Literary was yesterday. It went surprisingly well! I won first place in oral interpretation (My cause and effect monologue) which is awesome and means I'm going to state. I guess the weird part of the day was that my quartet also won first place in competition. We've won region every year I've been in high school, so I'm more than happy to finish strong, but this may have been the saddest I have ever been to win something.
Some back story: We switched regions this year. Everyone got rearranged, really, it wasn't just us, but we were put up against Columbus. Usually, Columbus was the school we were afraid of when we ran into them at state-- now, we're hitting them at region competitions. They're a magnet school for the arts, and beat us at one act this year. Their coaches are brilliant and every student in their program is fantastic. Basically, they're the big arts monster of literary and beating them in any way feels like slaying a dragon while armed with only a wooden shield and a spork for protection. Last year, we lost to their quartet at state. They got first, we were runners up. I like to think it was a close fight, but we didn't get to see them perform.
On the other hand, Central was in our previous region and was moved to our current one with us as well. Usually we're not as worried about them, but this year they surprised us with an amazing high tenor and some adorable choreography. By the end of their and Columbus's performances, we were almost sure we only had a chance for third place.
We were all extra tense about it because, with every event finished and scored other than quartet, we were one point behind Columbus for overall region-winning awesomeocity. If we got anything but first, we would get second.
After waiting for forever (because of some mixup with the judges and the way they scored versus the way they ranked) it was finally announced that we had won quartet, and therefore our school had won the competition. I was excited, but also felt rather sick to my stomach because everyone could have agreed that Columbus did better than we did. It didn't feel like winning, it felt like we had cheated them.
But the negative feelings didn't stop there! We then got to observe the crazy drama and chorus teachers in their natural habitat, duking it out. Central's coach and entire team had a hissy about the results, demanding that something was wrong and presumably believing that we had cheated and stolen away the vast hoard of gold they should have gotten for slaying the Columbus-dragon.
On top of that, they weakly contested my win in Oral Interp earlier on in the day by saying that while their student was performing someone had a phone out. Apparently, one kid in that room having a phone out is a terrible distraction that caused him to get (No, not second. No, not third.) fourth place. So basically, they were saying that a single phone being out during a round in a room full of people caused their student to drop three places.
I was getting frustrated and irritated and angry and just in general sick of all the drama, when I happened to ask who Central's coach was.
"That lady over there. The pregnant one."
"Ohhhh. Now I understand."
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
I Am Caleb. Hear Me Roar.
Sometimes, I get angry.
Now, this doesn't happen too terribly often, though there are a select few that get me regularly riled up, and it is usually short-lived. But when I am truly angry, everyone knows. There are several stages to my anger, and they basically go like this.
It always starts with my Oh My God, Did That Really Just Happen face. If my anger was caused in person, it is usually accompanied by some uncomfortable laughter. Sometimes I'll actually say "Oh my god, did that really just happen." This face, easily recognizable by my friends, is my immediate response to any external stimulus that makes me unhappy. It comes in many forms, though, like the Stank face (Snarl-like lip, like I'm smelling something foul on you) or the You're An Idiot face (Raise one eyebrow, lower the other, purse lips, like you just said something stupid because you probably did just say something stupid).
Soon after, it gives way to telling absolutely everyone who will listen exactly what happened. For me, negative emotions are not a personal thing. I think my brain has the idea that if I share my anger, sadness, or pain with everyone around me it will eventually disperse until all of its power is gone. It works well, usually, to be honest, as long as I don't get in trouble for not shutting my mouth soon enough. At this point, someone inevitably tries to do the stupid thing and tell me how they see the other side of the story, which gives way to the next stage.
Now that someone has pointed out to me that I could, in fact, be a human and I could, in fact, have flaws, and that the situation might have, maybe, just a little, been my fault I fold in on myself and begin having self-esteem issues about my problems and how it was all my fault and why doesn't anyone love me and he started it but he wouldn't have started it if I had just been better, tried harder, had fewer flaws, and of course we fought and everyone should fight with me and I'm going to go to the gym.
