Anna

So I've been (and am still here) in California this winter break. And it's been quite lovely, really. We've gone around LA, and I've now been to Hollywood. (Look for me there in the near -or extremely distant- future.) Mario the tour guide was not only false on many "facts" he told us, but he also wouldn't shut up. I got to walk around 4 beautiful beaches: Venice, Santa Monica, Zuma, and Coronado. Universal Studios on Christmas day was infested with Mexicans, Indians (Namaste, brethrens) and and Chinese/Japanese/Koreans/what have you. But the highlight of my visit to SoCal was visiting one of my best friends, Anna, in the beautiful island haven of Coronado.

Let me expand on Anna for quite some time.

She is someone that once you spend a day with, you want to be exactly like. She's drop dead gorgeous naturally (I asked her. She wasn't wearing any make up when I saw her. Feel free to hate now.) She is *so* smart. Her passions are unique and the perfect fit for her. She takes amazing pictures on her cool and dandy camera. Although I don't actually know the definition of a hipster, she is most definitely a hipster. Her style is one-of-a-kind, just like her. Try to buy the same clothes as her from the random boutiques she goes to, fine. I can guarantee you that you will not look as good as her. Anna is a blonde haired blue eyed beauty.

But those are only her exterior qualities. What really makes me, and everyone who is lucky enough to encounter her ora, love her so much is her personality, her heart. Anna honestly lives every day to its fullest. Verbatim as she said it, she tries to find the good in any restriction she faces. She is a leader. You can't help but want to follow in her footsteps. She is confident. She knows what she wants in life and goes for it with her all. In the one afternoon that I was fortunate enough to spend with her, she reassured me of any flaws I have (if you know me, you know how many I have and how self conscious I am. So that much reassuring in one afternoon is quite phenomenal.) I filled her in on all the passive drama that I've experienced this year and she's told me just how to deal with it. She is a boy-problem-guru. I honestly just need her in my head 24/7 to help me.

I can tell Anna anything. She is the least judgemental person I've ever met. I can tell her that I've had anorexia without her looking at me any differently. I can tell her how much I dislike a common friend that we have without fearing that she'll think I'm a bitch. She's a human form of a journal. And she talks back to you. How awesome is she?

There's so much more to Anna than what I've said. Having to go through her moving back to California last year was one of the hardest things I've had to do. Her moving not only changed me, but it changed our whole friend group. Anna was honestly (this is probably the most factual statement that I've said in this whole post) the missing puzzle piece in our high school friend group. Everyone felt comfortable around her. Everyone *does* feel comfortable around her. She makes such an effort to keep in touch with all of her Minnie friends. I don't think I can really put Anna properly into words, even though I've written a load about her already.

If there's one person that I could say I'm jealous of, it's Anna. I don't blame you if by reading this far you are jealous too. Her life isn't perfect, but she makes it the best she can with whatever situation she's put in. That's something we can all improve on in our lives. And after seeing her again, I've decided that that's what I'm going to do.

Kudos to you for getting this far. This post is so long because: a) she needs this many and even more words to even partially put her into perspective for you, b) because I miss her more than anything and anyone right now, and c) because the traffic on freeway 5 in San Diego to LA is SO EFFING BACKED UP. DEAR GOD.

Okie, toodles.

That One Girl Who Never Does Anything Bad

I think that the reason I never try to risk anything is because I'm too fearful of the consequences.

Those of you who know me know that I don't really do anything risky... or interesting, for that matter. Sometimes I wish that I did risky things. Maybe sneak out, or go to a party that I obviously shouldn't be going to. Meet someone and befriend them, even though my parents would disapprove of it. But then I think of the effects that these choices could have on me, my life. It's not worth it to me. I'd rather stay home and watch movies or (don't hate me; don't judge me) maybe even do *gasp* homework on a Friday night instead of going to someone's house where I know everyone will be absolutely hammered. My parents disappointment, the loss of trust, risking getting kicked out of NHS and choir, none of that is worth a one night buzz.

I do think that there are times when risk is a good thing though. And I do think that I've done risky things to some extent. Putting yourself out there, showing that your vulnerable; these are all good types of risk. I open myself up emotionally every time I audition. I risk being rejected. I risk being condemned for not having a good voice. I risk being looked at as a horrid actress. I risk looking cocky. I risk looking too emotional. I put all of my being on the table in order for a judge to place a verdict on me. But it's these types of risk that I live for. The disappointment of failure doesn't even come close to the feeling of accomplishment. And this is all thanks to risk.

I guess my risk is more internal that external. I'm okay with that. Internal risk hasn't done anything to maim by being or my future. I don't need alcohol or the feeling in the pit of my stomach that what I'm doing is wrong in order to feel a rush of emotions.

In the hopes of lightening the mood of this post, here's a Spongebob Squarepants episode that is all about risk. (The kind that I try to abstain from.)

BIEBER FEVER

Blame my parents. They did it.

