Dead Cat

So today I was out having a nice bike ride with my dad. We went around our town and down a bunch of quiet streets. I saw some of my friends' houses, and I was just having a good time. While on one of the busier roads, I was on the sidewalk and my dad was on the road. I noticed something on the sidewalk, so I turned back to look. On the small patch of grass in between the sidewalk and the road, there was a black, dead animal. I couldn't tell what animal it was; I knew it was either a dog, a cat, or a fox. My dad had obviously seen it and said, "Just go around it, leave it alone." Like I was going to touch it. I asked what it was, and he told me it was a dead cat. It was honestly the grossest, most traumatic experiences of my life. I cannot get the picture out of my head! I'm still shuddering at the thought. Okay, so I know that probably no one reads this, but if you do I want you to try and think of your most disgusting experience. This is kind of a lame entry because I don't really have much to write about, so I'm just going to end it now.


Dum vita est, spes est

Arts Acadamy

Well, I know that it's been a long time since I've posted anything, but I have some pretty big news. In my first entry I wrote about how I was applying to a really awesome arts acadamy. It was a lottery, and totally random selection, but I was accepted! I'm pretty excited. So next year I'll do half day at my normal school and half day there. Not much has really been going on in my life, so I don't really have much to write about. Although, I just found out today that Sarah Dessen is writing a new book, but it's not coming out until May of 2013 :/ I don't really wanna wait. But it's not like I have a choice. See, this entry is reallly boring. I have nothing to write about. I think I'm going to go now. So enjoy my incredibly boring post. Peace! :)


Dum Vita Est, Spes Est

Embarrassment

Hey! Well, I know that it's been a while (actually it's been since November 30th) since I've written, but I just haven't had much to write about. I mean, I'm always writing, but it's usually stuff that isn't about to go on the internet (actually it will never leave my little purple journal and will never be read by anyone except me). However, I finally have a topic to write about. So I quit my showchoir solo, basically because I didn't want to embarrass myself and I hated the song. At one point, the lyrics are "you're a vegetable, you're a vegetable, still they hate you, you're a vegetable, you're just a buffet, you're a vegetable, they eat off of you, you're a vegetable" Seriously. Those are the lyrics. You can even look them up: Wanna Be Startin' Somethin' by Michael Jackson. Anyway, today I got incredibly embarrassed. Last year, on a fieldtrip to Massachusettes, during the long bus ride, I started to sing (badly) a song that we learned in fourth grade, and play the drum part on my knees. Little did I know, my friend Olivia was filming me. For the morning announcements, there was a video about how my grade will be missed when we go off to high school. After watching a clip of a boy dancing to "Wanna Be" by the Pussy Cat Dolls, it cut to the video of me. In front of the whole school. It was awful, and only got worse as the clip ended and text popped up saying "Remember that?" So now I want to hear in the comments (as if I'm actually talking to anyone) what your most embarrassing moments were. I think that humiliation is the worst. Well, enjoy recalling some of the most mortifying moments in your life!

Dum vita est, spes est

Babysitting

     Heyloo all my "readers". How was your Turkey Day? I know that that was like a week ago, but I haven't written in a while. I had a pretty good holiday. My cousin was in Ireland. I can't believe it, and I bet you can't believe how jealous I am. They said they had the best time. Meanwhile, my dad was scrubbing their carpet clean of dog doo doo. So, they had a pretty good Thanksgiving. Anway, the day after (Black Friday! How many of you went midnight shopping?) I helped my aunt babysit her grandchildren (my cousin's kids). They are so flippin cute, with the best names in the world: Dakota and Thane. How epic is that? So that convinced mi madre that I was "good" enough to start babysitting. So I made up some flyers, and passed them out around the neighborhood. I'm anxiously awaiting my first job. The problem with babysitting is that it's not a real job. I mean, yes it is, but it's different. There's no hours, no starting day, no schedule, no exact payment, and no bosses. Which I'm not sure if I'm so okay with. But whatevah. It's a pretty good start. I think.

     Anywho, did you peeps like my story? I'm about to continue working on it. I have a pretty good idea of where it's going, but it's still definately a work in progress. So right now, I'm going to finish my homework, and then go write! :O so funn!!

