The majority of the things we do in life are seen through windows. We never have quite enough detail. We never get the full perspective. We can't really physically deal with whatever the situation is. There's this layer of glass between us and whatever it is we're dealing with. All the sounds are slightly muffled and don't get through our minds with nearly enough impact. There are nooks and crannies that we'd love to explore but really just can't. And there are often people involved that we can only wave to, motion to, or gesture to. There's potential for them to play a role in your life, but mostly, they just stay on the other side of that window.
And then, on some rare and beautiful occasion, we come into contact with a door. Instead of a window. Doors are more complicated though. They're not as transparent. You face a door, never quite knowing what will be on the other side. Once you reach the other side however, you come to the realization that there's true meaning. You can physically touch the things in the room you might have only looked into before. You can interact. Instead of being the silent observer, you become a participant of life. I guess what I'm trying to say is, we don't walk through nearly enough of the doors in our lives. Maybe we should do a little less looking and a little more doing. Just recently, I walked through a door and now everything is changing.
<3 Tippy
And then, on some rare and beautiful occasion, we come into contact with a door. Instead of a window. Doors are more complicated though. They're not as transparent. You face a door, never quite knowing what will be on the other side. Once you reach the other side however, you come to the realization that there's true meaning. You can physically touch the things in the room you might have only looked into before. You can interact. Instead of being the silent observer, you become a participant of life. I guess what I'm trying to say is, we don't walk through nearly enough of the doors in our lives. Maybe we should do a little less looking and a little more doing. Just recently, I walked through a door and now everything is changing.
<3 Tippy
- Location:my kitchen
- Mood:
moody - Music:"wonderwall" - oasis
WARNING: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
She was 19 years old. Her appearance? She was roughly 5 foot 3 with messy brown hair that needed to be cut and big blue eyes. Some days, those blue eyes were outlined with dramatic makeup that made her stand out. Other days, she hid behind the lenses of semi-trendy looking glasses. She had the type of face that was average and could easily blend with a crowd up until the point when you made eye contact. It was always about eye contact with her. See, she didn’t make eye contact nearly often enough because she had always known. She knew that looking someone in the eyes was like reading their mind. You could dig deeper into a person through their eyes sometimes than with the actual content of conversation. That was half the reason she’d hid behind the glasses for so long. Now that she’d emerged, things were different to great extremes.
She had a real name but most of those whom she was acquainted with called her Tippy. No, that name didn’t come with any hilarious stories involving drunken parties. There was a more innocent story involving a friend stuttering over words and a series of introductions occurring applying use of the new nickname until some of Tippy’s peers were convinced that was her real name. As far as she was concerned, some of those people could go on thinking that. It didn’t really matter to her what people outside her own circle thought. It was the people she was close to that truly mattered.
And she had difficulty being close to people on some level. It wasn’t to the point that she was anti-social, just sort of distant. She hated talking about her past and where she came from. She disliked too much physical contact and had mastered that sort of half hug people always offer up in passing. High fives became her best friend throughout high school. And people, on a general level, found her to be silly. Yes, silly. She was childish. She wore a hot pink Hello Kitty t-shirt and blue and white polka dotted rain boots. She was prone to desperate attempts at an 80’s revival of the side-pony-tail. There was something beautifully geeky about her. It was her obsession with Harry Potter and her writing addiction that only about half her friends knew of. Yes, Tippy wrote books. She wasn’t intelligent like all the AP English and AP Government students. In all honesty, she lacked their educational dedication. She thought of school as a joke on some level. She was there to learn but if asked to do homework or pretend she really cared about something she didn’t give a rat’s ass about, Tippy had mastered the art of slackerocity. She saw dedication in other things. She’d go home each night and sit at a desk in her room, her sanctuary, and she’d lay a sheet or ten in front of her and pull out a mechanical pencil and start writing until her hand started to feel agitated. She’d listen to music, whatever her fair muse desired to fuel its endeavors, and she’s only stop every now and then to throw her mechanical pencil at the wall because it had run out of lead. She found her dedication, her intelligence, her goals when she stared at that blank sheet of paper and knew in her heart she’d do amazing things with it.
So, she did amazing things. And when she finally got to a place where those amazing things happened, it didn’t matter anymore. Tippy was 19 and had a book on her shelf with her name underneath the title she’d created. She, essentially, sat on a shelf amongst all her favorite authors: Jane Austen, J.K. Rowling, Libba Bray, John Green, Stephenie Meyer, Cassandra Clare, Tamora Pierce, Meg Cabot, Cecily Von Zeigsar, and many other authors who aim for young adult fiction. The book didn’t matter quite as much as it sat on the shelf though. No, Etched in Stone, Book One of the Skyla Chronicles was not nearly as interesting amongst all those amazing authors. It had only been interesting when it had danced around in Tippy’s head. It had only been real and emotional and honest when it was hitting that sheet of paper the first time. Tippy could remember so clearly, the scenes from her book playing out in her head. She could have sworn she’d witnessed them in reality. She’d cried when she’d killed off certain characters and she’d literally thrown all the pages to the floor at one point because certain people were making her angry. It was such a beautiful and wondrous thing to watch her own creation take over her entirely. Her art had almost adapted a mind of its own though. It was becoming an abusive relationship and it could only be comparable to a drug addiction.
Tippy would sit down to write and her mind would travel to such astonishing, captivating places. She’d bask in the scenes as they painted the most breath-taking pictures. And then, she’d shake in fear at the terrifying images her mind was capable of. Nightmares. She was well acquainted with nightmares but didn’t know she had the ability to create them without the assistance of sleep. Oh, and create she did. And everything was building up. She could go anywhere within confines of her mind, of her heart. She could be anything, do anything. There was something so powerful and yet horrifying about the things she was able to do. And so, she hit a point, where she locked it all away.
She became afraid of herself. She didn’t want to feel anymore. The real world, the things happening outside the pages of her books, was becoming more intense. The people she loved left and so, she left too. The one person she trusted most in the world, whom she loved whole-heartedly, walked away one day in an airport and never, ever came back. He had promised to come back but his promises were no good. She came to realize that maybe her friends had been right, maybe he wasn’t as good for her as she’d thought all along. So, was it a one-sided love? Had she had affection for him that he had not returned? Had he merely regarded her like a game? Had she just been something he could use? She didn’t want to think like that so, she retreated emotionally. It was the war no one knew was being fought. This constant up and down battle. She emptied herself out, refusing to feel true joy or pain or love or loss. She floated around in this numb little bubble, constantly anxious that bubble would pop at any given moment. And, at times, she would begin to step out of the bubble. Someone would remind her what it was like to laugh and really mean it. Oh, and Tippy knew how to laugh! But then she’d only get another equal dose of the other end of the spectrum almost immediately afterward. Her body had trained itself to be self-destructive emotionally. There was a point where she’d met someone quite amazing and she’d spent at least a full week feeling okay, feeling happy, feeling alive. In response to feeling a positive emotion, she started to lose other things. She wasn’t hungry and had no desire to eat, she could feel a physical change. Her body reacted to a positive thing negatively. She reacted to happiness the same way most people reacted to depression.
And then, as nearly everything in her life had a habit of doing, that happy feeling disappeared and she became depressed and then she became empty. It only took one thing to cause yet another rapid change in her. She heard from him, the young man who had walked away months and months ago. She’d not heard from him directly, no he was too much of a coward to admit things to her honestly. She’d heard through the grape vine a piece of information about him. He had moved on. He had found a new person to fulfill that gap in his life. And, to her own shock, the emotion came bursting through her body as if a floodgate had broken. She spent life living in the second because heaven forbid she live in the minute or else she’d really lose it. Her mind was coming a part from its fragile binding! She was sick. That was the only conclusion she could draw from such a reaction. She would go from up to down and back every hour or so. There was hysterical laughing to the point of sheer madness and there was traumatic crying that involved her wishing she’d drown in her own tears just to ease the pain. Her body ached from the emotion. She just wanted everything to go away. So, she tried to retreat to emptiness again, thinking it was her only true coping mechanism with her own emotions. But she couldn’t manage the same way she had before. She was a prisoner to her own mind, her own feelings.
She searched, desperately, for any way out. She tried to think of something, anything. There were obvious answers like suicide or medication. Neither of those things seemed incredibly reasonable though. So, she is lost. She stays lost to this very moment in time with only the company of a word document as any form of comfort. She types away in third person, begging for some long-awaited answer. How do I fix myself? How do I repair my internal damage? Am I damaged at all?
- Location:a place called home
- Mood:
depressed - Music:"hello seattle" (remix) - owl city
Now, I'm just rambling. I haven't been sleeping much lately and I'm at the point where my brain no longer processes properly. I keep blurting out random things no one needs to hear. Not only that, but I keep thinking everything is funnier than it is. The answer to true comedy is sleep deprivation. I can stare at a plain white wall for 20 minutes and think it's the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life. I'm gonna need a lot of coffee tomorrow morning.
I'm gonna quit rambling now cause I don't want my brain to accidentally explode onto the computer screen. I love you guys and if you're doing NaNoWriMo too, send me an email or something and let's talk! This is so cool! Or add me on Facebook. I'm always on Facebook. I should go write and sleep and do that whole living thing now.
<3
- Location:my homeeeee
- Mood:
silly - Music:owl city=D
For those of you who have yet to hear about Kat, she's my fake twin. I have this whole network of fake people. Fake twin, fake husband, fake wife, secret lover, etc. None of these people play a role in my life other than friends but we still joke around about our fake relations. I know, I sound crazy but I'm just me.=D
So, I've been thinking an awful lot lately about how committed I am to this blog. I mean, I used to be pretty committed to my video blog but then I got busy and a little depressed and sort of quit updating as much. Basically, I decided I need to get back on top of this business. I should be updating all my stuff pretty regularly. So, maybe I should reserve some time in the weekend for video blogging and I should promise anyone who reads this blog like, at least a post a week? Does that sound fair? None of you guys comment on these blogs so I'm going to assume you're nodding and smiling and pretending that's an absolutely brilliant idea.
Oh my God, the screen keeps going all fuzzy. STUPID EXHAUSTION! Imagine I'm a super hero and clocks are like kryptonite and every time anyone brings one near me, I'm like, "NOOOOOO!" And the only thing that can save me is coffee! Luckily, there's lots of coffee, but not right now. So, right now, this comic book sucks cause the super hero is gonna go curl up in bed with a book and pass out.
<3
- Location:my home
- Mood: sleepy
- Music:"he sits alone" the broken silence
Back on topic! I don't go well with news or other similar meaningful arts of writing. I am here with one purpose. I am here to feed you several lines of bullshit through a happy, brightly colored bendy straw. I use the powers of what's left of my common sense and write things in a semi-fashionable manner and then set them in front of you like you're supposed to do something with them. And then? Then I expect lots of beautiful lies served up on a silver platter just for me. Things like, "Great book Tippy!" or "Oh my God, your book made me cry!". And of course, I automatically get all filled with warm fuzzies and I smile a lot and feel like my book's worth the time of day! And then? Yes, then I pick up a copy of my book, read the first paragraph, and feel sick to my stomach. The first thing that comes to mind is somewhere along the lines of, "Who wrote this! Some 16-year-old girl with a bad sense of humor and too much spare time!" And then I'm reminded that that is precisely who wrote this piece of mildly horrible awesome. I keep finding typos in my book! I stare at it and go, "Which idiot tried to use a semi-colon like that!" But in this situation, I feel less bad. See, I'm expected to make horrible typos. I sat down and typed up my book between heaping piles of homework, dance classes, and play rehearsals. I got to sit around and blame my editor for several hours for that one. We weren't supposed to be talking about my personal opinion of Book One of the Skyla Chronicles though. We're talking about my inability to write truly significant things and exactly what I can write aside from the horrible awesome that is Etched in Stone.
I write: lame poetry that rhymes, books filled with cliches, colorful letters, spastic journal entries, and pretty much epic RPG posts. Don't ask. So, when my Critical Thinking teacher walked up to me after class and asked me if I might be interested in writing an article for this online news site, I had to fight back the urge to burst out laughing. I mean, I made it clear that I'm not really a news writer and I'd think of writing something for the site. I just don't think my kind of writing is the type that anyone, outside of my random little circle of readers, would actually find even remotely interesting. As a matter of fact, I think I've got a secret fear of the amount of judgment involved in submitting to something like this online news site. That would mean that professionals, highly intelligent students, and God only knows what other exceptionally intellectual people would be reading something by some naive 19-year-old girl with a sharp tongue and sarcastic demeanor. I don't care if they'd be reading something that's "creative", there's still that 75% chance it will be held under a microscope and then ripped a part. Feel free to rip it all a part. I can take constructive criticism, but I don't think I'm at a particularly brilliant point in my life to just be outright judged about something as stupid as a small piece I threw on a computer screen at the last second. I used to never fear the judgments of others. Then I started college and realized that there's only one thing I want to do with my life, write. And to be a writer, I have to do exactly what I'm doing right now, write. And you know how well writing pays rent and puts dinner on your table? Well, let's just say, I could have a job staring at a wall all day breathing air and it would pay the same. That's a little bit depressing so, let's consider that tangent of thought officially closed off for now. You're welcome optimists!
