enough.

That's it, simply. Enough. There are hundreds of things I could say. Interpreting my feelings into words is my life, but this is all I can come up with:

I just want to be enough.

In the mean time.. Stephen Christian will be singing me to sleep.

Good night, moon.

اللغة, jezik, taal, language, la langue, γλώσσα, teanga, teanga, idioma,

Language.

It is the single greatest tool in human interaction, growth, education, and art.

Without it...

There would be no memoirs of the past

Art could be created, but never studied

No classic novels would line bookshelves

Education itself would cease to exist

My purpose, or what I have purposed of myself, would cease to exist.

Without language I could not write, speak or sing my mind, my emotions or my beliefs.

Despite all of this, and the beauty of language itself, I find myself wondering...

When did we begin to stray away from utilizing language it its simplest form of expression, to utilizing crude, insulting and damning* words?

It has even reached the point in which we now much come up with words to replace the crude, so that we do not actually "curse," but the potent force is still in the statement.

[See: dang, gosh darnit, freaking, crap, shoot]

You will all recognize these words and be able to match them with their explicit counterpart.

I am not and do not claim to be innocent of either cursing or using the above described surrogates, but I have recently come to recognize that I have the ability to express myself with the same forcefulness, the same ferocity and emotion in my language without these words.

I decided today to scroll through the most emotional and heartfelt of my blogs, not only of the posts on this one, but writing from the past. Not once did I utilize a curse as a method of expressing my anger, sorrow, disgust or passion.

My blogs, my writings, are a place where I focus on my given language, my education and my experiences to express myself, and I've always managed to do this, on paper so to speak, without any foul language.

I know I can't change others or make them understand the conclusion I've come to, but I will make a stand on my own.

I, Brittany Suzanne Conrad, will not consciously use any curse, or surrogate curse, to depict my emotional, physical or mental state at any given time, or to describe or denounce any belief of idea, no matter how strongly I may feel.

I say consciously, because I know that I am human and I will slip up. This is an inevitability which I cannot denounce, but I will try to the best of my ability to utilize my given language and my higher education to express myself through more appropriate means.

I'll keep the blogging world updated of my progress, and I'll always have this post to remind me of the promise I've made to myself and whoever may stumble upon my words.

*The use of the word 'damning' in this post I do not consider a curse, because I was using it in its literal and given definition. Go read your bible.

The Greatest Reunion

I'll initiate this post by revealing that 18 days ago, on September 1, my beloved cat Esme left my house in Katy to do some exploring. Generally she stays out for a few hours and then comes back home, but this time she didn't. My mom didn't tell me this because she didn't want to get me worked up for no reason, in case Esme came back home some time in the night. (As I said in my previous post, I am now living in an apartment downtown so I wasn't home when Esme was let out.) However, when I arrived at my mom's house two days later, I noticed two distinct problems: first, the garage door was not propped open as per the usual, which allows Esme to go in and out of the house, second, Esme did not run up to greet me when I got out of my car as she always does. I called my mom to inquire about Esme, and she told me that she hadn't come home since Wednesday morning.

Of course a thousand terrible thoughts filled my head as to what could have become of my little girl, so I drove around the neighborhood looking for her (or, heaven forbid, her body) and came up empty. I continued looking for her and asking my neighbors, but nobody saw her and she was certainly not roaming around. At that point I had to content myself with the idea that someone would find her and call me, seeing as she had a collar with my name and number on it. Though the days, and weeks, passed I refused to accept that my Esme was really gone, and, as it turns out, with good reason!

On Friday night, September 17, I was sitting in the gameroom at my mom's house in Katy when I got a phone call from my best friend Kristy. In the course of our conversation she asked me if I had found Esme yet, to which I reluctantly answered "no." Just then my phone beeped that I had a call on the other line. It was a number that I didn't recognize, so I let it go to voicemail. When I got off the phone with Kristy I saw that the mystery caller left a message, so I checked it. A male voice that I didn't recognize said that he had found my cat and left a number for me to call back. I jumped out of my chair and started yelling, "he found my kitty!" My mom and her friend Michelle looked at me like I was crazy until they realized what I was saying. I called the man back and he told me that he had Esme and he could hold her for me until I could come get her. Then came the truly miraculous part, he had found her in his neighborhood in Sugarland, TX. That's a 30 minute drive from my mom's house, how could Esme possibly have made it that far?!

