Dear Diary,

I had a fun phone conversation today. And by fun I mean awful.

Mom: So what are you doing for New Years?

Me: A bunch of the singles from my church are going to play some wii and board games at the church. We'll have finger foods and drinks.

Mom: How did you get permission to use the church?

Me: I called and asked. They said it was ok as long as we leave everything the way we found it, which shouldn't be a problem.

Mom: So you're the one who got the idea?

Me: Well, some other people had the idea, but they weren't doing anything.

Mom: I was just calling to ask because you never call us. And you weren't born from a dog. We're in town. I was thinking that maybe you would spend the New Year with us.

Me: Wait a minute, that's not the case. I do call you guys. But when I call you don't answer the phone. Of you're too busy. Or you're driving somewhere.

Mom: Oh, well. You better do something with those single people. Make sure that one hurries up and marries you. Poor thing, with your tragic life living all alone.

*silence*

I had never talked to my mom about that. I never told her that was a sore spot for me, and she never would have known it by talking to me or seeing me. But she sure knows how to kill little pieces of my heart and self-esteem. I never talk to her about relationship issues because she's never much help. All through college the extent of her help was: "You're not in college to make friends. Don't talk to people." And whenever I actually started dating the three rules were:

1. Convert him to Catholicism [imagine her outrage when I left the church for an unobstructed relationship with Christ!]
   
2. Don't let him put a hand on you [well that rules out holding hands, hugging, and shaking hands!]
3. Get married as soon as possible

These guidelines were also not so much help. So I had to learn the hard way- by screwing up big time. I now understand a great deal about relationships and the differences between men and women. I also understand that I'm not the most desirable mate out there, commitment scares men in my generation who were practically raised on divorce, and there are more women than there are men. So, frustratedly single I remain. Being slapped in the face with it by my mother on yet another holiday where I'm spending most of my time alone and borrowing other people as my pretend family... not so cool.

Dear Diary,

He called me today, and our band is meeting up Friday night. He may or may not be at rehearsal. We were both kind of distant. Whatever. I didn't linger over the phone like I used to. Just, whatever.

Next door neighbor is home; I might invite him to come jam with us. Dunno if he'll be able to come.

I spent the day with a deaf friend of mine. It was good to see her again. We went out to eat and watched a couple of movies. Wall-E is so cute!

~Le Pathetique

Dear Diary,

Here's a list of the fairly random things I have sitting about me in my room:

• a santa hat
• a jar of peanut butter
• a metal cookie tin with a homemade beeswax candle inside
• a cup with a spoon in it
• a piano bench [it's a spare]
• paints and brushes
• a giant painting on cardboard
• a suitcase
• a pack of cards
• some bright red yarn
• a teddy bear
• several big plastic boxes of which I can't remember the contents
• a tumbler
• a see-through bookbag
• a vacuum cleaner
• an impossible puzzle
• two flower-less vases
• a picture of a boy I don't sponsor anymore
• salt and pepper shakers
• my diplomas
• a three year old Burt's Bees chapstick which I meant to throw out a year ago
• an empty cookie jar
• a set of nested Russian dolls
• a tray full of smooth and shiny river rocks
• a painted glass bottle
• a nearly life-size bust of Mozart, which I just noticed is still wearing all the necklaces I put on it months ago...and staring at my bed. Creepy. Good thing I love him.
• some tissue paper. The kind for putting in gift bags.
• a string of beads
• a book on Proper Percussion Pedagogy
• some catnip
• a candle-shaped lamp that hasn't been plugged in for at least a year
• a hammer in a basket on top of some purses inside of my closet...???
• a yoga mat
• a bag full of toilet paper rolls
  

I think that's enough faux voyeuristic weird for now. K, Bye!

Dear Diary,

I am feeling better.

Dear Diary,

I don't know when it started, why or how, but I have to be honest and let this out. I'm unhappy. More than that, I'm bitter and angry, deep, deep down inside.

The truth is, no, I'm not happy you're having a baby. And, no, I'm not happy you're getting married. I want to be. I really want to be happy for you. But I'm not. I'm not happy that you're happy and that's just one sign to me that something's wrong. I'm sick of you posting your pictures of you and your husband, of your ridiculously cute ultrasounds. Baby pictures.

