Little Red Sport Cars

My home was never empty, never quiet; mom was always there, busy with laundry, dinner, or work. My dad was also always busy Monday through Saturday, working in farm labor as a water ditch driver. I was the oldest, from my siblings, and from all the neighborhood kids who helped keep my family house lively. We roamed the empty lots of future new houses being built on our block; we built forts and dug large holes in the ground and called it adventure.
I had my own desk top computer, it was bulky and loud and the screen was always too heavy to pick up to move, so I left it stationed in my parent's living room. During the hot summer months of vacation, I would typically spend most of my freedom outside with the other twelve kids. However, on the few days I wasn't outside running rampant, I could be found sitting, hunched over in front of the computer screen.
I use to write little secret stories, hide them in some file on my precious computer. It was like make-believe and pretend dress up, except this time, in words. I had a favorite character I liked to always write about....he was older, around thirty. He had sun-kissed, caramel-brown skin, black hair. I pictured him always wearing a white t-shirt and light washed jeans- black shoes. He drove an old, red sports car and he always had money.
Looking back, I can see why  I would dream of such a character. An unknown man who felt so important to me- with his red sports car and his skin that tanned like mine, and the money he acquired so freely. As a twelve year old girl, I dreamt of the man I would have called Father. The man who  I thought would one day, like in my stories, visit me and take me for long drives to the beach and buy me my favorite ice cream. I had never know a man who had so much extra time to spend with just me. 
I forgot about these sacred stories I wrote in my childhood. They were locked away and hidden in files, not on my 2000 Windows 7 computer, but in my twenty-one year old brain.
I forgot about these, until one day, I was driving back to my parent's house. I had a flashback of a time that didn't exist.... I was twelve again, with the wind flowing through my long, brown hair. The sun kissed my honey skin and I was happy.
Where did this imaginary memory come from? I asked myself, as I pulled up to my parent's house and parked my little red car on the memory-filled block of dreams. Instantly, I remembered him and how he used to be my favorite imaginary character.
It wasn't until then, I remembered these stories I used to intricately write, hide, and keep for myself. How I wrote them so young, is amazing to me.... but the thing that amazes me the most, is when I bought my car, it was from a man with his name. A man who owned this red Dodge Neon Sports Edition car, had this brown skin and black hair that I so dearly didn't remember.
So now, when I drive my old, hand-me-down I don't mind the dusty smell or the stained interior. This little red sports car reminds me of the twelve year old girl I used to be, who loved her parents who worked so hard, who spent hours outside adventuring, and who wrote stories of a dream man who's still only just a dream.

Prince Charming

Here is my rendition of a beloved fairy tale: Cinderella. An assignment for my Children's Lit class; a classic made modern. This is my second version.

Prince Charming

This story, is a different story. A prince, named Charming, once lived in the royal castle. He was handsome, brilliant, strong, and especially, brave. One day, the King of the castle called in his son Charming. “Charming, my beloved son, the time has come and it will soon be your turn to govern the kingdom...but first things first, you must choose a bride and marry.”

The prince agreed and instantly became very excited for the new future. He loved the idea of love, true love. He loved it almost as much as he loved hunting and fishing, and conquering new land.

Soon enough, the day came. “Tonight is my celebration. Father is celebrating me and I will find my true love.

The King invited all of the eligible women in the kingdom to the royal castle, for a night of fine dining and dancing. He was sure that tonight, his son would find a bride and his throne will soon be in safe hands.

The music was angelic and the wine was plentiful as the night began. Prince Charming entered the ballroom, walking and gleaming down the white, swirling staircase. All eyes in the room were on him. Charming scanned the room, looking for a beautiful face.

He greeted and waltzed with many young ladies, but couldn’t focus on keeping a conversation, because his eyes were busy moving up and down the room.

As the prince was introduced to every lovely lady in the room, his father watched from above, sitting in a chair overlooking the festive night.

The night was coming to an end when the King could sense the frustration in his son’s eyes, since he has yet to choose a guest to pursue. That was until, through the king’s glasses, he saw the doorman trip and drop a few of the coats being passed back out to the leaving guests.