My mom and I immediately hopped in the car to make the drive to Sugarland, and the entire way we kept marveling at how Esme could have made that entire trip on foot. When we picked her up she looked clean, healthy and had a mysterious flea collar on her which I know I hadn't put on her before she left. So, my mom and I came to this conclusion: someone found her, took her in to their home (presumably in Sugarland) and she either got out, or was let out, and she attempted to make her way back home. I'm just glad she managed to run into a very lovely couple who were more than happy to help reunite a lost kitty with her family.

The next day my mom and I took Esme into the vet to get her some Capstar in case she had gotten fleas during her journey, and while we were at Petsmart I just couldn't help myself, I had to buy her a new, clean collar and a nice pink sweater to match.

She's not a fan of the sweater, but she's just so adorbs!

I took the sweater off of her right after this picture, but I just had to take at least one. I'm just happy that my little girl is back home safe where she belongs, and I'll definitely be getting a microchip put in her soon. I can't risk losing my Esme again!

Life Wars: Return of the Blogger

I don't really know where to begin. It's been nearly two years since I posted an entry on this blog, which you can obviously tell from the date. I guess I'll simply be using this entry to give a short update on my life.
In December of 2008 I moved back to Houston to attend the University of Houston. I am now a Cougar. Rawr.Esme, the kitten seen in my last post, grew up to become a beautiful cat, and had three adorable kittens: Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood. Ron and Hermione were given to loving homes, and my boyfriend, Nava, took Luna, despite reminding me consistently throughout Esme's pregnancy that we couldn't keep any of the babies (he's a total pushover when it comes to kittens). We renamed Luna (Nava insisted he didn't want any pets named after movie/book characters) and she is now our 6 month old Little Bear. Oh, and there's my boyfriend, I didn't have him where I left off on the blog. A little over a year ago I decided that Justin Nava needed to be my boyfriend. Sounds ridiculous, and it was, but that's how it happened. Coincidentally, Nava didn't want to be my boyfriend, which was rather problematic. However, one night I stormed over to his house and demanded he date me, and that, ladies and gents, is how our relationship began. Despite the rocky beginning, things have been pretty wonderful, and Nava is pretty much amazing. I'll leave off on that note, so I don't start getting all sappy and annoying.

Behold: The Happy Brittany

In other news, I've moved out of my parents' home in Katy, Texas, to be closer to school. My new roommates are Michael Pushkin, aka "Push," and his adorable dog, Dr. Scientist, aka "Monster."

Push and Monster

They're pretty awesome roommates, I must say, and they certainly add a little excitement to my life.

So, all-in-all, things are going well. Hopefully I'll be able to spend more time blogging now, or at least I'll remember to update more regularly. Until next time, blogging world, and many happy returns.

my new baby..

So.. this post is unusually simple and lacking in my typically prominent intellectual ideas..
In fact.. it is completely devoid of any intellectual ideas..
Its entirely about my new kitten, Esme.
I rescued her from the animal shelter here in Abilene for $70... and, though she is currently attacking me, she is absolutely adorable and I love her dearly.
I actually adopted her about a month ago, so she is slightly bigger now than she was then..
but, here we are..

Blogging world, meet Esme:

Esme, meet the blogging world.

More intellectually stimulating posts to come your way soon,
I hope.


Have a glorious day.

Brit

Currently Listening: River Flows Through You - Yiruma.
Current Mood: Optimistic.

