dark comedy. foreign. violent.

These, according to netflix, are my taste in movies.  That's right--give me a film in which the hero slices the head off the bad guy and pauses for a delightfully clever line in a foreign language and, apparently, I'll be happy.  The thing is, it's true.  Oh, netflix, how you know me...

My car's in the shop.  Nothing major...I hope.  But there's a knocking coming from near the timing...so I'm crossing my fingers it's nothing that'll break the bank.  Until then, I've borrowed one of Ryan's cars.  It's kinda handy to have two vehicles, I suppose.  Anyway, it's freezing outside, right?  And pouring.  So I get off work and run to the car and dive inside, fight my way home, and get out, only to realize I locked my keys in the house.  Yeah.  That's right.  I did it...again.  So I'm huddled on the porch with a phone that's dying, groceries in hand, mail tucked under one arm, no porch light, peering into the depths that is my purse hunting for keys that I don't have when I remember: they're on my nightstand.  Really.  So I call my roommate with the last ooch of life left in my phone.  While I don't remember my exact words, I believe all I managed to get out is something along the lines of "nokeysfrontdoorhelpmeeeeee!"  About a minute later she trudges to the front door in a bathrobe.  "I'm sorry!!"  I felt bad hauling her out of bed because I couldn't remember my keys...  :(

I mentioned that it was cold, right?  It's supposed to snow tonight.  As in, 2-3 inches.  Eek!!  I'm trying not to get too terribly excited...because I know that if I do, I'll jinx it.  My mother's already called and made sure I was stocked up with food for the week.  Thanks, Mum.  I got this, though.  There's almost 20 lb of hamburger in the freezer, and I've got bread and milk out my ears.  Oh--and alcohol.  After the end-of-semester party the other night, I've got more alcohol than Jack Sparrow could ever drink...  I'm good.

I've also rediscovered Alias, one of my favorite shows while in high school.  As I rewatch them, I've become more and more convinced that I just watched it for Jennifer Garner's awesome outfits and hot wigs.  Because, let's face it, that would probably be my favorite part of being a CIA agent.  Well, that or shooting things.
So,  I'm tucking in tonight with a cup of hot tea and a movie.
Maybe something dark, comedic, foreign, and violent.

I'll let you know if I survive the the storm.

Autumn Aspiration

When I was a kid, I was really active.  My brother has ADHD beyond comprehension, and when we were kids, he was either going 110 mph, or he was comatose preparing for more--dragging me along for the ride.  We went on family walks, we played tennis like freaks, we rode our bikes until we fell asleep on them (long story...).  And it's true that I still value being outdoors and being active...to a degree.  I've graduated to the yoga-doing, gentle hiking, lap swimming phase of preferential excercise, though lately I feel like I could try for an Olympic medal in 'Sitting Around With A Cocktail Watching Bad TV Feeling Guilty That I Haven't Read A Book In Weeks Although I Should Probably Be Productive And Write That Currency Research Paper On Turkey.'  But then again I think I could use some more practice before going for the gold.  (Gotta make my momma proud!)  So what have I done to fix this rut?  I, Rachael, have officially registered for the T-R Aerobics/Slimnastics class at 8 am for this Spring semester.  
Yeah.
That's right.
You read correctly.
Me--in an aerobics class.  Because you know what?  If I value my health (which I do), if I enjoy being active (check), and if I work at the YMCA (still yes)--an organization dedicated to building spirit, mind, and body--then why shouldn't I DO something about it?  I am determined to lose this last bit of EuropeWeight that keeps me from feeling comfortable in the clothes I already own.  It's only a few pounds.  And I really, really, reeeeeally want to wear that black tube top I recently rediscovered hiding in my "skinny/normal" clothes drawer.  

(Am I the only one that associates certain clothes with the good memories that accompanied them?)

Now I realize that this won't start til January--which is preferable.  I mean honestly, there's no way I'm not going to enjoy the food of the Holidays.  Not gonna happen.  But come 2011?  I'm on a mission.

Harried Thursday

Running on 3 hours of sleep.
Multinational Finance and Trade Exam down.
More Finance homework due at 11 pm.
Muttermutter grumblegrumble...
Oh wait--I HAVE MIDNIGHT HARRY POTTER TICKETS!

:]

Taking advantage of the college life while I can,
Rachael

Erdogan? Who's Erdogan??

