But I Chose Freedom

So here I am on a Sunday afternoon, head still reeling from the night before, stomach still hollow. Perhaps I should eat an orange. Sometimes I like seclusion- I love the freedom of doing whatever I desire to do. Sometimes it's cleaning, other times it's taking a bath, surfing the Internet, playing dress up. Tonight I was aimlessly wandering through my seemingly endless Internet bookmarks and I came upon a site that I had forgotten about. Likealittle.com is so interesting...it's voyeuristic and sort of creepy, but intriguing in what anonymous people will say about others without the repercussions of identity. As I was scanning through people's posts, I saw one that made me pause. It was a girl, asking the men of my university what kind of girl is their "type". She asked of body type, what their type of look was, and even the hair color they prefer on girls. I found this question to be completely interesting.  I suppose it is interesting what guys think about women, but I don't think girls understand that different men like different kinds of girls. If every man loved the whole Megan Fox aesthetic (and many do, I'll admit) then some of them might not think that Lady Gaga is a total babe (she is). I just didn't understand why in the world this girl was wondering what guys like, so she could presumably change something about herself to better please the y-chromosome. Didn't she understand that she is completely beautiful, gorgeously unique, and probably a bombshell in her own right? It drives me crazy that these perfectly lovely girls don't recognize their own beauty, something that stares out at them from the mirror every day.
I'm bored of the girls who gripe about their insecurities when there are plenty of people in the world who have real problems. I feel bad for them, but it's hard to sympathize too much. See, girls are told by everyone that they are beautiful: their parents, their families, their girlfriends, the boys who fawn over them. They either just choose to not believe it or are looking for attention by moaning about their supposed flaws and deficiencies just to be told they are gorgeous (which is a form of insecurity in it's own form). I'm bored of it. And while I have days when I don't feel like a babe, a bombshell- days I refuse to have my picture taken on- I still don't let it affect how I feel about myself. I still toss my hair to my shoulder, slink my way down the sidewalk, whisper sweet nothings coyly in my friends' ears. I just look in the mirror a little less.

Lost Between Jesus and Suicide

The way people write and how they are in real life are completely different.
Written words don't convey inflection or tone, therefor bypassing some pretty vital aspects of this whole communication thing. Fuck. I've been uninspired for the longest time with my writing. And they say what you should do when you're uninspired is to do something dangerous. Do something that makes you scared, that's outside your comfort zone. All I've been wanting to do lately is drink. And drink. And sleep. I'm just ignoring this life of mine and completely frittering away hours and hours of time that could better be used for learning, for creation, for self-revelation. It doesn't usually bother me, because I feel like my brain is only being used half-assed anyway. I don't do a lot of critical thinking, I suppose. The most I need to think is to wonder if cold cream will clog my pores, or if using baby lotion makes me smell too much like a baby. Whether I should get Smirnoff Passionfruit or Watermelon.
I realize I sound stupid. I probably am.
I need to find something dangerous to do. Something to kick-start me, get me off my ass and start living. Having things to talk about, having adventures to write about. I don't even know where to start.
This annoys me.
I need a change.

I Am

I am going to be 19 in a couple months.
I am a female.
I've been to Boston and New York
And lots of other places.
I've been camping with my friends,
And road trips with my family.
I have some of the best friends
And I think I'll keep making more.
I have acted onstage...although I only ever got one line
I know how to play the clarinet.
And I used to love to play around on our organ.
I dance, but I'm not a dancer...Modern dance and clogging for years.
I've tried coloring my hair, but somehow it always go back to red.
I guess the German stubborness even goes to my roots.
I'm 25% French, and I wish I could speak it.
I took Spanish lessons for years, and only remember "hola" and "adios"
Flying by myself was one of the most exciting things.
When I look back, I should have been terrified during it.
I've jumped off a 40ft cliff.
I was not scared until I stepped off the edge.
Shots scare me, but the prospect of dying does not.
I'm in college, and I like it so far.
I was homeschooled most of my life, and instead of being isolated, I made some of my best friends.
I hate being called shy. I view myself as quiet, but not afraid to talk.
I have been in love.
But only once (sorry to the other guys)
I went on my first diet when I was about 9.
I didn't need to diet or lose weight, but I thought I did
I strictly regulated what I ate until about a year ago, and I'm not happy with the changes.
Apple juice is my favorite beverage, iceberg lettuce one of my favorite dinners.
I drink a lot of water too.
I sort of fall in love with some aspect of everyone...the way they smile, their eyes, something.
Sometimes I just need to be alone
And other times I just need to be around people.
I love the rain, I love breezy Summer days.
This is me.
And it's only a small part of me.
There is a lot more.

