These are hard times for dreamers.

I know what I'm capable of.  I really do.  I honestly believe we are all capable of doing things beyond what we initially perceive are doable.  But we hesitate too much of the time.  And I for one, am completely wide open to the types of distraction and ultimately, hesitation, that hinder our learning and excelling.  

I've been playing instruments for as long as I could do my times tables, which I suppose could vary, depending on what type of schooling you had.  Let's just say, I've always enjoyed playing music.  My favorite classes were my music classes, like orchestra...I absolutely loved learning to play a violin.  When I was even younger than that, I attempted piano.  I played for a little while, but no more learning beyond my very first recital.  My neighbor taught me, and she eventually moved away, and I was so bummed about this news that I refused any more lessons from any other instructor.  I knew it wouldn't be the same.  And thus, the death of my piano lessons.  It's a shame, because I think if I had continued, I would be hanging out with the likes of Norah Jones or Madeleine Peyroux or something, singing all jazzy and playing my heart out on a piano.  More recently, I would think that it was just me being really young and indecisive.  After all, I was only 8 or 9 years old.  However, I gave piano lessons another shot.  At age 20, I wandered into a music shop to sign up for some lessons over the summer.  Once a week, probably costing more money than I had at the time.  But who cared?  I was really going to kick ass at piano this time!  So I sat there at my lessons in a room the size of a small closet, trying my very best to get through the basics all over again.  But it was more difficult that I had imagined.  Discouraging, in fact.  And of course, reality eventually reared its ugly head, and I could no longer gather the money to pay for the lessons.  And honestly, I was starting to lose interest yet again.  A relentless cycle of piqued interest, lack of satisfaction, and then eventual "calling it quits."  I still play around on the piano.  I haven't given up completely, and I probably never will.  But I always wonder if I will ever get over that hump, and just go completely for it.  I wonder if I'll ever have the time to take on the commitment required to excel at reading music, and playing well.  I'm a good starter, but I'm not the best finisher...

Guitar has been more successful.  I'm probably the most consistent with this, playing at least once every few days.  Nothing special, just playing songs I enjoy playing.  I'm sure I'm at a point where I could venture out and make something of my own.  But I'm a little uncertain of how to start doing that.  I don't know why...I probably just have to accept my beginner status of writing music, and just go with what I can do.  It's hard though.  I'm way too self-aware, sometimes.  I'm working on it, but it's hard to get rid of that feeling.  But again, it's a process I'm willing to go through.  Maybe I can start with just writing lyrics or something, and go with that.  I'm maintaining healthy optimism, more so than before.  Although, I'm still feeling a slightly rocky phase coming that will either make me a rock star or make me cry.  We shall see.  I suppose I'll just take it one instrument at a time.  

And Spanish?  Yeesh, don't even get me started.  I can't even say that I'm trying.  Why?  Well, because I'm not.  However, the other night I discovered that I have a friend who can help me practice whenever I feel the need to...which ought to be all the time.  I'm going to make the effort though...so says I, at this very moment.  Again, we shall see.  I need to just live in a Spanish-speaking country for a while.  I'd like to, and it's one of many short-term/long-term goals I hold dear.  I don't think I'd ever come back though.  Which might be okay.

So these are the major skills I am trying to work on, slowly but surely.  I'm still young, so I have time.  And I believe in the potential of young people like myself, who have big dreams.  God, that sounds so cheesy after reading it aloud.  Oh well, it's been typed and there's no turning back.  Just facing forward, toward our BIG, fat dreams.  

An Old Update on the Fabulous Life of Me

As I sit here, upon this fluffy, animal-print cushion in our couchless living room, avoiding everything in the world I was supposed to get done this weekend, I can't help but indulge myself in Comedy Central's stand-up countdown, something-or-other.  I really love that stuff.  I can't help that it's the only cure for unwavering procrastination!  Because if I haven't already dug myself into a hole of accumulating work already, why not throw in the motherload of distraction?  And with that, it's only natural to write a blog simultaneously.  (And to quote the only comedian that could steal my 'virginity' without force or reason, despite his less-than-desirable physique, Eugene Mirman:)  "And so I have, nothing can stop me."

In light of my watching stand-up, I think I'm going to borrow the comedic organizational format, and just jump from curious topic to curious topic in a witty fashion; granted, not as hysterically as Mitch Fatel or Lisa Landry...but we'll just have to see.

