How 'bout over DERE?

Drove to Worcester in a record 25 minutes today, without any complictaion, and saw Phantom of the Opera, which is an A+ movie, despite disappointing ratings. It was really very wonderful and visually brilliant. It was mainly just us and the Phan-Atics behind us who knew all of the words to every song, so that was fun. I love it.

We then went to Fitchburg Wendy's where we took pictures like the out of towners we are, got harassed by some hoodlums that could smell fear and mistook us for royalty, and proceeded to speed out of the parking lot with every orifice my car has to offer open as wide as possible, while blasting Celine Dion- Live In Concert.

Then, of course, Trivial Persuit was persued. The underdogs conquered because we kept the faith and had the 1500 people who went into the sea when Titanic sank from under us watching over Team DeWitt Bukater and whispering the answers to us. Teams Ian Sit Down and Team Princess Joystick provided valiant competition in what was the most intensely competetive game yet. Trivia is no joke. My one fear is that we may have exhausted the DVD already.

To cap off the evening, we re-enacted (complete with appropriate costuming which happened to be in my room) "Masquerade" and that Internet gem we all know and love...The Kitty Cat Dance. Lisa Loeb also popped in for a visit, complete with bucket hat and black square glasses. And we also did a few collages, which I knew was going to happen. Gosh.

You wanna dance?

I love this so much.

Every second of it.

Which is awesome.

Good times.

I forgot just how much I missed forgetting that I can't sing and just singing at what must be the top of my lungs, but for the first time in a while, I can't hear how ugly I sound because I am drowned out by this beautiful voice.

Cheer up, sleepy Jean.

If I were Joey on Dawson's Creek, this LJ would be a very very different kind of read.

Season Three, I will never get over you.

P-A-T-H-E-T-I-C

I don't care.



JOEY: I think I'm in love with you.
PACEY: You think you are, or you know?
JOEY: I know it. I've know it since the moment we kissed, and maybe even before that. And as scary as it is, I don't want to deny it anymore. I don't want to run from it or let it run from me. 
PACEY: So what are we going to do here?
JOEY: I'm still not gonna ask you to stay. 
PACEY: I see... 
JOEY: Because I want to go with you.
PACEY: Wait a second... are you crazy?
JOEY: I want to stop standing still. I want to go forward. I want to go with you, Pacey.
PACEY: What about Bessie and the B&B -- they need you.
JOEY: Not as much as I need you.

With sweet understanding.

What goes up must come down.

This really isn't the Christmas spirit.

But to my dismay, I really don't care.

Dear Danielle, welcome to the way things are. Feel free to attempt to change them, please. Just don't get your hopes up.

E.T. phone home.

Oh, crap.

Seasons. Greetings.

I think so far my favorite part of college is the fact that a 72, 76, and 82 average together to somehow form a B. 

I burned popcorn like 4 hours ago. My dorm, my hair, my clothes, EVERYTHING now smells like burned popcorn. Delicious.

I'm wearing my glasses today and between the fact that they are black and square, my STILL black even though it was only supposed to last a month and I've washed it at least 400 times and have the split ends to prove it hair, and my shirt of choice, which ironically is also black, I really look I should be typing this under the alias Cry_Tears_of_Midnight_Stars.

Speaking of glasses, I recently made my sister a necklace composed of three strings of seed beads at the Craft Club. Between this activity and trying to read miniscule print in the dark while managing props, I think it is safe to say that what little eyesight I had left has been severly damaged.

Something tells me that Friday will be a good one.

Speaking of psychics, I am one. Just to lay it out there.

Hello?

I'm trying to find the words, but I've got nothing.

If any of you happen to notice the "Catch A Break" fairy flitting about, send him my way. We need to chat.

"Ooh you have mediums? Sexual."

Tonight I had to go to rehersal for a bunch of hours.

I baby-sat for a table of inanimate objects.

I taped my face and made Spock ears, in tribute to two special redheads.

I realized, once again, that I don't understand Shakespeare's jokes. But the fairies are pretty, anyway.

I ate some pumpkin seeds and crispy M&Ms and drank some grapefruit juice and now my tongue is bone dry and slightly numb from the insane amount of salt on the seeds. So pretty.

I absolutely adore freezing rain. Nothing warms the heart like a useless umbrella and soaked through sheepskin and down.

Yesterday my horoscope informed me that I looked like a Neanderthal on a bad day. Today it told me my room was a stinkhole. 

My room IS a stinkhole. No more Hawaiian breeze, I'll tell you what. It smells like ramen-y styrofoam and dust and lord knows what else. 

I'm spent and tired and ridiculous and just very, very done.

Numero Uno.

Leo is on Oprah right now.

I can barely stand it. What a class act.

So I just found out that BINGO has been cancelled for the night, due to this blizzard. Damn.

So. Now what?

I have a small tub of Nutella which I have been eating with Saltines. This is delicious. Two tablespoons of Nutella has 200 calories. I don't want to talk about it.

I need to do some work. By some I mean a lot. Five more days of classes, then two of reading, one of finals, three of home, one of one last final, oodles more for Christmas break, and a partridge in a pear tree.

Bah.

Shrek 2 is on again. This is still fun. FREAK OUT!!!

Sometimes I wish I were reckless. I wish I could be more party girl than quiet, and I wish I hadn't run so fast so soon. But I'm not, and I did, so now it is time to wait for my next chance. Pissah.

It's too bad that all of you aren't as exciting as I am. Sorry.

Riding in cars with trees.

You Are From the Sun

Of all your friends, you're the shining star. You're dramatic - loving attention and the spotlight. You're a totally entertainer and the life of the party. Watch out! The Sun can be stubborn, demanding, and flirty. Overall, you're a great leader and great friend. The very best!

What Planet Are You From?

Well, that's encouraging.

My shoulders, neck, and armpits heart from hauling lighting pipes yesterday. That's right. My armpits. I think I sprained them.

Yesterday I got two adorable little live fir trees for A Midsummer Night's dream. They are props and are currently residing in the dorm until tomorrow. I wish I could decorate them because I need an outlet for my manic need for all things Christmas.

It's weird not being home in the middle of Christmas music and decorations and cookies and wrapping...16 Days. 

I am so so so so ready.

Samm and I are compiling an entire CD of different versions of O Holy Night, feautring N*Sync and the Great Celine Dion. But you know, I'm really looking foward to a LIVE rendition...

JUST! HEAR! THOSE! sleighbellsringalingjingjingjinalingtoooooo

Noises off.

Didn't sleep well.

Crashed headlong into my closet drawers after picking up keys which I dropped on the floor.

Decided to take a shower. Almost locked the keys (which nearly caused me a concussion) IN the room.

Dropped shampoo, conditioner, toothbrush, facewash, AND soap in the shower. Had to pick all of them up, debate whether or not the toothbrush was contaminated forever, decided it wasn't, and retrieved shampoo from the shower NEXT DOOR because it slid under the drain arch.

Still have to get dressed, fetch lighting pipes, sit in Media Culture, go to the loft, and to Wal Mart, and then watch a film about Afghanistan.

Eating would be nice, but it just doesn't seem possible.

Blech. Where are you, December 20th?

I'll stand by you.

My feet are cold and smell like the skin of a dead sheep.

I'll bet this really makes you want to be friends with me.

I feel very tired tired tired.

I probably won't get any classes for next semester, due to the fact that I have one of the ultimate last registration dates.

I hate being last. 

"I feel very lucky, because all I have to do is put on a bikini and be the bomb, and I make something like hundreds of thousands of dollars."

They do not make lights tiny enough to decorate Stella.

My hands are dry, my lips are chapped, and my throat is scratchy.

I should probably lubricate all of the above.

Maybe what I NEED are vitamins.

My hair hurts, too. Probably because it's not sure if it's black or brown. It looks like someone colored across my hair with a Sharpie.

GOD I am just so attractive, I can't even stand it.

Shrek 2 is on TV. This could be fun.

"Just because we put a little buttnugget (tm) into their batter does not mean anything. Personally I think it added to it. More delicious. Yah."

I should probably stop procrastinating. But you know what they say about procrastinators. They're scholars. 

My painty jeans from last year are rather tight. This. Is great.

My roommate has to make CHOPS. Paper ones, not delicious pork or lamb.

I am SO EXCITED that it's December...tomorrow.

This was long. I am spent.

I love da fumes.

