were calling it Lovers' Leap. Allegra says that it was obvious why. They were non-mating after all.

Humans have a different way of being without a mate.
It's not called Lovers' Leap.
It's called Ben&Jerry's.

-That Girl, merde foutue, non bonne!
Don't Babelfish that one, kids.

" Would you look at her
She looks at me
She's got me thinking about her constantly
But she don't know how I feel
And as she carries on without a doubt
I wonder if she's figured out
I'm crazy for this girl

That's right, keep giving sad-sap girls like me false pretense with your upbeat melodies Evan and Jaron!

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Do guys like funny girls?


Dear Diary,

Do guys like funny girls?
No, I'm not talkin' about guys liking funny girls as friends (we all know the guy who loves to make as many girl friends as possible to douche-ily show off to their stupid, chauvinist guy pals; who in turn slap him on the back and over-pronounce, along with over-use the words DUDE and DAMN in their totally conspicuous teenage-boy pubescent voices, which inevitably crack in an embarrassing manner), I mean guys liking funny girls as more than a good laugh here and there.

I know that I must sound pretty teen-angsty right now (not to be easily confused with angioplasty, which wouldn't make much of any sense in this situation being that I don't know what a person with repaired blood vessels would sound like) but here me out for a minute. And by a minute, I mean more then a literal 60 seconds which my mom would count to if I asked her to wait a minute.

From past experience it seems to me-unlike movies like Charlie's Angels where Cameron Diaz is adorably funny throughout the film and happens to find a guy who loves her endearing self
(You find me a real Luke Wilson and prove me wrong though. And I mean, even if you don't think of the lack of Luke Wilsons in the world, Cameron Diaz is a really hot girl who happens to be funny, so you can't really compare her to the very-much-average-shaped funny girls abundant in what the very common DragonSlayerLovesPI314 would call, "RL...newbz! Level up or gtfoh!")
-that guys will first treat the girl like she's a piece of freakin' cheesecake being inspected in the Cheesecake Factory before deciding if she's girlfriend or buddy material.
To start off every relationship, there must be introductions in order.
Now, you know that every guy tries to be all suave, though ends up being obviously flirty when introducing himself.
It's kinda like how some girls on Facebook add a winking smiley face after everything they say, which I think is kind of weird and not sexy at all. It's also weird when you add a winking face when talking to a friend of the opposite sex when it's obvious you're being flirty. I myself only use a winking face to show that something is a secret or personal or said cheekily (much like this whole blog) but I would never use it to flirt with friends. Why spend your time flirtin' with friends when you can go find more interesting specimens out there to flirt with? Ya feel me, G? (G for goofy, not for gangstah, of course.)
This has been the OD of ";)" Alert!
Sorry for the change of subject, I've just been meaning to get the ";)'s" rant off my chest.
;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;)
Now. How annoying would it be to put a ";)" after every sentence I say? ;)

Hey, I've seen you around. What's your name?
Hi Person-I've-Never-Met-Before.
He'll ask, trying to deepen actual squeaky voice which the other jock guys would verify as, "Hella gay, you fag!" with joint agreements of how the boy is completely the King of Faggitude or whatnot.
How many times I have seen a guy trying to be suave when using one of those lines. It's not even a question, it's more of a statement. Even though they're going for the "Suave" look, they end up looking like a bottle of "Bedhead" after messing with their hair nervously the whole time. Guys seriously need to pick their game up and learn some new material.

Now, what happens after he gives says hi?
Well, there are several options of what to say and the result of the choice of option will probably result in either:
A.) Instant Chemistry
B.) Instant Awkwardness (Ever notice how even the word awkward looks awkward? What the hell kind of word has a k with 2 w's?!)
C.) Nothingness; not caring, or nothing said after for no reason. Not awkward, but no chemistry.

Now, me, myself, and more of me is good at introducing friends with eachother, but I have a bad habit of saying stupid things out-loud that my head decides to think of. For example:
ExBestFriend has a friend who I won't use a code-name for this time, cuz you wouldn't get the punchline if I used a different name in this story.
EXBFF's friend is called Verrone. A guy in my 1st period-who's name has no subsequent value in this story-came into the crepe place near school; which me, Verrone, and EXBFF were in. No Subsequent Dude greets me and EXBFF (we all went to K to 8 together) and he says, "Hi person I don't know," to Verrone.
They introduce themselves and I slightly overhear their introductions as I overlook the menu of crepes. Verrone introduces herself as Verrone, natch. Then NSD says his name and I thought I heard him say, "My name is Ronny." Of course, I knew he really didn't say that, but my slow-thinking brain told me that this was funny because Ronny sounded similar to Verrone so I blurted out, "Oh, I thought I heard you say your name was Ronny! And I was like, your name isn't Ronny! Ha-ha." He gives me a strange look and does that thing where you go, "Wait what?" as I explain the story then he does the "Okay..." thing wherein I immediately felt sort of awkward and stupid.
This was much funnier in my head; it should have stayed there.

