Slip of the hand...Save your soul!

Last night in mass, my friend was struggling to pull small bills out of her purse for the collection basket. I remember noticing as she hurriedly searched her wallet and threw what looked like a couple of 1's into the pleasant-faced usher's long-handled basket. I, yet again, had not taken my wallet into church with me, and bashfully avoided his eyes. As it turned out, my friend had donated for the both of us. She had accidentally put her $100 bill in the basket, which she noticed only after it fell in. !! And being the good and generous that she is, she just let it go, though not without a little anxiety and not without stifling the reaction stop the pleasant-faced usher, "I didn't mean to give that much!" and dig through the basket to get it back. But no, no, no. That would have been bad form indeed. In the basket it stayed, waiting to *wow* the parish accountant. Next stop Sainthood, my friend!

The Sunglass Couple

Had to share really quickly, a cartoon COUPLE comes in to workout almost every day. They're so cool. The girl's sunglasses are squarish blues-brother style--very hipster chic--and the guy's, of course, are mirror aviators. They always come in together, silently, purposefully, seriously...They look very much alike, kind of like how in 101 Dalmatians the dogs and owners look alike, except they're both human: pale skin, dark hair, and allllllways wearing sunglasses when they walk in--so I've never actually seen their eyes. Today, the guy forgot his card, so they had to speak. To my surprise, they were so jovial! I knew then they were more than deserving of a post and spectacular cartoon classification! Good job guys.

Does it scare you how well I know you?

I think it definitely freaks people out that I can predict almost perfectly the names and needs of the members who come into work in the morning. This is not because I'm special or necessarily very smart. I just work amongst the most predictable creatures of habit on the planet. I recognize voices on the phone so they wonder why I don't ask for their child's name every time they call for babysitting, just like they do every day. Or sometimes, not even every day...The same people need locks every day, so they don't even ask anymore. The same people train with the same trainers every day, so we may have a one-two word exchange---" Hey" or "training today"--- as I check them off for their 47th personal training session. I know who you are. I know who your trainer is." Sometimes I feel like I'm playing the game of Clue for about the 1000th time. For example, the solution could be :Therepist Q with Mr. T in the Co-Ed room, at 12:00pm, for 60 minutes. OR Miss M. with Mrs. P, in the pilates room, with...the REFORMER! Mr. S with his daughter H, in the babysitting room, 1 hour. It's way more fun to think of scheduling like it's a game. Otherwise, I might have offed myself out of sheer boredom by now. No, I'd start memorizing the digits of Pi before taking such drastic measures.

I just realized I probably shouldn't use "amongst" anymore. It took be forever as a kid to figure out why it was "amongst women" and not "among women" in the Hail Mary, and now I use it in regular speech. Sheesh.

My Emotional Kaleidoscope

Though many a broken-hearted girl may self-diagnose herself as bi-polar and be done with it, we would all do ourselves an injustice by not properly assessing the wide spectrum of our emotions....

Does that sound psycho-babbly at all?

To be honest, I just had a very brief thought in which I compared human emotions to a Kaleidoscope: Captivating, vibrant, easily moved, somewhat out of control unless the barrel is moved ever so carefully...does this make sense? Is this ringing a bell? Wondering about emotions leads me back to my questions about perception vs. truth I mentioned in the earlier blog on Kant...we can be so fragile, yet so strong. Our emotions can drive us over the edge, so the answer seems to be that we should become less emotional beings... for self preservation reasons, right? And now for the original KALEIDOSCOPE COMPARISON!!...

I REALLY don't appreciate the frequent SHAKING of my kaleidoscope of late! So I'll soak the end in Coke and wait for the colored pieces to start gumming together, or maybe add some nice olive oil so everything slows down. OR perhaps I should learn to see the beauty in the colors mixing together and enjoy the ride. I still maintain my position that it is better to be able to experience pain than to become emotionally stunted and close off. You don't get anywhere that way, and I imagine a lot more people get hurt that way. Ironic isn't it? At least if you allow yourself to feel, the more you experience the more opportunity you have to learn about how emotions affect your perception, how they can help you, how they can harm you, how they can keep you from seeing what really is.

This is going to require another post, but I'm feeling too disjointed to finish my thoughts now.

