write me a novel, why dont you

My life is beautiful. It really is. I wake up at about four in the morning after a refreshing two hours of sleep, I throw together an eclectic outfit of sorts that always, by some miracle, gets complemented, and I go about my six hours of state-mandated education. This is beside the point though. What makes my life all the more beautiful are all the wonderfully sophisticated people who surround me. I hope you can tell that this story is taking a turn in the direction of acute sarcasm. Anyways, the best part of my life is when one of the many brilliant and innovative people who surround me decide to enlighten me upon how great their life is. Oh yes- there is nothing I enjoy more than listening to the incomparably thrilling night you had last night, of perhaps the weekend that you just spent completely innebriated throughout. I just love being reminded how cool you are, and taking comfort in the fact that my life will never come close to matching the excitement of yours. Really, I love it. Listening to how awesome someone's evening was gives me that same warm and fuzzy feeling you get when you go to seaworld and look through the glass at the impelling marine life before my eyes. You are truly the orca whale that I wish I could be. I can only hope that your glory may one day transcend into my lackluster life, because that's what really important to me.
Therefore, boys and girls, what have we learned today? Basically, after two hours of sleep, the last thing I want to hear about is the adventure you had last night. Chances are, you made up most of that shit. If you didn't, then even better- you probably should have been doing something less counterproductive to yourself and society. Please, go build a birdhouse or knit a potholder or something. Namely, save it for someone who has had a little more than two hours of sleep.

a little schmultz in your schmangle and this is how it goes

do you often times find yourself in social situations where you don't quite know how to compote yourself? do you sit at the dinner table, engulfed in a whirlwind of civillized small talk and get the feeling of being alone and lost in the world, like a lone, latin grizzly in the Andes? well fear not, o my children, for a solution hath come your way. below this eloquent introductory paragraph lies a well-thought-out list of questions to be asked at the dinner table. what was once a dinner for schucks is now a dinner gone a-muck... in the best way possible. so take a look. the pleasure is truly mine

1.) What are your views on the enron conspiracy?
2.) Raise your hand if you have ever been accused of witchcraft.
3.) If you had to pick one, would you rather have ebola or malaria?
4.) Would you marry Tom Cruise if you were an illegal alien and in desperate need of a citizenship by marriage?
5.) In all seriousness, would you agree that Gerard Butler is, for lack of a better term, "bangable" at any age (or any gender)?
6.) Do you think that members of the KKK secretly watch Tyler Perry films in their free time?
7.) Have you ever seen the sneezing panda video on youtube?
8.) Do you own any taxidermy pieces in your home?
9.) When was the last time you fell victim to a corprate scandal?
10.) Have you every thought about the fact that we are related to every person we sleep with in some way or another?
11.) Do you consider cockroaches to be demons in insect form?
12.) Would you ever partake in an underground cock fighting match?
13.) Do you prefer domestic american shorthair felines to persian ones?
14.) Do you believe in El Chupacabra?
15.) Have you ever spoken to the Virgen de Guadalupe (in any way)?
16.) Do you ever plan on getting vaccinated for malaria (it, too, can happen to you)?
17.) What do you personally favor, Legalism or Confucianism?
18.) Does your family have a history of heart disease?
19.) Sould catalonia be a country?
20.) Could you survive 24 hours in a room with episodes of "the nanny" being played back to back?

i hope that wasn't too unpolitically correct
and remember... ALWAYS stay on top of YOUR toes.

we are all fish in the sea

Those who say that we become more mature as we age... they're wrong. They're all wrong. We don't become wiser... reality simply becomes us. Think of reality as one massive fishing net, us being the fish.
When we are young, we are more aware of this net. We try to defy it, outsmart it, swim away from it. But either way, we can't help the fact that the current is pulling us in closer and closer until we can't see the netting anymore, yet we find ourselves trapped in it. We only realize that we are being pulled into a mental and emotional standard of sorts when we are young. And so we try to escape it.
When we are older, however, we have two choices- either to swim right into it, only to lose yourself to convention along with all the other fish in the sea... or to simply be lost in a vast and seldom populated ocean. An ocean where only the youngest and most foolish little guppies dare venture. In regards to love, we only see it for what it truly is when our minds are young, uncorrupt, untainted- hence why we don't feel it when we are younger. But when we are older, we become scared of swimming alone. We are afraid of what lies beyond the net. This is why we follow the other fish into the trap. Who is the fisherman, you may wonder? He... he is what will become of us once we have entered the net. The same outcome. The same fate. But I, as my own fish, want to see all that the ocean has to offer. I never want to swim into the net, nor do I want to swim alone. Love, therefore, is not the net. The net is what we as the fishies believe to be love. No... what love really is is wherever in the great vast ocean we feel scared and fascinated and adored by all that is around us. Where we feel we are alive.

once upon a time...

