Link: Why date?

It has come to my attention that I haven't written in this blog for some time. And I apologize.
It isn't that I've been taking a massive break from writing. I have been writing all over the place. It's just that I haven't written here. The internet makes it so hard; so many places to write, so little time. I need to breathe into a paper bag just to endure the overwhelming state of it all. Where to write, where to write?!! AH! The pressure!! (Don't worry, I'm fine.) Anyhow. How about a link to some of my other work? Fair enough? Click here to go to my article: "Why Date?" I'd also love a comment or a rating. (hint, hint)

A new saying

      I would like to propose a new saying into the writers' world. I call it writer's disgust. "Pray tell, what does it mean?" I'm glad you asked.
      For the fun of it, I'll tell you what it doesn't mean first. Yeah well, because I can, and it's fun to keep you in suspense. It doesn't mean that writers make me nauseous (even though that would be an interesting case to see on a "House" episode). And it doesn't mean that all writers in the world have agreed to hate on this one thing. That's about it.

      Do you know what writer's block is? I've always taken it as that time in a writer's life when they can't think of anything to write about, and thus are unable to write about anything. Am I right? (If I'm not, quick! Tell me, so I can delete this post and no one will know how greatly I messed up. For now, I'll pretend that I'm right.)
     Since I always have something to write about, I never get writer's block. Even when I'm writing something, I'm thinking of ideas for the next thing to write. So, obviously, I don't suffer from it. Nope. I have a different problem: writer's disgust.
      While writing about these oh-so-many topics I have buzzing about my brain, I'll read over them and bore myself to death. Not that the topic's boring, but the way I'm writing is boring. I'm disgusted at my own style! What does that mean?  . . . Well, I don't know. I'm writing about it to see if I can get over it, don't know if it's really working, though. Hmm. Anyway, for now, just remember: "writer's disgust" the new saying.

Valentine Schmalentine

     Valentine’s day is coming up . . . The reaction to this statement depends on perspective. Some girls will sigh dramatically, clutching hands to their hearts while thinking of gallant lovers. Guys will groan in dismay, remembering that they still haven’t made date plans or decided whether to pick chocolate, or flowers, or both. Ah, yes. Love is in the air, how sickly touching.

     But what do you do if you’re a single girl on Valentine’s Day? You could write a heartfelt note to the guy of your dreams. But that generally doesn’t end well, nor does sending him flowers. Okay. On a side note, come on, girls. Sending a guy flowers? When did this become a good idea? What guy has a vase brimming with flowers in his man cave? Yes, my point exactly.

     It’s not that I’m against women being independent. But there is a difference between taking care of yourself and being desperate. The girl shouldn’t ask the guy out. I guess there's no law opposed to her gently, kind of, pushing him along, but the asking is his job. Enough said. 

    So what else is there in life if you can’t force your love to do something fun with you? No need to gawk, I have answers. I will summarize these answers in three points to simplify. (No need to thank me. I know I’m wonderful.)

#1. Flow with it

     Hey, Valentine’s day is about showing the person you love how much you care, right? Time to treat one of the most important people in your life (you) to a day of luxury.

     Go for a quiet walk. Read an old romance novel or watch a cheesy movie. Gorge yourself with chocolate. Make an “I love me” heart cake. Send yourself a love note. Take your out to a fancy dinner. Buy an assortment of gorgeous flowers and mail them to yourself - whatever you can do to make you happy. Whatever you can do to make you happy. It’s all about you. Tell yourself how amazing you are while you’re at it.

#2. Ignore it

      It’s a stupid holiday anyway. (No offence, St. Valentine.) But think about it. What’s the point to go ballistic one day of the year to show a guy you love him? The whole point of love is that it’s “to the ends of the earth, 'till the end of time”. That’s what touches people’s hearts with that warm fuzzy feeling, not crummy chocolate or wilting flowers. Not to mention, it’s easier to pretend like the holiday doesn’t exist. Start practicing. "What was that? Today's Valentine's Day?

Huh, go figure. No, no, I didn't know. I never pay attention to that kind of thing."

#3. Hate it

     This is my personal favorite. The sweet smell of disgust. This is the perfect day to feel sorry for yourself and mope around for twenty-four hours without feeling guilty. Be useless, complain, grumble, be unusually sarcastic and deadpan about everything and anything. Inwardly make fun of people who are in love. Watch movies with attractive male actors and criticize them; their feelings, their hair, their smile, anything that appealed to you before. Heck, use a Nerf gun and shoot them, telling the guy who’s love-struck how much of a moron he is for picking her and not you. Maliciously write a list of all the great, good-looking guys you can think of who are suckers for not having you as a girlfriend. They’ll be so miserable without you. You almost feel sorry for them.

