I Love You, White Fluff

Snow is magic.

Not because I like it. In fact, I rather dislike it.

But because there is not a single other element of nature that can get high schoolers quite so giddy in such a short amount of time.

My neighbor got sentenced to shoveling the driveway because her excitement level of screaming and running around the house exceeded her family's tolerance level.

What did I tell you? Magic.

Wow, Blogger. You're Smart.

So I was looking at the page design editor.

And in the preview that they have to show you what your blog post will look like, they have this.

Lorem ipsum vim ut utroque mandamus intellegebat, ut eam omittam ancillae sadipscing, per et eius soluta veritus.


I put it in Google translate. It means: 


This force, that we command both observing that, in order that she say nothing ofsadipscing handmaid, and then give us his loosed the truth.


Blogger is smart.

R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

Some actors are great on-screen, but not in real life. Some are very admirable people, but not so much as actors. But my favorites are the ones who are great on the screen, and then turn around and are just as great in their everyday life.

"I admire actors and artists who devote just as much time to their life as they do to their work."

Perfect quote by Jake Gyllenhaal. Who, by the way, is one of those few individuals that I have that level of respect for. He is a fabulous actor, and though regrettably I haven't seen him in much, he commands the screen, and may I say he's not unpleasant to look at either.

I saw this on facebook this morning and it just made a little smile creep onto my face. Ashton Kutcher is another one of my favorites, and it's a video of him and his step-daughter. They were just messing around and wrote a song and decided to share it. And even though that's tiny, it seemed to me such a character-boosting occurrence.

Acting is nothing less than a demanding career, and many of the people who enter into it end up getting so swept up into the world of it all that they turn into workaholic zombies who care for nothing but publicity.

Which is why whenever I see an actor or actress with a normal, loving marriage, or a family of their own, or anything else that shows they are devoted to their life as well as they work, they become just that much more revered in my mind.

Take Eric Bana, for instance. He's an amazing actor, and yet, instead of giving all of his time to movies, he opts to stay in Australia with his family for up to a year or two at a time.

In such a demanding industry, the existence of people who can balance their work life and their home life in such a way as to keep their decency as a human being without being any less of a contribution to their industry is incredibly freeing and reassuring.

Nicole Kidman is happily married. Sandra Bullock has adopted children. Even Brad and Angelina are a cute little family, despite their common appearances in the limelight. I mean, did you see them at the Golden Globes? Adorable.

Unfortunately, though, they are rare jewels in the movie world.

Don't even get me started on the assholes.

Well That Was Awkward.

I smile a lot when I'm watching movies.

It doesn't matter if it's happy and funny, or if somebody is sitting in their car after escaping the police and yelling about how they don't even know who they are (ahem Jason Bourne. Ahem).

I also love to watch movies at the gym.

Oh man, that was so awesome. That mothafucka didn't know WHAT was coming! Awww yeeah! Oh. Eff. I'm smiling again. Heeeey....

The person on the machine next to you is always looking but pretending they're not, like they're trying to figure out if you're doing something funny or if you're just crazy.

Keep on treading, bub. Nothing to see here.

I Should Be a Doctor

I will practice in psychological illnesses.

All of my prescriptions will involve some form of entertainment.

Because I decided tonight that there is no manner of foul mood that can not be cured by my Xbox or television.

And, due to my recent fondness for lists, I will now compose a list of my self-prescribed treatments so that when I really need one and can't remember for the life of me what it is, I will ingeniously have carved it forever into cyberspace.

Really sick of dealing with people and just want to kill shit: Assassin's Creed. Hidden blade assassination = YES.

Slightly upset with my lack of importance in the grand scheme of things: Halo. Because nobody can feel insignificant when they're single-handedly destroying an entire Covenant fleet. Especially when they're a Spartan.

Depressed at the state of the world: Fable. Because in that world, you really can fix any problem with money. Money, and maybe a diet of fewer mince-meat pies.

Needing reinforcement at how well I would do in a zombie apocalypse that may or may not be occurring in 2012 (leaning toward the latter): Left 4 Dead. Shotgun, bitch.

Distressing at the fact that I have not a clue where my life will be in twenty or thirty years: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Nothing else can better teach you how free people's lives really are, and how you can do whatever feels right and you will be fine as long as you are willing to just embrace life as it is.

In need of some stretching logic before my brain atrophies into nothing but textbook regurgitation: Sherlock Holmes. And you shouldn't have to ask why. Elementary, dear Watson.

