June 30, 2008
9:15 PM-ish- JSA class, listening to two minute speeches, including the one that I just made (and totally made up on the spot *phew*).
Not having had a chance to sit down and breathe for the past two and a half days, (mostly due to constant classes and meetings), it’s strange that my first true bit of free time is actually during class. (Don’t be mad, it’s just speeches and people seem really nervous.)
The Junior Statesmen of America is an incredibly busy program, I often find myself moving about like a bee in search for pollen under its queen’s orders. Weird, I know,. My schedule is (if I remember correctly) a little as follows:
8:30 AM- Civil Rights. Our main class with a Dr. La Tosha Bruce who’s voice is really, really soothing and Misty and Melissa, and I have a hard time staying awake due to lack of sleep. Each class, we plan out break time naps.
10:30 AM- Break time. Where Melissa, Misty and I decide that we’re not so tired after all and wander around, shopping for cupcakes, light bulbs, and shoes.
11:30 AM- Lunch. all woes are forgotten when food is introduced to the equation.
12:45 PM- Civil Rights. Back in class, we lament over our un-naps. Why didn’t we get more sleep? Why???
2:45 PM- Break Time. Once again, we are so not tired, let’s hang out on the grass and listen to the boy who plays guitar until one in the morning…
3:30 PM- LPS Class. Down to the deep dark bowels of the Yale auditorium for a public speech class- us and all 169 members of the JSA.
4:30 PM- Break time. We are so totally not tired… And then there’s more food…
7:00 PM- LPS class. Back in the dungeons Noora catches a bug on a spoon and tries to throw it on me. Later, she claims she was saving me from the wretched beast. I get los ton my first day and wind up in the wrong classroom, so Mr. Blueberry has to teach me how to write a speech.
10:00 PM- Floor meeting. Laura, our RA (Camp Counselor, basically) talks about her boyfriend, Juan Jose Martinez, and goes over JSA policy.
11:00 PM- Bed check. Laura and the rest of us write a speech for her to read to her beau in Spanish, to show off her mad skills. We giggle until one in the morning.
Hope you’ve enjoyed this rather well-structured account of a day in the life of a sleep deprived, far from home almost-college student. (Nah, I’m just kidding, I’m having lots of fun, but I still miss everyone!)
Love,
-Bianca
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Yale Diaries Part Two
June 28, 2009
6 AM-ish- Chicago (So they say)
Though I acknowledge that technically (according to my phone that just died from confusion) it is six in the morning here in Illinois, I have my doubts. First of all, it’s entirely too bright to be six in the morning- the sun doesn’t rise until I wake up- about nine on weekends- 7:30 when school’s in session. Second, I just left the airport in LA at eleven PM- one showing of Confession s of a Shopaholic does not take one from pre-midnight to ‘Up and at um.’ This simply does not happen in The Real World and since I spent my whole flight (the parts where I wasn’t watching confessions) trying- and failing- to wrap my head around time zones, I’ve decided that they are simply made up and only California time is truly real and can be trusted- everything else is The Twilight Zone with Edward Cullen and Espadrille shoes- beyond my comprehension.
Well, my flight was absolutely incredible! (I just refrained from writing the word awesome in all caps, Haha.) I managed to snag a window seat (Though this involves the story of a presumably empty seat and an unhappy-looking Hawaiian woman, I will refrain, for the greater good, from recounting it here.) though I wasn’t sure I actually wanted one. (It just seems the thing to do when one finds oneself on a plane.) Taking off was fast and noisy, but afterwards the city was just lights and tiny pinpricks of amber in seemingly random patterns and little black clouds floated under us like thinly stretched out cotton candy (in black licorice flavor, maybe) trying to block the view. After spending half an hour with my face pressed up against the glass like an idiot, thinking how like something out of a George Lucas film this was, I settled down, next to my perturbed Polynesian to watch Confessions of a Shopaholic. It was after the film when I realized that getting onto an airplane is almost exactly like being in a movie theater, only there’s a security check and when you leave you’re in a different place than where you started.