     So, adios amigos! Maybe next entry should be entirely in Spanish. Hee hee!

Dum Vita Est, Spes Est

My Story

Heyo
The other day, I mentioned a story I was writing and how inspired I am by Sarah Dessen (she's so amazing). Anyway, I thought I would post my story here, so you all can see how awesome it is. Well, I think it's awesome, but you probably won't. Anyway, it's probably too long to put in this little post, so maybe I'll actually just have a post where it's just my story. That might be easier. So I'm going to do that. Right now.

Well, I just did that. So have fun reading all nine, that's right nine pages of my fantabulous story. Um, so there's not much else to say right now. If you have any questions, ask in the comments. So yeah! Have fun!


Dum Vita Est, Spes Est

My Actual Story

Have fun:

            The cool night air swept across my face, pushing my hair back. It was about three in the morning, and I was awake. That’s not unusual. Insomnia affects me badly, and I’ve never slept very well. I looked across the water, reflecting the moon. The front porch of my house over-looking the Gulf of Mexico had the perfect stargazing position. One of the reasons I liked the night was because it was cooler. I was still not used to the scorching Texas sun. I had moved from Wisconsin last week, and there were only 13 days until school started. My phone buzzed beside me, and I was confused. Who would be calling me at this hour? I thought to ignore it, but the repeated buzzing was ruining my nighttime peace. I checked the caller ID and groaned. Samantha it read. I guess that my new step-mother had figured out my nocturnal routine. I had no choice but to answer.

            “Hello?”

            “Oh, Sari! Thank God you’re okay! Where are you?” Samantha’s panicked voice filled my ear. Oh, shoot! I hadn’t even thought of the fact that they didn’t know where I was!

            “Um… I’m on the front porch. I couldn’t sleep.”

            “Okay. That’s fine. Just, tell us, okay?”

            “Well, I didn’t think you would want to be bothered. My dad never woke up in the middle of the night. No matter what.” This was true. Even when me and my sister, Mandi, had nightmares, it was always Mom, or each other that we went to for comfort. Whenever we did, he would raise his arm, as though to slap us. Every time it was the same. He would freak out, and my mother would place her hand on his shoulder.

            “Honey, it’s okay. She’s just scared. Go back to sleep, and I’ll deal with it.” With that, he would sink back into the pillow, and I’d run around the bed, scared. I’d jump into my mother’s lap, and she’d hold me tight and stroke my head. I think that’s what started the insomnia. I would wake up, and not know what to do. I knew that if I went into their room after Mom left, he would definitely hit me. So I stayed awake. I just have ever since.

            “Well, I don’t mind being woken in the night,” Samantha said now. I nodded, then realized she couldn’t see me.

            “Yeah, I will. Sorry I scared you.”
            “Oh, honey, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” I stiffened when she called me “honey”. She dared to call me that? After knowing me for two months? I didn’t care that she and my father were married. She had no idea what she was getting in to. I couldn’t take her stupid southern accent calling me “honey” right now.

            “Okay. Good night, Samantha.”

            “Sari, call me Mom. I insist.”

            Okay. That just ruined any chance of us getting along. At all. “No thanks, I don’t think I will. That would make it seem like you’re taking the place of my mother, and we both know you’re not.” I heard her catch her breath. She was not expecting that. I smirked.

            “Of course I’m not,” she stuttered. She was obviously uncomfortable. Good. “I didn’t mean that. You can call me whatever you want.” So many choices...

            “OK. I’ll just call you Samantha. Good night.” I hung up the phone without waiting for a response. I sighed and leaned against a post.  I decided that I didn’t want to sit here where Samantha could spy on me all night. I needed something to do. As I got in my car, I realized that Samantha wanted me to tell her when I was up at night. I started the car and pulled out of the driveway.  I sat idling on the road, then pulled out my cell. I punched in Samantha’s number and started to drive. The phone rang once, shrilly, and her breathless voice was in my ear.

            “Sari! What’s wrong?” I snickered at her panic, and fought to keep my laughs private.

