I have a DATE

It\’s a constant source of frustration to me that my idea-times and my blank-post-open times never quite seem to coincide. I try to keep a text document with which to share my inspirational nuggets, but once the ideas go in there, they have a nasty tendency to wither and die, once again forcing me to post a guilt update consisting mostly of links and pictures. (Not that there\’s anything wrong with links and pictures; it\’s just that you\’re unlikely to think to yourself, \”My word, that was a well-written link. And those pictures! Why, that\’s the equivalent of 3,000 words! Truly, this is something I must share with all my friends and facebook friends.\”)

One of the reasons for this is that I only open up a blank post with which to fill with my genius at ridiculous 0\’clock in the morning (which for the uninitiated is after bedtime o\’clock, but long before maybe-this-counts-as-getting-up-early o\’clock), a habit that tends to cause every original and creative brain cell in my skull to shrivel and whimper softly to themselves.

Part of it is that I\’m just out of practise. I haven\’t been writing as much since I started struggling with college work, favouring instead the relatively easy point and click of my beloved camera. I\’m not saying that photography is easier than writing; merely that it\’s about a million times easier if you have no idea what you\’re doing. Which I don\’t.

On that note… I\’m planning to go on a photography course, if I can get my butt in gear. And, with a similar butt-in-gear proviso, I also intend to take up dance classes. That is so unlike me… I\’ve spent the vast majority of my life trying to avoid any and all forms of strenuous physical activity, possibly explaining why I haven\’t flunked out of Starfleet Academy (surely the best euphemism ever). Fnarr fnarr, etc (wow – that was nerdy, and even I know that). I don\’t know what kind of dance classes to take, but I confess to being intrigued by the possibility of pole-dancing lessons. I hear you\’ve got to have great muscle tone, which I, just possibly, do not. I never did enjoy the \”climb the rope\” sessions in those dreaded PE lessons in middle school. Perhaps I\’m setting my sights too high and should just chain myself to a treadmill until I\’m really muscular?

So what\’s on my mind right now? It\’s Friday the 13th. So I wake up and I flick on the tv, and I (god knows why I do this) flick over to the news channel. And then I see it – plane crash, last night. OMG. My deepest condolences to the families who lost loved ones. I can\’t really imagine how it must feel to be strapped in your seat, with the walls of the plane around you, looking out the window to see the ground rushing closer and closer, the screams of your fellow passengers in your ears as the panic bubbling inside you reaches its boiling point. Actually I can – I had a dream about it once (post 9/11 stress) and it was god awful. This is why every time I get on a plane (which isn\’t often) I break out in a cold sweat. Yes, guys, girls sweat. Just thinking about being in an impending plane crash makes my skin crawl.

On a brighter note (though if you are like me, you tend to get depressed about anything you watch in the news) tomorrow is Valentine\’s Day. February 14th. Yay, right? WRONG! I have a dilemma, you see.

I have a date. That\’s right. Me…and a guy. \”So what?\” you ask. \”Someone as attractive and sexy and flawless as you must get so many dates!\”. Wrong again! This will sound immodest. In fact, it is immodest. But I think I\’m attractive. ( I lie – I know I\’m attractive). So guys tend to think that I am too good for them. They go – \”A girl like that is never gonna be interested in me\”. So they say hi and make conversation, but no one actually asks you out. And the guys that do ask me out are usually the ones who think that they, with their good looks and suave-ness and uber \”coolness\” and \”jockness\”, are God\’s gift to women. These are the guys who are the gifts that women, after one night of sex, tend to return to the store, gift wrapped for some other unfortunate girl to date.

Anyways…*glares at you for letting me ramble on*

I have a date. With a guy. Kinda cute. We\’ve known each other for two months. Casual friends, as in the \”Hi\” in the hallway kind. The kind that you wave to in the field on your way to your girlfriends. He\’s no Josh Hartnett or that guy from 90210 (I can\’t remember said actor\’s name at the moment). But he is cute.

