You are Never too Old for Halloween.

It's my favorite holiday, more than anything.

Really.

Zombie Bride and Groom with Boyfriend.

I LOVE HALLOWEEN.

That is all.

Zombie Boyfriends FTW.

That is all.

I Wanted to Write a Poem

I wanted to write a poem

About butterflies in stomachs

And clasped hands

And details only I notice

I planned out all the metaphors

And similes

And beautiful language

That flows like water

But when I sat down to write

Your beautiful poem

I lost all the words

And all the similes

And metaphors

And everything I had so carefully planned

To take your breath away

I had to wing it.

And this is what I have to offer

Words that other people use

But still mean the world between you and I;

I love you.

Dammit, I missed the boobies.

Have you ever seen Bram Stoker's Dracula? Jesus Christ.

We had a movie night for play practice yesterday because we had today off, and we had a vampire movie marathon.

SO MUCH SEX.

And breasts.

And weird kinky werewolf sex.

We had to cover my friend's eyes, and I cheered every time there was a boobie.

Most epic play rehearsal ever.

High school is definitely not middle school.

Bloooooooggiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnngggggg.

Oh. That's kinda sad.

Have you ever made like insta-friends? That you automatically think are like, the shit?

And then lose them over the shitty thing?

Yep. That's what happened to me.

It sucks.

Really bad.

And nothing else has happened.

Except first trumpet is still a prick.

Another Fiddly Little Poem. Thing.

Love songs suck.

So do cheesy metaphors

and flower petals

and rotten cliches

that stick in your teeth.

So do

expensive necklaces

and late night phone calls

and dramatic tears

and kisses in the rain.

But I won't lie,

I love every

single

nauseating thing

you do.

And I just thought you should know.

Agh.

I've been violently ill for like, four days. And by violently I mean projectile vomiting, and pulling a muscle in my stomach from puking so much.

And once I had successfully gotten food out of my system I got to sit on the edge of the tub and dry heave bile for hours.

Gross.

That was the worst stomach virus I have ever had, in my life.

And it also sucked, because I missed Jazz and Java (free coffee and combo plays on Friday mornings) school pictures, my creative writing elective (which I really like), and a jam session that combo was hosting on Friday night.

Big ball of blow.

Seriously.

Because that was going to be awesome, and I really wanted to go. That's not just me being a huge band loser.

But I'm a Unitarian Universalist Humanist. Uhm. It's confusing. Look up Unitarian Universalist because I can't explain it in anything less than an essay, but a humanist is someone who believes that you don't need a higher power to govern what's right and wrong; you should be able to figure that out for yourself.

But we had a lock-in at my church, for youth group. We just ate junk food and played ghost in the graveyard all night, and it was pretty sweet. And we got strawberry shortcake for breakfast.

AWESOME.

Boyfriend went, and I fell asleep on him during the movie, and he didn't shove me off or anything. He's so sweet.

We watched the movie Seven Pounds, and even though I missed the ending Boyfriend told me, and I bawled my eyes out.

Seriously.

Anyway, that's it.

I Miss My Old Classes.

I got my schedule fucked around with due to the super shitty thing, and I miss the classes I had before. I still have all the same classes, with the exception of being bumped up to honor's American history, but at way different hours.

I don't like it.

Before my classes were pretty small, but all my new classes are over crowded and nastily loud.

It sucks.

And I miss my middle school.

Especially writing. Cough cough.

American lit. is all about grammar. Like finding prepositional phrases. I HATE PREPOSITIONAL PHRASES. I hate fiddly grammar and I hate writing essays and I swear to god that's all we've done since school started.

It sucks, so bad.

I want to go back to middle school, but only for English. EH, take me back?(:

Ruth's Best

This is a short poem based on the name of a color swatch; Ruth's Best. It was dark, faded cranberry.

Ruth's Best, laid out on the bed, all vintage lace and yellowed pearls

Ruth's best, all faded and fading, floral prints that Nobody wears

anymore

Ruth's skin, sallow and white,

And lined with the worries of too many years

Ruth's hair, used to be thick, auburn, voluptuous,

And is now thinning, and gray, and pulled back with clasps

Ruth's locket, old rose gold,

Now faded to bronze and tarnish

Filled with a photo of she and Him,

When they were young and beautiful

Ruth's Victrola

that she could never let go of

Warbles cherubic choirs

And deep, throaty soul

From atop her vanity with a broken mirror

Ruth pulls on her faded best

and beige pumps that rub her heels

But make her feel

Like dancing

Ruth sings softly in an

old cracked voice,

Arms wide in an embrace

Feet shuffling to the rhythms of

the Greats

Her breath catches as she catches

the scent, of chewing tobacco

and that Certain Cologne

of Him

as she dances

The world fades away,

as she cradles his blazer

and remembers

Remembers

Remembers

As her eyes close

And her breath fades

Away

to

Nothing.