So recent news in my life?  Well, I'm slowly adjusting to school, and my 8am-3:30pm class schedule.  It's funny because I'm generally a morning person.  Taking advantage of the entire day can be so satisfying to me, and yet, when I am academically forced to drag my lazy ass to class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I go into these mini-comas every Monday and Wednesday night.  How bizarre, right?  And no matter how early I get to bed, and however much activity I sacrifice the night before, I still struggle to make it to class on time.  But the 8am class isn't like micromolecular bioreconstruction or something horrific (or made-up) like that.  It's a graphic design class, the subject being my post-graduate dream as of today.  So far, our only challenge has been to study magazine ads for Guess Jeans and Saks Fifth Ave, and analyze them until our heads explode.  On a serious note, I'm really starting to believe that graphic design is the right career for me, which is a really comforting feeling.  Yay!  (Don't tell anyone, but I actually enjoyed that homework...)

It's no surprise that art as a career is for the young and the useless...to an extent.  Not to get bitchy, but I see so many classmates turn in total garbage for projects.  (Not my art buddies, of course.)  Like, "Yeah, I found this old napkin on the floor of this cafe, and I thought of all the people it took to make it, and who might have held it..."  And this, as all you art students know, simply translates to:  "Oh shit.  That project is due today?  And all I have is this stupid napkin that I was too lazy to throw away..."  And this brings up another "pro" to being an art student:  the power of words.  While it may piss people (like myself) off every now and then when someone coughs up the bullshit about their truly deep project, we can't actually stay mad for long.  The reality is that, it works.  I see it all the time.  Real art no longer relies so much on materials, craftsmanship and/or time, it's more about how your art relates to the adverse interconnectivity between our nose hairs and the contaminated oxygen we breathe, blah, blah, blah.  Maybe I'm being a bit harsh, but you know what I'm talking about.

I also have a figure drawing class this semester, which I'm already pretty psyched about.  I like to draw anyway, as many of you know.  It's always challenging and I can really lose myself in it, something I think is crucial to making decent art.  And I won't let the pink elephant stay in the room for much longer...we all know what "figure drawing" really means...drawing penises with absolutely zero shame!  I can't lie, it's part of the appeal of the class.  But I'm also somewhat interested in anatomy and...okay, forget it.  I'm actually pretty immature, and drawing the nude models is what I look forward to most in the class.  There, I said it.  We had a "model" come in already this past week, but we haven't gotten to drawing the entire body just yet.  My heart sunk a bit when I realized he wasn't going to disrobe.  Oh well, better luck next time.

So I have to quit here for now.  I guess I never got to any other topic besides school and art.  Sorry to those who can't relate, and sorry to those who can but think I wrote too much, which I did.  Now, on to more productive things, like reading medieval Spanish literature and watching tutorials on how to master Photoshop.  Sounds like a party, I know.

"Are you sure it wasn't towed?"

Ha. It amuses me that this blog's category is: automotive. I picked it, whatever. But this little "memoir" is more under the category I like to call: "My Accord looked like hell, and someone stillwanted to steal that shit". Of course I know that Honda's are notorious for being stolen. In fact, most of them are practically on their knees, begging to be stolen..."Pleeeeease, I'm a Honda for God's sake, just wiggle your way into my window, it's sooooo easy!" My car, the little tramp I always knew she was. If only I had known just how easy she was. So for those of you out-of-the-know, my car was stolen last week. My big, beautiful, rusty, crusty chipped-paint, '92 Honda Accord. (*I would've written this a lot sooner, but finals were under way this week and it was emergency cram time.)

Anywho, I wake up early on Tuesday morning because I want to scoop up my tips from work and grab a coffee on the way to class. I don't typically plan my mornings out so brilliantly, but this morning was different. I was determined to start the day off smoothly. But alas...my fate was sealed when I wander down to the parking lot to find...well, nothing. At first, I stay calm, and figure I just visually "misplaced" it. Afterall, sometimes I do park it in obscure places, hidden behind a tree or a particularly large plant. But it wasn't long before I realized what was really going on. My trusty vehicle...was gone, stolen from my very hands. I won't lie, I was furious. Fucking angry, to be more exact.

I've never driven a new car, that I owned, in my entire life. But I rarely complained about the conditions of my elderly Hondas. More often than not, I defended those little bastards for every little dollar they were worth. I appreciate the Honda's other reputation for being a reliable, borderline immortal car. I thanked my lucky stars that I even had a car to drive at all. And I thank my wonderful brother Shawn for helping keep those babies together when they weren't so reliable. So really, I had honest respect for my latest one. The problem is, this wasn't the first time this has happened, broken into anyway. The first team couldn't quite make it out of the parking lot; ha sorry, guys...you suck! The second team went for the gold...the beloved cd player, and walked away with that gold...still bitter about this one...bastards.

