Future Miss Universe

I'm coming to you today from the lovely Floridian paradise in which I've been fortunate enough to spend my spring break. Today, unfortunately, my last full day in paradise is overcast and rainy, forcing me inside.
Usually I'd be reading about now, but Peter DeVries's Blood of the Lamb hits a bit too close to home to be truly funny. Today's not a day for dark and angry satire, anyway. I had a heartwarming moment in the grocery store that I wanted to share.
Checking out at Publix yesterday, I was frustrated and not in the mood for small talk. The stupid Red Box machine had the audacity to be broken, and not when I wanted to rent a movie-- oh no! It only refused to let me return the movie I'd already watched. (Which, by the way, if you want to watch gripping performances from Maggie Gyllenhaal and Viola Davis, Won't Back Down is well worth a rental.) I inserted the DVD at least three times, THE CORRECT WAY, while the screen insisted that I wasn't placing the red arrow "facing the machine with barcode out." Except the arrow was facing the machine with barcode out AND YET IT REFUSED! The rationality of flipping out about spending one extra dollar on my movie rental is questionable, but don't mess with a girl on a mission.
My rage at the stupid tomato-colored rectangular prism had almost escalated into a full-on tantrum by the time I gave up and bought my stupid sunscreen anyway. My mother was standing next to me in the checkout line, and our cashier was an adorably foreign woman of Asian descent. She had a thick accent and a broad smile, and asked if I was my mother's daughter while scanning my SPF 50. We smiled and nodded, and she remarked, "Oooooo, very tall!"
Being 5'9," I get this a lot. My mom barely cracks five feet, so the height is note-worthy in comparison. My dad's over six feet, so our old joke is that my mother wanted daughters with long legs and brains. Possessing the brains herself, she had to marry the legs.

Not quite the face of a beauty queen.

We nodded, forcing smiles at our cashier, eager to get to the beach. The sweet woman continued, "Miss Universe, someday, yes?"I thought I misheard her.
"Excuse me, ma'am?"
"Miss Universe! You know, with the sash and da-da-da" she sang the little anthem while pantomiming the signature Beauty Queen Wave. I let out a guffaw.
"OH! Hah! Yeah, we'll see about that. I don't know if I'm the pageant type."
"Yes, your hair too short," she said, ruffling her own wiry black strands. "But don't grow out! We have first short-hair winner. Miss Universe with the short! Hahaha!" She supplied the laughter herself, finally acknowledging the joke of it all.
Despite myself, I walked away from the grocery store with a huge grin on my face.
I don't know why this little episode warmed my heart so much. Whether it was the unexpected kindness from a stranger in my most frustrated hour, or the reminder of the importance of patience and placing human interaction above my life's unnecessarily hectic pace, or even just the small, round-about compliment. I'm not perfect, and I'm not always confident in how I look. BUT HEY, I could be Miss Universe one day and SO COULD YOU!

Obligatorily uplifting blogpost ending! ~Complete with unrelated sunglasses picture~

BEDD #31: NYE makes me irrationally angry

NYE. The first time I saw that abbreviation, I had to google it. I thought it was some kind of exclusive boutique or another "famous" music festival I'm way too uncool to have ever heard of, or a nightclub, or some other thing that all the cool kids on the 31st of December. Alas, no. It is just another attempt of the internet to make my life all that much faster. Now, hear me out, I'm not a ABBREVIATIONS ARE THE DEVIL WHY ARE WE MESSING WITH THE PERFECT FLUIDITY OF LANGUAGE BY MESSING WITH PERFECT GRAMMAR AND SPELLING RAWRRRR!~~@ I'm actually really fascinated with technology's impact on language. I think #HashtagsAreFunny, and I got really excited when "GIF" was added to the dictionary. Languages change and adapt with culture, and I get totally geeked about that.

But New. Year's. Eve. SERIOUSLY. The longest word in that phrase is five freaking letters long. I just... I don't understand and it makes me feel uncool and question my life's choices and feel frumpy and non-stylish and just why hwy why whyyy I just asd;lafdsl;adfls;alvnabafgl;

AAaaand maybe this whole blog project was always destined to end unfortunately with a fizzle, not a bang. Because I've had a rough day, and that's about all the funny I can manage at the moment.