Eventually I get over it, usually that day unless it was a particularly grievous offense, and I move on with my life. I completely forget about when I was angry at the person until the NEXT time I'm angry at them, at which point I decide that the previous times had been bothering me from the beginning. Each progressive time my anger is directed at a person the mood swings get bigger and the stages get more intense. By the fifth time, I'm making chimpanzee faces, putting the story on the local news, and buying a ten gallon tub of protein powder.
And this, my friends, is just another reason why i'm insane.
Do these mood swings make me look hipster? Because I'm working on changing them! I can totally change, just give me a chance! I've been going to the gym and every-- no, don't leave! Please, no! WHY, GOD, WHY?! Oh, hey, Glee's on.
Now, this doesn't happen too terribly often, though there are a select few that get me regularly riled up, and it is usually short-lived. But when I am truly angry, everyone knows. There are several stages to my anger, and they basically go like this.
It always starts with my Oh My God, Did That Really Just Happen face. If my anger was caused in person, it is usually accompanied by some uncomfortable laughter. Sometimes I'll actually say "Oh my god, did that really just happen." This face, easily recognizable by my friends, is my immediate response to any external stimulus that makes me unhappy. It comes in many forms, though, like the Stank face (Snarl-like lip, like I'm smelling something foul on you) or the You're An Idiot face (Raise one eyebrow, lower the other, purse lips, like you just said something stupid because you probably did just say something stupid).
Soon after, it gives way to telling absolutely everyone who will listen exactly what happened. For me, negative emotions are not a personal thing. I think my brain has the idea that if I share my anger, sadness, or pain with everyone around me it will eventually disperse until all of its power is gone. It works well, usually, to be honest, as long as I don't get in trouble for not shutting my mouth soon enough. At this point, someone inevitably tries to do the stupid thing and tell me how they see the other side of the story, which gives way to the next stage.
Now that someone has pointed out to me that I could, in fact, be a human and I could, in fact, have flaws, and that the situation might have, maybe, just a little, been my fault I fold in on myself and begin having self-esteem issues about my problems and how it was all my fault and why doesn't anyone love me and he started it but he wouldn't have started it if I had just been better, tried harder, had fewer flaws, and of course we fought and everyone should fight with me and I'm going to go to the gym.
Eventually I get over it, usually that day unless it was a particularly grievous offense, and I move on with my life. I completely forget about when I was angry at the person until the NEXT time I'm angry at them, at which point I decide that the previous times had been bothering me from the beginning. Each progressive time my anger is directed at a person the mood swings get bigger and the stages get more intense. By the fifth time, I'm making chimpanzee faces, putting the story on the local news, and buying a ten gallon tub of protein powder.
And this, my friends, is just another reason why i'm insane.
Do these mood swings make me look hipster? Because I'm working on changing them! I can totally change, just give me a chance! I've been going to the gym and every-- no, don't leave! Please, no! WHY, GOD, WHY?! Oh, hey, Glee's on.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
White Seeds are The Devil, or The People Responsible for Screwing Me Up
I have a tendency to define segments of my life, and who I was, by the people I was around during that time. This is completely healthy and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. My parents, the only people around to see all of these phases, can totally corroborate these stories.
The "Abusive Relationship" phase, ages 3-7
On our street there were like, two or three different kids that were around my age to hang out with, but they were all older than me. Melody, who's still my friend today, was a great and wonderful influence who was talented at everything. Unfortunately, I spent a large portion of time attempting to hang out with my next door neighbor, Blake, who was a terrible friend.
Blake: "Let's play pirates!"
Me: "Okay!
Blake: "I'm the captain! You have to walk the plank!"
Me: "But we're on a playscape tower--"
Blake: "WALK IT."
Me: "I'll fall and hurt myself!"
Blake: "Stop whining!"
And then he pushed me off of the playscape. I started crying and ran home. I pretty much cried and ran home every time I hung out with him, but I kept going back. One other time he convinced me that the little white floating seeds that come down from the sky occasionally were actually bugs that would burn your skin if they touched you. He would touch them and not get burnt, but he told me they knew he was stronger than them so they wouldn't hurt him.
I'm still afraid of those little white seeds.
The "Video Games Are All That Matters!" Phase, ages 8-10
My best friend during this period (and still the person I spend the most time with when I'm visiting Texas) was Joseph, who I had actually met a few years prior at the science fair, where he got first place and I got second, despite the fact that my ketchup-thickness race was much more applicable to the real world than his bottle rocket or whatever.