Yesterday I entered my bedroom entranced by the smell of fall-inspired candle scents; one of my favorites.
I haven't bothered to make my bed in over a week, there's a small pile of clothes on the back of my chair I've yet to hang back up, and my newly washed clothes lay in a basket at the foot of my bed.
Jewelry lays out on my desk, my purses carefully disregarded on the window ledge and the dresser.
My bedside table is a conglomerate of empty water bottles, aspirin, books, magazines and my laptop.
This sounds like a train wreck, to some people [my mother and sister included] it would be.
Ask me where anything is, I can tell you. I know where each and every minute piece of my daily routine lies amidst of the chaos. Nothing is lost, merely placed aside until it is deemed necessary for my current needs.
My ipod is in the Marc Jacobs bag, two pair of sunglasses are in my Louis, the other pair as well as my reading glasses are in the former.
My current personal interest novel is on my bedside, the ones for class sprawled across my window sill.
Keys; See Marc Jacobs bag.
Planner; see school bag.
Shorts from Saturday night; see clothes basket.
Shoes; see closet/bedside/computer desk.

You say chaos; I say control.
This, is my life.
Up until yesterday I had convinced myself that the chaos was a part of my life I needed to get away from. My life was out of control, and I had no means of stopping it. I hated it. I wanted change. Needed something new to remove me from this uncontrolled emotional turmoil of the everyday.
I wanted help. I couldn't do this on my own. I could no longer control my life. And I hated it.

Yesterday I entered my room entranced by the smell of fall-inspired candles, and chaos.
And I loved it.
Of course I'm not in control of my life. No one is ever in control of their own life. Life is meant to throw us curves we cannot expect or interpret. This is how we grow.
Before yesterday I had stopped growing. I was trying to control the here and now. Not bending to meet the curves head on, but allowing them to wrap me up so tightly I couldn't move.
I lived in the past. Groped for the past. Longing to obtain some lost feeling or experience.
Yesterday, I moved on.
Today, I am growing.
Tomorrow, I'll do the same.

My life is chaos. Fueled by uncertainty and ignorance of the things to come.
But, now, I'm ready for them.
Bring on the pain, the happiness, the heartache, the love.
Bring on the loss, the gain, the beginning of new and ending of old.

I'm ready.

..and i was under the impression that murder was unlawful.

How do I even begin to explain the combination of fury, disbelief and despair i felt upon watching this video? Normally when I feel compelled to write I don't even need to think. My emotions control the keyboard, the flow of words and the meaning behind them. But, right now, I'm in shock. I'm infuriated. I'm incredulous. The desperation is overflowing as I search for some means of reconciliation as to why anyone of sound heart and mind could be so cruel as to murder, with good conscience, a helpless infant.
This video is revolting. It sickens me to my very core. My body cries out in pain as the pressure in my chest increases. My mind is frozen, searching desperately for a reason why such a cruel abomination of God's will is not considered by our government to be unjust.
More disturbing still, how any living person with the consciousness of family- a mother, father, sister, brother, son or daughter, could actually contemplate electing this heartless monster to be ruler of the free world.




Where is the vindication in his malignancy for an infant's life? How can he justify wanting to save soldiers' lives by surrendering in Iraq, yet so callously cast his vote to allow premature infants to suffer mercilessly for their short lives, only to die in complete anonymity? When a soldier dies I will mourn, death is a tragedy no family should have to bear, but that soldier volunteered himself, his life, consciously acknowledging the possibility of his own death. The Nation will mourn, will protest, will fight, to end the deaths of our soldiers, but tell me who is mourning the deaths of defenseless children? Why are we justifying the murders of the innocents?
The murder of a child, his or her life in the hands of their mother and father, is an abomination of the human race. It sickens me to acknowledge that in our feckless selfishness our people will 'eliminate' a conceived child.
Congratulations, Mr. Obama. You have your "change". You have successfully utilized your political power to unscrupulously tell the world it is perfectly acceptable to murder their children. God's children.
You throw around the number of deaths from war. Blame Bush. Blame the Republican party. Blame ANYONE, as long as it helps your campaign.
Well, here are some numbers for you;
Every day more than 4,000 children are murdered.
Mathematically, that is an average of 1,460,000 deaths every year.
Since January 22, 1973, over 50,000,000 have been killed.
That blood, Mr. Obama, is on YOUR hands.
I truly hope that helps you sleep at night.