So, every story has a moral or punchline. Mine is to not say stupid things when introducing friends to one another.

Anyway, if you're wondering, this is how my guy-friend relationships go:
First I'll get the so-called flirty (but really dorky and unoriginal) introductions and then after the whole get-to-know-each other thing is over, I'll see how he handles me when I act really goofy and sarcastic since that's how my real personality is (unlike the giggly and flirty girl you first meet) , and most of the time he'll continue flirting and all that jazz, but I'll get bored with him and stop being flirty and put him in the friend zone by calling him "buddy" and being funny instead of the giggly-girl I pretend to be. Sometimes he continues flirting and asks to hang, but I'm not interested. I never get guys like me the way I like them, Either they like me too much and I have to cut them off (I have an OD on stalkers, btw) or I'll like them more than they like me and pretend that I never liked them in the first place (Have you seen that Facebook group that says, "Hey Cupid, can you shoot as both next time? Thanks." ?)

So, most guys do not like my funny girls at my school. Let's just say that. Yeah, they like the endearing girls with unique qualities (Often time the quality is total conceitedness or overly pompous-confidence. They get totally affected from the change of middle-school to high-school, and guys think that the "cool" girl-despite her terrible qualities-is the girl they need to have. It's as if they're Scooby Dooby Doo and the bitch they follow around has Scooby Snacks.) You want some examples and crapola to back my shizz up? Fine, let's do it 7th grade English Essay style. Oh yeah, prepare yourself for some delicious, fresh-baked Food For Thought.
Note that it's not in proper paragraph form and isn't as long as my usual BS essay, but don't grade me down for that Ms. Sourpuss Reader!

Bitch for One, Please.
by That Girl; 9th grade; yeah I'm that average looking girl in your English class about to blog batshit crazy about everyone once class lets out. [Hyperbole!]
Just yankin' your chain...aren't I? ;)

"Who do you like?" The basic question asked between all people (nerds, geeks, cool kids, stalkers, flirts, lovers, friends, crushes, exes, you name it) of the opposite sex in high school. Who does the guy with the cute-skater hair and cool flannel shirts who sits next to you in 2nd period Algebra like? Is he flirting with you when he walks by your desk-the long way around the room, might I add-to get a tissue and knocks his knuckles rhythmically along the desk while walking by? The dynamics of high school relationships range from these, with more specific relationships omitted: Friends, Dating, Flirting Friends.
Look around your high school and I'll bet you your lunch money that the girl who's standing in the cluster of the good-looking guys would be totally verified as "hot" by the local boys. She's the girl that the guys go crazy over, can't get over their heads, go coo coo for (not for coco puffs, mind you). Sure, she might be funny too, but she's hot. If she was the most average looking girl in school, but was funny, would the guys give her the same attention? No, they would not. Naturally, the girl other guys drool after is hot, pretty, outgoing, albeit bitchy. What every guy dreams of. The female class clown in your class? Is she the prettiest girl you've ever seen? 10 to 1, the answer is no. The class clown is your buddy, the person you don't take seriously. The hot girl? Oh man, you take her way too seriously.
These are the reasons that while the funny girl has a personality which can light up the room, make you roll over laughing, and bring tears of joy to your eyes as you "ROFLMAO", she can't compete with serious girl who guys love to get to know better. Guys want a challenge, evidently. They wanna peel the layers off the serious girl and see what's underneath, but they assume that the funny girl is just funny and fun. A guy doesn't like a girl who can compete with his funniness or what he thinks is "masculinity," he just wants a giggling bundle of joy to pet his ego.
What's wrong with the world?

Yeah, I could have written more about Bitch For One, Please except that I started that post about 1 and a half weeks ago and am sick of ranting about guys not liking funny, weird, or interesting girls. It's called being endearing, people! And endearing should be a trait ment not only for the weird friends you have and love, but also for the love of your life who you can put the title "girlfriend" or "boyfriend" on in written word. Ya feel me, G[oofy]?


So, I said a little while ago that I wanted to talk about a certain name which I really dislike because of the fact that the two people I know with that name are without-a-doubt straight up bitches; bitchy bitch style, with a side order of bitch, and a bitchin' lemon in the bitching glass of water brought to you by your own personal bitch. Although, I hope that if anyone with the name I am about to share reads this, they know that the only reason I think this is cuz I have no evidence against it, only towards it.
Dun dun dun.
The name is.