But weekly vlogs 2013? How does that sound? ;)

BEDD #30: Me Time

Today looked like this:

Everything is better when it's in a wine glass.

I had the most horrible fever dreams until noon, when I dragged my sorry butt out of bed to the smell of bacon. Then I watched a Christmas-ish movie with my parents, ("Trading Places" because you gotta love some Dan Aykroyd.) and took another nap. I never did end up vomiting-- tmi?-- so I don't really know if this was the flu or not. Didn't stop me from not showering and making myself a milkshake and drinking out of a wineglass because I'm hardcore. Skins UK dominated the rest of the day. What can I say? I'm a sucker for good character development... except that one time when the writing of Franky's character MADE NO BLOODY SENSE A;DLK... and working on a little collage-type thing.

Awh yiss cosmetics

Awhile back, my mum found this really nice dresser in a second-hand shop, and even though it's not something I would have picked out for myself, it's a nice addition to my room. It sits under my mirror, so all my cosmetics and hair products live atop it. Recently, I've noticed that there's a pretty nasty film of eyeshadow-dust mixed with hairspray and bits of foundation building on the pretty nice marble top. (Marble. I am class.) Being the resourceful and creative gal I am, I took the massive pile of Seventeen Magazines that I've been inexplicably getting for 2+ years and made a barrier of sorts. Even though I've never paid for the magazines, I never had the heart to throw them away just in case I needed them for a project one day. Here was that project! I cut out anything that tickled my fancy, which quickly became a very short list of ladies that Seventeen and I actually agree are pretty fantastic (read: Jennifer Lawrence  Emma Watson, Emma Stone and Katy Perry don't judge me). It turned into a pretty okay result with lots of cats... Going back through my copies of the magazine aimed at my age group, I grew frustrated again with a lot of the advice-type stuff. Frankly, I'm a fan of fashion magazines and I'm proud! GEEKS FOR FASHION WOOOO!!! But a lot of the relationship-type advice and such promotes really unhealthy behavior toward the opposite sex... Makes me agitated, but just gives me plenty of cause to promote the coolest webzine on the planet. Rookie mag, guys. Check it out. Changed my life \m/
All this to say, today was Me Time. Yesterday was Me Time. A lot of this break has been Me Time, the quiet days where I hole up in my room and just breathe. For a long time, I thought this was just me justifying being really lazy. This year, more than ever, I've realized how untrue and unfair that is. I need balance. I crave blasting music and fast-paced cities, but I also crave my little room with my laptop and a cup of tea. I used to think this made me "bipolar" or something, but the more I grow up the more I realize how normal that is. Some people have a lot more stamina than me; they can just go go go and that's great for them. But I'm a naturally anxious person who just needs time. Time away, time to think, time to recover. I joke that I hate people all the time, and while the shenanigans of large groups of my peers sometimes get on my nerves, that's wildly untrue. I just need time to myself. I'm one of those eye-roll-y creative types, super duper sensitive. I'm an actress too, so I've just gotten fairly good at hiding it.
Looking back, 2012 was the "Me Time" year. In 2011, I had a really intense year of creating videos, a fairly pronounced emotional struggle at the end of October, and a whole lot of work to look forward to. In the year that followed, I made videos when I could, but not a ton that I'm proud of or took a lot of time/effort. I tried that whole "relationship" thing, but it was hugely unsatisfying. I finished my junior year fairly strong, but accomplished little of note over the summer (besides being tangled up in aforementioned relationship silliness). I attacked my senior year with vigor, but grew disenchanted and bored over and over in a few short months.
By the end of the year, I was craving the structure that vlogging used to give, so this little blog project was born. I'm fairly satisfied with it. 2012 though, was a selfish year. A year that needed to happen, but it was a Me Time year. It was the pause between two phases of my life. I have no doubt that I was more of a child in 2011, and 2012 hosted its fair share of growing pains. But 2013 is the year where I'll start down a path for the next four years, which could impact the rest of my life, or at least a big chunk of it. Freedom is so close I can almost taste it. It's coated in worry and uncertainty and crippling expectations of grandeur, but I'm trying to suck that away as fast as possible so I can get to the nougat-y center of continuing my education in an exciting new way. (I'm really not sure if that metaphor actually works or is just vaguely suggestive.) I started thinking rather seriously about college when I was twelve. And... I've almost made it. Almost. 2013 is going to be that year.
So 2012 was a pause. An important gap in the hectic teenaged years. I got the "inevitables" out of the way. Before I can have crazy college adventures, I have to apply. Before I live on my own, I've got to learn important lessons about how to take care of myself. (read: Coffee is for mornings, otherwise herbal tea. Caffeine induced frenzy is not good for anxiety-riddled brains. Also red meat is actually good for you.) And before I find a prince, I've got to kiss at least one frog, eh?
 2012... I won't miss you. At all. But I'm sure as heck glad you happened. Got all that out of the way!