Of course, shortly after I called the police and did a report, etc., they end up finding my car on the side of the road with flat spare tires that they had swapped in. They couldn't even wait to get to the destination before taking my tires? Smart one, guys. Well, this story's getting way longer than expected, so fastforward to this week, and now I am driving this brand new, beautiful (ok, beautiful to me, anyway) rental car with...gasp...a cd player. No more risking my life for music via my ipod! However, there is a chance that I will get my old car back, depending on the insurance company. But here's the thing. I'm beginning to see this situation as if it were a drowning relationship with an unfaithful boyfriend. He's already made out with some other girl, then he goes and fools around with that trashy skank from Forever 21...and now? He's done the unthinkable, and after all I put up with, defending his premature receding hairline, etc. That ungrateful jack ass. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I don't want this car back. I can't take the emotional pain again. I need to start fresh, with a new boyfriend analogy, and a new(er) car.

I really wish I lived in a place where I didn't need a car. I would totally be okay with walking everywhere I had to go. But this is Charlotte, North Carolina, where one can count the number of sidewalks with one hand (and probably get hit by a car while they are walking around the city counting sidewalks). In the meantime, I will relish in the newness and fresh scent of my rental, and play the hell out of the cd player.

My Date with a Fortune Teller.

I've been meaning to post a blog about my visit to a psychic, a "fortune teller," if you will.  as most of you probably know, i fall quite comfortably into the gullible category.  so i imagine you're thinking right about now that i am the last person who should be getting my fortune told.  but yes, i did it.  because i let my gullible side overcome my intuitive belief that it was probably a crock of shit...and with that, i was convinced it was a great idea.

so to preface, don't bother with supernatural readings of any kind in a town like concord, nc.  it's like wanting to see some lions and tigers at a "wildlife park" in the obscure grassy area between kannapolis and china grove.  something about it just doesn't sound right...or safe, for that matter.  (which by the way, i did that as well...another story left to be told in person, and wasn't that bad in the end.)

well, we drive up and it's like this abandoned store front, in a sketchy building, but relatively near a more desirable-looking shopping plaza...perhaps, the ugly stepchild of the latter.  anywho, we park in our amibiguously marked parking space (not sure you could even call it a "parking lot"), and let the good times roll.  we are greeted by two women, one looks around my age and the other middleaged, both uneasily welcoming.  we are all separated into different rooms and given our choice of reading.  i go with the tarot reading with a half deck.  it was cheapest, and if these "psychics" were the real deal, i really didn't want to know every painful detail of my present and future life.  i suppose it was like getting the "free sample," except that it was $40. 

naturally, i get the young girl as my "guide to my future self."  we share awkward introductions, followed by a brief overview of what damage she is about to inflict onto my very soul.  (ha, no...it wasn't like that at all, but now i wish her intro was that much more exciting!)  she asks me to shuffle the cards, in no particular way...which i later found out was inadequate instruction.  so at this point, i'm REALLY not buying it because i'm sitting there at a cheap, glass-topped "desk" with a small pile of bills and letters addressed to several different people, and i just can't focus on anything but our entirely inappropriate setting.  there is simply no trace of any psychic and/or magical activity in this place.  it just might have been more fun that way, you know?

after a minute or two of her "seeing" things, my gullible nature starts to kick in and i'm sitting there, eating up everything she tells me.  and right now, i can honestly say that some of the things she told me were so dead on that i don't think i can put them in this blog.  but those were very few and probably just lucky guesses.  i hope anyway.  (ahh, see?  there i go again!)  for the most part, there were far too many holes in her predictions that made me either want to laugh or cry inside, such as, "i see 3 children in your future."  (oh my...)  but see, that's the thing about these so-called predictions they conjure up...they're so ambiguous that it's impossible to support or deny their craft.  and she also told me that i would be married by the time i was 35, and you know, a lot of people get married in about that same time frame.  you could say that to a group of about 50 and it would probably be true for more than half of them.  like they tell you, "there's something going on in your head right now," and you're like WHAT, i'm paying you to tell me that i'm alive, that my brain is functioning well...i don't understand?! 

but here's the kicker.  she tells me that i have a negative energy about me, and i think, "ok, that's very vague and it sounds like it COULD be me, but it sounds serious...what should i do about this?"  so i ask her.  and for only $50 more, i can buy a set of scented oils and candles that will wipe out my bad aura in no time.  ahhh, if only the world really worked that way.  i kept thinking, if all i have to do whenever i'm having the worst day of my life is whip out some scented oils and breathe all my troubles away, that would be fabulous.  we quickly wrapped it up after this was mentioned.

well, that was about it.  i'll be sure to tell my 3 children about the girl who predicted their existence...and advise them not to buy into the whole fortune teller thing. 