This does NOT include Stellaluna the bat though. Especially since I said that I don't like people with this name. I said nothing of the sort referring to bats. Bats are ill dude, leave 'em be.
I'm too sleepy to explain the history behind why I don't like the name right now, so I'll go ahead and press the
button so that I can go to sleep. If LBB ever stops texting me that is, darn tootin' boy.

Texting may be the greatest and the worst invention ever.
-That Girl, stop textin' me you stalkers! Oh yeah, and you too LBB.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

The Gardener.

Dear Diary,

It isn't easy being a klutz/goof/oaf. Whatever an oaf is.

Yeah...I have another one of those Misadventure Stories to share again. (No, not of Billy and Mandy; their show creeped me out.) But hey, I deal with my blockhead/"I need of a Twix Bar" moments just like the next person. Okay, sometimes my clumsiness can be slightly more vile than your average person. Sometimes I do feel slightly Mr.Bean-esque, but shouldn't I be proud to replicate the actions of such a talented comedic-master on a downsized, and more realistic scale?

I'm always working on making my clumsy-ass look more decent and less goofy.
It's like when I try on 5 outfits every night trying to figure out which one makes my boobs-or lack thereof-look less, well, less small; I find myself looking decent. Like I can be DECENTLY a clutz. I more-or-less try for the "adorable" stereotypical clutz to disguise my inner humiliation. Of course, after a tiresome night of frustrated clothing, I end up waking up in the morning-no not feeling like P. Diddy whatsoever-saying, "Dude, what the h-e-double-hockey-sticks kind of outfit did I pick out last night?" And I grab a thin sweater, possibly an old Zoo City or Hollister (not the hideous pink-moose-kissing Abercrombie I picked out to wear earlier in the year; that was one of my worse fashion faux paus so far as I've seen since since contently throughout the day people were asking me why I was wearing such an ugly and bulky looking sweater with mooses-what's the plural of moose?-making out/hooking up on it) as a I run out the front door with my Vans half on my feet still. Thankfully the ground is most likely wet from a morning mist outside my house and I'll get my socks soaking with water before I climb up the could-be-cleaner-public-school steps leading to the maze of inner hallways taking me into my most boring class: Bio, 1st period.

Anyway, to the story, yes?
Yesterday my mom wanted me to help her garden in my aunt's backyard because it was my aunt's husband's 60-something-th birthday (Oh yeah, definitely the "Party Animal" stage of life.) and Mom and I wanted to be there to help celebrate it. You could tell that my aunt and uncle really love each other. The way they look at the other person, and how my uncle calls my aunt his GIRLFRIEND just to make her feel special, you can tell how much in love they are. It's the kind of love that I believe most people want to have. Just like the Trix rabbit wants him some Trix, people want them some love. The two of them, my aunt and uncle, work together in a self-made lawyer partnership and go out for dinner to catch up on the days' activities all the time.
But anyway. Ha-ha I have a funny story to tell you. Kind of sad actually. It's what happened in the backyard. And then I must tell you about my dislike of all people with a certain name; the name which I will reveal later...gator. [Get it? "Later...gator?" HAH, ain't it PUNNY? Tune in next time for my lame pun/joke of the day.
Oh man I am so lame.]

