I've never been able to dance. Who am I kidding?
Oh, sure, I can move my hips and wave my hands in the air flirtatiously, but I can't accomplish much more than that. Want me to dance with you? Ha. I laugh in the face of your stupidity.
Two parties in that many days, one school sponsered and the other very much not so. Of course, the latter was the most interesting--although I must admit, it was also the most uncomfortable. I hate things that lack structure, the things that don't have everything planned down to the last detail and no one can go against the grain. Perhaps this is why I can't dance. To dance is like the most unstructured thing in the world, and I just can't give myself all away.
It's the end of the school year next week, and from there shall come 8 pure weeks of unbridled nothingness. Nothing is planned; much is talked about. It's my worst nightmare and my greatest joy all rolled into one.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 9:32 PM
Friday, May 30, 2003
I lost both the pink ribbon from my hair and the beaded bracelet from my wrist today, one to the wind and the other to the stress of elastic. I was disapointed for a bit until I remembered that my friend had written a large "Z" on my foot today, giving me licence to squeal, "Zorro loves me!"
I apologize for listening to my old Destiny's Child CD yesterday. But "Bootilicious" was calling.
I'm off to a party tonight, here's to praying that I won't get arrested.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 2:45 PM
Wednesday, May 28, 2003
Best thing ever:
Sitting on your couch eating a lunch of whipped cream with cookies as you watch Saturday Night Live (although it is not Saturday, not night, and not live), and laughing your butt off. The overall effect may be slightly diminished when you realize that the musical guest is Nirvana (told you it's not live) and there you are, staring at Kurt Cobain as he eats a candy bar and asks us to rape him, but the daylight streaming in more than compensates.
Although playing your guitar in the mall and being stopped by an elderly gentleman who informs you that you are playing Hitler's favorite song ranks a close second in the "Best thing ever" category.
You know, I think the Americans are very lucky people, if not for the obvious reasons. Say "United States" and the first thing that comes to mind is obese people eating at McDonald's, which at least is an up-to-date stereotype. Say "Germany", however, and all you get is "Hitler", even though he's been dead for 60 years and was Austrian.
How was your day?
Fresh squeezed by melly at 6:55 PM
Tuesday, May 27, 2003
I got voted "Most Changed" today in mock-elections, which is kind of funny, because I didn't think I would win anything (I certainly do not have the "Best Hair").
I had a dream last night that I was making strings of necklaces out of glass beads, but the beads kept on beeping at me and I had to stuff them in my coat pockets to muffle the sound. I woke up and realized the beeping was my alarm clock. It was 12 in the morning. The thunderstorm had made my clock go beserk. Unable to go back to sleep, I got up and started to make a new necklace out of glass beads leftover from a Christmas gift.
I guess I have changed, a lot, if I think about it. But it's the kind of change that you do not wish to think about, the kind that makes you feel all squeamish and uncomfortable inside and search quick for a change of subject. I can't quite place my finger on the change, but I know it's there. Maybe it's confidence, or the ability to smile, or the lack of religion in my head.
I have begun to recieve letters in the mail; real letters, handwritten letters, letters that do not wish to sell me credit cards or lower my financing or asking me to join a book club where I can recieve five books for one dollar. It must be my birthday soon.
Let's see how changed I am in seven days.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 9:30 PM
Monday, May 26, 2003
My beloved Adidas sport sandal with the little pokey rubber nubs on the bottom and the little pokey patch of velcro on the top has been lost at sea.
My beloved navy blue Adidas sandal that was really for swimming but used for volleyball has been sucked into the vacuum of mud and gunk and seaweed.
We threw pebbles at the would-be turtle in our delirium as we cried for help, but the turtle turned out to be a stick.
I take heart in the fact that as long as I can't get my sandal back, neither can anyone else. It is protected by a tomb of cattails that almost claimed the boat instead of a lone sandal.
I still have the other, but it's Memorial Day and raining. Happy birthday, Dad.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 1:26 PM
Sunday, May 25, 2003
There were two articles in the New York Times today that interested me (well, three, if you count the Sunday Styles section headliner on Posh Spice and soccer player David Beckham, because I am a Tabloid Whore). One was on blogging, the other on curmudgeons.
This is the second time in two weeks that the NYTimes has done an article on blogging, and both times I've been disappointed. Last week's article was on general blogging and supposedly well-known blogs, but it seemed as if the reporter hadn't quite done her research. Staple blogs such as Little Yellow Different, Big Pink Cookie, Davezilla, and Textism were all absent from the article without comment. And, ok, Bazima was mentioned. But hell, even Wil Wheaton didn't make me an appearance. I'm trying to figure out how the hell a reporter could miss all of these high-profile weblogs. Seriously. (Inconsequentially, I was not mentioned either.)
Today's article was more about photoblogs (what this site was originally going to be) instead of blogs in general, and while at least they managed to find Photojunkie and a few others, Noah Grey was missing. Noah Grey, for pete's sake!
Fresh squeezed by melly at 12:57 PM