It reminds me that I'm completely alone. Really. I have no family other than the friends that I choose, that I really can't be all that honest with all the time. Because I can't talk. Things only make sense when I write. And even then, they don't make much sense. Truth is, I'm incredibly insecure and have to fight hating myself every day. When I'm actually ok with myself, life just is. The only thing that keeps me going is people. People make me smile, they make me feel connected. But still, when there are too many people I get overwhelmed. I need to have one person at a time to talk to. Talking, itself is hard. I can't really connect with anybody... I'm too paranoid. I don't understand or feel comfortable around typically social things like bowling, dancing, camping, fishing, sports. Even being around them or attempting them makes me feel stupid, humiliated, vulnerable, awkward, and disconnected. I'd rather not be anywhere near them at all.



I don't know where I fell off the tracks. It was a small thing, I'm sure, but I'm not in tune. I feel hopeless and helpless. I can't focus. All I want to do is sleep, play piano, or write. That's all I have done. Sometimes I eat, too. Not always. I try to ignore the hunger sometimes because I just don't want to eat. Sometimes I remember the Philippines and cry. Things made so much more sense when I was there; it was so easy to connect to God when I was in a state of complete surrender from the get-go. But I'm not surrendering now. I don't want to. I want to not spend the rest of my life alone. I want to have a family of my own. Even on the good days it aches in my head to the point that I am incapable of considering anything else. The only thing that makes it better is music. I feel extremely vulnerable to any distraction satan would want to put in my way. It's already begun. I don't think I can fight it. I have been so far, mostly. But most of me doesn't want to fight it anymore. Most of me just wants to make things right my way, on my time. I want to get it over with. I want to start my life. I'm tired of waiting. I hate where I am. I'm tired of borrowing other people's families for Christmas and Thanksgiving. I realize that many of my friends have struggled with this far longer than I have. I want to sympathize with them. But I don't care. All that consumes me is my own ill. I want the commiseration to dull the ache, to know that I'm not in this alone. But it doesn't help. Because I am. I am very much so.



I'm writing this all with tears in my eyes. I spend a good deal at home crying when I'm by myself. Debbie once told me "Crying isn't real faith. Don't cry over it. Have faith." She was talking about my relationship with my family then, when she was still alive. Her words have stuck with me. They come back every time I break down again. I understand those words, and I accept the truth in them. But I don't have faith. There's nothing I can do to earn or gain that faith. All I can comprehend and grasp is the overwhelming internal anguish that circles around my head, cutting me to the bone.

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life."
Proverbs 13:12

I ache for the second part of that verse to come to pass, and the irony that my name is "tree" like stings me to the core.

"Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy. Even in laughter the heart may ache, and joy may end in grief. A heart at peace gives life to the body, but envy rots the bones."
Proverbs 14:10, 13, 30

"From my youth I have been afflicted and close to death; I have suffered your terrors and am in despair. Your wrath has swept over me; your terrors have destroyed me. All day long they surround me like a flood; they have completely engulfed me. You have taken my companions and loved ones from me; the darkness is my closest friend."
Psalm 88:15-18

I've struggled with depression since I was a small child. Of course I didn't know what it was, or that what I was doing wasn't normal. Nothing about my upbringing was normal. It's also incredibly ironic that I can think the most clearly when it is darkest outside.

"My heart is blighted and withered like grass; I forget to eat my food. I lie awake; I have become like a bird alone on a roof."
Psalm 102:4,7

Perhaps this post is long and gloomy enough. I don't want a lot of people trying to cheer me up, because words don't work. They only make me feel awkward and not know what to say back. I know people care about me, I guess. I don't want sympathy, just understanding. I've had my fill of sympathy, of varying degrees of sincerity, and it never makes anything better.

I just need a tiny miracle, is all. Or maybe some medication.

Dear Diary,

As you may have guessed, yes, I have no bananas. But if I did, I would definitely let myself have one of these:

Totally.

In other news, I currently have Charlie the Unicorn stuck in my head, but I will spare you the insanity, unless you're really a curious cat. Don't say you weren't warned. Life is not always friendly inside my head. Rawr. *Ahem*

Note to self- excessive amounts of chai tea does strange things to my mind. Muahahahaha. *hiccup*

Dear Diary,

I've been practicing like a madwoman. It feels good. Really good.

Dear Diary,

I'm being extremely lazy today.

