In other news.

I want a job so much.
I've applied at eleventy places and no one wants to hire a 15 year old because it's an "Obligation".  I don't know what that translates to in THEIR world, but in MINE, it means I can't get a job because they're meanies.

What REALLY pisses me off, though, is hearing kids at school who only LOOK older than me talk about how their bosses are jerks for firing them.  Like they expect to just skip a week here and there and be off fine.  Or minors getting pissy about not being allowed to take smoke breaks.  I hear this, and I know I would never be a bratty snot to an employer like that, and I get so mad because no one wants to hire me.

It's not that I need the extra money so much that it's bothering me to this extent.  Rather, I want to be employed at a place of business to perform a public service because that would make me feel more fulfilled.  The money, however, is kind of spent before it's earned right now.  There are a lot of things I really want to do this summer and if I can't find a job, theyr'e not going to happen.  *sigh*.  At least soon I'll be 16.  And that's not an obligation, apparently.

Writer's Block: You Wouldn't Understand

Almost everyone coins or uses expressions that make sense to only a few people. What word or phrase do you use most often that you have to explain the meaning of to others?

There are a lot. Mostly about Body art (I kind of make up words for stuff I don't know the names of). My favorite is calling people "squishy" as a term of endearment. also "turning into a pumpkin/cactus/mushroom" for being tired.

Hello, Oh-Nine.

<insert generic new year's post here>

     That said, O9 is looking like it will shape up to be quite the memorable year for me.  New Year's was awesome, Hannah's mom managed to have a dip in her craziness and seriously let Hannah stay the night last night.  It was great.  We watched an awful 60s movie, the beginning of what looked like a really good action movie, and of course the new Ball drop in Times Square.  I really like this New Year's Kiss idea.  In other news, I've had 2 cups of coffee and about a pint or so of Vault, so I'm caffeinated to the teeth like it should be.  Mom and Dad removed the insulation from the basement today, it was causing problems apparently.  Poor things, they're both still coughing.  I feel worst, though, about the nine-ish huge trash bags of fiberglass that are going to be taken to a landfill. It's weird, you know, because I don't think much of having two to four collected every week, though that must really stack up, it's just very guilty-making to see all that and know that it's never going to biodegrade and can't really be recycled.
     Off the topic.  This year, I've already got plans.  Big ones. This Saturday I'm having a whole bunch of friends over for movie night. Feeling productive, I'm spending the rest of this evening and tomorrowcleaning up my room and sorting out clothes that I don't wear enough to justify still having to be cashed in as much as possible at Plato's Closet.  Hopefully this will mean new jeans for me, though I know mom hates going jeans shopping with me.  I'm so picky about them, because I wear them with EVERYTHING so they haver to be really perfect.  Then the 20th Obama gets inaguirated, and that's pretty good news for most of us.  My school is on semester schedule, so when we start back I have ALL NEW classes.  A fresh look at everything. It's exciting.  In March, ani Difranco will be at the Orange Peel in Asheville. OH MY GOD. ANI DIFRANCO.   I'm going with my mom and Kara and Hannah and that is simply going to be an amazing night.  I have had a pretty awesome time at that venue in the past, and it's exciting to see someone so eloquent and talented in concert anyway.  Hannah's the most excited, though. I thought she was going to shit herself when I told her we'd gotten the tickets.  hee hee, I love doing that to her :3.  Speaking of, It's looking like she and I might get to go to New York this Summer for a while.  Which would be great, because she's never been. Plus, I didn't get to go this winter so my Big City Quota has just simply not been met as of late.
     I finished a puzzle, watched the entire Death Note series (Good anime, I recommend it.  Especially L.  I REALLY recommend him. *fangirls*), obtained the ability to send and recieve text messages on a mobile device, wrote a few poems, redecorated my room, kissed a girl in the rain, discovered some new bands, made a bunch of friends, made pretty good grades, joined the Poetry Club, and learned how to play one of Hannah's songs on guitar in 2008.  I did a lot of stuff this last year, and it makes me really happy to know that I was happy for the majority of it.

Oh, and I hate your resolutions. If they're resolute (as the word implies), they're tied to the Fail tracks with a fast train coming. A fast FAIL train.

Beautiful Love Story, by Haruki Murakami

One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.

Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.

Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.

But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.

"Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.

"Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"

"Not really."

"Your favorite type, then?"

"I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."


"Yeah. Strange."

"So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"

"Nah. Just passed her on the street."

She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.

Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.

After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.

Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.

Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.

How can I approach her? What should I say?

"Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"

Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.

"Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"

No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?

Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."

No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.

We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.

I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.

Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.

Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"

Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.

One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.

"This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."

"And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."

They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.

As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?

And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"

"Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."

And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.

The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.

One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.

They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.

Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.

One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:

She is the 100% perfect girl for me.

He is the 100% perfect boy for me.

But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fourteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.

A sad story, don't you think?

Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.

What's in my pockets:

Kaia Wilson's guitar pick, a quarter, directions to Hannah's first gig, ticket stub from last night, X'ed hands.

Amy Ray, KAIA WILSON (Who wasn't even ADVERTISED as being there, she just WAS and oh my effing GOD she was hot), the mohawky drummer and keyboardist and...the GUY who played bass, poor thing. Might as well have hid behind the curtain or something. Some drunk chick mom's age...informed me of how much my hat was like Jiffy pop, it was just a crocheted green skull cap thingy, and then I got KAIA WILSON'S GUITAR PICK OMGOMGOMG.

Soo I am of course going to be giving that one to Hannah, because I know she loves Kaia Wilsona and Amy Ray.

AND SHE HAS HER FIRST CONCERT TODAY!!! I don't think there are going to be a hideous amount of people there, though. It's just some little Kingsport Rec Center thing, not a big deal for anyone involved, really, except of course Hannah. But I am going because maybe I can help or something...I don't know...She's going to be so upset if she doesn't do well...Not, of course, that that is going to be an issue, because I know that girl and she can rock it.

I am so proud of her. And behing the cut are some pictures of my first modeling thing with Mr. Livonne and my new baby snake, which are both taking a back seat in my mind because Hannah needs me.

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Don't know if I'm overreacting, or if this is a valid opinion.

Today at lunch, the subject (once again) turned to what my friends think versus what I think of current political goings-on.  We were talking about gay marriage.  I want everyone to understand the pretense that while I do have a few homophobic friends, the people I SPEAK TO on such matters are totally supportive of me and anyone else with an unorthodox orientation.

So it came up that prop 8 was passed in California, and whether or not Elen Degeneres was still Married Legally and such.  We were all talking about how dumb this whole thing was, and then they started talking about how homosexual couples should have full marriage RIGHTS and all, but it should be CALLED something different.

I got really offended by this.  Especially my best friends arguing this with me.  That isn't fair!  And the argument they presented was, that little kids would ask questions about how two girls could be married and a girl and a boy could be married AND two boys could be married.  I told them that little kids don't even see it like that.  Ask a little kid about a biracial marriage, and they will tell you that these two PEOPLE love each other very much.  I think it's a step in the wrong direction to have to assign different names.  Something like that would just support the notion that gay people are any different from anyone else just because of it.

That's my take on the issue, anyway.