Joyeux jour de Saint-Valentin!

We made cards in my French class.  Hey, it was that or read La Belle au Bois Dormant some more.  From the early 1900's.  In historical past tense.  Mine's awesome, it has the worst pickup lines known to man on it.  Even one that doesn't quite work out in French.
-- Bonjour, je m'appelle Hugh Hefner.
(Hello, my name is Hugh Hefner.)
-- Tu as les beaux yeux.
(You have beautiful eyes.)  A French thing, but I don't think they're looking at the eyes.
-- As-tu une cigarette?
(Do you have a cigarette?)  Again, a French thing.
-- Si je pourrais change l'alphabet, je placerai "u" et "i" ensemble.
(If I could change the alphabet, I'd put "u" and "i" together.)  This is the one that doesn't work in French.
-- In my defense, Marcus/New Kid said this one: Avez vous une glace dans sa poche?  Parce que je me vois dans ses pantalons.
(Do you have a mirror in your pocket?  Because I can see myself in your pants.)

Hahahaaa.  Poor Matt of French and Economics fame is stuck with that thing now.  I hadn't found any takers by fifth period, and he was the only person in that class who could truly appreciate and understand it.  This is greatly facilitated by the fact that he was the only other person who could read it.  Heh.  (Let's not even get into the card that Lexi and Kari had me deliver to the school's literally-brand-new Latin teacher.  Something about "Latin lovers" and lip prints.  Have you girls even met him?????  Lmao...)

Hilarity.

Yay!  All this put me in a much better mood, and now I don't have to be all angsty and depressed in here about thing my mind has been wrestling with lately.  Because really, with lines like, "Do you have a mirror in your pocket," who can be serious??

Well, I think the play went very well.
Someone needs to post a list of quotes.  I can't remember all of them.  Only three come to mind.  And we said some goooood stuff, too.  Hah-hah.  Hah.  Hm.

Brian King, how dare you call my house?!  Actually, I'm just wondering why, and broadcasting it to the entire world.  Because the line was busy when I tried returning said telephonic communication.  Teehee.  Serves you right.

There was something I wanted to say here.  This explains why I forgot. *Arg*

I don't set much stock by quizzes, but this is completely accurate:

You're a bit of a cynic when it comes to love.

You don't lose your head, and hardly anyone penetrates your heart.

Your ideal Valentine's Day date: is all about the person you're seeing (with no mentions of v-day!)

Your flirting style: honest and even slightly sarcastic

What turns you off: romantic expectations and "greeting card" holidays

Why you're hot: you don't just play hard to get - you are hard to get

Ask me when the last time I slept was.

WEDNESDAY NIGHT, BIZ-NACKLES!!

As a result, I am:
-- A danger to society when merging onto the freeway (yes, I drove 80 mph in this condition.  Be afraid.)
-- Running into door frames on the wall side.
-- Strangely subject to symptoms similar to crack.
-- Walking in front of oncoming vehicles without really realising it.
-- Speaking better in French than in English.
-- Strangely cognisant through all this.

As for the speaking in French better than English.... I talked to a real live Frenchman today!  In French!  (As opposed to a real dead Frenchman, but you catch my drift.)  M. Truax's friend Richard (who is a dead ringer for Louis XIV) called from Besancon!  We carried on a very nice conversation.  At first I was afraid to accept the phone because I read and write French so much better than my poor speaking skills, which isn't saying much (long story short, M. Truax cornered me by the door.  "I'LL RUN OUT, I WILL!")  I mean, it would kind of be like the Philosophy major having Socrates suddenly walk up and start philosophising.  But he was very nice, and pulled a dirty little trick known as "enchante."  I don't care if he resembles a despotic king from 325 years ago (I mean really, the likeness is amazing -- you should see it) and has metal (as in music) hair.  No matter who says it, if they're French it is the equivalent of.... Well, it has no equivalent.  But yes, that single word.... Holy crap.  I'm marrying a Frenchman.  I may feel hopelessly inadequate when it comes to conversation, but I'm marrying a Frenchman.