Merck is a MONSTER, for real.

Ahhh.  Finally, I've gotten some answers to the medical mystery that was my sickly body (and still is...) for the past (almost) week.  A few of you already know what's been going on from my pitiful phone calls to you during the worst times, and others have yet to find out.  Well, I finally found out what the culprit of this devilish thing was today at my (hopefully) last doctor's visit.

It began as a routine, yearly check-up on Friday morning.  Minus the leftovers of a urinary tract infection, I came in perfectly healthy.  My doctor, a very nice lady, did all her normal doctory things, and only suggested that I take some antibiotics for the rest of my UTI.  Not a big deal at all.  She also recommended that I consider taking the new Gardasil vaccine, which is supposed to prevent about 4 strains of the HPV virus, the culprit of cervical cancer.  When it comes to medical things, I am easily swayed.  I decided to go for it.  It sounded valid enough, and who wants cervical cancer?  Not I.

So my nurse comes in to administer the shot.  She explains nonchalantly that I should feel some stinging during the injection and some pain/swelling afterward, but nothing more.  All the while, I figure "Yeah, yeah, I got this."  It was a typical shot, and it's not like I want one every day, but you know, you get used to it.  She throws on my bandaid and I think I'm golden now...won't see them for another year or until my next shot.

Well, I was scheduled for work pretty soon after that appointment, so I run home and eat something, then I'm off to jolly ole Concord.  I'm running a bit late after stopping by Walgreens for my antibiotic (we all know how speedy they are), and when I get to work, I take my first dose of antibiotic before clocking in.  Things were pretty normal, and I felt equally so.  Until around 2pm.  I felt like fever had pounded me with a ton of bricks from a hovering cloud above my throbbing head.  I was a wreck, just ask Stephen Campbell or anyone else on my shift...or the customers who saw me burst into tears (they probably thought I was being beaten).  Yeah, it was totally embarrassing, and I felt like hell.

Fast forward to that night, which would be the norm for the next few nights, my fever had hiked up to 101 or so, my eyes became bloodshot, and I couldn't sleep at all.  My first thought was that Gardasil had done this to me.  I was quickly informed that the vaccine was not on the market for very long and some of its effects were still unknown.  So then, I was convinced that it was an adverse reaction, cursing the very name, "Gardasil," and Merck for distributing the poison!  Well, these episodes of fever went on into the day on Saturday, so I stopped by urgent care, where they told me I was perfectly healthy.  In fact, my quirky little doctor was pretty stumped by my symptoms.  She said it might be a reaction to the vaccine, but likely not, but to just let whatever it was run its course, and to take tons of Motrin. 

Fast forward to Monday night.  My fever got to a painful 102, and I had had enough, period.  So I call my poor mom at 2:30am and cry to her that I have to see the doctor again.  So I did, and this guy explains that I must have some kind of viral infection, because there's also a slight rash on my legs.  He also tells me to stop taking my antibiotic, just in case it was causing my fevers, though he doubted it.  So I'm left with a generic diagnosis of "viral infection," from God knows where.  And a third copay.  $30 so far for my adventures.

And now this morning.  I'm still feeling a little off, although after stopping the antibiotics, my fever went away.  I take a shower, ready to go back to school, and what do my little eyes discover?  A rash all over my stomach, back, chest, more on my legs...what is wrong with me, I wonder frantically.  And I have yet another appointment with my doctor today.  (The rash that I found today was an allergic reaction to my antibiotic that's still swimmming around in me.)  We do more blood work, she checks for strep throat and other things.  And she comes to the conclusion that I almost definitely have fifth disease.  What the hell is that, you ask?  (I asked, too.)  Well, it sounds far worse than what it actually is.  It's a viral infection that kids typically get, and apparently, sometimes adults.  Kind of like the chicken pox, but backwards.  You get a fever and flu-ish symptoms first, then rash on (sometimes) face and/or limbs.  Some people get it with no symptoms at all, but I didn't get away that easy. 

Good news?  I know what was making me so sick, and Merck was not trying to kill me.  Bad news?  I spent about $40-50 on all this nonsense, and fifth disease doesn't go away over night.  It lingers for up to 3 weeks, so my symptoms may not completely go away til then. 