“Oh, let me help you with those,” Charming insisted, “no need for embarrassment, I’ve tripped down here before, too.”

“Thank you, my Prince.”

The two caught eyes and this is also what the watchful King saw. It was there, in his golden chair, the King saw his son become bashful, pink, and mesmerized.

  

The next morning, Charming and his father sat and had breakfast together. “Do you think you’ve found her?” His father asked. “No, I think I will tonight, surely, tonight I will not disappoint you, father.”

Prince Charming hadn’t found a bride the night before, and he was frightful with the thought that maybe, he didn’t want a bride. All day he couldn’t get those eyes, those green eyesーgreen as the spring grass he was so fond of, green like the trees in summer, and as green as the ocean in Decemberーof his mind. He couldn’t imagine what his father would say about such an idea, so he tried his best to let the idea go.

Although he didn’t know that his father knew of this divine encounter, the King did indeed see the attraction and connection his son and the doorman shared. The King loved his son with all of his heart, he remembered what it felt like the moment he met his own wife. Bliss. He knew that smile on his son’s face last night was no ordinary smile, it was a blissful smile.

That night of the second celebration, the King requested that the doorman be there again, to greet and collect the coats of all the guests.

Again, the music was heavenly as Prince Charming entered the room from the pearly staircase. There was something different  about this night, though, as the Prince took one glance out into the large ballroom and there was no guest in sight. Charming made his way down the staircase and towards the the tall, wood doors. There, the doorman stood, just as surprised as the Prince.

“Where is everyone?”

“They should be arriving anytime now, my Prince.”

“Well, it’s unusual and rude.” With that, they both looked at each other and laughed. Charming asked the doorman if he could stand down there with him, until the guests  arrived. “Of course, I would love the company of my Prince.”

The two stayed down there at the towering doors and talked the night away, forgetting about the time passingーevening turning into morning. Neither of them noticing the King sitting in his chair above, watching his son fall in love.

The next morning arrived, and the King and Charming met for breakfast.

“Father, I, I have something to tell you…”

“Yes, I know son.”

“You, know?”

“I know that you love the man who stood at the door and collected the coats of our guests and Iー”

“Oh Father, I promise, I promise I will not let this ruin your kingdom, I will find a bride tonight if you just give me one last chance Iー”

“My son, do not worry. There will be no other invitations, except to your wedding, certainly.”

Charming looked at his father with tears in his eyes, stood up, and wept at his feet. “Thank you Father, thank you, I will not disappoint you, I promise, this love is true.”

Days later, the wedding invitation were sent out. Guests from the kingdom and other kingdoms hundreds of miles away, gathered together at the royal castle.

The music was grand and the wine was tasteful. All eyes waited in anticipation for the newlyweds to make their way down for the wonderful celebration.

“Hear ye, hear ye, now presented to you, our beloved Prince Charming and his husband!”

Long live the Prince, long live the Prince, long live the Prince.

Never Forget

Two words, I've heard all day, never forget. 

Never forget that morning, that morning that changed us forever.
That early morning, I suddenly became very aware that this world was not the pretty daydream, my seven year old mind had it out to be. The morning that turned into an afternoon of riding home on the bus; all of us rowdy kids, silent. And then, the afternoon that changed to the evening news, loud in our small house; my mother crying in shock and my father cursing with anger. Finally, the evening that grew to night; laying in my bed, scared and confused.
Until now, I've always never forgotten today, as the day that brought fear to me. Fear of war, fear of sacrifice, fear of an uncertain future.
But now, today is different.

On this new, September 11th, I am not a frightened seven year old.
And I will never forget this morning, this early morning that I woke up and knew I loved you. This morning, turning into afternoon when I remembered your smile, and the way you say my name. And then, the afternoon that changed to my evening alone; thinking about you coming home, to stay. Finally, the evening that grew to night, as I lay here in bed, peacefully and safe.

Granted, I may forget the tragedy of September 11, 2001, whether it be from old age or blocking the violent memory.
But I will indeed never forget that morning, on the new September 11th, that morning that changed us forever. 

..I have been loving you for 730 days and counting.. 