Ya know, I haven't ranted like this in a while. It's quite nice. Nice in a "why am I whining so much?" kind of way. Oh, how I wish you amazing readers could take a little walk in my brain right now. Things are great up here, let me tell you. I think the caffeine addiction of the day has finally managed to catch up to me. Now I just sound like a lunatic. Oh well. I'd cut myself off coffee, but I crave it when I wake in the morning. THIS IS WHAT ADDICTION LOOKS LIKE! You're welcome for the wisdom. I can write about things that are pretty much common sense. These are the things that we're all supposed to know, but, surprisingly, not that many people actually know. Things like, "Don't stick your hand over that flame like that, it will probably burn like hell in two seconds." Or, other things like, "You should probably drink water every once in a while, I hear it helps you stay alive." And then, there are the real things I tell people like, "Having a boy/girlfriend/wife/husband/whatever the hell you're into will never define you as a person." and "Don't kill or hurt yourself because even though everything looks horrible today or right this second, I guarantee that you will wake up some other day and that won't be the case." I write because, even though I don't have anything exceptionally valuable to say, I do have things to say. I don't care how important those things become, they're still important to me and whoever I'm sharing them with. I write because I wake in the middle of the night with a though burning in my head. I have to get it down on paper because I will forget it by the time my alarm clock goes off come morning. I write because stories are part of life. They're not always brilliant stories that everyone wants to hear, but they are stories. We all have stories. Whether we choose to talk about those stories is our own business, but they still exist and they still have impact. I write fiction. I love the fact that I can say anything in fiction. I could tell you that pigs just started flying and you'd have to believe me because, for all purposes of this wondrous piece of fiction, I am God and I created everything! I know, this does seem like it should be followed up with a MUAHAHAHAHA. Feel free to add that in as you desire. I write fiction because there's something completely magical about having zero limitations. I write poetry because I walk around thinking in rhymes sometimes. Trust me, those are the most annoying days of the bunch. I think in rhymes that don't make sense. I rhyme things like snicker doodle and giant fluffy poodle. See where I'm going here? I write letters because I have difficulty expressing myself without a pen and paper. If I write you a letter, you know I really mean every single word I'm putting down. You know my heart is entirely there if there is a letter involved. I write journal entires because my heart hurts. My head hurts. My sanity hurts. Everything in life causes pain at some point. I hit that point prtty often. If I sit down and journal it out, that pain starts to ease until it's completely numb. And then, I set the journal down, go to Bri, Jamie, Marcus, Hannah, anyone, and I laugh. I talk to the people who know that behind the pain, there's something so beautifully childish about me. Not childish as in immature either. I consider myself at least a somewhat wise human being. I mean childish in respect to my ability to see the world with eyes that are so open. Everything means something. Everything has more purpose. Colors become brighter, more saturated, more vivid. Life becomes simpler. There are no rights, no wrongs. Things become what are and are respected for that. That helps the laughter and laughter vanquishes the numbness and everything is okay. I write for games because I think it's the coolest thing in the entire world to write with other people. That's as far as I'm going with that one. Have I told you why I write books yet? Oh, I have to have a reason for writing books!
Yet, I don't think I have a real reason for writing book other than my usual writing passion, adoration for the art speech I generally give you. That little talk is 100% real. But I guess there's another tiny reason. Have you ever thought up a character that seems so real, so true to you, that you could feel their heart beating somewhere in yours? You know their history, the way they see the world, why they act the way they do. You know the depth behind them and why they don't know certain things about themselves. They get wrapped up in a plot your mind pulled out of no where and suddenly, you can't give up on that. You can't leave them hanging there! You can't let their story stop before it has hit that ending, that point where everything is as it should be. For me, this character is Myles Baker. He's my main character for "22 Songs for Sarah", my latest project. I feel attached to Myles because I know everything about him and he's not even real. Myles is a person I would never have even spoken to in real life, outside the pages of my book, but he's still captivating to me. Maybe that's why he's so captivating. And yet, you do see people like Myles walking around in reality. We just don't realize it until we're too late to have really gotten to know them.
I write for Myles Baker. I write for Sarah Ross. Tonight, I write for them. I also write for Enna Evans and Aleah Watson. I write because their stories have to be told. I can't give you anything more meaningful than that.
Goodnight readers.
-Tiffany Marie Saxe
- Location:my home, with soup=D
- Mood:
awake - Music:"anywhere by here" -- mayday parade
It's about 11 o'clock on a Tuesday night. I just finished watching about 3 or 4 episodes of the show "Pushing Daisies" online and eating more ice cream than is even remotely healthy. I have no idea why I found it to be a brilliant idea to consume said ice cream, but this event did in fact occur. Now? Now I'm here with one mission. I'm procrastinating heading to bed. I'm not even remotely sleepy. And it's raining outside. If you know me, you know I love rain. I love the smell, the sound, the feel of those tiny droplets of water against your skin as you suddenly remember just how long it's been since the last rain. I have such an adoration for the rain. My problem with the rain is that rain reminds me of reading and writing weather. I am not reminded of being productive or alive with energy and enthusiasm. I am reminded of hot cocoa. I am reminded of that dusty smell to a book that's been on the shelf too long. I am reminded of my pen soaring across a blank sheet of binder paper. Rain makes me feel at home. Tonight, I feel like I'm home alone.
- Location:home
- Mood:
blah - Music:the sound of rain
We need ice cream, this has been decided just now by myself and my magical pretend twin Kat. Specifically, we need Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. Tonight’s blog has no importance whatsoever in the universe. If you’re reading this, please don’t expect to come across anything too entertaining or meaningful. Yeah, because you’d totally come to me for the meaning of life. Actually, some of you might. And then, you’d get a pleasing answer like, “Eat much ice cream!” or “Breed pandaguins!” Yes, I should be in charge of fortune cookie writing. OH MY GOD! I totally just found my future occupation and you guys were witness to this. Do you realize how great this is! I wonder what degree I’d go for? Shoot for philosophy or sociology. Yeahh, that makes sense. I’ll fill up all the fortune cookies with amazing things that no one sees coming. And then I’d make the fortune cookie industry even more amazing than it already is! Fortune cookies kind of taste horrible. I think, while I’m at writing fortunes, we should make sure they dip all the fortune cookies in chocolate. Yeah, that would make them taste so much better! Chocolate covered fortune cookies! I’m making history here kids. How much you wanna bet there are totally already chocolate covered fortune cookies out there and I’m just making an idiot of myself by saying we need them.
I stopped mid-blog because my two nieces came rushing into my room asking me to read them a bedtime story. The four-year-old, Cali, always asks me to tell her a bedtime story out of my mind. Tonight I wouldn’t because the only thing I’m feeling inspired to tell them is about a fictional fortune cookie company I shall open someday and considering neither of them has had a fortune cookie in months and wouldn’t remember them, this plan failed. So, I read two other stories including “If You Give A Cat A Cupcake.” Remember “If You Give A Mouse A Cookie?” Well yeah, apparently, that’s not good enough anymore. There are cats and cupcakes and pigs and pancakes. The list just keeps going on. Today’s society has too high of expectations, lol. I think I’ve been working in daycare too long, my brain is now programmed to make lame jokes about children’s books. I’m pretty sure the majority of my friends are starting to get annoyed at my daily texts about how my daycare kids are debating whether the word “shush” is a swear word or not. Of course, the debate winner was “My name’s not a swear word!” The fact that was completely irrelevant didn’t seem to phase the minds of these 3 and 4 year olds.
I think my memory’s really going. I feel like I’m 70 or something. Noo, I just feel like I’ve got some serious issues with remembering anything. Maybe it’s only short-term memory. My mom calls it my selective memory. It’s kind of somewhat true. I mean, I value remembering other things, generally relevant to my writing, over stupid things like what day of the week it is. By the way, I’m pretty sure I asked what day of the week it is like 5 times today. I’m such a winner at this game of failing, lol.
I KEEP GETTING DISTRACTED! Where’s my brain tonight? If you find it, could you mail it back to me? Thanks. I’m pretty sure I left my brain somewhere with coffee. That’s generally when I function best, under the impressionable influence of several cups of coffee. Oh my God guys! Today, my mom asked me to go to my little brother’s middle school football game and I totally fell asleep for a while. I mean, I woke up to watch the one time they put him in the game, but I definitely got in a nap. My little brother gave me the funniest look when I told him this. He asked how I managed to sleep with all those people yelling. I just laughed. I am Tippy, I possess many wondrous talents in falling asleep random places. Ask Hannah or Bri! I’ve fallen asleep curled up in a little ball like a cat in a chair at both their houses more than once. I fall asleep at my parents’ house all the time. This generally happens after work when I’m just hanging out. My siblings will be blasting the TV and playing tag or having a pillow fight and I’ll just keep sleeping. Well, until one of them hits me, then there’s much awakefulness involved. =)
I think it’s more fun to go back and baby-sit my younger siblings now that I don’t live home anymore. Then it turns into a bonding time or something. Every time I talk to my little brother, we bond because we make lame jokes. My little sister and I need more bonding time though. I spend more time doing older sister stuff like chaperoning their school dances and going to my brother’s sports events. I wonder how my siblings will be when they hit their teen years. I mean, Bowen’s got that whole bookish jock thing coming. Not so great at school but head in the clouds attitude. He’s completely in love with sports and I admire his dedication. My younger sister will be the crafty, slightly weird type. She’ll be the one who goes home to garden and make beaded jewelry. There’s nothing wrong with that, it just makes me laugh.
Well, I’m running out of tiny nothings to talk about. Soooo, farewell blog readers, wasters of time.
<3 Tippy
<3 Tippy
- Location:homeeee
- Music:"masterpiece theatre pt. 3" - marianas trench
In the dream, I was an angel. Not the beautiful, picturesque angel everyone always associates with that figure. I wore my typical clothes: jeans and a T-shirt. My feet were clad in brown flats. My hair was a mess of tangles and frizz, as if I’d just stepped out of a hurricane. Even my makeup was smudged around my big blue eyes. That’s not the shocking part though. I didn’t have a true angel’s wings. Instead, my wings were cream colored and dusty. They didn’t have that pure white, that innocence. They were battered, beaten. The feathers looked as chaotic as the rest of me. Everything was somehow out of place.
Speaking of location, I was striding across the sand at my beach. My favorite place in the world, the one place I can always find peace. My eyes were fixed straight ahead of me. My staggering grace brought me to the water’s edge where I stared down at my reflection. I read my own expression. At first, I mistook myself to be ridden with sorrow. I looked closer, distorting my features ever so subtly with a hint of curiosity. It wasn’t sorrow at all. I was empty. Nothing was honest anymore. All I had left was that raw, cruel empty feeling. It disappeared and was instantly replaced with a look of horror. I didn’t think, I just burst forward with a spontaneous new recklessness. I was face forward in the water, my wings drenched and weighing me down. My hand caressed the feather’s to my right to bring up a mucky handful of mud. I could feel myself sinking, but I couldn’t bring myself to fight it. My last glimpses were of the tiny pebbles littering the bottom of the river. My hair tangles in a few rogue reeds and my body went numb from the sudden cold. I didn’t need to be conscious, I knew this would happen. I knew this was better for everyone. I was gone and that was what mattered.
I woke up in a fit of anxiety. My breath was all caught up in my throat and the room was spinning in that taunting sort of way that you can only just barely recollect when attempting to describe it to others. I put an icy hand to my forehead and glanced at my alarm clock. It was 2:43 in the morning. I closed my eyes for a moment, finally catching my breath properly, and tried to remember what it was about, the dream. I remembered the water, the wings, the look on my face in the water. It took me a few moments to get all the details right. Then, I reached down beside my bed and pulled up the clipboard with a few stray sheets of binder paper on it. I dug around in my bedside table drawer until I found the blue pen I’d been given at the CPR & First Aid course I’d taken earlier that week. It had a good feel in my hand and I started to write down what I could remember from the dream. Two paragraphs? Was that it? I clicked the light off and tried to fall back asleep. I couldn’t. Why was I dreaming about dying?
Didn’t a friend of mine once say that if you dream about your own death, it’s good luck? Damn, I could have used some good luck in times like those, the times when you’re still trying to figure out up from down because life keeps having at you like a punching bag. Yes, it was very cynical to think of life in those terms but I think I’d reserved all rights to do so the moment everything did start falling apart. So, if it wasn’t good luck, then did the dream reflect anything in my life? Or was it some creepy omen, some mock psychic vision God decided to tempt me with? Was it just another sign of more impending doom? That seemed more likely than anything. Finally, I fell asleep without realizing what was going on around me.
When I read my words back to myself, days later, I couldn’t stop thinking about the dream. What had carried my thought process up to that point? I was instantly over-whelmed with reflection. If I died tonight of some fluke thing, how would they remember me? How would my family remember me? How would my friends remember me? How would strangers remember me? I mean, I’ve never been anything particularly special or amazing, but I’ve always hoped that I’ve been at least a little memorable. The most I could ever want is to be that snapshot in the lives of those around me. You know, everyone’s favorite picture in the pile. It’s that photograph where we’re all smiling or laughing, where we all look completely content despite anything else going on in life. And there, on the left or right with my arm around someone’s shoulder and a smile plastered over my features, I’d be engrained in your memory forever. I’m that snapshot because you were there too and there’s a tiny thread of connection that we both secretly cling too without ever knowing it. I’m not the only snapshot, per say, but I’m usually your favorite one. And never worry because you’re probably mine too.