During this time I became completely entrenched in video games. Joseph introduced me to NeverWinterNights, which ate a large portion of my life, and we also played numerous other video games together, beating whatever we could get our hands on. During school we were pretty much inseperable, as well. During free time we always played with the Legos, but all I could make was something I called, like, Mister Pants, which was two long lego blocks on a rotating wheel thing. He was making starfighters and stuff, but I was content with Mister Pants.
One day during this period, our teacher asked us to chose one of us to be Wilbur in our class production of Charlotte's Web, and the other to be Templeton. I, of course, demanded the lead, and he didn't care. Thus began my career as an actor.
The "Epitome of Nerddom" Phase, ages 11-13
My best friend during this phase was Anthony, though I guess more accurately my best friends were his entire family. I spent as much time as I could over at his house, and I spent all the time doing the nerdiest things I possibly could. Magic the Gathering, Dungeons and Dragons, even some crazy things we dubbed "Adventure Games" which was basically LARPing but without rules. Group storytelling, sort of. It was pretty neat, we did some cool stuff, even if it largely consisted of:
Anthony: "What are you doing in my forest?"
Me: "Why, nothing! I was just here...TO KILL YOU!"
Anthony: "I just shot you with a bow and arrow!"
Me: "No you didn't! I already leapt into the trees!"
Anthony: "I cast a spell on the arrow so it will find you wherever you go!"
Me: "I hid behind you and then jumped out of the way! you just shot yourself with the arrow."
Anthony: "It was a trick arrow! It wasn't sharp, I was only fooling."
Me: "I'm hungry, let's go inside."
Basically, I was still three years old.
The "Dad-Box" Phase, ages 13-14
My best friend at this point was Leah, who lived across the street from me and who got along with me beautifully. We spent one whole saturday clearing out this huge junk room they had connected to her room, and we put the TV in there and watched charmed on bean bag chairs for hours and hours and hours. We watched every season of Charmed AND beat all of the Sly Cooper games. The Fergie "Duchess" CD came out around this time and we played it on a constant loop, so every time I hear "Fergalicious" I think of raccoons.
I soon became deathly afraid of the phone at her house ringing, because that meant my dad was calling and I had to go back across the street to do something for them and stop hanging out with my friend. Every time the phone rang I jumped, and I'm still uncomfortable with ringing phones. They never bode well. Ever. And they always ruin my fun.
My dad thought it would be a good idea, since I didn't have a cell phone and Leah's parents were annoyed with the constant calls, to give me a walkie-talkie he could use to order me back home. I dubbed it the Dad-box. This proved to be terrible for me, for two reasons: One, the Dad-Box made an even worse sound before he started talking than the ringing of the phone, and I grew to despise it even more, and Two, because now my dad had to only press one button and speak rather than seven, he began calling me back more often. It became a quiet war to see how I could best the Dad-box. Once I took all the batteries out and replaced them with dead ones so I could say it died and I never noticed. I would leave it at home accidentally all the time. Basically, anything that could keep me watching Charmed for a few seconds longer was worth it.
The "Oh God So Many Gay People" phase, ages 15-16
At this point, I was out of the closet and in theatre, so I was spending a lot of my time with gay people, both in and out of the closet. Basically the past few years have been filled with more flames than Chicago in 1871. The distribution of my friends shifted heavily over to the gay side, and it still is.
I had a couple of best friends during this period, but the most predominant was Matt. It's a lot harder to look at this period in an objective, funny way because it's so recent, but whatever.
The "Who Am I and What Am I Doing Here" phase, age 17-Whenever
My current phase. No real best friend, but a boyfriend, if that counts. Lots of time shifting who I hang out with and trying to figure out who I want to be. This phase doesn't have a projected end date, but there will be one when I want there to be. Hopefully in a few years I can look back on this phase of my life and have something funny to say about it, too.
I guess the point of this post is to say thank you to all of my friends throughout the years. Even if you weren't mentioned on this list, you've influenced my life and changed me in ways that have either given me complexes forever or forever made me a better person. And either way, I thank you for making me interesting.
I love all of you.
Does this cheesy ending make me look hipster?
