The State of the Life (or lack thereof)

So, I'm a pretty pathetic person. (Cue the chorus of agreement.)


As you can tell, I haven't said anything here in almost seven months now — partially because I have nothing to say, but mostly because I'm just lazy. 


My sixteen-year-old, angsty, I-hate-the-world-and-puppies-and-sunshine ginger sister is starting a blog of her own. For whatever reason or another, sibling rivalry kicked in, and now I'm ashamed. Honestly, it shouldn't work like this, but whatever.


Anyway, moving on. Important things from the past seven months:


1. I didn't finish Nanowrimo 2010. Quite the opposite, I barely passed 5,000 words. (For those of you who aren't familiar with National Novel-Writing Month, the goal is to write 50,000 words in the 30 days of November each year.) I blame this on mediocre ideas with bad execution and poor motivation. I abandoned my first idea, briefly discussed here, in favor of something simpler and more lighthearted, but it barely got off the ground. Oh well.


2. I got a new bed (and accessories). This meant my room was actually cleaned thoroughly and not just kind of rearranged to make it look like something productive happened. I don't poke off the mattress any more, so yay. I also have under-bed storage, in shelves and a "dead-body space". I estimate four or five dead hookers could fit inside. 


3. I started rewriting my first major project, started in seventh grade and not touched since tenth. The original draft is painful to read and deserves to be burned in several places, but it's a (semi) good place to start. The only real reason I want to keep the thing is because of the bad guy — everything else I stole from books I thought were cool at the time. I've gotten a dozen-odd pages written of the rewrite, and I like the way these characters work, but I'm not happy with the opening. It's horrendously boring — not uninteresting, just unexciting. Progress updates later, I suppose.


4. [removed]


5. My best friend of six or so years got his mission call for the LDS church. He leaves in two days and won't be back for two years. As one last day to hang out, we got together with a group of friends and spent the day at Lagoon. There was lots of laughter and fake screaming, and fighting over who got to sit next to whose boyfriends, and some of us even went on one of the more expensive rides — the Sky Coaster. It's basically a gigantic swing. After getting attached to the cable, me and the two riding with me got winched up about 150 feet in the air and hung there until I pulled the rip cord. (The other two were terrified of having to do it.) There really is no way to describe what happened next, but there was some free-fall and more screaming, and then cheesy Superman-type poses, but it ended up being the highlight of the day. The three of us had to fight ourselves not to pay another $15 and do it again.


6. Still no job.


7. I played through Portal 2 twice in one day. And it was good.


8. The neighbors put a password on the internet. This means more time watching movies and shows on DVD and less time on Facebook.


8a. Having never seen it before, I watched all ten seasons of Friends in a month. Phoebe is my favorite. Ross is just an idiot. Rachel shouldn't have gotten off the plane. Joey is smart to put the book in the freezer. Monica is endearingly crazy. Chandler isn't straight, no matter what he says. 


8b. I'm starting Doctor Who. I'm only just starting season two, and already I want a mysterious British man to emerge from a blue box on my lawn. Too bad I'd have to fight the aforementioned sister over who'd get . . . well, there's no good way to say this, so I'll just call them "doctor rights".


9. Certain menfolk are back. Grr, and that's enough said. 


10. My oldest sister goes tanning at Hotteez. (This isn't actually important, but "You're late for your Hotteez appointment" is just too hilarious to pass ridicule.)


So basically I haven't actually done anything. At all. Oh well. 