So my family left to have our 19-year-old cat put down.  :-(  She's like my Mom's first child, really.  Mom had her before I was even thought of.  (Of course, now Dad's making all sorts of insinuations that I could be next and to watch my back.  *Rolls eyes*)  Life is going to be hairy during her grief.  I really feel no remorse that she's gone.  Not just because she was aloof and hissed at the more affectionate cats, but because she lead a good long life, and it's about time she had some peace and quiet and tuna in a crystal dish.

If I can only survive through the weekend, that would be grand.  Not really the best choice of words, given the events in the above paragraph.

.........................

"I'd rather be a could-be if I cannot be an are; because a could-be is a maybe who is reaching for a star. I'd rather be a has-been than a might-have-been, by far; for a might have-been has never been, but a has was once an are."
-- Milton Berle

Introduce yourself in one bold, honest paragraph.
My name is Kelly Sullivan.  I am eighteen and revel in that fact until things get scary enough that I wish I could still scream, "MINOR!"  I am unofficially diagnosed as obsessive-compulsive in regards to hair -- mine and everyone else's.  I present various facades, all of which are true.  It's difficult to explain.  The person I am with you is genuine, but some parts might be conveniently left out because I know they're inappropriate for the location, the company, the occasion, or make you uncomfortable. 

Tell me what people think about you.
Well you would really have to ask them.  I'd be surprised if I were ever a topic of conversation, to tell the truth.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
Hahaha.  As if I'd display my insecurities to the world.  I could cop out and say, "I'd be a better person in general," but... I think I would rather be more appreciative of life.  Because if you're more appreciative, that impacts all your actions and thoughts, and by default makes you.... A better person!  Voila!

Have you ever felt at home with someone?
Yes.  My best friend.  Vodka ice cubes!

Describe your appearance.
5' 7" when I stand up really straight... In the morning.  (Ouch.)  I'm trying to grow out my (brown) hair, so it's pretty much always in a ponytail, or else looks really flat and nasty in the way only grown-out layers can.  Blue eyes.  Pasty skin.  That's me.  Invariably found in jeans and flats with a multicoloured sequin-accented scarf.

Biggest revelation to date?
Do what you love, even if it isn't particularly lucrative.  If not, you'll waste years of your life feeling less than satisfied, and always wondering what would have happened if you had followed your dreams.  Besides, when you have a mid-life crisis you'll wind up trying it, anyway, so you might as well cut to the chase.

Biggest issue weighing you down?
This god-awful paper in Mrs. Wolff's class.  Half the six-weeks grade in those pages, people.  Oh, and that minor college detail.

Theme song?
The Imperial March, duh.  But seriously.... That, and Tchaikovsky's entire ballet, "The Sleeping Beauty."  Heck yes.

Give me some final parting advice.
I'd say that can be found under "biggest revelation to date."

Right now I feel so very small and insignificant and lost.  Like a little girl alone in a Metro station whose train never comes.  One day I've found the answer, the next I completely reject it and doubt myself before embracing the discarded answer once again.  What does the future hold?  Which train will I board?  How do I know it's the right one?  Why am I incapable of maintaining and rather chafe at relationships?  (The answer, I think, lies in far too much independence and no sentimentality whatsoever.  Really, I mean NO sentimentality -- whatsoever.  But then again, I may discard this answer tomorrow and staunchly adhere to it on Wednesday.)

I'm looking up a website on how to join the circus, and sites dedicated to learning those arts, if that's any indication.