            “Nothing. I’m just going to get some coffee, so I called you. You told me you wanted to know when I left. I’m just following the rules.” She sighed, and I could tell she was annoyed.

            “Yes, thank you.” Her voice was strained, like she was pissed but trying not to be. I might actually be able to enjoy this. “Thank you for doing what I asked. It’s just, couldn’t you have told me this when we were on the phone before?”

            “Don’t get me wrong, I would have, but I didn’t think of it until now. Sorry.” She laughed, as if this was funny. Well, it is funny, but just not to her.

            “That’s…okay. Just make your plans before hand, ok?” I snorted.

            “I’ll try. I got to go, I’m driving.”

            “Oh, my! Don’t talk on the phone while you’re driving! Is your seatbelt on? Oh, please be safe.” I actually clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. “Sari? Please answer me!”

            “Don’t worry, I’m fine.” As I opened my mouth to answer her, a shrill giggle escaped. “Umm, I’ll talk to you later. Bye!” I hung up the phone, and smiled. I guess my stepsister Jaina getting her license has made Samantha incredibly nervous. Poor Jaina. She’s not going to be able to go anywhere. Oh well. Not my problem. After considering my options, I realized that I really needed a coffee. I turned the key in the ignition, still chuckling, and started driving again. I wasn’t sure where I could get a coffee this early, but I was planning to look around. I still wasn’t very comfortable with my new town. Scanning the building fronts, I spotted a 24 hour Dunkin Donuts and pulled in. I turned off the car and undid my seatbelt. I opened the door and the cold air smacked my face again. I breathed in the fresh air, and then tightened my sweater around me. Walking to the door, I realized that I didn’t know how much cash I had. Sighing, I reached into my gigantic tote bag and pulled out my Coach wallet. I opened it up and saw at least $150. Yeah, I had enough. For about a year, I lived in LA with my mom. My mother is a huge mass producer, doing all these T.V. shows and stuff. She got a really good income, and she always sent me a lot of money. I really couldn’t wait to leave Wisconsin, and then Texas and live with her. Judging by my father’s actions, I doubt he would let me. What I mean is he dragged me from everything I knew to this God-awful hellhole, so I doubt he will let me go to L.A. But I really wanted to. When I lived there with my mom, she took me everywhere. I loved Melrose, and I swear I’m going to study dance there one day. There’s an amazing arts school right across from Capital Records. See, I have big dreams. But people like my dad and his stupid new wife, crush them. Hard. They wear these big combat boots and squash me like a bug. A really ugly bug. And this time, his way of crushing me was meeting Samantha. At a bar. I doubt that this marriage is going to last, but when I mentioned this to Mandi, she just glared at me.

            “Sari. Why can’t you just give Dad a chance? You’re always so hard on him.” And with that, she turned back to painting her nails. I got off her bed and crossed the room slowly. When I reached her door, I turned back.

            “Mandi, I’m just asking. Do you really trust Dad that much? I don’t. And to tell you the truth, I don’t trust Samantha either. They met in a bar. Just give it some thought. It’s not a good situation.” She rolled her eyes, so I left her room. In the hallway, I crossed Jaina. She had her headphones and she was all dressed in black. She looked at me with heavily-lined eyes and glared. Obviously, this girl had a problem with my family invading hers. Personally, I had to agree with her.

            “Hi Jaina!” She rolled her eyes. Yeah, she’s not very pleasant. Even now, walking into the Dunkin Donuts, I guessed to myself how long they’ll last before one of them gets drunk and cheats on the other. Not long. I got up to the counter and was greeted by a very tired-looking 15 year old who asked what I would like in a very monotone voice. I ordered a coffee and a bagel and while I waited I looked around the shop. It was a typical chain-store coffee shop, with advertisements and greasy tables. I sighed, hating my life in this deepest level of hell they call a state. Right and that moment, I really missed my mother. Everything about her, her smell, her hugs, even L.A (who am I kidding, especially L.A.) made me want to run to her. For the first time in a long time, I really wanted her here. I wished I could just run to her, hold her tight while she rocked me, stroking my hair. Whispering to me words of comfort, just like all those years ago. A lump rose in my throat, and I fought to keep from breaking down in a 24-hour coffee-shop.