Meh.

I should sleep more.

I slept for four hours today, curled up with Boyfriend. I only sleep well when I'm with him.

We watched live music and ate rice crispie bars and drank raspberry iced tea, and I put his can's pulltab on my necklace.

My necklace, at this point, has the original pendant, which is a bronze lotus, a pink pull tab from his iced tea, a silver one from a Pepsi we shared, and a kiss token from at least a year ago.

I have a star, made of a Hershey's kiss wrapper he gave me, applied to the body of my guitar with clear nail polish.

I don't have much, but what I do have means a hell of a lot.

Awkward Phone Conversations and Generic Frosted Mini-Wheats

Mmmmmm. Awkward.

I've been having a Mythbuster's marathon so I don't have to think.

My day was awesome besides one, disgusting, weak, horrible, shitty thing, which I will not talk about because it was the worst experience of my life.

Oh my god I love Mythbusters. And JP. She's a close second to Mythbuters :P But only just.

She has been fantastic, regarding the horrible, shitty thing. So I just want to say, even though I'm awful at feelings, that it meant the world, seriously. And that I will probably take her up on the midnight call.

So thank you for being an awesome-pants.

My worst grade is a C, which is a big deal for me :) which means I'm beginning to suck less, and I am not failing a single class.

And I'm writing a lot more.

And painting, and playing more music, and doing what I love.

And despite the horrible, shitty thing, I'm pretty damn happy.

I Wish

That I were short

and slim

With long,

dark hair

that smelled like almonds

That I were average,

and unexceptional,

in every

single

Way.

The Facts

I am six feet tall

and too many feet wide

I cannot paint my own nails,

and I have never had a manicure

I have short hair,

in a color I hate

I play too many instruments

and collect marbles and the pull tabs

off soda cans

I like the smell of sharpies,

and gasoline, and rain,

and grass

I collect memories,

and sift through them,

only remembering prize specimens

I watch PBS

when I'm home alone

I am not a virgin,

and I haven't been for a long time,

for better or for worse

I smell like tea,

and roses, and cat pee,

and coffee, and freshly baked bread

My feet are bigger than Boyfriend's,

and twice as ugly

I'm mediocre at a lot of things,

and talented at nothing.

Oh Broken Hearted Hoover Fixer Sucker Guy

I just spilled blue nail polish all over my nasty white carpet. Shit. Looks better though :)

Promised myself I'd blog daily and I'm afraid that I'll end up exclusively bitching about school. Oops, language.

My basecamp teacher and play director called Boyfriend's brother my brother in law, and I turned a million different shades of red.

Me, playing a deeply sexy vampire vixen in the play, get to lick the side of Boyfriend's face. Apparently I get to be the dirtiest because we're dating. "Hey mum! Guess what! I went to third base with Boyfriend on stage!"

Maybe I should tell my family not to come.

But I love him to death, even though there are now two other guys professing their love and limitless supplies of candy corn to me.

I'm Boyfriend's till he breaks up with me.

And till then I'm just a sucker, of a guy.(:

And I Just Realized That My Last Update Had Nothing to do with the Title

I rode the bus home today, and I had Skittles and a bloody nose.

I saw a man with longer fingernails than mine, with three or four glittery rings, and eyeliner.

And I saw a man with dreadlocks that smelled like pot.

Skittles and Bloody Noses and Angst, Angst, Angst.

You meet really awesome people in high school, but you also meet complete fuck heads, that make your brain want to explode.

First trumpeter.

Agh.

AGGGHHHHH.

But other than him, high school is great, I'm in the play (with a tiny role, STILL COUNTS) and knowledge bowl, and jazz combo. And I've met some awesome people, and I'm nearly socially accepted. Which is pretty sweet.

And I love Boyfriend, much to the nausea of everyone who's friends with me on Facebook. It's not my fault we're so damn adorable!

We hung out yesterday, and it was wonderful. We went to the flammable fort, except we couldn't find matches. Ah well.