So D.C. was awesome.  Some highlights include:
* Taking off in sleet and snow.
* Watching the sun rise while above the clouds.
* Riding the Metro.
* Giving and getting directions.
* A really spiffy hotel room with a kitchenette and separate dressing room.
* Going to Georgetown district.
* Seeing three homeless people on the way who yelled to themselves and inanimate objects (like a fallen bicycle).
* La Madeleine, a fantastic genuinely French bistro.  Polished wooden tables, heavy glass tumblers, baskets of artisan bread, glazed fruit tarts, Oranginas, and caramel creme brulee!
* Even the Georgetown CVS was in a historic building.
* Walking four miles to the National Gallery.  In the rain.  And when I say rain, I mean pounding torrents that drench you to the mid-thigh when you have an umbrella.  And me in white corduroys.  It was fun.
* A PROTEST!  Oh, my God, a PROTEST!!  It was soooo cool!  They had stickers, people wearing and carrying signs, a massive stage, people protesting the protest, a guy singing songs he wrote for the protest, people in the crowd playing a tribal-execution-drumbeat which was actually kind of scary, and AN EFFIGY.  Oh, my God, AN EFFIGY!  Twelve feet tall if it was an inch.  I took pictures.  It was delightful.  "Kelly, don't encourage them."  "But they have an effigy!"
* Aforementioned state of sod(den) made it rather difficult to appreciate the new Cezanne display at the gallery.  Fortunately, we were dry upon entering the Medieval galleries.  That building is superb.  Really, truly superb.  Hah, the painted Napoleon was taller than the live Napoleon.  I find that funny.
* Luigi's Italian Restaurant.  Been there since 1943; my granddad ate there frequently.  It's so typical Italian restaurant!  More with the polished wood tables, and water in hefty wine glasses, checkered tablecloths, native speakers, opera, and candles in empty wine bottles!
* Staying up late watching Silence of the Lambs the day before auditions.  Holy crap, I want that movie on DVD.  Anthony Hopkins only had 16 minutes of screen time, and he STILL got the Oscar for best actor!  Holy cow.  Sixteen minutes.  "I'm having an old friend for dinner."
* Compulsively drinking three cups of coffee the next morning out of sheer nerves.
* Tensing every time someone at an adjacent table started talking about monologues.  We were seriously plotting demise.  Mum: "I have a plastic fork!"
* Finding the only other person from Tennessee in the blasted program.  Yayyyy!  We talked God-knows-how-long.  Awesome-awesome.
* Large black granite heads of George Washington delineating the boundaries of the campus.
* Large black granite statue of a hippopotamus.  Did you know those beasts apparently inhabited the Potomac?  The Washingtons would watch them in the river from Mount Vernon.  Hippos, the African safari critter, in the Potomac.  Crazy, eh?
* Walking by my future sorority house, Kappa Kappa Gamma.  They have the most/best parties.  I'm so philanthropic.  *Sarcasm*
* Charles Dickens action figure in the GWU bookstore.  Plus, Famous Writer Finger Puppets.  And stuffed hippos.
* Making the judges laugh in both the comic monologue and the interview.  "If you guys don't let me in, I'll keep applying semester transfer until you admit me out of sheer annoyance!"  We had a nice chat.  Until they told me there was no shame in going to MTSU for a semester or two.  There is no shame, they're entirely right.  But I felt like they were trying to tell me something.  Way to smack me down, guys.  But we still had a nice chat.
* Trading Metro stops for various stores with Only-Other-Tennesseean-Emily.  Filene's Basement is near the Pentagon City stop.  That's all I remember, though, lol.
* ADD in the Shoppes Of Georgetown.  "United Colours of Bennetton!  Kate Spade!  Bebe!  H&M!  Mexx!  Gahhh!  *Bliss Seizure*"
* A townhouse painted bright white with the most vibrant pink trim you can find.  That thing looked like Barbie Dream House Goes Historic District.
* Our flight getting cancelled.  Wahooo!  You could see Mum's blood pressure spike.
* Hopping on another conveniently-empty flight to Charlotte, and then to Nashville.  During the flight between Charlotte and Nashville, the captain kept us updated on the Superbowl score.  "Current score at takeoff is 3-0, Pittsburgh, annnnnnnd..... Pittsburgh's gonna win."  *Mixed response from passengers*
* Going to bed, at home, in my sheets, at 9:45.  Ahhhhhhhh, bliss.

Wow, that was overly-long.  But explanatory.  Ciao.

Since half the world already knows....

At faire this year I'm playing Anna Vasa, Princess of Sweden!!!!!

I'm so excited.  Unimaginably so.  Unfortunately, I only know two words in Swedish.  One is incredibly profane that I had no intention of committing to memory.  Whoops.  The other is "yes," which won't get me very far and may in fact have terrible consequences.  For example:

"Will you deed Sweden over to me?"
"Ja."
I think not.  :-P

Awwww heck yes.  This year is going to rock so much.  You guys have to come out and hang.  Our court even has a chef!

"Heerdy, heerdy, heerdy."