Chris Baty's 10 Awesome RULES for NaNoWriMo

1. There are no can'ts in the world of monthlong novel writing. You can do it, and you can do it with panache. Tens of thousands of people complete monthlong novels every year, many of whom are afflicted by full-time jobs, grumpy significant others, and demanding children. No matter your schedule or level of writing expertise, you can tackle this challenge and triumph. Begin the game knowing that you will go the distance, and you're already halfway there.
2. You don't have to write a good novel. Ol' Papa [Ernest] Hemingway, not known for mincing words, said "The first draft of anything is shit," and he's right. No matter how long you give yourself to write a first draft, it's going to need work later. Everyone's first drafts do, and, happily, the revision process is its own engaging adventure. With this in mind,
3. All words are good words. This is a very different kind of writing from the one we learned in school. In the realm of the 30-day novel you must write recklessly and fearlessly, try weird things and follow questionable tangents just to see where they lead. Be quick and audacious, and view the month as an experiment in pure output, one in which you focus on building without tearing down. Apart from a few sentences here and there, you should try to delete nothing—all of it may prove useful at some point, and every preposition and modifier moves you one tick closer to meeting the 50,000-word goal.
4. Rewards, treats, and self-praise are mandatory. Professional writers get money for putting themselves through this ordeal. In lieu of wages, you are required to deluge yourself with nonstop pampering. Indulge your whims for take-out Thai, Swiss chocolates, inspirational novels, CDs, and expensive spa treatments. When you make a big push and meet your word-count goal, reward yourself with something you've always wanted but never felt you truly deserved. You're writing a novel in a month, for pete's sake. You deserve it.
5. The novel you write must be a completely new venture. Meaning you are not allowed to spend the month tacking on 50,000 words to a story you've already started. As counterintuitive as it seems, extending an old novel by 50,000 words is much more difficult than writing a new one from scratch. You just have too much invested in its outcome, and you will agonize over each sentence. That said, you're welcome to research and plan your new novel to your heart's content before starting. Character sketches, plot points, and outlines are all A-OK. Just no previously written prose.
6. Shameless acts of word padding (characters reciting The Canterbury Tales in their sleep, avoidance of contractions, protracted singing of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat", etc.) are acceptable and encouraged. Employment of such devices, however, must be declared to any fellow novelists at the time of their use.
7. You are allowed to borrow liberally from your life and the lives of those around you and still call it fiction. Professional novelists do it all the time, even if they don't always admit it. In fact, writing a heavily autobiographical novel is a great idea, especially if this is your first book. Just remember to change the names before you let your mother read it.
8. Sharing lengthy excerpts from your work in progress is forbidden until the month's close. The impulse to share your novel with those around you is going to be irresistible at times, especially when characters become more willful and plot breakthroughs come fast and furious. But sharing is rarely as satisfying as you would hope, and it often ends up dampening your enthusiasm when your audience doesn't react as you'd hoped. Wait and dazzle your loved ones when the entire draft is finished.
9. No sharing novel-writing duties. The responsibility and satisfaction of writing a 50,000-word novel is yours and yours alone.
10. Novelists are not allowed to dishes during the month, theirs or anyone else's. Cleaning of bathrooms and acts of mopping are similarly forbidden. The same goes for returning phone calls you don't want to return, and running errands for friends and family members. It's simply too risk for your hands. Sorry.

Not thinking. Not thinking. Thinking. Not thinking.

Bah. Now I'm all nostalgic. I blame the caffeine.

A year of my life condensed into thirty-odd blurbs. Thirty snapshots. It's like a really bad journal. (Wait, isn't that what a blog is anyway? Moot point.) Not even good snapshots, really. All the best parts have been the ones I can't put into words. Just hanging out with friends. Moments with my family (edit: Moments with my sisters). Even school sometimes. I grow up too fast.

So. Here's the shoutouts to the people who have changed my life in the past year. Barely any of you actually see my blog, but I'm putting it out there on the off chance you get around here sometime. Apologies in advance for the use of real names. Hope none of you are offended. I'm sure I'm going to miss some of you, but who can blame me?

The family: Sara, Lara and Holly. Love you all so much, even if I don't act like it a lot of the time.
•Sara, thanks for the toaster, it's working brilliantly.
•Lara, the towels are a lifesaver, and they made Amanda laugh the first time I took a shower because I came out covered in purple lint.
•Holly, I do miss you. More than I thought. More than I like. But this is happening and I need it to happen.

The friends: Shelby, Caitlyn, Victoria, Ariel, Amanda, Dustin, Kayelee, Rikki, Briana, Kelley. You made school bearable. After classes ended you made life fun. To the writing ones: You guys are the most incredible people I know. I'm so proud of what we've accomplished, both separately in the role-plays, and by ourselves in our own projects. We will all be published one day, and when that happens you can bet I'll brag about it. "I knew them in high school. Oooh, what now?!"
•Shelby, I will forever love your sense of humor.
•Caitlyn, thanks for being the voice of reason when we needed it — and let's face it, we needed it a lot.
•Victoria, you give fantastic hugs and the best midnight advice.
•Ariel, thanks for leaving behind a great club. You did a brilliant job at running it and gave me something to look up to.
•Amanda, we've had the ups and downs, but I've been as honest with you as I can be. Thanks for (probably) doing the same.
•Dustin, I know things haven't gone the way we expected them to, but I worry about you just as much as you do for me. I care about you and honestly pray for you — though not in the same way.
•Kayelee, you're almost there. You can make it. Thanks for helping me. I'll always think of you when I get a frozen coffee drink or go bowling, you and the Emilys. (Loves to both of you, for the party nights — Emily D for the prom and Emily G for the one with the straw hat and the crackers, not to mention To Wong Foo.)
•Rikki and Briana: we'll be the trio again sometime — Arctic Circle is calling. Thanks for laughing a lot and being ghetto in Rikki's van together. Rikki, my other soulmate, keep me posted on boys/music. Briana, shoot people in HALO and pretend they're me — it'll make you laugh when you imagine my reactions.
•Kelley, thanks for accompanying us, and listening to me whine far more than I should be allowed to.