How much depth is there in being average? Then again, my perception of average is completely off. People have been telling me how weird I am since I was a little girl. High school specifically, became the point where people defined me as weird. It was never bad weird though. No, it was cute weird or quirky weird. I was that girl who made all the immature jokes with you and was always referencing something nerdy. I wore the brightly colored clothes and I had the glasses that I never realized were my identity. Later, when I got contacts, I realized I lost a little bit of myself somewhere down the line.
Maybe that’s why I was dreaming about being a dying angel. I thought of that look on my face again, so self-destructive. I was my own worst enemy. Cliché, yes. True, definitely. I found myself hating how vivid my dreams always were. Why did all the colors have to be so real? Why did the icy cold numb of the water have to feel as if it were truly over-taking me? My hands felt icy when I’d woken, that just left me even more unsettled.
I also found myself thinking of all the things people don’t know about me. Maybe some of them know, but they can’t possibly walk around my mind properly, right? I hate acquaintances, the people who only have that cheesy outer layer of you; the people who really do only have the tiniest bit of information to judge you with. They see the clothes you wear, the expression on your face, and the way you walk. Sometimes, they have snippets of your voice and the things you say quickly, in passing or to be polite. Or, they have that eerie silence. The silence of being across a hallway from someone and both of you knowing that neither of you could hear the other or possibly have anything to say even if you could hear each other. And then, then both pairs of eyes make their tiny calculations about little things. Thoughts run wild into stupid little statements like, “I hate scary old women wearing green suits.” Or “Why in God’s name would anyone walk around in that shade of pink?” These judgments really don’t say much about the other person’s character and they seem much too effortless. It’s like none of us are even trying to understand people anymore! It’s like we’ve given up and are now settling for this pretty little pre-fabricated version of what people might be like. Want to hear my theory about this? If you’re going to go off the little judgements, at least give the person an entirely new personality. Name them! Give them key traits, and some type of value taken from their fictional history to tie with their face so every time you see them from that point forward, you’ll remember them. Of course, all your memories will be false, but it’s definitely worth the laugh and it’s so over the top that you don’t feel nearly as bad for judging them.
Then, there’s always the other option, walk blind. Keep your mind open. I’d love to think I keep my mind open, but I know we all slip up, me included. I want to hear people’s stories, I want to know what makes their mind tick. I want to know if they wake up in the middle of the night from a stupid dream about dying too. Does that make me weird? Or does that make me just like everyone else?
I spent the weekend at my mother’s house after a huge fight with my older sister and house mate. When I walked in my bedroom back at my house after the weekend was over, I was greeted with a huge mess. My sister had taken anything that belonged to me out of the main part of the house and thrown it on the floor. This included the dish set my mom had gotten me for my birthday. My room was trashed. I knew my sister was angry, and she was angry for something exceptionally unjustified as well, but this was very immature of her. I instantly conjured up the mental image of a child throwing a tantrum and throwing things everywhere. It was bad enough that there had been a fight, but for this too? Instead of shrugging it off and cleaning, I grabbed my keys, my cell phone, my ipod, and the latest book I’d been escaping to at the time. I turned around and started running toward the beach, the same one from the dream.
I made my way down the street until I spotted the path down to the river. I walked the trail until I hit sand and then wandered over to the spot I generally sit at, where the sand is warm and there aren’t rocks everywhere. I sat down and pulled my knees up to my chest and just cried. Two close friends came through for me, just texting me about whatever just being there and cheering me up. When it feels like the world has your heart grasped in a clenched fist, it’s comforting to know you’re not completely alone or unwanted. After such an aggressive gesture back at the house, I just needed the peace, the calm, the quiet of my sanctuary. I needed the warmth of friendship and comfort of solitude. So, I cried for an hour straight. When I was done, I thought of the dream again. I wasn’t an angel, but here I was. I wasn’t going to drown, but I still felt that empty sorrow. And then, it was gone. Things aren’t going to get better right this second or minute or day or week. But slowly, everything will heal. People will never stop judging or saying things that they don't fully understand themselves. People may or may not remember all of us in different ways. We’ll still get hurt, we’ll still feel pain. We’ll still feel love and warmth and trust again. I won’t ever be the angel from my dream because I understand myself better than she did. She may have worn my face, but she didn’t have my heart. I’m not that person and I never will be.
- Location:my home
- Mood:
artistic - Music:"wonderwall" -- oasis
Some of you know me as Tiffany Marie Saxe, the writer. Others know me as Tiff, the little girl in daycare. Some of you know me as Tiffany, that girl from school. Unfortunately, my mom knows me as Sweetie Muffin, lol. But the rest of you, you know me as Tippy. And I hate to define myself, but Tippy is me as a spazzy writer girl, a geek, and someone who likes to make new friends. I'm sure you've all gathered this so far, am I right? This blog entry isn't about my names though, this blog entry is about who I am and how you guys perceive me. At least, how some of you do and have vocalized said perceptions.
First of all, there's no way you've got me figured out so, stop trying, lol. I don't even really know the full me yet. Hell, I only know bits and pieces of myself and I don't claim to be an expert on those bits and pieces either. When you look at me a judge me, just take it back because I'll contradict half of whatever you've got. When you hear stories about me or my life, always assume you only got half the story. If you were there for the story, always assume that there was something else going on that I wasn't telling you. Why? Because let's face it, there always was.
I'd love to give you a little portrait of my mind but that would be impossible. I can't begin to describe my thinking process or even how I perceive you. I'm pretty open-minded, if that helps. I'm always willing to hear you out, not matter who you are or what you're telling me. I don't judge, even if you may think I do. The few rare occasions in which I do judge, there's a heavy amount of bias involved and there's always a history.
Lately, people have been subject to very extreme views about me. It's always either that I'm some big famous author girl who's got a lot going for her or they don't know I write and assume I'm nothing and I'm clueless, absolutely oblivious to everything going on around me. To the author bit, HAHAHAHAHAH! I'm published, so what? Yeah, I've got a passion for writing and a career in mind, but that doesn't mean I'm some famous author. Hell, we need help advertising so, never assume I'm known on any terms to anyone other than a tight circle of friends. I mean, honestly, I'm the same as you guys. I go to school at the community college two days a week and I work the other three. I live in a house I rent with my sister and she has her two daughters for part of the week. I suck at cooking and I spend most of my spare time reading. I love to take up little hobbies like drawing, water colors, and knitting. I'm pretty much a beach bum at heart and would spend every day down on the beach near my house with a book in hand if I could. I love music and filled up my iPod with more music than I have time to listen to. I'm a total geek and know things like how to code a proboards forum and create yet another Harry Potter RPG. If you don't know what that is, don't bother asking, it will only make you think I'm an even bigger freak, lol. I taught myself how to use photoshop and then when my trial ran out, I proceeded to become very angry because now my web-design stuff is basically in a rut. I write every single day about something. It's not always for one of my books. Often, it's just journal entries. "Dear Emmy" was not created solely for The Skyla Chronicles. It started out in about middle school for me and I've kept journals ever since.
On the other side of that argument, I'm not just some flighty, clueless little girl either. Yeah, I like to wear my hot pink Hello Kitty t-shirt and yeah, I say things like, "HOLY KITTIES!" and "Hecks to the yeah!" I sign off of my vlogs with "Peace to the out!" on a regular basis. That doesn't mean I'm incapable of a decent vocabulary. It just means I choose to neglect said vocabulary for my own substitute which, as you can see, is obviously superior, lol. I may look like I've got my head in the clouds, but who's to say what's going on in said clouds? It's not like I'm sitting there thinking things like, "Hmm, I love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches." No! You have to realize, I've got at least ten stories a day coursing through my mind all at once. When I'm getting mixed up between how Myles will react to Sarah's disappearance and how Aleah Watson will help take care of her sister Aly during the big court scene, I can't possibly be expected to pay attention to the little things, right? Other days, I'm too aware. I pay far too much attention to what those around me are doing and saying and then, it fuels my own perception of society. It helps me process how other, minor, characters can play their role without standing out too much or too little. My parents and teachers get frustrated because my memory's not all there. Maybe it's not supposed to be. I would rather be thinking the way I do now than the way others feel I should be thinking.
So, I don't know who you think I am, or even how you read me as a person. Whether you think I'm silly and childish or maybe even too mature. Views sway in both directions and I care for neither. If you want to say I'm anything, then tell it like it is. I'm just Tippy today. Who are you?
<3Tippy
First of all, there's no way you've got me figured out so, stop trying, lol. I don't even really know the full me yet. Hell, I only know bits and pieces of myself and I don't claim to be an expert on those bits and pieces either. When you look at me a judge me, just take it back because I'll contradict half of whatever you've got. When you hear stories about me or my life, always assume you only got half the story. If you were there for the story, always assume that there was something else going on that I wasn't telling you. Why? Because let's face it, there always was.
I'd love to give you a little portrait of my mind but that would be impossible. I can't begin to describe my thinking process or even how I perceive you. I'm pretty open-minded, if that helps. I'm always willing to hear you out, not matter who you are or what you're telling me. I don't judge, even if you may think I do. The few rare occasions in which I do judge, there's a heavy amount of bias involved and there's always a history.
Lately, people have been subject to very extreme views about me. It's always either that I'm some big famous author girl who's got a lot going for her or they don't know I write and assume I'm nothing and I'm clueless, absolutely oblivious to everything going on around me. To the author bit, HAHAHAHAHAH! I'm published, so what? Yeah, I've got a passion for writing and a career in mind, but that doesn't mean I'm some famous author. Hell, we need help advertising so, never assume I'm known on any terms to anyone other than a tight circle of friends. I mean, honestly, I'm the same as you guys. I go to school at the community college two days a week and I work the other three. I live in a house I rent with my sister and she has her two daughters for part of the week. I suck at cooking and I spend most of my spare time reading. I love to take up little hobbies like drawing, water colors, and knitting. I'm pretty much a beach bum at heart and would spend every day down on the beach near my house with a book in hand if I could. I love music and filled up my iPod with more music than I have time to listen to. I'm a total geek and know things like how to code a proboards forum and create yet another Harry Potter RPG. If you don't know what that is, don't bother asking, it will only make you think I'm an even bigger freak, lol. I taught myself how to use photoshop and then when my trial ran out, I proceeded to become very angry because now my web-design stuff is basically in a rut. I write every single day about something. It's not always for one of my books. Often, it's just journal entries. "Dear Emmy" was not created solely for The Skyla Chronicles. It started out in about middle school for me and I've kept journals ever since.
On the other side of that argument, I'm not just some flighty, clueless little girl either. Yeah, I like to wear my hot pink Hello Kitty t-shirt and yeah, I say things like, "HOLY KITTIES!" and "Hecks to the yeah!" I sign off of my vlogs with "Peace to the out!" on a regular basis. That doesn't mean I'm incapable of a decent vocabulary. It just means I choose to neglect said vocabulary for my own substitute which, as you can see, is obviously superior, lol. I may look like I've got my head in the clouds, but who's to say what's going on in said clouds? It's not like I'm sitting there thinking things like, "Hmm, I love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches." No! You have to realize, I've got at least ten stories a day coursing through my mind all at once. When I'm getting mixed up between how Myles will react to Sarah's disappearance and how Aleah Watson will help take care of her sister Aly during the big court scene, I can't possibly be expected to pay attention to the little things, right? Other days, I'm too aware. I pay far too much attention to what those around me are doing and saying and then, it fuels my own perception of society. It helps me process how other, minor, characters can play their role without standing out too much or too little. My parents and teachers get frustrated because my memory's not all there. Maybe it's not supposed to be. I would rather be thinking the way I do now than the way others feel I should be thinking.
So, I don't know who you think I am, or even how you read me as a person. Whether you think I'm silly and childish or maybe even too mature. Views sway in both directions and I care for neither. If you want to say I'm anything, then tell it like it is. I'm just Tippy today. Who are you?
<3Tippy
- Location:my room
- Mood: sleepy
- Music:"unhappy" -- thriving ivory
I have two options, I can go to sleep like a sane person so I'll have energy for work tomorrow or I can stay up til like 1 in the morning reading, writing, blogging, vlogging, etc. You can guess where I ended up in all this. Yeah. I don't actually have anything thrilling to blog about, I just felt bad for neglecting everything. Ya know, the whole college, work, volunteering, living life thing has finally caught up to me. Now my life is over-whelmed with the sheer madness of that which others call... ROUTINE! I think my least favorite part about having a routine in life is that whole waking up early thing. I hate waking up early. If there wasn't coffee in the world, I just couldn't do it. I mean, don't you hate that feeling first thing in the morning? That part of the day where you wake up and realize you have to go from amazingly comfy, warm bed with pillows to real life. I hate the part where I realize how freezing it is outside the wonders of bed.