Wacky Survey

I can't get to sleep without? a blanket

If I were a doll, the accessories packaged with me would be: a microphone and a bolo knife

I have an irrational fear of: travelling long distances alone

What type of food do you eat at your grandparents house? Puerto Rican food

What weight were you when you were born? i dunno

I am most opposed to: evil

Do you stalk anyone on myspace? someti mes

I am too old to be: doing this

I find the thought of childbirth: miraculous

Next door to my house is: another building

My feet are: bare

My preferred style of jeans is: the kind that fit

I know how to cook: quite well when i want to

I am annoyed at: uncommitted people

Men should always: keep their promises or not make them at all

Women should never: assume that men share their perspective to understand what they are saying.

What child-related smell do you not like? The kind I have to clean up.

What sea creature scares you? I guess shark would be pretty common.
What color hair do most of the people you are around have? Blond, which is extremely frustrating, because they act it, too.

What object have you broken most recently? Somebody's heart, I'm sure. Lol. jk, jk. I dunno to be honest.

Name one of the Spice Girls? No

What was the last thing to make you cry? A movie

I would like to be in an advertisement for: A rock band. Sweet!
What are the stems of wine glasses for? flowers?

My favorite shoes are: in the closet

My mothers' greatest fear is: probably that I'll start doing drugs and run off and get pregnant by some random guy. But that's every mother's worst fear.

Can you use chopsticks? Yes

Do you prefer beaches or forests? Both.

So last night I drove a couple of my friends over to a fr iend's house so we could have a dinner/game night/girls night instead of spending Christmas day all by ourselves. It was fun. We played Cranium and Skyped some of our friends in Maria Aurora. One of my friends who's going to a Bible College in South Carolina let me borrow her Systematic Theology textbook that she just finished. I've already gotten to the fourth chapter; I didn't realize I was so hungry for this stuff, but I was.

I also finally had success in figuring out my neighbor's name and age, so now I won't feel awkward when I introduce him to the band. I should totally be a spy. Or a ninja.

Dear Diary,

So here I am on a Christmas Eve all alone, and I can't sleep. A couple of days ago, some kind soul left a lovely note outside my door telling me they heard me practicing one night and that it sounded beautiful. It was very encouraging. Perhaps too encouraging.

I feel all awkward and imaginative, in a hopeless, romantical sort of way. I don't think the movies I've been watching lately have been helping that much. Sometimes I can be such a girl...

~Merry Christmas~

Dear Diary,

I've been watching a lot of silent films recently. They're fascinating, not only for their historical value-which is odd since I'm not fond of historical research- but also for their imagination. They used such rich writing and, since the sound was lacking, found excellent ways to provide emphasis on the visual to tell the story.

I am officially in love with Charles Chaplin and Buster Keaton.

xoxo

Dear Diary,

Today I made a Christmas card for Mike Bromage. It looks like this:

Dear Diary,

I'm utterly obnoxious and judgmental without even realizing it. It's all because I'm so analytical and spend my time trying to figure out people, superimposing my own perspective, background, and paradigms on them. They don't always fit. It hit me this morning in the middle of a song- I'm trying to figure out people and know how they work the way God does, but only HE is wise. I'm going to get it wrong, obviously, most of the time. I know that He set up this situation to prune me and kinda smack me upside the head so that I'd know what was going on in my lil noggin.

The good news is, after I explained myself, she wasn't upset at me anymore. In fact, she opened up a ton. It turns out, she's just like me. No wonder we didn't get along right off the bat. I'm a horrible first impression maker. Whoa. That wasn't English, but oh well.

I'm hungry.

So I just watched P.S. I Love You for the first time ever. Yes, it's a definite chic flick, and it made me bawl my eyes out. But I needed it. It really tapped into some deeper issues I was dealing with, and it made me talk myself through them so I knew what was really going on inside my heart. It's funny, sometimes, how the things that control us the most and that comprise the greatest portion of what we are... can be so easily ignored or pushed aside sometimes.

I probably have more to say, but I shouldn't type it here. It would be misconstrued as something else, and that is not what I want. Sorry, Diary, but I told you I have issues with trust. I wasn't lying. Because that would be ironic.

Dear Diary,

I just blew it. I knew it was taking her just a little too long to respond to that message I sent her. It made her upset and angry, and that's NOT what I meant at all. I hate hurting people's feelings like that. I'm so mad at myself that I was so stupid. I came across as so judgmental and forward.

