On she who bothers me beyond belief and my obsession with English

Ok. It's been awhile. So let's just jump right into this. First things first:

"You bug me, you push my buttons, you piss me off but boo, you're the best friend a girl could ask for :)"

Three guesses as to who texted that to me night before last. Yes, you've guessed it. Cristy. I love you, too. And yes, I loved your text so much, I actually blogged it. Feel special. Well, you would, if you would freaking read my blog. LIKE THE WAY YOU NEED TO FREAKING READ MY BOOK!

Mmmk. My favorite class this semester is Approaches to Literature with Mr. Peter Hargitai. I love it. We never do what we're supposed to do lol. About as close as we actually get to working is the journal we're supposed to write in everyday till the end of the semester. And, in a very twisted way, I actually enjoy this. This is what I wrote for today:

I am an English major. I love English. I love writing it, speaking it, reading it, proofreading it (yes, I'm that twisted).

But as much as I love English--and I think we can agree that I truly love it--I have some problems with it. (You're about to get some ugly insight into just how nuts I am. You've been forewarned.)

1. "Preached" should be "praught." If "taught" isn't "teached," then the past tense of the verb preach should follow as such. I stand by this.
2. I don't like the word "nervousness." I feel it should be "nervosity." In my opinion, "nervousness" is just a lame, awkward word. Wtf, Webster?
3. I hate that it's grammatically incorrect to begin a sentence with a conjunction (for those who don't know: and, but, or, etc). In fact, I completely disregard this rule. I encourage you to do the same.
4. I hate that the language itself is so damn unoriginal. We've taken words from just about everyone else except ourselves. Our words have French roots, Latin roots, Greek roots, etc. Bro. Stfu. Get your own damn roots! Useless, unimaginative people! (The inventors of English, that is.)
5. The fact it's spoken internationally. How damn, what if I want to speak badly about someone in Italy or Spain or Croatia?! I can't! Because they speak English! And Spanish! And French! GAH! Damned, over-achieving Europeans!!!!

And that, dears, is the end of my rant.

Finally, my phone. The LG Vu. I love it. Love.

Thanks for reading.

And, just fyi, I'm freezing my ass off.

On the fact I actually have a conscience

*sigh*

Ok. Having gone to a private "non-denominational" (real defintion: Baptist) middle- and high school, I know the Bible and its principals better than, I think it's safe to say, most American teenagers.

I think I've also taken it for granted.

I realize this isn't the sort of thing that should be posted on a blog. It's very personal, very private.

I've never really been one for being closed-up about stuff. Which may be a problem. There are only like.... Hmm, two things, that I can think of, that I've never told another soul about me. Everything else has come out eventually.

I almost wish I could blame college, that's it's turned me away from the right path. But it isn't college's fault. I had given up (ok, "given up" isn't the right word. I think perhaps just "set aside" makes a little more sense)--yes, set aside--the whole Christianity thing way back in November. I can't even remember what the chapels of my senior year were about. I remember Spiritual Emphasis Week--liked it. I liked it when that woman in the wheelchair came. But the rest? Pfft. Also, (and I'm sorry, Mr. Valdey, it's nothing personal) I was tired of hearing from the same chaplain since I'd been in seventh grade. Not that college helped any... Back in October, I was starting to think I'd gone a little too crazy. Now I know I'd gone a little too crazy.

But there's no healthy fucking medium!!!!! You're either freaking Virgin Mary incarnate or you're some bad ass.

And I remember that I used to say, "God, I'm sorry that I have no desire to talk to you or to listen to you." But I wasn't sorry. I was having a fucking great time (um.... sans the fucking, lol).

*sigh* I sort of miss high school. You knew what to do in high school. You were either a Good Kid or a Bad Kid. Now everyone's talking shit (ok, maybe just one person) about me behind my back cuz I'm a Bad Kid? The real world isn't so black and white. You knew what to do in high school if you wanted to be a Good Kid--you worshipped in chapel, you prayed, you didn't say bad words, you didn't associate past the bare minimum with the Bad Kids. Hell, they even kept us separate, for the most part. I've basically had the same classmates ever since they split us into honors and regular in 8th grade. But in college? How can you balance it out? People like me more now--and that's the honest truth. I've had it said to my face.

Why can't I find a good place to be? Why's it gotta be one or the other?

Why does the f-word have to be so much friggin' fun to say?

So, for the first real time in a very, very long time: I'm sorry, God. I am.

On why sometimes the simple things in life rock

So. I had an absolute blast with a certain tall chiquita (lol) today. Sort of the thing that makes you realize, "Damn, we need to hang more."

After the events of this afternoon, I'm now in possession of a certain friend's cardigan which I shall be holding hostage until the exchange of a certain purse that she took to my house today. Payment to be received in full, Amanda. ;)

More simple things to love? Reading. Ok, maybe not so simple. It's actually a sort of complicated process that I truly take for granted sometimes. And paper. And ink. I wonder, if I didn't have books, would I be a story teller?? Probably not. What would I do? What would I obsess over? Sometimes I think that the only real thing about me that stands out is my absolute obsession with the written word (and proper grammar. In a somewhat related story, I read a certain conversation today that a certain friend had with a certain guy and found myself giving non-existant points to this fellow based solely on the fact that his words were fluid and graceful and... Well, hot.).

Even more simple? Breathing. I like breathing. I've never been tired or bored of breathing. I don't think I ever shall be. Well, eventually, I guess I will. Hmm. My death. What a somber thing to think about....

OMYGOSHSHOULDIWRITEABLOGABOUTMYDEATH?!?! Is that too macabre?

Probably.

Tough.

I hope I die in an exciting, though preferably not tortured, way. Like, I do NOT want to die by way of a sting ray. [I still mourn Steve Irwin's death, pathetic as it was. God has a true sense of humor.]

Like, I don't know. I guess it'd be pretty exciting to like slip off the roof of a building or something. That's quick. Different. Would that be traumatic for my family?

Eh. Death. I changed my mind, don't want to talk about it.

And so, to end on a lighter note, I was at Dolphin and International today with Renate and we saw Orthodox Jews getting pulled in by one of those vendors in the carts in the middle of the hallways. That may have been the funniest part of today. Perhaps "strangest" is a better word.

Oh. I found today that I need to stop being so angry and bitter. It will make me an old woman much faster than I need to be. I need to learn to forgive a little better, too. And to perhaps not make faces when my parents call me. I know they love me. I just wish they'd lose my number for a little while.

Hopefully I'll find something more substantial to blog about next time? Eh, doesn't matter. No one reads this anyway, lol.