The boys: Clark and Xandr.
•Clark, you're one of the sweetest people I know. Thank you for putting up with me. Things will work out for you.
•Xandr, things didn't work out. I'm sorry for the parts that were my fault, not to mention some of the ones that aren't, and I wish you the best in life. Thank you for what you've given me. Enjoy the book.

The teachers/random school people: Mrs. Warby, AP Music 2009- 2010, Gina/Abby, Mr. Johnson.
•Warby, I basically love you. You taught me so much more than music, and did so much more than teach. Here's hoping I taught something back.
•AP Music, I love you all. Honestly and hands down my favorite class this year. Thanks for making B3 fun.
•Gina and Abby, you run the library beautifully. I was so privileged to be able to help out.
•J (and by proxy a good portion of the drama department) thanks for the push. I still hate the tambourine, but it was a good learning experience. Also sorry for not really showing up to class those last couple weeks... Looking back, I honestly can't remember why.

The randoms:
•all the cats in their different places;
•all the baristas who make me mochas;
•Misty Lue, for the awesome store;
•Mikey for talking/listening;
•everybody at UTA, even if I haven't met you all;
•Lisa for the comics, the MP3 of the day, and the reminder that you don't have to be married to be married;
•Jennica for letting us eat macaroni instead of going to fourth period, and for talking Mockingjay/Scott Pilgrim;
•Sandy for the rides and the shake;
•Megan at the bank for being friendly;
•Bryce for letting me move in without a job and $160 in cash;
•Mikelle for being epic at the piano;
•anybody who ever returned one of my books in the same condition it was given;
•Shireen for all the song lyrics and wavelengths;
•Tanya for the artwork and camera skills;
•the neighbors for being the neighbors, and putting up with all our craziness;
•Yoko Shimomora, Thomas Newman, Mark Mothersbaugh, and Hans Zimmer, for the music;
•Lady Gaga for the music and craziness;
•Muse, Trifonic, Marina, Tegan/Sara, Meg/Dia, and Thriving Ivory for the music;
•Chris Baty for the ambitious acts of the imagination;
•Æon, for the short shorts and the boat-rocking and general online hilarity;
•anybody who ever sold me a book, ever, regardless of location or time or the book(s) involved;
•everybody at Wikipedia, Facebook and Google for making the internet fun/pointless;
•everybody at Apple for making the internet attractive (as far as the access method goes);
•Eric for the talk and the drink;
•Daive, Cory and Kerisa for the party; and
•my bed for being the best place to sleep, because it's mine and mine alone.

"Now Or Never" - Josh Groban

One of the only Josh Groban songs I actually like. Lyrics below. (It's a fan-made video for Titanic, in case you're wondering.)




I watch the morning dawn upon your skin
A splinter in the light
It caught and frayed the very heart of us
It's been hiding there inside for all this time
How a sure thing winds up just like this
Clockwork silence only knows

And it's no one's fault
There's no black and white
Only you and me
On this endless night
And as the hours run away
With another life
Oh, darling can't you see
It's now or never?
It's now or never

Sweeping eggshells still at 3 AM
We're trying far too hard
The tattered thought balloons above our heads
Sinking in the weight of all we need to say
"Why"s and "what if"s have since long played out
Left us short on happy endings

And it's no one's fault
There's no black and white
Only you and me
On this endless night
And as the hours run away
With another life
Oh, darling can't you see
It's now or never?
It's now or never

You know that there's so much more

And it's no one's fault
There's no black and white
Only you and me
On our final night
And as the hours run away
With another life
Oh, darling can't you see
It's now or never?
It's now or never

Thoughts on a Friday

• I am not truly a people person. Put me in charge of a group larger than six or seven, and I immediately get cranky/bitchy. (Put me in charge of a group of 130 and I explode inside.) Inevitably I get a headache and need chocolate or Dr. Pepper. Both is even better.

• Kelley makes everything better. By better, I mean more enjoyable, not that he fixes everything.