In case you didn't know, Erdogan is actually Recep Tayyip Erdogan, the prime minister of Turkey.
I'm supposed to be writing a 15 page paper on Turkey: "Analyze the prospects for the country's currency.  Consider the country's economic condition and prospects."  Dude, I got this in 20 words or less: It's an emerging market that didn't really appreciate the recent economic slump, but it's getting there.  Done.

My roommates Sydney and Lillian brought home a cat several weeks ago.  It was us or the animal shelter, so I embraced an indoor animal, despite having several bad experiences with them.  It's not working out so well.  His name is Zoloft--"because he's so chill he's almost depressed," they cried!--and yet every morning while I make myself a cup of Typhoo, he repeatedly attacks my legs.  He doesn't understand that I am not a play toy, especially not at 6 am.  He also doesn't understand that computers are for people to use, not for him to stretch out upon.  I can't count how many times I've had to retype things today alone because of his iron will telling him that my keyboard is his favorite napping site.  I will confess, however, that I do revel in vacuuming as it scares the hell out of him.
Now, now, let's be fair: I am not cruel to animals.  I do not antagonize them, I do not hate them.  In fact, I really like animals.  [Especially baby pandas.  Oh!, if only I could have a baby panda...]  However, Zoloft likes to wait and attack me as I walk around hallway corners.  He nests in my clean laundry.  He jumps on the counters and goes for my food.  He lies in wait outside my bedroom door, so that when I open it, I have to recall my days as a Cirque de Soliel performer to not trip myself as I maneuver around his flailing body.  That said, he hates the vacuum.  So much as that we could not find him after vacuuming the house two days ago.  His cute little collar with his bell was abandoned on the floor by the bathroom, yet all doors were closed.  He wasn't behind the cabinets or the TV, not in the washing machine (another favorite hiding spot) or under the furniture...  We stood around bewildered only to hear the tiniest of "meows."  Syd pointed to the wall behind me.  He had wedged himself behind our collection of alcoholic beverages, his head just barely peeking out.  I grabbed my camera and snapped a blurry picture or two before prying him--his claws were literally sunken into the drywall--down to ground level.  It's bad, but it made me mentally give myself a point on the "Zoloft vs Rachael" scoreboard.

In other news, Tech's Health Services has determined after much testing that I may or may not have Strep.  Thanks.  That's good to know.  So I got sent home from work early on Wednesday, spent all yesterday in bed, and was asked to not come in to work today.  Which was fine...as long as I was sleeping.  Other than that, I'm bored out of my mind and aching for some company.  I can't stare at these beige walls anymore.  I've eaten almost a whole box of cereal and had 4 cups of Typhoo and 2 cups of vanilla chai.  I'm wired, and I'm going crazy.  And I wanna curl up with Ryan.  

SIGH.

But his not being here is probably a good thing, too.  It means I have no excuse not to elaborate on my assessment of Turkey.  

Not that it needs it, of course.

My own tiny politico

I'm far too political for my own good.  It's taken me years to master the fine art of smiling while others spew idiocy.  I can appreciate anyone's political views as long as they are logical.  I need facts.  I need to see why you believe the way that you do.  If it's merely "because it's right," or because it's how you were raised, or because that's what you see on TV...then please, even if you mirror my own stances, STFU.  I don't care if you're a Republican, Democrat, Independent, Tea-Partier, Green, Socialist, Marxist, or GreenPeopleFromFreakinMars Party, ...if you don't have some real reasoning skills under that cute little epidermis of yours, STFU.

Also, if you didn't get your butt out to the polls, if you didn't poke that chad or hit that touchscreen button, if you didn't vote?  You have NO RIGHT to complain.  You also have no right to smirk if your politician wins.  You gave up your right to have a say, remember?

I hate the gloating that comes with elections.
I hate the campaigning.
I hate all of it.
But I live for politics.
:)))

The M-Word.

I was asked about marriage recently.

The 5 second "Marriage" word association:  50's housewife, dad in a tie, family vacations, Cinderella, arguments, church, old married couple, divorce, same sex marriage, The Princess Bride, pets, children, anniversaries, weddings, savings, memories...

So many images come to mind:

As soon as I recovered from my deer-in-headlights impersonation, I hesitantly offered, "Yeah...I'll probably get married."  And life went on.  The gears, though--they kept on rolling.

Marriage.