BEDD #29: AHH

I HAVE TEN MINUTES TO WRITE THIS POST.

How did I forget so easily? s;ldfkjds;lfgk;lsadkfj I'm so close to this project being done, but I can't remember to post the last three days wow I wow....

Today has been:

1. Non-stop cleaning, and I mean really cleaning like move the bed and clear the dustbunnies and throw out old shoes you don't wear anyway type cleaning, and organizing.
2. A never-ending marathon of Skins UK (it's a terrible show never watch it IT WILL RUIN YOUR LIFE GAHHH RICHARD WHYYYY)
3. Since about five PM this afternoon, an effort not to vomit. I've been nauseous all day, and trying to keep from hunching over the toliet with weakening effort. Won't I feel less crappy if I just get it over with? Ugh. I think I have the flu :(

Sorry this was terrible! I just... forgot. No other good excuse really.

BEDD #28: Life of a Fangirl

9 AM: Wake up having inadvertently slept over at a friend's house. Get in car to drive home, hear song that reminds you of OTP. Cry.
10AM: Painstakingly make yourself some bacon and eggs while pantomiming the cliche-filled "morning after" scene from your favorite romantic comedies. Say all the trite platitudes to your cat. Cry.
11AM: Tidy your bedroom to the strains of re-watching Gilmore Girls season one. Rory+Dean= I am cry.
12-2: Actual personal crisis involving college. Actual cry.
2-5PM: Work on class project for The Great Gatsby. Think about how perfect Leonardo DiCaprio will be for Gatsby. Shed one small tear.
6-8PM: Sing a sobbing rendition of "Bring Him Home" while stroking a picture of Eddie Redmayne's face.
8PM: Skype with real humans. Stop crying, you freak.
9PM: Read Daughter of Smoke and Bone
10PM: Finish Daughter of Smoke and Bone. CRY BECAUSE THE ENDING IS SO CLIFFHANGERY AND UNFAIR AFJKLADFSJOIDSV;VXZCJKL
10:30PM: Write a blogpost about how tear-filled your day ways. Wallow in a tiny bit of shame.

BEDD #27: Love

I'm trying something new today. I forgot to write this blogpost until approximately eight minutes ago. It took me eight whole minutes to get up off my friend's couch, grab her laptop, log in yaddayadda (shut up i'm a human sloth).
So. Because it scared me that I nearly dropped this project sooooo close to the finish, I'm just going to write. I'm going to type type type all these stupid bouncing thoughts in my head until midnight, and hit "Publish." No editing allowed.

The weird thing about winter break is how I never have any real plans. Spring breaks, fall breaks, even summer breaks to some degree, are all meticulously planned in advance. Each second on an agenda or itinerary. Winter break blows and rustles and I act like a poetic hobo, invading friends' houses and crashing on a lot of couches. The last few days specifically, I've taken in a lot of art. From Les Miserables to Struck by Lightening a few minutes ago, and about 4/5ths of Daughter of Smoke and Bone (a wonderfully captivating book I got for Christmas and strongly strongly stronglyyy recommend if you're at all into fantastical YA, like the shows Buffy or Supernatural and/or ever had a shameful Twilight phase. ((you did. don't lie to me.))). In fact, as I type this I'm rewatching what may be one of the greatest romantic comedies of all time, Crazy, Stupid, Love. Regardless of how distracted I am by Ryan Gosling's sexiness, it's all gotten me thinking quite a bit about love.