Noches Latinas: The Saga Continues

Ok, maybe it's not a Saga. However, it has been a most excellent weekend of friends and the BEST FOOD EVER. Yesterday we cooked for a total 4 hours a lovely Cuban meal including Ropa Vieja, which requires the cooking and shredding of an entire roast, Maduros y Christianos--Black beans and Rice, but SO much more!---, and Tostones, which are twice-fried plantains, which you peel only under water and only after covering your hands with oil so they don't turn black--your hands, that is. Dearie me!!!

Honestly, this is only exacerbating my growing obsession with the Caribbean culture. Why are you so awesome?! I mean, what do I have to compare really? What is American culture anyway? I have this conversation occasionally, and no one can ever come up with anything that's worth repeating. I've come to the conclusion that because we have a sometimes diluted collective culture, we have developed little micro cultures in our cities, and sometimes in our states. We all know that New Yorkers are veeeery different that New Orleanians. But WHY? I can't seem to put my finger on it. Is it mentality, manners, work ethic, party-capacity...? And where we are different, should it be traced back to our heritage? Both were port cities filled with the Irish, Spanish, French...How did we and how do we develop our cultural norms and narrative?

Noches Latinas, babyyyyy!

Don't park next to the sketchy people!!!!! Especially at a club in Metairie, dear friends, unless you are ok with the guy-banter when we girls drive up next to them. At least it sounds prettier in Spanish: Que Bonita, que liiiiinda, babyyyyy. Where are you goooooing tonight? My friends and I went in search of Salsa dancing on Saturday evening after our very private and exclusive wine and Manchego cheese party, and our third...er...hit-and-miss venue of the evening was this club in Fat City called Club Slim. It looked highly promising, at least for our purposes, especially as we appeared to be the only non-Latins in the vicinity. Woop! Dance partners! Unfortunately when we got in, NO ONE was dancing to the very awesome Reggaton. Rather, they were staring at US...all 20 or so guys and the token way better dressed girl. We were giggling like 15-year-olds. One of my friends and I were totally prepared to stick it out, but the third of us, used to the clean and vibrant clubs in Houston was completely scared out of her mind. I could see her eyes scanning the crowd and mapping out every escape route in case we were cornered by the fan club in the parking lot. After a quick not-so-covert discussion about what we should do, we walked back out, our frightened friend practically skip-running to her car. We tried to maintain at least one or two cool points getting back into our cars and driving away beneath the stares of the entire parking lot...but all I can say is that it was a valiant effort.

My friends are muppets and cartoons.

I must continue the saga of muppets and cartoons in my life. I have one of each in my two best friends. B is the muppet with a sweet heart-shaped face and curly hair that has been tamed via her incredible "bouncy cream." L is the kind-hearted cartoon, with smiley eyes and a hearty chuckle that appears both easily and often...she also has one of the scariest tempers I've ever seen. HA! I did not realize just how pronounced they are in their respective...materials until after having taken several pictures next to them.

By the way, I still remain undecided on my own status, which takes me back to my original conclusion that I am, quite simply, the narrator, neither muppet nor cartoon.

Maybe I'm a crazy person, but we're just going to have to be ok with thatI

...and I definitely say "ok" waaaay too often.

The only thing you can change is yourself.

This may be the one life lesson that I actually nailed--- at least once-- in my life. It's the one I remember in most situations, even if sometimes I've remembered all too late. I tend to think most of the time that one one is paying attention to me, that I exist in some kind of vaccum void. Or perhaps, just like everyone does,--in a little "skull-sized kingdom" (I can't remember where I heard that phrase!) I have my own little skull-sized kingdom, and it's got a boisterous court of fools I like to call my thoughts. Maybe it's been a self-preservation thing to retreat into my little skull kingdom, but I know if I'm not careful I'll start relying too much on my perception of things and not paying attention to what's really going on. Though missing out on reality doesn't always seem like a bad thing, I think most of us would agree that staying out of the loop too long will only prolong our suffering. Reality is a place where we have to be with and rely on other people, and that is what makes it at once so abhorrent and so wonderful. We reject and hurt each other for no good reason but instead of changing ourselves, we build walls to protect ourselves from the sting of rejection, loss, and malcontent. We retreat into our skull-kingdoms where--HA--we can never be happy. I hope to learn better and break out of my own habit of retreat so that I don't just give my self more walls to tear down at some point. I don't really want to live behind them anyway.