Maybe I just need time away from everybody, everything. Actually, there's absolutely no doubt about that. I just don't know what to do. I'm going to see her in a few hours at church and it's going to be so awkward if she hasn't read my reply yet. Hopefully she'll read it before she heads out the door. That would be awesome.

My stomach is also hurting like crazy which can only mean one thing: I really am performing tomorrow morning. Dang, I hate nerves. Almost as much as I hate awkwardness.

This post doesn't deserve an icon, or a closing signature. So, bye.

Dear Diary,

Someone called the cops. They came and told those peeps to hush it.

And now I sleep?

Sincerely,
Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee....

Dear Diary,

My neighbors decided to thank me for their lovely Christmas cards by getting highly inebriated and drunkenly screaming along with some punk/screamo/grunge music set at full blast directly in front of my bedroom. This means I am unable to sleep.

I remember now why I'm ordinarily such a bad neighbor.

Sincerely,
the Grinch

Dear Diary,

Today I made Christmas cards for my neighbors.

Card #1:

Card #2:

Card #3:

Card #4:

And... Card #5:

Dear Diary,

Standing Rib Roast. Those were the words on a grocery store sign I passed by on the way home. I was so delirious and ready to be home by then, that I imagined a little slab of meat standing on puny cartoon legs. What exactly is a standing rib roast, anyway? Ribs are part of the torso; they don't have legs!

Then I started to think about roast. Why, exactly did we decide that the word roast should become a noun? It's a verb. If you roast something, it becomes a roast. If you toast something it becomes toast. But why doesn't this work for every verb? How come when you pilot a new idea it doesn't become a pilot and start whizzing off in a plane? Or when you jump on a box, why doesn't it become 'box jump'?

English is weird. So am I. We are quite the pair.

Here's a doodle I made at work:

Dear Diary,

I'm grateful for all the people who stopped by this thing to vote on the poll. I wasn't expecting a response, so it was awesome. It's all about keeping low expectations.

Unfortunately, I didn't follow that advice with some cookies a student gave me as a Christmas [or "winter holiday"] present. The gift was very sweet, the cookies looked adorable, but I'm pretty sure in at least one or two of the batches, one or more of the chefs mistook sand for flour or salt for sugar. That jivvy was special.

I just got back from a prayer service and rehearsal at church. I honestly feel kinda worn out and out of it. Getting to sing and play around with the mikes was fun, though.

ciao,
1....2...1...2...3...

Dear Diary,

The parakeets yawned as predicted.

I found that article quite intriguing but, man, that line made me laugh! Today I've been a burnt out kind of tired; I'm seriously thankful that I've got four more days of work before a respite from it all. Well, most of it, anyway.

So last night I was crying my eyeballs out again because I'm a moody, neurotic musician and it's wired into my genes. Actually, I was sitting at the piano sight-reading some awesome duet music, then I started singing some songs, and I was taken back to when I was a kid singing traditional songs with my family. That, in turn, reminded me that not only do I not have a family of my own, but odds are I never will; I have no one to hand my song down to. That made me super depressed, and sleep just was not an option for several hours after that. Needless to say, I was really tired at work.

It didn't help that he said he'd call back last night... and didn't. And said he'd show up to the party...and didn't. And it's also not helping much that he said he'd call me today so we could hang out... and didn't. This sounds vaguely familiar, and I'm not going to be stupid like I was the last ten million times this happened to me. If he can't keep his promises, he's not worth keeping in my interest. Period. Too bad, so sad.



What did cheer me up was actually kind of random. I actually got to talk to my next door neighbor for a bit which I don't do a lot because I'm a stranger-phobe. I feel awkward when i talk to people I don't know, and paranoid too, so I just don't. He heard me playing piano, though, and was wanting to jam with me some time, which would be awesome. I invited him to come play with our band when we meet back up in January. It should be pretty awesome. Too bad I can't remember his name. I'm thinking he'll introduce himself to the band members when we meet up to rehearse. Right?