I'm picking up a pile of dirt with a shovel and move it over to this small, wimpy looking plant with it's roots sticking out from dirt and I'm trying to cover it up that way my mom, who happens to be recently plant obsessed (Helloo Dr.Phil.), will say something along the lines of, "See? Now he's happy because his body is covered." Which, btw, could totally be turned into a "That's what she said" joke.
I toss the dirt over the plant and, natch, the plant decides to somehow reflect the dirt onto the red-tiled trail on the side instead. (Helloo Mr. Discarded-Mop-From-Sweeper-Commercials)
But that's not even the good part.
After I pan away most of the dirt back into the side of the yard, I take a small amount of dirt and gently place it over the plant's roots with the miniature shovel in my dainty, little hands which I have grown to dislike. (Screw my skinniness, I wanna be curvy and complain about being fat like the rest of my friends.)
To make the dirt level with the rest of the dirt surrounding the plant, I smack my shovel against the dirt I just put on the plant. Hard.
The first time I smacked it the top of the shovel hit my knee and I winced.
"This sucks." I thought.
To get out my aggressions I continuously hit the mound of Earth's precious gem rooting life: dirt. But then I looked down and saw the head (or back, couldn't really tell) of a worm sticking out the dirt like a freakin' Whack-A-Mole.
You have got to be kidding me.
I didn't see the worm until I lifted my shovel after a good whack and saw the creeper wincing and squirming in pain.
Oh shit.
Some people really like hurting bugs, but I'm not one of them. It sounds crazay, but when I see a bug I don't get scared of them hurting ME, I get scared of me hurting THEM. I feel terrible when I kill a spider or beetle crawling it's way around me. I mean, most bugs are so vulnerable and teeny; how is it at all fair to just squish 'em? I guess they kind of remind me of myself, small and easy to step on at times. Obviously I mean metaphorically stepping on me (As in, "Step all over you.") while I mean stepping on in the literal level when it comes to insects and bugs. Is it the empathy and sense of same that gives me these feelings?
So, I feel horrible and squeamish as I look at the worm wiggling it's little head (possibly it's bottom). And then it stops moving. I freeze, panic, and could0 probably do the robot right now because I feel like my heart has frozen; since robots don't have working hearts, right now I might be able to do a decent Mr. Roboto danceathon.
"Mom! I think I just knocked-out a worm!" I call to the Mother.
"Just bury it in dirt! The sun will dry him up!" She says using her usual pronoun of "Him" to describe any inanimate object ranging from a teddy bear to plant to a piece of candy shaped like an octopus. At least she isn't one of those people who add the word "Mister" to inanimate objects (like, "Turn Mr. Teakettle off!" or "Mr. Bear wants a hug!" or "Mr. Wall doesn't like it went you slam your head into him rigidly as I speak to you!").
My heart thaws slightly (Like microwaving a slab of icy meat which was stuck in your freezer the past week and a half) and I take action. Nothing major like protesting against knocking out worms (I could see it now: "Worms are People Too!" and "KO Worms? KO YOU!" and "Mamma said knock YOU out!" picket signs lined up along every block in America or being the lead showcase in the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade for the couple of years. "Until they get their justice!" the people will shout.
...Or not.)
but I used the trusty shovel, which was the main source of problems in the trouble from that day (the trouble was NOT coffee in a cardboard cup), and lightly covered the worm with soil. I got a decently large amount of dirt and covered the roots of the plant completely being very careful to not harm the fragile state of the worm. That is, if worms have a fragile state of being.

The G-Tron Meter is overloading with a too high percentage right now.
And by G, I don't mean Gangstah. I mean Goofy.

-That Girl, "Stupid is as Stupid does." -Forest Gump.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Mission to the heart

Let's plaaaay The Game of Lo[ooo]ve! I'm your host, That Girl, here to tour you around the arena of love. Featuring the... Heartbreak Woomper!, Romatic Getaways!, and your very own brand-new hand holding with all-inclusive makeout sessions! Cue fake ooh-ing sounds from a make-believe audience! Come on down and get your grooove thing on.

Dear Diary,

Ne-Yo once said,
that he was SO sick of love songs...
["So tired of tears. Said I'm so sick of love songs; so sad and slow. So why can't I turn off the radio?"]

I feel ya, Ne-Yo.
And I say amen to that, and I also say, "Hallelujah," "Praise Zeus, Athena, and all the other Greek gods named in the Disney take on Hercules," "You go girlfriend," and "OH YES."

Then again, one of his new hits is called Closer.
So you got So Sick followed by Closer.
(Ha-ha get it?
Closer? Followed by?
Sorry. That was my weird pun of the day.)


Anyway. Lately I've been think all about love.
It's something I've always wanted (Love outside the family of course...and no I don't mean it like THAT. I'm not into incestuous activity, but thanks for asking "bruh." By the way, I hate it when people say "bruh." How stereotypical football player/wanna-be skateboarder guy can you get? Although if one of them said "brother" like a priest would say, I would pretty much laugh out loud. Can you imagine?
Yo what's good brother?
It just does not go. It doesn't flow. And it doesn't do the tootsie roll.
Whatever the last analogy means.)

So. My question for you, Diary O Diary, is: how hard is it really to find love? Is it really that difficult, or do most people try to hard?
I like to refer to one of my favorite silly movies of all time:
Love Don't Cost a Thing.
The main character just wants to "shag" a girl (using Austin Powers lingo here, natch), but be popular most of all. He tries too hard to be cool and the "before" him reminds me so much of other geeky guys I see around my own high school.
But anyway.
I've devised a mission for this summer.
My mission is to find love. I don't know what rock Love is hiding under and which rock to lift up (there are SEVERAL rocks out there, if you know what I mean), but I'll use every trick in the book I know. This includes flirting and playing coy, being cute and endearing...I know how to do it because in the beginning of every school year I hype myself up for being in the Flirt Zone; and it works. Usually I just tire of it after the 4th month though. That's probably why I get all these guys crushing on me, but not being into me the way I'm into them. Freakin' Cupid!