*if this video affected you in any way, and I truly hope it did, here is a link to the site of the Pro-Life Day of Silent Solidarity
http://www.silentday.org/
On Tuesday, October 21, 2008, we will be silent. If you would like to join us, get in contact with me via facebook or myspace.

can I please grow up now?

Oh, Abilene, i claim to love you.. and in a sense I do. I love being my own person, making my own decisions, living away from home.. but, wait, what am I really claiming here?
This is my home.. 8 months out of the year.. and how am I living it?
Am I being my own person? Or merely following the path set before me by my peers.
My own decisions? Hardly. More often than not I'm falling subjective to the will of my friends who insist I 'be more social'. More social? Your pathetic idea of being 'social' reeks of the stale smell of beer and liquor.
'You should really try to be social, Brit. Meet new people.'
Sure, I'll meet to people. First, let me down 5 beers and a few shots so I can get past my excruciating social anxiety and converse with people whom will be completely strangers in the morning, while I press ice to my head and regurgitate my liquid courage.
Wait. Stop. What just happened? Where is the independent person I claim to be?
The reflection in the mirror seems exhausted. Eyes, once bright and intriguing, now surrounded by the shadows of the the night before. Skin, once flushed with sunset hues, is pale and sullen, streaks of pale gray fall down from my eyes. The tears are involuntary now, brought on by the shock of my own recognition.
Who am I? I have absolutely no notion of my own self.
I am that one subjected to the desires of her generation.
I am everything everyone wants me to be.
Everyone but myself and my God.
HE wants me to live for HIM. ONLY HIM.
And who am I living for?
THEM.
I'm struggling now. My sense of self has dissipated at a rate I cannot even fathom, so that I no longer know when I actually WAS myself.
How long have I been a puppet to the will of my friends?
Friends.. there is a strange word.. those are the people who care about me, right?
They care about my well-being, my hopes, desires, dreams?
Facebook says I have hundreds of them. Hundreds of people who look at the pictures of the pretty girl with her pretty friends and the hideous glaze of intoxication in her eyes.
Judge me. I'm sure you all do, and you have every right to. Maybe you could come to some conclusions about myself I've yet to understand.
The only conclusion I can come to is that I have absolutely no idea what friends are. Who they are.
So, here's a test for all my 'friends'.
Do you know anything about me, aside from my appearance?
Do you know that I have a desire to change the world?
That I've read more books for pleasure than I could ever actually count?
That I'm intelligent?
That I would MUCH rather talk about politics and religion than the latest episode of "The Hills"?
That I hold myself at such a standard that I experience a complete sense of failure if my grade drops below a B?
That I am MUCH more inclined to sit at home and read a book than go out and pretend that my ability to throw a ball into a plastic cup half-filled with stale beer actually holds some meaning to my life?
Do you have any idea that I have struggled for YEARS losing and gaining weight so that I may fit into the mold of 'beautiful'?
That I have been hurt. Extensively. By a lot of people. Most of whom I gave the title 'best friend'. Some of whom I had given the title 'boyfriend.'
So,
I am sorry if I'm a bit anti-social.
I am sorry if I refuse to accompany you to a five-kegger.
And I am DEEPLY sorry if our 'friendship' suffers because I am ready to grow up and move on.
But I will no longer be held back by boys who would rather think of me naked than think of me fondly, and girls who appreciate my wardrobe more than they appreciate my well-being.

I'm sure I've offended more than one person here.. but maybe its about damn time somebody brought you to reality.
I guess we'll see who my friends are after this goes public.

Thanks for reading.

pieces.

she's perfect, isn't she?
everything i couldn't be.

it doesn't help that you're happy.
though, i'm sure it should.

comparatively, she's all.
that.
it.
every
thing.
i wasn't.
i can't.

be.

i won't pretend.

i would have,
for you,
anything.
for
everything.

you.

everything. i'll never have.
and more still,
forever.

i didn't know
couldn't.
wouldn't.
until.

you're gone.
i'll let it go.
let you,
go.

i must.

for..saking sanity
and life.
i let this go.

and for life,
i go.

forever.