Nothing says "Welcome Back" like some fragrant, black mold eminating from the refridgerator accompanied by yellow melted freezer juice that was refrozen in the little collection tray.

Both problems were dealt with accordingly. The dorm now smells of 409 and the bathroom of mold, due to a 3 month old bottle of decrepid chocolate syrup being disposed of in the trash.

25 Days til Christmas
20 Days til Christmas Break
17 Days til Natale...who IS Christmas, by definition.

love.

It has come to this.

I wash my hair in Dawn dishsoap now, because it is highly concentrated and will therefore rinse the black dye out quicker, so I'm told. It's working...I think? At the very least I'm getting the best split ends of my life.

I wash my dishes in the shower now, because I wash my hair in Dawn. It just seems like the most time efficent and economical thing to do. It kills two birds with one stone.

Gross? Maybe. Do I care? No.

In order to maintain a fabulously long Thanksgiving break, I have convinced my French professer to let me mail her the assignment that would normally have to be passed in next Monday before sundown (aka before 3, because that's when the sun sets around here). 

She probably thinks I live in Arizona, or out of state at the very least.

Whatever.

The mutants in 305 are out of control. They must be stopped.

To class!

Moo with me.

I've

Got to

Got to

Got to

Got to

Got to

Got to find a way

To jump

Over the moon





I miss indians and princesses and loaves of bread and sure things and never, ever growing up.

I'd be so happy I could melt.

It's embarrassing how much I love The O.C..

It's even more embarrassing how much I would give to be ON The O.C..

The TV show itself, that is. I don't really want to live there. Although it probably wouldn't suck. 

Um...thank God it's almost Friday.

I love it when my phone sings that certain song.

Now is a good time for grapefruit juice.

There's reality. Then there's Dawson's Creek.

NLPLC154 (10:43:25 AM): I WAS L-ing My A O

It's nice to know that no matter how wrong things may feel, or how crappy the day is, or how much reading there is to be done...

There are always going to be that one person who will put AIM abbreviations into the past tense for you.

At least it's November.

Kick them in the Pujols.

Let's hear it for the Red Sox kicking serious Pujols.
Let's hear it for October, and for the Dining Common's remakes of egg mcmuffins.
Let's hear it for not going to class today and for A-Team.
A pox on studying notes.
A pox on stress and on indecisivness.
A pox on the mutants in 305.

Why I love Bryan Coleman:
XxDaninaXx (2:34:47 PM): so is bio not working out?
last1standing01 (2:34:52 PM): hahahaha
last1standing01 (2:35:15 PM): remember when i said i had an 8:30 and it was wayyy too early so i dropped it....
XxDaninaXx (2:35:21 PM): yeahhh
last1standing01 (2:35:23 PM): yeah.. that class was bio
XxDaninaXx (2:35:26 PM): lmao
XxDaninaXx (2:35:45 PM): so you're a bio major who doesn't take bio?
last1standing01 (2:36:09 PM): well...
last1standing01 (2:36:18 PM): actually that's exactly what i am
last1standing01 (2:36:27 PM): i never undeclared this major
XxDaninaXx (2:36:31 PM): congratulations
XxDaninaXx (2:36:37 PM): you are amazing.


I voted Mr. Lew for First District Representative and Natale for Seventh District Councillor on my absentee ballot. I think they would be promising candidates.

Team Poo.

Pujols.

Gets me every time.

I think the commentaters think it's just as funny as I do. Because they keep saying it every chance they get.

In daylights.

You Are a Pundit Blogger!

Your blog is smart, insightful, and always a quality read. Truly appreciated by many, surpassed by only a few.

What kind of blogger are you?

A few of today's obscure observations:

Fall is amazing because, though brisk at first, you will still break a sweat if you wear boots that are warm and a sweater and a coat and walk rather fast so as to attempt some exercise.

Crispix is amazing because it stays crispy even after being saturated in milk for 10 minutes. 

Bamboo is amazing because even if you forget to water it for a few days, it will continue to grow and not drop dead.

And Natale is amazing because he is still the same, despite the fact that he is a zillion miles away living in Florida. I don't think he'll ever get soggy.

Boston.

Beautiful.

History was made tonight, kids.

Embrace it.

Especially Johnny Damon and his grand f-ing slams.

...And Mark Bellhorn's pretty sweet, too.

Rally!

"If you had the chance to do it all over again- would you?

...IN A NEW YORK MINUTE!"

I never thought I could apply Sex and the City to baseball. Then again, ANYTHING'S POSSIBLE!

loveitloveitloveitLOVEIT!

Exorcise the demons.

I do believe in Ortiz, I do, I do!

But it's cold.

So today.

Extremely extremely extremely unproductive. Which is my fault, and I completely understand this, but it's fine, because at least I'm aware.

This week doesn't feel real. Probably because it's not. But time really is flying by.

The Red Sox are hurting my heart.

The difference between lonely and alone used to be perfectly defined. Now, not so much.

I just don't know.

I'm an agressive typer. I should probably quiet down.

My archive of entries runs the gamut from detailed epics to fungus like this, where I really have nothing to say, so I write sentences that have nothing to do with each other. The detailed epics are fun. Or they were, at least.

"Maybe you're only interested for the sake of making small talk long enough to ask me back to your place to watch a movie. Or maybe because you've got some terrific, unknown CELINE DION record when all you really want to do is sleep with me, which you won't do very well. After which you'll procede to lie back down beside me and confess that you've got a girlfriend named Stephanie who's away at medical school in Belgium for a year and that you've been involved with her, off and on, in what you'll call a very 'intricate' relationship for the past SEVEN YEARS. None of which interests me, Mister."

...Damn yeah I still remember. I also remember completely skipping that entire section of Sure Thing. 

Why is it that I can remember monologues but not a variety of things associated with Biology of Cancer and Aids?

Wow, I'm awesome at making good use of my time.

Suck it, Yankees.

Dear Kenny Lofton, go clean a pool with this hair dryer. Thanks.

What a bunch of evil, filthy thieves.

Oh well. Tomorrow's another day.

Things have a way of working out.

This may be jumping the gun...

But I'm going to go ahead and say it.

Things are definitely looking up.

Right now I spell excitement like this:

PROPERTIES MANAGER FOR A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM!

I really really REALLY hope this is my niche.

God bless theatre.

Sweet.

I love watching pieces of movies.

There's just enough for inspiration.

Pour some sugar on me.

The glass is neither half full or half empty, just twice as large as it should be.

Today was the first day that it was necessary to sport navy blue wool in the shape of a pea coat over a sweater in order to be warm. I have to say that I love it.

So, since I have midterm(s) to study for, I obviously spend lots of time at the International Movie Data Base. 

Since I could, I watched a lot of trailers, including one for The Phantom of the Opera, which just looks incredibly beautiful and comes out this Christmas. As if Christmas this year could possibly get any better. Now, in addition to Johnny Mathis, cookies, and the hurricane ridden state of Florida regurgitating the people it sucked down back in August, there's a musical.

And now I'm off in search of food because in this day and age, certain choices must be made. Like choosing whether to watch the Red Sox or make it in time for dinner at the DC.

Samm and I have the most obnoxious buddy list sounds on the face of the earth.

Thank you, Red Sox. You're awesome.

Bee Gees.

Pony up, kids. It's Smartwool season. Officially.

My feet are so warm.

Are you funny? TELL US A JOKE!

Regretfully, it seems as though I have adopted a lifestyle that resembles the first half of the "quiet but also a party girl at the same time" way of living.

One of these days.

There really aren't ever enough fruit snacks in one package. NEVER.

Ramones say it best.

Hey ho, let's go.

"Love is like a pigeon crapping on my heart."

I feel as though an update is necessary, although there is quite nothing to share.

I don't think I've ever been this lethargic while getting so much exercise in my life. I don't get it.

There was a flier shoved under the door today that advertised some frat's "Player Hater's Ball" featuring "Pimps and Hoes". 

I don't quite know how to respond, if a response is even necessary.

I spent the better part of 18 years housing an indifferent attitude towards video games. Now, however, Star Ocean is constantly in the back of my mind and N64 is at my fingertips and I don't even want to talk about The Sims 2 or how awesome I think that must be.

Extracurriculars sure were fun.

Dreams are weird. Especially when they feel real.

I think it's appropriate to eat now.

Hey, where's the cream filling?

So this weekend was a beautiful thing.