Yes, I'll probably fail finding love and maybe I'll fail at getting a relationship; but I'll keep track of these failures and tell you my beloved Diary all about it. School's over in just a short 2 weeks which gives me enough time to prepare for such an overwhelmingly difficult endeavor.
Yeah, maybe I'm exaggerating a little bit, but I'm not lying here!
I WILL strive for love this lucky summer of '010 and if not, I'll come out of it with experience in my heart and most of all: no regrets.
I like to reference the movie Never Been Kissed to this experiment, a movie I just watched while I typed this new post, giving me inspiration to carry out with this mission.
Mission Impossible. Mission Heartboard.
So, for more inspiration, I have just started the movie The Wedding Singer and I'm following along with the shows Tough Love Couples and The Millionaire Matchmaker.
Which, yeah, goes to show how single I am. Not that I couldn't accept those weirdos' "hanging out" invitations at any moment. I just wish that Cupid would strike me and a guy both, you know?
It seems to me, in all these incredible romantic-comedies, that if these people were completely shy and closed off, there would be no romance to report. Just the comedy.
And don't get me wrong, I love comedies, but without the romance, it's just not the same.
These people don't have regrets, and that's something I wish I could feel.
No regrets.
Hopefully I won't end up like this:


althoughh, that is actually one of the funniest scenes from a movie I've ever seen. Watch that shiz and enjoy it!

The rocket ship to the moon was nothing compared to this mission.
-That Girl, shooting for the Moon. Please let me land in the stars and not on top of a meteor heading 8900 mph towards planet Earth. That might hurt a little.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

String Cheese flirts and wishes.

Dear Diary,

I guess when you're a sophomore guy (unlike that of That Girl's pitiful, joke-cracking self) you have so many clubs and sports to join to show off for colleges, you don't have time for lowly freshman girls.
Such as: me.
I haven't seen my "good friend" SSAS in about two months.
But I'm used to it.
It's okay though. I'm-surprisingly enough-doing pretty well off without him.

I kind of miss having a crush though.
It must sound crazy and disorderly and all sorts of weird, but everything just seems better when you like someone.
Colors are brighter outside. The once drab trees seem strangely alive and miraculous, while the foggy sky in the morning seems to have bright spots of blue peeking out behind clouds all of a sudden. Spots of blue you haven't noticed before.
Having a crush means that at 11:11 every night you get to make a wish;
holding your breath through every tunnel with your pinky out-having some mysterious Tunnel Gods grant your innermost desires-seems like the most important thing in the world;
whenever you yawn or blow a dandelion's seeds all out in one blow you just think that deep down in your heart: he'll love you after all.
First star in the sky, random eyelash blown off a finger, birthday candle dreams, shiny coin tossed into a settled area of flowing water, broken wishbones, chimney promises, pressed autumn leaves falling from trees, sunrise's talkative little birds, enclosed leprechauns, freed genies, first hummingbirds, feet off the ground over a bridge, or thrice clicked ruby red slippers.
Anyway you put it; there are opportunities for wish making all the time.
But what are the chances they'll come true?
Liking someone is what I like to call
It's just something to look forward too, really.
Because, seriously, what are the chances that you'd eat that crummy (PUNNY stuff!) cookie with yummy chocolate frosting on top if you suddenly realized that after you finished the cookie, the icing would disappear? Would you actually try to finish the cookie? Or would you take a bite out of politeness, and dump the rest in the closest garbage can nearest to you (which is probably a recycling bin, though you weren't paying attention)?

But the weird thing about me is that if I discover that my crush really likes someone else, or seems to focus their attention on another person besides me, I kind of give up. I get kind of mopey and moody and irritated for the day, and then say, "Screw it."
Maybe I give up too easily. They say that you miss 100% of the shots that you don't take. But that's just basketball talk.
What if...you decide to not take the shot, but someone else on the team gets a basket? Do you get any credit for it, since the whole team kind of made it; or did you miss it entirely? It's a very subjective saying, if you ask me.
Or what if...you decide to shoot the ball, but then it bounces off the backboard onto a nearby trampoline and the other team catches it in midair with a slam dunk ending? Not only did you miss the shot, but it's like missing it 102% because you missed it AND were the main contributer to the other team scoring.
Every choice can end negatively, and I usually quit the team before I get onto the court and have to try making the basket. All a metaphor for the "game of love" if you catch my drift. And yeah, that was incredibly cheesy saying "game of love." But I like cheesy. Especially if it's string cheese.
Yes, I'm a quitter, but I get over it. Will I get over coincidentally passing the ball to my teammate's face causing them to lose their 2 front teeth and a molar?
Like the Tootsie Pop, the world may never know. At least; I won't know.

