That would be the name of my childrens' book if I write one (even if it's about a little girl that dreams she visits a magical world where there are unicorns and candy trees and singing daisies and then she wakes up and finds that it was all a reality). I'll dedicate it to Jordan Singer.
I smell really good. Like REALLY good. I think I smell better when I wear mens' cologne and stuff. So I do. Thank you Old Spice and Hollister.
My cat is bugging the bejeezes out of me. I try to love her all day and she looks like she wants to kill me. Now I don't even want her near me and she's all up on me and in my face. Freakin' Goober (yah, that's really her name).
Why do people feel the need to creep upon me? Seriously. Not to be rude, but I'm out of their league. Or I'm not even in an appropriate age range for them. OR, ya know, I HAVE A BOYFRIEND! Eighty-eight year old guy in a nursing home. Thirty-something year old guy who comes into work. I don't even understand that one... This guy, Roger, comes in and "flirts" (or what he thinks is flirting) with me. Not okay. Not only is he weird, but he has no idea how old I am. I look 14. Seriously, dude: That's illegal. And there are the kids who ARE actually 14. Yeh, THAT's gonna happen...
Then there's the kid that I haven't talked to since 9th grade. P.S. Kid, my boyfriend is awesome. Thanks for asking.
Let's skip the holiday festivities this year. I got carolling out of my system for another year. I don't really want to do the presents thing. I don't want to do the huge feast thing. The only other thing that I want to do is go to my sister's church Christmas Pageant. Then it's time to start dying eggs.
So, if I haven't told you [excitedly], I have an audition on the 7th for Disney. It's for princess/fairy/character look-alikes. Superpsyched for that :)!!
What was the point of this post? Nothing. Just felt like telling you random things I've been thinking about lately.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
I have so much to say and I'm hoping that your arms are open.
So, this post is going to be a mini-autobiography.
People tend not to know the real me; the little things that make me who I am. This will hopefully clear up any questions you may or may not have had for me in the span of time you have known me.
I was born in a blackout. What the heck does that have to do with who you are? you are probably thinking. Well, to tell the truth: nothing. But that's where I begin. And that's just one piece of trivia I thought you should know about me.
I love animals. Most kinds (not the ones that could tear me limb from limb usually). My first job was at a farm park. It was the best job I've ever had. Animals are more human than a whole heck of a lot of the population. I was raised around them and with them and by them. For a year or two in elementary school, I had no real friends. I had goats. I loved those goats more than most people I knew. Natasha was my shadow. I'm pretty sure she was schizophrenic but I loved her for her. She saved my life one day. I was walking around the large goat field barefoot (as is natural for me) and was stung by a bee. I climbed on to Natasha's back and steered her to the barn. She was always there for me. I love my dogs and my cat. I constantly try to hold conversations with them about intellectual type things. They always look like they understand exactly what I'm saying. I promise that I'm not crazy.
I have depression. It's not all that awful. I can have my days. Most days are pretty good, actually. I've tried two or three different antis but everything is too large a dose for my size or my body rejects it and I physically feel like I'm dying. I joke that when I tried to take the stuff, on the way to the toilet to throw up, I felt like skipping.
I think a lot. More than is actually healthy, I think. It's one of those depression things. I tend to start a thought and then dissect it for hours or even days on end. My mind doesn't shut down. Like ever.
I have attention deficit disorder. Yes, I know that kind of clashes with the whole obsessive thought thing. You think that hasn't crossed my mind? It can get kind of fun when I'm not actually stuck on one concrete thought. My brain races a mile a minute and I'm jumping from subject to subject in seconds.
I tend to change my hair whenever I feel like I need to change my life. In fact, I dyed it just tonight. It's been bright auburn, black, strawberry blond, dirty blond, my natural brunette and now it's "Sweet Cola." I guess it's how I cope with my times.
I have the awesomest sister in the world. She's there to get me through everything. Even though we're twenty-ish years apart, it only feels like a year or two. She dropped what she was doing and came over tonight to help me put highlights in (except they're invisible now...).
I love to sing. I sing all the time. At work to my boss (she doesn't appreciate it). At home to my dogs (they don't either). To my best friends (sometimes they do). Actually, singing is the only thing that can get my mind off of whatever it's stuck on. Music is my therapy.