The girls in Grayson now know that Samm and I are not always quiet, but that we are sometimes party girls at the same time.

I don't think I've laughed so hard in a long time.

I'm embracing the chill and waiting for the foliage.

And now...an appropriate flashback.

September 19, 2003

I know one thing is for certain; I have the best friends in the world. Between the ones that I've grown up with, to those from elementary school, to those who I've known for just a short time (but feel like I've never NOT known)...I am a lucky girl. And one thing I'm grateful for is that through all of this I have been fortunate enough to have these wonderful people. I don't know what I did to deserve this; but to quote the Sound of Music: 

"I must have done something good."

Here comes the sun.

Instant lunch is a miracle.

I haven't made one new friend.

Which is fine, I really don't mind because every night the following conversation occurs:

Me: Good night, Samm.
Samm: Good night, Randy. I love you.
Me: I love you, too.

What more could you need?

My film class rocks, but it doesn't make up for the fact that it starts at 3:45 and ends at 7:30, completely going through any chance of getting decent dinner.

Hence, I am eating Instant Lunch and Premiums and Chips Ahoy, which is fine.

Instant lunch is a miracle.

I haven't made one new friend.

Which is fine, I really don't mind because every night the following conversation occurs:

Me: Good night, Samm.
Samm: Good night, Randy. I love you.
Me: I love you, too.

What more could you need?

My film class rocks, but it doesn't make up for the fact that it starts at 3:45 and ends at 7:30, completely going through any chance of getting decent dinner.

Hence, I am eating Instant Lunch and Premiums and Chips Ahoy, which is fine.

525,600

There are some things I'll never know.

And there are others that I wish I'd never learned.

I'll never forget the first day I met you, and how tiny and beautiful you were. Your Rollerblades were too big, but it didn't matter. Your eyes were big and dark and they started to smile before the rest of your face caught up.

I remember Christmases. I remember sitting alone with you, talking and laughing and eating egg salad sandwiches with anise cookies. I remember waiting for you this year. The egg salad was different.

I remember everything. The shopping, the vacations, the sleepovers, the birthday parties, family parties, and holiday parties. I remember the home movies, the games, the hide and seek, and the diving lessons. I remember the when and the where, but I'll never know why. More than anything, I remember your eyes, and how they locked into mine for what seemed like hours. They were just as big and just as dark and just as beautiful. 

I can still see them perfectly

Roommate Games.

Sammo1386: hey, do you have a first aid kit in your room?
XxDaninaXx: umm let me check.
Sammo1386: ok
XxDaninaXx: no.
Sammo1386: damn

It just doesn't seem to get old.

Hello, Vera.

I'm turning over a new leaf. I'll be damned if I spent the last 2 years building up lost confidence just to have it deteriorate in 4 measly days.

I need to get theatre back into my life. 

I need to draw from the qualities I admire in my friends and use them to help me not turn into a hermit.

But if I were to continue being a hermit, at least I could hermit in a beautiful dorm, complete with a FUN roommate and a bamboo sprig named Stella who gets her groove back every 2 days when I feed her raspberry lime seltzer.

I'm going to go read to the cabbages.

My last day babysitting the Spazianis went well. Three years is a long time. I think I grew attatched. It's sad because they're moving to North Carolina and I'll probably never see them again. 

Roomie and I had a great little date. We shopped the dollar menu, enjoyed some McDonalds and Ruby Red, and did ourselves a little project. We now have the most kickass dorm phone you ever did see. It's flourescent pink. With icons. My dad called it a Hot Line.

Kristina, Page, and I went to Moosetracks, got ourselves frozen things and Coffee Cards, and proceeded to have a coffee shop moment. It was beautiful. And it was also the only way to follow an uneasy lecture given on the ride TO Moostracks BY Page about how life as we know it only has about 50 more years before it's all over in a hellish whirlwind of division and divinity.

While driving today, alone in my car, listening to Magic 106.7, A New Day by the great Celine Dion graced the waves. My instant reaction was glancing at the passanger seat, awaiting the ecstaic grin of a certain redhead and then being forced to proceed to sing loudly and Celiney "All By Myself".

I have pictures in frames and thoughts in my head and love in my heart.

Everyone's a little bit racist.

A few of today's observations...

Pools are much colder without Marge Schott.

Quentin Tarantino is puzzling and clearly misinformed. But addicting nonetheless.

Hypocrites suck. This is just a general reoccuring theme.

Burnt cordon bleu is a travesty.

Some people are just out of their minds. Completely bats.

If we're wishing for stuff, I'd wish for 2 more years and 8 more shows.

Since I feel this way, I'm wondering how far I could get just being a pretend someone for the rest of my life.

I also wish I could throw caution to the wind.

Sarah Rose Knows.

-8 Simple Things that Made Today Magnifique-
By: Danielle Randall, I.

1. Leaving dead, wet hair on a tile floor that wasn't my bathroom.
2. Kristina's toasted turkey cheddar bacon sandwich that WASN'T wimpy.
3. Getting my pictures back from BJ's. 
4. Wearing Olivia-applied eye makeup and listening to her Californian speak Drop Dead Gorgeous.
5. Taco Bell.
6. Jewelry Parties.
7. Playing Cashier with Kristina at said Jewelry Parties, and acquiring beautiful Blanchflower jewels, which is wonderful and sweet and lovely.
8 Realizing, once again, that some people will just always be amazing, no matter what time of day or what the situation may be.

I don't do cups.

Have you ever had someone who drew you beautifully flawless pictures in the fifth grade?

...Someone who sat with you on the bus, in the same seat, every day and laughed with you while you did things like change the lyrics to Christmas Carols so that they referred to your 80 year old busdriver named Mary, or make fun of Julia Child for hours, or laugh at the hideous school picture of your Canadian pen pal?

...Someone who wrote you "Check yes or no" notes?

...Someone who was always ready with words of encouragement, even if you didn't always deserve it?

...Someone who counted Ms. Huhn's camel toes with you, ran through lines with you, painted millions of leaves with you, danced with you, sang over you so that you couldn't hear your own hideous voice, and laughed at the same inside jokes with you long after they were unfunny to the rest of the planet?

...Someone who "Ate Great- Even Late" with you, inspired you, included you, taped their face skin into weird positions with you, and doubleteamed telemarketers with you?

...Someone who just couldn't seem to come through for you enough?

...Someone who could pick out a ridiculously dressed human from miles away?

...Someone who always made you feel happy, and immature, and exactly the same way you felt when you first met for real in the fifth grade?


...Because I did. I do, actually. He just lives in Florida now. And as much as that sucks, I know it's all going to be worth it

The Internet is for porn.

I have this weird feeling about me these days that is a strange combination of dread and excitement and hatred and love and regret and hope.

I am a walking contradiction.

Kristina and I got attacked by a low flying giant seagull in the parking lot of Circuit City this afternoon. 

Talking about things makes breathing much easier. There aren't enough words to thank you.

Memo to the Head of Admissions at the University of Tampa: Thanks for nothing, Jackass. 

I have a sweet Peppermint My Little Pony tattoo now. I think I can safely refer to myself as a badass now.

Gosh.

Celine, Queen of the Universe

I really do have the most beautiful friends.

To see them all, or at least an overwhelming majority of them, in one day is incredible.

There aren't any words, I guess. I thought there might be, but no.

I just feel really lucky.

This is my life.

If you do yourself one favor this summer, go and see Garden State.

I don't think there's been a more perfect movie in months. 

Perfect soundtrack, perfect casting, perfect editing, perfect acting...

Awe inspiring, really.

Page once told me to think of one thing that I would do every day without getting paid, and whatever that may be should be the career to persue.

Well, I would wake up at any hour of the day, every day, for the rest of my life if it meant I could be an actress like Natalie Portman, and take part in fantastic little movies like this one.

Must be nice. 

Really nice.

Do as dreamers do.

Sometimes all you need to do is grab a friend or two or three and dance maniacally while singing showtunes at the top of your lungs, without caring if anyone's watching or not.

It also helps to leap into a freezing pool and play games like Marge Schott and Some Dolphins/Paul McCartny and Wings/Ms.M and Some Quahogs/Celine and The 1500 People Who Went Into The Sea When Titanic Sank From Under Us.

But it doesn't matter how loud you sing, or how many games you play. At the end of the day, everything and nothing has changed, and sometimes you have to watch the people you love the most go away.