            “Um, Miss? Your coffee’s ready.” The voice of the worker jerked me back to reality.

            “Huh?” I asked, looking around. She pointed to the travel cup sitting on the counter.

            “Your coffee. It’s ready.”

            “Oh, right. Sorry.” I reached into my purse and dug around for my wallet. I pulled it out and the girl stared at it.

            “Oh my God. Is that Coach? That is like so cool. I want a Coach wallet so badly, you have like no idea.”

            “Um, yeah. My mom gave it to me. Anyway, how much?”

            “$275.”

            “What?” God, coffee was getting expensive.

            “I will pay you like $275 for the wallet. Or more. Whatever you want.” That took a minute to register, but when it did I laughed out loud.

            “I’m not selling my wallet. How much is the coffee?” She blushed.

            “Oh, um, it’s… $3.85 for the coffee and $2.30 for the bagel. That comes to a total of…” She punched in the numbers on the cash register. “Six dollars and fifteen cents.” I handed over a ten, and she counted out my change. “You’re change is three-eighty-five.” She passed it over the counter and stared again longingly at my wallet.

            “Sorry, but I just have to ask. What’s your name?”

            “I’m Avery. Avery Thomas.”

            “Well, hello Avery Thomas. I’m Sari Wilson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

            “Umm, same to you. How old are you?” I wasn’t shocked. I get that a lot, because I certainly don’t get my height from my super model looking mother.

            “I’m 18.” Avery’s eyes widened. Reaching only five feet four inches, I seem a lot younger than I look, especially when I’m just in sweats.

            “Oh, um. Okay. Well, here’s your stuff. Enjoy and have a nice night.” I smiled and took the cup and bag. I started to walk out, but I then turned and grabbed a napkin. I took a pen from my purse and scribbled my name and number on it. I shoved it across the counter at Avery and then quickly turned on my heel. I marched out of the store, leaving her staring at a dirty napkin in astonishment.

2

            The next morning, I awoke to the sound of Samantha at my door.

            “Sari! I need you to please get up! We kind of have an emergency!” I groaned and rolled over. Seeing the alarm clock next to my bed, I realized that it was not morning at all, but almost four in the afternoon.

            “’Kay! I’ll be right out!” She apparently heard my mumbling, because the insistent knocking at my door abruptly stopped. Reluctantly, I climbed out of bed, not wanting to deal with her perkiness. I pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, not really caring what I was wearing. Right as I was headed out the door, my cell phone buzzed. I looked at the number, but didn’t recognize it. I answered the call, and was surprised at who was on the other line.

            “Um, hi. It’s Avery Thomas, the girl you met last night? You gave me your number, so I thought I would give you a call.” Confused, I wracked my brain trying to place the voice and name to a face. All of a sudden, last night’s meeting in the Dunkin Donuts came rushing back.

            “Oh! Yeah, hi. What’s up?”

            “I just wanted to see if you wanted to maybe, I don’t know, hang out later?” She sounded hopeful, yet nervous.

            “Look, Avery. That sounds really great and please understand that I’m not just blowing you off, but I really can’t talk right now. I’ll call you later, when I can. I think we’re having some type of family emergency.”

            “Um, okay. Bye.” The line went dead, and I looked at it, trying to figure out the strange girl who I’m not sure I knew what I was going to do with. Pounding on the door made me jump and turn around. Samantha was standing in my doorway.

            “We need you down stairs immediately!” she shrieked, her voice high and hysterical. “It’s an emergency!”

            “Okay, I’m coming. Don’t worry.” Realizing that this probably was important, I followed Samantha down the stairs and into the den. I saw my father sitting on the couch and Mandi sprawled across the armchair. They didn’t look too worried. Noticing that one member of our “family” was missing, I turned to Samantha. “Wait, where’s Jaina?”

            “She’s gone. We don’t know where she went,” Mandi responded in a bored voice. Samantha gasped, and I was surprised to see her in tears. I tried to think of a way to reassure her. Although I don’t necessarily like her, I also don’t like seeing people cry.