• God caused an unexpected fire drill to make me go to fourth period today. For once I was needed in that class.

• Altruism in action: Despite knowing I wouldn't fit comfortably and therefore have a claustrophobia attack, I took the middle seat in a car so that others could have seats better suited to themselves. Someone pointed out they could have sat there, but by then it was too late to do anything.

• Music makes everything well.
ADDENDUM 1: Good music makes everything better.

• Selective tone-deafness would be a great tool to have.

• My friends come in groups, and the groups don't have much crossover. For some reason I get the image of condiment packages, but the metaphor breaks down when you open ketchup and mustard at the same time.

• I think teachers hate me sometimes. And by sometimes I mean a lot.

• Hypocritical moment of the day (well, week): I rescued a book from the trash.

• I made a Flair on Facebook, and it is in the top 310,000. For some reason this is a major accomplishment. (Currently 302,041 — search for Lady Gaga to find it)

• Anne Rice makes everything better.

Twilight! Violence! The Musings of Mr. Bradley iii!

Yeah, violence.

Well, kind of. Let me explain, and of course that means backstory.

August 2nd, 2008. The wonderful pile of literature known as Breaking Dawn is published in the United States. I, being myself, stood in line at Barnes & Noble to pick up my copy at midnight, though I, still being myself, wore body glitter and had the entire Twilight playlist on my iPod for the first time — normally I have my favorites and get rid of the not-so-favorites. (This was also the first time I rode the city buses. Since then it's become a major form of transportation for me.) Me being me, I was up until six reading it, and yes I finished it in about five hours. Squee, vampires, sex, yada yada yada, I loved it. (Still do, just to a lesser extent.) Life is happy.

Several days later I find out that one of my dear friends, very much NOT being himself, also decides to buy the pile of literature. I swear that if D could, he would spearhead a Purge Our Schools Of Twilight! campaign. I certainly wouldn't put it past him to try. Admittedly the writing isn't that great, the characters are flat, and the plot is lacking, but I at least appreciate them for their escapist value — they're a substantial, enjoyable, angsty way to waste time. My friend just openly loathes them, which is why I nearly had a heart attack when I saw the spine with a chess piece staring at me from his meager book shelf. (That was also a surprise. He doesn't have many books anyway, so to buy that, of all things?! My God, he must have been on something that day.) Boo, happy ending, sex, yada yada yada, he hated it. Life is happy.

A long time later (let's say November/December 2009) D came off his drug trip and decided to get rid of the pile of literature. His first method of purging his bookshelf was to hold a book burning. I about had a heart attack at that, especially because he asked me to help, and instead swooped in with a cloud of glitter and angelic choirs, offering to take the book home like the Publishing Saint that I am. He was glad to see it go, practically shoving it down my pants in an effort to get it out of his sight and his house.

Dilemma.

Suddenly my house has two copies of the pile of literature, with only one person who likes it. (Slight correction: My house has only one person who has read or intends to read it.) The second copy is rendered useless and excessive. In fact it kind of made me feel like my books were rabbits, because suddenly the amount of Breaking Dawn doubled in one fell swoop.

Trying to find a home for the useless pile of literature, I posted something on Facebook to the extent of "Bradley Jonsson rescued a copy of Breaking Dawn from a potential book-burning yesterday, but now he has two copies and needs to find a home for one of them. Any takers?" After several comments from people suggesting to go through with the book burning, my sister saying she would take it because they can always use more toilet paper at her house, and a few kinder people saying they would take it if they didn't already have a copy, enter the patron saint. My dear friend K said she would take it and give it to her girlfriend. (K is a lesbian, and a terrible one at that.) The comments stopped, and the book had seemingly found a home.

Well, it's still sitting on my shelf, collecting dust.

Enter the violence! For about a month now I've had the urge to destroy something. An old art project, an ugly shirt, anything — but I've also always wanted to tear a book apart, ever since my older sister had a fight and completely dismantled the family dictionary. All the pages were collected in a shoe box and thrown away, but not before I saw them and coveted them. One of the most vivid memories I have is walking into my sister's room and seeing her sitting on the floor, tears on her face and a dictionary in fluttering pieces at her feet.

Hmm. Need to tear something apart, plus useless and substantial book. Naturally I put the two together.

Except. Destroying anything makes me sad, but destroying a book? That is a sin punishable by extremely painful and drawn-out torture. Death is too good for one who destroys books.

SO WHY DO I WANT TO DO THAT?! It literally goes against the core of everything I believe/like/hold dear.