But thank goodness that day is not today.

I could have danced all night.

Dear, sweet Natty's gone off to college. The more I think about it, the more I realize that she's one of the greatest people I've known. Who else has completely flatlined in the middle of the gardens at the Chateau Versailles, brought herself back to life with lots of liters du Coke, managed to sustain herself for an evening on a night train by sucking down crackers and poisoning a bullet of Fanta with strep throat, and yet still manage to make a full recovery in time to madly dash around Cannes, trying to break traveler's checks so that she could purchase some sneakers? Amazing. I'll be missing that one.

In other news, it looks as though the University of Tampa has been severely destroyed, ERGO it is now impossible for anyone to attend. Oh, fiddlesticks. Sorry Natale, looks as though you'll have to go local.

It's really too bad that I don't have anything interesting to say in these updates anymore.

Oh well. There's always this:

D-Quiet, but also a party girl at the same time.
A-
V-
I-
N-
I-
A-

Classic.

Jiminy.

There is a vibrantly green grasshopper type insect perched on my Smoothie Pro 600 in my kitchen.

It scared the bejesus out of me.

I am now left with a dilemma. Do I leave well enough alone and allow this grasshopper to procreate by the masses IN the Smoothie Pro 600/kitchen OR do I trap him beneath a paper cup and let the next unassuming Randall who comes along deal with it?

This is exactly the sort of thing that I LOVE to chew on before bed. The dilemma, that is. Metaphorically speaking. Not the actual grasshopper.

Sleep is what I need.

In a world where bologna is king, can't you ever just get a cheese sandwich?

Let's hear it for gorgeous summer skies filled with Simpsons clouds, for lovely little menengitis vaccines and Hello Kitty bandaids, for timely visits from wonderful friends throwing neon pink posters out of mysterious silver cars, for Sex and the City's life lessons, and, most importantly, for making each day count.

Poisson

There is a small white Ann Taylor box resting its pristine self on my kitchen counter top, next to the sink and the remainder of the chocolate merangue pie I made yesterday.

I looked in the box, wondering what could possibly be in it, maybe a pin or a bedazzled hair accessory. At the very least a long lost bobby pin vault.

I peered in and cocked my puzzled head to the side as my mind tried to register this box's contents. What immediately came to mind was a thick smear of blue oil paint, but after a few seconds of deliberation, the truth was undeniably clear.

This box, which once held something beautiful, is now the final resting place of Adrienne's beta fish, Blitzen. 

My sister is completely opposed to the common practice of flushing deceased fish down the toilet. Tomorrow Blitzen the beta fish will be buried in our backyard, in his white jewelry box, next to Mork the cat, Flit and Tweety the parakeets, and Sweetie the cockatiel. 

My sister and I are very, very different people. She's only 11, but she never ceases to amaze me.

I guess, to her, the box still holds something beautiful.

Elizabeth's Thunder Stick

What a lovely little summer this has turned out to be.

I wish I could live like this forever.

I want a penseive.

I was looking at the UMass Theatre Guild's website, and I noticed that a few years back their fall play was Ten Little Indians, which got me thinking. I remember Ten Little Indians perfectly. I remember auditioning on Friday, September 5th instead of Thursday because I didn't want the extra day of anticipation. I remember telling Natale in math how nervous I was, and how badly I wanted a part. I remember exactly what I was wearing, but I won't go into detail. I remember doing the Emily Brent monologue and being terrified of Ms. Mastroianni. I remember doing two scenes with Kenny and then going home and chalking it up as a good experience. I remember going to my SAT tutor that Sunday and buying my monogrammed 'Randy' trucker hat with Samm, where, on the way home, I realized that I didn't have a chance in hell. Monday, September 8th, I remember exactly what I was wearing, that my hair was unwashed and my capri pants made my feet look big. I remember coming out of some assembly, Natale scampering up to me and calling me Vera, and I remember being so supremely on top of the world, the kind of feeling you only get when you truly don't expect something, like when we advanced in Brockton with The Princess and the Princess. There has never been anything better.

Friday of the same week, I remember exactly what I was wearing. It was a good day, a great day, even. It was our 3rd rehersal for the show I thought I'd never be in. But then I got home and Nicole was in the basement with Adrienne and the dogs were inside instead of out and my mom was sitting alone in the woods and "something very very bad happened." There were no rehersals for this situation I never thought I'd be in. There has never been anything worse.

Four days, one extreme to the other.

"It was gortiful." - Alison Tully

I'm going to go ahead and venture to say that I think...I THINK that MAYBE the birds outside my window have either grown up or been silenced, as I was able to sleep an hour later today. I don't want to get ahead of myself in celebrating, but if this is the case, YAHOO.

Last night we gathered up the kids and had a wholesome family movie night. Feature Film: Monster. After this experience we had no choice but to watch Unwrapped on the Food Network to try and cleanse our minds. I don't know about you guys, but I just love going to sleep with visions of lollipops and candy apples AND vicious lesbian prostitue serial killers. Mmm MMM. We watched a 15 minute On Demand special on the making of Monster beforehand, and the director reminds me of Page. 

I fixed myself what would have been the most amazing bowl of Rice Krispies this morning, only to find out that we have no milk. Out of all of life's letdowns, having no milk when you really want cereal is definitely up there, right after Panera not serving baked potato soup on a regular basis.

These are the day, my friends.

I have grown accustomed to measuring the amount of time that has lapsed between now and the days of The Princess and the Princess by studying the nail of my middle finger on my left hand. It feels like it was yesterday, but I know it was really much longer because the new nail is probably 3 weeks away from being completely grown in. 

Tonight we decided to quiet down after being such party girls last night, so Tina, Allie, Kathy and I opted to complete a Little Mermaid puzzle and watch Armageddon. I love it. And them. A lot.

Luke Taylor now knows how much we care for him. It's for the best, really. It was time to come clean. What a sweet and talented and attractive Austrailian boy with a aptitude for Shakespeare.

"I've heard it said 
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow 
If we let them
And we help them in return"

Everyone deserves the chance to fly.

I wish I could be more excited about college.

I wish my Natale wasn't moving to Florida.

I wish I could be in another show. Or four.

I wish it wasn't raining.

I wish I knew what I was doing.

I wish I wasn't scared of the unknown.

I wish some people weren't so conceited.

I wish there was a way to relive specific moments in the past whenever you needed to.

But there's really nothing I can do.

Oh well.

Thippawithett.

Cape House Painting 2004 was absolutely smackulent. I love Ms. Mastroianni, and now that this whole student teacher thing is behind us we can officially become best friends for LIFE.

Last night dear, dear Bryan provided us with a delicious, somewhat illegally distributed copy of Cold Mountain, so Kristina, Alison, Natale, Ian, and I joyfully watched it, taking complete pleasure in the fact that the rest of the world is forced to wait until next week to see Jude and Nicole in all of their glory.

And now that I have officially been home for 24 hours, it is time for me to hit the road once again and head off to an exhilerating college orientation. I'm not sure how I feel about this nomadic lifestyle. I do know that it makes my parents like me more because they don't have time to get irritated with me and vice versa. Interesting.

No day but today.

"Forget regret or life is yours to miss."

I love RENT.

Pig Fetus.

So this is what it's like.

I can't think of any words.

Except for one.

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

There will never be a sequal to E.T.. This knowledge is useful in case anyone spent 2 years of THEIR lives patiently waiting for it to happen. But I think I may be the only one in that particular bateau.

Then again...it seems to me that good things DO in fact come to those who wait.

Interesting.

What do you sink?

So I couldn't have asked for a better Beach Week.

When I get the pictures back, I'll show anyone who's interested and give them the play by play, because honestly I can't really remember any specifics at the moment. They're kind of all smashed together into one magical mass of Disney.

I missed everyone terribly and have some major catching up to do, so it's high time I got started!

I have to go and fetch my diploma tomorrow.

I hope I didn't bring whatever was biting my feet and legs in Florida home with me. I have enough itchy welts to connect them and form an Eiffel Tower.

If the past few weeks are an indication as to what this summer's going to be like, then HOT DOG let's get this party started!

Whee.

Someone I know is Charming Charming Charming. And it makes me nervous. But you know what?

It's better than fine.

Four Melons

No more full days of school.

No more waking up at 6:00 AM and leaving at 6:55 AM to try and be number 4 in the parallel parking line.