Talking to him really pointed out a weakness I have. I'm really self-centered and not willing to step out of my little comfort zone bubble to ask how other people are doing. He's only lived here a few months and already knows neighbors that I didn't even know I had and what their needs are. I don't take enough time for people like I should because I'm too busy being tired and unorganized. Well, and creating, like this. I crave the downtime to write and create new things. Maybe it's something I should sacrifice every once in a while, though, to check on people around me. I will try and see how things go.

~~~(^v^)~~~

Dear Diary,

Today has been fairly productive. This time I went to bed before 4am and woke up before 2pm. This is quite an accomplishment for me. I must admit, I have gotten rather addicted to Gaia's new mmorpg called ZOMG. I know, I know. It sounds like total kid stuff. It is. It's the candy version of WOW or Final Fantasy. Yes. I am a childish dork. Somehow the contrast to my constant focus on performance standards, technique, repertoire, genres, form, harmonic progression, chordal analysis, compositional technique, rhythmic patterns, and the ilk is extremely appealing. I think that's part of the reason I blog so much. Meh.

Anyway, as I was saying, today was productive. I went with my church choir to sing some Christmas music downtown at the city market. My home is such an artsy place that's so appreciative of music, theater, and visual arts. We performed/worshiped [we sang both sacred and secular songs] just across the road from an awesome art gallery. My dad, who's an art teacher, and brother popped by and we all went in the gallery to look around before the concert. It was awesome. I just love art. I love to stare at it, read about it, think about it, let it fill me.

The very first pieces I came across used bits of actual sheet music; so I got up close and started singing the songs. They were all popular love songs. The colors that particular artist used got me all fired up- really strong blues and greens and nice, thick, bold black outlines.

The next artist's section had a wonderfully ancient, abused looking journal hanging on the wall by his pieces with a worn out pen. By it, there was an explanation, along with his artist's statement [riddled with grammatical errors that made me wince.] The idea, however, was quite lovely. He was collecting visitor's dreams to include in his art pieces. I was completely fascinated. So I took the pen, and scribbled down one of my very disturbing nightmares that haunt and follow me like memories for years on end. I chose a fairly short one on cannibalism. I wonder what kind of piece it will live in some day.



Another artist's pieces really captured my attention; they used mixed media to reflect americana ideals. The rusted, twisted, grotesque caricatures were just so compelling. I was enraptured.

The final piece that caught my attention was a rather large ink and canvas drawing with anime style faces, but they seemed tesselated somehow. They filled every single space of the canvas, even upon the sides. I also remember there was a painting right to the left of it that had a wonderfully thick, shiny, transparent laquor over it that made me want to touch it. However, the colors and shapes were unappealing to me, and it was literally too far over my head to touch. Too bad I can't show you pictures, but that would probably be an infringement on the artists' rights- and I know for a fact that our local artists are already poor enough as it is, despite the massive amount of talent and ingenuity they possess.

Well, the concert turned out rather nicely. I was ecstatic that my father and brother came because my family is Catholic and doesn't really like the fact that I am now "Protestant". I got to introduce them to the woman who took me to the ER on Sunday when I had kidney stones; she staid with me the whole time and helped me a ton because she's a pharmacist and knew all the doctors. That chic also has an amazing voice; it's crazy. Well she sang some solos, and I sang a solo in a really cute song called "Parade of the Wooden Soldiers." The solo was written for a child, but since I am small and look extremely young, the choir director figured I could do it. It was so much fun! I put my hair in two braids just for the occasion. The wonderful news, though, is that my family really liked the music. I just know that will be a testimony in their hearts that not all Protestants are evil. Maybe one day they will understands and accept me again. Who knows?

All I know is I have GOT to sing. Every piece of my DNA was made to sing my soul out for Christ, and God called me to this particular church, not because it's Catholic or Protestant, or black or white, or rich or poor, but because He knew that this place would put me to proper use and help me fulfill my purpose.

I suppose this entry is long enough.



Farewell,

Dear Diary,

I'm going to use this post to unload my pithy, superficial, inconsequential teenage anxt, which is funny because it's been quite some time since I was actually classified as a teen. They are an odd species, though, aren't they?