Anyways…*glares at you AGAIN*

Tuesday, he walks up to me and says hi. Offers to carry my books, which I of course refuse, being an independant woman and that. We walk in silence – me wondering what the heck he wants from me, and why the heck is he walking beside me all of a sudden. And then he says – \”What are you doing for Valentine\’s?\” I say – \”Nothing – maybe I\’ll go out with the girls. Nothing concrete.\” And I was thinking, at that very moment…\’No way is he actually going to – \’

And that, right before I can finish that thought, he blurts out (blurts!!!) \”Want to go out? You *hesitation* and me?\”

And I say…\”Sure.\” It was automatic. It was unintentional! It was…*goofy grin moment* kinda warm and fuzzy in a way. Like I said – he is cute. He is friendly, and he isn\’t obnoxious. He is not a football player (guys with muscles on their muscles turn me off) which is good.

So why am I worrying about this? Why am I, one day away from the date, suddenly having second thoughts??? I\’ve dated before – but usually guys whom I know a little better than this. He is just a friend of a friend! A friend of a friend of a friend. I don\’t even have his number – and I didn\’t get it from him there. He sent me a message after he got my number from a friend! That is how much of a lack of a connection there is between me and him!

Aha! So THAT\’S why I\’m worrying. A little too late for that, right Poison? You\’ve just \”poisoned\” your Valentine\’s Day! (Lame!!!)

And the picture? One of mine.

And just so you know, he did say, \”So it\’s a date?\” And I said…\”Um…yeah.\”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

A Rant by Me

I hate my classmates.

Below, I have compiled a list of the top 5 types of students I wish weren\’t in my class:

5. Miss.KnowItAlls:
How to identify one? She is probably the first to enter the class, never even blinks till the end of the class (lest she might miss something important) and constantly takes notes (although already knows it all). She ll never miss a chance to show off she is a KnowItAll and obviously is among the teachers\’ pets. She is the one who sticks her hand up at every question, who for some reason NEVER gets anything wrong, and is the one who gives you the dirty looks when you make a joke in class and distract the teacher\’s attention away from her.
PS: It could have been a \”He\” too. But generally, Mr.KnowItAlls do not show off as much and hence are a lot more tolerable. Also, they are useful because they tend to be VERY cooperative when you (and by \’you\’ I obviously mean \’me\’) ask them a question, no matter how dumb the question is.

4. Everyone look here, I lack manners:
Members of this club include (but are not limited to) those who come in late but insist on sitting in the front row, those who bang the door while walking out in the middle of the class (to answer their phone calls), those who attend their phone calls inside the class (yeah, that happens too), those who cannot stop shaking their legs (along with the desks and chairs), who stretch as if in an aerobic class and those who pick their noses because they are bored. These are the people who don\’t really give a damn about you, and care only about themselves. These are usually guys who, as I have mentioned in an earlier blog, think of themselves as God\’s Greatest Gift to Women. These are the sort who will wink at you when you first give them a dirty look, and who think that girls really go for the Bad Boy thing, which is really outdated. I mean, seriously…jackets and overly gelled hair, tight shirts and wondrous anecdotes about their social lives? Do you actually think I would be attracted to you? The only reason they are this low in my list is because I somehow manage not to get distracted during a good class. If it is a bad class, then who cares!!!

3. Mr. and Ms. Doubts-Fire:
The ones that stick out their hands in a boring class as soon as the prof says \”Questions?\”. I am not against those who ask questions in class. But these are the ones that ask questions simply because they think it makes them look smart. They are not dumb but the questions they ask are either way off the topic or dead simple. And they do it all the time. Grrrrrrrrr. Those who fall into this category are also most likely to fall in the 5th category.

2. The hypocrite parasites:
You just have to be careful with this lot because you generally have outside-the-class interactions with them. They copy your work and shamelessly claim to have worked it all out by themselves – even in front of you. Oh, and they hate helping others. They never share their copied HW with anyone else because its bad !! They might know very little but love to act like KnowItAlls. My advice: Never trust them.

1. The bootlickers:
If the class is very boring (which is like every 3.735 out of 4 times), then you are in for some big trouble with this lot. You wouldn\’t believe what all they do to \”butter\” the prof. They go \”Yes Sir, Yesss Sirrr.\” to every word uttered by the prof, they laugh-out-LOUD to all those not-at-all funny attempts made by the prof. (and make sure the prof sees them do so), are generally a variant of Mr./Miss. Doubt-Fires (they only ask questions for which they are sure that the prof. will know the answer!!), they never ask the prof for delaying the assignment due date or for reducing the exam syllabus (although thats what they complain about to the rest of us), meet the prof before & after the class and also during his office hours to ask doubts (!!), and wish that there was something beyond excellent in the course evaluation sheets (while the rest of us are coming up with \”awful\”, \”horrible\”, \”terrible\”, \”dreadful\”, etc.) These people generally appear in categories 3 and 5 as well.