So, I haven't talked much lately about my personal day-to-day life.
I have a couple updates for you; mostly in the Love Department. Just cross the Comfort Area with the nice square beds with cushioned foot stools, until you get into the Indifference Counter where the concierge will greet you with a nice "Howdy" leading you into the Yearning/Desperation section of cute tops. Make a left and 9 rights. Then turn left. You should see the Love Department there.
Yes, it is a very complicated path to finding love.
Note that I've never been able to get quite to core of the Love Department. I'm stuck on the 2nd right after the left. If this confused you to a certain extent, I'm talking about Non-Literal Metaphorical City here, people.

Anyway. So, the first thing is what happened in my Teen Leadership Program about 2 weeks ago. I've been having this thought float around throughout my brain looking for an escape exit, so I'm glad I found one.

There's this guy there. I know I've mentioned him before, though his code name I can't remember. He's super nice and pretty funny. I love how he says, "Naw shit" instead of "Just kidding" or "Just playin'" if he's messing around. It's very endearing. So. I used to think that he would be a really cool guy to have a crush on, except that I could never quite get myself to like him in that way. I wish I could because I know that he's a great guy.
Anyway. What happened was that I came sauntering slightly tardy into the preschool-slash-senior-center place where the Teen people were meeting. I saw my friend who will be know only as JayM, sitting by herself at a table. Naturally, I got instruction from the teacher-slash-boss lady to make a picture and draw it on a cloth to make some kind quilt thing with. No one was especially hyped up to do this and I could see why. Frankly speaking-Bob, you can speak later-
(It was a PUN, did you catch it?)
we all sucked at drawing. The only reason mine turned out okay was because I practically traced a picture of a butterfly off the internet onto my small white cloth laying flat on the table.
The guy I've been talking about, who I'll call DEB for "definitely endearing boy," came into the room after he left a little while with his friend to get some fresh air or something.
He says, "Hi, That Girl" and pulls out the chair next to mine. My purse is there and he says, "Oh, sorry" but I feel bad for hogging the room for my purse when I really like being around him, so I move my purse onto the floor and he thanks me.
We had a pretty fun time talking about our drawings and complaining when our markers leaked out ink or whatever. His picture was the building we were in with a yellow school bus outside. It was pretty cute and he kept asking me kiddingly, but slightly serious, for advice such as "Should I trace the wheels of the bus black or not? Should I color in the whole bus or will it leak?" which was funny, of course.
I was pretty happy that out of the seats he could have taken, he chose the one next to mine.
Cuz yeah, I don't have a crush on him. But yeah, I like his company (No really, I don't like him THAT way. I really just like hanging out with him. He's pretty good looking too!) and I'll admit that sometimes I feel a tiny, tinge bit jealous when he turns his attention to other girls. Nothing batshit crazy though, or even slightly problematic.
The fact it: I simply like his company.

So that's that. I wanted to say ONE more thing that's been bothering me-slash-boosting my self esteem for a while.
First off: freshman boys are really bad at disguising their flirting. It's so obvious when they're trying to get a girl's attention and yet, it's cute and (because I like this word a lot) endearing.
This is what happened.

At lunch I was with the cool girls and we were walking back up to school.
The class president is walking next to me lookin' all "spiffy" and stuff, and his cute friend is next to him. The 2 main popular girls are hastily walking ahead so to not be late for class, and the more shy and reserved girl who is also popular is on the other side of me.
Mr. Class Prez starts to start a conversation with me. Here's how it went down...
Looking at my lunch his says, "Is the sauce with the chicken good?" He smiles shyly.
I look at my food and reply just as shyly, "I don't know, I never had it before," and I smile back at him.
He says, "Oh. So, do you like the sauce?" I think he wasn't paying attention to what he was saying.
I give him a quizzical, yet amused glance as I repeat, "I never had the sauce before."
"Oh, right," replies our Class President seemingly slightly embarrassed by his mistake in choice of words.
And Prez's cute friend is trying to seem funny so he says, "Yeah, she never had it before!" taking my side of things.
Rule #1: When a guy is trying to get your attention, he brings himself into the conversation using his friend as a crutch to talk to the girl.
I thought that was pretty cute, and kept his interest by telling my shy friend happily, "Come on let's go catch up with them 2 up front!"
Trust me. One thing I know how to do is flirt.


I also wanted to talk about something bad that happened the other day.
According to my "cool" friends I eat lunch with, I eat lunch with EXBFF too much and they're starting to feel as if I use them as a backup plan when really it's not that at all. I just suck at balancing friends.
So, to make up for it I had lunch with them that Wednesday and on Thursday as well. That Wednesday I had not hung out with the popular girls since the previous Tuesday so I had a feeling they'd be pissed.
I went up to the 2 coolest girls (I usually eat with them 2 and the shy girl) and smiled at them.
"What are YOU doing here?" Clone #1 asked me.
I just smiled, discreetly sneaking in puppy dog eyes at them.
"We're like her back up plan. Makes us feel so...useless," Clone #2 says, making me feel like if there was a piece of shit next to me on the side of the road; they would hitch-hike the shit before they hitch-hiked me. I felt horrible!
I just said, "No." and "Sorry," quietly. Thankfully, the shy popular girl came up to us-just in the nick of time.