On this day in 1948, Mohandas Ghandi was assassinated.  We miss you, man.  Hope you reincarnate as a cow, if you haven't reached the Nirvanic end of your rebirths yet.

I'm really liking this whole minor-character thing.  The few rehearsals I have I'm only at for, like, forty-five minutes.  Yessssss.

My audition essay is almost finished.  Hallelujiah, and all that jazz.  Tomorrow it gets faxed.

Heehee.  I know what my role is in the Renaissance faire.  Except I'm not supposed to tell anyone for a few days yet.  *Devilish grin*

"We weird sisters, hand in hand,
Posters of the sea and land
Thus do go about, about.
Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine,
And thrice again to make up nine --
Peace!  The charm's wound up."

I'm trying to write two five-hundred word essays for two programs at George Washington.

One about the current role of art in my life and what I hope it will be in the future.

The other about Shakespeare and his impact on my life/humanity/et cetera.

This is made slightly difficult by a random M*A*S*H* episode being quite literally blasted from the speakers downstairs.  I'm confusing the Bard with Klinger.  Oy gevalt.  Oy vey.

Heehee.  I know what my role is in the Renaissance Festival.  But I can't tell anybody for a few days yet.  *Mischeivous Grin*

So today was....

-- Getting up at 6:00 and heading out the door at 7:00 for the SAT II Subject Tests in Literature and French.  And running into awesome-awesome GSH friend Devon MacDougall, who was also taking the SAT II!  Conviviality.  Am extremely relieved to learn that I did not in fact accidently sign up for 7 hours of testing (having been under the impression starting last night that the tests were 3.5 hours apiece).  One hour each is much more my deal.  Too bad we don't have a conventional conservative French class at Riverdale.  We can say 'beer gut,' 'lawn mower,' and 'squirrel,' but as far as verbs and such go.... Well.... Let's just say the French test ate my face, and leave it at that.

-- An immediate drive to Macbeth rehearsals, which last until 1:00.

-- An immediate drive to Bel Air rehearsals, from which I did not arrive home (ensuing events included) until 9:30.

Oh holy crap.  I'm ready to collapse.

My car still has streamers on it.  Let's hope it doesn't rain.  I rather like the streamers.  They're jaunty and they make noise.

<3

SAT II Subject Test tomorrow.

Two of them, actually.

French.
Literature.
They better not spring me with French Literature.

I must be some sort of masochist to take two in one day.

Have I studied for either?  Nope.  Because how can you?  Sure, you can review French grammer, maybe drop by SparkNotes, but ultimately there's no real way to study for these things.  I have every intention of winging it.  *Wing*

And then a myriad of rehearsals 'till I die.
Followed the next day by an audition.
Then rampant memorizations.
And another audition.  States away.  At least I get a weekend in D.C. out of the deal.  (J'adore D.C.)
Holy merde.

"Life is real!  Life is earnest!  And the grave is not its goal!
'Dust thou art, to dust returnest' was not spoke of the soul!"
-- Longfellow, I do believe.

Screw you, George Washington University.

I got an email from them yesterday.
Concerning the Presidential Arts Scholarship.  Half-tuition.  Highly helpful, considering the rates they charge.

NEXT WEEKEND I have to be IN WASHINGTON D.C. at the college, with TWO CONTEMPORARY MONOLOGUES.  MEMORISED.  PERFECTED.

IN A WEEK.

So they email me the week BEFORE to tell me that?!!  WHAT??!!!!

Bastards.  And they only give four of them to theatres students.  Again I say, bastards.  Why do I even bother?  Why, in the hopes that every other plane nosedives, and I'm the only one there, of course.

I'm so screwed.

For any of you who had the misfortune to talk with me yesterday when I found this out (i.e. Mady, Brian, Nemanja).... This is the reason I suddenly became spastic and snappish and generally difficult to communicate with.

Yeah, and contemporary plays?  Ones written in the past five years.  Yeah.  Past five years.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaagh.... *Collapses on floor, too depressed to move*

A Dialogue Between the Soul and Body
By: Andrew Marvell

SOUL
O who shall, from this dungeon, raise
A soul enslav'd so many ways?
With bolts of bones, that fetter'd stands
In feet, and manacled in hands;
Here blinded with an eye, and there
Deaf with the drumming of an ear;
A soul hung up, as 'twere, in chains
Of nerves, and arteries, and veins;
Tortur'd, besides each other part,
0 In a vain head, and double heart.