These days there seem to be so many attitudes toward it.  In Ye Olden Dayes, you were for it or against it--on the Oregon Trail, you needed a husband to stay alive, and I'm down with that OR you could have lived in New England and been one half of the Spinster Sisters, which also sounds pretty fun--simple as that--but now there seems to be a murky middle ground that has arisen from feminism, religious and non-religious thought, government policy, etc.  All of a sudden there are not just the Singletons and the Marrieds, but a third type--the Maybes--moving in down the block.  (There are categories within each, of course, but the simple addition of the Maybe category is novel itself.)

I feel confident that I make my bed with the Maybe clan.  Granted, one must understand that this does not mean that I have wishy-washy feelings toward marriage itself--no!, for on it I am quite decisive (read: picky).  I may or may not get married.  I am perfectly fine with that.  I know what I want in a man and a relationship, and if he I want doesn't present himself...well, I'm of no mind to go track him down.
If I sound detached about the subject it's only because that's all I know to do.  Marriage is no fairy-tale love-fest.  I am no Cinderella, and I'm fairly confident Kate Middleton has bagged the last Prince Charming on the planet.  (Lucky bitch...)  Marriage is a contract between two people and, ultimately, with God.  Marriage is saying, "Okay.  This is what I want, and That's what you want, and I think I can live with this...and with you. I agree to stop surveying my prospects and settle down with you."  And with's God's help, you do just that.
Please don't misunderstand--I'm not saying there's no love.  [There must be love!!--and lots of it!!]  But it's a love that turns from the heart-pumping, stomach-flipping, butterflies-churning first stages of love to a deeper, more comfortable love.  Sometimes when that first love infatuation goes away, you start thinking that you're falling out of love--but if you're in a healthy relationship, I think it just means you're entering a deeper, more mature stage of love.  Kooky as it sounds, I think Richard Gere put it well in Runaway Bride when he said, "Look, I guarantee there'll be tough times. I guarantee that at some point, one or both of us is gonna want to get out of this thing. But I also guarantee that if I don't ask you to be mine, I'll regret it for the rest of my life, because I know, in my heart, you're the only one for me."   To me there is no backing out, no taking of breaks, no breaking up when you are married.  You're in it together.  When one of you is down for the count, the other steps in and fights even harder.  It's gotta be work.  No pain, no gain, right?


But I also know I'd be happy alone.  I'd wander.  I might rent a small flat in Ireland or perhaps in Croatia:

I'd teach English and have 52.7 cats of various shapes, sizes and temperaments.  I'd read, I'd travel, and I'd be insanely happy.  But if I meet someone I think I will want to have in my life every day from here to eternity?  Some one I can't stop thinking about?  Someone who makes me think and laugh, and learn?  Someone who fits me perfectly?  Someone who is my best friend?  You bet I'll wanna put a ring on it.
This still doesn't contain all my feelings on the subject, but I needed to verbally vomit that all out before the gears in my head choke up and explode and I starting explaining it to the awkward check-out boy at Food Lion.  Cause let me tell you how well that worked out last time...

Just sayin'.

Crap.

Life is lovely, and life is crap.
The Greeks had this obsession with tragedies.  (Oedipus anyone?)  You know, a bunch of really crappy crap happens, and then you die.  Today I'm inclined to agree.  I've had issues all weekend.  Issues with boys, with girls, with keys, with alarms, with laundry, with food...you name it, I've probably had an issue with it in the past 48 hours.
Crap, all of it.

Hi. I'd like to take a moment of your time and tell you about my favorite time of the year: the holidays. See, some people are crazy about spring and summer, and that's great and all, but I'm just not the kinda girl who's gonna get hot and bothered by getting, well...hot. And bothered. I'm not a fan of sweating like a pig. Sorry. And spring? With those pastels? I can't bear to go there today. But fall, with it's cool breezes, fun layering of clothes and accessories, warm homes with fireplaces anxiously waiting to be lit, pumpkins and gourds and hay, deep, rich colors...now that I can get behind. Das mag ich viel.
Today is a Terry family gathering to celebrate their Papaw's birthday. I'm sure there will be tears, but honestly, I'm pretty excited about it. It's hard to believe he's been gone just over a year, but it's truly amazing that the whole family is coming together to celebrate his life. I can only hope to be that loved by my descendants, which brings me to another thought. I love family gatherings. They are more prevalent during the holiday season, and perhaps that's yet another reason I love it so. I have a weakness for family gatherings. Goodness knows that mine is so spread out I hardly see them, and we communicate so little that the only updates I get are at the holidays. I wish it weren't like that. I love big feasts where everyone sits down and eats and talk together. What's better than good food and good conversation? The holiday season is perfect for that. Cousins rake leaves into piles to jump in and mothers gather together to prepare the good eats in the sinfully delicious smell of the kitchen. Fathers position themselves around the tv discussing politics, work, and sports.
So I guess what I'm saying is that I'm being really optimistic this fall. I can smell something in the air that's different than usual, and I'm excited (and impatient) to see what will happen.
But for now...I'm gonna go make my grandmother's homemade banana pudding.
:)

I'm calling it a day.

