crime scene investigator!
So I'm taking this forensics class and I am THUPER ecthited. Sure, there will be presentations on stuff like forensic evidence, court interpretations, biometrix, a detailed look into the TV show CSI, and DNA fingerprinting (which I'm assigned to do). Sure, there are only two scrawny little boys in my class with the majority of girls. Sure, there are only 17 people in class. But c'mon, a trip to the coroner to do an in depth analysis of a deceased body?! Count me in.
I am so there.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
shattered curfew
when I got home this past weekend, I was pretty bummed to tell you the truth. My freedom has been restricted my entire life under my family's roof and I wasn't so keen on returning to that lifestyle. After a few days of lame do-nothing days, I was psyched to get away from it all with work. Coming back was such a breath of fresh air. I needed to escape in more ways than one. First day back on the job, ten dollar tip, baby. I'm tellin' ya, it's my dazzling smile that hooks all the customers. Hah.
But I must tell you, things actually did change. My curfew was about ten o'clock in high school, and most of my first year of college (that's when I actually did come home for either winter break and random weekends). But lately, the past few days have been completely and utterly mind-boggling. I've stayed out until 1:30 in the morning (I know, shocker!) and I could actually get away with it!
I think they finally recognize that I'm growing up and that I'm an actual legal citizen of the world and I don't need curfews. They can't keep me down for so long. And that's a good thing...because the next step would be to tell them about a secret someone in my life. Haha.
But I must tell you, things actually did change. My curfew was about ten o'clock in high school, and most of my first year of college (that's when I actually did come home for either winter break and random weekends). But lately, the past few days have been completely and utterly mind-boggling. I've stayed out until 1:30 in the morning (I know, shocker!) and I could actually get away with it!
I think they finally recognize that I'm growing up and that I'm an actual legal citizen of the world and I don't need curfews. They can't keep me down for so long. And that's a good thing...because the next step would be to tell them about a secret someone in my life. Haha.
Monday, March 17, 2008
inept dweeb
do you remember that scene from Matilda when Miss Trunchbull is expected to come and Miss Honey's class has to prepare the room by taking down all the posters of normal teachings and art projects? That's how it is when my parents decide to come to my dorm.
Not only do I have this monstrosity of a "PROM?" poster on my wall (which I'm still in love with), I have numerous snapshots of friends and my boyfriend. Now, don't get me wrong, it's true, the pictures that go through the whole picking-out process have to be ones that I still look good in. But when my parents decide to come to town, it's a fiasco in my dorm. Silly pictures must come down because I'm afraid they may come some kind of stir within the family; boyfriend pictures are down too what with the whole lack of knowledge of such a thing in my life; receipts that show I've spent a little more than average are down; trash is taken out; room is air freshened; all my clothes are properly folded back and put into place (sort of); and my bedsheets neatly tucked in as if I were staying at a high class hotel. Yep, it's the story of Matilda for you.
But I'm guessing it would be much easier if I had her powers to do all that stuff. Then I wouldn't have to wake up so damn early.
Not only do I have this monstrosity of a "PROM?" poster on my wall (which I'm still in love with), I have numerous snapshots of friends and my boyfriend. Now, don't get me wrong, it's true, the pictures that go through the whole picking-out process have to be ones that I still look good in. But when my parents decide to come to town, it's a fiasco in my dorm. Silly pictures must come down because I'm afraid they may come some kind of stir within the family; boyfriend pictures are down too what with the whole lack of knowledge of such a thing in my life; receipts that show I've spent a little more than average are down; trash is taken out; room is air freshened; all my clothes are properly folded back and put into place (sort of); and my bedsheets neatly tucked in as if I were staying at a high class hotel. Yep, it's the story of Matilda for you.
But I'm guessing it would be much easier if I had her powers to do all that stuff. Then I wouldn't have to wake up so damn early.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
if you, if i, if we
for the key to the universe, click the word key.
To continue in discovering the key to the universe, click the letter d in this sentence.
To keep going up the ladder of life, snap your fingers seven times and lick this screen.