Happy Birthday Momma

Raise your glasses, to the greatest woman in my life.

Nineteen years ago, I chose her. I chose her because of the way her sandy brown hair gleamed and blew, while driving fast in an old jeep. I chose her because I knew the way she would look at me, with those emerald eyes. I chose her smile, her laugh, her cry, her heartbeat. I chose her because of her patience and beautiful soul. I chose her because I knew, when I grew up, she’d be the kind of woman I wanted to be.

She deserves your loudest applause.

There is no time in my life when I can remember her not trying her best. She is constantly doing her best; her best at being a mother, her best at being a sister, being a daughter, an aunt, a friend, a wife. Yes, she has made mistakes--forgetting to put a game jersey in the dryer; not calling back; burning dinner… but there isn’t a year that goes by, that she’s not getting better at being the best.

I apologize, to her, and all the other mothers out in the world, for not always giving you the attention that is due. I am sorry for all the tears I’ve ever brought to your perfect eyes and I am sorry for all the times, and times to come, that I will not take your advice.

If I had one wish, it would be to spin back time and spend so much more of it with you.

Choosing you is one of my best, if not the best, decisions of my life.

I thank God everyday for you and I catch myself begging for a million more.

I am proud to be yours.

I love you Momma.

Happy Birthday.

August 1st

I have decided to value myself over anyone else.
I have decided to treat myself the way I have treated others.
I have decided to let go of the people who only bring bad vibes into my life.
I have decided to remind myself I deserve the best and I deserve to be happy.

With these decisions, that are almost twenty one years late, I will now live my life to the highest capacity. I will not degrade myself with ungrateful thoughts; unnecessary ideas of limitations; and/or complex and undesired relationships.

So long to the days when I used to stress over being the best. Fuck you, all of you, who thought I wasn't the best. I was fucking good at being the best.
I stood up for you- even when you lacked the strength to do so for me.
I called out for you- even when you couldn't find the time to look for me.
I took care of you- even when you were unbearable and mean and especially selfish.
I would have done it all for you- even when you only found the pleasure of being with me, while it was only useful for you.

I have finally decided, that this is going to be the best decision of my life.

Goodbye,
 The Best.

P.S. If you have been offended by this short, but true decision of mine, I am not sorry. And this is me, breaking up with you. 

Fathers' Day

Father 

Thank you for these deep, round, brown eyes and thank you for this honey skin. Thank you for my curly hair and my pink, plump lips. Thank you for leaving me, to become the woman I am today. Thank you for teaching me, I don't ever need a man to stay. 

Thank you for choosing her, and also choosing me. Thank you for years of love and completing my family tree. Thank you for the hard work and constant pain on your back. Thank you for believing in me and never loosening the slack. 

And to both of you, I thank you, from now since the start. Thank you for the lessons learned, and thank you for my strong heart. Thank you for coming with me and thank you for going without; thank you for teaching me how to love--even when in doubt.

To the both of you, I'm sending a "Happy Fathers Day". 

You Are Who You Hang Around With

As the ancient saying goes, I believe it to be very true: You are who you hang around with.
I believe it, in a sense, that you start to become these people. Whoever it may be that you spend those long hours with, your body, mind, soul all change.
It won't happen instantly, but you'll notice it as your washing dishes, or choosing a television show, or driving home. It'll catch your attention and you'll realize, you've become a little bit more like your friend Sam, or Jess, or even a little bit like that rebel, Kiera. Their ideas and morals and goals and laughs and dreams, suddenly are your ideas and morals and goals and laughs and dreams. 
I wouldn't define this as a bad thing, not at all; I would categorize this as a magic--a magic that hasn't been ran off this Earth, yet. Granted, all magics can be scary, can be fatal if not used properly. You must choose wisely, who it is, you wish to be more like, who it is, you surround yourself with.
The only cure, of bad magic--of bad influence--is to leave and find new people, new friends. Once you begin to hang around with new, different people, the old magic fades away as if it were never a part of you.
And again, it will be sudden, it will be slight, but it will leave. And you'll notice it, whether you're laying in bed, or grocery shopping, or tying your shoe--the person you used to be, is gone, with the people you used to be.