Some things can only be solved with a bubble bath and a glass of wine.
Today I chose a White Zin.
And B&BW Twilight Woods.
And 3:00 pm.
Well, 3:00 pm chose me.
[Psh.  Detailssssss.]

Bloggity blog blog.

I'm 99.999974826573174% sure I failed my Multinational Finance exam this morning. Great. I only studied for hours upon hours to walk in and read the first page...and suddenly visualize my diploma getting torn to pieces by the Tasmanian Devil as the Loony Tunes huddle together and laugh derisively.

On the other hand, I actually understood my Finance 3210 material today. It's about time. Heh. We're only halfway through the semester, you know. And now I'm in the library, chilling. I picked up my history textbook and haven't been able to stop reading it for the past, well, almost two hours. [Nerd!] Maybe this could be a sign??
I'm crossing my fingers.

I love sitting in the library if only to watch people. Yes, yes, I am a people watcher. It's just too much fun not to, and let's be honest, college campuses contain the most interesting people in one convenient environment. For example, I do believe I saw a pair of Ugg boots made from Goofy himself.  Kinda like these, but worse:

Too many cartoon references in one post?
Nah...

The Weekend Not-So-Summarily Summarized

There are days I can come up with nothing interesting and nothing witty to say.
This is one of them.
I go to school.  I work.  I check facebook.  I check (read: stalk) my usual favorite blogs.  Occasionally I do laundry.  Sometimes I even have fun on my weekends.  This is one of those.

I spent the weekend in Nashville, halving my time between Ryan and Marshal.  Ryan had a MtG tournament all day Saturday, so he prepared for that while Marshal and I went out Friday night (read: wee early hours of Saturday morning) to the Flying Saucer and the Big Bang Dueling Piano Bar.  It was GRAND.  We talked, drank (Terrapin Pumpkinfest, ftw!), talked some more, drank some more, sang loudly and embarrassingly, drank some more, scathingly ranked men and women on scales of 1 to 10 by their attire or lack thereof, drank a bit more, walked Broadway, and searched for food.  Note to self: apparently Nashvillians don't eat after a night on the town, for every food venue in a ten mile radius that was not a Mickey Dees was clo-sed.

The Flying Saucer's tap lineup:

The Big Bang (and obviously not my photo):

I was slightly hungover the next morning (read: hungover as hell).  Let me explain.  I am a small person.  I rarely drink anymore.  Ever, really.  I just don't have the time or the opportunity, or, really, the desire.  I suppose that is a sign of adulthood, and I suppose I can embrace that.  However, it does lead to me thinking I can drink more than I can.  Which leads to other bad, bad things.  I woke up Saturday to Ryan leaving the hotel and thought, "Dear God.....please shoot me."  I showered, washing my hair with what I prayed was shampoo and not lotion.  (Who can read the tiny script on hotel toiletry bottles??)  With that I proceeded to Target and purchased the darkest sunglasses I could find, a bottle of Tums, Excedrin, a Sprite, and a small travel pillow.  I was already running late.


I got to Marshal's by ten thirty.  Now, you might be asking yourself why in the world I would even be up and trying to be social in such a state.  Well, you see, Marshal is a god among men.  Physically attractive, remarkably intelligent, witty, honest, blah blah blah (and it's all true, too!), and the kicker: an amazing cook.  Seriously.  The man can cook anything.  So when he offers to cook me breakfast, I jump at the chance.  A man offering to cook for me?  Who will share his cooking secrets?  Who will discuss with me the pros and cons of French butter versus Irish butter?  I'M SO IN.  By ten forty-seven I was nursing myself into human-ness with a hot mocha and a prosciutto--emmentaler cheese--fig crepe that was out of this world, amazingly delicious.  See photo:

 Oh--did I mention that Marshal lives (lives!!) at Cedarwood, an 1831 antebellum farm estate that is Nashville's premier wedding site?  (www.cedarwoodweddings.com)  Yeah, it's pretty much gorgeous:

I left at noon to bring Ryan lunch.  I enjoy doing that.  It's my way of being supportive, because I really am supportive of his playing...I just find it hard to pay attention if I try to sit through a whole round of a game that's stratospheres above my head.  His friend Jonathan was there with his girlfriend Katie, so I hung out with her for a few hours until Marshal called again.  "Do you want to come to Oktoberfest down in Germantown?"  Er...HELL YES.  Oktoberfest, I'm sure, is self explanatory.

