Quelqu'un M'a Dit

Yesterday, I went to the rodeo for the first time. You see, how odd, is life, yes. Last year I refused to go. I was so different last year. A brat, I'd say. I'm still a brat, yes. But I hold high standards for myself: perfection. Impossibility. Lovely.

Anyways, I met some odd people there. I met a lady whose hair was very reminiscent of Meryl Streep's in "Death Becomes Her," and a freak at the freak show. I also ate some carnival munchies and didn't even feel sick. Wow, such a contrast. I'm enjoying this, no? But I do miss the days of heavy whining and crying and basically, emotion. Not that I'm an emotionless robot at all, but without sadness there is no weeping and no wheat to reap or sow. Basically?

When I look out of the car windows at people, I think of two things.

1) How the people don't look back. And when they do, they don't smile. Given, neither do I, but still.

2) That one time when I was about 6 and my brother said, "Look at that weird kid. He's just looking out the window at everybody." I'm him. Or I guess her, now. No... not a transvestite. I swear.

Something about correct grammar usage is just so sexy. i remembr wen i used 2 type lyk ths. Now when I look back on this, I outwardly and inwardly cringe in pure DISGUST! It's so... lacking. Of sense and sensibility. Shuddering...

Today is a less eloquent day for me. Sorry, my only 2 viewers. Sorry.

So,

Please.

Please.

Please.

Let me.

Let me get what I want this time.

More later!

Hey, Mr. Arnstein...

I swear. This woman is just so beautiful. Along with Regina Spektor and Zooey Deschanel, she is my fashion icon. I'm lapsing in and out of normal for the 7th time in forever. I just want to dress up all sweetly and feminine, gallop in some flowers, and find Mr. Perfect in those flowers. Although... what would a boy be doing frolicking in flowers? This is questionable and I must take it up with him one day. Yes, yes.

Being normal sucks.

The Entertaineress

Oh yes oh yes oh yes.

Life is looking up.

Spring break has always been an odd time for me. Breaks and I, we just never held hands quite nicely. He's always yanking me this way and that, and I, the same. Yes, yes. We never fared well. Just fulminated through nights of 3 ams and stomach flus and arguing over sheepish love. That's me for you.

But this break will be amazing. Yes, yes, amazing. Why you ask? I don't know why. I have an eye infection and I've been feeling sick lately, but for some reason I'm in the highest of hopes and moods. It's the stupid thing called love, then you combine it with hope, potential, and the future (add a pinchy pinch of naivety) and you've got yourself a fool. It's funny because everyone is confusing in their own way. I know I'm confusing; I confuse myself. But one day there's going to be two people, everywhere and anywhere, who want to stick around long enough to figure each other out. I used to think love was when two people mutually shared feelings of affection towards each other and just as mutually agreed to share them openly. Wrong. It's the mutual consent to read each other like books, pore through every page with a microscope, and even risk an eye ache or 10. Everyone will want to figure someone out. I love figuring people out. Does that mean I'm in love with every person I meet? Oh, gosh. Major polygamy issues here.

Today, I sang very loud and realized two things:

1) I have a horrible voice.

2) I love my voice.

Well, I've been slacking on my OCD about grades. Time to check my 4.0 again!

Back and Forth, Up and Down, Inside Out

I don't want anyone else.

Lack of Lacuna

Last night was one of those nights where time meant nothing. It was pure bliss. I went into my bedroom, closed the door, plugged in my new radio that is broken and listened to horrible music. After I sat awake and did that for about 30 minutes, I pulled out my super secret DVD player for nights when insomnia and amnesia peaks. I watched The Kite Runner and cried twice. I'm starting to cry more at movies and less at life... Is that bad? Anyways, watched that. By then it was around 2 a.m. and I just cautiously peered out the window at the street and watched my neighbor's young boy leave and arrive at the house at all hours. Eventually, exhaust won me over as it does every night. But I like to fight it that way, because maybe one day I'll win.

And today is a secret. But it was enjoyable in odd, odd ways. Odd indeed. I feel solemn now.

Rhythm and Reds

You know how people ride around cities blasting rap and feeling B.A.?

Well, it's kind of the same for me. Except I blast oldies. I swear, those bands will never die.

There are just some songs that are perfect. There are those songs that I listen to, real close, and in one line I'll think "Wow, what an unoriginal line" or "I wish she would have sung that a tad bit differently." But there are some, very few, songs that get the Bianca Stamp of Appeal. They are, by my subjective definition, perfect. I will start my list of perfect songs right now.

The Day the Music Died by Don McLean

Take Me On by A-Ha

Dusseldorf by Regina Spektor

Blackbird by The Beatles

She's Always a Woman by Billy Joel

I don't know what else yet. I will though!

So today I went to climb on a large rock. On the way there, I saw 3 old men standing on a bridge and watching the waters and waters of a lake. Those are the kind of strangers I love. It's those moments where the term "You must love everyone" seems possible. When we got to the rock, we were in the car listening to "Telephone" by Lady Gaga and Beyonce. A car in front of us was listening to it too, and dancing along. I could see the car back bob and bob, up, down, up, down. I watched them until the music stopped along with their bobbing. Then we entered the park and I saw a handsome, affable park ranger who reminded me of my friend and that made me almost smile. I was blasting "The Day The Music Died" and "Penny Lane." It's so refreshing to hear those songs on the radio. Then we climbed up the rock and it brought back so, so many memories from my early years. I would hike that mammoth rock for what seemed like a full day but in reality is only an hour. We'd picnic at the picnic tables and drop Cheeto's to watch ants snatch them up and carry them away. The world was amazing. It still is. Just with a dash of confusing now, though. At the top of the rock, my mother and I discussed the oddities of life to survive in conditions not meant for it. Nature is smart but self atrophying. It threw us an Antarctic wind, a Pacific ocean bottom, a desert where nothing and nothing seems to live. The stronger ones of us survived. I wish I were like that.

I tried German food.

I had a nice waiter who smiled at me but didn't give me my potato chips.

I met a dog named Arcadia of whom I took a picture.

I met a girl named Vianca, which is funny because Alex thought my name was Vianca. Funny, funny.

I had coconut fudge and thanked God that I'm not starving or dying and I can do what I can. And wondered why I can do what I can.

I miss the days when a song could last 6 minutes and nobody would mind. And it didn't need synthesizers and fake violins and fake fake fake everything. It was just a poet of chords and his/her guitar or piano on a stage, singing. And no one would interrupt his/her soul-spilling. They'd just let the soul spill and spill like soul soup. They'd let it carry around to every person in the entire venue until everyone had had their fill of connection and understanding and love and sorrow and for a moment, a corner of the world would just understand.

Nowadays, if the song is longer than 3 minutes and 30 seconds we get impatient. Especially if it's a bad one, and most are. And in the venues, we don't eat soul soup. No, no. We all starve ourselves with our jumping and loudness and fake fake fake everything.

Fake fake fake fake.

It's 10:00 pm. I should probably wrap this up.