A Letter to Her

A letter to all of the beautiful women, who once held his heart:
There is no greater desire than to go back in time and know who you're going to end up with in the end. I mean, if I had one chance to rewind--and make sure I only spent time pursing the ONE who was destined to be mine forever--I would take it in a heartbeat.
Looking back, at all the hours and effort spent trying to make old relationships work out, all the promises of "forever," and the belief that he was it. I begin to no longer see you as an enemy--as an ex-girlfriend, or an ex-fling and instead, I start to feel like I'm looking at my own reflection. Of course, we're different...
But I know, I know what it's like to have a birthday tattooed on your heart--dates and memories and kisses and apologies and fights and laughs and all those tears engraved in your heart.
So, I try not to get upset or mad or envious when I see or hear or assume something of you. Because, who am I, to be angry at the good times you both shared.
Nonetheless, my jealousy seems to run rampant sometimes, knowing you have parts of him that'll never be mine. Like his first kiss, that first look of love, and the first time his unsteady hand touched your bare back--countless numbers of firsts, that so many other girls got and will keep.
It's crazy how life works itself out; everyone giving everyone parts of themselves they'll never get back. And no matter how hard you wish, to get those parts back, it's impossible--all we can do is hope they're not lost in a bitter heart.
And so, I've decided, we each got something the other will never have and instead of the constant want and need to get them from each other (or at least, me from you,) my only request, is that you never forget him. Because I'll never forget mine.
And although you may never read this, just know that the cliche war between the new girlfriend and the ex-girlfriend, will never be me to you. And if it ever seemed to be, remember that old mirror we share.

The Sun and her Moon

As the story goes, there is a long, lost love in the midst of the heavens.
Most have misunderstood, though, the true tale of the two--the Sun and her Moon. Or perhaps, they only choose to hear what fits best, what seems proper, what seems usual...
The Sun, was a color, no Earthly words could describe. Ever-changing and beautiful; so unpredictable, never gave the same sunrise or sunset twice. She was powerful and free; her name was known and somewhat feared. She hurt a lot of people that spent too much time with her. She's killed many things with no regret, or any slight bit of an apology.
And let us not forget, the great and mysterious Moon. Nothing like the Sun, except shining and giving off light. However, that too, was only because of the Sun and how she reflected off of him.
His presence was mostly peaceful and magical. He was quiet and serene, like a handsome dream. Of course, he had some dark secrets, but hid them well in his dark corners.
They, the Sun and Moon, were complete opposite. Yet, they were in love and always found a reason to need the other. In the beginning, they spent so much time side by side, countless hours turning into days and soon, the Earth was raging. Tidal waves and hurricanes, clouds of dust and hot, humid rain started to devour the codependent Earth. They realized that their love could go on, but the Earth wouldn't. And so, they decided to not give up something so incredible and wonderful and they turned their backs away from each other and catered to the Earth.
Since the beginning of time, these two were both depended on keeping the Earth in order. They did this by always being on time and sharing sides and never letting their feelings for each other cast a shadow on the naive Earth.
No one really knows how it all began, the love affair of the bold Sun and the sweet Moon. No one will ever know--but the eclipsed shadows sometime spill out over the Earth and that is when they choose to be selfish with time.

If the two greatest entities of the heavens, below God himself, could give up a love so angelic, so bewitching, so perfect what does that have to say about this Earth of ours? What does this have to say, about you and me?

An Ode to the Stars

During my Natural Science class tonight, I couldn't help but be bored out of my mind. However, when I heard the word "stars," I paused my thoughts of what I was having for dinner, and listened...
As the professor talked about atoms and how they're reused and never reproduced, he mentioned something about the stars. He explained how our ancient stars explode sometimes and that's how our atoms were created. How cool is it to think, that the atoms in my hair, could be the same that rested on Cleopatra's crown--or the same atoms that make up my little red Neon, could be the same of an Indian's canoe. But, the most interesting conclusion, is that these lovely stars that I adore, make up the people I love, and hate, and miss, and kiss, and pass by on the freeway.
This is my ode to the majestic stars; but lets face it, no words on Earth could describe the phenomenon.

