Well, my bags are packed and I'm ready to go! Tomorrow morning I am leaving for Atlanta to celebrate the New Year and watch the Hokies bring home a big win. I am super excited and can't wait to get on the road and just forget about life for a while!
Last year on New Year's Eve I went to a party with my parents...lame, and then stayed up until 4am waiting for my boyfriend( now ex-boyfriend) to call me and wish me a Happy New Year from Las Vegas. After waiting for hours, I finally had to call him and remind him that I was at home waiting for him to call. Needless to say, this New Year's Eve things will be different. I've got my girl friends, my hokies, and a fun exciting city to explore! I PROMISE to write a blog about EVERYTHING...or almost everything, when I get home!
HAPPY NEW YEAR, MY LOVELY BLOG READERS!!! : )
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
I feel like sharing a story...
So I'm bored and going through some of my writing from my good old college days. Sigh. I found a piece that I started back in February and never got around to finishing. I would say that it is FICTION, but it is slightly based on true events. For those of you who know me well, you will probably know who/what I am talking about. If not, just take it as fiction and enjoy. : )
Writing Exercise due February 24, 2009
I have a habit of ignoring the bad things and focusing on the good. Case and point, my ex-boyfriend Josh. I ignored his drinking, and the drugs. I excused his worthless behavior and the fact that he couldn’t keep a job. I pardoned him for every missed dinner date, or forgotten anniversary. I gave him an inch and he ran a freaking marathon. But he never forgot to say “I love you” at the end of every phone call. Something about those three little words kept me around for two and half years. Looking back now, I see a lot of bad. But my brain tells my heart to look past that. If I look back, way back to the beginning, there was a love so good, it made Romeo and Juliet look like child’s play.
I remember the first day we met. It was my sixteenth birthday. Instead of having a party, I went to my friend Chelsea’s party. She begged me one day in school not to have a party on the same day as hers because then all of our friends would have to choose between the two of us. Big f-ing deal, right?
When I arrived at Chelsea’s house with my friend Jessica, we could smell the hotdogs grilling in the backyard. Chelsea’s boyfriend had recently started a band and they had agreed to play some of their new songs as a birthday present to her.
“No charge,” he told her one day as we sat at the lunch table together.
I could hear the band tuning up as I made my way around the side of the house. Sophomore year marked the beginning of my “emo” phase, and I had the outfit to prove it. My pink and black old school vans matched perfectly with my jean skirt and studded belt. On top I wore a black t-shirt that said, “I’m with the band” in bold white letters. When we finally reached the backyard, Jessica and I headed up to the deck to find Chelsea. Like always, Chelsea had gone over the top with decorations. There was a huge banner hanging from the roof that read, “Happy Sweet 16 Chelsea!” Streamers and balloons covered every inch of the deck. Christmas lights were draped around the fence (even though it was the middle of the day). Secretly, I wanted to go up to the banner and cross off Chelsea’s name and add my own. We found Chelsea standing by the cake with her boyfriend Andrew hanging all over her.
“Hey girls! Thanks for coming!”
“Yea, totally! I’ll just pretend like it’s my party too right!”
Chelsea didn’t catch the sarcasm in my words but I didn’t really care. I turned to check out the band and that’s when I saw him. He had the most beautiful hair I have ever seen. When the sun hit it just right, individual strands lit up like precious gold. And the texture; it made me want to run my fingers through it and twirl it round and round. I know that sounds really creepy. But he had beaten me to it. He was standing on the deck with his bass strapped around his neck. One hand was in his pocket, and the other one was anxiously twirling his beautiful locks. His eyes darted around the yard nervously. When they finally met my gaze I could see they were blue. Not a pale blue, more like a blue that matches the sky on its brightest day. He was tall, and a little on the skinny side. His Bright Eyes t-shirt was faded and a little on the snug side. I wanted to talk to him but I didn’t know how. The last thing I wanted was to resort to asking Chelsea for help.
As I’m standing there I wonder what his name is. Probably something sexy like Brayden or Chase. In this moment I want to know him. I want to be close enough to smell him, to touch him, to taste his sun kissed skin.
Writing Exercise due February 24, 2009
I have a habit of ignoring the bad things and focusing on the good. Case and point, my ex-boyfriend Josh. I ignored his drinking, and the drugs. I excused his worthless behavior and the fact that he couldn’t keep a job. I pardoned him for every missed dinner date, or forgotten anniversary. I gave him an inch and he ran a freaking marathon. But he never forgot to say “I love you” at the end of every phone call. Something about those three little words kept me around for two and half years. Looking back now, I see a lot of bad. But my brain tells my heart to look past that. If I look back, way back to the beginning, there was a love so good, it made Romeo and Juliet look like child’s play.