Sigh. Anyway, I digress.

I've come up with a compromise.

destroy: to ruin the structure, organic existence, or condition of; to ruin as if by tearing to shred; to put out of existence.

That damn structure in there is throwing things off. (Thanks a heap, www.Merriam-Webster.com) The compromise was going to use the dictionary as a loophole in some way or another, but that structure kind of kills it. How can you take apart, dismantle, whatever-you-want-to-call-it a book without "ruining the structure"? Wait, hold on.

to reduce to ruins; to damage irreparably; to subject to frustration, failure, or disaster.

Hmm. (By the way, I'm making this compromise up as I go along.) I will not be subjecting the book to frustration, failure, or disaster. I will not be reducing it to ruins. But I'll definitely be damaging it irreparably. I mean, even with my original plan of keeping all the component parts for some thing or another, it will be beyond repair.

Ah, screw it. That book is going down.

Er, in the nicest way possible.

And I'll post pictures or something.

Oh, and happy Pi Day, everybody.

GAGA for GAGA

There's the obvious explanation that mono has completely screwed up my brain. (By the way, almost completely recovered already! Only two-and-a-half weeks as opposed to a month or more, though I still need naps to get me through the day.) Then there's the possible explanation that I've just gone completely insane, and that explains so much more.

Anyway.

Regardless of the reasons, I'm writing a pop musical based on the works of Lady Gaga.

Well, only the musical aspect of it. My good friend Lisa is writing the script.

It all started about a week ago when my good friend Lisa popped up on Facebook. (Yes, I suddenly realize how Corporate-America the end of that sentence sounds. It makes me sad, but oh well.) She said something along the lines of "Sorry you have mono, but I have this great beginning to a story line for a Lady Gaga musical. Want to help?"

My response: OMG HELL YES!!!!!!!!

There was much squeeing that day.

In the week since then, not only have we expanded the story (nearly finished with the outline) but we have about half the show planned out and incredible ideas for a couple of the big musical numbers. As musical director I haven't had much to do up till now besides say "Yeah, that works here in the show" but I got to come up with this fantastic and surprisingly awesome mashup of "Just Dance" and "Bad Romance that pops up about a third of the way through Act II. My next project is a big dance routine of "Poker Face" that I actually get to write and not just piece together in Garage Band. I'm excited but nervous — I've never really written anything before, so this is uncharted territory for me.

We have yet to get the rights for this, just so you know. We went hunting but couldn't find any way to contact Lady Gaga's record company, so the only ways we can think of are emailing her on MySpace or trekking to California to talk to them ourselves. It doesn't help that Lady Gaga is currently on tour in Europe till the beginning of June or something like that, so in the meantime I guess we just kind of work with what we have and hope for the best.

But.

What if we get the rights? What if we get the rights and actually finish the crazy project?

We'll be famous. We'll meet Lady Gaga. WE'LL FUCKING MEET LADY GAGA! Both my good friend Lisa and I have decided that in the event that we meet Lady Gaga, we shall both give her kisses.

Wow. How cool would that be? I mean, I love Lady Gaga. I've already decided that if I don't see her live before I die, I cannot die peacefully and my ghost shall roam the earth for eternity. But meeting her? Probably becoming good friends? I mean, we're writing a musical using her work. That's bound to create a lasting impression. We'll probably become pen pals or whatever. She'll give us recognition in her shows and we'll take pictures with her and go eat ice cream together. Awesome stuff like that. It would be mind-blowingly fantastic.

Ah, to meet Lady Gaga. We shall see, we shall see. . . .

Good Feeling Gone

So, that happy-fuzzy post-date glow died today. After like, three weeks, which was a lot longer than I expected it to last. I haven't been a solid happy for that long in . . . a long time.

The HFPDG lasted quite well, actually. It lasted through a bus accident that killed a band teacher at school; not somebody I knew personally, but I have a lot of friends in band, so it did make me sad to think of them. (Incidentally, the bus accident was the same night as the date. I found out the next morning.) It lasted through the first pomegranate of the season, now happily digesting in my stomach. (I pretty much live for pomegranate season. There's nothing like the smell of a pomegranate right after you first cut the top off and the juice oozes from a popped aril onto the cutting board.) It lasted through term finals, barely.

In fact, its death is my own fault. NaNoWriMo—National Novel-Writing Month for you newbies—is almost upon us! Objective: write 50,000 words in a month, equating 1667 2/3 words a day or 8 1/3 pages with 1-inch margins, 10-pt. Courier New double-spaced.