a young warrior in a far off land by the name of Chris Robinson informed me of a valuable piece of incentive. He told me that the prophecy instated that i was forsaken to write here an article about thy photography career that thou hast achieved. so here i am... telling you about how and why i got into photography (so.... yeah. no more questions asked. this should sum it all up, ladies and gents).
Let's start from base one- christmas 2009. this was the day that, low and behold, i was handed the golden sceptor, the mythical scroll... the nikon. d. five. thousand. from the moment this great and powerful piece of machinery was bestowed upon me, i set forth to do what its prescence implied me to do. that is to take pictures. i thus began to photograph everything in sight- my kitty kitty. the neighbor's kitty kitty. the neighborhood kitty kitties. my snuggie. there wasn't a single person place or thing in orlando that could avoid the all-seeing eye of me and my camera. together we were an unstoppable force. it was not until a few long months later that i realized there was more to photograohy than simply pointing, shooting, and adjusting the contrast to ridiculous extremities. oh no. what i had come to realize was that photography is an art, and like all arts, it must represent an idea. I then applied time, patience, cunning, inspiration, and above all, mood into my photographs. i would settle for nothing less than perfection. with each and every project, i realized that through photography, a story can be translated by way of one single image. it is up to i, as your faithful photographer, to make this story as beautiful and intricate as i possibly can. when all is said and done, i can rightfully sit back and show you how alas, my work has progressed. the evidence is before your very eyes...

BEFORE


AFTER


thank you, all

let's call it a ponzi scheme

we can organize the history of america's great economy throughout periods of exceptional con artistry and deceit. each of these particular events have made their way into history books, the big screen (gordon gekko ring a bell?), and into the minds of well-read wall streeters. if you don't happen to be a well-read wall streeter or 40 year old man who enjoys his evening CNN (or simply a curious cat such as myself) you may wonder what exactly is a ponzi scheme? well, to be quite frank, it is a simple stock market situation in which a large coperate enterprise convinces many other large corperate enterprises to invest with said company, only for the company to run away with all the money they just recieved in investments.
well that was easy. you could say that i just explained the typical scheming strategy of corperate america. its basically what happens when one is extremely bored and ravenous for more money.
but what happens when we compare financial fraud to reality. if you think about it, a ponzi scheme can be anything in life. one might be so daring as to call the world one big ass pozi scheme. you decide to put all your trust into one person you are very near and dear to, disclosing very exclusive information and high respect... and then they sell it to the world. or lets say you decide to keep all your spare change in one shitty and unsuceptible tin in your bedroom... only to discover that your sister found the loot and ran straight to the coinstar machine. precisely my point. everything is relative and follows a pattern, the ponzi scheme being one of these poatterns.
the moral of this story... i really don't know, to be honest. but i hope that my rather large vocabulary put you in awe. because isn't that every blogger's intent(with the exception of perez hilton)?

oh, incentive

You could call it a lack of interest. You could call it (as do most teenagers in America, I myself being guilty of this resortion) a.d.d.. you could perhaps call it an inability to stick to something once its been started. But I know for a fact that the reason I have not touched this blog in what feels like forever is because the world around me has simply sufficed. My human story has been exquisite as of late. Therefore, I do not feel the need to document my feelings and revelations in attempt to release some sort of passion or discover myself, so to speak. I have been particularly content. The company I have kept certainly has much to do with my pleasant predicament.
I have also found myself to be rather busy with ordeals that prioritize higher on my list than this here blog. For example, my summer reading will truly be the death of me. The human story is an extraordinary piece of literature, but a bleak and unpromising challenge for those who, like me, claim to have a.d.d. Therefore, AP world history class is already getting me down.
I have also been engulfed by the glory that is Ludwig van Beethoven (sonata pathetique, mvmt. 1 to b precise). Piano has become a close and comfortable friend to me recently (this including 2-5-1's and all that jazz).
And above all, placidity has become the friend to me that writing once was. Both make me feel a sort of creature comfort, but placidity is one that requires little effort of myself. It sort of just falls into place. Suffice to say, school is vastly approaching, and I am academically unprepared as can be. I do, however, long for the teeming walls of all that is Dr. Phillips highschool. For now, however, I must wait. Wait and work. And enjoy this newfound pleasure known as happiness. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. Sianara.

we are not what you think we are, we are golden

we are told that the place we know first becomes us, and no matter how far from it we may roam, it always has its place in our heart. well, courtney lawrence... im sorry that that place for you has to be whorelando. but that's okay... WE MISSED YOU!
last night was brilliant in that i got to see my dear and lovely friend and eat at the very resturaunt that i would probably live, sleep, and give birth to my first child in (if you know me, i dont even have to mention that this place happens to be tijuana flats). not only this, but we also embarked on a very promising excursion to the dollar tree of metrowest (a very treacherous journey for a white girl, yes) and well... you can see the results yourself



and thats the way the cookie crumbles.
as to extend my perceptually pointless writings about life in all its calamities, i am pleased to inform the world that my chewbacca backpack buddy finally came in the mail. yes. i said it. i own a chewbacca backpack buddy.


PROOF


i would assume its safe to say that this right here basically makes me the riteous ruler of the dr. phillips hipsters. so independent (hopefully you detected the sarcasm in that statement). but nonetheless, it makes me happy as a clam.
on another note, i have suddenly taken a liking to all things that are orange blossom trail. who new obt had so much to offer for a white girl? sure, prostitutes and weed are good and all, but goodwill and lollicup... scha-wing! it could either be that i dont get out enough, but aside from obt, i have come across some rather exquisite public figures in the past few days. observe...


a real-life hipster turning the corner at IKEA


a prominent symbolism that we live in a MURICAH


and so much more. and so i rest my case that its the little things that bring us true happiness. but hey... it dont hurt to be a little prospective. so long as i keep running, new york and chicago remain on the horizon, regardless of how distant they may be.
and so the continuation of my summer reading commences...
sianara, flaw-ri-duh.