Love,
-Bianca
PS. Tia Nana called when I was still at LAX and the moment she began to speak, the Disney theme “When You Wish Upon a Star” came on via airport speakers. I told her that while I had always known she and Tia Bertha were magical, I had no idea that she could bring Disney’s essence with her over a phone call, to which she replied “Of course.”
6 AM-ish- Chicago (So they say)
Though I acknowledge that technically (according to my phone that just died from confusion) it is six in the morning here in Illinois, I have my doubts. First of all, it’s entirely too bright to be six in the morning- the sun doesn’t rise until I wake up- about nine on weekends- 7:30 when school’s in session. Second, I just left the airport in LA at eleven PM- one showing of Confession s of a Shopaholic does not take one from pre-midnight to ‘Up and at um.’ This simply does not happen in The Real World and since I spent my whole flight (the parts where I wasn’t watching confessions) trying- and failing- to wrap my head around time zones, I’ve decided that they are simply made up and only California time is truly real and can be trusted- everything else is The Twilight Zone with Edward Cullen and Espadrille shoes- beyond my comprehension.
Well, my flight was absolutely incredible! (I just refrained from writing the word awesome in all caps, Haha.) I managed to snag a window seat (Though this involves the story of a presumably empty seat and an unhappy-looking Hawaiian woman, I will refrain, for the greater good, from recounting it here.) though I wasn’t sure I actually wanted one. (It just seems the thing to do when one finds oneself on a plane.) Taking off was fast and noisy, but afterwards the city was just lights and tiny pinpricks of amber in seemingly random patterns and little black clouds floated under us like thinly stretched out cotton candy (in black licorice flavor, maybe) trying to block the view. After spending half an hour with my face pressed up against the glass like an idiot, thinking how like something out of a George Lucas film this was, I settled down, next to my perturbed Polynesian to watch Confessions of a Shopaholic. It was after the film when I realized that getting onto an airplane is almost exactly like being in a movie theater, only there’s a security check and when you leave you’re in a different place than where you started.
Love,
-Bianca
PS. Tia Nana called when I was still at LAX and the moment she began to speak, the Disney theme “When You Wish Upon a Star” came on via airport speakers. I told her that while I had always known she and Tia Bertha were magical, I had no idea that she could bring Disney’s essence with her over a phone call, to which she replied “Of course.”
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Yale Diaries Part One
July 1, 2009
1:03 AM- Yale: G-31: My Desk, The Cupboard Under the Stairs
Hi everyone!!! So, this is the first official entry to the Yale Diaries, even though it’s from Saturday night and it is now early, early Wednesday morning as I post this. I originally wrote these down in my notepad, thinking I’d have a chance to type them out/send them all later, however, the JSA program has different plans. Though I have made many new friends (most of them my amazing roommates) and am loving (more or less) my classes- the actual schedule of the program has something against its students remaining healthy, functional people. There is no water, except at the cafeteria and it is SO HOT HERE!!! Haha. Then there’s the actual schedule which has you up by seven and the very earliest you can get to sleep is at eleven thirty-ish (Because out RA, she’s like a camp counselor, Laura, is nice, but she makes it a point to never stop talking at bed checks. She is the only person in the whole world that subtle hints followed by glaring doesn’t work on (I’m seriously kidding about the glaring).
My point is that I’m having a lot of fun, I’m really tired (It’s one AM here), and I miss EVERYONE so very, very much. I love you all, and I wish you were here with me or I could magically transport myself to California every night like Dorothy with her magic red slippers. :D
I’ll type out/send the next blog as soon as I can, I’ll try really hard to make time tomorrow, and to actually write about life here at Yale (It’s like its own town! Seriously! Oh my goodness….). I miss you and love you and can’t wait to see you. Honestly.
Love,
-Bianca
June 27, 2009
9:30 PM- Los Angeles Airport
Never having actually been in an airport of any kind before, you can imagine my surprise when I found them not to be magical places filled with wonder, but rather huge, frightening masses of building materials; generic gray carpet with red flecks, and acres of gleaming white tiled walls. The place, as I somehow managed not to notice in my intensive ignorance- is absolutely huge- ad filled with people. Thousands of people, scurrying this way and that, consuming, sipping at coffees while reading science fiction novels three inches thick while juggling small children to keep them from screaming at their unfortunate situations. People lay across the big, black chairs formed in rows like a movie theater. They munch on snacks and sniffle to themselves a little.