            “Well, um, I’m sure we’ll be able to find her.” I looked around. Samantha seemed to be the only one who cared. I don’t blame Mandi (Jaina was never really accepting of us) but I saw my dad seemed to have the same reaction: none at all. It was as if he had better things to do then to worry about his missing step-daughter. If he really loved the hysterical woman next to me, maybe he should try a little harder. Just maybe. “Has anyone called her cell?” Samantha looked shocked, while my lovely father and sister raised their eyes to me.

            “Oh, my goodness! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that!” Samantha rushed into the kitchen and grabbed the portable phone of its charger. She dialed the number at top speed, then waited, biting her lip. I sat down in the rocking chair next to Mandi. The entire room watched Samantha without any real expression. Mandi and my father just looked bored. I however, was in deep thought. If my father didn’t care about the whereabouts of his step-daughter, then maybe he wasn’t as committed to this relationship as he made everyone think. This could be a problem. A wail of despair from the kitchen jerked me out of my train of thought.

            “She didn’t answer! It went to voicemail!” At that exact moment, the front door opened. Being closest to the door, I peered around the doorway into the foyer. It was Jaina. Samantha threw herself at her daughter, but Jaina was faster. She ducked out of the way and watched as Samantha lurched, then righted herself. She rolled her eyes at the sight of her mother’s tears.

            “Oh, honey! We didn’t know where you were!”

            “Oh, my God, Mom! I went to get a sandwich! I left a note on your night stand because I knew, I just knew that you would freak out like this! I’m sixteen years old, Mom, and I think I deserve a little freedom!” This little speech was the most I had heard Jaina ever say, and I was a little surprised to hear that she had as strong an accent as her mother. However, while Jaina’s was cute, Samantha’s was drawling and annoying. Jaina wasn’t done. “Mandi’s sixteen, and she’s allowed to go hang out with friends until three in the morning! Sari’s allowed to wander around at night doing who knows what! You always say that you want to be a mother to them, so why don’t you? Or, even better, why don’t you stop being one to me? You’ll never be able to be their mother, and frankly, I’m jealous of them!” With that, Jaina glared at her mother, then thundered up the stairs. A door slammed, and there was silence. Samantha was staring at the front door, thunderstruck, while Mandi and I looked at each other, then quickly looked away, holding back laughter.

            Samantha coughed. “She didn’t mean that,” she mumbled. My father got off the couch and placed his arms around her shaking shoulders.

            “Of course she doesn’t. She’s just angry,” he murmured in comfort. I stood up to leave. I was sickened by my father. How could he comfort his wife when just moments before, he sat disinterested on the couch while she frantically searched for her daughter? As I left the room, I gave Mandi a knowing look. She pointedly looked away; nothing could change her view on precious Daddy. Sometimes, I really missed my mother.

3

           

            My mother swore that from the day she left, she wanted to never have anything to do with my father. She had a point. What would beautiful, Hollywood mass producer Scarlett Anderson want to do with alcoholic, newspaper publisher Mark Wilson? In her eyes, absolutely nothing. That put me in a tough position. I loved my mother, and what I wanted more than anything was to be with her. However, I was stuck with my father. I only talked to my mother through e-mail and TaskU.com. She never called, and while that might seem better than Samantha’s obsessive messages, it could get a little lonely. It was hard to see what my mother ever saw in my father. I asked her once, when I lived with her for that short time, and wasn’t surprised by her answer.

            “Oh, Sari, honey, he was such a charmer!” She smiled at the memory as she brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “He took my breath away when I saw him. He was standing there at that audition, tall, black-haired and blue-eyed. He was so handsome, the casting director loved him. And, oh, the way he used to make me laugh!”

            I understood exactly what she meant. My father was a huge charmer, with his incredible good looks and goofy sense of humor. They met an audition for a potato chip commercial. She was producing, and he was trying out his acting abilities. He didn’t get the job, but he got my mother. I think he gained more than she did. He was (and is) selfish and controlling while my mother was (and is) beautiful, sensitive, and free-spirited. They were madly in love until I was about fifteen. I never figured out how they lasted so long, being so different. But then, all it took was one fight.