The "Abusive Relationship" phase, ages 3-7
On our street there were like, two or three different kids that were around my age to hang out with, but they were all older than me. Melody, who's still my friend today, was a great and wonderful influence who was talented at everything. Unfortunately, I spent a large portion of time attempting to hang out with my next door neighbor, Blake, who was a terrible friend.
Blake: "Let's play pirates!"
Me: "Okay!
Blake: "I'm the captain! You have to walk the plank!"
Me: "But we're on a playscape tower--"
Blake: "WALK IT."
Me: "I'll fall and hurt myself!"
Blake: "Stop whining!"
And then he pushed me off of the playscape. I started crying and ran home. I pretty much cried and ran home every time I hung out with him, but I kept going back. One other time he convinced me that the little white floating seeds that come down from the sky occasionally were actually bugs that would burn your skin if they touched you. He would touch them and not get burnt, but he told me they knew he was stronger than them so they wouldn't hurt him.
I'm still afraid of those little white seeds.
The "Video Games Are All That Matters!" Phase, ages 8-10
My best friend during this period (and still the person I spend the most time with when I'm visiting Texas) was Joseph, who I had actually met a few years prior at the science fair, where he got first place and I got second, despite the fact that my ketchup-thickness race was much more applicable to the real world than his bottle rocket or whatever.
During this time I became completely entrenched in video games. Joseph introduced me to NeverWinterNights, which ate a large portion of my life, and we also played numerous other video games together, beating whatever we could get our hands on. During school we were pretty much inseperable, as well. During free time we always played with the Legos, but all I could make was something I called, like, Mister Pants, which was two long lego blocks on a rotating wheel thing. He was making starfighters and stuff, but I was content with Mister Pants.
One day during this period, our teacher asked us to chose one of us to be Wilbur in our class production of Charlotte's Web, and the other to be Templeton. I, of course, demanded the lead, and he didn't care. Thus began my career as an actor.
The "Epitome of Nerddom" Phase, ages 11-13
My best friend during this phase was Anthony, though I guess more accurately my best friends were his entire family. I spent as much time as I could over at his house, and I spent all the time doing the nerdiest things I possibly could. Magic the Gathering, Dungeons and Dragons, even some crazy things we dubbed "Adventure Games" which was basically LARPing but without rules. Group storytelling, sort of. It was pretty neat, we did some cool stuff, even if it largely consisted of:
Anthony: "What are you doing in my forest?"
Me: "Why, nothing! I was just here...TO KILL YOU!"
Anthony: "I just shot you with a bow and arrow!"
Me: "No you didn't! I already leapt into the trees!"
Anthony: "I cast a spell on the arrow so it will find you wherever you go!"
Me: "I hid behind you and then jumped out of the way! you just shot yourself with the arrow."
Anthony: "It was a trick arrow! It wasn't sharp, I was only fooling."
Me: "I'm hungry, let's go inside."
Basically, I was still three years old.
The "Dad-Box" Phase, ages 13-14
My best friend at this point was Leah, who lived across the street from me and who got along with me beautifully. We spent one whole saturday clearing out this huge junk room they had connected to her room, and we put the TV in there and watched charmed on bean bag chairs for hours and hours and hours. We watched every season of Charmed AND beat all of the Sly Cooper games. The Fergie "Duchess" CD came out around this time and we played it on a constant loop, so every time I hear "Fergalicious" I think of raccoons.
I soon became deathly afraid of the phone at her house ringing, because that meant my dad was calling and I had to go back across the street to do something for them and stop hanging out with my friend. Every time the phone rang I jumped, and I'm still uncomfortable with ringing phones. They never bode well. Ever. And they always ruin my fun.
My dad thought it would be a good idea, since I didn't have a cell phone and Leah's parents were annoyed with the constant calls, to give me a walkie-talkie he could use to order me back home. I dubbed it the Dad-box. This proved to be terrible for me, for two reasons: One, the Dad-Box made an even worse sound before he started talking than the ringing of the phone, and I grew to despise it even more, and Two, because now my dad had to only press one button and speak rather than seven, he began calling me back more often. It became a quiet war to see how I could best the Dad-box. Once I took all the batteries out and replaced them with dead ones so I could say it died and I never noticed. I would leave it at home accidentally all the time. Basically, anything that could keep me watching Charmed for a few seconds longer was worth it.