Poetry is sort of my thing. I have notebooks full of stuff I've written. Most of it was in high school when I was a thousand times more confused with life than I am now. I haven't written a good thing since.
I'm not as sarcastic as everyone thinks. One day I simply answered the phone and my sister freaked out that I was being sarcastic. "I just said 'Hello...'" I promise that I'm not. I have an incredibly monotone voice 74% of the time that I talk. Sorry to any of you that have been mistaken by this.
I have a stupendous memory. I remember things that seem impossible to. Actually, it's not so much the memories. It's the details.
I have a lot of scars. I'm pretty clumsy. I fell off an Amish buggy when I was 5 or so and now I have a scar on my chin. In second grade, was skipping around recess with my friend Brittany and I tripped and fell on the tanbark and now I have one on my shoulder. I was lacing up my spikes for springs in 8th grade and someone bumped me and I dug the spikes into my knee. I fell off my porch (only a foot off the ground) and scraped my ankle. I was pushing prop palm trees around the stage during a rehearsal of South Pacific and one fell on me.
It looks like a 6 year old girl lives in my room. One wall is pink, another yellow, another orange, and the last one is white with those colored blocks... There are butterflies, fairy wings, dolls, flowers, stuffed animals, children's books, and tons of sparkly stuff. What can I say? I like happy things.
I need people to know how I feel about them. It's as simple as that. I don't straight up tell people I don't like them. I feel obligated to let people know when I like them. It's kind of annoying.
I can hold a grudge like no one I know. If you do me wrong, you might think that I've forgiven you but whatever you did is definitely in the back of my mind.
I'm an observer. I like to watch people for their actions and reactions. When going out with a group of friends to bowl or what have you, I would rather sit and watch and take it all in.
Sometimes I would rather imply things than admit them obviously. Maybe that goes hand in hand with my true sarcasm.
I love to talk. I love to talk so people who I know are listening in are entertained. I've had many conversations with friends, solely for the people around to listen. It sounds weird, I know, but I like to be that one conversation you overhear and laugh at and tell your friends about later.
I'm not a very sympathetic or empathetic person. I can't even explain that one for you. I'm just not.
I know when I'm beautiful. I'm not going to say, "Ooooh, my hair looks horrible" or "This makes me look (fat, lumpy, disproportionate, etc)" or "I'm so gross right now." No. I know I'm amazing.
I'm starting to run out of things to tell you.
People tend not to know the real me; the little things that make me who I am. This will hopefully clear up any questions you may or may not have had for me in the span of time you have known me.
I was born in a blackout. What the heck does that have to do with who you are? you are probably thinking. Well, to tell the truth: nothing. But that's where I begin. And that's just one piece of trivia I thought you should know about me.
I love animals. Most kinds (not the ones that could tear me limb from limb usually). My first job was at a farm park. It was the best job I've ever had. Animals are more human than a whole heck of a lot of the population. I was raised around them and with them and by them. For a year or two in elementary school, I had no real friends. I had goats. I loved those goats more than most people I knew. Natasha was my shadow. I'm pretty sure she was schizophrenic but I loved her for her. She saved my life one day. I was walking around the large goat field barefoot (as is natural for me) and was stung by a bee. I climbed on to Natasha's back and steered her to the barn. She was always there for me. I love my dogs and my cat. I constantly try to hold conversations with them about intellectual type things. They always look like they understand exactly what I'm saying. I promise that I'm not crazy.
I have depression. It's not all that awful. I can have my days. Most days are pretty good, actually. I've tried two or three different antis but everything is too large a dose for my size or my body rejects it and I physically feel like I'm dying. I joke that when I tried to take the stuff, on the way to the toilet to throw up, I felt like skipping.
I think a lot. More than is actually healthy, I think. It's one of those depression things. I tend to start a thought and then dissect it for hours or even days on end. My mind doesn't shut down. Like ever.
I have attention deficit disorder. Yes, I know that kind of clashes with the whole obsessive thought thing. You think that hasn't crossed my mind? It can get kind of fun when I'm not actually stuck on one concrete thought. My brain races a mile a minute and I'm jumping from subject to subject in seconds.