No more sprinting to lunch to be at the front of the line, getting the good garlic bread, and a seat at the lunch table. (I'm anticipating a Lunch Lady Retalliation reminiscent of what Samm got to the Pasta Article for that comment. LJ is just an easy way to spy on people, after all.)

I was watching Ten Little Indians last night, and it was odd to see us, 9 months younger and without a clue as to how the year would go. I didn't know that I'd be a part of it at all. But none of us knew how spectacular Boston Globe would end up being, or how awesome the musical was. I started the year as one thing, and will leave an affected and slightly different one. But I do like to think that I have no regrets, at least none that I can do anything about anymore. There are few things I'd change about this year. I have learned and experienced more over the past 9 months than I ever thought I would. I couldn't ask for more.

What we have here is a majestic river otter.

Okay so, all of a sudden, it hurts to speak and I'm overcome with the need to go to bed, and it's only 5:00.

Who gets sick in May? Who? Who?

Me.

Awesome. I think I'll celebrate with some ice cream.

Finals are a joke.

Ms. Bolarinho's back. For now.

Hard to believe that this week's the end.

No more delicious $1.50 pasta days, fat American burger/fries/cookie days, or better yet, shepard's pie days.

I wish Mr. Lew and Ms. Mastroianni would pull a Mr. Feeny and come teach me in college. That would be great.

I think I'll go see about that ice cream and watch me some Ten Little Indians. Just because.

This is why I love Natale

XxDaninaXx [9:31 PM]: how was the Rennaisance?
NLPLC154 [9:33 PM]: very nice...the slaughtering of the pig and the bards poems went well....Guienevere was there...she looked gorgeous.

I wonder when, over the course of tonight's Rennaisance assembly, that answer popped into Natale's sweet little mind.

Risky business.

I'm going to have to learn how to swim in the ocean in spite of the sharks.

He's Ray C...he's all set to GO.

Following the eighth grade performance of Peter Pan, Natale, Lovesquish, Megan, Bryan, and I took it upon ourselves to get dismissed after we were done with today's preview experience and go out to purchase some director's gifts.

Mission: Accomplished.

I would just like to say that, were it up to me, we would have bought some pretty interesting items. Of course, by interesting I mean WONDERFUL. By wonderful I mean a Bratz Catz (tm), which is the feline version of the ever classy Bratz (tm) dolls, complete with cologen lips and its very own purse; A pair of Hook Upz (tm), named Nick and Sugar, which are small, bendable dolls that were dressed in a way that resembled a pimp and his prostitute, aptly named not for what automatically comes to mind, but for the fact that they can "Hook up" to your child's backpack. Obviously the dominatrix, leather clad plush doll was named Sugar and not Sarah or Stacey; and finally, most hilariously, a clear plastic backpack chock full of one thing that no person should ever have to go without: Plastic Cats. This lovely little kit had a name, my friends. Cats in a plastic backpack= Hairball Roundup (tm), a riveting playset where your youngster can position the plastic cats and make them scurry around as needed. 

Obviously these are the quality type toys that any parent would want their children to spend time playing with. Apparantly they are not the type of toys that one would buy the director of their musical.

Days like this just make my life.

Loss.

My nail is finally beginning to fall off after almost 3 long, bruised, crusty blooded months. I'm going to save it, glue it to a tack and call it a thumb [nail] tack. Even though it's my middle finger. People will get the idea.

Let's get things straight.

So on the school lunch calender, the meal planned for today, May 4th, 2004, was Roast Turkey with Gravy, which just doesn't appeal to me. So imagine my surprise when I sit down to eat my brought-from-home lunch and see some scantily clad PRs walk by with steaming styrofoam trays of SHEPARD'S PIE. Now, the thing is, that Sheps Pie is something I relish and look foward to. To serve it unannounced when those who are turned off by turkey cubes in gravy and bring their own tuna sandwich is not only cruel, but downright deceiving. Shepard's pie day was SUPPOSED to be the third Wednesday of the month, completing a consecutive week of Wonderful Wednesdays with Taco Day tomorrow, Popcorn Chicken the week after, and THEN Shepard's Pie. 

So having this slight disappointment ruin my day a little, imagine my glee when I come home to find that my mom has made...SHEPARD'S PIE.

I absolutely adore life's little victories.

Les vacances d'Avril.

One year ago today, I was about to board a plane to France.

On that plane, I sat next to Samm.

I sat next to Samm for 7 hours, took 1 roll of film, ate 1 coquette, the pudding stood alone, and our first baguette was dry as a bone and tasted like sand.

But it didn't matter, because we were wearing Sleepies and listening to airplane radio and playing with elbow rests and watching Cords.

We landed in Paris at 6 am, which felt like 10 am, and began the longest, yet possibly the best, day of our lives.

The Eiffel Tower is much bigger than you would imagine.

Natalie broke a glass at the Cafe Italienne where we ate lunch, and I don't think I stopped laughing from then on out.

We got yelled at by gypsies, I got bundt cake tossed in my hair by impatient French children waiting in line to walk through Notre Dame, we had a tourgide named Mandy who thought peasant was a synonym for pheasant, we frolicked in Dinard, ate 4 foot long baguette sandwiches and saved room for chocolate waffles, visited Le Mont St. Michel, bought some sailors, played endlessly with the sailors, spent lots of time in Tours, ate at Le Boucherie, toured beautiful castles and indescribable monuments, brought Natty back to life when she died at Versailles, went on a night train and slept like babies, experienced Cannes and Nice and Monaco in all their Southern French glory, and pretty much had the time of our lives.

It's hard to believe all of that was a year ago, because I feel like it was yesterday.

I'm leaving now, for another April vacation, this time to Florida, this time less European.

It's been 92 years...

Dear Rose, Director of Membership at Orchard Hills Athletic Club:

Although my fitness experience with you has been nothing less than satisfactory, I have decided to withdraw my membership.

Ever since I experienced a physically damaging blow to my left hand in Feburary of 2004, I have had neither the stamina nor the ambition to exercise of any kind.

Thank you for providing me with many fantasic experiences in exercise.

Sincerely,

Danielle Randall

Such went my letter of resignation, which was passed in today. I have offically thrown in the towel on my last attempt at physical fittness. 

For those of you who don't know Rose at Orchard Hills, she is the sweetest looking lady, and she knows it. Our conversation went something like this:

Rose: Are you positive about this, honey?
Me: Yes. Yes I am. I'm going away to school in the fall and am very busy at the moment, I just don't have time to come to your establishment.
Rose: But once you're in college you'll need to keep up the cardio...freshman 15 (insert laughs from Rose).
Me: Yes, well, if that happens, you'll be the first to know.

Confimation of enrollment to the University of Massachusetts, Amherst is in the mail. 

I'm thinking that this should feel like a weight being lifted off of my chest, but instead the thought forms a cannon ball in my small intestine.

In case you don't know, today marks the 92nd anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic. If I could, I'd be watching Tape 1 right now.

Your subscription to Cat Fancy has been terminated.

Okay so I have officially consumed more ice cream in the past 2 days than I normally eat in a week.

This is not a problem. In fact, I see it as quite uplifting.

Today was interesting. Any day that starts off with Samm and I discussing UMass Male Escort services in AP Psych/Study (Which, by the way, is now officially taught by Coombsy, seeing as Ms. Bolarinho has officially bitten the dust) is bound to be amusing.

I then got to beat sticks together and on the stage, in rehersal for the Almighty Show Stopping Number that is Ugh-Ah-Wug. That's fun. Rhythmn sticks take me back to elementary school music class where Mrs. Dematis handed out instruments to play, and I always got mine taken away because I'd play it while she was talking.

Following rehersal, Jess, Bill, Kristina, Natale, and myself went Panera and spent a good 40 minutes in Market Basket debating which cake to purchase before deciding that nothing beats a pint of Ben and Jerry's, so we took the ice cream to the Blanchflower residence where we had fun.

Lots of fun. The kind of fun where Lovesquish releases a stream of obsceneties and ends them all with a threatening "So you'd better watch your butt, sister." 

Yes, friends, things like this are even more fun when you're a senior in high school.

Show me the meaning of haste.

Operation: Stalk the Shit Out of Luke: Completed.

For a more detailed synopsis, please see Kristina's journal.

I can sum up the evening in two words: Sweet Lord.