And of course, the all-encompassing feel-good for whenever I am just generally down: What Happens in Vegas. Yes, you go right ahead and judge me, but I love that movie. And it makes me happy. So there.

This all being said, I choose... the first remedy.

I had to refrain from beating up children today. Because I have been told that no matter how annoying they are, it is still not socially acceptable to hit an eleven year old.

Yeah... Killing shit sounds nice.

Taking My Own Advice

I just watched another chick flick.

Even though the main characters were ugly, I fear a rerun of the vicious cycle is soon approaching.

The need for a reread of my previous post is becoming increasingly apparent.

I shall officially dub it 'The Chick Flick Bible'.

16 Going on 80

I think I have premature Alzheimer's.

Seriously. I can never remember anything.

I've taken to writing lists, not because I like lists, but because otherwise I forget all but three of the things that were supposed to be on the list.

And then I try and make a mental list, so I can store all of the things that need to be on that list in my mind until I get home and can furiously scribble them down before they all go on vacay, but it doesn't work.

I end up remembering two, forgetting one, remembering two more, forgetting another one...

Needless to say, my lists don't generally grow very quickly.

I've been using a journal that my wonderful mother gave me for Christmas as a journal / extra memory bank. I literally write down every sort of list that I can think of, such as movies that I need to get, blog entries that I should do sometime in the future, books to read, and -- wait, I forgot the other ones. See what I mean?

As much as I want to carry it around with me so that I can write down all of my trains of thoughts before they depart for distant destinations, but I feel that doing so would broadcast my forgetfulness in a way that would not exactly be beneficial to me.

So instead, I will allow my memory to age three times as fast as my body until I can't even remember my own name by the age of thirty.

The funny thing is, I'm still great at memorizing things. And doesn't memory have to do with memorizing? I always thought so, since, you know, the first five letters are the same and all.

I can remember all of the lines from all of the shows that I'm in at one time, and if you so much as say the word "clam-bake" I will break out into Carousel. Pay no mind to the fact that it's been six years since I did that show.

But alas, I would rather not try to figure out why I'm such a forgetful little monster, I will just go on making lists until the end of my happily forgetful days.

Or at least until I forget where I put my notebook.

Hair. Gah.

Winter is shedding season.

I keep finding my hair everywhere.

And they're not even all the same length. Some of them are little baby hairs.

Now where are the awkward ends that are still attached to my head...

Pondering

I have been doing that a lot lately.

First pondering: After reading the lovely Erin Browne's microblog, which you can find here, I kind of want to start one. That way I can just put up all of my random blurbs that somehow pass through my brain in the course of an average day without all of you needy people demanding some sort of explanation.

Second pondering: I think I should get rid of the view-counter I added to my profile yesterday. I'm pretty sure I'm addicted to it.

Third pondering: Why the hell are my feet so cold when I want to sleep?

Romantic Void

Chick flicks.

They are a money-making mind game.

And even worse, I know this, yet I continue to watch them.

I think it is a serious addiction and should be treated as such.

But, you will all be glad to know, after much careful thinking, I have decided what it is that makes chick flicks so irresistible to us girls.

Now, you men reading this may not understand, but I can practically guarantee that every single girl will know exactly what I'm talking about.

These movies, these instruments of torture, these evil disks of joy, they lead us on and make us believe that guys like that actually exist.

They entice us with cute pictures and romantic DVD-case summaries, get us completely infatuated with the story line so that we're on some sort of weird high from the joy of somebody else's fake romance, then leave us so depressed at the realization that men like that don't actually exist that all we want to do it watch another one. It's quite the vicious cycle that they've created.

And they work hard at it. They make the most average, every-day heroine, who is completely riddled with flaws. She talks too much, she's a control freak, she is a reclusive hermit, whatever. They're all the same. In some way, they feel like less than stellar individuals, in consequence making them, hey, join the club. Just like every single one of us.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking right now. Trust me, I'm thinking it too. I'm special. And I'm nothing like that normal, average, blend-in-with-the-crowd individual of which you speak.

But we all have flaws. And it is my personal belief that merely because these incredibly attractive movie stars are now given flaws as well, we think that they're just like us. Which then makes us think that our chances and their chances are equal.

Unfortunately, also not true. Because we don't have a team of writers working on our side.

Regardless. They create easily relatable characters, therefore securing us in our oddly trance-like fascinations for the remainder of their movie.

Not that I'm complaining, of course. I'm just saying.