Naturally this is something I simply MUST do. So I started brainstorming characters and plot options earlier this week (Monday, to be precise) and decided on my character from the first role-play I participated in. That meant, however, that the whole motley crew from RPv1.0 gets dragged along for the ride. Most of them I can deal with—a former-captain/current-runner-of-the-galaxy with emotional issues, a thief as her egocentric-yet-not-self-confident lover, an apathetic mechanical wench/cyborg genius, and a family-oriented older brother with a death wish. They're all fun and games.

Then I started thinking about our antagonist, Kain. Kain is charismatic, manipulative, imposing, cunning—all the good things a bad guy is supposed to be. John, his creator, portrayed him so brilliantly, so perfectly, that Kain was impossible to hate in that twisted way we reserve for the evil forces with the best intentions at heart.

How could I match that? How can I use Kain in my story while still keeping him Kain? He seems so out of my league, beyond my abilities, that there's no way on Earth I can do him justice. I don't think I have it in me to accomplish such a perfect villain, to give him that same level of fear-striking coolness, that pure evil that John gave him.

After that first moment, of doubt, everything else I had planned kind of crashed down around my ears. I can't do this. I can't take the creations of others and use them for my own purposes. I can't control this plot—it's too complicated, too delicate, too hard, too threadbare, too long, too too. Who am I to think that I can do all this, create this world and put these people through hell? Who am I to play God to these people?

Well, I'm me. And I'm going to do this. The villain may suck, but this is a first draft. Nobody has to see it. I can print it out, mash it up, and make new paper out of it. I could eat it. I could line the litter box with it. This is my story. I'm telling it, come hell or high water.

The First Date, in Three Acts

Act One: The Before

Just in case you all haven't noticed, I'm prone to A, violent mood swings; B, being over-dramatic about my life, despite my efforts to keep things in perspective; and C, I can't think of anything but feel this list needs three parts.

ANYway, so my friend Tanner's boyfriend read my last post, which was written during one of my melodramatic low phases, and, being the good gay boy I've never met, immediately set me up on a date. (Thank you from the bottom of my everything, Jay!) So here I am, set up with somebody I've never met by somebody I've never met. First things first: Billy tracked me down on Facebook–because Facebook is the center of all life now—and we started to get to know each other.

The parental units, however, may or may not have been difficult about the whole going-to-a-dance-with-a-guy thing, so I avoided the whole thing by saying Tanner had an extra ticket to the The Used concert at the Saltair tonight. (For a while he had me thinking he had already bought tickets and now was going to Cyprus High's Homecoming instead. It confused me at first—on the one hand he was so excited to go to the dance, and on the other he was so excited to go to the concert. Unless Tanner mastered bilocation without me, something was wrong there.) My mom asked no questions other than "When will you be home?"

Friday evening merited a rather unexpected question from Jay. "I'm just curious, but are you planning on, you know, getting it on?" Well. Um, no. I don't plan to have sex with people. If it happens, it happens. "Cause I kind of think you should." (Jay was still under the impression I was hopelessly depressed or something, which is caring and sweet and all, especially coming from somebody I've only talked to online. But still. As amused by the question as I was, it still was just a little awkward.)

As I discovered the night before (aka yesterday, aka Friday), I had outgrown my old pair of black jeans, something Billy and I agreed on wearing so we at least semi-matched for the semiformal dance. Of course, the lack of acceptable jeans merited only one thing: a shopping spree to the mall with one of my two best girlfriends, Rikki. Jeans (and an unplanned excursion into Bath and Body Works) and smoothie in hand, we left the mall feeling rather ecstatic about tonight—me for my first ever real date, her for the Snow Patrol concert with her steady boyfriend.

It's amazing how time flies when you're having fun and/or nervous. All of a sudden it was 3:30, and I had half an hour to shower and otherwise get ready. Tanner cut me short from switching out earrings, plucking my eye (well, uni) brow(s), and doing my nails with the sparkly stuff I got at Target like seven months ago. In any case, we were off, whether I felt ready or not. At least I managed to put on some of the new Midnight Pomegranate perfume from B&BW.

Act 2: The During

After picking people up and getting random caffeine—coffee for Billy and me, Cherry Coke for Jay and Tanner—we were off to Golden Corral with four more people. We all ate some, talked some, laughed a bunch—Jay's friend Shaylie was quiet frank with the waiter about how cooked our rolls were—and headed over to the dance.