Aside from being thorouhly attracted to this Bard of a high school stud, my favorite part of the evening was by far Splash-Mountaining this Weston runner by driving through a 4 foot deep puddle at 50 miles an hour. She was appalled. And wet. But, hey, why would you ever run in the rain, in the dark, under bridges with giant puddles under them anyway? 

Oh, and by the way, their musical was outstanding. I find it hard to believe that one school can house a complete population of good looking AND talented students. Please.

One day I will be caught for all my crimes. All the jelly bean throwing, all the stalking...but you know what? They both make for extremely good stories in the end. And I'm glad we push the envelope of the law.

Let's just hope nobody from Weston or the FBI or the Boston Police Department/ Park Plaza Hotel Management reads this.

Hah.

Awesome.

So finals in Boston were incredible. Reminiscent of Mr. Fredd, I will outline the days by means of bullets.

-Saw the President of the United States' vehicle. No lie. He was there.
-Took pictures of secret service men and any odd pedestrian who may have been a "plain clothes" secret service man from the window of room 527.
-Found Lifesavers Pastel jellybeans in a 2 story CVS.
-Purchased said jellybeans.
-Embraced the fact that the window in our room opened wider than ANYONE else's window, and slept with it open, daring any pigeon to roost in our room whilst we were sleeping.
-Meandered around Boston in the morning, a truly magical city time. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but Boston is the city that sleeps late and goes to bed early. Still, magical beyond all reason.
-Decided to challenge the law by disposing of the revolting green versions of the afore mentioned pastel jellybeans by tossing them out the window.
-Realized the window in room 527 overlooks the valet parking area.
-Hatian valet man comes up to Floor 5 of the Park Plaza and inquires as to who would possibly commit the crime of throwing UFOs out a window. We smile innocently and inquire as to what those out of control rascals were throwing. Hatian man produces a cracked, weathered, disgusting green pastel jellybean.
-Room 527 disposes of all evidence, and escapes any sort of criminal repremanding.
-We go and watch 4 billion plays. All of them well done. Many of them incomprehensable.
-Begin to stalk a very attractive boy named Luke Taylor. And I mean stalk in the most extreme sense of the word. We later come to the conclusion, after evesdropping and observing, that Luke Taylor is a constipated, theatre snob/stoner with a broken arm. Yet still very attractive. If you're interested in the footage, let me know.
-We wake up for tech rehersal at 6:30 AM. The first uttarance of noise aside from the evil that was the hotel alarm clock:
"WHERE is the SHEET?!"-Alison Rose Tully (BILL).
-I realize that the hand that is under my butt is not my hand, but the hand of Liz Itkowsky. Somehow we always manage contact even though we were sleeping on completely opposite sides of the bed.
-Entire group, including chaperones, gets admonished by a hung over, saggy eyed wench for speaking in the hallway while she was trying to sleep. At 12:30 PM. It's time to wake up, lady.
-We perform at 2:00 in front of an audience filled with the high school theatre elite. Many of them did not understand basic, in your face humor.
-Fortunately, wonderful people that I love who DO appreciate such humor came to see The Princess and The Princess enjoy it's last happily ever after. This made me very happy. And excited. Happy and excited.
-And finally, we end our magical run with Leeann and Natale recieving acting awards, and Katie getting recognized for the costumes, as well she should.

...And they all lived happily ever after.

Oh, bully sticks.

My mother bought Milo an unidentified cow part at PetCo today as a special little token of her undying love for him. It's stiff, and brown, and approximately 12 inches long, so we assumed it was a cow tail. By we I mean my mother, myself, and Samm the PetCo Employee.

Got home tonight, went online, while Milo lay beside me, happily chewing on his Bully Stick (tm). As the computer was logging on, I took notice as to how it was a bit disgusting to watch Milo chew on the petrified tail of a deceased cow.

So I finally get online, and begin a conversation with Samm, who informs me that she found out that what my mother purchased for our young puppy was not, in fact, a cow tail.

Oh no. What my golden retriever is munching on right now, happy as a lark in the glenn, is a cow penis.

A long, stiff, petrified, baked?, $5.00 cow penis.

Enjoy, Milo. Enjoy.

Why can't I be like you, Jack?

Grown up is such an odd phrase, and it had such a solid definition to me when I was little. When someone was grown up, they had a job, or they were married, or they lived by themselves, and were just older, in general. Only now I have no idea what constituted as a "grown up" to me back then. For all I know I might have considerded 18 to be equal in adult status to 35.

As far as what I want to DO with the rest of my life? Well when I was two, I wanted to be a ballerina, but by the age of 4 with a year of ballet lessons under my belt I realized that maybe I would just always have ballet as a hobby, because OBVIOUSLY being an actress was a much more stable career move. When I started kindergarten I developed such a crush on my teacher that I wanted to be just like her and teach kindergarten ALL the time. That ended when I was 6 and discovered that first grade was nothing more than a big disappointment. THEN I became penpals with Jan Brett (who, by the way, STILL sends me fliers advertising her latest books and stickers 10 years later. Enough is enough, Jan.) and that's when I wanted to become a pediatrician AND an author. Eventually seventh grade rolled around, and I had the amazing revelation that Katie Couric's job was probably the coolest one around, and that is what I focused my aspirations on throughout high school.

But now what? I've been really lucky to have the oppurtunity to work in a TV studio at school, act in school plays, and have some really amazing people as teachers. (Not so fast, Mr. Smith. I am certainly NOT referring to you. Ass.) I've really been inspired to do each of these things. 

There are days when I just want to go to college, get an education degree and minor in theatre arts so that I could become a Ms. Mastroianni and work in a high school and be loved by all these kids, and direct plays, because I see her at rehersal and in school and it seems that she is one genuinely happy person who likes her job and all of its benefits.

Sometimes I get ambitious. Sometimes I want to take a plunge into tv production  and do my best to stay above the competition and just believe that someday, eventually, I'd get to go to the Oscars.

And then there are those instances when I've just began rehersing for a new show or am really really enjoying myself when I just want to be extremely risky and just go out there and be in the right place at the right time and magically become an actress, and live the life that I have always been fascinated with. 

As much as my future is up to me, there is an equal measure of elements that are pure luck, and coincedence, and just simply a part of this master plan for my life that I am completely unaware of. I have always believed that everything happens for a reason, and, in the end, everything works out the way it was meant to. So, with that said, I'm just going to keep pondering, and fantasising, and what-ifing, and whatever will be will be

Once upon a time...

...There was a Princess play that kicked so much butt that it actually, despite popular belief, managed to work its way into the final round of the Boston Globe Drama Festival. Yes this really happened, no I still cannot believe it.

But oh man is it a THRILL.

Today was a rather pointless day to spend in school. I must say, aside from drawing my own headshot in Theatre Arts and discovering that Uncle Ronnie's slushies are now a permenant fixture in the cafeteria, there wasn't a whole lot to attend for. Apparantly Ms. Bolarinho's breaking up of the all out brawl that happened last week has resulted in what I imagine to be a blatant plaster body cast that prevents her from coming into school. I hope she realizes that in order for every bone in her body to heal properly, it is imperative that she remain at home for as long as possible.

Today we deposited $11.65 worth of cans to use towards funding our hotel rooms in Boston. I'd say we're well on our way.

And now I have to continue not reading The Lion King/I Dreamed of Africa/The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe or Henderson the Rain King, whatever you prefer. Haven't read this far, why start now?

The End.

Cooking Show.

Sweet Lord, it's nights like this that make me never want to graduate, never want to leave the friends I have, never want to grow up, because I feel like everything I could possibly need to achieve happiness I already have.

Forget how crappy the day started off, forget the Psychology test I failed, forget how Samm's and Nat's and my plan to blow off English backfired in the face of our flawless records, forget how tired I am. I have never laughed harder than I did tonight.

I saw that in a Nickelodeon once and I always wanted to do it.

And so ends one very eventful, very enjoyable, very unshowered weekend. 

I blame the way that this year has whizzed by on the massive amounts of fun I have with all of these people that I adore. Sad as it is that time flies when you're having fun, I much prefer this to the alternative, which I would be living had I continued my pathetic existance as a silent, friendless Bernie.

I have eaten massive amounts of all things delicious this weekend, and that to me equals success. Samm gave me a smashing Parisan cookbook for two, and we wasted no time in blowing off homework in favor of making a molten chocolate cake, which was eaten with ice cream, along with the remains of the Slumber Party ice cream cake, tomato soup, and Premiums.