To study battered wife syndrome, you need to be sassy.
To figure out what the hell is wrong with your life, you should reflect and rededicate yourself.
To see your options other than useless talents, click the only link to this sentence.
To continue in discovering the key to the universe, click the letter d in this sentence.
To keep going up the ladder of life, snap your fingers seven times and lick this screen.
To study battered wife syndrome, you need to be sassy.
To figure out what the hell is wrong with your life, you should reflect and rededicate yourself.
To see your options other than useless talents, click the only link to this sentence.
Monday, March 10, 2008
i fear dolphins
oh, he's grateful and interesting. And dolphins can be aggressive swimmers.
I fear getting my heart broken.
I fear not being enough.
Why can't I get over it?
Sigh.
Okay, okay, the next few posts will be happier and more pleasant than the past ones. I'm bringing myself down. Hah. I promise you'll have the urge to skip in the vast meadows of imagination after you've read my next few blogs. I shant disappoint you.
I fear getting my heart broken.
I fear not being enough.
Why can't I get over it?
Sigh.
Okay, okay, the next few posts will be happier and more pleasant than the past ones. I'm bringing myself down. Hah. I promise you'll have the urge to skip in the vast meadows of imagination after you've read my next few blogs. I shant disappoint you.
mute melancholy
it's pretty tough, coming from me--but you've changed. I can't really explain it and I'm not quite sure if it's beneficial or not. But nevertheless, you have changed.
Things used to be so much simpler, innocent if you will. And I understand that life throws punches at people and obstacles come strolling along tiring to divert us from doing what we initially intended on doing...but I don't know what to say about what I see. In the past, it just seemed so perfect. Don't get me wrong, things are pretty great now, seriously. But now that I have something to look back on and compare...it's just hard to explain. You've changed. You're doing things that I didn't think you would do. I'm not sure what the source is, but I have a pretty good idea.
You are my hero: someone I see as invincible; someone that never gives in; someone that doesn't care what anyone else thought; someone that goes with the flow; someone that accepts me for who I am. But something changed and it has hit me with such a miniscule force making it inexplicable in terms of how I feel. But for right now, I am in shock, for lack of a better word. I never had to live up to expectations for you...but for right now, I feel as if I do.
Sometimes I just wish that I could go back.
Back to those times when I saw you for you.
Where did you go?
I want you back...
I miss you...
...so bad.
Things used to be so much simpler, innocent if you will. And I understand that life throws punches at people and obstacles come strolling along tiring to divert us from doing what we initially intended on doing...but I don't know what to say about what I see. In the past, it just seemed so perfect. Don't get me wrong, things are pretty great now, seriously. But now that I have something to look back on and compare...it's just hard to explain. You've changed. You're doing things that I didn't think you would do. I'm not sure what the source is, but I have a pretty good idea.
You are my hero: someone I see as invincible; someone that never gives in; someone that doesn't care what anyone else thought; someone that goes with the flow; someone that accepts me for who I am. But something changed and it has hit me with such a miniscule force making it inexplicable in terms of how I feel. But for right now, I am in shock, for lack of a better word. I never had to live up to expectations for you...but for right now, I feel as if I do.
Sometimes I just wish that I could go back.
Back to those times when I saw you for you.
Where did you go?
I want you back...
I miss you...
...so bad.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
someone worth imitating
the quintessence of a role model has been somewhat of a more difficult task to uphold nowadays. There are things that people sometimes just have to avoid to be a better person in the world. I honestly have been failed by so many people in life and just looking back to the past makes me wonder where all my role models went. Who did they become? It's tough not having someone to look up to; someone close by I can actually see as being someone I want to grow up to be someday.