And another thing…

I was reading through a friend\’s blog and she happened to mention cliques, and she had the picture of that movie Mean Girls, which was a really dumb movie, imho. Now, I went to high school just like the rest of you. We ALL saw what cliques were there. These social groups may have started up being about common interests, but the ���charter��� for many of them was one of oppressing others. The cute and popular girls singling out and demeaning the loner goth girl. The varsity athletes and their wannabe entourage picking on the so-called ���band geeks.��� It doesn\’t just happen on TV, it really does happen in real life.

And you know the worst part? I used to be one of those girls. I don\’t know about you, but when I was in school, there were two main cliques for girls. The \’Cheerleaders\’ and the \’Hot Girls\’. I have nothing against cheerleaders – okay, I never really hanged out with them because I was in the \’Hot Girl\’ clique (I can see you just shaking your head in amused bemusement at my readiness to quatify myself as a \’hot girl\’). See, cheerleaders band together – they have to do routines together, so it\’s obvious that they have to trust each other. At least, that\’s what I think. Anyways, the cheerleaders would be in their group, and we would be in ours. They would be the ones who THOUGHT they were the hottest and deserved to be the centre of attention, and we were the ones who KNEW that we were the hottest and deserved all the attention (EAT THAT, BARBIE! ) Anyways, while these two cliques studiously avoided having trouble with each other (after all, we went to the same parties, so we had to talk, but we didn\’t actually like each other, that\’s the point I\’m trying to make) there was always the bitching to each other about some girl in the other group, the \’She stole your boyfriend\’ and the \’I saw her talking to… at lab earlier\’. But things were good – as long as you had your girls with you, you were totally fine.

And then my parents moved us out of the state.

Being the new girl sucked, because when you go into a new school halfway through the academic year, the social status of everyone is already set in stone, and you, as the new kid, are consigned to oblivion – that is, rock bottom. You are nowhere – you know no one. You don\’t get invited to parties. There is the awkwardness you face during lab classes when you aren\’t sure who your partner is. Group assignments were the worst because you didn\’t know anyone, and no one knew you, so you were one of those wildcards whom the teacher, feeling compassionate, decides to place into this group or that group to save you from the embarassment of being last. And gym? I have always hated gym. Always.

Wow – I\’m being bitter here.

Thankfully, my new kid experiences ended two months later, when I was finally accepted, or should I say assimilated, into one group of girls who turned out to be the best friends I have ever had (awwwwwww – teary eyed moment).

I have just reached the point when I realized that I have forgotten the point of this blog entry (other than boredom) and have allowed myself to be carried aw
ay by the beckoning mists of Memory Lane, with the familiar doors on either side of me. And then the blissful trip turns sour because somewhere down Memory Lane, I get mugged.

Anyways…(wow – I use this word a lot!)

I don\’t like my classmates. Something about them – their mindless zeal for academic success, perhaps, or the sycophantic way they allow themselves to be enslaved by the system (and when I talk about the system, I mean the system. It\’s like when people say – hey! I just said it…people. You know…the people. What they say…No one actually knows who they are, who the people are, or what the system is. They just say the system and expect you to understand.) gets to me. They are nerds. I hate nerds. There is something about them that I just abhor. It is the way they act like the downtrodden who know in their heart of hearts that they will be the ones signing your paycheck in the future that irritates the sh!t out of me. They have no life! They have no personality! They don\’t think! They read, they write, they absorb like a sponge and regurgitate like a baby when the father picks it up while wearing his best shirt! They are the dregs of college society – they are the butt of our jokes, the targets of our thinly veiled insults. They are smarter than me, and when I see them study, when I hear their questions, I feel inferior! How dare they be better than me, when I am so obviously better than them? Just because they score higher in tests than me doesn\’t mean that they are smarter! Watching them reminds me that I should be studying, not sitting down on my perfect and flawless butt typing stuff on screen and messing around with the computer before picking my bag up to go out later. They make me feel guilty, and they should be punished!