I remember the first day we met. It was my sixteenth birthday. Instead of having a party, I went to my friend Chelsea’s party. She begged me one day in school not to have a party on the same day as hers because then all of our friends would have to choose between the two of us. Big f-ing deal, right?
When I arrived at Chelsea’s house with my friend Jessica, we could smell the hotdogs grilling in the backyard. Chelsea’s boyfriend had recently started a band and they had agreed to play some of their new songs as a birthday present to her.
“No charge,” he told her one day as we sat at the lunch table together.
I could hear the band tuning up as I made my way around the side of the house. Sophomore year marked the beginning of my “emo” phase, and I had the outfit to prove it. My pink and black old school vans matched perfectly with my jean skirt and studded belt. On top I wore a black t-shirt that said, “I’m with the band” in bold white letters. When we finally reached the backyard, Jessica and I headed up to the deck to find Chelsea. Like always, Chelsea had gone over the top with decorations. There was a huge banner hanging from the roof that read, “Happy Sweet 16 Chelsea!” Streamers and balloons covered every inch of the deck. Christmas lights were draped around the fence (even though it was the middle of the day). Secretly, I wanted to go up to the banner and cross off Chelsea’s name and add my own. We found Chelsea standing by the cake with her boyfriend Andrew hanging all over her.
“Hey girls! Thanks for coming!”
“Yea, totally! I’ll just pretend like it’s my party too right!”
Chelsea didn’t catch the sarcasm in my words but I didn’t really care. I turned to check out the band and that’s when I saw him. He had the most beautiful hair I have ever seen. When the sun hit it just right, individual strands lit up like precious gold. And the texture; it made me want to run my fingers through it and twirl it round and round. I know that sounds really creepy. But he had beaten me to it. He was standing on the deck with his bass strapped around his neck. One hand was in his pocket, and the other one was anxiously twirling his beautiful locks. His eyes darted around the yard nervously. When they finally met my gaze I could see they were blue. Not a pale blue, more like a blue that matches the sky on its brightest day. He was tall, and a little on the skinny side. His Bright Eyes t-shirt was faded and a little on the snug side. I wanted to talk to him but I didn’t know how. The last thing I wanted was to resort to asking Chelsea for help.
As I’m standing there I wonder what his name is. Probably something sexy like Brayden or Chase. In this moment I want to know him. I want to be close enough to smell him, to touch him, to taste his sun kissed skin.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Stories to make you LOL...or atleast I think they should.
Hello again, dear readers. I have two stories that I would like to share from this weekend. I find them funny and amusing so hopefully you will too.
This Saturday I ran my FIRST 5K! I will admit that I was hesitant about the idea at first, but I actually enjoyed it! I ran the race with my mom, who definitely kept me going when I wanted to stop and walk. Nothing worse than getting beat by your 50 year old mother right? So we ran together, most of the time anyway, and froze our butts off! But I had on so many layers that I was actually sweating like a pig. About half way through the race I noticed myself falling behind my mom. I kept thinking, is she speeding up or am I slowing down? Either way, I was STRUGGLING to get to the finish line. At one point I was dry heaving/ choking on my own spit. Attractive, I know. But then, right before the home stretch, I got a huge kick of adrenaline. The crowd was cheering, and the Rocky theme song was playing in the background...or maybe I imagined that. And all of a sudden I took off in a sprint and passed my mom right before the finish line. I even gave her a little wink when I ran by. The look on her face was PRICELESS! She was so mad! And the best part is, there's a picture of us on the website for the race that shows me running past her at the finish line with a big smile on my face. I told her we should order it and frame it. So yes, I did beat my mom, but she wants it to be known that I only beat her by 2 seconds. (And she said that she let me win so that I wouldn't be upset.) Whatever you say, mom.