My favorite place on Earth, has to be your arms
But my favorite sight to see, has got to be the stars. 
To think, that all this time ago, some great being thought of you
And knew, that this all would mean, I would fall in love, too. 
With a burst, a flame, a shift and tug
Some stars began to fade; they flew and ran and became my mouth--
Giving me ability to speak your name. 
They're a brilliance I can't stop thanking, a divinity I can't deny. 
For, the same stars I see, were the same Amelia saw shine.
Oh these lights that once guided Mary home, 
Also have guided me.
And the few of which have died since then, 
Landed deep, between our warm, sweet sheets. 
Knowing that these stars hold secrets, no scientist will ever know; 
I've come to wonder how it is, my hand can't seem to let yours go.
And when I start to explain why it's okay for me to think, 
These stars sing each other back to sleep 
I've got to remind myself the way,
Your heart beat sings "sweet dreams." 

Ready, OK!

Yesterday was my last day as a cheer leading coach, and let me tell you, it was not the cheeriness that got me through the long month.
These girls were nothing but trouble: loud, rude, prideful, and mean. Looking back to my first day, I remember walking into the school thinking "this is will the world's funnest job." I would be coaching some twelve year olds, be a positive role model, and we can all talk about nail polish and boys and do homework together!
Turns out, I was the rebound coach--the coach who stepped in for their beloved ex-coach who *cough cough* yes, bailed. They hated me, they hated my rules, my cheers, my tactics, my ideas, my plans... the list continues to this day.
From being called a bitch, to mocked, to being ignored, and sometimes even yelled at-- I've had it all.
I kept fighting with myself, quit-don't quit-quit-don't quit. Welp, I stuck with it.
Now, today, the first day of something different I'll be teaching or tutoring, I can't help but hope they're all in my new class... Yes, even the girls who called me names and make me want to pull my hair out.
I want to see their wild eyes and dirty faces in my seats, eager to make fun of whatever weird lesson plan I have ready for the day. I want to hear their loud, loud voices yelling or "talking" in my class. I want to hear their excuses and demands. I want the four quiet ones and the ten crazies.
Today, when I walk into the boundaries of the school, there are a few things I'm already going to know, along with a lot more I'm going to have to learn.
I'm going to know that those fourteen girls are rough, not because of their language or clothing, but because they've been through it all--bad and good, but mostly bad. I'm going to know that those girls were mean, not because of hatred towards me, but fear. Who was I, to walk into their school and assume I was what these girls needed to succeed? And finally, I'm going to know that these girls are a family. Even though the love might not be bright and shining, it sure does flow through each of them and out to the other.
And yesterday, when I hugged them each goodbye and handed out awards, I knew that this team of mine didn't need me, I needed them.
And next time one of them gets on my last nerve, I'm going to have to come back and re-read this.

What When Where Who Why How

With the particular holiday approaching, I deem it appropriate for yet another post on the infamous subject of love. 

What does it mean anyway, to love? 

Is it a million red, velvet roses outside your apartment? Or a diamond ring? Is is twenty-five years of marriage; is it a bond only for the mature? 

When are we allowed to begin to love? 

After high school, after grad school or after we're married (in my dad's terms?) Does it have to happen after a certain point in our lives; is the point as obvious as clicking an ON switch? 

Where are we able to love? 

Only in our bedrooms, behind closed doors? Only in front of everyone, never alone? Only on February 14th?  

Who are the people we can love? 

Clean people? Nice people? Our parents and children and spouses? Celebrities? God?

Why can we love?

As a thank you for gifts? Obliged by family or friends? Everyone else is doing it?

How can we love?  

Politely? Showing appreciation, with gifts? Talking about how much feelings we have to give away? 

Suppose, the perspective of love was turned inside out and we began to learn what the truth behind Love is instead of these generic versions of who, what, when, where, why and how's. 

What if it meant to wake up early in the morning to drive down the freeway to find your friend whose car has a flat? What if it were the smell of a warm plate of dinner that your roommate made for you because she/he knows what a long day you've had. 