I\’m going off now. To study.

See ya!

Homework

Practice makes perfect, at least that’s how the saying goes. How much practice makes perfect, though? Even for world-class athletes, there is more to success than practice, practice, practice. Somewhere in the mix there has to be raw talent and a strong, almost obsessive, desire for success. Without talent and the desire for success, all the practice in the world generally will not make the average person a world-class athlete. Maybe better at what they do, but certainly not great enough to command a multi-million dollar salary and the admiration of adoring fans. Similarly, “practice” in the academic world will not deliver Ivy League scholars unless the talent and desire for doing so are already present.

Which is why I think that I, and every other student in the world, should be spared the pointless drudgery of doing homework. Homework is stupid, demeaning, tedious, and, unbeknownst to many educators who rely on homework as a pillar of their curriculum, downright sinister.

As a more practical way of arguing against the need for homework…let\’s think. How many occupations or professions require you to do work at home. Another reason for homework bantered about by the teaching profession is that it prepares you for college and your working life. Really? How many carpenters, plumbers, or mechanics go home and practice their craft so that they will perform their jobs better at work? There is no need to; their skills and work environment do not require nor allow them to do so. Might they need to do “homework” as part of improving job skills, such as learning the intricacies of a new engine? Certainly. But they’re adults and job preservation would mandate that they learn. Even still, the real learning in such occupations takes place hands-on, not reading books, answering questions, or taking tests.

Do I really believe what I just said? Absolutely not. I\’m just complaining about homework because I feel lazy at the moment and I have something that I would much rather do with my time. Homework is necessary, even for college students as smart and intellectual as me.

Weekend Fun

I had a sleepover last night. It was the first sleepover we had this year, and it was fun, as usual. It was over at K\’s place (initial instead of name to protect identity of person). She has this really big room with, unfortunately, a really small bed, so we had to join up a few beds together (I have a thing against sleeping in sleeping bags – it seems too cocoon-ish, or prisonlike. I feel smothered, trapped).

The last time we had a sleepover at my place – my dad complained throughout the next day. He overreacts sometimes. A sleepover is meant to be noisy, filled with \”giggles\” and \”shrieks\” and \”laughter\”. What – he expects us to play chess?

Anyways…

We arrived at 6 p.m – that is, I arrived at 5.30 p.m, T and B arrived together at 6.20 p.m, because B had forgotten her toothbrush, and she refuses to share toothbrushes with anyone. Her exact words were – \”I don\’t even know where your mouth has been\”. This from the girl who will happily finish your ice cream for you. Hypocritical, I call it.

I made mashed potatoes. I know what you\’re thinking – mashed potatoes for a sleepover? Believe it or not, I can make very good mashed potatoes. With ham and carrots inside. Potatoes, milk, finely chopped ham and carrots – it is award winning. Or at least it will be, once my culinary skills are discovered and I get a spot on primetime TV.

Anyways – this was the menu –

Pepperoni Pizza.
Little Sausages (K\’s idea – even weirder than mashed potatoes)
Mashed Potatoes (mine!!!)
Specialty Dip (I don\’t even know what was in it)
No alcohol (LOL)
Popcorn (a definite must)
Cheese Cubes
Ice Cream (duh!!!)

A lot for four people? Definitely – but sleepovers are an excuse to pig out! Besides, the carbs provide much needed energy for the night\’s activities.

We watched two movies – 1 chick flick and 1 Japanese horror movie. Despite their claims, I did NOT scream when the ghost thing came out – I merely laughed out loud in a high pitched giggle. I was NOT scared. LOL. I was terrified. I just like scaring myself – I love zombie apocalyptic end of the world movies and ghost stories with a good plot. Anyways – it was during the argument about whether I screamed or not that someone hit T on the face with a pillow.

Pillowfights are an integral part of sleepovers and slumber parties. It\’s a must have – like beds and blankets. Girls like pillowfights. Guys like pillowfights too – well, guys like watching girls have pillowfights . The pillowfight lasted for about half an hour. By then, my face was red and I was panting and my arms and legs were seriously on the verge of giving out. And trust me – after getting hit on the face with several pillows multiple times, it stops being fun and starts being really painful.