Saturday night I attended a lovely party at the home of one of my good friends. After a few hours there, we ventured out to the bars in the freezing cold. At the bar I met a guy (shocker), who will remain nameless in case he some how tracks me down and reads my blog. Anyway, so I met this guy and we started talking. And I'll just preface this by saying that I've realized that I am really mean to guys when I first meet them! Case and point: This guy at the bar, I'll call him Josh, was wearing a bright red vest. Like the zip up kind that was popular...um, never. So I started off the conversation with, "Sweet vest." I don't remember his exact response but it was enough to get a conversation going. I proceeded to joke on the vest, unzip the zipper and make him feel like a total dork for wearing it. But he kept talking to me anyway. Then I moved on to his emo, comb-over hair do, or should I say don't. I don't mean comb-over like the guy was going bald, but he combed his hair to the side instead of letting it just hang down. So, naturally I had to ask him why he wore his hair like that. Then I proceeded to brush his hair straight down to see why he said it looked bad unless it was combed to the side. Well, at least he was right about one thing. And let me just say that this guy was NOT ugly. I know I'm ragging on him but he was very good looking minus the vest and comb-over. And don't worry I checked his shoes; he told me they were Armani. I'm not sure if he was lying but I really didn't care too much because they weren't ugly and that's all that matters. Then we started talking about our jobs. He told me he was a Navy diver. And at first this sounded legitimate but then I started to think, aren't divers for the Navy called Navy Seals? But he definitely didn't tell me he was a Navy Seal. So either there are multiple types of divers for the Navy or he made the job up. And I was also confused that his hair was on the longer side for the military, because I thought it had to be cut a certain way. Some how we got on the subject of my broken leg. I actually took my boot off in the bar and showed him the scar AND made him feel it. As I'm sitting here writing this I'm thinking, why in the world did this guy stick around for so long to talk to me? I sound like a total weirdo So it was getting late and my lovely sister was coming to pick me up and drive me home. I told Josh "bye" and walked away to find my friends. Before I left, Josh's wingman came up to me and said, "So did he get your number, are yall gonna hang out?" I told Mister Wingman that Josh did not ask for my number, and then I walked away to leave. Just before I got to the door I felt a tap on my shoulder. Well what do you know, Mr. Clueless wanted to ask me for my number! So I gave it to him (sidenote: I really need to stop giving out my number to random people), and he gave me his. We exchanged a few texts on the drive home, his mainly consisted of "lol" over and over again. Not really sure what was so funny though. I told him to text me tomorrow AKA today and shockingly, he hasn't.I mean I really don't see why he wouldn't, I joked on his outfit, his hair, made him feel the metal in my leg, and questioned his career as a "Navy diver." How dare I! Oh and I almost forgot! He told me his last name was Hefner, "like Hugh Hefner." And much to my disappointment, after some in depth facebook stalking I could not find him. I'm beginning to think that this guy either has multiple personalities, or made up his entire life story. So ladies and gents, the moral of the story is, avoid guys wearing vests in bars, especially if they have a semi comb-over. And if you are that guy in the bar wearing a vest, take it off, burn it, and try a polo button-up on for size.
This Saturday I ran my FIRST 5K! I will admit that I was hesitant about the idea at first, but I actually enjoyed it! I ran the race with my mom, who definitely kept me going when I wanted to stop and walk. Nothing worse than getting beat by your 50 year old mother right? So we ran together, most of the time anyway, and froze our butts off! But I had on so many layers that I was actually sweating like a pig. About half way through the race I noticed myself falling behind my mom. I kept thinking, is she speeding up or am I slowing down? Either way, I was STRUGGLING to get to the finish line. At one point I was dry heaving/ choking on my own spit. Attractive, I know. But then, right before the home stretch, I got a huge kick of adrenaline. The crowd was cheering, and the Rocky theme song was playing in the background...or maybe I imagined that. And all of a sudden I took off in a sprint and passed my mom right before the finish line. I even gave her a little wink when I ran by. The look on her face was PRICELESS! She was so mad! And the best part is, there's a picture of us on the website for the race that shows me running past her at the finish line with a big smile on my face. I told her we should order it and frame it. So yes, I did beat my mom, but she wants it to be known that I only beat her by 2 seconds. (And she said that she let me win so that I wouldn't be upset.) Whatever you say, mom.