The "Oh God So Many Gay People" phase, ages 15-16
At this point, I was out of the closet and in theatre, so I was spending a lot of my time with gay people, both in and out of the closet. Basically the past few years have been filled with more flames than Chicago in 1871. The distribution of my friends shifted heavily over to the gay side, and it still is.
I had a couple of best friends during this period, but the most predominant was Matt. It's a lot harder to look at this period in an objective, funny way because it's so recent, but whatever.
The "Who Am I and What Am I Doing Here" phase, age 17-Whenever
My current phase. No real best friend, but a boyfriend, if that counts. Lots of time shifting who I hang out with and trying to figure out who I want to be. This phase doesn't have a projected end date, but there will be one when I want there to be. Hopefully in a few years I can look back on this phase of my life and have something funny to say about it, too.
I guess the point of this post is to say thank you to all of my friends throughout the years. Even if you weren't mentioned on this list, you've influenced my life and changed me in ways that have either given me complexes forever or forever made me a better person. And either way, I thank you for making me interesting.
I love all of you.
Does this cheesy ending make me look hipster?
Thursday, March 3, 2011
This Post is Totally Inapprop.
So recently I've had this habit of shortening long words into smaller, cuter versions of themselves. It started out as a joke but has become an actual habit of mine. I think I got it from my mother, who says "hume" sometimes instead of "humorous" to be funny. The most common one, recently, has been that I shorten "inappropriate" to "inapprop". It's a surprisingly effective change.
Speaking of things that are inapprop, though, I had an interesting conversation with my friend Aliza today.
Aliza: "My professor is crazy. He's talking about the ridiculousness of social rituals. Like, weddings. What do you do the night before? You get drunk and ideally hire a stripper."
Me: "I don't know about strippers, but I plan on having a massive group sex party before my wedding."
Aliza: "...What."
Me: "And I've always wondered: how do orgies end? Like, I mean, when they're over, does everyone make small talk? Do they talk about it even though it just happened? 'Jolly good, old chap, I did so enjoy that!' 'Me too, good sir, it was fabulous!' Or, like, is it really awkward? 'So, yeah, Cindy, bring those papers by on Monday once you get them signed.' 'You got it, boss. ... Could you pass me my bra?' 'Here you go. Does the case look solid?' 'Well yes, but--' 'Shut up, you two, we're not done yet!' 'Right. Sorry.'"
Aliza: "Why would you ever need to know that?"
Me: "I don't know! It seems like an important thing to know about! How will I small talk my way out of an orgy later if I don't have a plan?"
Aliza: "You're ridiculous."
Not that that is our worst conversation. She's basically my go-to for awkward conversations about things that I don't feel comfortable asking anyone else. The other day I questioned her about 'clitoral engorgement' because my friend decided to tell me about it but was very vague. Suffice it to say that yes, it is as disgusting and weird as it sounds, but is perfectly natural and fascinating. Just like everything else that has to do with genitalia.
Having some drama about my plans this weekend. Hopefully it gets resolved.
Does this obsession with the inapprop make me look hipst?
Speaking of things that are inapprop, though, I had an interesting conversation with my friend Aliza today.
Aliza: "My professor is crazy. He's talking about the ridiculousness of social rituals. Like, weddings. What do you do the night before? You get drunk and ideally hire a stripper."
Me: "I don't know about strippers, but I plan on having a massive group sex party before my wedding."
Aliza: "...What."
Me: "And I've always wondered: how do orgies end? Like, I mean, when they're over, does everyone make small talk? Do they talk about it even though it just happened? 'Jolly good, old chap, I did so enjoy that!' 'Me too, good sir, it was fabulous!' Or, like, is it really awkward? 'So, yeah, Cindy, bring those papers by on Monday once you get them signed.' 'You got it, boss. ... Could you pass me my bra?' 'Here you go. Does the case look solid?' 'Well yes, but--' 'Shut up, you two, we're not done yet!' 'Right. Sorry.'"
Aliza: "Why would you ever need to know that?"
Me: "I don't know! It seems like an important thing to know about! How will I small talk my way out of an orgy later if I don't have a plan?"
Aliza: "You're ridiculous."