Public and Unsatisfactory Display of Competition

Last night, I went to balcony bar as part of my friends' "Wine Wednesdays" tradition and, perhaps because of recently increased stress levels, I started to get antsy almost immediately. My answer to this problem is very nearly always the same: Play a game...Last night I chose a new-to-me game called "I'd like you to meet my friend, Emily," which is QUITE fun, at least for me. Of course, last night, my friend wasn't having anything to do with the random guys I chose, the ones who just happened to be sitting next to us, so I end up striking up a random conversation. I found my out when one of them answered a text while I was talking--yay--but then he came back to apologize for his rudeness. I hadn't cared--really. The sad fact of the matter is (and I know how evil this is), he was just a part of my own entertainment and competitive nature. I was just trying to see if I could get random strangers to talk and be interesting. Well...I did get them to talk, so I'll consider that my little victory for the evening. It would have been a bonus, maybe even nice, if they had actually turned out to be cool or even engaging, which they didn't. I tried exceedingly hard to pay attention to our conversation, to make them feel good and amusing. Sadly, I got bored again. Maybe it's because the competition was too easily won...or probably because there was no competition at all. ARG. How unsatisfying.

I've been accused by one of my co-workers of only blogging on the negative. Am I too negative and critical in my posting? Ok, to be honest I haven't felt very positive about life lately, which is why perhaps I've become rather bitter in my commentary. Please accept my most sincere apologies.

Though I may have lost most of my faith in the our species, a cynicism that is reinforced daily, it is only fair to God and man that I not ignore the great and wonderful gift I have in my close friends who, daily, restore the faith in what we humans are capable of being.

So that's it for sappy nonsense, ok? Yes, I still tear up with joy when toddlers smile at me, I still identify with Elizabeth Bennett, I am still awestruck under the night sky, I still love glitter, and I still believe, somehow, in love.

But let's be honest. I'm just not that interesting a person without a little angst.

Bad VS. Badly

Ok, so this post is entirely too long...

I went looking for a word that meant "to affect badly," or something like that, and found in my google search there are SERIOUS debates over the use of "Bad vs. Badly." One's an adjective and one's an adverb, people! Simple, right? Ahhhh, think again:

This is the title from an actual New York Times article that most interested me:

BAD VS. BADLY.; A MORAL, SOCIAL, AND LINGUISTIC DISCUSSION REPLIES TO SOME LADY CORRESPONDENTS, AND RESPECTFUL COMPLIMENTS TO A WESTERN PROFESSOR.

The journalist proceeds to write that his MOST POPULAR letters of inquiry are concerning the proper use of bad vs. badly. (Are you kidding me? This reminds me of philosophy class second semester freshman year when no one wanted to talk all year until we reached a nice safe topic : the moral implications of vegetarianism vs. eating meat. So, it really shouldn't have surprised me that the most common worry among New York Times readers is a grammatical confusion and not say...homelessness.)

But that is just beginning. The journalist is actually writing the article to respond to the "condemnation" by a Literature professor from Vanderbilt, who writes that the NY times, not to mention this particular journalist, are the very last place one should look for grammatical guidance. Well, I think we all know how liberal arts professors feel about the "communication arts," that is, not in very high regard. However, the journalist makes a valiant effort to defend himself:
"...it may possibly be accepted as a plea in misericordiam on on my behalf that I have never volunteered my guidance, either to individuals or the public...I have never made that guidance the occasion of volunteering a derogatory opinion of any other critic or teacher..."
So, he's doing the best he can, Mr. Vandy Professor. It's not his fault that he get's so many letters from people about grammar.

But, the best is when he reports that the author cited in the Professor's letter, Dr. F. Hall, was in fact "Pilloried for literary indecency and impudence in the leading critical publications of Great Britain, one of his executioners being , as I have learned, one of the most eminence authors of the day..."
OUCH! .

I was almost ready to side with journalist in this little hissy fit until I read the second half of the article during which he starts going on about moral goodness or badness, which I felt to be a passive aggressive slight towards the Vandy Professor who unwittingly chose an ignorant, pompous, and especially "bad" guy to support his argument. So, he's taking the moral high road and discrediting his knowledge of the English language because he's really a "bad" guy.... That makes sense.
The fundamental turn-off, however, is his assumption about why women are the ones constantly writing in about their struggle with bad vs. badly. (dangerous territory, man!!!) His assumption is that because "badness" in women refers mostly to their sexual conduct, women especially want to make sure that they are not suggesting this when they say "I feel bad."

Hm.

Obviously, R.G.W's pride more than a little wounded, or else he would not have gone such great lengths to defend his obligation to answer his many constituents, even though, admittedly, he just doesn't have the resources at his disposal. Back off, Vandy!
My guess is that our Professor was expressing his own exasperation with our tenuous and altogether misunderstood vernacular--and maybe blowing off a little steam in his frustration that, despite all of his own research, everyone still writes to the Times.