What it's all about:

My favorite shot of the day:

And it rocked: yummily and in my tummy.  Jon and Ryan ended up playing until about eleven, so we headed to Steak N Shake for nourishment.  Fun times followed.  We wound up getting home at 5 am Eastern time Sunday, so though we missed church, we did fall into bed thankful and full of prayer.

And that was my weekend.

Manic Monday

Sometimes I swear there are days we should never get out of bed.

I had a crappy interview.  One that made me debate the pros and cons of driving off a cliff or swerving to try to hit a deer.  I take that back, it wasn't crappy.  And it wasn't even a real interview.  It just...was.  It just...happened...  And now more than ever I'm frustrated with my lack of direction.  

What am I going to do with my life?  I have no idea.

My passion?  I don't have one.

whinewhinewhine.

How do you find your calling when you're interested in everything, good at a lot of things, fantastic at none, and crappy at only a few?  Let's make a list.

The Breakdown

1. Teaching.
I love the idea.  I like kids for the most part, and I loooooove learning.  I think I could be good at getting kids excited about science or history or a foreign language.  Plus, I'd constantly be learning as well, so I wouldn't get bored.  I don't know how well I'd handle high school kids since I can still blend in with them.  Let's face it, if a 6'1 jock decides to pull crap in my class, what would I really be able to do?  I'm just not threatening enough...or threatening at all.  Also, the idea of all the public school system's standards and tests and mandates are less than thrilling.  :/

2. Travel Writer.
Oh-em-gee, I could be such a badass travel writer.  I LIVE for traveling.  Seriously.  But what kind of living could I make writing articles and shopping them around to travel mags and newspapers?  Maybe a few hundred bucks here and there.  And I'd have to travel alot.  Which I'd love...for about the first year.  Maybe two.  And then I'd get tired.  I'd only want to go so often, and I'd want to go only the places I'm interested in going.  SO logically I'd need a back-up or part-time job to go with...which brings us back to square one, what job/career do I want?

3. Translator
Oh the places I could go.  There's the government translator route or a corporate route...there's options.  But I'd have to work so incredibly hard to become fluent.  Can I really learn an entire language other than my own??  Would it be easier to learn Italian or French or Spanish since I've had so much Spanish?  Or should I just continue to slug my way through German?  Because, let's face it, that's what I'm doing: bringing the slugging closer to you one day at a time.

4.  Airline stewardess.
Hear me out.  Travel.  Never too much time in one place.  New people.  Okay, okay, difficult, cranky, obnoxious people.  And quick turnarounds leaving no time to sightsee.  And lots of time on my feet in heels.  Yikes.

5. Singer/songwriter.
Haha.  If I was anywhere near good enough, sure.  And if I didn't hate attention.  Seriously.  People watching me makes me nervous.  But I love singing, even with my limited range.  I sing in the car, in the shower, when I'm alone and walking to class...as long as I'm alone.  :)

6. Cosmetologist/Hairdresser.
Crazy, right?  I'm so NOT the girly-girl, but playing dress-up has it's appeal.  Plus, it's not on ME, so I'm okay with that.  And you know, it's nice to feel pretty.  I think it'd be nice to make people feel pretty.  Buttttt then I think of that scene is Grease where it's revealed that Frenchie messed up her chemistry and dyed her hair pink by accident.  THAT would be me.

7. Crotchety, wrinkly, eccentric history professor.
Please!  Unfortunately, this would take a history degree (more school???!!!  Dear God, please no more!).  And lots of papers.  Probably a few arrests.  And years of unhealthy sun exposure.  Maybe not.  Maybe I could pull off the deathly-pale-never-stepped-out-of-the-library look...

So I'm lost.  Seriously.
I'm gonna start a club.  The Undecideds, complete with clubhouse.