And then all four of us made out and had hot lesbian sex. . If that thought had crossed your mind, you are definitely a typical guy. Guys are predictable, lol.

What really happened next – I\’ll leave it to your imagination.

Of Douchebags and Crus...or why I am NOT a model

I went to an audition yesterday.

I\’ll pause here to mention that it was no big deal, just more or less a cattle call, for some hair product company which I dare not name for fear of being sued. It was suggested by someone who no doubt had good intentions somewhere inside themselves that I audition and possibly act as a (paid) hair model for the day for some Stylist (Capital Letter Intended) from a galaxy far, far away. Said stylist and entourage I\’ve affectionately nicknamed Douchebag and Cru, much to my own personal amusement.

The models were told to arrive at the open call audition any time between 5 and 7 p.m. So yes, I arrived early, being the sort of person who will pop in early for any appointment because I cannot bear the thought of anyone waiting for me. Douchebag and Cru, however, were not slated to arrive until nearly 6 p.m. which the models were told after we\’d all arrived….all of us early. Douchebag was your garden-variety Snobby New York HipsterTM: slightly wrinkled designer jeans and white linen shirt, purposefully distressed leather jacked, grey-tinted sunglasses worn indoors after sunset, a scarf wrapped around the neck just casually enough, all topped off with a medium-length hairstyle, highlighted then unwashed to look unaffected replete with sideburns and a precisely trimmed goatee that belied the effort underneath the whole visage.

Is it a requirement for every man who calls himself a stylist to dress like that?

I realized, in a flash, that there was no way I was going to be selected for a number of reasons:
1) My hair is, to me, just nice the way it is, and Douchebag was a cutter. He asked every girl with long hair how much she was willing to lose. I just don\’t have the same dramatic possibility in length change.
2) Most of the others at the salon cattle call were the sort of Lincoln Park hipsters (I should have known that going in, based on the address alone). I am no hipster, by any stretch. I care too much about showering and my situation in life (living with parents) requires that I have a \”normal\” haircut, haircolor, and lack of piercings and tattoos.
3) As a direct result of the reason above, I was the only person dressed up by any stretch of the imagination. In my Ann Taylor pants, low cut cashmere sweater, and fitted suit jacket I looked like an extra from Boston Legal or Law and Order and was dressed better than the salon owner who was flitting about the salon simultaneously micro-managing and losing her mind. The sort of person who acts all condescending about the state of her own salon and, despite expecting the Stylist to say, \”No no no, darling – your place is perfectly fine!\” still beams and flutters and makes depreciating comments. (I hated her instantly)

I did, however, have a few things going for me:
1) There was only several other blondes in the entire room. Out of the 50 mostly girls who showed up.
2) I was one of the tallest people there, by far. Douchebag and Cru were asking for height measurements and most of the girls were teetering on their stilettos and still shorter than me. I was taller than some of the guys who had shown up. D*mn.

I waited until I was able to talk to Douchebag and Cru for the selection process. Douchebag slurred his name at me without a precursory \’hellohowareyou\’, I shook his hand, and introduced myself. \”xXXxXXX!\” he proclaimed.

It should not be possible to pronounce italics, let alone capital letters, but Stylist managed it all the same.

\”No, it\’s xxxxxxx,\” I corrected. \”It\’s like *insert proper analogy that bears reference to my name here*. You know…\”

\”Whatever.\” Douchebag was clearly not fond of being corrected. \”So, wat\’s up wit yo hay-yeah?\” I struggled to understand the question between the slurring and what I can only assume was a psuedo-British accent.

\”What do you mean?\” I asked and waited for clarification. Remembering the hatred of correction I quickly jumped back into the conversation and came up with what I thought the answer should be: \”Well, my hair is naturally wavy but I straightened it a little today. And it\’s blonde.\” I had to restrain myself from slapping my forehead on that last one. Of course it\’s blonde! my internal monologue (which by the way sounds nasal, don\’t ask me why) chastised me.

\”Wha would you get a hay-cut wheh you has to strait\’en yo hayre?\” His, I hesitate to call it, \”manner\” of speaking was really starting to get on my nerves.