Must we not include the youth who are deeply and passionately in love, some more than our own parents. What if loving could happen whenever we wake up and live each day and go back to sleep that night. 

And what if it meant to hold the hand of a stranger, or an angry student who just got into a fight. Being able to love outside of our comfort zones; be able to love in places we've never dreamed of. 

Lets love the people who go out of their way to make our numbered days on this Earth better. Love the neighbor who voluntarily mows your lawn, since he's already doing his own; the girl who holds the door open for you even though you're nowhere near the entrance; and the stranger who smiles back at you.

Start to see and hear the reasons why you should love. See all the insignificant, small and practically unnoticeable things people do for YOU. Hear the words of affirmation and encouragement and accept them as true gifts...and give them back, with thank-yous and i-love-yous. 

Answer this question, over the lovey-dovey, ooey-gooey Valentine's Day weekend. 

What, when, where, who, why, and how do you love?  

Love on the WWW

So, lately everyone has been showing their love for each other on the World Wide Web and quite frankly, I'm a little disturbed by the amount of attention these posts receive. . .
Since when did a WCW and MCM or a hashtag "goals" determine what love is? Like did I miss this train?
Dear anyone and everyone,
having your boyfriend or girlfriend or high school crush or best friend post something about how much they love you means absolutely nothing. No amount of favorites or likes you get on a picture dedicated to a significant other justifies a shallow relationship. Goals of big booties or chiseled abs, owning expensive vehicles (we all know is nowhere in your future, at least not nearly, sorry,) gigantic diamond rings or a girl who is constantly lifting weights and before you know it, the muscles on her fingers will be bigger than your... well, you picture.
If you're concerned because the paragraph your bf posted on a picture of you on IG isn't enough, you've got real security issues. The same goes for you dudes out there! Thinking that there must be constant interaction over social media is just silly and unappealing and honestly, childish.
This new age of technology and social media like Twitter or Instagram or yes, even the old Facebook gives people reason to believe that if your relationship status isn't "taken" or if you're not tweeting about them every single minute, your practically broken up! I'm tired of hearing about how so and so's relationship is doomed because he/she never posts about the other. Or assuming there is a feud between two friends because of a darn status update. I thought we left this kind of behavior back on our top 8 for MySpace.
Jealous? Bitter? No, just over it. I want to see passion, respect, sincerity in everyone's relationship. Even with the many battles one may come with, if you're still in it, work to make it better from the inside out. The WWW does not need to see how "happy" you two are together; the WWW needs to know absolutely nothing! Give each other some respect and instead of posting about how much you love each other, show it (and I don't mean on the internet.)
Guilty as charged, I too have posted, tweeted, shared photos of boyfriends and best girl friends...And I'm not saying completely stop. Just work toward a bigger goal than a hundred likes; before posting about how much you love somebody for all the world to know, make sure they know it, too.
Live Laugh and Love on Social Media, just don't make it to be what defines you or anyone else for that matter.
All aboard the choo choo train, next stop: real love, not hashtags!