BODY
O who shall me deliver whole
From bonds of this tyrannic soul?
Which, stretch'd upright, impales me so
That mine own precipice I go;
And warms and moves this needless frame,
(A fever could but do the same)
And, wanting where its spite to try,
Has made me live to let me die.
A body that could never rest,
Since this ill spirit it possest.

SOUL
What magic could me thus confine
Within another's grief to pine?
Where whatsoever it complain,
I feel, that cannot feel, the pain;
And all my care itself employs;
That to preserve which me destroys;
Constrain'd not only to endure
Diseases, but, what's worse, the cure;
And ready oft the port to gain,
Am shipwreck'd into health again.

BODY
But physic yet could never reach
The maladies thou me dost teach;
Whom first the cramp of hope does tear,
And then the palsy shakes of fear;
The pestilence of love does heat,
Or hatred's hidden ulcer eat;
Joy's cheerful madness does perplex,
Or sorrow's other madness vex;
Which knowledge forces me to know,
And memory will not forego.
What but a soul could have the wit
To build me up for sin so fit?
So architects do square and hew
Green trees that in the forest grew.

So what if it was for an A.P. Lit mini-test?!  This poem rocks out.  The metre, the rhyme scheme, the inversions (not to mention the sentiment).... Bliss.  Pure bliss.

And just because everyone and their mother has been talking about prom on Phusebox today.... Pretty sure my dress came in the mail.  Awwwww heck yes.  I just need to get around to asking someone, though, so I know whether I'm wearing heels or flats (this is actually quite important; flats will require I hem the dress to a walkable length).  Blah.  I should just take the LotR cardboard stand-up from my room, lol!

What but a soul could have the wit
To build me up for sin so fit?

Holy cow.  I actually was able to apply knowledge to an essay in European History today!  So surreal.... I'm used to BS-ing my way through them with a smattering of possibly-factual ideas concerning the general (very important) era.  But no, today we actually studied in the period before!  Amazing.  Stupendous, even.  We may yet graduate as responsible scholars.  Perish the thought.  Responsible?  How insulting.

But none of this is really important.  I wonder how the voting went today.  I think they were voting for Alito's confirmation (or lack thereof), at any rate.  Hm.  Ponder.  Anyone out there know??

I'm gonna be unbearable until March.  Because SOMEBODY (well.... Something, rather.... A university to be exact.... Of the George Washington varietal) doesn't send their letters out until then.  ANY answer is better than none at all.  If it's the desirably sort of letter (the kind offering me a full-tuition scholarship through grad-school and a chateau in France for study-abroad) then, well, life will be good.  Very, very good.  If it is slightly less than desirable (a polite denial of admission), I shall proceed to realise that a bartender will be the pinnacle of my professional career, and that I'd better get crackin'.

So the other kids at lunch are reading facts about Chuck Norris.  They are.... Quite amusing.  Heh-heh, heh.

I'm trying to sell a dress I bought on eBay -- It's BCBG, pink.  Floor-length, satin, non-skanky corset top.  Never worn.  The picture is somewhere in the backlogs of PhuseBox humanity.  If you're interested, or know someone who might be.... Let me know.

"Saddam Hussein was not found in a hole in Iraq.  Chuck Norris round-house kicked him to the face in Kansas, and the force slammed him through the earth, and he stopped just short of the surface of Iraq."

It's a very easy task to personally commiserate with Mercutio, of Verona's venerated house of Montague.

He's so often joking and smiling that when the time comes for sobriety nobody believes he speaks in earnest.

"Nay, 'tis not so deep as a well nor so wide as a church door, but 'tis enough, 'twill serve."

"Why did you come between us?  I was wounded under your arm."

Romeo: I dreamt a dream tonight.
Mercutio: And so did I.
Romeo: Well, what was yours?
Mercutio: That dreamers often lie.

"True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain
Begot by nothing but vain fantasty,
Which is as thin of substance as the air,
And more inconstant than the wind...."