You really can't please everyone. After all, this isn't Burger King. You can't always have it your way.

-That Girl, will I ever be able to find the balance?

Song of the Day: "You're the best thing I never knew I needed. So now it's so clear...I need you dear..." -Never Knew I Needed by Ne-Yo

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Did you say: Scooby Snack?

jonlizdate.gif image by pixiestarcat

ga060606.gif image by cmstangl

Dear Diary, ((5/11/10, and yessir, I shouldn't be on the computer now.
I should be taking a shower if I don't want people to be screamin'
"Holy shit; Frizzilla is attacking us!"
in the halls at school tomorrow.))

High school is not at all how it appears in movies.

o The "cool" girls don't cause people the hallways to split for them like the Red Sea, or split like the red soup Bruce Almighty parts at the diner in the movie (surprisingly enough?) called Bruce Almighty. Many of the cool girls aren't even pretty.

o The freshman/sophomore/junior boys don't look like the foxy fox Aaron in Mean Girls, the "cool" dude in 16 Candles, or the bad-ass in Heathers. They all are wimpy looking, shoulderless guys trying to impress the aforementioned "cool" girls. These guys have a slight reminicence of the nerdy carrot-top in 16 candles, if you ask me.

o The cheerleading squad is often filled with geeky girls overflowing their Hello Kitty backpacks, miniature sized mom jeans, and huge wire-rimmed glasses with school spirit. Not the preppy, drop-dead gorgeous blondies you might assume are on the squad.

o The "cool" girls are really trash-talking backstabbers constantly doubting their so-called "friends'" true intentions. They seem fun and interesting, but so do toy store windows.
And wouldn't you eventually get bored of a window of seemily glittering toys with no substance behind them?
The nerds girls, they can evolve. Their bodies develop, personalities shine, and can be bubbling with true optomism and pride inside their hearts. The cool girls, they never change for the better. Only the worse.

o No. That nerd or geek will not get her unibrow plucked, hair styled, and fashion-sensed. She will not be given a makeover. In the unlikely hood that she does somehow, she'll never be Laney Boogs, girl.
And yet, when I look around me on the bus, at school, or around the esplange at lunch, I see girls who are much prettier than me. And naturally.
Because, yes. I wear makeup so that I look decent throughout the day. I believe that these girls are decent WITHOUT makeup, and if someone like me could show them the ropes of makeup, hair, and style...they would be drop-dead gorgeous. Not just the "decent" that I am.
Anyone can be amazingly beatuiful if they put the effort behind it.

o Being grouped with the "popular girls" by acting exactly how I know the "cool" girls act. I'm a better actress than I let on.
"Hey, That Girl! I looove your nail polish color!"
"Thanks ____ (what's your face?) I like your hair! Do you curl it yourself?"
I'm way too good. Like...gag me with a spoon I'm too good at frontin'.
But they never know. Shows you a thing or two about people...

o Everyone is flirting with everyone. Truth.

o Most relationships last 2 weeks or less. Truth.

o Two friends who like eachother get together and form the perfect relationship. Lie.
(Thaaank you ladies and gentlemen for playing...
-game show host voice- Two Truths and a Liiiiiiie!)

o People lie everywhere. I myself am guilty of:
-saying that I've had a boyfriend...or 2...or 3 of em, when I've never been on a date
-rejeting a guy because I didn't like his physical appearance
-using awful tactics on other people the bullies/popular girls in middle school did to me; and yes. It does make me feel more powerful to know I can do it.
And yes, it makes me feel awful and guilty too.
These are the confessions of an Ex-Cheerleader.

Yeah, I just thought that that would be a cool start to my blog post today.
-Nerd voice- He he he he he! Ain't I COOL, purdy woman?
Just yanking your chain.
By the way, I have made it a personal goal to use the phrase "yanking your chain" in every blog post from now on, as well as either a pun or a cheesy joke. Watch out for 'em, it'll be sort of like finding the words in the crossroad puzzle in the back of your newspaper, except you can actually understand these words!
He he he he he. I am -puberty boy's voice cracking voice- not lame at A-a-All!

And back to the real post...


People really have no clue what they want.
In my opinion, everybody seems to need a metaphorical Scooby snack to make any decisions, to be brave, to make a choice. Everyone seems to have a little Scooby in them, or maybe just some Shaggy. But why can't everyone find their inner Velma and smart up to be brave like Freddy? If all the guys and girls, who are secretly in requited love, did a Daphne number on their lovies, everything would be so much simpler.