You have to understand that every one of these people is in the same position you are: everyone’s leaving, everyone’s going somewhere, whether it’s back to the homeland or someplace totally new and different. Everyone here is susceptible to some kind of anxiety- and the epic, sorrowful instrumental music certainly isn’t helping anything. Though I expected the various, upbeat forms of Frank Sinatra’s Come Fly With Me the airline seemed to be going for a tear-shedding rather than smiling experience.
All in all, I think that this went fairly smoothly, incredibly so for me. I got through security (which, despite the name of the airport, is far from lax) without being asked to leave or giggling nervously. I managed not to hold up any lines for more than five seconds and make it to the general area of my terminal without assistance (A nice woman who worked for the airport had to lead me to gate 74 after that, but I really did have the general idea) and I even got through everything without talking to strangers (As both Tia’s Bertha, Nana, Minnie, Gina, as well as my mother, warned me about). At first, I was surrounded by parents bearing more or less excited children, but now they’ve been replaced with the sullen teens and average Joe types. Despite the fact that my phone has enough battery for maybe two calls before it looses it’s life completely, I’ve not been able to resist the urge to text and call nearly everyone who I know is still awake and just when I finally put my foot down and bade everyone a good night, more began to call me back. I suppose there’s always payphones…
PS. The ground beneath me is shaking, at first I thought it was my knees trembling from holding up my laptop, set upon my smallish backpack, but then I remembered that I am at an airport and planes are huge…
1:03 AM- Yale: G-31: My Desk, The Cupboard Under the Stairs
Hi everyone!!! So, this is the first official entry to the Yale Diaries, even though it’s from Saturday night and it is now early, early Wednesday morning as I post this. I originally wrote these down in my notepad, thinking I’d have a chance to type them out/send them all later, however, the JSA program has different plans. Though I have made many new friends (most of them my amazing roommates) and am loving (more or less) my classes- the actual schedule of the program has something against its students remaining healthy, functional people. There is no water, except at the cafeteria and it is SO HOT HERE!!! Haha. Then there’s the actual schedule which has you up by seven and the very earliest you can get to sleep is at eleven thirty-ish (Because out RA, she’s like a camp counselor, Laura, is nice, but she makes it a point to never stop talking at bed checks. She is the only person in the whole world that subtle hints followed by glaring doesn’t work on (I’m seriously kidding about the glaring).
My point is that I’m having a lot of fun, I’m really tired (It’s one AM here), and I miss EVERYONE so very, very much. I love you all, and I wish you were here with me or I could magically transport myself to California every night like Dorothy with her magic red slippers. :D
I’ll type out/send the next blog as soon as I can, I’ll try really hard to make time tomorrow, and to actually write about life here at Yale (It’s like its own town! Seriously! Oh my goodness….). I miss you and love you and can’t wait to see you. Honestly.
Love,
-Bianca
June 27, 2009
9:30 PM- Los Angeles Airport
Never having actually been in an airport of any kind before, you can imagine my surprise when I found them not to be magical places filled with wonder, but rather huge, frightening masses of building materials; generic gray carpet with red flecks, and acres of gleaming white tiled walls. The place, as I somehow managed not to notice in my intensive ignorance- is absolutely huge- ad filled with people. Thousands of people, scurrying this way and that, consuming, sipping at coffees while reading science fiction novels three inches thick while juggling small children to keep them from screaming at their unfortunate situations. People lay across the big, black chairs formed in rows like a movie theater. They munch on snacks and sniffle to themselves a little.
You have to understand that every one of these people is in the same position you are: everyone’s leaving, everyone’s going somewhere, whether it’s back to the homeland or someplace totally new and different. Everyone here is susceptible to some kind of anxiety- and the epic, sorrowful instrumental music certainly isn’t helping anything. Though I expected the various, upbeat forms of Frank Sinatra’s Come Fly With Me the airline seemed to be going for a tear-shedding rather than smiling experience.