I tend to change my hair whenever I feel like I need to change my life. In fact, I dyed it just tonight. It's been bright auburn, black, strawberry blond, dirty blond, my natural brunette and now it's "Sweet Cola." I guess it's how I cope with my times.
I have the awesomest sister in the world. She's there to get me through everything. Even though we're twenty-ish years apart, it only feels like a year or two. She dropped what she was doing and came over tonight to help me put highlights in (except they're invisible now...).
I love to sing. I sing all the time. At work to my boss (she doesn't appreciate it). At home to my dogs (they don't either). To my best friends (sometimes they do). Actually, singing is the only thing that can get my mind off of whatever it's stuck on. Music is my therapy.
Poetry is sort of my thing. I have notebooks full of stuff I've written. Most of it was in high school when I was a thousand times more confused with life than I am now. I haven't written a good thing since.
I'm not as sarcastic as everyone thinks. One day I simply answered the phone and my sister freaked out that I was being sarcastic. "I just said 'Hello...'" I promise that I'm not. I have an incredibly monotone voice 74% of the time that I talk. Sorry to any of you that have been mistaken by this.
I have a stupendous memory. I remember things that seem impossible to. Actually, it's not so much the memories. It's the details.
I have a lot of scars. I'm pretty clumsy. I fell off an Amish buggy when I was 5 or so and now I have a scar on my chin. In second grade, was skipping around recess with my friend Brittany and I tripped and fell on the tanbark and now I have one on my shoulder. I was lacing up my spikes for springs in 8th grade and someone bumped me and I dug the spikes into my knee. I fell off my porch (only a foot off the ground) and scraped my ankle. I was pushing prop palm trees around the stage during a rehearsal of South Pacific and one fell on me.
It looks like a 6 year old girl lives in my room. One wall is pink, another yellow, another orange, and the last one is white with those colored blocks... There are butterflies, fairy wings, dolls, flowers, stuffed animals, children's books, and tons of sparkly stuff. What can I say? I like happy things.
I need people to know how I feel about them. It's as simple as that. I don't straight up tell people I don't like them. I feel obligated to let people know when I like them. It's kind of annoying.
I can hold a grudge like no one I know. If you do me wrong, you might think that I've forgiven you but whatever you did is definitely in the back of my mind.
I'm an observer. I like to watch people for their actions and reactions. When going out with a group of friends to bowl or what have you, I would rather sit and watch and take it all in.
Sometimes I would rather imply things than admit them obviously. Maybe that goes hand in hand with my true sarcasm.
I love to talk. I love to talk so people who I know are listening in are entertained. I've had many conversations with friends, solely for the people around to listen. It sounds weird, I know, but I like to be that one conversation you overhear and laugh at and tell your friends about later.
I'm not a very sympathetic or empathetic person. I can't even explain that one for you. I'm just not.
I know when I'm beautiful. I'm not going to say, "Ooooh, my hair looks horrible" or "This makes me look (fat, lumpy, disproportionate, etc)" or "I'm so gross right now." No. I know I'm amazing.
I'm starting to run out of things to tell you.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Frustration at its best
Marissa's Help Desk is officially closed. Not forever. Just for a week or two.
The deal: A bunch of my friends are going through weird and/or tough times lately. They (I'm assuming they started some kind of club that I'm not aware of in order to decide to do this) have turned me into their own personal counselor. I have listened for hours about their problems. I have been a sponge, constantly absorbing everything they say, yet I have sealed all of that away, not telling another soul. I have given more advice than I have ever been asked for. I have worried for them and about them. Now, I'm just done with it.
The advice I've given has totally been thrown by the wayside. I say one thing, they do the complete opposite. I'm trying to be a good friend. Obviously, they don't think I'm capable of giving profitable advice, so why do they keep asking?
I have my own problems and anxieties. I know that they don't compare to their problems in any way, but that doesn't make them any less real. What do I do? I hold my thoughts in. I don't tell anyone because my peers are too absorbed in what to say to whom that they can't take a second to deal with what I want to tell them. Then, when I feel that I can talk to them, I'm too afraid that they will look at me a different way. That they'll see me as weak or stupid or immature or obnoxious or conceited. I can't tell them because I've tried that before and it only results in my secrets being spread.