In movies you always see the person scream to their best friend of 7 years with slightly less or more attractive features, "I don't KNOW what I want!" but then they end up with the trademark Easy Button from their local Staples. If you catch my drift.
It seems like in movies, the choice become easier when it comes to picking their love because somehow one of the choices screws up and the other one is chosen. Like, the guy finds out the girl was sleeping with his best friend. Or the girl has a flashback of riding down slides at the park with her best friend while the current guy won't step near a sandbox. Or...just something.
But in real life
--in nerdy guy language, "RL u newbz!"--
it's easy to screw up. And chances are, you will.

I actually think that guys and girls have been getting more cowardly throughout the years. Before, if you wanted to ask someone out, you called them and had a voice-to-voice chat or had to go up to them at school risking rejection, but knowing that it would be worth it in the long run.
These days: you can IM someone and confuse the hell out of them, text them and confuse the hell out of them, or just lead them on with birthday presents and Christmas gifts, which friends are likely to do...and confuse the hell out of them.
Any way you put it, it sucks.

Although, I actually don't like it when girls complain that guys don't have the balls to ask out girls, since my feminist within is telling me that any girl could ask out a guy at any time.
It's not that GUYS have the Achilles' heel when it comes to love, but that people in general are chickening out when it comes to love. Guys and girls.
I envy the bravery people in relationships have. I mean, to be in a relationship, someone must have been brave enough to admit how they felt.
And somehow, that sub-species of Guys seem to be extinct in my vivid environment; known as High School.

BUT. At the same time, people have not only become cowards, but also metaphorical pigs, jackals, and cheetahs as well.
Why are they pigs? Well, pigs are often times associated with character traits such as being greedy and not very philanthropist-ish, if you know what I mean.
And just so you know, I had to try typing "philanthropist" into Google like 10 different times to find the correct spelling. A couple times I spelled it wrong and Google said , "Did you mean, phlat rapist?" and I got like 2 results from my search which were both rape stories.
Don't try spelling "philanthropist" at home, boys and girls.
People are jackals because...well Charles Dickens can explain this much better in A Tale of Two Cities. Poor Mr. Carton being the jackal to Mr. Stryver's lion.
And of course. Everyone has a little cheetah in them.
One of my favorite cheesy jokes to tell people?
What animals should you not play cards with?
A cheetah and a lion.
Hah! Bet you haven't heard a cheetah AND a lion to be the answer before.
A cheetah, well that's obvious. And a lion? He's lyin'. Get it?
So very PUNNY.

Anyway. I also wanted to talk about FLIRTING today.
I will first admit, I am a big flirt.
And sometimes, just sometimes, I lead guys on.
But not for the sport of flirting or whatever. It's just because my natural instinct tells me to do that. And it works! It develops a closeness with the guy, and once you have become close enough the flirting goes away and you've become friends.
Works every time. Seriously. Hook, line, and sinker, baby.
Or, a guy would say something like, "Unhook [that bra], line 'em up against the wall, and sink her into the bed!" Actually, my favorite would have to be, "Uncork and pork" from John Tucker Must Die. That was classic douche-bag.
But, I actually hate it when guys lead on girls, and not because they don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, but because they feel all cool and James Bond-esque when they end up being more like that pompous, trash-talking, no-brain ass who probably goes to your school. He sure goes to mine.
And flirting is a funny thing. Whenever a "playah-playah" gets a girlfriend, he still talks to other girls in flirty way when she's not around. He talks about her bra size to his friends (one of my "cool" friends is playahplayah which is how I can get the inside scoop on shallow, "popular" guys all the time. There is a good reason to have popular guy friends in the long run, I guess. How else can I give you the one-way ticket to Shallow Central on a daily basis?) and he talks about how hot other girls are all the time.
Guess who's become an expert at rolling her eyes into oblivion and shaking her head in shame of her so-called cool friends?
No, not Barbra Walters.
That Girl.

On the topic of That Girl, did I ever mention my love for Garfield and Peanuts comics?
Because I love 'em. I do, I do, I do! And...Yes, I'm suddenly changing the subject because flirting is not exactly my favorite topic to discuss.

So, here's some of my favorite comic strips relating love and relationships, to end this post on a bright note:

"Time will replace reality
Now we are peaking through the hours
Time will replace reality
So I grasp for sanity
I refuse to be devoured
So I grasp for sanity
Are these the lies that were taught to believe?
Are these the lives we have opted to lead?"
-Gym Class Heroes; Live a Little

-That Girl; On my bucket list of things to do before I become a full-fledged adult, I need to dress up like a pair of cool guys with a friend and go to Hooters late at night.

What do you want to do before you die?