Oddly enough, Mercutio is also the role I would choose out of all the casts available.  Not token sweet Juliet, the crazy old Nurse, or violently loyal Tybalt -- well, Tybalt may well be second -- but Mercutio, the bi-polar entertainer whose trademark is his downfall.

Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, and then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, and being thus frighted swears a prayer or two and sleeps again.

WHO: Jump, Jive, and Swing! with the Radio Daze Big Band Orchestra

WHAT: Um, swing dancing.  Swing dance lessons.  Swing dance music.  Et ceter-ah.

WHEN: Tomorrow night!  Beginner and intermediate lessons start at 7:30.  Regular dancing starts at 8:30.

WHERE: 409 Franklin Road at the Living Word Community Church.

WHY: Because swing dancing is fun.  Duh.

HOW MUCH: $7.50, because there's live music.  Normal admission is $6.  Worth every penny.

DIRECTIONS: Take I-24 West to I-840 West.  From I-840 West go to I-65 North.  Drive.  And drive.  And drive.  Take the second exit onto Old Hickory Boulevard.  Turn left onto Franklin Road (which will be deceptively labelled as Franklin Pike).  Go through a few lights (I don't know how many, okay?!)  Living Word Community Church will be on your right.  Enter, pay, and proceed to dance until 11:00.  Repeat as neccessary.

So I deleted all the screen-names of people I either don't talk to anymore, don't care to talk to anymore, ones that aren't functioning, those who freak me out, and the like.

I have less than half the screen-names that I started with.

Is this necessarily bad, lol?

The issue from yesterday has been resolved.  I feel free and at peace, like I've finally broken the surface after being held underwater for much too long.

Meet 'n' greet for Macbeth at 10:00 tomorrow.  I'm debating whether to get up in time for the sunrise.  This morning's was just too beautiful.  However, I would betray the teenage order by rising before I absolutely must.  Moral dilemmas abound....

Staying in tonight for some much-needed rest and relaxation.  I'm probably going to paint my nails and watch The Phantom of the Opera all the way through for the first time (that film has been bane and boon of my existence for nearly a year -- a story for another time).  An evening family-free..... How delightful.  If you feel like burning the gasoline and crossing time zones, don't hesitate to drop by.  Or call.  Or something.  Or we can go on a bank-robbing rampage like Bonnie and Clyde.  That's always fun.

Thanks everyone for the reassurance on the last post.  It means incredible amounts to me.  Fortunately, I have some good news to balance out the bad:

ANDY FORD CALLED!!  I'M A WEIRD SISTER, I'M A WEIRD SISTER, I'M A WEIRD SISTER!!!!!!!!!!  *Jubilation*  This rocks out.  I get to be Earthy-Provocative for three straight months.  Yessssssssss.  I wonder who was placed in the other roles.  Here's hoping that the girls I auditioned with are Sisters, too, because that would just rock out so incredibly hard.

I'm worried, though.  If they put Capricious Asexual Ariel in a leaf-bra and skirt, imagine what Earthy-Provocative Weird Sisters are going to be costumed in.  Strips of fake fur a la Raquel Welch Back In The Day??  It's something best not thought of right now, after dinner.    I can't even escape strips-o'-fur under the cloak of minor-dom anymore!  Crap....  *Starts doing sit-ups furiously*

Round about the cauldron go,
In the poison entrail throw:
Toad that under the cold stone
Days and nights has thirty-one.
Sweltered venom, sleeping got,
Boil thou first in the charmed pot!

Double, double, toil and trouble,
Fire burn and cauldron bubble!

I made a mistake.
A big mistake.
Something that will hurt someone -- a very good friend.
Oh, my God, I feel so awful.
I should have done something before, should have stopped it before it went any farther.
But.... I didn't.  I thought I could make it work.
Quite evidently, I both am and was wrong.
This is the closest to full disclosure I'll ever get online.

Suffice to say, Kelly's day has been far from ideal.  She has contemplated changing schools, changing her appearance to the point of being unrecognizable, even changing her citizenship on a national level (i.e. running away to France).  All will screw her over in the long term.