• With their: zomg r u 4 srs? no wei. k thx baiz. lolz. rofl. ttyl.
• And their: h3ll0 do u th1nk 1 am cut3?
• And their: hAHa haAH. omg. u r 4 WeirD. DOn'T u thINk ANymoRE?
• And their: emo kid! preppy kid! band nerd! choir nerd! goth chic! noob. sheez.
• And, my ultimate pet peeve, their: zomg Miley Cirus is so awesome *high pitched squeal* and i'm totally going to marry ALL the jonas brothers AND Edward Cullen even though he's a fictional character who is the SPAWN OF SATAN. And OH, EM, GEE, i'm totally gonna have Hugh Jackman's babies even though he's old enough to be my friggin grandfather. Jay Kay.

American teens are weird. But I rant. This post is going to be all of the anxt, none of the teen.




I live in an apartment all by myself with two male cats. One is fixed, and the other pees all over everything, but there's nothing I can do about it now because I spend all my money on bills and the doctor. And I'm a teacher so I'm poor. But at least I have a job. Praise God for that.

Today I visited my family, which can be anything from a wonderful experience to the worst torture in my life, depending on my mother's mood. On the one hand it was wonderful because I got free food, some much needed clothes [also for free which is great because I HATE shopping], and other random items. The downside was listening to my mother's Spanglish insults, bashing my appearance, my apartment, telling me to throw away my cats and cut my hair. I tell her that both of my cats were rescued from the street and it would be unethical, at best, to just toss them aside; I also remind her I'm growing out my hair for Locks of Love and will be getting it cut to donate in the summer. She hesitates for a millisecond, nods, and then begins the argument from the very beginning, as though my justifications and explications had never even happened. Talking with her always goes a little something like this:

Anyway, driving home was great because I got to see the wonderful full moon all the way home. I was half tempted to drive out to the beach tonight and just stare at it. However, I decided it would be too cold, and being a single female all alone out there in the dark with drunks coming in and out would probably not be the best idea. Then I thought of calling him and seeing if he wanted to go with me, but I was afraid it would be perceived as too romantic, and I didn't want that to chase him off. I did text him on the way home, though, and he called me back because he hates texting. He told me he wanted to hang out with me and work on some more music, but he's been working at the ports and will be going out of town in a few weeks with family for the holidays, and I'm working like a dog all next week... so there probably won't be a time for us to meet up again until next year. Ha, sounds so far away, doesn't it? By then our band should be meeting back up and working on our pieces, so it shouldn't be too bad. He said he'd call me tomorrow; we'll see if that holds true. From my experience, men have a different sense of time than women, and oftentimes don't find a priority in calling people back or keeping their promises, i.e. overcommitting themselves. Or maybe it's just a regional thing. Who knows?

At any rate, the beach would have been nice. Especially tonight.

Maybe next time. Or next year. Or next decade. Oy vei. The drunks in my neighborhood have settled down their obnoxious yelling, so it must be time for bed.

Sincerely,

Dear Diary,

Drat my impulse to randomly change layouts. I'm liking it, but not too sure it's fully settled into place yet.

In other news, I'm sticking my icons/avatars here so I can find them later. Go me.

I definitely want to make more interesting ones later on. I suppose I should post an entry describing why this site is called 'Frosty Puppies.' The story is actually quite wonderful. It goes a little like this:

Once upon a time in a land that has no mass because it's digital, I decided to give birth to my umpteenth blog. When the doctors came up to me asking for the name, the first two words that popped into my head were 'Frosty Puppies' and thus, a legend was born.

Holy moly, it's going to be fun when I have kids of my own. They better hope I'm not hungry or loopy from pain meds still, or they might end up getting named Pancake Split, or Thorny Ketchup.

Anywho, today I noticed that one of my students at school has really been working hard at the piano; unlike the others, she's dedicated, hard working, and actually interested in things like technique and form. When I was talking to her in a lesson, she reminded me so much of myself at that age- not having an instrument to practice on, having a private teacher who was insufficient for her needs. I also sensed a subtle change in her from the beginning of the year; it seems as if she had woken up.