Lord, make my life significant.

Here we are. The first week of my third year of college. I can't complain about my classes.. I love them all. I actually have no legitimate complaints right now aside from my complete lack of sentiment regarding anything. Nothing seems to spark an emotional high.. that nothingness only seems to petrify my emotional low. I'm unconscious as to the rationale of my emotional state. I only know that something has to occur, and soon, to remove me from my current emotional neurosis.
I'm scared, I don't know of what.
I'm tired, even though I sleep.
I'm sick.
My mental state is affecting my physical state.
Why?

Maybe I'm afraid of insignificance.
Maybe I'm tired of monotony.
Maybe I'm sick of myself.
Maybe I'm manic, depressed, unbalanced, nonsensical.
insane.
Choose your synonym. I'm sure it applies here.

There is a bottle of Welbutrin XL in my medicine cabinet.
It's almost full.
I've been off anti-depressants for over a year.
I cannot throw them away.
I loathe dependence.
My invisible crutch.
Depression; Yes or No?
Yes and No.
I'm maniacally sane.
I'm integrally broken.
Nothing makes sense.
Maybe it isn't supposed to.

Maybe tomorrow is my savior.
Maybe tomorrow is my breaking point.
Maybe yesterday was.

Maybe.
Maybe everything.
The aggregate of my life is in today.
In tomorrow.
In every day.
And every day is nothing to tomorrow.


I conclude nothing. I never expect to. I only raise more questions.
I do come away with one thing.
This prayer. My prayer.

Lord, make my life significant. Let me fulfill your will. Whatever that may be.


Amen.

..the end of my rope.

Well, being that I am currently in England it is the 24th of July. Home, however, it is still the 23rd for about 6 hours.
I haven't written in a while..
Should I blame the lack of time, lack of interest or lack of inspiration? Perhaps a combination of the three..
To be completely forthright, absolutely nothing of significance, beyond the visiting of aged cathedrals and stone circles, has occurred in my life over the last month. Don't get me wrong, some of the places I have played "tourist" have greatly astounded me, left mental pictures I will never forget. However.. all in all I think I placed entirely too much hope on the idea that changing scenery, significantly at that, would somehow forcibly alter my life.
I have played myself a fool.
The soundtrack to my life is my iTunes on shuffle. Anyone who knows me well knows this is an extremely rare occurance. As far as music is concerened I will ALWAYS know what to listen to based on how I'm feeling.. and at this very moment I'm pressing forward until I land on a song I can actually stand to listen to.
Katy Perry had held my attention over the course of a week.. then, suddenly, I felt childish for listening to her anti-boy, non-conformal anthems.
I immediately reverted back to my default of Anberlin, the only place I can't seem to go wrong.
Music is usually my go to for this certain emotional turmoil I'm currently wracked with.. today it doesn't seem to be working.
Tom Collins [thank you, love] just supplied me with Cold, which I will now proceed to listen to.

Back to my distorted beliefs in England's ability to cure the monotony that is my life. That statement seems to take a stab at England, which I'm not at all meaning to do. The country is beautiful, I absolutely love the natural element that seems to surround everything. It is my own fault for putting too much expectation into this experience.
For anyone who may stumble upon this blog and is unaware of why I'm in England.. I am taking two courses at Oxford; Faith and Literature, as well as Theory and Theology. Only 2 weeks left now.
Prior to my departure I had managed to convince myself that, by some means, this experience was going to ultimately alter my entire life. Currently, I have absolutely no idea how I had expected it to change me, or why I even wanted a change? Maybe I needed a break from the dramatics of life, the persistantly changing relationships and friendships, the lack of significance in each. I have found, though, that I miss those relationships, the friendships and the dramatics involved in each. I feel a sense of fear that maybe I am not as significant to them and as they are to me, and I have never been more terrified. I do not ever recall feeling this way before, and it certainly would be difficult to explain why.
I don't mean to sound so melodramatic, but then I cannot change what I simply am.

Well, it is 1 a.m. here in lovely Oxford, England.. and I have class at 8 a.m.

Hopefully it wont be months before I return to update.