\”Sometimes I let it wave. I can do either with this cut.\” He scrutinized me, grabbed the same brush he\’d been using to poke at all the other models, and brushed my hair directly into my face. After coaxing my hair every which way, he\’d made up his mind.

\”This cut. This cut does wee-yahd thihngs. The weight is in all the wrohng places. I would make it mo mod-ehn. Sote of 1940s flappeh, yeah?\”

My mind immediately rushed to my defense. Did he just insult my hair? Seriously? He actually insulted me! I\’m lost on what\’s not modern about the cut and how he managed to put flappers in the wrong decade, really. A much tamer answer came out of my mouth: \”Oh? Well, I\’m curious. What would you change?\” Which goes to show – there is still more than an ounce of ambition left inside me, much to the disbelief of people who know me.

He flopped my hair around with the community brush once more, muttered something about waves and fringe and layers, but I had stopped listening. I spelled out my name to the assistant, stood still for my Polaroid, and left. If I was selected, they said, I would get a call between 9 and 10 p.m.

I was unsurprised later last night when I realized the time was 10:15 and my iPhone lay sleeping silently on the coffee table by my feet, my movie carrying on uninterrupted.

My non-modern haircut and I shrugged. Whatever.

And for the record, any after effects of my foray into the land 0f the drunk and the alcoholic did not affect me in any way.

Getting Drunk

I’m not sure whose gift to the world in general, and drunks everywhere to be specific, this is. Everclear. Absolutely horrible. And I mean horrible.

I got…drunk.

It was like drinking acid. Of course – I don\’t know what acid tastes like, but I would imagine that it tastes very much like this. Everclear is absolutely despicably disgustingly strong. And I was fool enough to take it raw. Several shots of it. With some brandy.

Why? Because I was caught up in the spirit of collective binge drinking.

I went to bed at 12 a.m this morning. Early, but I was tired, okay? It is now nine-ish. Why am I awake and not in bed? I woke up at about 6 a.m with a headache. A very bad headache. I went back to bed. I woke up at 8, and the headache, lo and behold, is gone! I went back to bed. I woke up at 9 -ish. And a random thought entered my head – let me record this moment, for posterity!

SO HOW DO I FEEL?

I feel soooooooooooo woozy right now. I NOW know how it feels to be drunk, when you think you are steady but you are unsteady, when you can barely keep your balance but you KNOW that you can keep your balance if you tried but you don\’t seem to be trying right now because trying may be too hard? I\’m not even sure what I\’m saying – I keep losing my train of thought. I am trying my best to describe how I am feeling now – My head is really, really light. And last night – I was enjoying it so much I couldnt stop laughing at myself. I know and understand exactly what I was doing, just doing it is a little harder. And I kept talking, I know. Mumbling, more likely.

I\’ll be honest – it was A GREAT AND TRULY ENJOYABLE MOMENT FOR ME.

I don\’t feel too good right now – I don\’t exactly have a headache, but if I speak, I sound – and I finally know what they mean by this word – slurred. And my voice is louder than usual. I tried walking – my steps have to be precise or I might just stumble. My tongue feels numb – like rubber. My whole mouth feels – rubbery.

What I need now is some Klatchian coffee. Not too much, or I might become – knurd, which is the opposite of drunk – where all of life\’s illusions is stripped away, the comfortable cushion padding that we use as buffers to escape the harsh reality of life. The true state of sobriety.

I\’m going back to bed. Good night. Good morning. Whatever.

God help me, but I want to get drunk again.

First Entry...Happy New Year

Hello.


I’ve just looked over my page and I realized – it needs at least one blog entry. So here I am, writing something down. And now I am beginning to realize that hey – I have no idea what to write about!

So here goes ; the beginning of whatever it is I can think about within the next one minute. I think that before anything else, I should address the main question that comes to mind – what the heck am I doing on blogspot?

Again – I have absolutely no idea. Maybe it’s the boredom. I mean…I am bored right now. Totally bored. And so I decided to explore blogspot/blogger whatyoumaycallit. And guess what? Here I am! Yay!

Okay – that was lame.

And why am I writing now, at this present moment? Because…I am bored.