And now, I have added even more to the ridiculous amount of writing on the subject of bad vs. badly.

Here's a link to the full article:
http://query.nytimes.com/mem/archive-free/pdf?_r=1&res=9801E6DD163EE63BBC4850DFB7678382669FDE

Creeper McCreeps

My mother reminded me of something I can't believe I forgot to post about yesterday. Coming home from work, I took Hickory down to Adams and crossed through the, er, transitional part of my street, which lies in between the two halves of Carrollton Cemetery. As usual, I passed a few people peering out from their porches, but this time I also saw a man and a woman who were standing on the corner of Adams and Cohn across from my house. I watched them both watch me pass them and then pull into my quasi-driveway, get out and walk towards the front. As I turned to go through my front gate to get my mail, the man yells a "Hey there!" or something...Because I'm friendly--or stupid--I responded. The next question he asked was so weird, though.
"Are you from Louisiana?? The question was laced with doubt.
"I am," I said.
He raised his eyebrows and smiled saying, "Babe, you Daaaaam Fine!"
"Um, thanks." I laughed nervously then proceeded to struggle with my mail that took FOREVER to get out of my impossible mail box. I dropped a few things, which meant I had to bend over and get it. GREAT! So I tried to do it as modestly as possible before almost running back into the house.

It was not that intense of an experience, but it did provoke a "watch out for all those creepy men" talk from my mother, including a horrible story about a girl who by kissing some random guy, developed a mouth sore which aided in the effort to expose him as the murderer of 4 girls, the bodies of which he had stashed in his house. Nice.
No worries, Mom. They're all guilty until proven innocent.

Pupusas and Purpose

Actually, this post has nothing to do with either Pupusas or Purpose. I just liked the alliteration, although I did consume two delicious pupusas with great purpose--and gusto for that matter!!-- this evening at dinner with my family. Wouldn't that make a great short story title? Moving on....

I heard a song on the radio this evening and I was taken with a song that said, "L-o-v-e is just another word I never learned how to pronounce. " HOW TRUE! Normally listening to 97.1 is like a fast food binge/trip to Walmart--which, by the way, I have NOT done in a very, very long time thank you very much---, but eeevery once in a while I find something worth analyzing. This song kind of reminded me of the dating shows I bashed in an earlier post: On the surface, the song I heard is just the same kind of sickly gratifying tune with a catchy beat, club-tastic synths and lyrics like "See-through, leather, tube top, makes me wanna....." you get the picture. The singer is warning his pretty quarry that he'll never say the word "love" because he doesn't even know what it means. I don't remember what he says after that, but I found it to be a remarkably honest thing to say. The song also reminds me scarily of the moral code of someone I met this summer... He's right, though! No one knows what love means but we all suspect love does not mean anything that takes place in the club scene. So we know what love is NOT. Sort of.

Anyway, I'm not sure where I'm going with this except to say that I intend on posing a very uncomfortable question to unsuspecting individuals. What do you think LOVE is? I've never been a person with an agenda, but I'm afraid I just might have found one. It's all just intellectual fun, mind you.

If Broccoli tasted better than doughnuts...

...Life as we know it just might be a little different, and maybe a little less frustrating. But NO! The right way is almost always the harder way. Food provides a lovely microcosm for exploration of this concept. I venture to suggest that at least 90% of people would rather eat a doughnut over broccoli (unless you're me or my sister 5 years ago) because, despite the overwhelming nutritional advantages of eating broccoli, doughnuts taste way better. My sister and I used to joke about getting hypnotized one day into enjoying the taste of broccoli and other vegetables in the way we would enjoy ice cream or cake. THEN, it wouldn't have taken so much self discipline and force feeding ourselves depressing plates of green food--basically a vegetable patch-- as we tried to consume the proper things, conditioning our brains to forget things that taste good, things like real butter and sugar, and whole milk. *sigh*

The unfortunate extension of this phenomenon into real life, however, is the real depression. We have to end relationships, sever connections, and burn bridges all in honor of "the right thing." Why does the action have to be so severely painful? Why is the easy thing to do almost always wrong? What would the world be like if only we could all be hypnotized to really believe that it is so much easier and safer to speak plainly, and rather be much more afraid of lying; and on the other side, everyone be hypnotized to be comfortable knowing the truth when they hear it.
We do we have to fight to be good?and true? and honorable? Why can't the slippery slope go up instead of down? It is so easy to fall, and so difficult to get up. Is this the only way we appreciate anything?