So then, they introduce this fabulous guy. He's cute, or hot, or sexy, or whatever adjective they choose to go with. Any way, we're all drooling. He has a real character, with enough sides to it we think that he could actually be walking down the street right now, not just down lines of a script. Of course, he has a fabulous body, and a keen sense of which fashions will suitably flatter it.

In short, they make him so much like somebody that we all believe we could know, only better. Essentially, he is like the real-life version of all of our perfect man fantasies. Because let's admit it ladies, we all have one. So this guy... he may have flaws, but only enough to make him real, but not enough to actually make us dislike him at all. That would be completely counterproductive to their attempts at hypnosis.

Now here's the kicker. Once we're properly salivating, we get to watch as the flawed girl rejects the dream guy. Not only does she reject him, she legitimately dislikes him. When he makes his completely adorable attempts at flirting, the point at which the rest of us would be jumping into his arms, she laughs in his face and tells him to get lost.

Granted, I will admit that this particular scenario doesn't play out in every single movie. It's not always total rejection. Sometimes she flirts back instead of laughing, and then tells him to get lost.

By this point, we're completely attached. And as we watch him try to win her over, we only ever see his good side. Movie boys never have huge personality flaws. And if they do, they always have completely sweet intentions behind them. It's the perfect plan. What better way to get people to like an attractive man than to give him an attractive personality as well? Essentially, they play out the scenario so that we see out of the eyes of somebody who is in love; No flaws, at least none that can't be completely overshadowed by the large, glorious form of the big picture.

And that leads me to my real point. We all think that there is never going to be a guy like that out there for us. We want one so bad, and yet everybody knows that movie boys are not real boys. Real boys are stinky and you should throw rocks at them if you get the chance. Everybody knows that.

But I've decided that it's all in the eye of the beholder, just like beauty. We love these movie men so much because we see them as a person who was in love with them would. We see them as perfectly adorable, and don't even take into consideration the tiny flaws that may surface from time to time, because we care too much about them.

It has always been said that there is someone out there for everyone. And it is because to everybody, there is one other person who they can see in the same way that we see boys in the movies. True, they may not always be movie quality, and 99% of the time they probably aren't. They aren't carefully calculated inventions, they are real people, and real people are flawed. But flaws are what make us beautiful. So to each of us, there will be somebody who we find completely and utterly adorable, just like the boys in the movies.

There will be somebody who is so beautiful to you because of their flaws, who may not be perfect but who is perfect to you, and who you will be able look at the way you look at the boys in every one of those chick flicks you've spent many a guilty Friday evening watching.

So girls, don't sit there and get all depressed thinking that you will never find love. Because you will. I mean come on, if the ugly kids at school can do it, you can too, right?

Now for those of you that know me, this is uncharacteristically romantically optimistic for me. I'm not a romantic. For those of you who know me fairly well, you should be able to say that I'm actually pretty cynical when it comes to relationships, especially ones in high school. But oh well. That's a different story.

And don't think that I'm hating on chick flicks. Because for those of you that really know me, I love romantic comedies. Love them. Love. Them. Love. 


I'm just saying. We love these movies so much because we are legitimately in love with them, and so every time you sit down to watch a cute romantic comedy starring your favorite actress and a new but quite attractive male lead, you're actually teaching yourself what it's like to fall in love. Just think about that next time.

Just try to pick a good movie. Otherwise that will be one bad relationship for you.

Slap shot!

Pardon my limited arsenal of hockey speak, but that's about all I know. Although I learned a few more tonight at the AV'S GAME!

Ahem. Sorry. A little excited there. As I'm sure many of you already knew. I've sort of been... you know... talking about it nonstop for the past week. Whatever.

Yes, it was the best Christmas present from the best older brother ever; We went to see the Avalanche play tonight.

Now, I'm not sure exactly what it is about the Av's, but I love 'em. Always have. I think this love may have found its roots when I was a child. I remember crowding around my parents tiny little t.v. in their bedroom on the night of the Stanley Cup, watching in excitement as one of the players skated around the rink with the trophy held high in his hands.

It was magical.

Not to mention, I got to stay up past nine. Woah, man.

Anyway, the Av's have been my favorite Colorado team for as long as I can remember. I don't really have anything against the other teams, but they're just not as nice, you know?

No, wait. Scratch that. I have never liked the Nuggets. There's just something about when I think of a team and the first thing that pops into my head is an ego the size of a moon that makes me put up a mental barrier against them.

Besides, hockey is such a fun sport to watch. Unlike football, it doesn't have more down time than actual play time, and it's pretty easy to follow.