Cheers;

Brittany

This Song is About Love;

Finally, Inspiration has struck again.
My first poem in months. Hopefully I haven't lost my touch.

This Song is About Love;

Don’t offer those words
Empty promises you’ll never fulfill
I believe you
I believe that you want to
I know that you never
Will.

Can’t you hear me?
Let me scream your name.
As loud as it fucking takes.
While my unwilling heart
Breaks.

I don’t want the lies
I can’t compromise
I won’t be hypnotized
In a trance from your beautiful
Empty

Eyes. So serene, now.
Yet, I know there is fire
To be seen.
When I was willing
You’re eyes were filling
With emotion? NO.
Need.

Focus on this, now.
Can you tell me, how,
You brushed it away?
Or do your feelings stay?
No.
What didn’t exist
Certainly doesn’t remain.

So, these eloquent words
Are all in vain.
And I am empty
Except for the pain.

liefde.amour.liebe.αγάπη.amore.amor.love.

There are so many ways to say it. Countless definitions and connotations, and yet, in every form, it eludes me. I've come to several conclusions about this subject, the first being that I'm not entirely convinced it exists.
This first conclusions stems from an idea which Tom Collins brought up months ago. "Love is just a chemical reaction." At first glance the statement itself seems like a poorly written song lyric, but upon thinking more about this statement I've decided that I understand what he meant by it.
Twice the statement "I love you", in the romantic sense, has passed through my lips. Both times I believed I meant it. When the statement was returned, I believed it to be true. In both instances I was in a position in which hormones were in complete control of my senses, and, clearly, in control of the senses of the man to return the statement. Upon regaining my "senses", and thinking deeper into the subject, I was NOT in love, nor were they with me. My brain convinced me I was feeling something new and exciting. All I was feeling were my hormones in tumultuous discord. Needless to say, my latest idea concerning the subject seems to make sense giving these situations.
So I have to ask, if doctors can prescribe medication to cure the chemical imbalances that cause depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder or other neurological disorders, then why haven't they created a pill that could keep your brain from convincing you you're in love? I am honestly convinced that there could potentially be a pill created to restore the balance that creates the feeling of being "in love".
Once a person's hormones return to normal, you'll see that, love is just an overly embellished word we use to describe temporary insanity.
I'm not writing this to sound negative or pessimistic, I'm really not at all. I'm completely content with the idea of not ever falling in love or ever experiencing it. Of course I'm only speaking about romantic love. I love my family and my friends with as much as I can love anyone. How much that is, I couldn't tell you. But that's just fine with me.

Love is just a chemical creation.

i've been having an affaire. with my journal.

So I've been cheating on my blog. Hence the lack of posts in the month of December. I started keeping a journal. All of my thoughts on paper and hidden away. I simply felt that my emotions were too deep to publicly display them.
Anyway, onto my newest post.
Ironically, my last entry was about the lake.. and I'm currently packing to go again. I need this. Probably more than I needed it before. I need to free my mind from life and it's troubles. I need my friends to bring me out of this melancholy funk I'm in.
I'm actually having a pretty amazing day considering the circumstances, which I'll keep to myself. Maybe I just haven't quite realized the absurdity of the entire situation. Maybe it hasn't hit me. OR, maybe I just really don't give a fuck. Let's go with the last one, it makes me sound cool and unaffected. The worst part of this all? The shit interrupted something important. Well, not necessarily important, but fun.. and it was interrupted none-the-less. Okay, enough talking about last night.
Seriously.. this post just sounds like me venting. It's on the same level as the majority of my myspace posts. I thought I created this blog so I could write more eloquently. Apparently not today. I'm out of it.
I may come back and write more.. but for now, that's it.
My water is out. Glad I already took a shower.
I'm off to get dressed and pick up Aaron from work.

the lake; best experienced in december.