Not that that is our worst conversation. She's basically my go-to for awkward conversations about things that I don't feel comfortable asking anyone else. The other day I questioned her about 'clitoral engorgement' because my friend decided to tell me about it but was very vague. Suffice it to say that yes, it is as disgusting and weird as it sounds, but is perfectly natural and fascinating. Just like everything else that has to do with genitalia.
Having some drama about my plans this weekend. Hopefully it gets resolved.
Does this obsession with the inapprop make me look hipst?
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Teddy Bear/Hound Dog
So, the topic of my sexuality, and dating in general, hasn't really been brought up on the blog yet, so let's rectify that. I've had some interesting events occur in the last year or so regarding who is my current boyfriend, and of course, my mind has found a way to tie it to musical theater. But we'll get to that later.
Basically, I'm dating someone for the second time. Gasp, what, I don't even, how could you. I know. About a year and a half ago, when we were in school together, we dated. He was just coming to terms with the fact that he liked men (And I had been out since freshman year) so there was a bit of an issue there, but we kind of tried to work around it. But, in the beginning, there was like a three day period where I was ridiculously happy with the fact that there was actually someone around my age who was gay and attracted to me, and I was blissfully seated in that "talking" stage that shouldn't exist but totally does anyway. Then the drama surprised me from behind, like a loogie spat by a llama you just fed.
This drama-llama came in the form of Facebook, which, as you know, is basically the end-all when it comes to relationships. I, drunk on my excitement, requested that I be able to put that I was 'in a relationship' on Facebook, even if he wasn't tagged on it, as he still had a foot in the closet. He agreed, reluctantly, so I did so. And then my neck got a huge wad of snot all over it.
And then he broke up with me the next day.
Sort of.
He had a minor freak-out, and I got angry, then he got angry, and then we were both really angry and then we didn't speak to each other for a year.
Suddenly, I start getting text messages every morning. Before I get up, I have a good morning text. Even if I completely ignored it, before I went to bed, I had a goodnight text. I was still angry and resentful of our previous encounter, but I started opening up and responding more and more the more he persisted. At first, and I guess this is exactly why I feel more okay about our relationship now, I was a total douche in response to everything that was sent to me, and sometimes I'd ignore text messages just because I could. But eventually I started responding, and he kept trying, and I finally decided to consider dating him again.
And, here we are. And it's going well so far. But, I mean, we aren't without our fair share of drama this time. I won't go into it here, since there are still some issues with who can and can't know we're dating, but suffice it to say he'll be leaving for an extended period of time, soon, and it'll suck when he does. Especially if I continue to build feelings for him at the rate I am now, I will be crushed when he leaves.
But anyway, this is related to my musical theater interests because our musical this year is All Shook Up, an Elvis jukebox musical. Why yes, that does sound terrible, and yes, I am apprehensive, but the best song on the album is a medley of Teddy Bear and Hound Dog, in which the main character, Chad, attempts to convince a love interest, Sandra, that she should be with him. However, Sandra believes him to be a silly scoundrel that isn't worth her time. And I guess it sort of felt like that between me and my current boyfriend, for a while. He tried for probably about three months to convince me that he was worthwhile, and I spat things back at him that were probably pretty hurtful. But he stuck with me, and I'm glad he did.
I even held back on the mushiness and this post was still a little sickly sweet, and not funny at all. Oh, well. I'm sure my ability to blog humorously will reappear sometime.
Does this alternative lifestyle make me look hipster?
Basically, I'm dating someone for the second time. Gasp, what, I don't even, how could you. I know. About a year and a half ago, when we were in school together, we dated. He was just coming to terms with the fact that he liked men (And I had been out since freshman year) so there was a bit of an issue there, but we kind of tried to work around it. But, in the beginning, there was like a three day period where I was ridiculously happy with the fact that there was actually someone around my age who was gay and attracted to me, and I was blissfully seated in that "talking" stage that shouldn't exist but totally does anyway. Then the drama surprised me from behind, like a loogie spat by a llama you just fed.
This drama-llama came in the form of Facebook, which, as you know, is basically the end-all when it comes to relationships. I, drunk on my excitement, requested that I be able to put that I was 'in a relationship' on Facebook, even if he wasn't tagged on it, as he still had a foot in the closet. He agreed, reluctantly, so I did so. And then my neck got a huge wad of snot all over it.