All in all, I think that this went fairly smoothly, incredibly so for me. I got through security (which, despite the name of the airport, is far from lax) without being asked to leave or giggling nervously. I managed not to hold up any lines for more than five seconds and make it to the general area of my terminal without assistance (A nice woman who worked for the airport had to lead me to gate 74 after that, but I really did have the general idea) and I even got through everything without talking to strangers (As both Tia’s Bertha, Nana, Minnie, Gina, as well as my mother, warned me about). At first, I was surrounded by parents bearing more or less excited children, but now they’ve been replaced with the sullen teens and average Joe types. Despite the fact that my phone has enough battery for maybe two calls before it looses it’s life completely, I’ve not been able to resist the urge to text and call nearly everyone who I know is still awake and just when I finally put my foot down and bade everyone a good night, more began to call me back. I suppose there’s always payphones…
PS. The ground beneath me is shaking, at first I thought it was my knees trembling from holding up my laptop, set upon my smallish backpack, but then I remembered that I am at an airport and planes are huge…
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Sedaris
Last night I spent four hours waiting in a line of well-read, dry-humored people, fending my ever-impatient mother off by either telling her that it would only be ten minutes more or that I would owe her a kidney should she ever need one. She agreed at the end of the night, as we tried to find our way home from deep in the heart of Los Angeles at 11:36, that, yes, I would definitely owe her a kidney.
As I waited, I spoke with many brilliant and equally interesting people. One older woman talked to me about her own troubles with learning French (Like Sedaris) as she had bought a house in France in the first hour that she had arrived in the country with her husband. I thought this was a little Diane Laine but said nothing but "Wow."
David Sedaris, in hopes of keeping his fans pleased, I imagine, read essays and then passages from his own diary. Many were about Breast Milk- the theme of his tour, as he told us- all were hysterical.
"Ladies," He read from his diary in a passage about a fake Weight Watchers meeting, "You cannot tell me that you've never turned your own breast milk into butter and then slathered that butter on fudge and pressed pecans into it, because I know you have. If you denied that, you wouldn't be just big and fat, you'd be big, fat liars." The crowd nearly wet their pants.
When I finally got up to see David Sedaris, right after I a rousing discussion with Sedaris' publicist's assistant (sweet lady) about changing my name to Bianc-O thanks to the odd way that the man who wrote out my name for Sedaris makes his A's, he turned out to be (despite some awful things that he writes about himself in his books, that we all secretly enjoy) an incredibly sweet, humble, hungry man. And funny. But that goes without saying.
I had just made a new friend, Vanessa, (Or Vaness-O, depending on who you ask) and she agreed to go up and talk to David with me, so neither of us would have to be alone. David Sedaris snatched up my books (In an completely non-rude way, of course) and began to doodle a turtle with Abraham Lincoln's face (or an Abraham Lincoln with a turtle body, depending on how one looks at it, I suppose) in my copy of When You Are Engulfed In Flames. At the same time, he aptly stuffed lettuce leaves in his mouth from his delicious looking (I hadn't eaten since lunch and lunch had been watermelon and popcorn) salad. He looked at me apologetically when I said hello, because of his current speech incapabilities.
"Don't worry," I said, "I'm glad to see you're eating, we worry, sometimes, about whether famous people get enough to eat." I was speaking for Vanessa and myself.
"You worry about me?" Asked David Sedaris through a mouthful of leaves (his mouth closed, of course, making his voice sound muffled but sentimental).
"Yes, of course," I said, "Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and think to myself 'I hope David Sedaris got enough to eat today'."
He dismissed my made-up-on-the-spot fears by telling Vanessa and I just how much he ate when he was on tour, and how much he gained at these times. "When Hugh and I go back to Normandy," he confided, "I call it camp Pugslington."
After a few moments of discussion about the cat he had drawn in Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim ("It's a cat that got in a fight." He declared quite seriously, to which I replied, jokingly, of course, "Sometimes I wish my cat could get in a fight and not make it out alive.") I finally pounced on my last chance to ask him my main question, the one I had mulled over for hours.