Home Not So Homey

As a third year college student, I'm used to moving around each year. My first year in college, I was lucky enough to spend it in the CSU Sac dorms! It was awesome (kind of.) I had no clue of who my roommate actually was until the first day we moved in--she turned out to be pretty cool, but we shared nothing in common.With my first roommate, living in a 12 ft. by 12 ft room, twin beds only about five feet away from each other, and her boyfriend practically living there too, it wasn't exactly a 10 out of 10 either.  My second year in Sacramento, I decided to move in with seven Christian girls. That experience wasn't too bad since I did know two of the girls for almost a year before hand, but it did have it's mishaps. From very different P.O.V.'s to the age ranging from 24 to 19! Yep, you can probably get the picture of that situation. Nevertheless, since the beginning of my third year, I've now been living with my old hometown BFFS... We know everything about each other (which is a pro and con,) we know what makes each other upset and we know how to comfort one another as well.
In between all the moving from dorm to house to apartment, I've spent my summers at my parent's, back in my lonely hometown. When there, I live out of a suitcase and either sleep on the couch or with my little sister on her bunk bed. Pretty much, being back at home for the holidays could be ranked a 6/10.
I've yet to feel at home anywhere that I am currently living. The feeling is rare when I feel a sort of serenity, a safe haven, warmth, complete and utter happiness. If I may be honest (and I may, since this is indeed my blog,) these feelings of being home only occur when I'm around someone special. Seemingly crazy, but totally true--the way our hands intertwine and our eyes mingle remind me of a place I use to know. A place with warm honey-kissed sunsets and deep red wine roses. A place where I used to ride my bicycle up and down the streets; a place where, when the streetlights came on outside, it was curfew. A touch that reminds me of my mother's tight tuck into bed and my father's prayer at night. The voice that takes me back to the car rides to school each day, then always being there to pick me up again. A someone, and a feeling, I never want to lose.
Granted, these short instances of time in which I only feel at home don't come and stay for longer than a few days (and are gone for longer than a few months.) So, the only prescription I have until the "someday" these instances last forever, is to improve the homey-ness with adventure, food, and crafts--because, hey, I'm a crafty adventurer who loves food. I shall post some of my adventurous craft making and food eating shortly.

Here is a nice song I love. 

Naked with Friends

Just finished watching a movie, it was pretty sweet. Took me back to my own, far distant high school days...
I remember going to a friend's house for a sleep over and it'd be me and few other girls--all best friends and all frequently bombarded with what the world thought to be "perfect." We all had our own demons; we all had our own problems and misadventures. It was being with each other on a Friday night that kept us tied together.
We would order Chinese or pizza, have an older brother buy us Smirnoff, lock ourselves in whosoever room and turn on the T.V.. We'd turn the channel to the pop or indie music, turn off the lights and cover the blinding light from the T.V. with a sheet. Sitting in a circle to begin with, each taking a turn and drinking a bottle of our choice of flavor. We'd end up dancing; one by one, getting in the swing of the music and start to vibe.
It didn't matter what the song was, or who was singing off key, or who drunkingly took off what. None of our problems, which looking back now were pretty insane, mattered. Nothing in our real lives mattered.
All that mattered was that us girls, the seven or six, or sometimes only two of us, were together. Together, dancing, vibing--naked.
Maybe our problems weren't as major as we thought they were and maybe we were just being childish but there is something about being with the people you love the most in the darkest rooms with the loudest music. Being naked meant nothing but being able to trust each other mentally with each secret buried within our teenage hearts.
I remember singing as loud as I could, eyes shut, moving up and down, dancing around in circles and raising up my hands--clapping and laughing and loving and living...
Living and making it out alive from high school deserves endless applause. The pressure of attention, beauty, keeping lies and promises could kill anyone. Having some other broken soul to confide in--shedding the outer layers of who you're supposed to be and not caring if anyone sees you naked--someone to share a sacred, safe moment with is what saved me. Dancing through the late hours of those Friday nights saved me.

Good night, or Good morning, or whatever. 

First Timer

Good morning world! It is currently eight minutes til noon and yes, I did just wake up. Kudos to you early risers. I couldn't have chosen a more self explanatory title--this is my first blog post (so you've been warned!) I plan to use this blog to vent, explore ideas, share my days and nights with readers (or no readers at all.) This may or may not be a NYE resolution and I will never say so, so that there is no harsh judgement.

Today I plan to design a shadow box with old roses. I've been planning to do this since my junior year in high school and I've been simultaneously saving the dead roses, too. I have roses from my junior prom, my senior prom, some from a pageant I did, and a few birthdays. I've been called a hoarder by father who simply didn't understand the full concept of my idea and my constant search for a damn shadow box. But I have prevailed! And finally, I was gifted a worn-green glass box.
What does this mean? (Besides the fact that I can finally begin the crafty project.) It means, I am finally going to showcase these mementos in an acceptable way--cut and glued nicely in a glass box. Because, like our humanely spirits and feelings, people can perceive them as clutter or trash or hoarding unnecessary memories--only accepting them, when they're trimmed and pasted and viewed from a glass box, not scattered around in empty vases.