     So, yes. These are three different ways to go about crummy Valentine’s day when you’re single. Pick the one you like best, the one that sounds the most enjoyable. Mix and match if you want. But most of all, remember, it is a holiday so take time to mark this day out of the whole year to do something unusually fun, even if it means eating candy and yelling at a TV screen all day.

Top Ten Reasons On Why We Do School

#1.) So you can actually win an argument.
     -Stunning your opponent with a plethora of facts - pointless or useful - is the perfect way to shut them up enough to make you feel like you've won.

#2.) So you can do what you want to do.
    -My dad's favorite saying: "You have to do what you need to do before you can do what you want to do." (Or something like that. Basically, you can't be a millionaire if you don't know how to count.)

#3.) So you're not stupid.
     -No one wants to be stupid. Don’t ask me why. They just don’t.

#4.) So you don't look like an idiot.
     -This is important. Especially if you're the kind of person who likes to debate . . . or open your big mouth in any way, shape, or form.

#5.) To get a job.
     -Boring, but true. We all need a little moola in life. We all need a little lovin' too, but I'll save that for a different post. ;-)

#6.) To know and understand the world around you.
     -You can't really complain about something that you know nothing about.

#7.) To come up with good reasons on why you need school.
     - I'm running out.

#9.) To satisfy curiosity.
     -We're curious creatures. Sometimes - maybe not all the time - but sometimes, we learn something in school that might actually be intriguing; something we didn't know before. I know it may seem like a long shot, but it might be possible.

and . . .

#10.) To remember what comes after seven in my top ten list.
     -Be honest, did you notice a dropped number or do you have to scroll up? I think I need to have a talk with your Math teacher.

Testing

I'm here, testing my phone . . . So! How 'bout a joke? (Disclaimer: blondes, just like any joke, this one is all in good fun. Don't take it personally.)

A blonde was driving down the road. She looked to her right. Next to the road in a cornfield was another blonde, sitting on a canoe and rowing away. Anraged, the blonde in the car slammed on her brakes, jumped out, and yelled, "you know, it's people like you who make blondes look bad! If I could swim, I'd go over there and teach you a lesson!"

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The theatah, the theatah . . .

{This post is dedicated to my darling, dancing partner, friend, one associated with the club “you two”, and a member of the “name-less” group. Sorry it took so long. But, give me some credit, I never forgot!}


       There’s magic in the air . . . or is that hair spray? There’s magic and hair spray in the air. The lights are dimmed to a sad, eerie glow. Audience hushed. Slowly, stage lights come on. To the crowd’s surprise, the gentle singing is coming from behind them. “Long live God. Looong live Go-o-o-od. Looong live Go-o-od. Looong live God” All five isles have actors and actresses leisurely strolling down the pathways, singing the same heavy-hearted song. Our Jesus has been crucified through our blind anger and unwillingness to listen. Sorrowful and ashamed, we make our way to the stage. My friend gives me a comforting hug. I smile, though I don’t feel comforted. Look at the ugliness we’ve caused. Sighing, I look out across the black sea of faces. But I don’t recognize it as a crowd. It’s merely a wall, separating us from our fantasy world and the reality of life.
        Suddenly energized and excited, my partner shakes me, jumping up and down and pointing to something behind us. I turn and gasp. It’s our Jesus! He’s alive! Smiling, he waves at us with a joyous and forgiving face. I’m suddenly jumping up and down along with my friend. Everything is okay now. He’s alive! He’s alive! The tempo of our song increases, “long live Go-o-od. Long live Go-o-o-od. Long live Go-o-od. LONG LIVE GOD!” With one bow, my partner and I are suddenly ourselves again. No longer the little, lost kids we used to be, we’ve been morphed back into the semi-regular Christian teenagers we are. But though we’ve been transformed to our usual selves, we’re still dancing partners. Even far apart, without having our faces with an orange coating of stage make-up, we are just that; partners. No matter the distance, no one can change that. And now, five months after the Easter play, we will be reunited once again! Ready to be a back up singer day-by-day, square dancer beseechingly, or some brat kid, I just wanted to let you know: my dancing shoes are polished and waiting.

Attempting poetry

     The phone rings,

  Oh, who could it be?

         I garantee,

       it isn't for me.

This doesn't count as your post, darling. It just hit me so I wrote it.