“Rise and rise again, until the lambs become lions”

Working for my mother’s boss this summer is going exactly as I expected. Hundreds of copies, packets, mailings to be put together in a short amount of time. I wake up at 5 a.m., work is from 7-5, then mom and I walk. I usually get home around 7 p.m. Nothing like a 12 hour day to make you feel like a grownup. I guess.
The other day, I gave into the marriage urges and convinced Michael to go to Barnes and Noble with me to look at books about tying the knot. I was under the impression that he would enjoy going just to be with me, but be miserable because there typically isn’t much for a groom to do in the ways of wedding planning. (I would like to make it clear that he is extremely excited by the mere thought of marrying me, just in case I let him appear negative about the subject) But wait! Can it be!? Why, yes, it is! Books for the men to look at! Thus he dove right into it, reciting occasional lines and tips from the man manual to contribute to the research. Apparently, the best man originated from  the time when a man had to be able to rely completely on his best friend to fend of his woman’s parents because he had taken her against their wishes for them to be married. The best man had to be able to punch out her parents if need be. What a pal indeed. I need to remind myself, yet again, that he and I are not engaged right now, so all of this talk and excitement really shouldn’t be happening. I tried on my sister’s ring last week on mother’s day. It felt yucky. I couldn’t stand the feeling of having something touch my fingers constantly. I suppose I will be forced to get over this discomfort for the sake of having an awesome ring on my finger…

 

Anywho, Friday night Michael and I went with his brother and his girlfriend to dinner and to see Robin Hood. I will spare you the details of dinner, mostly because if I talked about it the way I wanted to, there’s a chance I would make an enemy or two. Let me just be clear that from now on I plan on speaking my mind and not holding back what I have to say.
The most important part of this evening was the movie. Now, I am the type of girl that cannot stand epics. Take Troy, for example, this is Michael’s favorite movie. I can’t stand it. Robin Hood had enough humor and Russell Crowe being handsome to keep me interested.
Why, hello there.

                                                                                                       
This is one man both 
myself and mother agree is goofy-smile-on-your-face-when-you-look-at-him handsome.

 

 

 

The moral of this post is that if you’re a man, this movie is quite action-y, and if you’re a woman, this movie is quite russel-crowe-partially-nudey. Michael is probably going to have a fit when he reads this…haha!

At Hogwarts, it’s true we ruled the school. And you can never be as cool…

Summertime, Summertime, Summertime. It’s exam week again. This exam week is much more difficult than last Spring’s because this year I actually like the people I call my friends…
I need a nap, and a glass of wine. Okay, it’s not so much that I need a glass of wine (I’m far too young to hit the bottle) its that I need the good times and camaraderie that I associate with all of my wine experiences.  Vinoooo. I will settle for hummus, Damascus bread, and Tabouli at Al-Amir though!
I’ve been listening to a lot of different music lately, thanks to Sjaan. I like when different people from my life can get along. Michael thinks Sjaan is awesome. And no doubt he knows not to mess with the warrior, or else he would get covered in tea like I almost was.
Earlier this evening, Jenn texted me and sjaan and I don’t know who else: “You you guys are on campus come to wesley basement and get some cupcakes.” Um. What? Sjaan and I were studying at the time, and we made a mad dash down 4 twisty flights of stairs. When we got to the basement kitchen we flew around the corner heading straight for the hot funfetti cupcakes, me then her. Only it was a trap! Ackbar was right! There was something slippery on the floor, and I took the turn too quickly. Down I went! Sjaan saw me take the dive and skidded to a halt before she reached the slippery spot. I quickly got up, dusted myself off, and walked eagerly to the cupcakes. Chocolate Funfetti icing too? Score. They were painfully delicious.

There are a lot of things I’d like to say but can’t, because, quite obviously, this is the internet, and I just used more commas than I should have.
I am going to miss my friends a great deal this summer. I’m hoping that there will actually be a get-together or two. Because going to HarryPotterWorld or whatnot at Universal Studios is a bit of a stretch, Morgan has settled on all of us seeing Toy Story 3 for her birthday. I think I can do that, considering I live ten minutes away from her.  She is going to Washington, D.C next semester, then Spain the next, then is traveling across Europe the following Summer. I’m jealous. Maybe I will manage to convince her to start a blog about her travels…okay it isn’t likely, but I am going to try.
My friends are starting to get wedding fever. I am too. Not really. I haven’t started to look for places, etc. but I have been thinking about the future lately. Okay I’m lying. You have no idea how many wedding blogs I’ve begun to follow this week.  How pathetic?