Everyone was so close-knit from what I remember to be my past. Everything was so simple. It was super easy to find someone you could look up to. For me, in the first grade, it was Vanessa Sanchez. She was my "big buddy"--the tall eighth grader who would come once every week to visit and color pictures with me or do art projects with me. She was awesome. I was mostly in awe by her hair--so smooth and straight and silky and long and beautiful. And here I was, the girl with the semi-bowl haircut, the short bob that did not match with the bone structure of my face, but yet seemed to make people go "awwww...how cute" whenever they saw me. But Vanessa's hair was something to be envied. Not only that, she was super sweet. She held my hand through inexplicable times. She was the shoulder I could lean on whenever I was in pain or was troubled. She even bought me presents (a stuffed animal that I still have and cherish) and I didn't complain. But she was someone--someone who I could look up to at such a young age.
When I became an eighth grader, I was that role model to someone, that first grader. She was awesome, as frightened and afraid of life as I was. But I smothered her with compassion, buying her Spice Girls photo albums and other 90's pop culture paraphernalia. I was pretty good at it, only because I felt it for myself, I had a role model and so did she.
As time progressed, role models seemed to gradually dissipate and soon, there was no one to look up to. There was only myself. I had to learn things on my own and learn from my mistakes, stumble on my own feet. I metaphorically chose the red pill--to see reality as it truly is with open eyes and a sense of rebirth. Although the blue pill would have probably been the more pragmatic choice along with the saying "Ignorance is bliss," it would not have made me the person that I am today.
I can safely say that there only about four people in my life that still remain my role models. There are even more likely epitomes of role models among those four. I'm not saying that they choose to help me or provide good examples for me to learn from. I'm saying that I, myself, choose to learn from them. I get small tidbits of life and experience from them, whether they be advice on how to do a certain task or where to go to get my hair cut. These people, the select few, are my role models.
Where are yours?
Better yet...riddle me this:
Are you a role model?
Everyone was so close-knit from what I remember to be my past. Everything was so simple. It was super easy to find someone you could look up to. For me, in the first grade, it was Vanessa Sanchez. She was my "big buddy"--the tall eighth grader who would come once every week to visit and color pictures with me or do art projects with me. She was awesome. I was mostly in awe by her hair--so smooth and straight and silky and long and beautiful. And here I was, the girl with the semi-bowl haircut, the short bob that did not match with the bone structure of my face, but yet seemed to make people go "awwww...how cute" whenever they saw me. But Vanessa's hair was something to be envied. Not only that, she was super sweet. She held my hand through inexplicable times. She was the shoulder I could lean on whenever I was in pain or was troubled. She even bought me presents (a stuffed animal that I still have and cherish) and I didn't complain. But she was someone--someone who I could look up to at such a young age.
When I became an eighth grader, I was that role model to someone, that first grader. She was awesome, as frightened and afraid of life as I was. But I smothered her with compassion, buying her Spice Girls photo albums and other 90's pop culture paraphernalia. I was pretty good at it, only because I felt it for myself, I had a role model and so did she.
As time progressed, role models seemed to gradually dissipate and soon, there was no one to look up to. There was only myself. I had to learn things on my own and learn from my mistakes, stumble on my own feet. I metaphorically chose the red pill--to see reality as it truly is with open eyes and a sense of rebirth. Although the blue pill would have probably been the more pragmatic choice along with the saying "Ignorance is bliss," it would not have made me the person that I am today.
I can safely say that there only about four people in my life that still remain my role models. There are even more likely epitomes of role models among those four. I'm not saying that they choose to help me or provide good examples for me to learn from. I'm saying that I, myself, choose to learn from them. I get small tidbits of life and experience from them, whether they be advice on how to do a certain task or where to go to get my hair cut. These people, the select few, are my role models.
Where are yours?
Better yet...riddle me this:
Are you a role model?
Monday, March 3, 2008
yearly conversions
risha: i think in hs you wore more preppy clothes
risha: like polos and stripes
risha: and FITTED TEES
risha: and now you're more.. eclectic
me: OOOOH i like that word
me: nice nice
risha: hehe
risha: let's see if bowie knows what it means
me: AAAHAHAHA
I've changed.
Yay!
risha: like polos and stripes
risha: and FITTED TEES
risha: and now you're more.. eclectic
me: OOOOH i like that word
me: nice nice
risha: hehe
risha: let's see if bowie knows what it means
me: AAAHAHAHA
I've changed.