And then, after waking up, it's like everything goes into battle mode! We get on our gear [work clothes], make sure we're in the right mood [put on a smile for the kids], make sure we've eaten properly and obtained proper caffeine levels [coffee, coffee, coffee]. And then, we go out there and take on the world. Okay, so, I sit around listening to kids tell me about how much they love puzzles and then we color for a while and I hand out poptarts for snack time. Oh, and the dark, evil side of daycare, diapers, throw-up, anything involving spilled anything on the table. After morning snack, the kids usually run around outside. Let me tell you, once these kids are out running around, their brutal side is on display. They kick, they hit, they bite each other. if you don't work with kids, let this be a warning, they bite! The latest thing is, they keep rolling up the chains to make the swings reallllllllllly high up. I know it's great fun and all that, but they're gonna get themselves hurt! We tell them to fix the swings and they get this hurt expression on their faces like we've personally offended them and now their whole day is ruined. Ten seconds later they're playing tag next to the play structure, but that's not the point. Moral of the story, children are vicious creatures.
So, as some of you may have seen, my friends and I are working on the Live Audience Disney Princess Battles. They're going to be epic on so many levels. I can't wait until this plan is explored further and we do our first one. I need to go sleep soon [code word for I'm gonna go read another hundred pages of a Cassandra Clare book =)]. I love you silly people.
xoxo
That random writer girl
And then, after waking up, it's like everything goes into battle mode! We get on our gear [work clothes], make sure we're in the right mood [put on a smile for the kids], make sure we've eaten properly and obtained proper caffeine levels [coffee, coffee, coffee]. And then, we go out there and take on the world. Okay, so, I sit around listening to kids tell me about how much they love puzzles and then we color for a while and I hand out poptarts for snack time. Oh, and the dark, evil side of daycare, diapers, throw-up, anything involving spilled anything on the table. After morning snack, the kids usually run around outside. Let me tell you, once these kids are out running around, their brutal side is on display. They kick, they hit, they bite each other. if you don't work with kids, let this be a warning, they bite! The latest thing is, they keep rolling up the chains to make the swings reallllllllllly high up. I know it's great fun and all that, but they're gonna get themselves hurt! We tell them to fix the swings and they get this hurt expression on their faces like we've personally offended them and now their whole day is ruined. Ten seconds later they're playing tag next to the play structure, but that's not the point. Moral of the story, children are vicious creatures.
So, as some of you may have seen, my friends and I are working on the Live Audience Disney Princess Battles. They're going to be epic on so many levels. I can't wait until this plan is explored further and we do our first one. I need to go sleep soon [code word for I'm gonna go read another hundred pages of a Cassandra Clare book =)]. I love you silly people.
xoxo
That random writer girl
- Location:my house=)
- Mood: sleepy
- Music:"6 months" - hey monday
Alright, so, I have promised to do several different translations of my book. Tonight, those translations are being made!
-insert mildly angsty teenage girl here-
Dear diary,
Blah, blah, blah! Boarding school! Blah, blah, blah! I hate my stupid mom! Blah, blah, blah! Other teenagery things to say!
xoxo
Enna!
-insert random scarrrrrrrry opera house here-
"Welllll, since this book is cool, I'll go in. If I get hurt, tell my agent to sue the author!" Enna huffed as she strolled into the obviously inhabited building without permission. (Cause, ya know, all fictional opera houses leave their doors unlocked at all times in case magical teenage girls happen to hop off their plane that day.)
-insert Sophie being entirely too awesome and intimidating and slightly scary here-
"Yeah, sure, you can join the opera. What do I care?" Soph laughed evilly, knowing that Enna would go to hell and back once entering said opera.
"Suh-weet! I've always wanted to randomly burdon people and endanger my life in like, the span of a month!" Enna did a super cool kick in the air/high 5 to no one cause hell, she just knows awesome better than the back of her own hand.
-insert lots of pretty words that fill in the gaps between mildly important but not realllllllllly important things-
"So, uhm, there's this diary, right? Yeah, this dead chick basically told me there's a curse and I'm gonna die in 7 days. Wait, I'm getting this confused with my last movie..." Enna giggled manically cause let's face it, everyone needs a crazy person and Enna makes a good one.
"JASON, I LOVE YOU EVEN THO I'M ONLY 16 AND HAVE POOR DECISION MAKING SKILLS!"
"Enna, I kind of like, love you too. Okay, fine, I'm really just in a secret Order and love you cause you're all magical and have issues similar to my own but hey, this will be a great story at our wedding, right?" Jason offered Enna a thumbs up!
"OLIVIA! You're everyone's favorite and I hate you. Okay, I really love you and have to protect you needlessly all the time! Ya know, because I'm a little bit bipolar I guess." Enna hugged Via until Via puked all over the pretty hallway with the painted doors.
"Uhm, sister? I'm twelve! WTF am I doing in an opera house?! Aren't parents supposed to, ya know, raised their kids to not go and do stupid crap like this?" Olivia whined. (That's what she's good at, after all.)
"I'M RAIN AND I ROCK! So, can I have the lead to the show? Thanks. Luv ya!" Rain dances around in happy circles!
"I'm Drew and I'm a character in this book to make a mild statement that it's okay to be gay! Despite said statement, I do not have any scenes with a boyfriend. Sucks to be me=[." Drew made a sad face just like the computer would have wanted him to.
"I'm Lola and I'm unimportant but hey, I'm here."
"I'm Nathalie Lafay and you have no idea how important I'm gonna be in book two so, shhhhhhh." (Feel the blessing, I just gave you a huge hint!)
"Uh, I'm Silas. Tippy forgot to ever give me an appearance description because let's face it, the only thing I'm good for is slapping my sister!" Silas stomps around with this hilariously grumpy pout practically glued to his expression.
"Hey guys, I think there was a plot here that we were supposed to be like, IDK, hinting at or something..." Enna gave everyone that look like she was smarter despite knowing that she will always be a little bit off on the latest news.
-insert curse-like action and lotsa cool stuff about magic here-
"Skyla? Hm, she looks like me! She's got great style! I'm not completely self-absorbed at all!" Enna gushed.
-insert Enna's character growth here-
-insert Enna getting the crap scared out of her by a ginormacus scary monster and a letter from a character that didn't mean anything til now-
-insert awesome stuff about En's show-
-insert annoying Olivia fighting that really has no purpose-
-insert Rain freaking on Enna at several different points over boy stuff, worried stuff, and wicked awesome friend stuff-
-insert Jason being Jason-
-insert everyone else's (including yours reader!) awkward feelings towards Jason-
-insert Enna being oblivious to everything-
"So, uhm, let's go to the ball cause I FEEL SO PRETTY IN THIS FRICKIN' DRESS!"
-insert Via's big ouchie no-no-
"OH SHIT!" Everyone with half a brain screamed.
-insert lotsa emo kids here-
"Er, the show must go on?" Enna stared at the floor with less life in her than usual.
-insert big curse action and major climax of story here- (I'm not telling you what happened cause you should just read the damn book)
-insert more action with a side of action and the false idea that there's secretly romance in here somewhere-
"So, that kind of sucked and now that Silas ratted me out, I have to go live in San Fran with my Auntie. Love ya Jason. Sorry people died guys. TTYL! Oh yeah, and I sooooo promise to write." Enna left the entire book open ended just so you could draw unneccessary conclusions.
-insert ending here-
So, there you have it! The fast version, the translation of my first novel. It's more amazing than the real book so, you're good. Yeah, throw in a couple zombies, a sparkly vampire named Cedward Diglan, three pirates trying to take over the opera house, and a ninja with a light saber and we'll be good. Oh yeah, and we'll need some great background music that no one's ever heard of before so, we'll work on that.
xoxo
<3 Tippy
(Tiffany Marie Saxe, yes, I did write the actual book, thanks)
-insert mildly angsty teenage girl here-
Dear diary,
Blah, blah, blah! Boarding school! Blah, blah, blah! I hate my stupid mom! Blah, blah, blah! Other teenagery things to say!
xoxo
Enna!
-insert random scarrrrrrrry opera house here-
"Welllll, since this book is cool, I'll go in. If I get hurt, tell my agent to sue the author!" Enna huffed as she strolled into the obviously inhabited building without permission. (Cause, ya know, all fictional opera houses leave their doors unlocked at all times in case magical teenage girls happen to hop off their plane that day.)
-insert Sophie being entirely too awesome and intimidating and slightly scary here-
"Yeah, sure, you can join the opera. What do I care?" Soph laughed evilly, knowing that Enna would go to hell and back once entering said opera.
"Suh-weet! I've always wanted to randomly burdon people and endanger my life in like, the span of a month!" Enna did a super cool kick in the air/high 5 to no one cause hell, she just knows awesome better than the back of her own hand.
-insert lots of pretty words that fill in the gaps between mildly important but not realllllllllly important things-
"So, uhm, there's this diary, right? Yeah, this dead chick basically told me there's a curse and I'm gonna die in 7 days. Wait, I'm getting this confused with my last movie..." Enna giggled manically cause let's face it, everyone needs a crazy person and Enna makes a good one.
"JASON, I LOVE YOU EVEN THO I'M ONLY 16 AND HAVE POOR DECISION MAKING SKILLS!"
"Enna, I kind of like, love you too. Okay, fine, I'm really just in a secret Order and love you cause you're all magical and have issues similar to my own but hey, this will be a great story at our wedding, right?" Jason offered Enna a thumbs up!
"OLIVIA! You're everyone's favorite and I hate you. Okay, I really love you and have to protect you needlessly all the time! Ya know, because I'm a little bit bipolar I guess." Enna hugged Via until Via puked all over the pretty hallway with the painted doors.
"Uhm, sister? I'm twelve! WTF am I doing in an opera house?! Aren't parents supposed to, ya know, raised their kids to not go and do stupid crap like this?" Olivia whined. (That's what she's good at, after all.)
"I'M RAIN AND I ROCK! So, can I have the lead to the show? Thanks. Luv ya!" Rain dances around in happy circles!
"I'm Drew and I'm a character in this book to make a mild statement that it's okay to be gay! Despite said statement, I do not have any scenes with a boyfriend. Sucks to be me=[." Drew made a sad face just like the computer would have wanted him to.
"I'm Lola and I'm unimportant but hey, I'm here."
"I'm Nathalie Lafay and you have no idea how important I'm gonna be in book two so, shhhhhhh." (Feel the blessing, I just gave you a huge hint!)
"Uh, I'm Silas. Tippy forgot to ever give me an appearance description because let's face it, the only thing I'm good for is slapping my sister!" Silas stomps around with this hilariously grumpy pout practically glued to his expression.
"Hey guys, I think there was a plot here that we were supposed to be like, IDK, hinting at or something..." Enna gave everyone that look like she was smarter despite knowing that she will always be a little bit off on the latest news.
-insert curse-like action and lotsa cool stuff about magic here-
"Skyla? Hm, she looks like me! She's got great style! I'm not completely self-absorbed at all!" Enna gushed.
-insert Enna's character growth here-
-insert Enna getting the crap scared out of her by a ginormacus scary monster and a letter from a character that didn't mean anything til now-
-insert awesome stuff about En's show-
-insert annoying Olivia fighting that really has no purpose-
-insert Rain freaking on Enna at several different points over boy stuff, worried stuff, and wicked awesome friend stuff-
-insert Jason being Jason-
-insert everyone else's (including yours reader!) awkward feelings towards Jason-
-insert Enna being oblivious to everything-
"So, uhm, let's go to the ball cause I FEEL SO PRETTY IN THIS FRICKIN' DRESS!"
-insert Via's big ouchie no-no-
"OH SHIT!" Everyone with half a brain screamed.
-insert lotsa emo kids here-
"Er, the show must go on?" Enna stared at the floor with less life in her than usual.
-insert big curse action and major climax of story here- (I'm not telling you what happened cause you should just read the damn book)
-insert more action with a side of action and the false idea that there's secretly romance in here somewhere-
"So, that kind of sucked and now that Silas ratted me out, I have to go live in San Fran with my Auntie. Love ya Jason. Sorry people died guys. TTYL! Oh yeah, and I sooooo promise to write." Enna left the entire book open ended just so you could draw unneccessary conclusions.
-insert ending here-
So, there you have it! The fast version, the translation of my first novel. It's more amazing than the real book so, you're good. Yeah, throw in a couple zombies, a sparkly vampire named Cedward Diglan, three pirates trying to take over the opera house, and a ninja with a light saber and we'll be good. Oh yeah, and we'll need some great background music that no one's ever heard of before so, we'll work on that.
xoxo
<3 Tippy
(Tiffany Marie Saxe, yes, I did write the actual book, thanks)
- Location:my housie
- Mood: bored
- Music:"heaven adores you" -- earlimart
Hey guys, sorry I've been slacking on my updates again. It's not just here either, I haven't been posting as much on SW too and my members are trying to help keep activity up. So, uhm, time to explain some stuff. I know that, since the book is becoming more and more known, I'm supposed to kind of keep things under wraps. Keep up that constant streak of perfect little publicity. But I'm a pretty freaking honest person and I don't feel like I should sit here with a fake smile on. So, I'm just gonna be real with you guys. I mean, I have a high respect for reality. We can only be ourselves and hope it will all be okay.