I also got to go to ThaiChaDa with Kristina, Bill, and Natale, where Natale conquered his shrimp fear, Kristina inhaled a duck, we had a waify waitress, and Bill learned how to talk Thai, or at least sat ThaiChaDa quickly and impressively. 

Friday was the Slumber Party. Awesome was really the only way to describe it, really. 

Read through today was fine. Indians do not use nouns or verbs when they speak. How's that for stereotypical Mr. Smith? Ugh a wug.

I don't know why, but when I'm just sitting around quietly by myself, I tend to think of sad things that make me pathetically emotional. Listening to the little boy I babysit for read Go Dog, Go almost made me cry. I don't know why this is.

I guess it's impossible to be happy all of the time, but the sweet is never as sweet without the sour.

You have a gift, Jack. You do. You see people.

So today may just have been one of the most enjoyable school days of the year. Cast list for Peter Pan went up, and I am so excited to be Tiger Lily, and sad at the same time, as the rest of the year will offically FLY by from here, but it's best to focus on the good in situations like these.

In addition to this, English proved to be truly magical in that it was a blatant confirmation of my section's complete disregard for the class. After Samm informed him that his enormous vocabulary was merely a desparate attempt at compensation for the smaller things in his life and Lizzy convinced him that "wiggity whack" was indeed an appropriate term to use when describing Lily in Saul Bellow's classic novel, The Lion King, we all just sort of realized that his time as a respected human was officially up. It's fine though, because it just is.

THEN, as we haven't been to the Blue Heron T-Shirt makers in over 5 days, Natale, Kristina, Megan, Ian, and myself went on in there to pay a visit to Cello Cello Cello, Jerri, and The Magnified-Eyed Old Lady, and ask them to make us some kickass Princess t-shirts. After 45 minutes, 4 utterances of the name "Cello", 6 minutes of staring at Jerri the T-Shirt expert's massive cameltoe, and a rat bastard, we left satisfied.

I got 2 notes from Bill today, thus adding to the day's majesty. 

One more time.

It just occured to me that this is the last night I will spend in anticipation over the casting of an LHS performance. This really saddens me, because I don't think I can reiterate enough how much I'll miss all of this. Good thing I'll be able to come back and live vicariously through all of those who get to keep on trucking for one or two more years.

But I feel SO lucky to get the chance to do TWO Boston Globes in a year. I have to keep reminding myself that it's far from over ladies and gentlemen, the curtain hasn't closed yet.

Quick update on the seamonkeys. They have gotten freakisly large, large enough to have a clear, unmagnified view of their beady little eyes. I don't think they were meant to get so large. They kind of swarm a bit and it makes me uneasy.

Oscars were a bit disappointing, I must say. The PARTY, however was not. Any excuse to eat potato skins is good enough for me.

It's weird to be home at 7:00. Maybe I'll do homework.

If by homework you mean watch Friends.

What D Stands for.

Today was a fantasmic day.

Started off early, yet giddy, the giddiness transfromed into nervousness, the nervousness into relief, the relief into sheer joy.

Yes, The Princess and the Princess has advanced to round 2 of the Boston Globe Drama Festival. Holy cabooses. It's so great.

Dance parties kick major behind. I'm STOKED that we get to have another one.

I'm too excited slash tired to write in more detail, so I will leave you all with this.

WHAT DOES "D" STAND FOR?!!!!!!!
-(i'm quiet. i'm quiet.)
-I'M A PARTY GIRL!! I'M A PARTY GIRL!!
-(i'm quiet. i'm quiet.)
-I'M A PARTY GIRL!! I'M A PARTY GIRL!!
-Davinia! Davinia! Davinia!

Yes, in an acrostically challenged world, "D" DOES stand for quiet but also a party girl at the same time.

Bitchin.

Ouch.

Here's what's not wonderful: slamming two fingers in a massive door. Question of the day: will the bluish-green patch that was the nail of my middle finger fall off? If so, what will take its place? If not, for how much longer is it going to THROB for Pete's sake.

This is already too long for having typed it with one hand.

You're shooting with Althea?

Today I did not go to school. Why, you ask?

Oh, because it was FRIENDSBOWL. FRIENDSBOWL is, in case you were wondering, a newfangled holiday where people such as myself, Alison, Kristina, Natale, Maya, Regina, and oddly enough, Ian, gather and watch Select Episodes of Friends from Seasons 1-6. It was completely awesome. There was not much moving involved at ALL, we literally remaind stationary for a solid 3 hours and only moved to order food and eat it before resuming our positions on the couch. Awesome. 

After FRIENDSBOWL, I came home and eventually called Samm, and then we headed to The Mall to soak up some disease ridden air and purchase necessary necesseties such as Titanic on DVD, a bag, a belt, 2 lemonades and a pretzel (to split). After being APPALLED by a couple of youngin's procreating in front of our eyes as we ate our pretzel (to split) on the benches in Derby Square, we headed to the only place that bitties our age head to: Market Basket.

On the way into Market Basket we passed an obviously Jamacian fellow. How did we KNOW he was Jamacian you ask? Well, how do you pick out a Frenchman, Brit, Scot, or Mexican? By what they wear of course. Frenchmen ALWAYS have striped shirts, neckerchiefs and berets, Brits ALWAYS are smoking pipes, Scots ALWAYS wear kilts and say "huch-hi", and a Mexican is never without his sombrero. In the case of a Jamacian, well, this man was shielding his dreds from the harsh weather with a black, red, and yellow knit hat that resembled the the black, red and yellow hats that you can buy with the dredlocks ATTATCHED. His were real. Yeah, Mon.

Once IN Market Basket of course we encountered Kristina, Bill, Maya, and Regina, buying cereal and gum. It was very special. Samm and I then purchased our Jell-O to make Valentine's Day jigglers with and were disappointed in the fact that Market Basket failed to recognize the TRUE spirit of Valentine's Day by not stocking sweet-taht-hahts, so we had to go to CVS. On our way to CVS we had a good chuckle at the mechanical horse parked outside of Market Basket, and bought the sweet taht hahts. On our way out, we were JUST IN TIME to witness two portly children gripping on to the now bucking mechanical horse. Good things just happen sometimes.

Who left the ice sculpture on the steam grid?!

I can't believe there are only 5 more episodes of Friends left until The End. That's almost as sad as the fact that there are approximately 65 days left to my high school career. That's rather frightening. I do NOT intend on wasting a minute of those 65 days. I'll tell you that much.

Today reminded me of a really good episode of a sitcom. The kind where the entire show is hilarious. Highlights include:

-Natale and I spending oodles of time ordering Drama Club sweatshirts
and getting to know oodles of information about the 80 year old saleslady with the saggy jowels and magnified eyes; including the animocity between her and a telephone customer that she hung up on and muttered "Jackass" under her breath before returning oh so friendly-like to us. We also became painfully aware of the Blue Heron employee's fondness for their boss, "Cello", and also their fondness of saying his name, "Cello", over and over and over.

-Theatre Thanksgiving, where Ms. Mastroianni, Bill, Kristina, Natale, Ian, and myself ate dinner in the green room and had fun talking about Jesus, alias the Lifeskills Teacher named Steve, and how every day in the faculty room he breaks his bread and passes it down to The Twelve, six on one side, six on the other, all in a row on the same side of the table. THEN we got to Rhino Sperm a rock wall, which was the most disgusting hands on experience of my life, all while listening to The Little Mermaid soundtrack.

-Bizzouncing from rehersal with the force of a thousand winds and making it home JUST in time, and by just in time I mean ON THE NOSE, for Friends. Oh dear me.

Quick update on the seamonkeys...they have finally grown to resemble the happy, beautiful creatures depicted on the box. I think I win.

Pneu.

I would love nothing more than a good old fashioned 90 minute delay tomorrow. Nothing more, nothing less. Just 90 minutes to get me out of a Psycho test that I have yet to study for.

Procrastinating is just what I do.

I have been spending oodles of time at school these days. It's fine though, because rehersals are fun, for the most part. Especially last night's Princess, when Bill and Fizzo stared at me in the creepiest and best way possible in their debut as the "audience" of my "story" and when David made me a swan out of a brittle, old, yet Kleen, Kleenex. I enjoy having people to read to. Especially when their names are Bill and Fizzo.