Saturday night I attended a lovely party at the home of one of my good friends. After a few hours there, we ventured out to the bars in the freezing cold. At the bar I met a guy (shocker), who will remain nameless in case he some how tracks me down and reads my blog. Anyway, so I met this guy and we started talking. And I'll just preface this by saying that I've realized that I am really mean to guys when I first meet them! Case and point: This guy at the bar, I'll call him Josh, was wearing a bright red vest. Like the zip up kind that was popular...um, never. So I started off the conversation with, "Sweet vest." I don't remember his exact response but it was enough to get a conversation going. I proceeded to joke on the vest, unzip the zipper and make him feel like a total dork for wearing it. But he kept talking to me anyway. Then I moved on to his emo, comb-over hair do, or should I say don't. I don't mean comb-over like the guy was going bald, but he combed his hair to the side instead of letting it just hang down. So, naturally I had to ask him why he wore his hair like that. Then I proceeded to brush his hair straight down to see why he said it looked bad unless it was combed to the side. Well, at least he was right about one thing. And let me just say that this guy was NOT ugly. I know I'm ragging on him but he was very good looking minus the vest and comb-over. And don't worry I checked his shoes; he told me they were Armani. I'm not sure if he was lying but I really didn't care too much because they weren't ugly and that's all that matters. Then we started talking about our jobs. He told me he was a Navy diver. And at first this sounded legitimate but then I started to think, aren't divers for the Navy called Navy Seals? But he definitely didn't tell me he was a Navy Seal. So either there are multiple types of divers for the Navy or he made the job up. And I was also confused that his hair was on the longer side for the military, because I thought it had to be cut a certain way. Some how we got on the subject of my broken leg. I actually took my boot off in the bar and showed him the scar AND made him feel it. As I'm sitting here writing this I'm thinking, why in the world did this guy stick around for so long to talk to me? I sound like a total weirdo So it was getting late and my lovely sister was coming to pick me up and drive me home. I told Josh "bye" and walked away to find my friends. Before I left, Josh's wingman came up to me and said, "So did he get your number, are yall gonna hang out?" I told Mister Wingman that Josh did not ask for my number, and then I walked away to leave. Just before I got to the door I felt a tap on my shoulder. Well what do you know, Mr. Clueless wanted to ask me for my number! So I gave it to him (sidenote: I really need to stop giving out my number to random people), and he gave me his. We exchanged a few texts on the drive home, his mainly consisted of "lol" over and over again. Not really sure what was so funny though. I told him to text me tomorrow AKA today and shockingly, he hasn't.I mean I really don't see why he wouldn't, I joked on his outfit, his hair, made him feel the metal in my leg, and questioned his career as a "Navy diver." How dare I! Oh and I almost forgot! He told me his last name was Hefner, "like Hugh Hefner." And much to my disappointment, after some in depth facebook stalking I could not find him. I'm beginning to think that this guy either has multiple personalities, or made up his entire life story. So ladies and gents, the moral of the story is, avoid guys wearing vests in bars, especially if they have a semi comb-over. And if you are that guy in the bar wearing a vest, take it off, burn it, and try a polo button-up on for size.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
This is what I think about at night.
Yesterday I emailed a friend of mine and asked her how her job was going as a teacher in Washington, DC. She said it was tough and the kids take up a large amount of her time. She said there have been numerous times that she has had to drive a kid to a homeless shelter or call number after number trying to track down the kid's parents only to find that all the numbers have been disconnected. She said the whole thing has taken a toll on her. I'm sure anyone could understand where she is coming from. Teaching is a hard job, let alone teaching in an inner city school where kids and parents are apathetic towards teachers. I appreciated the honesty in my friend's response, as I am currently trying to figure out what to do next with my life career-wise. I don't know what my next step is. I don't know exactly what I want to do. But after much thought and internal reflection, I do know one thing. I want to help people. I know I've said this before in previous blogs but I just feel like I can't emphasize it enough. I want to make a difference in someone's life. I know it sounds cheesy and corny, but that is truly how I feel. I want to wake up in the morning and know that somewhere out there someone is waiting on me to help them and make a difference in their life. I don't know what exactly this job is, maybe a teacher, maybe a social worker, maybe it's something I haven't even considered yet.
So when I pictured myself in my friend's shoes, driving a young child to a homeless shelter, I thought, maybe if I was his teacher I could help him. I know part of this "helping people" idea is unrealistic. I mean, you can only help people to a certain extent, and that's only if they actually want your help to begin with. But there is no harm in trying. I love children; not enough to want to have any of my own, but nevertheless I still love them. At my job at the YMCA, I get to interact mainly with teens and kids. I love the feeling of knowing that they depend on me for help, even for something as simple as opening their string cheese at lunchtime. I love it when a little girl comes up to me at camp and says, "Are you going to be here tomorrow and the day after that?" It makes me feel like I matter to someone. The fact that this little girl can't wait to see me tomorrow and the day after that brings me a joy that I can't explain. That is the only happiness I need in my life. There is no person, material object, or place in this world that could replace the feeling that I get from helping someone, especially a child. In my opinion, we are put on this Earth to give more than we receive. Giving not only brings happiness to the person receiving it, but to the giver as well. I want to be a giver. I have had so many wonderful people give to me in the past 22 years, and now it is my turn to pay it forward. And I want to be sincere in my giving, not because I feel like I have to, but because I want to. Maybe it's the time of year, or maybe it's something in my teeth whitening gel. Either way I can't stop myself from thinking that I need to give more of myself to others. Now I just need to figure out where to start.