So, my past couple weeks have been pretty damn crappy. I guess that's still an understatement. Just recently, my cousin passed away after getting into a huge car accident. It was really hard on all of us. I mean, Eddie wasn't just my cousin, he was one of my friends. We grew up together. I have so many memories with him and his brother Dennis in them. Every holiday, all of it, it was the three of us running around, laughing, having fun. And Eddie was a really great person in general. I mean, he had a great heart. He inspired others to be determined and love life. When my mom called and told me he was in the hospital, I went into denial mode automatically thinking there was no way he could die! I mean, he seemed so invincible. God hands out miracles all the time and I foolishly thought he'd give Eddie his. Yeah, it's stupid, I know. I just figured, people try and kill themselves and fail all the time because they get their 2nd chance. Eddie was healthy and happy and had a life ahead of him. The accident was a complete fluke thing. His friend was driving and they dodged an animal in the road. Neither of them were drinking or doing anything wrong. They both had seatbelts on. Even the doctors at the hospital were mad because there's no one to blame! All of a sudden, this nice, cool guy was just gone and there wasn't anything we could do about it!
I went to the hospital with my mom and older sister to, essentially, say goodbye to him. It's still kind of blurry. The whole way there, I just kept thinking, "I know what to say to him. I'll just tell him I love him and he's a great cousin, great friend." I got in there and all of a sudden, I was telling him the things we still had to do. I was telling him how we had to go camping again. I did tell him goodbye, but I still felt so stuck. My brain was determined. I was convinced a doctor would come in and say, "He's going to be okay!" And then, things could go back to normal. Instead, a doctor came in after running tests and said he was completely brain dead.
I remember turning to my sister and we both just started sobbing. We sat there on the hostpial floor, my sister, me, and Eddie's friend Dan, just shattered. People walked by, living their lives, moving forward. For us, all of a sudden, things had come to a halt. He wouldn't get to move forward! He wouldn't have that chance! And all those words we'd said to him! All our goodbyes and hopes and prayers were for nothing. He'd already been gone! He'd been gone since the accident. I want to say he could still hear them. I want to hope that there's a God somewhere out there, that there's something after life and that he's really and truly at peace. Is he at peace? If there is a Heaven, Eddie is there.
The service was a few days ago. We came early and sat down in that icy cold room. The Preist or Minister or whatever he was spent at least 20 minutes telling us how we should all be better people and how Eddie was our "brother" and how sad it was to lose one's child. I wanted to scream. I wanted to get up and say, "Bortherhood! You don't know what brotherhood is! The only person who knows true brotherhood to Eddie is Dennis and he's sitting in the front row, keeping it together because of all of this!" I wanted to say, "We know brotherhood from growing up with him. This supposed religious brotherhood is obviously a very messed up joke." And then, after waiting through his endless speech, my sister and I were called up to read the poem I wrote for him. I'll show you guys the poem because it's important to me.
If I could have just 3 last words
they'd be as simple as "I love you"
you were more than just a cousin
you were my brother through and through
I remember your laugh
from when we were young
I remember your smile
through all that we've done
If I tried to count the memories
in which you were there
my pen would run out of ink
without anything left to spare
I remember the lake
with the sandy beach
I remember the words
in your hyper forms of speech
I remember snail hunting
with plenty of salt on the side
I remember our top secret missions
and the adults on whom we spied
I remember the cat food
you actually liked to eat
who am I kidding?
is there anything you wouldn't eat?
I remember rock wall climbing
where you'd make that fearless climb
I remember Cutco selling
with scissors that could cut through a dime
all the crazy road trips
all vacations and holidays
it was our two families together
for all the really long stays
I remember the pointless
the silly, wacky, insane
I remember our imaginations
turning anything into a game
I remember that look
you had in your eye
like you were always really listening
like you were always standing by
I remember your love
for life all around you
I remember your honesty
the things you said were true
When I look back
on the last time I saw your face
I don't want to remember you
in such a depressing place
So I suggest we all remember
the Eddie we love and care about
and I pray we'll never forget
that that love won't ever run out
If I could have just 3 last words
they'd be as simple as "I love you"
you were more than just a cousin
you were my brother through and through
-Tiffany Marie Saxe
So, my past couple weeks have been pretty damn crappy. I guess that's still an understatement. Just recently, my cousin passed away after getting into a huge car accident. It was really hard on all of us. I mean, Eddie wasn't just my cousin, he was one of my friends. We grew up together. I have so many memories with him and his brother Dennis in them. Every holiday, all of it, it was the three of us running around, laughing, having fun. And Eddie was a really great person in general. I mean, he had a great heart. He inspired others to be determined and love life. When my mom called and told me he was in the hospital, I went into denial mode automatically thinking there was no way he could die! I mean, he seemed so invincible. God hands out miracles all the time and I foolishly thought he'd give Eddie his. Yeah, it's stupid, I know. I just figured, people try and kill themselves and fail all the time because they get their 2nd chance. Eddie was healthy and happy and had a life ahead of him. The accident was a complete fluke thing. His friend was driving and they dodged an animal in the road. Neither of them were drinking or doing anything wrong. They both had seatbelts on. Even the doctors at the hospital were mad because there's no one to blame! All of a sudden, this nice, cool guy was just gone and there wasn't anything we could do about it!
I went to the hospital with my mom and older sister to, essentially, say goodbye to him. It's still kind of blurry. The whole way there, I just kept thinking, "I know what to say to him. I'll just tell him I love him and he's a great cousin, great friend." I got in there and all of a sudden, I was telling him the things we still had to do. I was telling him how we had to go camping again. I did tell him goodbye, but I still felt so stuck. My brain was determined. I was convinced a doctor would come in and say, "He's going to be okay!" And then, things could go back to normal. Instead, a doctor came in after running tests and said he was completely brain dead.
I remember turning to my sister and we both just started sobbing. We sat there on the hostpial floor, my sister, me, and Eddie's friend Dan, just shattered. People walked by, living their lives, moving forward. For us, all of a sudden, things had come to a halt. He wouldn't get to move forward! He wouldn't have that chance! And all those words we'd said to him! All our goodbyes and hopes and prayers were for nothing. He'd already been gone! He'd been gone since the accident. I want to say he could still hear them. I want to hope that there's a God somewhere out there, that there's something after life and that he's really and truly at peace. Is he at peace? If there is a Heaven, Eddie is there.
The service was a few days ago. We came early and sat down in that icy cold room. The Preist or Minister or whatever he was spent at least 20 minutes telling us how we should all be better people and how Eddie was our "brother" and how sad it was to lose one's child. I wanted to scream. I wanted to get up and say, "Bortherhood! You don't know what brotherhood is! The only person who knows true brotherhood to Eddie is Dennis and he's sitting in the front row, keeping it together because of all of this!" I wanted to say, "We know brotherhood from growing up with him. This supposed religious brotherhood is obviously a very messed up joke." And then, after waiting through his endless speech, my sister and I were called up to read the poem I wrote for him. I'll show you guys the poem because it's important to me.
If I could have just 3 last words
they'd be as simple as "I love you"
you were more than just a cousin
you were my brother through and through
I remember your laugh
from when we were young
I remember your smile
through all that we've done
If I tried to count the memories
in which you were there
my pen would run out of ink
without anything left to spare
I remember the lake
with the sandy beach
I remember the words
in your hyper forms of speech
I remember snail hunting
with plenty of salt on the side
I remember our top secret missions
and the adults on whom we spied
I remember the cat food
you actually liked to eat
who am I kidding?
is there anything you wouldn't eat?
I remember rock wall climbing
where you'd make that fearless climb
I remember Cutco selling
with scissors that could cut through a dime
all the crazy road trips
all vacations and holidays
it was our two families together
for all the really long stays
I remember the pointless
the silly, wacky, insane
I remember our imaginations
turning anything into a game
I remember that look
you had in your eye
like you were always really listening
like you were always standing by
I remember your love
for life all around you
I remember your honesty
the things you said were true
When I look back
on the last time I saw your face
I don't want to remember you
in such a depressing place
So I suggest we all remember
the Eddie we love and care about
and I pray we'll never forget
that that love won't ever run out
If I could have just 3 last words
they'd be as simple as "I love you"
you were more than just a cousin
you were my brother through and through
-Tiffany Marie Saxe
- Location:home
- Mood: awake
- Music:"hey lady" -- thriving ivory
HOWDY! I like saying "Howdy!", it makes me feel like I'm in a western. Just kidding, that just makes me sound like a freak. Bahahaha. Anywho, this is the blog where I a) complain a whole bunch about really stupid crap no one cares about, b) tell you my nifty news with a story as opposed to a lame "status update", and c) discuss some randomosity I feel needs acknowledging. So, buckle up kiddos cause it's gonna be an exceptionally cliche and wild ride!!!!
Uhhhh, ym laptop is in epic fail mode. The magic little disk maker worker ma-jig does not workify! It's not magic and half those things weren't real words, shhh, not the point. Anyway, this happened once before. My now ex-boyfriend fixed it the first time. He had to re-set the BIOS defaults. I have no idea how to do this. It sounds dangerous. Will my laptop explode! I know, it won't really explode, or at least I hope it won't... But yeah, none of my stuff works and I can't put new CDs on iTunes and Peyton [my laptop] is about to go to the freaking computer doctors. Except guess what? Computer doctors cost money! I don't have money. I have a stupid laptop that refuses to obey basic rules of the universe like, IDK, WORK PROPERLY! Yes, the complainage, you just got a decent dose.
Apparently technology really hates me right now cause guess what else happened today? My phone died. Yes, died. Like, there's this creepy red light and every time I try to turn my phone on, it blinks at me all threateningly. Yes, because my phone literally has emotions now. So, I'm possibly getting a new phone for my birthday. I'll go get in Saturday since I'm not actually doing anything on my birthday. I'll tell you what, on my actual birthday, I'm gonna walk around in public in a party hat and make random videos. I want to see how people react to the pure awesome of the party hat. Yes, plan = made.
EPIC MOVIE AWESOME NEWS LIKE WHAT!? That was English, I swear. So, over the weekend when I was totally up in Oregon visiting realtives, I got an email via my phone [RIP dead phone]. This said email was from John Desalvio, the guy who wrote the newspaper article about me locally. He moved down near LA around the beginning of the Summer and he's been advertising my book. By the way, thanks for that. Anyone who gets the word out about my book automatically gets points on the awesome scale in life. Back to the amazing story. So, he made friends with this guy who he's been calling Ross [no idea if that's a first or a last name. hey, maybe that's his only name! omg, Ross is an alian! nahhhh. he's a "friends" character, tee hee]. Ross is a movie producer. I know, super nifty status. He is interested in my book. Yeah, my book! Not some other Tiffany Marie Saxe's Etched in Stone Book One of the Skyla Chronicles. Cause, ya know, if there was another one, well that'd just be awkward, right? So, it's a tiny spark in the glitter of life's amazing. It's an opportunity that I'm exploring. It's something I can look into in the near future and get details on. It's something my publishing company should really email me back about cause dude, I wanna know what's going on here! A movie would be so awesome! A real live amazing awesome cool nifty movie! So cool in fact, that I'm blogging about it.
Penguins! I have no idea why, but if you respond to random questions with "Penguins!", life becomes far more entertaining. For example, "Can you pass the salad?" "Penguins!" "Er, salad?" See, amazing!
I worked all day today. Can you tell by the random train of thought going here? In daycare this morning, a bunch of our kids were playing these educational computer games we've had since I was a kid. They play them on our old Windows Millenium computer. Bahahaha, the mot failed of all computers. It had a virus at some point too making it made even more of fail.
So, they were playing this "Arthur's Underwater Adventure" reading game. There were like 5 boys gathered around the screen yelling at the kid trying to read. I swear, I thought we were gonna have to break up a fight dude. Apparently little kids take this stuff really seriously. I was kind of laughing which makes me a bad person by default, but oh well, that's life. No worries, no one was hurt. The only point is, children are violent and attack each other!
Glad to have been blogging with you tonight. You were a wonderful audience. GOODNIGHT CALIFORNIA! Yeah, just for kicks, ya know.
xoxo
<3 Tippy the Tired
Uhhhh, ym laptop is in epic fail mode. The magic little disk maker worker ma-jig does not workify! It's not magic and half those things weren't real words, shhh, not the point. Anyway, this happened once before. My now ex-boyfriend fixed it the first time. He had to re-set the BIOS defaults. I have no idea how to do this. It sounds dangerous. Will my laptop explode! I know, it won't really explode, or at least I hope it won't... But yeah, none of my stuff works and I can't put new CDs on iTunes and Peyton [my laptop] is about to go to the freaking computer doctors. Except guess what? Computer doctors cost money! I don't have money. I have a stupid laptop that refuses to obey basic rules of the universe like, IDK, WORK PROPERLY! Yes, the complainage, you just got a decent dose.
Apparently technology really hates me right now cause guess what else happened today? My phone died. Yes, died. Like, there's this creepy red light and every time I try to turn my phone on, it blinks at me all threateningly. Yes, because my phone literally has emotions now. So, I'm possibly getting a new phone for my birthday. I'll go get in Saturday since I'm not actually doing anything on my birthday. I'll tell you what, on my actual birthday, I'm gonna walk around in public in a party hat and make random videos. I want to see how people react to the pure awesome of the party hat. Yes, plan = made.