            My father came home from a rough day, clearly drunk. He and my mother started to argue. He got frustrated, and she was being stubborn. He raised his hand, and smacked my mother across the shoulder. She stumbled, then looked from the red mark on her skin to my father in shock. I crouched in the hallway, peering into the kitchen. I was terrified. My mom stormed out of the room, not seeing my hiding place.

            I snuck back up to my room where thirteen year old Mandi was asleep, leaving my father in the kitchen, staring in horror at the wall. The next day, Scarlett Anderson was gone.

***

            I needed a job. My father wasn’t going to supply me with money the way my mother could. Hell, he couldn’t even supply himself with money. About a half an hour after Jaina’s fight with Samantha, I went hunting. I killed my engine in the parking lot of a local restaurant. Walking in the front door, I realized that I had passed it the night I had met Avery. An older man greeted me behind the hostess stand.

            “Welcome to Breezers. How may I help you?”

            “Hi, I was wondering if I can please speak to the manager.” He smiled and nodded. I smiled back and waited. He didn’t move.

            “Um, sir? Can I please see the manager?” He indicated his name tag. It read: HI! MY NAME IS: Scott Olsen In smaller letters it said Manager. “Oh! Hello, my name is Sari Wilson and I was wondering if you had a job opening.”

            “Welcome, Sarah! We are always looking for new meat!” He grinned largely; I could almost hear the extra exclamation points added on to the end of his sentence.

            “Um, it’s Sari. My name is Sari, not Sarah.”

            “Oh, I’m so sorry Sally!” He was still grinning, so pleased with himself that he actually had a willing employer. I just forced a smile and asked to see an application.

            Twenty minutes later, I had a job. It didn’t pay much, but it was enough to get me by. I had never worked in a restaurant before, but it looked pretty interesting. God knows I need a little more chaos in my life. As I left the restaurant, my phone beeped. I looked at the screen, and smiled when I saw the name. Justin.

            “Hello?”

            “Hey, sweetheart.” I felt myself relax when I heard his voice. “I miss you. What have you been up to?” I loved that he called like this, almost every day.

            “I just got a job. It’s at this restaurant called Breezers. It doesn’t pay much, but it should be fun.”

            “That’s awesome, babe. Look, I was just calling to see if I could come down and see you tomorrow.”

            “Wait,” I said. “You would come all the way from Wisconsin to Texas for me?” I grinned big, hope in my heart that maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

            “Yeah, of course.” He responded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That would be okay, right?”

            “That would be great. I can’t wait to see you.”

            “Yeah, me too. I love you, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

            “Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, Justin.” The line clicked, and the silence was in my ear. Hearing his voice made me incredibly homesick, and after he was gone, I felt I might cry. But I was also incredibly happy, and it would take a lot to bring me down. Justin was coming to see me. I wasn’t going to be so incredibly alone! I slid my phone open and typed a message to my dad.

            “Dad,” it read, “I just got a job at a restaurant, and Justin is coming tomorrow.” I read it over, imagining his reaction when he read it. He probably wouldn’t care about the job, and try to remember who Justin was. I hit send, and watched the little envelope icon fly to the mailbox. Justin was coming. I couldn’t get that thought out of my head. It made everything seem not so bad after all.

***

            The door made a loud slamming sound when it closed behind me. The sound bounced around the large, empty foyer.

            “Sari? Is that you?” My father’s voice floated out of the kitchen. I placed my keys on the hook next to the door, and walked towards the stairs, my heels clicking on the polished wooden floor.

            “Yeah, it’s me.” I paused, waiting for any reaction. Silence. “I have some homework to do, so I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

            “Sari, wait.” I stayed where I was, a little surprised. “Can you come here for a second? I think we need to talk.” Oh. So he did know who Justin was.

            He was sitting at the kitchen table, and gestured to the seat across from him. I tentatively sat on the edge of the seat, eyeing him nervously.

            “So,” he began. “I got your text, and I’m a little concerned.”

            “About what? The job, or Justin?” He cleared his throat, obviously just as uncomfortable as I was.