Jay and Tanner pretty much spent the whole time at the dance trying to ditch me and Billy, something I really have no problem with because it was so obvious they wanted to be alone together. So Billy and I spent the whole time dancing together. At first it was very clean, at least two Book-of-Mormons between us at all times. By the time "Love Game" by Lady Gaga came on, though, we had a love game of our own going on. For those of you who have seen me at our school dances with Kelley, picture that to begin with. Now slide us closer. Make it last for an indeterminable number of songs, cause I lost track after four. And last but not least, throw in a lot more traveling hands, something that Kelley and I pretty much never did. That is me dancing with Billy. That is me having the night of my life.

Probably the, like, semihighlight of the night at this point was having a small chat with some of the school's administration. "Look, I have no problem with you guys dancing with each other. But several people have reported seeing you make out with each other. Is that true?" Um, no! I mean, as much as I wanted that to happen, nothing along those lines had happened. (Well, unless you count the relatively explicit motions we began doing on that song "You spin my head right round, right round / When you go down, when you go down, down". That was sure to merit a lot of gasping.) "Cause the same rules apply to you guys—no PDAs here." We laughed and walked away. That was very blatant discrimination, as there were about twenty straight couples making out as he spoke to us, but there was no point in arguing and I didn't want to anyway. At this point I was pretty much lost in Billy. He was fun. He was funny. He was giving me the time of my life and probably didn't even know it. It was so mindblowing and all-at-once that I mostly just went with it because what else could I do?

Act 3: The Afterwards

After we left the dance we went to McDonald's, some for food and stuff. Billy and I got more coffee, something I'm sure is contributing to my buzz right now. Anyway, then we went back to Jay's house for some pictures by his mom, and then Tanner and I left. It was so hard to say goodbye to Billy—I'd just met him, but he was so fun and wonderful to talk to and just, just, just so much. Somehow Tanner and I made it into the truck without any hitchhikers, and then we were off.

The ride home was mostly silence. Not that silence when it's just nobody can think of anything to say. We were both just so lost in our own thoughts. The radio was just a background noise, so all that was really there was us not talking. Tanner and Jay had apparently discussed whether or not we were going to have sex or not—other than me quizzing him on that, there was no real conversation. He dropped me off and we both squeed at each other, before I fumbled around with my house key and he drove off. (His mother made him be home by midnight—otherwise I'm sure we would have stayed until one or two.)

So, really. Is this how everyone else feels all the time? It's that Boys Like Girls song. I'm so love drunk right now I can like, hardly think straight or anything. I'm definitely something drunk. It's just this gigantic warm thing inside my chest that honestly feels like it's going to explode at any given minute, and my ribs are stretched to the breaking point trying to contain it, and I'm just going to spontaneously do something—I can't even think what I'd do if I spontaneously like, overflowed with this feeling. Obviously I'd probably be on the floor or something, but it's just this big unknown as to what all would be happening. Love-drunkenness explodes, and then there's static. Tune in next week to find out.

So oh, my god, this is just—it's beyond words. I can't even describe it. Even my everything-else-I've-written-on-this-thing can't do any justice to my current state of being. Impossible in like, everything. I don't know why I've bothered trying up to this point. Really. People should just have to deal with my utter incoherency as they ask how it went, cause I'm sure all the response they'd get is this vacant stare and a lot of loud, happy noises.

Well, whatever this is, and however it works, I'm not going to be sleeping much tonight.

A Graduation Speaker

So, I'm sitting in the auditorium listening to some dude talking about how we need to GRADUATE and SHOW SENIOR PRIDE, even though ONE PERSON IN YOUR ROW WON'T BE AT GRADUATION. Wow. The school seems to have to resort to some pretty low measures to motivate us. My friend Kelley and I are making snide comments about everything, including how all the senior class officers look the same from the back. It takes the concept of Robotic Students to a whole new level.

Well, I hate to break it to you, Mr. Loud-Graduation-Dude, but I really don't want want to reminisce on my wonderful, memorable last year of mandatory education. And I really don't feel like showing up at the graduation ceremony. I'll just let them mail my diploma to me and celebrate at IHOP instead. It'd be much more fun and a lot less listening to people talk about how we're the future and we're going to make a difference because we are the next generation.

Personally I don't feel like carrying on the Caveman legacy, especially into the workplace. Cavemen generally are looked down upon in mainstream society. I mean, looks at the Geico commercials. The poor guy has his dumb, not-shaven face all over the buses and billboards.

And then we're moving on to Classyrings, Cap'n'Gowns, and Graduationnouncements. Lots of hype for pretty much nothing. And what is it about rock music with a loud bass line that makes people think we're going to get excited and pay attention to whatever they have playing on the screen? They could at least give us something to be excited about.