On "Minor Freak Outs" and Why They are necessary

Well, at least necessary to my sanity. I venture to say that every girl knows the M.F.O. all too well. (Do guys ever freak out over anything important? Ok, yes you do. That was mean and passive aggressive.) Unfortunately for me, Minor Freak Outs are usually brought on my the simplest of statements that cause a flood of memories, emotions , however deeply buried, surface in the form of rouging cheeks, hot flashes, and the occasional--let's be honest: ever-present--teary eyes. GEES!!! M.F.O.s can cause both a high level of disruption in one's life, as well as an outlet for pent up raw feelings, albeit a terribly unpleasant one. M.F.Os are like grown up temper tantrums because you feel like something intrinsic to your life has been dislodged from its rightful place: in the I-don't-have-to-think-about-this-anymore-because-I've-decided-it's-true part of your brain. This leads me to the thinking that these M.F.O.s could be a necessary part of mature human ethical development----not that anyone really cares about that anymore.

HOWEVER....there is a less noble M.F.O. that occurs when people do something stupid, obnoxious, or transparently SELFISH. For example, I have a Minor Freak Out whenever someone gives me GRIEF about letting me make them a new card--I.E. insisting that the 5 seconds it takes to make the card will make them late-- so I don't have to stop and type in their information every time the come in. OR, I have a Minor Freak Out when someone asks me a question to which they already know the answer and then gets mad at me for it. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! But see, I'm already over it.

Society for Magnificent Maneaters

We like to Meet our Meat before we Eat.
This is not your typical Maneater's Society. The point and intent of our society is first and foremost education of our pitifully formed male counterparts. Let's face it. They just don't know what to do with themselves, let alone with a woman. Therefore, men--because we already know boys couldn't handle it-- are invited to join our circle, one at a time, for a lovely 3-on-1 session over a moderate amount of alcoholic treats. The discussion will be centered on 5 central questions. Here are a few examples designed to tap the male mind, and to expose him to real women's reactions.

1. What are you thinking about right now, and why? (*side note, if this turns out to be either food, shelter, or procreation, one member of the society is allowed a single, unannounced smack without explanation.)
2. Why would you approach a woman, or why not? Give at least 3 reasons with examples.
3. What are the top 3 things women think about.
4. What is your favorite pick-up line and explain why you think it works?
5. Who do you think, at this table, would be the scariest when angry and why?

All Questions are subject to change at any given moment, of course. I think these would be more than fairly entertaining...but more importantly INSTRUCTIVE for both parties.

Of course, The most exquisite part about the formation of this society is the central doubt in my mind that the society will ever entertain a Man under these conditions. The fear and intimidation, I imagine, will be too intense for them. Am I wrong?

Real-life Dearie ME!!!

When your top flies off at the beach in front of a rather jolly contingent of the U.S. Navy there is only time for one thing: Critical Thinking!!!!! And now, the necessary back story to this scenario:

I took an impromptu trip to Pensacola beach this weekend with two friends. Everything worked out beautifully as we scraped our way through the day: showers in the covered beach showers at the Hilton, bathroom breaks at Hampton Inn...We met a group of Navy guys while baking our bodies on Saturday afternoon. I had my eyes closed, but my friends spotted them as the past up the spot where we were, but make a U-turn about 30 seconds later and plop down next to us. All I remember was hearing "Dorian...Dorian!! Wake up, get up, get up, get up!" and suddenly there they were: I named them by their respective home states/cities: Alabama, Denver, Minnesota, Florida, and California. Jesse a.k.a Minnesota was the most charming out of the bunch...and he spent the majority of his time burying himself with sand, using the bud lights they had with them to wet the sand...
The water was very rough, but we would from time to time get the nerve to go and battle the waves for a while. We went out with the navy guys for a bit. I was getting blown around like a leaf in the waves, which was fine at first because Minnesota was holding my hand to steady me. THEN, we got hit by about 3 waves in a row during which time my bathing suit top flew over my head. DEEEEARIE ME!!!!!!!!!! When I resurfaced from the waves, I thought my top was completely gone...as in, it was lost in the ocean forever....right smack in the middle of about 6 guys. ONLY ME!!! I looked over at my friend and tried to think about what the best course of action was going to be. Somehow, I was going to have to make it back to the beach, topless, without exposing myself...Then I noticed that something around my neck. THANK GOD, what I thought was my hair was actually the strings to my top dangling around my neck. Minnesota saw my holding myself (ARRRRRRG) and grabbed me around the waist to steady me, as he told me to try to put the top back on...IT WAS BROKEN. (GREEEEAT!!!) I called my friend over to come and tie it, all the while Minnesota--a stranger--is holding me from behind making sure I don't roll away into the surf. The whole thing was so ridiculous, there was almost no point in being embarrassed, not to mention there was really no time. We did manage to get my suit tied together and made it out of the Yellow-flagged waves unscathed.