EPIC MOVIE AWESOME NEWS LIKE WHAT!? That was English, I swear. So, over the weekend when I was totally up in Oregon visiting realtives, I got an email via my phone [RIP dead phone]. This said email was from John Desalvio, the guy who wrote the newspaper article about me locally. He moved down near LA around the beginning of the Summer and he's been advertising my book. By the way, thanks for that. Anyone who gets the word out about my book automatically gets points on the awesome scale in life. Back to the amazing story. So, he made friends with this guy who he's been calling Ross [no idea if that's a first or a last name. hey, maybe that's his only name! omg, Ross is an alian! nahhhh. he's a "friends" character, tee hee]. Ross is a movie producer. I know, super nifty status. He is interested in my book. Yeah, my book! Not some other Tiffany Marie Saxe's Etched in Stone Book One of the Skyla Chronicles. Cause, ya know, if there was another one, well that'd just be awkward, right? So, it's a tiny spark in the glitter of life's amazing. It's an opportunity that I'm exploring. It's something I can look into in the near future and get details on. It's something my publishing company should really email me back about cause dude, I wanna know what's going on here! A movie would be so awesome! A real live amazing awesome cool nifty movie! So cool in fact, that I'm blogging about it.
Penguins! I have no idea why, but if you respond to random questions with "Penguins!", life becomes far more entertaining. For example, "Can you pass the salad?" "Penguins!" "Er, salad?" See, amazing!
I worked all day today. Can you tell by the random train of thought going here? In daycare this morning, a bunch of our kids were playing these educational computer games we've had since I was a kid. They play them on our old Windows Millenium computer. Bahahaha, the mot failed of all computers. It had a virus at some point too making it made even more of fail.
So, they were playing this "Arthur's Underwater Adventure" reading game. There were like 5 boys gathered around the screen yelling at the kid trying to read. I swear, I thought we were gonna have to break up a fight dude. Apparently little kids take this stuff really seriously. I was kind of laughing which makes me a bad person by default, but oh well, that's life. No worries, no one was hurt. The only point is, children are violent and attack each other!
Glad to have been blogging with you tonight. You were a wonderful audience. GOODNIGHT CALIFORNIA! Yeah, just for kicks, ya know.
xoxo
<3 Tippy the Tired
- Location:my frickin' kitchen yo
- Mood:
geeky - Music:demi lovato -- "catch me"
Okay, as I'm sure no one in their right mind has noticed, I make up some pretty awesome stuff. Alongside being a super awesome less-than-known author, I also work in a daycare. It's a family owned business and I work with kids all the time. So, my sense of humor can be described as easily amused and childish. The following are things that assorted different people and small children have literally picked up from me:
HOLY KITTIES! -- Holy kitties was created in high school. I have no idea where this thought originated, it just sort of fell from the sky one day between world civ and geometry. Or at least, I'd imagine so. My memory's not what it used to be, bahaha.
PIDDLE! -- This is used both in terms of a reference to going pee or as a term of frustration. Example: "OH PIDDLE! Someone forgot to let the dog in!" Or, "Brb, need to go piddle." Yes, the second one is do entirely to the fact that i share waaayyyy too much information with my friends.
YOUR MOM'S MOM IS YOUR GRANDMA! -- This came from the endless stream of "Your Mom" jokes that have circulated since, Idk, I was born! This one is so obvious that it stumps people. Or, at least it used to. Now, I hear it everywhere. I turn around on a busy side-walk and hear it screamed and then am befuddled by the wonder of travel of my obvioulsy amazing words. I guess it started with my friends saying it because I said it and now it has traveled. I feel special and in need of a copyright.
HEY THERE KOALA BEAR, YEAH YOU YA KANGAROO! -- My kids in daycare find this utterly amazing because, OMG, IT RHYMES! I know, it is awesome. Anyway, when I went shopping over the weekend, I got a t-shirt with a koala on it just because this random phrase rocks my socks off my feetsies.
WHINER, WHINER, IN A DINER! -- This does imply that all whiners chillax in diners. I know. My two nieces ahve picked this up and think it is the funnest thing to say in the whole entire world. As a matter of fact, my 4-year-old sat in the car one day and sang the phrase over and over and over again until her mother, her sister, and I felt like getting earplugs. Please, don't adapt a liking to this one, it's now driving everyone crazy.
There are many other amazing phrases to be added to this list in the future. For now, mull those ones over. They rock. Also, just for kicks, check out this awesome YouTube video I made to advertise my wickedly awesome book, Etched in Stone, Book One of the Skyla Chronicles.
HOLY KITTIES! -- Holy kitties was created in high school. I have no idea where this thought originated, it just sort of fell from the sky one day between world civ and geometry. Or at least, I'd imagine so. My memory's not what it used to be, bahaha.
PIDDLE! -- This is used both in terms of a reference to going pee or as a term of frustration. Example: "OH PIDDLE! Someone forgot to let the dog in!" Or, "Brb, need to go piddle." Yes, the second one is do entirely to the fact that i share waaayyyy too much information with my friends.
YOUR MOM'S MOM IS YOUR GRANDMA! -- This came from the endless stream of "Your Mom" jokes that have circulated since, Idk, I was born! This one is so obvious that it stumps people. Or, at least it used to. Now, I hear it everywhere. I turn around on a busy side-walk and hear it screamed and then am befuddled by the wonder of travel of my obvioulsy amazing words. I guess it started with my friends saying it because I said it and now it has traveled. I feel special and in need of a copyright.
HEY THERE KOALA BEAR, YEAH YOU YA KANGAROO! -- My kids in daycare find this utterly amazing because, OMG, IT RHYMES! I know, it is awesome. Anyway, when I went shopping over the weekend, I got a t-shirt with a koala on it just because this random phrase rocks my socks off my feetsies.
WHINER, WHINER, IN A DINER! -- This does imply that all whiners chillax in diners. I know. My two nieces ahve picked this up and think it is the funnest thing to say in the whole entire world. As a matter of fact, my 4-year-old sat in the car one day and sang the phrase over and over and over again until her mother, her sister, and I felt like getting earplugs. Please, don't adapt a liking to this one, it's now driving everyone crazy.
There are many other amazing phrases to be added to this list in the future. For now, mull those ones over. They rock. Also, just for kicks, check out this awesome YouTube video I made to advertise my wickedly awesome book, Etched in Stone, Book One of the Skyla Chronicles.
Thanks guys.
xoxo
<3 Tippy
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- Location:my roooooom
- Mood: sleepy
- Music:frou frou -- "breathe in"
I've started to become neglectful of my wondrous blog once more! We can't have that now, can we? I shall fill you all in about my lovely day at the ocean!
I went to the beach today with my best friend, Hannah, and her cousin, Amanda. Now, first thing's first. How old is Amanda? I think she's like 15. Hannah's 19, and I'll be 19 in July. I don't think age should define who you can be friends with. Just tossing that one out there for starts.
Transitioning back to my beautiful ocean! Yes, I call it my ocean. I tag it in pictures as "tippy's ocean." Why the obscure level of attachment to the massive body of water? Well, when I go to the ocean, I feel most at home, most alive. I look into those crashing waves and get caught up in that wild sensation of pure freedom. The only boundaries existing are the coast lines that can't contain such beauty. Yes, I'm cheesy and a total sucker for the ocean. My mother hates the ocean. She thinks it's too cold and too windy. She hates the smell of sea weed and it would be a horrible thing if she got wet. Me though? I love the smells, the crashing waves as the wind billows around my already messy brown hair. I love the freezing, numbing sensation as I stand in the water with my two friends. I love the sound of shreiking laughter as another wave crashes into us, as if we didn't expect it or something. I also love that feeling as my arms are spread out, welcoming it all in. This may sound creepy, but when I die, I want to be close to the ocean, to the water. I want my soul to get soaked up into the endlessness, the mystery. Yes, I'm cynical since I've turned this into something about death, but we've all got to be honest here.
There's this whole other aspect of the ocean that also must be acknowledged. I love the drive that takes us there. I love the music blasting and the windows down as we transition from one world to another completely. I love those parts of the road that twist up the coast. It's like a roller coaster beside the best movie I've ever seen. I love how soothing the sound of waves and sea gulls and people laughing and talking and wind rushing all combine together to create. I love sand! I love covering my feet and legs in it as I feel it under my butt. I love that weird feeling after you've just gotten up from being covered in the stuff. It's like you're some new creature rising up from it. I love running into the water to wash it all away again. It becomes a clean slate. I love clean slates. Clean slates are like new friends. You get to make a whole new introduction and laugh about all new things. Yes, sand and water are the beginnings of clean slates.
Back to reality again, today was beautiful. I've needed a beautiful day because honestly, the past few days, weeks, months, have all been rather confusing. I've been sort of depressed. I'm not suicidal or anything, nothing to be concerned about captain red flag. Just, ya know, out of it. I need these careful doses of laughter to keep me sane. I feel restless, I want to go out and adventure and make life seem more thrilling. I want to fall in love again! I want to laugh at least once a day and really, really mean it. I want my smile to be 100% authentic. Yes, that sounds cheesy too. Hot damn! I'm just exceptionally cheesy in this here blog post! So, who wants to help me make this vision a reality? Let's go adventuring! Let's explore life until there's nothing left to see. Let's be real! Let's have fun! Go with me? I don't want to be a lone adventurer after all.
I went to the beach today with my best friend, Hannah, and her cousin, Amanda. Now, first thing's first. How old is Amanda? I think she's like 15. Hannah's 19, and I'll be 19 in July. I don't think age should define who you can be friends with. Just tossing that one out there for starts.
Transitioning back to my beautiful ocean! Yes, I call it my ocean. I tag it in pictures as "tippy's ocean." Why the obscure level of attachment to the massive body of water? Well, when I go to the ocean, I feel most at home, most alive. I look into those crashing waves and get caught up in that wild sensation of pure freedom. The only boundaries existing are the coast lines that can't contain such beauty. Yes, I'm cheesy and a total sucker for the ocean. My mother hates the ocean. She thinks it's too cold and too windy. She hates the smell of sea weed and it would be a horrible thing if she got wet. Me though? I love the smells, the crashing waves as the wind billows around my already messy brown hair. I love the freezing, numbing sensation as I stand in the water with my two friends. I love the sound of shreiking laughter as another wave crashes into us, as if we didn't expect it or something. I also love that feeling as my arms are spread out, welcoming it all in. This may sound creepy, but when I die, I want to be close to the ocean, to the water. I want my soul to get soaked up into the endlessness, the mystery. Yes, I'm cynical since I've turned this into something about death, but we've all got to be honest here.
There's this whole other aspect of the ocean that also must be acknowledged. I love the drive that takes us there. I love the music blasting and the windows down as we transition from one world to another completely. I love those parts of the road that twist up the coast. It's like a roller coaster beside the best movie I've ever seen. I love how soothing the sound of waves and sea gulls and people laughing and talking and wind rushing all combine together to create. I love sand! I love covering my feet and legs in it as I feel it under my butt. I love that weird feeling after you've just gotten up from being covered in the stuff. It's like you're some new creature rising up from it. I love running into the water to wash it all away again. It becomes a clean slate. I love clean slates. Clean slates are like new friends. You get to make a whole new introduction and laugh about all new things. Yes, sand and water are the beginnings of clean slates.
Back to reality again, today was beautiful. I've needed a beautiful day because honestly, the past few days, weeks, months, have all been rather confusing. I've been sort of depressed. I'm not suicidal or anything, nothing to be concerned about captain red flag. Just, ya know, out of it. I need these careful doses of laughter to keep me sane. I feel restless, I want to go out and adventure and make life seem more thrilling. I want to fall in love again! I want to laugh at least once a day and really, really mean it. I want my smile to be 100% authentic. Yes, that sounds cheesy too. Hot damn! I'm just exceptionally cheesy in this here blog post! So, who wants to help me make this vision a reality? Let's go adventuring! Let's explore life until there's nothing left to see. Let's be real! Let's have fun! Go with me? I don't want to be a lone adventurer after all.
- Location:my kitchen
- Mood: sleepy
- Music:"light up the sky" -- yellowcard
Today, I woke up sick and tired and I had to go to a bbq in town. It was also my sister's birthday. I drank two cups of coffee [yes, it was horrible for my health, thanks for asking]. I then proceeded to waste away my early hours talking Toby, Leslie, and Sara online and via text. My ride came. I went to the bbq and spotted my best friend, Hannah, near the entrance. I sent her a randomly semi-creepy stalker text saying "I see you, tee hee." She sent me back a text reading, "I don't see you." Yes, this went on but I'll shut up now because let's face it, Han and I are freaks. My dad, younger brother, and younger sister entered the carnival atmosphere to find my mom at the pie booth and then my sister and her two daughters around the rides. This play-by-play sucks. I don't even know why I'm discussing my day. Wow, I'm lame. Shhh. We got food and the kids rode rides. I met up with Hannah we walked around talking about nothing for like 20 minutes. She left to play bingo and I sat in the grass with my sister while her oldest daughter rode the airplane ride. I read. Yes, I brought a book to a carnival/bbq. Why? Cause I'm the weird girl who carries several books around with her on a regular basis just in case moments like that come up. We went and got food. I ate a corn dog. We got in the car to head home after picking up my nephew from his momma. We all sat around the house whining for a while. We're such whiners. Then my sister opened her birthday presents. We sang an exceptionally crappy rendition of Happy Birthday and then everyone ate chocolate caramel cake except me cause I felt like throwing up. I don't feel like throwing up anymore but all I've eaten all day is a corn dog. I feel strangely unbalanced. Two cups of coffee and a corn dog can't be considered good eating habits. I feel like I should make a salad or something to make up for this. Nahhh. I'm too busy obsessively cleaning my house so that my sister won't have to deal with it when she comes home. I know, I win. This was fun. Everyday, I should post a stupid blog about my day. Although, most days, I'd be blogging about my daycare job and that would get a little too repetitious. I'm gonna go see if I can scrounge up some dinner. Night peoples.