Then, almost instantaneously, and half unwillingly, I remembered a conversation I had with her about a month ago. It was during a lesson, and I remarked how impressed I was with her ability to learn quickly, and lectured [or preached to] her about how God gave her those talents to develop those skills and use them in service of Him. I explained to her that because she learned so quickly, she had a responsibility to do the best she could with it; she had a choice to spend the next four years goofing off like her peers inevitably will do, or she can focus on her purpose. I just know this kid is going to do great things over the course of her high school career, and I'm really excited about it.

As for her peers, the conversations tend to go more like this:

Girl: Ms. S, you look sad. Will you smile? I want you to smile. Please smile.
Me: [extremely hoarsely] Hello. [cough, hack, cough]
Girl: Are you sick?
Me: [pause, shooting her a blank stare]Are you blond?
Girl: [grabs a strand of her hair and looks at it] I-I-I think so...
Me: Your answer is my answer.
Girl: Huh?
Boy: Oh my gosh. Are you kidding me?
Another Girl: Well maybe she could've dyed her hair or something.
Girl: Huh? What? No. My mom doesn't let me dye my hair. And I wouldn't want to. But she never answered my question.
Me: Who?
Girl: You.
Me: Yes I did. I said your answer was my answer.
Girl: What?
Boy: Ok. Look. Listen to me. You're obviously blond, right?
Girl: Right.
Boy: So that means it's obvious that Ms. S is sick.
Girl: Huh, wait what?
Me: [Doubled over laughing my head off but still sore from coughing for days and kidney stones] Hahaha....ow....hahaha...ow
Girl: Are you ok?
Boy: You're unintentionally hurting her!
Girl: I don't get it. When I tried to make her smile, she refused to smile. And now that I'm not doing anything, she won't stop laughing at me. And I don't get it. She laughs just when I'm being me.
Another Girl: That's the point.
Girl: Huh? I don't get it.
Boy: It's the blond. Blame the hair.
Girl: Huh? What? No. I have highlights.
Boy's Twin: Listen to me. I'm not making fun of you. Who's your favorite twin now?
Boy: Yep, it's definitely the hair.
Girl: [grabbing strands of her hair, referring to the color] These aren't even real. They're fake.
Another Girl: Uhhh... that's not the best way to start a sentence.
Me: [doubled over laughing again] ahahaha....ow....hahaha.....owww
Girl: I don't get it. Why are y'all laughing at me? They're fake.
Boy's Twin: Girl, no. This is the good twin speaking. Stop while you're ahead.
Another Girl: Well, no. In this case, it's stop while you're still behind.
Girl: Well I still don't get it. Whatever.

And that, dear diary, is called the future. As much as I regret to inform you of this, I teach the best and the brightest teenagers in my district- and the majority have some kind of funky quirk like that. Like the kid with an outstanding I.Q., wonderfully creative ideas, extremely precocious personality who ended up licking battery acid because she thought she spilled some soda. Or the kid who's on honor roll and works for the school newspaper and decided it would be a good idea to jump over a fence and break his arm in the process of retrieving a football from his neighbor's yard the week before a piano recital. Or the kid who, in his junior year of high school, finally realized that the word "fifth" is spelled with two f's.

Yeah. My sentiments exactly.

Adios amigos,
~Clementine

Dear Diary,

This isn't going to work. I think we need some space. Really, it's not you, it's me. I need some time to think, alone. I will be back in a few days. Don't do anything too wild while I'm gone.

Love,
Lenore

Dear Diary,

The ER looked lovely this morning, all decked out for the holidays. The morphine was pleasant.

Kidney stones are le suck.

~Gretchen

Dear Diary,

So today is concert numero dos, wish me luck.

Here is some silliness for you:

Finish It

My ex is still: an artist
Im listening to: the hum of my laptop
Maybe i should: sleep
I love: you. You love me. We're a happy family...
My bestfriends: wedding?
I dont understand: your mom.
I lost respect for: your face.
The meaning of my screename is: veiled under a thick layer of snow
Love is: dead, love is gone, love don't live here anymore.
Somewhere someone is: dying.
I will always: love you....and I will always love youuuuuu.
Forever seems like: only yesterday.
I never ever want to lose: my left leg.
Your mobile phone is: purple. *squee*
When i wake up im the morning: im? Did you mean 'in'???
I get annoyed at: whining
Parties are: food!
My pet: peeve?
Kisses are: *sigh*
Today I: teach too many lessons.
I really want: to be on the other side of the world again.
I live: and then I'll die.
I work: like a crazy.
I think: like a crazy.
I smell: like a crazy.
I listen: like a crazy.
I see: like a crazy. I AM a crazy! Weeeeeeeeeeee.
I sing: my friggin lil heart out.
I can: because I think?
I daydream: all the time.
I fall: for gravity.
I want: this cough to go bye bye bye.
I cry: when I'm sad.
I love: you?
I sometimes: paint my emotions in the dark.
I fear: no one!
I hope: summer comes quick.
I eat: food!
I drink: food?
I miss: you.
I forgive: after a while.
I drive: like a girl.
I dream: in technicolor.
I kiss: with all my soul.
I hug: when I mean it.
I have: a pickle!
I remember: when gas was 76 cents
I don't: think I'll see it do that again.
I believe: in you.
I know: today will be a long day.
I hate: running around.

And now, my dutiful annoyance is complete.