And then he broke up with me the next day.
Sort of.
He had a minor freak-out, and I got angry, then he got angry, and then we were both really angry and then we didn't speak to each other for a year.
Suddenly, I start getting text messages every morning. Before I get up, I have a good morning text. Even if I completely ignored it, before I went to bed, I had a goodnight text. I was still angry and resentful of our previous encounter, but I started opening up and responding more and more the more he persisted. At first, and I guess this is exactly why I feel more okay about our relationship now, I was a total douche in response to everything that was sent to me, and sometimes I'd ignore text messages just because I could. But eventually I started responding, and he kept trying, and I finally decided to consider dating him again.
And, here we are. And it's going well so far. But, I mean, we aren't without our fair share of drama this time. I won't go into it here, since there are still some issues with who can and can't know we're dating, but suffice it to say he'll be leaving for an extended period of time, soon, and it'll suck when he does. Especially if I continue to build feelings for him at the rate I am now, I will be crushed when he leaves.
But anyway, this is related to my musical theater interests because our musical this year is All Shook Up, an Elvis jukebox musical. Why yes, that does sound terrible, and yes, I am apprehensive, but the best song on the album is a medley of Teddy Bear and Hound Dog, in which the main character, Chad, attempts to convince a love interest, Sandra, that she should be with him. However, Sandra believes him to be a silly scoundrel that isn't worth her time. And I guess it sort of felt like that between me and my current boyfriend, for a while. He tried for probably about three months to convince me that he was worthwhile, and I spat things back at him that were probably pretty hurtful. But he stuck with me, and I'm glad he did.
I even held back on the mushiness and this post was still a little sickly sweet, and not funny at all. Oh, well. I'm sure my ability to blog humorously will reappear sometime.
Does this alternative lifestyle make me look hipster?
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
It Feels so Good to Burn
This:
That is me. Doing a piece for forensics right now. So, you can check it out if you want, not the best performance, but when is it ever? A work in progress. it was written by Aliza Goldstein, check her out by clicking her name, and she has a post about it. Also, if you want to do the piece at some point in the future (but please, I beg you, not for the 2011 Forensics season) she has it posted up there, as well. And she's clever and funny, so read her blog.
Does this love of the arts make me look hipster?
Monday, January 24, 2011
Squawk
This is my summary of Black Swan in one picture:
This is my summary of Black Swan in one sentence:
 |
| Craswalet? |
Lesbians are weird.
I went and saw it with a lesbian but she doesn't count.
So. Yeah. If you don't already want to see it just based on that, there's something wrong with you.
Does this love of the bizarre make me look hipster?
Sunday, January 23, 2011
My blog wanted me to title this post "JAKE SHEARS"
Me: "I want to be famous. It's kind of a problem."
A.L.: "DREAMS ARE NOT PROBLEMS!"
Me: "They are if you have to deal with Freddy. Or Jason. Whichever one, you know, did the stuff with the dreams."
A.L.: "OR IF IT'S FUCKING INCEPTION!"
I think I'm just going to start putting quotes of silly conversations I have with my friends at the start of my posts now. This post will not have an overall point unless I find it somewhere in the mess.
I'm a senior, and it's sort of crazy to be in my last semester of grade school...ever. I guess, theoretically, I could still fail every class and not be able to graduate and go to college, but that is highly unlikely.
I would like to apologize for writing so well for like two weeks and then totally stopping. I didn't want to write the second half of the interpol post because I was afraid it wouldn't stand up to the first one, and now I'm at the point where it is probably never going to be written. I promise that from this moment forward, I will look for interesting things to blog about and story arcs to pursue, and hopefully writing at all will reinspire my creativity, and get me out of this silly funk I've been in for a few months.
I have some intense forensics competitions coming up, one of the most important of which being state, as it is my last chance to get a state ring. I don't even care about the honor, the glory, or the fame, I just want a state ring. And this year, I will get one, even if I have to compete in every single debate event to get it. At least, I hope so.
I swear I will fine things to talk about. I swear.
Does this lack of interesting subjects make me look hipster?
No. No it doesn't.
Being boring is totally un-hipster.
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