- Location:my kitchen
- Mood: exhausted
- Music:"mean so much" -- la rocca
On that same topic, I'd just like to state, I'm single! That's right, freaking single! And people act like there's something wrong with that. My sister says, "We'll find you a nice guy." And my family acts like it's something sort of important. Why can't I just be a sweet, successful author girl who is a little more eccentric and is showing off her newly found independence! I don't want to be trapped in those confined spaces a relationship causes anyway. It was fun while it lasted but when someone tells you that they no longer love you but simply just don't care, it leaves you feeling like you need to be who you really are. Next time I ever end up with anyone, it's not going to be a joke. It's not going to be "not worth it anymore." Lesson learned. In the meanwhile, my name is Tippy and I am my own person. I don't need to act like anything or be what you all expect me to be. I don't need to use sarcasm to hide anything, although I'll still abuse sarcasm on a regular basis, shhhh. I don't need to try to be funny or uninterested in things. I can just breathe and accept things as they are. Yes, that's all there is to it. Just breathe.
That got off topic as all hell. Let's go back to that fun conversation about all teh adventures I want to have. I want to overcome every stupid fear and anxiety I've had through my life. I want to get on a freaking plane and not worry that it's the end of the world. I want to use an elevator without losing my ability to breathe. I want to hold a spider or snake without feeling the sudden desire to scream. I want to dance again! Not like dance class dance. I want to dance just because it's fun! I want to laugh and cry and see. I want to feel like life is being lived to its fullest. Again, this is all just talk. What I really want is to make memories that are beyond anything that could ahve been pre-determined. I want to experience things that I never imagined I would. I want to step outside the boxes life keeps offering and just be real. Let's all try it. I hear reality can be pretty damn interesting. So, let's go. I mean, I'll have to win the lotto first or something. After that though, let's get on a plane and hope I don't freak out. Life's ahead and it's not nearly as bad as we keep saying it is.
- Location:my room
- Mood: exhausted
- Music:"forever & almost always" - kate voegele
I know, I've got to stop making up words, right? So, today's nifty topic is my inability to type without making at least a million typos. I mean, I've been browsing my old blog entries and realized it's like deciphering a freaking code! There are all the normal typos like "teh" secretly meaning the. Then I've got these seriously annoying ones where I type over the keys and somehow, "their" turns into "hteir" or some such. The madness goes on and on. I hate it when I can't figure out my own typos. I'll sit there and be like, "Hmm, I think that was supposed to be 'Psychotic' but I'm not positive." Yup.
I'm kind of worn out on real topics. I'm better at sitting here and pretending I have something important to tell you. I love this stupid blog. I mean, how many people out there actually read this? How did you find it? I leave links on Myspace and Facebook and even Twitter from time to time. Are you guys really paying attention? The other day, Marcus made a reference to it and I was like, "Holy kitties! You really did read it! I was just being sarcastic!" It's always kind of exciting to know someone cares enough to listen to you blabber on a screen for an exceptionally long amount of time. If I had more energy and wisdom and jolly such things, I'd start coming up with topics that matter. I'm capable of beng opinionated, I simply choose not to because I hate the debates that follow.
I used to be half-way decent at debating. I once told Jamie I could convince someone I didn't kill someone. Not that I've killed anyone. Just saying, it's those creative juices flowing. Oh, and the acting skills. If you have that perfectly serious tone there, anything is possible. I'm a horrible liar but when it comes to acting, I can give it a shot when determined.
Oooo, fun stories about acting. In high school, I was awful at it. I couldn't remember lines, I always had the wrong look on my face, my teacher kind of disliked me, yeah. So I took four years of the damn class. I never got any even remotely lead role. Hell, I never even got a role. The closest thing I got to a role was playing one of the misc. numbered fairies in A Midsummer Night's Dream. I got to wear a tie-dye t-shirt and a blue tutu. Yeah, that was a fun show. I don't think my teacher ever considered that I might be capable of acting. I sort of let the dream of becoming any type of actress escape me for fear of disappointing others. Now though? Now I'm a big girl. All I need to figure out is memorizing lines and maybe I'd stand a chance.
I think there's something wrong with my memory. I mean, my teachers used to say I had a writer's memory. I was always focused on other things and couldn't see what was really going on around me. Yes, that's semi-true. How would you feel if you were secretly plotting out like five full scale novels in your head on a more than regular basis! It's too easy to fall behind on memorizing other things. I get flashbacks from hgih school geometry classes. Ya know, I was the girl in teh back of the class doodling on my bookmark random phrases like, "Dear Emmy..." Yeah, you can see where it got me today, but still. I had to take gemotry twice for moral purposes. Yes, I say it was a striking fit of good morals kicking in. Ya know, because saying I got a "D" the first time is just embarassing. I wa sonly a sophomore in high school. Oh, and I've sucked at math since I was a kid. I've never been all that great in school. I hate homework and testing and rude people. Oh, that's right, that sums up the entire public school system. I shouldn't bash the public school system. There are some extremely great people who worked at my old public high school. Then there are obnoxious teenagers who glare at you for no reason. I was that geeky, smiley type of girl. Yeah, I walked across the quad during breaks with this goofy grin for no reason. Maybe they thought my head was filled with marbles! Ooo, that's a delightful thought. I was just trying to keep it real man. I don't resent the people I used to go to school with as much as pity a fair few of them. You know the ones I mean.
Yes, here it comes, the 'people who are mean to me from high school' speech. They still talk down to me. They offer that "Here, let me tell you how to do everything" attitude as if it's actually helping someone. At least I try to place myself on an even ground with everyone else. I don't care if you're my teachers, my best friend, a freshmen, a senior, or whatever, I'll treat you decently. It were those individual crowds who mingled about. There were the popular, indie hipsters who literally thought they'd had their own way of life written out nice and clear. There were the less than brilliantly intelligent populars who wore designer labels and acted like they were more important than us until they were paired with us for a class project. There were the jocks who had their heads so far up their butts that they couldn't see straight. there were the cheerleaders who looked like there was always something wrong with them. There were the "too cool for you" dance team members who walked around like they owned the world. There were the weirdos up by the tree who talked about bands no one had ever heard of and secrelty planned meetings to play dungeons and dragons. There were the emos who wore dark clothes and up front talked about how much they hated life in general. There were the preppy smart kids who only really hung out with the indie hipsters. There were also the super geeks who hid out in the library. Then, there were no man's land type kids like me. We hung out with too many groups to keep track. We tried to avoid the hicks but it's not like we couldn't talk to them or something. Girls like me mingled with the weirdos by the tree with a free pass saying we didn't know how to play dungeons and dragons. We knew the indie hipsters and the intelligent preps on a speaking term basis. We did projects with the cheerleaders and jocks and shocked them with our surprisingly funny sarcasm. We made best friends from mixed genres of high school students and when we left... Only our close friends managed to remember us. That's right, people have really forgotten me.
I keep seeing people from high school around town and the city and such. I wave and offer them that same goofy smile I once wore across that stupid quad to my locker between classes but now? Now they give me that "who the hell are you?" look. It's shameless. So, I cut my hair different and I got contacts. I look like a young woman as opposed to a middle schooler in the wrong building. That doesn't make me some alian creature or something. I saw a girl who I spent all of senior year sitting next to, she didn't even really look at me. I saw another girl who I had 3 years of acting with and she looked at me like I was some disease. Then, there are those that remember us when we wish they might not. The indie hipsters make a comeback! They see me now and heard that I wrote a book so, suddenly they're happy for me or something. Before though? Before they gave me that disdainful look like I wasn't intelligent enough or something. I swear, people must ahve honestly thought my head was full of marbles! Here's a grand slice of advice for your life's casserole! All of those silly little comments were just for fun. My mind isn't as empty as a sack of potatoes. I was real and I was there. Not very many people cared to look hard enough to see that just beneath that layer of geeky, quirky Tippyness, there was something else beautiful beneath teh surface. So beautiful that it would sound cheesy and almost artificial if I placed it here. You'd have to take it in the context of a Jane Austen novel or one of Keria Knightley's films to really appreciate where I'm coming from. There's that way of seeing life like every moment was building up to that one. I see life like every second is shot in the perfect lighting for a movie I'm casting, directing, producing. I see people and read their gestures, expressions, feelings. I can read you by the way you stand and carry yourself. Maybe beneath the pompous layer indie hipster coolness, you're just fighting to keep your head above the water. You work hard to maintain an appearance of confidence. You make others think you have everything planned out. In reality our lives are just a series of those moments, those stupid little glimpses. And even though, at the time, we feel like they just don't matter, they really do matter. So, I don't care if you remember me from high school or not. I don't care who you were or if you saw me for who I am or was or might be someday. I don't care what you think unless you were one of those select few who took the time to see that I was and am a living human being. Let's see, there's: Hannah, Bri, Marcus, Jamie, Cayla, Jess, Sarah, Robby, Lance, Leslie, Alicia, Colin, and Caitie. Those are a few who know me. They know that I do random things like cry myself to sleep when I'm stressed out or need a nightlight because I'm terrified spiders will get me. They know I won't enter an elevator unless drugged or something. They know love to camp and swim and kayak. They know I love to write and draw and have kept obsessive journals since I was ten. They know I listen to music that helps me breathe again. They know I have a high respect for life in general and possess a level of compassion that would astound some. They know I'm here for them and that I love them just for listening. They know the dark bits of my past and have shared many moments of light, happieness that I won't ever be capable of forgetting. They've danced with me, sang with me, walked with me, talked with me. They've cried with me, watched others come and then go again. They've held their breath with me through moments that were scary and they've let all the breath back out again when we've laughed so hard we can't possibly think of taking another. They've been in my photo albums, my old rooms, my backyard, my heart, my mind, my soul. They've taken chances on me, made bets with me, tricked me, told me they tricked me, made fun of me, made me remember that they never mean to make fun of me. They've held my hand, wrapped an arm around my shoulder, offered me up a huge hug, one's kissed me on the lips, others have kissed me on the cheek. They've jumped from stumps, rope swings, and docks on lakes with me. They've been pushed into the pool by me or have pushed me into the pool. They've played mindless board games with me and managed to pass hours off as having fun doing so just because. They've stayed up long nights tellings scary stories with me. They've watched endless movies with me. They've taken me on adventures, they've read my adventures here, they've kept going no matter what stupid thing has come. They've fought their way out of drugs, alcohol, smoking, car accidents, constant family emergencies, homelessness, depression, anxiety, busy schedules, and life's general chaos hitting one blow after another. These people may or may not know it, but I care for them more than I can possibly verbalize at this moment in time. These people are my heroes.
I'm kind of worn out on real topics. I'm better at sitting here and pretending I have something important to tell you. I love this stupid blog. I mean, how many people out there actually read this? How did you find it? I leave links on Myspace and Facebook and even Twitter from time to time. Are you guys really paying attention? The other day, Marcus made a reference to it and I was like, "Holy kitties! You really did read it! I was just being sarcastic!" It's always kind of exciting to know someone cares enough to listen to you blabber on a screen for an exceptionally long amount of time. If I had more energy and wisdom and jolly such things, I'd start coming up with topics that matter. I'm capable of beng opinionated, I simply choose not to because I hate the debates that follow.
I used to be half-way decent at debating. I once told Jamie I could convince someone I didn't kill someone. Not that I've killed anyone. Just saying, it's those creative juices flowing. Oh, and the acting skills. If you have that perfectly serious tone there, anything is possible. I'm a horrible liar but when it comes to acting, I can give it a shot when determined.
Oooo, fun stories about acting. In high school, I was awful at it. I couldn't remember lines, I always had the wrong look on my face, my teacher kind of disliked me, yeah. So I took four years of the damn class. I never got any even remotely lead role. Hell, I never even got a role. The closest thing I got to a role was playing one of the misc. numbered fairies in A Midsummer Night's Dream. I got to wear a tie-dye t-shirt and a blue tutu. Yeah, that was a fun show. I don't think my teacher ever considered that I might be capable of acting. I sort of let the dream of becoming any type of actress escape me for fear of disappointing others. Now though? Now I'm a big girl. All I need to figure out is memorizing lines and maybe I'd stand a chance.
I think there's something wrong with my memory. I mean, my teachers used to say I had a writer's memory. I was always focused on other things and couldn't see what was really going on around me. Yes, that's semi-true. How would you feel if you were secretly plotting out like five full scale novels in your head on a more than regular basis! It's too easy to fall behind on memorizing other things. I get flashbacks from hgih school geometry classes. Ya know, I was the girl in teh back of the class doodling on my bookmark random phrases like, "Dear Emmy..." Yeah, you can see where it got me today, but still. I had to take gemotry twice for moral purposes. Yes, I say it was a striking fit of good morals kicking in. Ya know, because saying I got a "D" the first time is just embarassing. I wa sonly a sophomore in high school. Oh, and I've sucked at math since I was a kid. I've never been all that great in school. I hate homework and testing and rude people. Oh, that's right, that sums up the entire public school system. I shouldn't bash the public school system. There are some extremely great people who worked at my old public high school. Then there are obnoxious teenagers who glare at you for no reason. I was that geeky, smiley type of girl. Yeah, I walked across the quad during breaks with this goofy grin for no reason. Maybe they thought my head was filled with marbles! Ooo, that's a delightful thought. I was just trying to keep it real man. I don't resent the people I used to go to school with as much as pity a fair few of them. You know the ones I mean.