It's finally here! December is, by far, my favorite month of the year. Cold weather, hot chocolate, Christmas decorations [mine have been up since before Thanksgiving], the ending of this year and, at the climax, the beginning of a new one.
To "ring in" this December me and seven friends headed out bound for the city of Breckenridge, about 55 miles northeast of Abilene. Our destination; Heather's lake house. Our goal; absolutely nothing. Which was exactly what we needed. No expectations. Just a night on the lake with friends. This night turned out to be the best break I could have asked for, and, just for the record, I have the best friends I could ever ask for.
Gilly;Mish;Stephen;Vannah;Christian;Heather;Matt
I really love you guys, so much.
I can't thank you enough for being just what I needed, just when I was beginning to feel like I didn't know where I belonged. Y'all showed me exactly where I belong. Here. At least for the time being.
So, I could sit here and go on about the stories and our little adventures [ie. Gilly disappearing for an hour. -still mad at you by the way ;)-], but there's too many to choose from, and they probably wouldn't mean anything to anyone who wasn't present. However, I will post a few photos of the night. Just a general idea of how happy you guys make me.
The last photo I'll attach is of my leap into the lake off Heather's dock; which I equate with my newly obtained outlook on life and the people in it. The water was 40 degrees, at best, and as I plummeted into it's depths I conquered my fear of the known and unknown. As well as conquering my recurring dream, or nightmare rather, of drowning. I'm tempted to talk more about my dream, but that is for another time.
This post is about life. About December. About endings. About beginnings. About

jumping.

[in]Decision 2008.

This is certainly a poor time to be a Republican; no matter, I remain by my fellow elephants.
I'm currently uncommitted to any particular candidate. My indecisiveness of course extends from the country's lack of support of the Republican party; but my fierce unrelenting Republican support stems from the fact that I refuse to accept the idea of a power-hungry bitch or a black supremacist as my next president. Yes, this is certainly a somber time for my party.

Anyway, I didn't write this to criticize the Democratic party or it's candidates. I just want to share a video of Mike Huckabee, which finally gave me some hope that there are some politicians [or at least one] who doesn't'/don't avoid the issue of God. The following video concerns evolution; I applaud you, Mike Huckabee:

Emotion is Dead, Pt. 1

Before anyone can criticize; yes, I realize this entry title is completely unoriginal. It just happens to be the song I'm listening to, from the album Emotion is Dead by The Juliana Theory**. Which is, if I might be so bold as to say [and i will be, because this is my blog], an extremely ironic title for an album/song from a band whose music stems from raw emotion. In fact mentioning the band The Juliana Theory in conversation immediately sends up a red, er..black, emo flag. No, I don't use the term "emo" negatively, in fact I don't quite understand where it has received such a negative connotation. If we could really sit down and decide was "emo" is, exactly, the word is EMOTIONAL. Now, I'm not sure if you've noticed [and since you're reading this, you probably have] I'm quite an emotional person.
Does this make me emo?
My favorite color is black.
Does this make me emo?
I cry. [yes, that is normal.]
Does this make me emo?
I'd like for anyone who reads this to go listen to the song Emotion is Dead, Pt. 1 by The Juliana Theory. Even if you completely despise alternative music and would rather slit your wrists than listen to anything stemming from emotion, just give it a listen. Listen, and then and only then, if you can tell me that you believe these musicians have absolutely no talent for musical transcription and composition, I will respect your discountenance.
I believe this is one of the most beautifully written, and disregarded, songs I've ever heard.

Anyways,
Enough about The Juliana Theory.
I really don't have anything specific to talk about tonight; which is perhaps why I just went off on one of my usual rants regarding TJT. I just felt the need to let off some steam via the internet blog-o-sphere. It's slightly pathetic, is it not? That we have to vent our thoughts and emotions through the internet? I can offer two predominant reasons as to why I spend more time ranting on the internet than speaking, face to face, about my beliefs.
A. Most of my friends find my interests and ideas too complex. It is very rare that I meet someone who I truly feel like I can talk to on an intellectual level. I have a broad spectrum of ideas stemming from virtually all subjects, and I could count on one hand the number of people whom I actually find myself having intellectual conversations with on a, somewhat, regular basis.
Literally;
i. my mother
ii. my grandmother
iii. my cousin; michelle
iv. tom collins
v. shaun sharma
there you have them. my intellectual [friends].
B. There are very few people who inhabit my safe-haven of person's i entrust with my raw emotion and feelings. Fewer than my list of intellectuals. In fact there are only two; my mother and my God. This doesn't leave a lot of room for me to open up to others. I'm not trying to suggest that I am going to openly display my every emotion on this blog; however, it is definitely easier for me to open up to a faceless, nameless object who does not embody the ability to judge.