Like a dildo. (Thank you, Kelley.) What if they gave us Class of 2010 dildos? That would certainly be memorable, and a lot more useful than a fancy expensive ring. The ring is only really used to punch people and look chunky. Dildos have lots of uses, though I really don't think I need to go into detail here. Maybe later, but certainly not here.

Aw, they have a Grad Bear. That's the only remotely interesting thing I've seen so far. It's small and adorable with that fluffy brown fur and a cute little Cap'n'Gown. See, that's something I could live with. I could look up on my shelf and see the cute Grad Bear with my '10 dildo as their own little display. Good times, good times.

Ohmigod. I could buy a sweatshirt that ADVERTISES how much a senior I am. I could "broadcast it daily"!!! I think I might faint from the excitingness of it all. I can hardly stand how exciting this is! I can't breathe!!!! AAAAHH!!! AAAAAHHHH!!!!!!! AAAAHHH!!!!!

I THINK I'M GETTING LIGHTHEADED FROM ASPHYXIATION!!!!!!!!

God. I think that's what they're expecting of me. A SeniorTankard? With everyone's name on the back? Wow. I don't know HOW I can live without it!!!!!

I totally blame the coffee I had this morning for my mood. I haven't had any coffee since my friend Katie's birthday party. (Well, it wasn't really her party. Afterwards, at about 10 at night, we all went to IHOP and I got the neverending coffee pot. Which is one of the most glorious things in the history of mankind. I mean, as much coffee as you can drink for $2.04? Who wouldn't want it?) So the sudden onslaught of iced mocha (mocha=coffee+chocolate syrup=the greatest thing ever) has been having major effects on my system. During 1st period PE I actually participated, something I only do when the teacher makes me. But no, today, and entirely of my own free will, I valiantly went sprinting across the wet soccer field to save my friends from the clutches of the jail in Capture the Flag. Though my lack of coordination caught up with me, and then I was on the ground doing a full-body slide across the wet grass.

Which was pretty much the most exhilarating thing since finding my mocha on the table before school.

Oh damn. I just remembered that Mrs. Warby (the choir teacher) is going to make me go to the graduation ceremony so I can play for the senior choir. Maybe I'll even have to sing for the senior choir.

Well, there goes my plans.

So, this guy has been talking for almost an hour now. I think we've covered all the main points. Oh, wait. High-Fives-and-Hugs!!!! Wow! At graduation, all of a sudden the social boundaries break down, and we see the Football Team hugging the Chess Club! Wow. It brings a tear to my eye. It's like an eleventh-hour Breakfast Club. Yeah. Sure. I'll believe that when I see it. I can name a lot people off the top of my head who wouldn't hug me if their lives depended on it. They might catch my disease and suddenly have hot-crazy-wild-man-sex in the locker rooms or something.

Sigh. So, yeah. I think we're wrapping things up with the speech. Apparently we all get to sign a banner committing ourselves to graduating on time, something I'm planning on doing anyway, regardless of how many SBOs I get cornering me with felt pens and forcing me to sign my promise.

This was a perfectly good waste of second period.

A Piercing Question: Revisited

The deed is done. I now have one piercing in each ear. A quick follow-up of various reactions:

My mother asked, and I quote, "Where did you get those?" and "Who did that to you?" I responded that we did it during lunch and that it was my friend's sister's fiance. And that is all she's said on it. No "I demand that you take them out!" which wouldn't have mattered anyway cause I turn 18 in two months and then she has no say.

My younger sister thinks it's weird but loves me anyway. My (next) oldest sister worried for my life until I actually talked to her, and now worries that I will get letters from my grandma reminding me of my divine purpose and that I must never lose sight of it. My oldest oldest sister hasn't been informed, so her reaction is unknown. My dad hasn't said anything, but by next Tuesday he will. (Why Tuesday, you ask? It was the first day to pop into my head.)

My friends are ecstatic. Those who go to Lone Peak want to journey to AF tomorrow during lunch to view my new fashion statement. And my AF friends so far are like, in awe of me or something.

On other notes, one of the Young Women's leaders in my ward was practically overflowing with happiness when she saw me at the Mutual activity my younger sister forced me to attend tonight. And everyone else, who usually come across as very straight-edge Mormons, was asking about it and saying how cool it was. So it's been handled relatively well so far.

Joy of joys. Now I don't have to worry about being flayed alive and having my heart roasted on a spit.