            “Well, to be honest, both. Let’s just say that I don’t want this job to affect your schoolwork. You are a great student, and I don’t want this to ruin that for you. If this is about money, then I can give you what you might need if the situation occurs that – “

            “Wait, this is what this about? School? Since when have you ever cared about my schoolwork, or my grades? I don’t get it, do you not want me to feel like I belong? I mean,” I took a breath, ready to really get going. He didn’t let me.

            “Sari, of course I care about your grades and work habits!” I rolled my eyes.

            “I also doubt that you’d be able to supply me with money! That’s the whole reason I took the job, you know. I want to be independent, I don’t want to have to rely on you and Mom!

9 whole pages. Yeah, I know that's not a lot, but it's what i got. Hope ya like it!

Dum Vita Est, Spes Est

First Blog

So, I'm not really sure how to blog, or what to blog about, but I thought I would give it a try. Right now, I'm working on a project. Now, the project is about Native American Reservations, and as if that isn't complicated enough (mine is all the way in Nevada), the assignment has been changed approximately three times. I'm not really sure what was going through my teacher's head to make her change it so many times, but whatever it was, I bet it was really out there. She never really understands what is going on around her. Which can be pretty funny sometimes. But anyway, I now have to make a Glogster, which is an online poster. I don't know why we can't just make a normal poster, but whatever. We also have to make a video, to embed into our glogster. So right now, I am blogging, trying to figure out iMovie, researching the Battle of Pyramid Lake, and "glogging". I think that I have a little too much going on, and I probably shouldn't be blogging. You know, homework is really important and everything.

I don't really feel like talking about school though. I think that I want to make this a daily thing. I was never really good at keeping a journal, so I think a blog might be easier. I can show this to my friends, or whatever, or I can just never send the link to anyone, and have no one discover me ever. Yeah right. "I wanna be famous, star of the scene!" For anyone who doesn't get that, it's from Drive My Car, one of the most amazing Beatles' songs ever. Anyway, I should probably say first that dance is my passion. I really want to get into this Arts school, and I pray everyday since I sent my application in (yesterday). I think that if dance doesn't get to be a part of my life, well, then God just wasted a soul. I think that without dance, or theater, or whatever it is that you love, life is pointless. Just my thoughts. I also enjoy writing, which is why I'm pretty excited about this blog. I certainly have been inspired. My inspiration comes in the form of lovely Ms Sarah Dessen. I think that she just might be the greatest writer on the planet earth (you know, next to JK Rowling, Charles Dickens, Shakespeare, and all those). She is a young adult other who has made me realize that my writing sucked. So I followed her formula. After reading every single one of her books, I noticed that she had a pattern. A pretty girl, on the outskirts of society, has an event in her life that she wishes to forget, but can't. She deals with family problems, and social problems, and of course, there's a boy. A boy that she starts off being "just friends" with, and they have a special connection with each other. Whether, it's carpool, or music, or insomnia, or a dead parent, they find a way to grow closer, and of course end up in love. Her writing is just fabulous, and I suggest her to everyone in need of a new author. I love her books so much, and she has inspired me greatly. So, I have started writing a story. It is about a girl named Sari Wilson, who lives with her father, sister, stepmom, and stepsister. It isn't very far along, but I think it's getting there. I think maybe I'll let you guys read it. You know, if anyone even reads this. Which I doubt will happen. But maybe it will be nice to just have my work out there. Really, the main way to get noticed on the internet is by singing on YouTube, but I am a terrible singer. I have a solo in showchoir, but I can tell my teacher thinks it was a mistake. I can tell by the look on her face. It's a look of, "Uh, oh! This girl sucks, but I told her she should audition, I'm the one who gave her the solo! What have I done!" That kind of thing. I offered to do a different song, because I sound terrible on the one I'm singing now (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qa5nUD0k9XQ). Her response? "oh, I don't think we're at that point yet."

I think I should probably actually do my homework, instead of just having the tab open so if anyone comes in my room, they think I'm working. Yeah, right! This was pretty fun. I think I'm gonna do this more often. See ya later (imaginary people)


Dum vita est, spes est