Tab 4,372

Saying that I excel at procrastination is an understatement.  What people don't understand is that it is purely and phenomenally accidental.  No, really.
As the daughter of a cogeneration power plant engineer father and a medieval history encyclopedia mother, I am indeed nerdy enough to be interested in pretty much everything.  This leads to many things, namely my interest in a little bit of everything and deeply in nothing--and deep inner turmoil about what I'm going to do for the rest of my life!--but that's another rant for another time.
Procrastination.  I don't mean to put things off, honestly.  I go to look something up.  Something else catches my eye.  I have to Google that, I think, opening a new tab.  Repeat.  And repeat again.  And again.  And--oh look--it's 2 hours later and I have 14 tabs open in my Google Chrome window.  In the other window minimized and out of view are another 7 tabs.  (It's a sickness.)  And I'm not close to being done with any of them.  How did I get here?  Was I supposed to be doing something?  I'm hungry.  I'll grab a snack and will probably realize what I meant to be doing while I walk into the kitchen...
Nope.
And so it goes.
This is me.  I am a tab-er.  Or a tabber.  However you want to spell it.

Artsy Fartsy

School.
It never fails.  I go to class, I read my books, I take some notes that would awe you.......and then week 4 hits.  The alarm goes off at 6 am, and I think, "Why am I prying my comfy self out of my comfy bed?  This is comfy.  I like comfy.  I'll go tomorrow."  It's a slippery downhill slope from there.  Next I'm skipping the third class of the day for a jaunt to TJMaxx or Hobby Lobby.
God knows Hobby Lobby sucks me in and makes me think I could have an artsy side after all!, only to dash my dreams against the Cliffs of Reality after twenty-five minutes of browsing.  I am never going to paint a masterpiece.  It is absurd to pay $23 for a single (if lovely and incredulously soft) paintbrush.  And that little bottle of acrylic paint?  I'm only holding onto it because it's the prettiest shade I've ever seen in my entire life, and I'd really like to have it even if it's only to hold onto until I one day go to Lowe's and have them create a custom wall color from its contents.
I am no interior decorator, so posters are out.  Frames!  Have you seen how much frames cost these days??!  I'll have to sell a kidney for a decent frame.  Posters?  They're alright.  But I can't bear to put them up on the walls with just thumbtacks or similar means.  It's that one bit of "college decor" that just irks me beyond logical comprehension.
As for floral bouquets, I've still not the fancy to embrace fake flowers.  Yes, I'm aware they're the only ones I can manage to not kill, but they're still hideous.  And weird.  And pointless.  What about sewing?  I could sew.....and slowly bleed myself to death.
Right then.  I'm obviously not cut out for this.  I should probably continue this college gig and have some sort of career.
I'm going back to class.
Maybe she won't notice if I slip in the back door...

Age is just a number, yes?

My suspicions have been confirmed.  I am, infact, an old woman with the mind of a seven year old child.  

I love to hula hoop, play with bubbles, eat an entire box of Gushers, all the while never letting the RPM in my car go above the "2," couponing my little heart out, and watching/yelling at the news every evening at 5 o'clock.  I like the fashions of the 30s, 40s and 50s, and I'm convinced that eating dessert first makes you live longer.  

I have no cats as of yet, but I'm sure they'll find me eventually.  I've had several goldfish--the most recent one was named Harmu--but I have a talent for killing them all.  I love plants with a passion, but my black thumb applies there, too.  Nevertheless, I plunder on.

I'm okay with all of this.  Really, I am.  But sometimes I stop and wonder....what will I be like when I really AM an old woman?

New?!

A brand-spankin'-new blog.  It's a wonderful thing--like a brand new spiral notebook, clean and pristine.  That was always the best part of going back to school--the supplies, especially the notebooks.  You sit down at a table or desk and gently turn over the cover...and there, in all its glory, is a crisp, white, blue-lined page chock-full of possibility.  Pure magic.  Intoxicating.
But why a new blog?  Because, you see, I kept my other one for over seven years.  It's a time capsule of me at age 15 (crushing, full of silly high school drama) all the way through age 21 (still crushing, although a bit more seriously, and with more "adult" drama).  And as much as I love blogging and stalking other people's blogs, it's rather embarassing for people to scroll back through the years and read about how utterly devastated I was that, for example, I was not invited to the car demolition of a guy i liked.  Yes, a car demolition, and yes, the blog was that bad.  Time for a change.
So here it is, my new notebook--no longer pristine, but still full of possibility.