"Are you still afraid?" I asked. "Of the zombies? I'm terrified every time I pass a graveyard, are you still afraid of them?"
"I think about them all the time."
As I waited, I spoke with many brilliant and equally interesting people. One older woman talked to me about her own troubles with learning French (Like Sedaris) as she had bought a house in France in the first hour that she had arrived in the country with her husband. I thought this was a little Diane Laine but said nothing but "Wow."
David Sedaris, in hopes of keeping his fans pleased, I imagine, read essays and then passages from his own diary. Many were about Breast Milk- the theme of his tour, as he told us- all were hysterical.
"Ladies," He read from his diary in a passage about a fake Weight Watchers meeting, "You cannot tell me that you've never turned your own breast milk into butter and then slathered that butter on fudge and pressed pecans into it, because I know you have. If you denied that, you wouldn't be just big and fat, you'd be big, fat liars." The crowd nearly wet their pants.
When I finally got up to see David Sedaris, right after I a rousing discussion with Sedaris' publicist's assistant (sweet lady) about changing my name to Bianc-O thanks to the odd way that the man who wrote out my name for Sedaris makes his A's, he turned out to be (despite some awful things that he writes about himself in his books, that we all secretly enjoy) an incredibly sweet, humble, hungry man. And funny. But that goes without saying.
I had just made a new friend, Vanessa, (Or Vaness-O, depending on who you ask) and she agreed to go up and talk to David with me, so neither of us would have to be alone. David Sedaris snatched up my books (In an completely non-rude way, of course) and began to doodle a turtle with Abraham Lincoln's face (or an Abraham Lincoln with a turtle body, depending on how one looks at it, I suppose) in my copy of When You Are Engulfed In Flames. At the same time, he aptly stuffed lettuce leaves in his mouth from his delicious looking (I hadn't eaten since lunch and lunch had been watermelon and popcorn) salad. He looked at me apologetically when I said hello, because of his current speech incapabilities.
"Don't worry," I said, "I'm glad to see you're eating, we worry, sometimes, about whether famous people get enough to eat." I was speaking for Vanessa and myself.
"You worry about me?" Asked David Sedaris through a mouthful of leaves (his mouth closed, of course, making his voice sound muffled but sentimental).
"Yes, of course," I said, "Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and think to myself 'I hope David Sedaris got enough to eat today'."
He dismissed my made-up-on-the-spot fears by telling Vanessa and I just how much he ate when he was on tour, and how much he gained at these times. "When Hugh and I go back to Normandy," he confided, "I call it camp Pugslington."
After a few moments of discussion about the cat he had drawn in Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim ("It's a cat that got in a fight." He declared quite seriously, to which I replied, jokingly, of course, "Sometimes I wish my cat could get in a fight and not make it out alive.") I finally pounced on my last chance to ask him my main question, the one I had mulled over for hours.
"Are you still afraid?" I asked. "Of the zombies? I'm terrified every time I pass a graveyard, are you still afraid of them?"
"I think about them all the time."
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Stupid, Stiupid, STOOpid.
OMGoodness.
FML.
*Notice the font has gone from bright blue to a deep, wilting flower purple (That matches the color of Kiss Of Life) to reflect my crappy mood.*
I felt like crap.
And then I went to the store. Where there's a meat market. Where a particularly cute guy works. Who I've been waiting to talk to forever. Named David.
And I talked to him. And my MOM was there.
And it was my fault.
And I acted like a total idiot!
Mom: *Points to pickled pork skins* Those are those pickled pork skins!
Me: Ewwwwww *shudders cutely for David*
Mom: Grandpa used to buy those.
Me: AND EAT them?! *this is real disgust, folks*
Mom: YES.
David: Did you want to try them?
Me: NO, thankyou. *cute grossed out face*
David chuckles.
Me: You've gotta have guts to down those, I think.... Have you ever tried them?
David: Nah, I'm a really picky eater, so I don't eat stuff like that. I'm like really picky so all my food costs a lot.