~rawrz

Dear Diary,


This man is now my hero:

~yeah yeah yeah

Dear Diary,

Amendment to previous post. Apparently I'm not going to bed. Apparently I'm going to try to sleep, not be able to breathe, then sit up and start crying my freaking eyeballs out. Because I'm just cool like that. Now I get to go to work tomorrow all jacked up from lack of sleep again AND I get to sport the double trendy rings under the eyes with puffy eyelids ensemble. Magnificent.

I don't know what I'm going to do. I still can't sleep.

I will probably be back. I know it must be terribly annoying, but you love me anyway. You know why? Because you don't have a choice. Because you're inanimate. So I'll superimpose whatever feelings I want you to feel, because it's my mad crazy personification skillz [that's right, with a z] at work. At work? I don't want to go to work tomorrow. Ughhh....

~?!?~

Dear Diary,

• concert's over
• i sound like a squeak toy
• a male squeak toy
• i think i have bronchitis again
• my head's about to asplode
• because you wanted to know
• and yes, i know the word is actually explode but i felt like being cute
• ok, ok, ignorance is not cute
• the kids did great. well most of them.
• you know what? i'm going to bed

~Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Dear Diary,

Today's not a really intellectual day for me, so I decided to take some more silly quizzes. Why? Because they'll help you get to know me better. And I know you're just dying for more.

So where should we begin? How about with my blogging personality?

Your Blogging Type is Artistic and Passionate

You see your blog as the ultimate personal expression - and work hard to make it great. One moment you may be working on a new dramatic design for your blog... And the next, you're passionately writing about your pet causes. Your blog is very important - and you're careful about who you share it with.

What's Your Blogging Personality?

Loverly. It pretty much hits the nail on the head [most days] don't you think? Well, in honor of my dear little Frosty Puppies, here is what life would be like if I were a puppy:

You Are a Beagle Puppy

Cheerful, energetic, and happy go lucky. And your sense of smell is absolutely amazing!

What Breed of Puppy Are You?

My sense of smell, eh? Hmm. Well what if I were a cute widdle kitty cat???

You Are a Ragdoll Cat

You are extremely cute and cuddly. You are downright adorable. Your personality matches your exterior. You are very laid back and sweet. You don't really like the outdoors. You prefer to stay inside where it's cozy. Luckily, you are the perfect houseguest. You are polite and obedient.

What Breed of Cat Are You?

Hehehe. That just about creams it, too. Now, how about some music?

You Should Play the Piano

You are a true music aficionado who loves many musical style and eras. You find music to be an escape. And you'd like to be relaxed and comfortable when you're making it. You're very innovative, and you have a unique way of knowing what may sound beautiful. There's a strong possibility that you could compose some of your own work songs quite easily. While you have a lot of creative energy, you are also serious and conscientious. Your musical talent needs time, practice, and lots of privacy to flourish. Your dominant personality characteristic: your painstaking attention to detail Your secondary personality characteristic: your natural tendency to be whimsical

What Musical Instrument Should You Play?

Well, that's most fortunate. I have a degree in piano performance and musical composition. Phew! I'm so glad I chose the proper instrument. I'd hate to have found out after all these years that I really should have majored in the accordion. Or cowbell.

How's Your Taste in Music?

Your Taste in Music:

Adult Alternative: Highest Influence Classic Rock: Highest Influence Pop: Highest Influence Alternative Rock: Highest Influence Nineties: Highest Influence

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Have I mentioned that I love music?????

What Your Taste in Music Says About You

Your musical tastes are reflective and complex. You are intellectual to the point of being cerebral. You are very open to new experiences, and even more open to new ideas and theories. Wisdom and personal accomplishment are important to you. You are naturally sophisticated. You are drawn to art, especially art by independent artists. You are likely to be financially well off... and not because you were born that way.

What Does Your Taste in Music Say About You?

Financially well off? Ha. Since I'm a musician, which would file me under 'starving artist', and a teacher... that part of the description is ever so slightly wonky. Everything else is spot on, though.

You Are Amy Lee!

Gothy, expressive, woman-in-pain Who looks quite good in a corset "When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears"

Who's Your Inner Rock Chick?

Sweet! What higher compliment could I possibly be paid? Well, this was the most fruitful batch of unproductivity I've ever undertaken. So that's all for now.

~Amy Rocker Chick Lee

P.S.
I'm throwing this one in here cuz I was tired of staring at it.