Happily Ever After, Until She Comes Home

Something I thought about the other day. A question I asked myself:

A girl met a boy, and a boy met a girl. They knew it was meant to be.
Ice cream dates and talking all night. They knew it was meant to be.

But deep down, they knew it couldn’t last forever. They knew they couldn’t stay together.
Their love was secret, beautiful, real, but that didn’t mean a thing.

He was called back to home, a sorrowful parting, and she kept her sadness a secret.

He returns with a ring on his hand, but this isn’t his choice nor hers.
What happens then? Is there much of a point?

Why you continue to pursue what you know is true. The point is love, of course. I’m not talking love on paper, the signing of a contract. I’m talking true love here.

But, I thought she said she’d never be the other woman? You’d be surprised at what you would do if you know that their love isn’t there and theirs is true.

It’s a terrible secret to have to carry around. Sometimes she may wonder if she will find someone else that she can be with. Sometimes she may wonder if He, who knows best, will make it all work out in the end; happily ever after.

It must kill her inside to love him so much. It must kill him inside to know he loves her and not the once he shares his life with. Love shouldn’t hurt, right? Love knows no bounds, right? That’s what we were always taught as children. Grow up, find our one true love, and live happily ever after. Happily ever after. It sounds like such an easy thing to do.

What would you do if you met the person you knew you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with, but knew it wasn’t ever going to happen?

 

AMZ

I am a Myth.

I like how I can go online, put in my email address, and start a blog. All of the sudden, I’m a writer. I’m a writer? I’m a writer!

I’m not a writer.

I am a myth. Or at least that was my dream as a child. I had always wanted to be what other people couldn’t. I wanted to be the protagonist of our favorite books. Maybe for a little while I wanted to be the character with wings. Maybe for a while I wanted to be the super saiyan. I wanted to be unique. I wanted to be talked about. I wanted to be magic. I’m probably not the only one who felt that way during childhood, but for the sake of selfishness and that desire to be unique, I wanted to be the only one who felt that way.

I am packing up to move out of my dorm. It is a slow process because I have to wait until weekends to bring things home. I pack things in order of importance. All of the crap I didn’t really need at school went first. All that is left is some things that I don’t need there, and some things that I do.
I have some posters hung up. Half of them are of the artsy, black & white, grown-up sort. You know a shot of the Eiffel Tower, Wars End Kiss, etc. Then I have some random posters that I will have to let go of eventually. Avatar: The Last Airbender, Kingdom Hearts II. I am trying to figure out when I have to throw them away. That sounds like a stupid thing to talk about, I know. If that’s how you feel, then whatever. But I mean when do I have to throw these childhood posters away? Are they going to be Dining Room conversation pieces? Themes for the nursery? When I throw them away, will I be a grown up?

There isn’t anything on the walls anymore. It is just a boring, concrete box. I don’t wanna be in it anymore.

TGIF. Thank God Its Finals. Well, it will be next week.  But I don’t have much work left to do this week but exam reviews, so I am trying to relax a little. After I move out I am going straight to work for mom.

I want to be a grown up. I mean I know I’m grown up, but I’m not a grown up.

Peace, Love, and Pudd’n Pops,

AMZ

The Pickles Show!

Friday, after gorging ourselves on all you can eat barbequed pork and other southern classics, We arrived home to hear this sound. It was an odd sound, like a little girl saying “Ow, ow, ow.” Mom said its the kitten she tried to save the other day, but got away from her.
After meowing at it for ten minutes, and it meowing back, I discovered it was inside of my neighbor’s shed. What a good time to meet my neighbor for the first time! Michael and I managed to grab it and bring it inside.
  Her name is Pickles. Though my friend Sjaan never got to meet Pickles, she decided this awesome name.
Pickles cries like a baby, probably because she still is a baby. Apparently her voice box is messed up, because her cute kitten meow is silent, though she still tries. And her scared, abandoned meow is loud and sad. You can’t leave her alone, or she will cry. In the short 24 hours that I had Pickles in my home, she went from deathly scared of people, to loving us dearly. She went from starving and skinny to fat and happy. She went from orphan to adopted. She followed us around the house and the yard because she knew we were her family. She would climb up my shirt and nuzzle me, and I’d nuzzle back as a good mom should. It is a sign of love.
Pickles left us, the foster family, to live with Leslie and Mona. Leslie is a dear friend of the family, and Mona is her kitty. It was kitty love at first sight when Leslie came to get Pickles. I knew she was going to a good home and a good family.
 