I'm not complaining.  They're my actions and I will take responsibility for them.  I have no other recourse, and any alternatives would fail miserably in the long run.  I'm merely venting my frustrations with -- who else -- myself, before the storm begins.

Wish me luck.  Pray for my grandfather, who is completely unrelated to the above paragraphs.  Jim Jeskey.  I would be very appreciative.

"Painting is a poetry that is seen and not heard, and poetry is a painting that is heard and not seen." -- Leonardo da Vinci

So CFTA auditions for Macbeth were last night.  The guy handing out forms was a self-rightous jerk.  The director admittedly scared me at first by going around in sunglasses inside at night (later discovered to be the fault of ocular issues).  And one of the women who read the three weird sisters' "double double" monologue had actually called the director's wife and found out he was looking for "earthy, provocative sisters."  So we were.... Earthy and provocative, I guess.  During Earthy Provocation, I realise that the last time most of these people saw me I was capricious, prepubescent, asexual Ariel.  Proceed to feel Earthy-Provocative-Awkward.  Then botch Lady Macbeth's monologue later.  But the whole thing was fun, quite good.  Well, the witch's scene royally rocked out, anyway.  Woohoo!

I need help.  Completely unrelated to the above paragraph.

I had a really weird dream about prom.  Like, REALLY weird.  Extra-weird.  Downright insane, even.  Combined with September 11 and coal mines.  Yeah, that weird.

.....................

I have "Baby One More Time" stuck in my head.

*Starts trying to slit wrists madly*

So yeah.  It snowed last night -- well, this morning, technically.  It was beautiful, really, to step outside the movie theatre, fully disappointed in human cruelty by Steven Spielberg's Munich, and you're bombarded with a gusting torrent of white winter flakes.  It was.... Wonderful, really.  I say "really" entirely too often.

Today was quite productive.  Yay!  We can pull this off, kids.

"'Tis better to have loved and lost,
than never have loved at all"
Was writ by this earth's only man
Who never loved at all.

But those who once mislaid their heart
And dearly felt its cost
Know all too well their preference
To forget love's labour lost.

Killing time while half the world is pep-rallying.  I lost the original version, si malheureusement, so this is.... Well.... The substitute version.

Anyways.  I really have nothing to say, aside from broadcasting my extreme boredom.  This will probably be subject to my words once again at lunch.  Blah.  Fie.

So I finally finished those blasted essays and submitted them to GWU.  I should be excited, but my stomach has instead turned leaden, and I'm basically just waiting for a letter of denial that I'm sure must come.  (Though if they do, I am STILL applying for semester transfer if relegated to MTSU.  Try to get rid of me so easily, will you?  Ah-haaaa, but look!  I can be annoying until you finally break and let me in!  Take that, O Foul Admissions Office!)

I've asked people to pray for dinky little roles in community theatre, for ailing family members, and I beseech you again to whisper a small appeal to your higher deity of choice that this works out.

So three people in European History got into a fight over a novel titled I, Lucifer.  Katy and I pretty well took out the owner of said book (sorry, Daniel), and as for the two of us.... Well.... Let's just say she has the book now.  *Shifty Eyes*  But this will change tomorrow, oh yes, this will change tomorrow.

"Wait, but that's my book!!"
"Irrelevent!!!!"

My French IV class is crazy.

Like, extra-crazy.

Like gang-up-on-Kelly-and-get-her-nominated-for-homecoming-queen-extra-crazy.

But strangely enough, they're really sweet, too.  You kids are lucky you have that going for you.  ;-)  :-P  I still maintain that it's Molly's in the bag, and nothing you can say will dissuade me from this fact.

Anyway.  We taught aerials in swing today -- well, an aerial.  The Cable Car (a.k.a. "Side-Side-Centre-Up-Whoops-Ceiling").  It went pretty well.  Mrs. Kennedy has returned from the great beyond, which is definitely excellent because now we can plan bake sale stuff for fundraising for our way-awesome dance in the spring.  I felt so lost without her.  It made me so unimaginably happy that the kids were just so excited to learn a move I love: the Swivel.  And it's not even a flashy stunt, or anything!  It's just pretty dang cute.  Swing Club will probably be the biggest thing I'm going to miss about high school.