Should I conclude this all now?
I. The Juliana Theory is brilliant.
II. This blog is my emotional outlet.

That's all for now.
Have a glorious evening.



[**there you go copyright enforcers. i give credit where credit is due.]

Heart-Shaped Nourishment

Well, seeing as I haven't posted anything relating to my love life, or lack thereof rather, I guess I should give some insight before entering my latest rant.
I'm currently on a break from love. Well, from relationships or any involvement with members of the opposite sex. [no, this doesn't mean I'm a lesbian.] In short, I've sworn off men for an uncertain amount of time, because i no longer believe I have the strength left in my heart to sustain further injury. Now that I've given small insight into my personal beliefs in regard to my heart, I'll begin my story.
Saturday night I wanted nothing more than to spend an evening with my girls. Mish, Vannah and I headed to Johnny Carino's for some girl time and Italian cuisine. I ordered one of the few low-fat items on the menu which I viewed as appetizing, which [though the name escapes me] consisted of a grilled chicken breast, green beans and a small amount of spaghetti. Upon receiving my meal, and in the midst of yet another conversation about how we despise the male species [yes, i consider them a species; one far below the rate of evolution of females], I stared in disbelief at the informal representation of love that was my chicken breast. I was so astounded that I stopped to take a picture.
So, as only I saw fit; i solved this problem in the best way possible.
That's correct, I cut it in half.
There you have it;
my heart.

Congratulations, Theo.. I'm an idiot.

I like to consider myself very open-minded and unprejudiced. Well, today, Theo proved me wrong.
In the midst of a conversation about how we both enjoy meeting persons of the opposite sex whom are intelligent as, or more than, us, Theo threw in an anecdote about a riddle which a college professor had once asked during class.
"A man and his son went out for a drive one afternoon. They got involved in a serious wreck. Two ambulances came. The father was taken to one hospital. The son taken to another. When the son was brought into the emergency room, the doctor looked down and said, "I can't operate on him! He's my son!!"

How is this possible?
My first response was, "It's his step-son."
wrong.
My second [and a bit more creative] was, "One of the father's is a transexual."
obviously wrong.
I sat, annoyed and brooding, about the answer to this question, having no idea that I was currently proving that I am sexist.
The doctor was his mother.

The thought never even crossed my mind. Why doesn't it enter our thoughts that the doctor could potentially be a woman? I guess I lied; I'm sexist. But aren't we all?
Congratulations, Theo my dear, you've successfully made me feel like an imbecile. Though I do appreciate you opening the door to my mind a half inch wider.
Thanks.

My vivacity stems from hope.. and poetry.

Well, this will be my first entry. I could begin with a description of myself, but I wont. If you actually take the time to read my blogs you should obtain some idea of my character, without all the messy details of an in-depth description of my every feature and flaw.

I was driven to write this post because I've just realized how perfectly I correspond with my major, English. This evening I was reading/researching a famous Victorian poet by the name of Gerard Manley Hopkins. At first I found his fabricated words and phrases to be annoyingly hard to follow. I literally complained for around two hours about how much I despised this poet. I was, once again, revisiting the poem [Carrion Comfort] and upon reading the third stanza the meaning and motivation behind it finally became clear. I was completely astonished at the profound connotation of this poem. Basically, the English major in me truly shone its colors as I stared blankly in bewilderment at the pages of my Victorian Period book.

Basically, I think this man, whom I considered two hours ago to be a complete imbecile, is one of the most brilliant writers of his time. If you are interested in the Victorian era and it's poetry, I highly recommend the works of Gerard Manley Hopkins*.

*keep in mind, without an open one you wont understand his philosophy.