Rants About Junior Year

People have always told me that junior year is supposed to be the best year of high school.

I have yet to find reason to believe those people.

My classes got 10x harder this year than sophomore year. (To be expected. I'm not expecting any pity right at this moment.) APUSH is probably the worst class I've ever taken. We colored for 86 minutes on Thursday. You're thinking, "Really? She's exaggerating." No. I'm not. Mrs. McIntyre has a teal sheet of paper with a graveyard, mountains, a canoe, and an Indian man with moccasins next to him to prove it. I find no joy in going to this class. Reason #1 why junior year is not going down in my books as a favorite.

I seem to have misplaced my friends from freshman and sophomore year. Can you help me find them? I sometimes catch glimpses of them in the hallway, but I'm never sure if it's them. (Don't worry. I'm not friendless. I just only have theatre friends now. *I'm not complaining about having theatre friends. They're awesome.*) Reason #2 why I haven't had an epiphany of "OHMYGOD. Best year ever."

SAT/ACT/PSAT/(Insert other standardized test here that I will be taking that molds my future.) I actually prepped for the pre-SAT. That's how serious I am about these tests. The stress that I feel from these horrendous things keeps me from feeling any pleasure about this year. Reason #3.

Yes, it's December. Yes, I'm already thinking about prom. Yes, I am being a typical girl who is thinking that she won't get asked. But I have reason, and it's a fundamental problem to the idea of prom: I HAVE NO RELATIONSHIP WITH THE MALE SPECIES. If this pattern continues to go on through this year, I can just kiss the idea of wearing a beautiful dress, getting my hair all "did," and wearing pretty make-up goodbye. It'll be an extremely hard parting. Prom could maybe take up reasons #4-#10, but for the sake of you not thinking that I'm that desperate, it'll only be #4.

Reason #5: I just don't like high school. I'm ready to go to college. I'm pretty much sick of anyone that goes to Wayzata. I'm ready to open my mind to other types of people, other political viewpoints, other fascinating classes. And I'm also ready to go to a school where I can join the ISA (Indian Student Association) and then find the Indian man of my dreams and then be in a happy relationship. This has happened to pretty much any Indian college student I know. I'm just hoping that my streak of having a non-existent boyfriend is broken once I get to college. A girl can hope, right?

Speaking of college, my mother told me yesterday as we were pulling into the Super Target parking lot that I should major in music. WHAAAAA? You could say I had a DP in my mind.

Disclaimer: Okay, I don't hate everything about junior year. I've made amazing friends this year. I've found who I really am (a theatre/singing obsessed girl). I love being an upperclassmen. Especially in theatre. There are so many perks to it. I love being able to drive anywhere I want. I love the freedom that teachers give you. I love being a part of Wayzata, where academics and extra-curricular activities are accepted and encouraged. And I have great teachers that love what they are doing, which makes me encouraged to come to class every day. But I do hate some of you.

Crazy Little Thing Called Love.

     He knows I'll give him food, regardless of how I still hurt. He knows that I have to help him. It's as if he's a puppeteer with my heart, playing with its strings, controlling its every move. He knows that if he keeps coming back, I'll eventually give in to him and hand him food. And I will. That's what love does to you. It's a pain in the ass rear end, really.
     He was my first love. You always have a special place in your heart for your first love. What happened to his life I will never know. That's what you get for spending all your time in high school on girls, I guess. And I was one of those girls, those stupid girls who thought he actually meant it when he crooned, "I love you." Damn, how his lulling voice sounded to my yearning ears.
     Dear Lord. He's walking in right now. There's no one in this place except me and another middle aged woman. She must sense the tension that just infested the room, because she looks around. She focuses her sights on him. Does she see in him what I used to see? He's inside the restaurant now. Can he feel my heart pounding?
     I have food for him. Of course I do. A warm croissant, old, but not too old. It's slightly underbaked, just like he likes all his pastries. A large sized coffee cup is in my other hand. More milk added than the usual person would prefer, 3 1/2 teaspoons of sugar. I remember from all those coffee runs we spontaneously went on during our senior year. Will he think I'm still hung up over him if I remember all these details from 15 years ago? There's no turning back now: he sees me.
    All I can hear in this silent room is my heart thrashing. I try to focus on my heels. Click clack THRASH click click THRASH THRASH THRASH. Obviously that's not working. I look over at the middle aged woman, sitting silently at her table. She's looking at me curiously. Does she suspect anything? Oh god, he's right in front of me. There's so many possible things I could say, but how to say it eloquently?
    He plucks the bag and cup out of my hand, and leaves. He's gone just like that. He took my breath away just as he walked away. There's nothing more to do now than muster up the strength to click-clack back to my station. Half way there, I realize that I can't do it anymore. Hand over mouth, eyes starting to close, tears flowing down my face. My shoulders hunch up, my back curves, my knees buckle.
    He's done it again.