Mom: Yeah, like lobster?
Him: Yeah, and like filet mingnon and stuff, but mostly I like red meat.
Me: ME TOO! *yum*
Mom: *rolls eyes*
Me: It's good for your SOUL~
Him: Yeah, I mena like last night I made myself some steak and homemade mashed potatoes.
Me is awed.
AND THIS IS WHERE I START TO HATE ME.
Me: Maybe you cna come over and make *me* dinner. FAKE HAHAS. I can bring soda.
I CAN BRING SODA??????????????!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!
*bangs head against Horton who is talking to Whos.*
SODA?!!?!
I'M SO STUPID!
I sold out and acted like a stupid girl- in front of my mother, no less, who will tell everyone what a STOOPID girl I am.
MY SHAME IS NEVER-ENDING.
...
And I just... I don't know... I'm all out of whack again and I don't know why and I keep having these weird... mood swing things... and Ivan tried to talk to me and I got all freaked out and weird and I don't even know why.
I just really hate it.
And I felt all alone today and I don't even know how.
And I feel like crap.
And I just want to dream about Sweets again so I can feel better again.
.... I don't want want to make it, I just want...
... I don't know what I want.
FML.
*Notice the font has gone from bright blue to a deep, wilting flower purple (That matches the color of Kiss Of Life) to reflect my crappy mood.*
I felt like crap.
And then I went to the store. Where there's a meat market. Where a particularly cute guy works. Who I've been waiting to talk to forever. Named David.
And I talked to him. And my MOM was there.
And it was my fault.
And I acted like a total idiot!
Mom: *Points to pickled pork skins* Those are those pickled pork skins!
Me: Ewwwwww *shudders cutely for David*
Mom: Grandpa used to buy those.
Me: AND EAT them?! *this is real disgust, folks*
Mom: YES.
David: Did you want to try them?
Me: NO, thankyou. *cute grossed out face*
David chuckles.
Me: You've gotta have guts to down those, I think.... Have you ever tried them?
David: Nah, I'm a really picky eater, so I don't eat stuff like that. I'm like really picky so all my food costs a lot.
Mom: Yeah, like lobster?
Him: Yeah, and like filet mingnon and stuff, but mostly I like red meat.
Me: ME TOO! *yum*
Mom: *rolls eyes*
Me: It's good for your SOUL~
Him: Yeah, I mena like last night I made myself some steak and homemade mashed potatoes.
Me is awed.
AND THIS IS WHERE I START TO HATE ME.
Me: Maybe you cna come over and make *me* dinner. FAKE HAHAS. I can bring soda.
I CAN BRING SODA??????????????!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!
*bangs head against Horton who is talking to Whos.*
SODA?!!?!
I'M SO STUPID!
I sold out and acted like a stupid girl- in front of my mother, no less, who will tell everyone what a STOOPID girl I am.
MY SHAME IS NEVER-ENDING.
...
And I just... I don't know... I'm all out of whack again and I don't know why and I keep having these weird... mood swing things... and Ivan tried to talk to me and I got all freaked out and weird and I don't even know why.
I just really hate it.
And I felt all alone today and I don't even know how.
And I feel like crap.
And I just want to dream about Sweets again so I can feel better again.
.... I don't want want to make it, I just want...
... I don't know what I want.
Zombies! DMV! Exclamation Points!
Bet you don't see that too often! LoL
quick bloggy-blog:
Went to the DMV today and was extra-special-super-excited because I couldn't help it and I'm really jazzed about getting my ID! (I'm no longer an invalid when it arrives in ten to fifteen business days!)
SO yeah, hope my picture was good, I tried to do the good smile, not the dumb one, and I vaguely remember straightening mah shoulders! Yeah!
Oh oh oh!!! Gen Dead II: Kiss Of Life, FINALLY came yesterday, so I'm reading it a lot because this weeks STAR testing, which is GREAT! Because we have like two blocks of testing and then tons of breaks and snacks and we just hang out. But today was MATH and I proved how dumb I am by checking "C" for every other one... Gah. And I forgot how to complete the square AND do logarithms AND exponent-ey problems. Gah!