I blog. I have a Livejournal account. So why can’t I come up with anything remotely suitable to write here…as a first post?

I could tell you about me; except that I don’t think anyone would care. I mean – who the heck is even gonna read this, right? I’m just adding people at random. Btw – add me if you want, I don’t pop in often but when I do, I am usually in the mood for conversation.

Anyways….

The professor in my Personal Ethics class is having us fill out this “Preliminary Values Survey.” I figured I would post the questions and answers for your enjoyment…because I have nothing else to write about. It will, possibly, gain you insight into my mind. If what I have inside my skull can be called a mind.

Anyways…

1. For what purpose was I born?

–I often wonder about my purpose in life, and why I was put here on Earth. I know I’m here for a reason, and I like to think that it’s to help other people in whatever way I possibly can. But is that really all there is to it? Because I can’t fathom being entirely selfless. I’m a human being, and I have my selfish tendencies, though the things I’m selfish about are sometime more silly than logical. I will say that seeing my loved ones happy and at peace gives me a sense of satisfaction, especially when I know I’ve had a hand in making that peace and happiness come to fruition.

That sounded like a load of crap, and even I know it.

2. What do I want from life?

–I want a family of my own one day, though I don’t know if that will happen. And I want material possessions, like a big house near the mountains and overlooking the ocean. As for what I want otherwise, besides a family and a nice house, I’d like to be able to say that I’m completely content with who I am, that I believe that whatever decision I make in any situation is the right decision, and to be completely able to say that whatever I do, have done, and will do, I do of my own volition and not under the influence or manipulation of someone else. I want to know that I am strong enough to stand up for myself and the ones I care about. I want to inspire people to be better than they are, to seek within themselves the courage and strength they need in order to face the trials that life has to offer, and to have hope for better days during times of hardship. I guess I want a lot of things.

And the last bit about inspiring people? I wanted to sound concerned for the wellbeing of my fellow human beings. Well, I want to be concerned, and I am. I think. It’s just…I have no idea what the heck I am talking about again.

3. What am I willing to give to life?

–I am willing to give to life whatever I can offer. As vague as that is, I can’t think to put it any other way.

4. What main sources have established my most important current values?

–My parents have instilled my most important values in me, which are also highly influenced by the teachings of my religious faith. However, my experiences with friends, acquaintances, and strangers have helped me prioritize those values that I have been taught.

What didn’t I add? The current values I learnt from watching tv, and from self contemplation during those long lonely nights when I just can’t seem to sleep. I have pondered the creation of God in my mind, and I have come up with the answer – God created Himself.

5. What is the most important human quality?

–It’s impossible to pick just one human quality that is most important. Humility? Intelligence? Creativity? Adaptability? How is it possible to choose just one? If anything, the qualities of a human being work together to create a balance; for every negative trait, there is a positive. Thus, the question isn’t so much what quality is most important, but what is the best way to keep that balance from tipping more toward either side. As human beings, it’s not possible to be all good, but it’s impossible to be all bad (though to our perceptions, oftentimes the negative aspects of a person are more visible than the positive). But how to keep that balance? I have no idea.

6. If I found out today that I had only 5 hours left to live, what would I most regret not having done?

–I would probably most regret not being such a good person. Because I believe in life after death, and if there is a God, I have a bad feeling that He will not be too pleased with me.

7. If I had only one year to live, what would I do with it?

–If I only had a year left to live, I’d spend it traveling the world and seeing all the things I’ve always wanted to see like the Pantheon in Greece, the Colosseum in Rome, and the Swiss mountains. I’d lie to the bank, take a loan, travel and enjoy myself until one month before I die, during which time I will be kneeling in contrition seeking forgiveness for the bad things I’ve done in life.


And that is my first blog entry. Not by any means a very interesting or revealing blog entry, but one that will work, I think. And because I am soooo bored right now (and I mean seriously seriously bored right now) I am adding 54 complete strangers to my Yahoo! Messenger list. 54 people who have written stuff on their blogs, from musings to poetry to stuff that I can’t even classify.

So hey – if you want to chat, and not about SEX, add me! We could discuss politics, sports (cute NFL quarterbacks, etc), movies, music…whatever. Just add me, and if you see me on Livejournal, say hi!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!