And anyone who pays any attention to the players' feet should have no question at all in their mind as to whether or not hockey is an awesome sport. They are just so damn graceful. I mean, in what other sport can a player be moving backward, slide down onto their knees to block a shot, and get back to a perfectly stable vertical position without once breaking motion?

Sadly, the Av's lost to the Phoenix Coyotes, a 0-2 shutout. But they played well. And I got a t-shirt.

Life is good.

And You're Being Educated?

Oh, school. Nothing like a good long two and half weeks off to make you really appreciate the wealth of stupidity contained within its walls.

I mean, seriously. Some of those people... I wonder how they function.

And it's not only the people who ask stupid questions in class. Granted, there are quite a few of them too, but I'm talking about the people to which common sense is apparently a foreign concept.

Exhibit A: The girl wearing her cheerleading uniform in honor of (and excitement for) the boys basketball game tonight which, may I say, was quite ecstatically publicized. Now, school spirit is great and all. I personally don't really partake in it, because let's admit it, most of the time it makes you look like a fool. But hey, if that's what floats your boat, go get 'em tiger.

But the problem that I had with this girl was that her outfit made me stop and wonder: Why? In the thoughtful way of the cheer coach, cheerleaders all have a cheer sweatsuit for those days when it is not actually mini skirt weather. However, today apparently did not make the grade of "not mini skirt weather." Because this particular cheerleader was proudly sporting a short skirt.

I mean short.

Like, cheer short.

You could practically see her big ol' cheer granny panties.

There is snow on the ground, and yet this girl found it necessary to show her school spirit by sacrificing the outer layer or her skin, and probably coagulating the better part of the blood in her extremities.

Of course, I would be lying to say that I was altogether surprised by this behavior. The cheerleading population at Niwot does not leave the rest of us with very high expectations.

Exhibit B of, shall we say, "challenged" people at Niwot: The ones who don't realize that when they talk and the whole class laughs, it's not because we think what they say is funny. Actually, we just think they're morons.

Now these people are not new. They have been these people, and will continue to be these people, throughout their entire high school lives. I have only been graced with the presences of the most obnoxious specimen this year, however, in my A.P. classes.

You know, just because they're advanced placement classes, I didn't know that having enough obscure trivia about the presidents stored up in your brain that you can answer practically every question on a worksheet that is intended to be a joke in government class was suddenly considered cool. In fact, I'm pretty sure that it's still just an unnecessarily dorky showcase of how little of a social life you actually have. Oh, and the history lesson on the origin of the S in Ulysses S. Grant's name was . . . well . . . yeah. It was nice.

Don't take this the wrong way though. As much as I may want to punch those people in the throat when they start talking, they definitely spice up the lecture material by adding inappropriate peals of giggles to the otherwise sedate and lethargic mumbles and bumbles of the rest of the class. So don't stop with your social inadequacy, please. It's really quite entertaining.

Unfortunately, no matter how many good internal laughs you get out of them, there are some voices that make you go:

"Gee, aren't you glad to hear that voice again?"

Beginnings

It's a new year. But, unlike some people, I don't see it as a saving grace. New years shouldn't be a last-ditch effort to forget the past year and start anew. Because that's not really healthy, is it?

I'm excited for this to be a new year. But not because it's different than the last. More like because it's a whole new section of my life that's now laid out in front of me.

Years are like journals. You have one, you use it all up, fill every page with thoughts and memories and occurrences. And then when you're all finished, you get a new one. That doesn't mean you have to go throw the old one into a bonfire, or read back over it and cry until the words are no longer discernible. It just means that you have a whole journal full of blank pages to fill as a continuation of the last one.

I don't really know if anything new will happen in this next year. It may not be all that exciting or big, and it may just be little things. Little changes, like in years past. I might find a new way of looking at something, or discover a great new hobby or unearth a talent that I never knew existed. Even if they're not huge, I'm sure the pages of this year's journal will be filled with new little accomplishments and anecdotes and discoveries.

And while I've never been huge on making New Year's resolutions, I've decided that this year I'm just going to shift my thinking. It's not really a resolution, because it's not a finite goal that you can write down on a piece of paper with a box next to it, to be filled with a check when the it has been accomplished.

I just want to start thinking more freely. The best things about life are the ones that aren't planned or plotted or conspired. I just need to open up my thoughts to the winds of fate, and let them take me wherever they decide I should be.

But I'll be sure to leave my umbrella and wide brimmed hat at home. Wouldn't want to get swept away, now would we?