Oh well, I mood swing-ed again for the first time in a few weeks, but since it went from sad to happy, I'm gonna let it slip... maybe I'll dream about Sweets from Bones again :D That solved my problems last time.
OMG- DANIEL WATERS! If you're reading this:
Though your first book was insightful, mind-blowing and ten thousand more superlatives that I don't even know right now- Kiss of Life is absolutely, positively speechless! I'm speechless, the way you wrote Adam's point of view is... astounding. I've officially run out of superlatives for you, Dan and just know that I love you (your writing, I know that sounds creepy, sorry) your concepts, everything and I've become a walking advertisement for you. Just know that. :D
Kay kay, loves, this is it. Remember: If you were a zombie- I'd still be your friend. :D
Now I have to go do homework... :D
Love,
-Bianca!
quick bloggy-blog:
Went to the DMV today and was extra-special-super-excited because I couldn't help it and I'm really jazzed about getting my ID! (I'm no longer an invalid when it arrives in ten to fifteen business days!)
SO yeah, hope my picture was good, I tried to do the good smile, not the dumb one, and I vaguely remember straightening mah shoulders! Yeah!
Oh oh oh!!! Gen Dead II: Kiss Of Life, FINALLY came yesterday, so I'm reading it a lot because this weeks STAR testing, which is GREAT! Because we have like two blocks of testing and then tons of breaks and snacks and we just hang out. But today was MATH and I proved how dumb I am by checking "C" for every other one... Gah. And I forgot how to complete the square AND do logarithms AND exponent-ey problems. Gah!
Oh well, I mood swing-ed again for the first time in a few weeks, but since it went from sad to happy, I'm gonna let it slip... maybe I'll dream about Sweets from Bones again :D That solved my problems last time.
OMG- DANIEL WATERS! If you're reading this:
Though your first book was insightful, mind-blowing and ten thousand more superlatives that I don't even know right now- Kiss of Life is absolutely, positively speechless! I'm speechless, the way you wrote Adam's point of view is... astounding. I've officially run out of superlatives for you, Dan and just know that I love you (your writing, I know that sounds creepy, sorry) your concepts, everything and I've become a walking advertisement for you. Just know that. :D
Kay kay, loves, this is it. Remember: If you were a zombie- I'd still be your friend. :D
Now I have to go do homework... :D
Love,
-Bianca!
Friday, May 1, 2009
Brain Shrinking
Wow.
So I had a pretty crappy week before/after the whole birthday- 17- thing. And like. I was having these super weird mood swings- like 8;00 happy, 11:00 Suicidal (exaggeration), 3:00 ecstatic. And then I had a dream.
About Sweets. From Bones. (Didn't realize how hot he was until he revealed his abuse!)
And We chatted like he was my therapist. And he taught me a magic trick. The End.
And I'm better now. LoL.
And I just came back from Boca's- for my birthday that everybody forgot- and I got a camera. And money. SO I begged mommy to take me to B&N so I could spend the money- ON MY MARVEL BAG!!!
YEAH!
Things are better.
(Also I bought like $40 worth of stuff.... plus five. LoL)
Love,
-Bee!- wildered/dazzled.
PS. "William dahling could you pass the caviar?"
So I had a pretty crappy week before/after the whole birthday- 17- thing. And like. I was having these super weird mood swings- like 8;00 happy, 11:00 Suicidal (exaggeration), 3:00 ecstatic. And then I had a dream.
About Sweets. From Bones. (Didn't realize how hot he was until he revealed his abuse!)
And We chatted like he was my therapist. And he taught me a magic trick. The End.
And I'm better now. LoL.
And I just came back from Boca's- for my birthday that everybody forgot- and I got a camera. And money. SO I begged mommy to take me to B&N so I could spend the money- ON MY MARVEL BAG!!!
YEAH!
Things are better.
(Also I bought like $40 worth of stuff.... plus five. LoL)
Love,
-Bee!- wildered/dazzled.
PS. "William dahling could you pass the caviar?"
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