Rejection, Lies, and Love

Writing drunk, listening to angry mad music, and thinking about love. I'll bet you're just shocked. Love again. Here we go.
I just had a epiphany. People are always complaining about love: how they can't get it, how theirs go unrequited, blah blah blah. But what people don't seem to realize is how love is right in front of them (sometimes known, sometimes not) and they just decide to reject it. Sure, sometimes you're just not attracted, but the point is that it's right there in front of you, and you are just choosing to ignore it, to reject it. Maybe you don't like how they look, how they act. That's not the point. Even if no one is in love with you at the moment, I'll bet anything that someone has admired you, pursued you at some point, and you were not interested. If you are not loved right now, it's your own fault. Sound calloused? Maybe. But sometimes honesty does.
So don't bitch and moan about how you can't get any love. You probably have. You just chose not to accept it, so it's your fault. They tried, you rejected. No one's fault but your own. Maybe you would be in a relationship, albeit an unhappy one, but hell, you would be loved.
Fuck this shit.
I'm going to go to bed. It's almost 4:00am, and I'm drunk alone.
If you take anything from this....
You are loved, by someone, something.
Let it in, or don't (but don't bitch about it)

Cannot Spare Another Tear From My Eye

Here I sit on a Sunday afternoon, head and stomach still reeling from the night before. I woke up at 8 this morning, in a panic that I overslept (my phone charger was lost somewhere last night), and stumbled, still drunk, to my friend's apartment downstairs from mine. I'm not proud of my last night, and I'm not really proud of my today either.
I just feel that somedays, everything needs to slow down a little bit and I need to just breathe for a while and be calm inside.  Sometimes it's difficult, isn't it?
I just realized that this post isn't really going anywhere, and I guess that's ok. I'll make my own rules for this little slice of my life that I have complete and utter control of.
I'm not depressed. Well no more then usual.
Blah. I need a change.

Who is Using Who?

I realize that I tend to talk about love, lose of love, yearning of love a lot...my only posts on this blog have been related to such matters. And I'm not saying that love doesn't matter-indeed, love is perhaps the most important feeling, the most important Being that there is. But I'm making a resolution as of today, and that resolution is this: I will find love in places where I do not need, nor expect return of it. I think this is my most ambitious resolution, albeit perhaps it is poorly expressed. Let me be a little more clear, and explain this a little more.
I'm going to find love around me, in places and objects, thoughts and notions. I've always had this tendency to love everyone (and this has caused many a heartbreak and disappointment) but I'm really going to start embracing it. I'm going to live a life lush with love. I'm going to love my physical self, love my soul, say only words that are said with love, respect everyone.  I'm not going to expect anything from this. But maybe I'll be a little more free. Isn't it silly, I have this little idea that I have been bound, been heavy with these chains that are called Love and HeartBreak. I've begun to think they are synonymous with each other. But how can I turn these chains into wings, something that is uplifting and airy.
And here I am, talking about love again.
What a sap.

My Heart is a Lonely Wanderer

Somehow I can't help myself from writing up this psycho-analysis bullshit. Seriously, I turn into an angst-filled twelve-year old with the emotional capacity of a teaspoon. It's pathetic. Fuck. Maybe I should just stop here.
I don't really know what I'm doing wrong, I guess. Well, maybe I do, but I just don't want to believe it. See, when my girl friends and I go to parties, I always end up kissing the boys I shouldn't (one of my brother's closest friends/roommate, for example). I'm the girl in the corner with the boy, making eyes, saying sexy things, letting my lips linger and stray along my teeth. I give off the vibe of a sexual, hungry animal (or so my friends say). Last Saturday was different though. As I was walking to my friends place to hang out before we went out, I passed by the house where this guy I was really into last year lives now. I was in love with this boy (even though we never "dated", just spent every day together and made out and so on) and he broke my heart. I walked past his house, and just as I get to the point of a little before the door, the door opens. Out bounces his new girl, and he comes out too. It was dark, and far enough a way that I'm not sure he could tell if it was me or not. I'm pretty sure he recognized me though, because he just stared at me. I walked on, knowing full well that my butt (the butt he so loved and lavished adoring comments about) looked amazing in my pants. I wonder if he looked at my butt.
By the time I got to my friends, I was pretty depressed, and I spilled my guts, like a pathetic heartbroken, weak girl does. They resolved to me drunk, and I obliged.  We went out, to an apartment to hang out and then we went to a party. I was pretty unaware of my surroundings, but somehow I ended up kissing a boy. I'm not talking about makeout, sloppy, drunk party kisses. I'm talking about sweet kisses, along my neck sometimes, his hands always respectably on my waist or cradling my face. No grabbing my butt, no trying to unzip my pants, nothing. Just...kissing. And I haven't done that for a while. I was so perplexed, I even whispered to him that I wasn't going home with him, that he could "find another girl" to take home. And he said no. He said it was fine, and that he wasn't going to leave.  And he kissed me again.
My friends left, and I was still there, kissing this boy. He called a friend, who drove us to our homes. I gave him my number. He has not text or called.
I shouldn't think that because something is different that it is special. I shouldn't get used to the feeling of worth that I get by just kissing. I should not expect anything.
But I do. And it frustrates me, and it's infuriating, and it hurts me. Why do I care so much about one guy, whose name I don't even remember, but whose lips brushed mine so gently and kindly that I would do anything to have been a little more together, so I could have been a little different, so that maybe, just maybe, he would text or call that different, slightly more put-together girl.
I don't even know his name.