Even now, two days after Pickles “moved,” I am sad that she is gone. I know she would have been lonely in our house during the day. I know we would have a hard time with buying food and such, but boy is she a great kitty. She learned to use a litter box in two days! I guess I feel this way because I don’t have any pets other than my Betta Fish, Sgt. Pepper. You can’t hold a fish, and they’re just using you for food. Fish are jerks.
I know I want a cat when I have my own place, I just want to make sure it’s special. Not some mean cat. That’s what I liked about Pickles. She was rescued, and she was thankful.
I am happy because Pickles is happy in her new home, and Leslie is happy to have her. My own special kitty is out there when I am ready for it.

Peace, Love, and Pudd’n Pops,
AMZ

Superfeminist!…to the Rescue?

Let’s talk about feminism. Let’s talk about the fight for a woman to be on the same level as a man. That’s what feminism is, in case you didn’t already know that. Its a bit of an odd word. That ism, makes it seem so negative. Racism, colorism, sexism—All are so negative. But feminism, that’s a word that runs against the pack, I guess. Antifeminism fits into that trend of isms and negativity more than the word itself. Maybe we should consider changing it.
The word is pretty serious, from what I’ve learned. No it doesn’t mean I burn bras. No, it doesn’t mean I hate men because they are pigs. Nope, none of that. I love men. Most of them are pretty cool guys. Now, a few bad apples have tried to spoil the bunch, in both cases. There are some men out there that really are pigs. And there are some women out there, waving the flag of feminism, that push back the cause instead of further it. “Equality for women!…and punishment for men, for everything they’ve done to us.”
As a student at a woman’s college, this superfeminism is an idea that is taken far too seriously by a few of the students. These students preach about women’s oppression in the history of, well, forever, and turn around and oppress their male counterparts. They say a man has no right to a pregnant woman’s child, because he isn’t carrying it for nine months. Well ladies, there are plenty of men that would carry their child themselves (if it were biologically possible, of course) if it meant that that child would be healthy. That’s such a terrible thing to say. Boohoo, I carried a baby for nine months, I went through this pain and suffering, he will never see that child because I went through it and he doesn’t know what it is like. Boohoo my body is ruined because of him.
Aww, isn’t that so sad. You were put through that whole long nine months, poor you. But your selfish decision will keep a capable father from having a relationship with his child because you are mad that he couldn’t carry it instead. I propose that we have a nation-wide tube tying. Some women just aren’t fit to have kids because even if they are responsible for this small life, they will still think that everything is about themselves.
My point is, despite the digressions...that just because your predecessors of the same sex have been put through hell and back, doesn’t mean you make it your mission in life to take revenge on the opposite sex. I believe the proper definition that these people would fit is: Stank. Don’t be stank, people.

Ice Cream Drama Queen

I have decided that I will no longer call people my friends. You see, whenever I call someone close to me a (good, best, awesome, you get the picture) friend, the forces of the universe decide to take my words, my simple expression, and make me pay. Friends will become develop assorted tensions, relationships will begin and end, drama will ensue! Crash! It will almost be as bad as the remake of “Clash of the Titans.” (There I said it, it’s out there now. That movie was terrible.)
The point is, I guess, that we all change. For the good or bad, that depends on the individual. But sometimes we change whether we know it or not. Maybe a silent parting and a summer break will fix the relationship and make it whole again, like day one. Maybe that has been tried before. Maybe there have already been so many summer breaks and there will only be so many more before the final parting…
I heard the suggestion of something along the lines of an ice-cream-I-hate-you-party. Where we, the cluster of feuding friends in question, chow down on our favorite ice creams and let loose the dormant feelings that we have hidden. Personally, I would go into that with an attitude. You would all have your giant Edy’s to share (spit, spoons, and swear words), and I would have one of those personal Ben and Jerry’s ice creams that only cost a buck. Yes, the one with the little spoon. Partly because my family is from Vermont, as are Ben and Jerry, so whenever I can show some pride for the Green Mountain State I will. Partly it is because I want my favorite flavor to myself, so the rest of you can suck moose tracks. It wouldn’t be the best attitude to go into a group intervention with.
Does anybody have some Ben and Jerry’s? I think it’s about damn time.
There is this sickening, winded feeling. Deep in my gut. It shortens my breath and makes me panic. I am looking side to side and everything appears to be normal, but that feeling remains. I feel like I am back in high school. Mumbling under your breath. Talking about her. Scoff. Ignore. Interrupt. I would like to go one day. No, I would love to go one day- where everyone I know feels like September. The newness of the fall semester, but the old comfort like your favorite pair of jeans that you know won’t let you down. But it is still only Spring, and we have blossomed a new boldness and contempt. We have to wait for the heat of Summer for the contempt to wither.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what not to day. According to John Mayer, I should say what I need to say. But saying what you need to say is easier said than done.
Peace, Love, and Pudd’n Pops,
AMZ