Boo, viruses.  (Edited 18.06.08:  And Merck...turns out the shot did the damage after all.)

A Blog Transfer of Deep, Deep Depths

To preface, this is probably 1 of those blogs that could benefit from lots of meaningful quotes by wise folks throughout history.  Unfortunately, in that regard, this blog will fall short; I only hope my words/thoughts don’t fall too short of their intention.  It’s just that I’ve never been any good at storing good quotes for particular situations so I could whip them out at appropriate times...I wish I had that gift, though.]

I’m starting to get that funny feeling that I am in the grueling midst of "growing up."  And let me tell you, it’s not a speedy process by any means, nor is it always a pleasant one.  As my 22nd birthday approaches, slowly but surely, I look back in retrospect.  [a pause...while I sit and reflect for this blog........"oh shit, I did that?!".......ok, done now.] 

It’s been quite a year for me.  No, I didn’t do anything outrageously cool like travel to foreign lands, or what-have-you, nor did I transform into someone important with the right words and something to say.  Nope, I’m still me, for the most part.  What’s been happening to me isn’t something I can outwardly describe to anyone; it’s that deep, painfully esoteric "personal journey," in which a young girl like myself takes on life’s biggest cruelties in the comfort of her own body, mind, and soul.  I’m pretty shocked to recall all the things I’ve put myself through, and the icky details I’ve learned about others and myself since June 19, 2007.  And it’s been tricky, trying to step outside myself for the sake of self-contemplation.

I won’t bore you with everything that’s happened this year to date (trust me, some things are best unsaid).  I’ve simply taken all my experiences and rolled them into neat, little packages of pseudo-wisdom.  I now know how scary it is to look inwards and see what’s hiding behind your own reflection.  It really is.  To take into account all that you do, then rack your brain to find some meaning in it, it’s probably the scariest experience you will ever have.  But I see the necessity in it now.  It needed to happen eventually.  I have a lot of growing up to do, I’ve found.  Not exactly a miraculous discovery, but a discovery of importance, nonetheless.  With no one to hold my hand anymore, I’m suddenly a dot on the map with nothing more than hopes and a load of free will to take me forward.

But that’s the biggest thing I’ve come to realize:  the world is huge, and I am just a dot.  And not even a big dot, a really tiny one, a speck even.  That’s a huge part to growing up that’s so difficult to swallow.  The context in which we live just gets bigger and bigger, and we get smaller and smaller, until we are (or at least, feel) almost invisible.  I’m realizing now that I have to workwith and for the life I’ve been given, the world in which I live...not against it.  It’s a tricky attitude to uphold, but I’m trying it out. 

Of all the good times I’ve had this year, the best times were the split-second moments that I totally forgot about "my world," and felt like I was a tiny part of something intricate and bigger than myself.  Whether I was driving through the remote corners of rural Concord with my windows down on a gorgeous afternoon, or squeezing into a tightly packed train in a ginormous city, I felt good, more than I ever have before.  So I guess I just feel like I’ve stumbled over 1 of many obstacles in the growing-up process.

Of course there is plenty of time to get through the other obstacles, like how I’m going to transition into the real, working world, etc in 2 years or so.  But that will come when it comes.  Bringing your own pea-sized life into a new perspective is hard enough to face. 

A final tidbit to add, that I now firmly believe in is this, true love and true joy mean nothing if you keep it to yourself.  Share that shit!

And with that, I share my little blog and love to all.  :]

Caught in the Inter-net.

Every day I am astounded by the growth of our new sphere of life: the internet. So vast, I can actually call it a sphere of life. The thing is, it's become so unbelievably convenient, available, and helpful over the years. Most of you are a part of that technology savvy little generation they call, Y. We try to think of life pre-internet, and we remember what it was like to flip through a World Book encyclopedia for hours at a time, rather than browsing through Wikipedia at lightning speeds. It's weird, right? That we have this luxury at our finger tips, more or less, any time we need it. The Jetson's, the future? Please! They didn't have a clue. 

I think joining Pandora really brought about this random topic. Pandora is probably old news, and yes, I had heard about it before now, but hadn't given it much thought until 2 hours prior to writing this note. And I must say, it's my new favorite discovery. An internet "radio" that is like your personal shopper for music, knows what you like just by seeing one piece of your own collection. Thank you for being so helpful, Pandora.

And Wikipedia? Don't even get me started! You really want to know the birth weight of James Earl Jones? (If you caught the Eugene Mirman reference, you are oh-so witty!) Well, my friend, you got it...just give it 2 seconds, maybe less! Amazing.