Yay!
Sunday, March 2, 2008
a melrose stroll
alright, it's official. I live in a very, and by very I mean VERY, materialistic world that unbeknownst to me, actually does exist.
It's true, I shop quite a bit. It's fact that girls shop a lot. I can testify to that in court, brother. But I'm not sure if it's just me, but I think it's super weird to know that boys, maybe a selected few, do the same. Perhaps even more than girls.
Okay, so I'm not exactly a millionaire and spend gazillions of benjamins toward things that I may already have excess of. Yesterday, I found out that I'm actually a frugal girl. A frugal person. A stroll down Melrose Avenue and other backstreets slapped me in the face with that epiphany.
Melrose Avenue is steez heaven. And the Lord knows how much I 'dislike' (to tone it down) steez. I was stuck with two guys who would not shut the hell up about what they wore, shoes, and brands that I've never even heard of. We went in stores called Undefeated and The Hundreds, and honestly, I'm not quite sure how much I want to go shop for shoes anymore. I am beyond traumatized by the places we went--covered in steez paraphernalia. Not to mention the prices. I don't understand how guys could spend that much on silly things that could possibly rip, tear, get horribly dirty, fall apart, and not have a 'satisfaction guaranteed' tag on it. I'd want a freaking side of warranty to go with that plate of ridiculously overpriced shirt. I mean, seriously. Who would possibly want to buy shoes over the price of $60? Maybe even less?! Shoes are things that go on your stinky ass FEET (of all places) and then are dragged across the dirty, parasite-infested ground. So tell me, I'd really like to know, why anyone, and I mean ANYone, would want to purchase $2000 shoes, along with $4800 shoelaces. It boggles my mind, it truly does.
That, my friends, is just too much. TOO MUCH!
Now, if you were that millionaire that I was talking about in the beginning of this blog, then...you're off the hook. I get it. You'd spend the abundance of money on silly things like those stated above. Go get yourself some grills. Apparently, the lot of you like to lick diamonds on your teeth whenever you feel like it; maybe to just remember how big of a high-roller you are. Well done. Everyone's doing it nowadays.
It's true, I shop quite a bit. It's fact that girls shop a lot. I can testify to that in court, brother. But I'm not sure if it's just me, but I think it's super weird to know that boys, maybe a selected few, do the same. Perhaps even more than girls.
Okay, so I'm not exactly a millionaire and spend gazillions of benjamins toward things that I may already have excess of. Yesterday, I found out that I'm actually a frugal girl. A frugal person. A stroll down Melrose Avenue and other backstreets slapped me in the face with that epiphany.
Melrose Avenue is steez heaven. And the Lord knows how much I 'dislike' (to tone it down) steez. I was stuck with two guys who would not shut the hell up about what they wore, shoes, and brands that I've never even heard of. We went in stores called Undefeated and The Hundreds, and honestly, I'm not quite sure how much I want to go shop for shoes anymore. I am beyond traumatized by the places we went--covered in steez paraphernalia. Not to mention the prices. I don't understand how guys could spend that much on silly things that could possibly rip, tear, get horribly dirty, fall apart, and not have a 'satisfaction guaranteed' tag on it. I'd want a freaking side of warranty to go with that plate of ridiculously overpriced shirt. I mean, seriously. Who would possibly want to buy shoes over the price of $60? Maybe even less?! Shoes are things that go on your stinky ass FEET (of all places) and then are dragged across the dirty, parasite-infested ground. So tell me, I'd really like to know, why anyone, and I mean ANYone, would want to purchase $2000 shoes, along with $4800 shoelaces. It boggles my mind, it truly does.
That, my friends, is just too much. TOO MUCH!
Now, if you were that millionaire that I was talking about in the beginning of this blog, then...you're off the hook. I get it. You'd spend the abundance of money on silly things like those stated above. Go get yourself some grills. Apparently, the lot of you like to lick diamonds on your teeth whenever you feel like it; maybe to just remember how big of a high-roller you are. Well done. Everyone's doing it nowadays.
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