What IS diet, caffeine-free Coca Cola?

Man, I need to practice capitalizing my proper nouns... BAHH! What can you do when you're up at 11:00pm knowing that you have to get up in exactly 6.5 hours, and you're insides are shaking? Well, my dear friends, the answer is to blog. If I had a tripod, my current situation would be an excellent setting for a video. Shame. ARG!!!!! I can't sleep, I can't sleep! Too much on the brain, not enough exercise, and the strangest dinner... I'm just re-living it: Black beans and rice with a cheese omelet on top. What did I eat??? Top that off with a diet, caffeine free Coke, and we've got the quintessential in "I-eat-alone-on-a-regular-basis" dinners. Eww. I'm almost ashamed to describe how pitiful the meal was. I mean, eating in front of your laptop just bites anyway. At least if it's a tuna sandwich you can pass it off as a snack. But dinner?!?! Gees, that's SAD.

And just for the record, When I hit spell check--because I'm paranoid--I found that I had spelled quintessential correctly, and messed up sandwich. How does this make sense?

Insomnia is a great excuse for being random and composing a message filled with non sequiturs. (The spell check doesn't recognize the word "non sequitur." HA ! I love when I'm smarter than the computer. I was beginning to worry.

Dating Shows are the ultimate "DO NOT"

Dating shows cause me to vomit a little bit in my mouth. And yet, HOW TELLING they are about our culture and what a void of meaning there is in our relationships. We aren't even sad when people break up. We expect it. We might even want it. For instance, no one will be surprised when the winner of "More to Love" and the lucky man break up on some other follow-up show. For purposes of the moment, we'll call that show, "Mike just wants a Mini Skirt." Maybe he will get a backstage pass to "Megan Wants a Millionaire" and they'll hit it off and make a new show together, "Meg and Mike have a Tike." Then they'll have successfully brought a new generation into the world of hollywood relationships, and we can all watch how the kid grows up, somehow survives the impending divorce of his painfully superficial parents after some "alleged infidelity." Then we'll all be surprised-except-not when the kid gets arrested for something like petty theft (even though he's a millionaire) and lands his very own hit show "The Life of an American Teenager: The JUVIE HALL Days"
These shows are like eating junk food every day for a month times 100. All they serve to do is to present an increasingly apathetic populous with trite exaggerations of real-life relational misery so that we feel better by comparison and get a little entertainment out of the deal. TO WHAT ARE WE COMPARING OURSELVES, PEOPLE?

"Orphan" Movie (contains spoilers)

Last night I went to see "Orphan" with my friend. I give the movie about a 7 for Scary-factor, and maybe even a 9 for plot and here's why: I went to this movie "knowing" that I was going to see one of those demon-child movies, which are pretty disturbing in general. However, I was plesantly surprised by the truth of the matter revealed toward the end of the movie. Instead of a demon-child on our hands who never got love, we have a 33-year old psychotic who just happens to have a rare hormone disorder than makes her look very young. She poses as a little girl, and being the master maniupulator she is, attempts to seduce the father of each family she infiltrates. Come to find out she is one of the most violent and dangerous inmates of a mental hospital from which she escaped. I wonder where they got such a story. The truth that I don't want to admit is that they probably got it from some real-life case from the 1930s or something...or maybe several different cases rolled into one. I should look it up.

Are we all really this self-centered??

I really can't handle it when I hear someone talking about being engaged to someone they are not in love with. How many people in the world actually marry people they want to be with ALL THE TIME? I freaks me out that it probably isn't that many. And I guess it works out? But then, it really doesn't because over HALF of all marriages end in divorce. Are we all that self-centered? Are we so misinformed on what love is that we all THINK we know what it is and then settle for somthing that isn't? AHHHHHH!!!!! I'm going to be single forever. My standards are altogether too high, apparently.

Owl City