I've already started turning people down. A friend told me that they were done, that they couldn't do their job, that their relationships were going to hell, they were just done. What was my answer? "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do for you. For anyone, for that matter." What was their reply? That my answer wasn't fair.
Yeh, well, tell me about.
The deal: A bunch of my friends are going through weird and/or tough times lately. They (I'm assuming they started some kind of club that I'm not aware of in order to decide to do this) have turned me into their own personal counselor. I have listened for hours about their problems. I have been a sponge, constantly absorbing everything they say, yet I have sealed all of that away, not telling another soul. I have given more advice than I have ever been asked for. I have worried for them and about them. Now, I'm just done with it.
The advice I've given has totally been thrown by the wayside. I say one thing, they do the complete opposite. I'm trying to be a good friend. Obviously, they don't think I'm capable of giving profitable advice, so why do they keep asking?
I have my own problems and anxieties. I know that they don't compare to their problems in any way, but that doesn't make them any less real. What do I do? I hold my thoughts in. I don't tell anyone because my peers are too absorbed in what to say to whom that they can't take a second to deal with what I want to tell them. Then, when I feel that I can talk to them, I'm too afraid that they will look at me a different way. That they'll see me as weak or stupid or immature or obnoxious or conceited. I can't tell them because I've tried that before and it only results in my secrets being spread.
I've already started turning people down. A friend told me that they were done, that they couldn't do their job, that their relationships were going to hell, they were just done. What was my answer? "I have no idea what I'm supposed to do for you. For anyone, for that matter." What was their reply? That my answer wasn't fair.
Yeh, well, tell me about.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Here in the dark, I stand before you
It's been forever since I've done anything with this thing...
So last night, I had a dream that I was at this YSA Conference funded concert. The group was, like, twenty people and was called something like Soul Voices Combined (maybe, maybe not). Anyways, after one of their numbers, they asked for volunteers. I was thinking Wow!! I'll get to meet members of my FAVORITE GROUP EVER!! I'll do it!! (I was like a teenybopper) So I frantically wave my hand in the air and since I was in the first row (what are the odds), the see me first and one of the members picks me. After a while, each of the members has one audience member, so forty people on stage. Then the cast members run off to the back of the stage and leave us volunteers there. Then the host (yes, actually, it does become a reality show...) comes out and says that they will pick people to sing a whole song by themselves. Of course, they picked me first again. Everything went black except for the one spotlight on me. Then I just started singing Here's Where I Stand (which I'm pretty sure is on my playlist on here). I think I nailed it. Which got me pretty psyched when I woke up.
The end.
So last night, I had a dream that I was at this YSA Conference funded concert. The group was, like, twenty people and was called something like Soul Voices Combined (maybe, maybe not). Anyways, after one of their numbers, they asked for volunteers. I was thinking Wow!! I'll get to meet members of my FAVORITE GROUP EVER!! I'll do it!! (I was like a teenybopper) So I frantically wave my hand in the air and since I was in the first row (what are the odds), the see me first and one of the members picks me. After a while, each of the members has one audience member, so forty people on stage. Then the cast members run off to the back of the stage and leave us volunteers there. Then the host (yes, actually, it does become a reality show...) comes out and says that they will pick people to sing a whole song by themselves. Of course, they picked me first again. Everything went black except for the one spotlight on me. Then I just started singing Here's Where I Stand (which I'm pretty sure is on my playlist on here). I think I nailed it. Which got me pretty psyched when I woke up.
The end.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I've got the marbles I could sell for money
So, this is going to be a totally random blogging. I have a couple minutes before I need to stop procrastinating and twelve weeks to rant about.
I've lost two very best friends in the same weekend. Well, I didn't lose them. I know exactly where they are. And it's probably for the better. The reasoning: sex, drugs, lying, Hershey Park, gossip, picnics, almost step-brothers, work, me no longer wanting a relationship with someone who is not George Raymond Wolf, going to the movies, bracelets. The usual.
Oh well. This gives me a reason to latch on to other people and make even awesomer best friends.
I made a realization weeks ago. One of the above BFFs was talking to me and I was being vain (but in a fake way, FYI). He said, "Well aren't you just God's gift...." and I said, "Everyone is God's gift to the world." At first I was joking, and then I decided I needed to prove it to myself just in case he decided to argue it (he didn't. He just rolled his eyes [he's not so big on God])
Everyone really is. Even the rapists and terrorists and child abusers and drug dealers and crack addicts and serial killers and bank robbers and cranky people who yell at you because there's no coffee made in your convenience store. Even the guy that tried to kidnap me when I was ten. They're here to make us stronger.