Yes, here it comes, the 'people who are mean to me from high school' speech. They still talk down to me. They offer that "Here, let me tell you how to do everything" attitude as if it's actually helping someone. At least I try to place myself on an even ground with everyone else. I don't care if you're my teachers, my best friend, a freshmen, a senior, or whatever, I'll treat you decently. It were those individual crowds who mingled about. There were the popular, indie hipsters who literally thought they'd had their own way of life written out nice and clear. There were the less than brilliantly intelligent populars who wore designer labels and acted like they were more important than us until they were paired with us for a class project. There were the jocks who had their heads so far up their butts that they couldn't see straight. there were the cheerleaders who looked like there was always something wrong with them. There were the "too cool for you" dance team members who walked around like they owned the world. There were the weirdos up by the tree who talked about bands no one had ever heard of and secrelty planned meetings to play dungeons and dragons. There were the emos who wore dark clothes and up front talked about how much they hated life in general. There were the preppy smart kids who only really hung out with the indie hipsters. There were also the super geeks who hid out in the library. Then, there were no man's land type kids like me. We hung out with too many groups to keep track. We tried to avoid the hicks but it's not like we couldn't talk to them or something. Girls like me mingled with the weirdos by the tree with a free pass saying we didn't know how to play dungeons and dragons. We knew the indie hipsters and the intelligent preps on a speaking term basis. We did projects with the cheerleaders and jocks and shocked them with our surprisingly funny sarcasm. We made best friends from mixed genres of high school students and when we left... Only our close friends managed to remember us. That's right, people have really forgotten me.
I keep seeing people from high school around town and the city and such. I wave and offer them that same goofy smile I once wore across that stupid quad to my locker between classes but now? Now they give me that "who the hell are you?" look. It's shameless. So, I cut my hair different and I got contacts. I look like a young woman as opposed to a middle schooler in the wrong building. That doesn't make me some alian creature or something. I saw a girl who I spent all of senior year sitting next to, she didn't even really look at me. I saw another girl who I had 3 years of acting with and she looked at me like I was some disease. Then, there are those that remember us when we wish they might not. The indie hipsters make a comeback! They see me now and heard that I wrote a book so, suddenly they're happy for me or something. Before though? Before they gave me that disdainful look like I wasn't intelligent enough or something. I swear, people must ahve honestly thought my head was full of marbles! Here's a grand slice of advice for your life's casserole! All of those silly little comments were just for fun. My mind isn't as empty as a sack of potatoes. I was real and I was there. Not very many people cared to look hard enough to see that just beneath that layer of geeky, quirky Tippyness, there was something else beautiful beneath teh surface. So beautiful that it would sound cheesy and almost artificial if I placed it here. You'd have to take it in the context of a Jane Austen novel or one of Keria Knightley's films to really appreciate where I'm coming from. There's that way of seeing life like every moment was building up to that one. I see life like every second is shot in the perfect lighting for a movie I'm casting, directing, producing. I see people and read their gestures, expressions, feelings. I can read you by the way you stand and carry yourself. Maybe beneath the pompous layer indie hipster coolness, you're just fighting to keep your head above the water. You work hard to maintain an appearance of confidence. You make others think you have everything planned out. In reality our lives are just a series of those moments, those stupid little glimpses. And even though, at the time, we feel like they just don't matter, they really do matter. So, I don't care if you remember me from high school or not. I don't care who you were or if you saw me for who I am or was or might be someday. I don't care what you think unless you were one of those select few who took the time to see that I was and am a living human being. Let's see, there's: Hannah, Bri, Marcus, Jamie, Cayla, Jess, Sarah, Robby, Lance, Leslie, Alicia, Colin, and Caitie. Those are a few who know me. They know that I do random things like cry myself to sleep when I'm stressed out or need a nightlight because I'm terrified spiders will get me. They know I won't enter an elevator unless drugged or something. They know love to camp and swim and kayak. They know I love to write and draw and have kept obsessive journals since I was ten. They know I listen to music that helps me breathe again. They know I have a high respect for life in general and possess a level of compassion that would astound some. They know I'm here for them and that I love them just for listening. They know the dark bits of my past and have shared many moments of light, happieness that I won't ever be capable of forgetting. They've danced with me, sang with me, walked with me, talked with me. They've cried with me, watched others come and then go again. They've held their breath with me through moments that were scary and they've let all the breath back out again when we've laughed so hard we can't possibly think of taking another. They've been in my photo albums, my old rooms, my backyard, my heart, my mind, my soul. They've taken chances on me, made bets with me, tricked me, told me they tricked me, made fun of me, made me remember that they never mean to make fun of me. They've held my hand, wrapped an arm around my shoulder, offered me up a huge hug, one's kissed me on the lips, others have kissed me on the cheek. They've jumped from stumps, rope swings, and docks on lakes with me. They've been pushed into the pool by me or have pushed me into the pool. They've played mindless board games with me and managed to pass hours off as having fun doing so just because. They've stayed up long nights tellings scary stories with me. They've watched endless movies with me. They've taken me on adventures, they've read my adventures here, they've kept going no matter what stupid thing has come. They've fought their way out of drugs, alcohol, smoking, car accidents, constant family emergencies, homelessness, depression, anxiety, busy schedules, and life's general chaos hitting one blow after another. These people may or may not know it, but I care for them more than I can possibly verbalize at this moment in time. These people are my heroes.
- Location:my room
- Mood: awake
- Music:"let me sign" - vitamin string quartet
There was something I was supposed to tell y'all about... The presentation! Yeah, about that... It went GREAT! Thanks to anyone who wished me luck cause guess what? I had some freakin' luck! The only downside, I went to my younger siblings' class. Yeah, I have two younger siblings. Twins, a boy and a girl. Bowen, the boy, and I are pretty close. We have that random sense of humor. Yeah, we win at life. Anyway, he wouldn't shut up through the whole presentation. I mean, I love the kid, but honestly? He asked me for my autograph. I was like, "Dude, I'll see you at dinner tonight." The rest of the class totally digged me though. Yeah, that's right, digged. I used cool words like that. Thus you loving me. 30 minutes left. I'm good on time.
My friends Sarah and I are IMing. I told her I was in the middle of a blog. She goes, "I hope you're talking about me." I was like, "Sure, I'll throw a random mention of you in. Then all my fans will know about you. Cause, ya know, I have sooooo many fans." <- Note all sarcasm placed on this statement for anyone who thinks I'm actually a pompous witch. Anywho, Sarah says, "I'm your number one fan." I laughed. Just thought I'd share, ya know, for her sake and all her amazing skills. In case you don't know her, she's awesome.
Back to the presentation. A whole bunch of those kids have actually read my book. Who else in the room thinks that's the most badass thing of the day? Oh that's right, everyone raises their hand, just like at the presentation! This girl, Madison [1 of Bo's supposed ex-girlfriends], is totally awesome. She read my book and has got that thing down. Man those kids were awesome. I'll shut up about how awesome everyone was. Yeah, I'm having some attention issues. I can't focus right now and I kind of feel like passing out on the couch. What's the verdict? To pass out on the couch or not to pass out on the couch, that is the question! I onyl have 26 minutes left. Man, Peyton's nifty. She somehow knows how to slow down time for me to make blog entries. Maybe it's all this side-tracking. I keep getting interested in random thigns that are completely irrelevent to the blog. I'm like, oh look, my dog's snoring! Or hey, my movie just re-started itself. It must have magic powers. That's pretty damn funny cause it's Harry Potter. That reminds me of Marcos referring to having psychic powers as "pulling a Trelawny." J.K. Rowling needs to read this stupid blog someday and realize that psychic powers are being specifically catagorized according to her characters now. I mean, I could see throwing a "pulling a Lupin." in for a werewolf setting but a Trelawny! I love Marcos for being able to pull that off. I'm a geek, he's a geek, you're a geek. WE'RE ALL FREAKING GEEKS! Now, let's dress up like Harry, Ron, and Hermione on July 15th and go to a midnight premier already! Oh yeah, that jsut went there. Where am I going now? That's right, to bed. This couch sucks. Goodnight readers of my magical blog of geekiness. I love you even if I don't know you.
<3 Tippy
- Location:my couch
- Mood: sleepy
- Music:uhm, harry potter 5 movie
Hey readers, er blog readers. However you'd like to put that. I wasn't going to post another blog up until I did my Wednesday presentation but today was interesting so, I shall enlighten you with what happened.
So, I've been kinda stressed out about some drama in life and all. Lately, it's been hectic since I moved in with my sister and everything. I'd had a long day at work and I guess I sounded really down over the phone or something cause I texted two friends and they got really worried. I shall now take this moment to describe Bri and Jamie.
I have no idea how many people I've introduced throughout the course of this blog so far, but Bri and Jamie are pretty amazing ones. I thought they were mad at me or something because of what someone else had said, yeah a he said she said deal, and I texted them saying I was sorry. Text messages are not a great way to tell emotion so, naturally, Bri and Jamie both called me.
Jamie got the worse end of it. I guess I sounded like shit. I'd just had a long day of yelling at kids in daycare [metaphoric yelling, we're not allowed to actually yell at them] and I was getting an allergy attack from digging around in the garage at my parents' house. She and Bri both freaked out because they knew I'd been acting weird lately so, they gathered the troops and came out to my house to get me.
I got in the car and asked if they were staging some type of intervention. They sort of hesitently laughed. I was very confused and probably looked exceptionally blond [no offense to actual blonds because hell, Bri's blond and she's smarter than me, lol]. So, it was Bri driving, Jamie in front, and Cayla in the back next to me. Oh, and don't forget Paris, my pug.
We all drove over to my new house and when we got there, Marcus got out of his car in the driveway. I let them in and then the confession begins as Bri tells me they thought I was going to kill myself. I felt horrible! I mean, my friends drove out here because they thought suicide was on the verge here. I assured them I was okay and they stayed anyway.
We made top raman and lemonade [typical I just moved in and can't cook food ((i really couldn't cook so, Marcus made the raman))]. We watched random YouTube videos and then watched and episode of Family Guy on Hulu. They brought me some chocolate and made sure I was okay before heading back home.
So, this blog is to show that down the line, we meet amazing people. Sometimes, there are minor spats of drama or petty little falling outs but on those days where you just feel like crap, these guys step in and make the world feel half-way decent again. So, thank Bri, Marcus, Jamie, and Cayla. You guys really make my life. I'd never even think of killing myself with you guys here, not now anyway. I know you guys would just come running in with chocolate! [note sarcasm].
I love you guys. No, not in that random lesbian with a side of Marcus type way. I love you guys like you're all family and nothing will ever come between that.
<3 Tippy
So, I've been kinda stressed out about some drama in life and all. Lately, it's been hectic since I moved in with my sister and everything. I'd had a long day at work and I guess I sounded really down over the phone or something cause I texted two friends and they got really worried. I shall now take this moment to describe Bri and Jamie.
I have no idea how many people I've introduced throughout the course of this blog so far, but Bri and Jamie are pretty amazing ones. I thought they were mad at me or something because of what someone else had said, yeah a he said she said deal, and I texted them saying I was sorry. Text messages are not a great way to tell emotion so, naturally, Bri and Jamie both called me.
Jamie got the worse end of it. I guess I sounded like shit. I'd just had a long day of yelling at kids in daycare [metaphoric yelling, we're not allowed to actually yell at them] and I was getting an allergy attack from digging around in the garage at my parents' house. She and Bri both freaked out because they knew I'd been acting weird lately so, they gathered the troops and came out to my house to get me.
I got in the car and asked if they were staging some type of intervention. They sort of hesitently laughed. I was very confused and probably looked exceptionally blond [no offense to actual blonds because hell, Bri's blond and she's smarter than me, lol]. So, it was Bri driving, Jamie in front, and Cayla in the back next to me. Oh, and don't forget Paris, my pug.
We all drove over to my new house and when we got there, Marcus got out of his car in the driveway. I let them in and then the confession begins as Bri tells me they thought I was going to kill myself. I felt horrible! I mean, my friends drove out here because they thought suicide was on the verge here. I assured them I was okay and they stayed anyway.
We made top raman and lemonade [typical I just moved in and can't cook food ((i really couldn't cook so, Marcus made the raman))]. We watched random YouTube videos and then watched and episode of Family Guy on Hulu. They brought me some chocolate and made sure I was okay before heading back home.
So, this blog is to show that down the line, we meet amazing people. Sometimes, there are minor spats of drama or petty little falling outs but on those days where you just feel like crap, these guys step in and make the world feel half-way decent again. So, thank Bri, Marcus, Jamie, and Cayla. You guys really make my life. I'd never even think of killing myself with you guys here, not now anyway. I know you guys would just come running in with chocolate! [note sarcasm].
I love you guys. No, not in that random lesbian with a side of Marcus type way. I love you guys like you're all family and nothing will ever come between that.
<3 Tippy
- Location:my room
- Mood: loved
- Music:my pug snoring in the background
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tippy_marie- Tippy Marie
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