I'm hungry.  GWU essays will be turned in by 11:00 tonight or I'm going to slit my wrists and resign myself to a life of burger-flipping.  Provided the aforementioned suicide attempt doesn't work, anyway.  That first sentence is apropo of absolutely nothing and has no bearing on the paragraph it begins.

I'm twisted.  Word to thy mother.

Pony Club meeting tonight.  Someone come save me.  If not, it's an evening of locking myself upstairs and hugging the computer monitor.  Do not condemn me to this fate -slash- go gently into that good night!  (Old age should burn and rave at close of day.  Rage, rage against the dying of the light.  Or the machine.  They're really not too picky.)

QUICK!  ART STUDENTS/THOSE WITH A REALLY GOOD EYE FOR COLOUR!!!!  What goes with pale yellow that doesn't make the combination too sugary??

So my essays for GWU are complete.  Not finished mind you, but complete.  I just have to trim the first one down and flatter them insanely, and inflate the diction on the second.  Again, still having a passionate love-hate relationship with the thesaurus.  Gracious, I want to attend GWU so badly.  I *heart* D.C.

Whenever I come close to finding It, I run away.

Yeah, so I'm seriously contemplating extensions.  Not a waist-length platinum carpet, mind you, but something that touches the collarbone, or a little longer.  They would be ideal because I lack the patience to grow my hair out.  The intervening stages are too painful; I know because I've been trying for years, but then promptly get fed up after about 4 months and rush back to the scissors, crying, "Save me!"  But no, a weave would be so much easier.  And fun.  Yay!

I talk about the most infernally *bleeping* superficial things on this site.
I'm ashamed.  College and hair extensions.  What a mess I am.

But I'm not much for airing my emotional laundry because it places undue burden on others in the form of Unwanted Drivel-ly Gripings Nobody Wants to Hear.  Because really, the world has enough of its own problems, and who I am to exacerbate the situation?  Children are dying from AIDS and malnutrition simultaneously, and here I am angsty because I'm perpetually single.  Such a paradox.  I could be a Mexican girl sold into sexual slavery instead of agonising over applications.  I could be the man standing by the freeway holding a sign begging for money -- one who actually needs it.  I could be undergoing the last wave of chemotherapy as doctors and nurses whisper increasingly short life expectancies.  I could have been Sohane, a French Muslim burned to death by her boyfriend's enemy, because of something irritating her boyfriend had done.  I could be a member of the lowest Hindu caste -- the Untouchables -- doomed to a life of squalor in every incarnation after this miserable one by the riverside.  I could be the veteran rotting in a nursing home as Alzheimer's wipes away final memories of the family who left him there fifteen years ago.  Who's to say it won't be me the next go-round?  Who's to say it won't be you?

QUICK!  ART STUDENTS/THOSE WITH A REALLY GOOD EYE FOR COLOUR!!!!  What goes with pale yellow that doesn't make the combination too sugary??

Let's have a big "Ooh-rah" for Kelly's timing skills.  Such mastery of the art is derived from the following transaction:

"So how's your girlfriend liking college?"
"....We broke up today."

*Pounds head on keyboard*

Garg, I woke up waaaaaay too late today.  I need something productive to do.

I won an eBay auction.  Makes me happy, because auctions of any sort tend to scare me.  Just when some chick from Denmark realised that to cross my path meant certain death, a buyer from D.C. tries to snipe the highest bid.  Biatch, I don't think so.  Mwaha.  It was intense.  "SEVENTEEN SECOND LEFT!  NOOOO!!"  But, of course, victoire was acheived.

Pretty sure I want to try out hair extensions.  They just look like so much fun.  I'm not talking waist-length platinum carpet stuff, but maybe collar-bone length or a little beyond that.  Hm.  Ponder.

I shall now proceed to make an attempt at productivity.

::EDIT::  Mid-way through production, I have cultivated a very passionate love-hate relationship with Roget's International Thesaurus.  The vast array/quantity/amount of options both amazes and delights me, but dernit if I'll ever stand up straight again or see without the aid of industrial-strength bifocals due to my perusal of this tome.  It even has synonyms for 'varicose veins.'  Amazing.  And kind of disturbing.  I wonder what they are.  ::/EDIT::