So, right now, I'm making up this list. Intriguing, right? Just wait till you hear what it is! It's a list of all the people in my phone. You know why? I doubt it. Let me tell you. I'm going to say what I think of each of them and put it on here. Of course, I won't be putting there name next to it. It will be completely random.... I'm not that courageous.
I need to be on stage again. I was supposed to audition for Willy Wonka Jr... and then they changed it to ages 7 through high school senior... I could pass for that, right? Maybe I'll find something where I don't have a bad history with the director or there's no age restriction or you don't have to be a "priveleged" person (i.e. you spend a couple hundred bucks to join an "academy" acting class but really you're just buying yourself a part because you really, really suck at acting AND singing). Lisa, my sister, told me to just do set with her. That is not me. I am on stage, in the spotlight. Or behind the person in the spotlight. Or to the side of the stage with a dinky spotlight on me because I'm singing back-up for the person who is really in the spotlight. Nevertheless, that's where I need to be.
So I finally found the Readers' Cafe. It's some small bookshop-slash-coffee place-slash-beatnik club (I think) in Hanover where on the first Monday of every month, they have open mic night for poets. I'm thinking about going. I've wanted to go since 10th or 11th grade but I've never been able to find it. So, who wants to go with me??
I think I'm done for now. I've forgotten everything important and uplifting that I wanted to share.
Yes.
I've lost two very best friends in the same weekend. Well, I didn't lose them. I know exactly where they are. And it's probably for the better. The reasoning: sex, drugs, lying, Hershey Park, gossip, picnics, almost step-brothers, work, me no longer wanting a relationship with someone who is not George Raymond Wolf, going to the movies, bracelets. The usual.
Oh well. This gives me a reason to latch on to other people and make even awesomer best friends.
I made a realization weeks ago. One of the above BFFs was talking to me and I was being vain (but in a fake way, FYI). He said, "Well aren't you just God's gift...." and I said, "Everyone is God's gift to the world." At first I was joking, and then I decided I needed to prove it to myself just in case he decided to argue it (he didn't. He just rolled his eyes [he's not so big on God])
Everyone really is. Even the rapists and terrorists and child abusers and drug dealers and crack addicts and serial killers and bank robbers and cranky people who yell at you because there's no coffee made in your convenience store. Even the guy that tried to kidnap me when I was ten. They're here to make us stronger.
So, right now, I'm making up this list. Intriguing, right? Just wait till you hear what it is! It's a list of all the people in my phone. You know why? I doubt it. Let me tell you. I'm going to say what I think of each of them and put it on here. Of course, I won't be putting there name next to it. It will be completely random.... I'm not that courageous.
I need to be on stage again. I was supposed to audition for Willy Wonka Jr... and then they changed it to ages 7 through high school senior... I could pass for that, right? Maybe I'll find something where I don't have a bad history with the director or there's no age restriction or you don't have to be a "priveleged" person (i.e. you spend a couple hundred bucks to join an "academy" acting class but really you're just buying yourself a part because you really, really suck at acting AND singing). Lisa, my sister, told me to just do set with her. That is not me. I am on stage, in the spotlight. Or behind the person in the spotlight. Or to the side of the stage with a dinky spotlight on me because I'm singing back-up for the person who is really in the spotlight. Nevertheless, that's where I need to be.
So I finally found the Readers' Cafe. It's some small bookshop-slash-coffee place-slash-beatnik club (I think) in Hanover where on the first Monday of every month, they have open mic night for poets. I'm thinking about going. I've wanted to go since 10th or 11th grade but I've never been able to find it. So, who wants to go with me??
I think I'm done for now. I've forgotten everything important and uplifting that I wanted to share.
Yes.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Mr. Trebek
So, I need to add this picture.
Kayla is going to be a junior in high school. She is wise far beyond her years. She is amazing.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
friends and lovers
So, I need some advice. Who wants to be awesome and attempt to give it?
Let me know if you're up for it, one way or another.
Let me know if you're up for it, one way or another.
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