So when I pictured myself in my friend's shoes, driving a young child to a homeless shelter, I thought, maybe if I was his teacher I could help him. I know part of this "helping people" idea is unrealistic. I mean, you can only help people to a certain extent, and that's only if they actually want your help to begin with. But there is no harm in trying. I love children; not enough to want to have any of my own, but nevertheless I still love them. At my job at the YMCA, I get to interact mainly with teens and kids. I love the feeling of knowing that they depend on me for help, even for something as simple as opening their string cheese at lunchtime. I love it when a little girl comes up to me at camp and says, "Are you going to be here tomorrow and the day after that?" It makes me feel like I matter to someone. The fact that this little girl can't wait to see me tomorrow and the day after that brings me a joy that I can't explain. That is the only happiness I need in my life. There is no person, material object, or place in this world that could replace the feeling that I get from helping someone, especially a child. In my opinion, we are put on this Earth to give more than we receive. Giving not only brings happiness to the person receiving it, but to the giver as well. I want to be a giver. I have had so many wonderful people give to me in the past 22 years, and now it is my turn to pay it forward. And I want to be sincere in my giving, not because I feel like I have to, but because I want to. Maybe it's the time of year, or maybe it's something in my teeth whitening gel. Either way I can't stop myself from thinking that I need to give more of myself to others. Now I just need to figure out where to start.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
This song is so fitting it gives me goosebumps
"You're Not Sorry" - Taylor Swift
All this time I was wasting,
Hoping you would come around
I've been giving out chances every time
And all you do is let me down
And it's taking me this long
Baby but I figured you out
And you're thinking we'll be fine again,
But not this time around
You don't have to call anymore
I won't pick up the phone
This is the last straw
Don't wanna hurt anymore
And you can tell me that you're sorry
But I don't believe you baby
Like I did - before
You're not sorry, no no oh
Looking so innocent,
I might believe you if I didn't know
Could've loved you all my life
If you hadn't left me waiting in the cold
And you got your share of secrets
And I'm tired of being last to know
And now you're asking me to listen
Cause it's worked each time before
But you don't have to call anymore
I won't pick up the phone
This is the last straw
Don't wanna hurt anymore
And you can tell me that you're sorry
But I don't believe you baby
Like I did - before
You're not sorry, no no, oh
You're not sorry no no oh
You had me crawling for you honey
And it never would've gone away, no
You used to shine so bright
But I watched all of it fade
So you don't have to call anymore
I won't pick up the phone
This is the last straw
There's nothing left to beg for
And you can tell me that you're sorry
But I don't believe you baby
Like I did - before
You're not sorry, no no oh
You're not sorry, no no oh
All this time I was wasting,
Hoping you would come around
I've been giving out chances every time
And all you do is let me down
And it's taking me this long
Baby but I figured you out
And you're thinking we'll be fine again,
But not this time around
You don't have to call anymore
I won't pick up the phone
This is the last straw
Don't wanna hurt anymore
And you can tell me that you're sorry
But I don't believe you baby
Like I did - before
You're not sorry, no no oh
Looking so innocent,
I might believe you if I didn't know
Could've loved you all my life
If you hadn't left me waiting in the cold
And you got your share of secrets
And I'm tired of being last to know
And now you're asking me to listen
Cause it's worked each time before
But you don't have to call anymore
I won't pick up the phone
This is the last straw
Don't wanna hurt anymore
And you can tell me that you're sorry
But I don't believe you baby
Like I did - before
You're not sorry, no no, oh
You're not sorry no no oh
You had me crawling for you honey
And it never would've gone away, no
You used to shine so bright
But I watched all of it fade
So you don't have to call anymore
I won't pick up the phone
This is the last straw
There's nothing left to beg for
And you can tell me that you're sorry
But I don't believe you baby
Like I did - before
You're not sorry, no no oh
You're not sorry, no no oh
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