Did you know that paint can get moldy? I didn't. But now I do. It's no big deal when it does; you just stir in the mold and slather it on. Poster paint however, when it molds, takes on a positively vomit-inducing odor. Of course I have to innocently stick my nose in practically everything nasty at the pinnacle of its nastiness, so I died a little bit inside. But it's fine because I'm back.

Okay, so Prince Harry the Seamonkeys need to have their water oxygenated. For Lord's sake.

I'm Old.

Why does eighteen seem so old? Oh right. Because it is. Yikes.

Regardless of my step towards senior citizenship, I have to say that my birthday was absolutely phenomonal, thanks, in large part, to my friends, because, quite honestly, they are a group of very very wonderful people. And I love them.

I haven't really taken advantage of the oppurtunites that one can take advantage OF when they turn 18. I don't smoke, so that's useless, I've never won any money on any scratch ticket I have ever scratched EVER in my life, tattoos and piercings are kind of null due to my pain phobia, and porn just isn't my thing. I do however, really want to order something off of a TV ad, like the Ultimate Chopper, so that I will have the ability to grind cement chips into a powder in the comfort of my own kitchen.

Speaking of appliances, I now am the proud owner of a Smoothie Maker, not to be confused with a blender, because does YOUR blender have a convnient little release spout at its base? If it does, than it's not a blender. It's a Smoothie Maker.

Lizzy gave me sea monkeys. I need to activate them soon. They are still in their little sealed up pouchy thing, all dried up, just waiting to be dumped in water and brought to life. They are amazing creatures, those sea monkeys. I'll be sure to keep you all updated on the progress of my magical pets. I'm going to try to keep them alive SO long that they become the biggest sea monkeys ever and I am forced to keep them in the bathtub.

That's a little disgusting. It's fine.

I'm off to go and vote on something, just because I can.

Scho-Scho-Schoolio.

My first official Theatre Arts class seems like a hoot. Kristina, Bill, Shawnna and I share a table with a very motley crew, including two random sophomores that came quite close to believing me when I told them that Natale was born without eyes and in fact had two glass ones as replacements. Enough said. 

The new kids in Televison Production leave a little something to be desired, for the most part. Call me an elitist, because when it comes to TV Production I happen to be one. Whatever. 

Schmitty wasn't in school today. Yes, this was the cause for celebration of all kinds, including dancing and high fiving and maybe even a little bit of song. It's as though he knew how irritating he was yesterday, so he decided that it would be in the best interest of everyone if he just laid low for a day, at home in China... Either that or he knew just what would make Eleanor happiest on her birthday.

Quality television.

There is nothing worse than a burnt tongue, except for maybe not having one. Like the ambiguous Lunch Man, who supposedly had his tongue cut out and as a result is forced to ride a bike everywhere and is employed at LHS simply to guard the vanilla whips and free sherbet cups. Watch out for the new episode of Out of the Blue, where one group actually did their own version of The Big Urban Myth Show and based it entirely on the Legend of the Tongueless Lunch Man. I kid you not.

I really did have every intention of finishing my English essay right now. But, seeing as I left my expandable folder in my car, which has been taken out by my mother, I am now left with nothing to do but this. I sure hope my entire paper is saved on the disc that is in the expandable folder, because for some reason it didn't save on my computer. This concept makes me a teeny bit nervous.

I watched a little bit of Until Death Do Us Part on MTV this afternoon. I was sufficently freaked out. On their series premiere, Classy Carmen and Dapper Dave had their photo shoot for their absolutely breathtaking wedding invitations. Yeah. Their close friends and family are apparantly going to be summoned to their wedding by means of a photo of Carmen and Dave lying on metal embalming tables, wrapped in plastic, pretending to be dead. This facade was complete with blood, make up and Date of Expiration tags. 

I don't think I'll be watching Until Death Do Us Part again any time soon. That was just too tastelessly morbid for me. Who does that? Certainly not Nick and Jessica. Nossiree.

Speaking of MTV, I would like to give Bunim and Murray my most sincere thanks for putting Randy from Boston on their show. Nice job guys. Way to redeem yourselves for the abominations known as Donell and Chris. 

Psoriasis Connections.

So one day I was watching TV Guide Channel, waiting to see what time Full House came on or something, and that's when it happened.

My eyes were pulled away from the scrolling bars of television programming and fixated on an infomercial. This informercial was for a little organization called Psoriasis Connections, a support group and newsletter where people with psoriasis can learn about ther plague and come up with witty explanations for their aiments.

Obviously I needed to get in on the fun. I alerted Samm of this; and right away we formed the aliases of Iava and Uava Rache, and signed up for the free newsletter.

About three weeks ago, I find a package, discreetly encased in an inconspicuous navy blue plastic cover (presumably so that the mailman isn't made aware of the psoriasis) addressed to Iava Rache.

The following are direct quotes from the November 2003 issue of Psoriasis Connections:

*Possible explanation to give someone that you're planning to meet for the first time on a date*

-"I want to warn you. I've got this condition. It's not contagious, and it looks much worse than it is. I am going through a tough stage right now; if you would rather wait a few weeks to meet me, I'll understand."
-"I'm kind of going out on a limb here by disclosing this to you. I don't want you to get spooked when you see me. I want to reassure you that you can't catch it."

*Or you could just take the indifferent route:*

-"It's just too much skin. Big deal."
-"Some people are squeamish about this and I understand. Sometimes I goss myself out with it."

*The "Funny Guy"*
-"This is psoriasis. Proof that you CAN have too much of a good thing! Psoriasis isn't contagious or infectious; it just causes your body to produce WAAAAAY too much skin. At least you'll never call ME thin-skinned!"

*Possible explanations for encounters at a business meeting*
-"I want you to be able to concentrate on what I'm saying here, because it may be very important to you later. I don't want you to be distracted by what you see on my hands or (face, etc.) So let me put everyone's mind at ease. I have psoriasis. It's not contagious. It's not infectious. It can be itchy and annoying, but if you've ever had bad mosquito bites or poison ivy, you know the feeling. So, with this said, let us get back to our real purpose for getting together today and discuss..."

AND, if you happen to meet a business partner during an oubreak, shaking hands is not necessary. A firm smile, nod, and the explanation "Sorry, but my hand is a little sore right now" will suffice.

So wait...is psoriasis contagious?

I love free newsletters. Even if they do make me itchy.

The marshmallows: squishy. The coconut: sharp. The pineapple: juicy. The Cool Whip: there.

Today Natale and I celebrated the fact that we are, in fact, senior citizens by spending the afternoon milling about Leominster's various shopping centers, popping in on a friend, eating shepard's pie for dinner at 4:00, followed by the ever delicious ambrosia salad-MAKE WAY- for dessert. The evening was capped off by me falling down the basement stairs, which could have resulted in hip replacements, but luckily this was not the case.


Luckily.

Quality.

Tonight I babysat. Beforehand, I made 35 plaster molds of animals and monsters and brought them with me. The kids proceeded to paint said plaster cookies for four gloriously occupied hours. We then ate tomato soup and grilled cheese and saltines and sundaes. AND we watched The Muppet Christmas Carol. I like to think I am influencing these children on what is truly wonderful in life. Plaster, tomato soup with Premiums, ice cream, and Muppets.

I left the parents with two sugar high children and 35 useless plaster shapes.

My hands are freezing. And chapped. I try to moisturize, and then I evenutally wash my hands so I don't get the flu or menengitis or any of those lovely ailments that frequent this area, and then they get re-chapped.

Whatever.

Un04gettable...wow.

Okay, so 2004 has started off as a very entertaining year.

New Year's Eve was spectacular. I love it when my friends can successfully mesh with my bonkers Canadian family. We played Yankee Swap, and Natale and Megan were definately the big winners, having ended up with an oversized papier mache apple birdfeeder and a set of 3 pairs of tube socks; respectively. Towards the end of the night, they started with the spoon playing along with the Canadian folk music, and of course that can only lead to my grandmother and great aunt peer pressuring Natale to sing. 

Last night was much more low key, so the Randalls decided to do "Family movie night" and sit ourselves down to watch heartwarming family flicks such as The Sum of all Fears, starring Ben Affleck as a multi-lingual CIA agent who inevitably saves the free world from nuclear destricrion.

Oh Ben, is there anything you can't do?

I would really like to be an extra in a movie. Not just any extra, but one with a really memorable line. Like the lady in Cold Mountain who says something along the lines of "Get the Yanks".