Loooove. Lurve. L0v3. What is it? Culture and media are lousy with it, and at seventeen I haven't been able to escape the crushing urge that I should be puppy-sick with it. (Puppy-sick? That's a thing... right?) I've tried to be in love countless times, verbalized it twice, but don't think I've ever really found it. In my mature moments, it doesn't bother me too much, because seventeen is a fraction of a life, and no offense to my Y-chromosomed readers, but the suitable male mates in my age bracket has got to do a lot of growing up to do. In my less mature moments, it scares me, frustrates me, even depresses me.

But this isn't about me. For once, I really don't care. I'm more interested in the idea in the abstract. Romantic love has been distorted and confused by... everything? I don't know. It just feels like a sham. I'm supposed to "grow up," fall in love, get married, pop out a few kids and raise them in wedded bliss? Awesome, but only heterosexual couples can achieve the marriage part, and even those legal marriages end in divorce fifty (or more?) percent of the time. People are abused, mistreated, and generally unhappy. Love makes people do horrible, stupid things and just... ugly cry. 83% of ugly sobbing was caused by romantic heartbreak... is a statistic I just made up.

"To love another is to see the face of God."
A famous quote from the greatest book ever written. I love that book because though it contains a heart-wrenchingly beautiful plotline of romantic love, Marius and Cosette are a minor b-plot in the grander story of redemption and Jean ValJean's beautiful, self-sacrificial acts of love. So if love is purest and most beautiful when one lays down his/her life for another, the image of beautiful parenting (religiously, an image of a benevolent God), where does that leave romantic love? An afterthought? Or a forethought, as romantic love leads to sexual love, leading to children who offer opportunities of self-sacrifice...

-insert musings on romantic love's ties to sexual love and both's mingling roles in society here... because I totally have them, but I'm way too immature to verbalize them, much less publish them on a blog... w;lfalkjdfosie-

I guess I'm just sick of seeing people get hurt. Screw that, that's a lie. I'm sick of getting hurt. This isn't a cry for help, or a call for pity and I hate that it often turns into that. I just wish I could reach a solid opinion on the subject, or have complex conversations about it with many people, and many different types of people. But it seems like an emotional subject, and more often that not, I feel weirdly needy or stupid for asking. Does that even make sense??

I have thirteen minutes left and little else to say. Actually, I have a ton more to say I just don't know how to eloquently say it. Or if I've said it already. In fact, this writing exercise is kind of terrifying. Not reading over what I've written, obsessively editing, is driving me a little nuts. I should have started with a less sensitive subject, perhaps. BLeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhh I've eaten a lot of potato chips today.

BEDD #26: Pause.

Woke up this morning with a terrible head cold. My head suddenly weighed 2000 lbs. because it was stuffed with... stuff. Yuck.

I hit pause on everything. Canceled my tentative plans for the day (which only involved cleaning anyhow, so win win). Sipped Raspberry Gingerale, read a new book, and fell asleep on the couch. Awake in that in-between state now. I'm no longer asleep but not full awake. Time to return to my novel. I got six new ones for Christmas! What did Santa bring you all?

The picture's backwards, but I hope you can make out the titles. I took John Green's advice with The Blood of the Lamb, Everybody Sees the Ants, and The Magicians. Other book-tubers steered me toward Daughter of Smoke and Bone and Why We Broke Up. Simple "I'm-a-nerd" necessity required owning a copy of Fahrenheit 451 and I may or may not have flipped out when I found the exact same edition of Cat's Cradle that Emma Stone was reading in tASM.... Plus, Alaska's fondness for it has had me wanting to read it for a long time.