Measurements....

One square lime.... Only one person in the world is going to get this, but it keeps popping in my head and making me laugh. hehe :)

Procrastination

So....it's 6-something in the morning, and I've been up for nearly 2 hours working on homework that should've been done yesterday. Why do I procrastinate??? It is probably my worst habit. For example, I'll have a book rented from the library, I'll be done reading it within the designated rental time, yet I'll wait 2 months to return it, meanwhile racking up an insanely large fine. I'll even have the book in my car and I'll pass by the library nearly every single day, and I STILL won't return it until I get at least two threatening notices in the mail from the annoyed librarians. Similarly, when I was a kid living in Rock Hill, we lived right behind a Blockbuster. Needless to say, the late fees I accrued were just ridiculous. I don't think I'm necessarily lazy, but what else could possibly be the explanation for this bad habit of mine? The optimistic, idealistic side of me likes to say that "I work best under pressure", but I'm starting to think that my procrastination really does stem from laziness. See....I'm procrastinating right now! I could be finishing up my assignment, but instead I'm writing a damn blog!

Fact or Fortune?

I just ate a delicious order of crab rangoon and a delectably crisp vegetable eggroll. I really love Chinese food, though my partial motive when ordering is simply for the fortune cookies they throw in wirh your meal. Mine today says, "A new relationship is about to blossom. You will be blessed." Normally, I would think of this fortune as a nice, pleasant message, but one without any significant meaning. Right now, however, it bears a much greater significance...possibly. You see, I'm going on a date with a pastor on Friday night. (Not MY pastor, but A pastor)... I don't know. Maybe I read too much into these kinds of things, but I thought it was interesting considering my situation. We shall see if this fortune comes true. :)

Goblin Market

My favorite poem: "Goblin Market" by Christina Rossetti

Morning and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
"Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpecked cherries-
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries,
Wild free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples, dewberries,
Pine-apples, blackberries,
Apricots, strawberries--
All ripe together
In summer weather--
Morns that pass by,
Fair eves that fly;
Come buy, come buy;
Our grapes fresh from the vine,
Pomegranates full and fine,
Dates and sharp bullaces,
Rare pears and greengages,
Damsons and bilberries,
Taste them and try:
Currants and gooseberries,
Bright-fire-like barberries,
Figs to fill your mouth,
Citrons from the South,
Sweet to tongue and sound to eye,
Come buy, come buy."

Evening by evening
Among the brookside rushes,
Laura bowed her head to hear,
Lizzie veiled her blushes:
Crouching close together
In the cooling weather,
With clasping arms and cautioning lips,
With tingling cheeks and finger-tips.
"Lie close," Laura said,
Pricking up her golden head:
We must not look at goblin men,
We must not buy their fruits:
Who knows upon what soil they fed
Their hungry thirsty roots?"
"Come buy," call the goblins
Hobbling down the glen.
"O! cried Lizzie, Laura, Laura,
You should not peep at goblin men."
Lizzie covered up her eyes
Covered close lest they should look;
Laura reared her glossy head,
And whispered like the restless brook:
"Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,
Down the glen tramp little men.
One hauls a basket,
One bears a plate,
One lugs a golden dish
Of many pounds' weight.
How fair the vine must grow
Whose grapes are so luscious;
How warm the wind must blow
Through those fruit bushes."
"No," said Lizzie, "no, no, no;
Their offers should not charm us,
Their evil gifts would harm us."
She thrust a dimpled finger
In each ear, shut eyes and ran:
Curious Laura chose to linger
Wondering at each merchant man.
One had a cat's face,
One whisked a tail,
One tramped at a rat's pace,
One crawled like a snail,
One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,
One like a ratel tumbled hurry-scurry.
Lizzie heard a voice like voice of doves
Cooing all together:
They sounded kind and full of loves
In the pleasant weather.

Laura stretched her gleaming neck
Like a rush-imbedded swan,
Like a lily from the beck,
Like a moonlit poplar branch,
Like a vessel at the launch
When its last restraint is gone.

Backwards up the mossy glen
Turned and trooped the goblin men,
With their shrill repeated cry,
"Come buy, come buy."
When they reached where Laura was
They stood stock still upon the moss,
Leering at each other,
Brother with queer brother;
Signalling each other,
Brother with sly brother.
One set his basket down,
One reared his plate;
One began to weave a crown
Of tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown
(Men sell not such in any town);
One heaved the golden weight
Of dish and fruit to offer her:
"Come buy, come buy," was still their cry.
Laura stared but did not stir,
Longed but had no money:
The whisk-tailed merchant bade her taste
In tones as smooth as honey,
The cat-faced purr'd,
The rat-paced spoke a word
Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard;
One parrot-voiced and jolly
Cried "Pretty Goblin" still for "Pretty Polly";
One whistled like a bird.

But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste:
"Good folk, I have no coin;
To take were to purloin:
I have no copper in my purse,
I have no silver either,
And all my gold is on the furze
That shakes in windy weather
Above the rusty heather."
"You have much gold upon your head,"
They answered altogether:
"Buy from us with a golden curl."
She clipped a precious golden lock,
She dropped a tear more rare than pearl,
Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red:
Sweeter than honey from the rock,
Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer than water flowed that juice;
She never tasted such before,
How should it cloy with length of use?
She sucked and sucked and sucked the more
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore,
She sucked until her lips were sore;
Then flung the emptied rinds away,
But gathered up one kernel stone,
And knew not was it night or day
As she turned home alone.

Lizzie met her at the gate
Full of wise upbraidings:
"Dear, you should not stay so late,
Twilight is not good for maidens;
Should not loiter in the glen
In the haunts of goblin men.
Do you not remember Jeanie,
How she met them in the moonlight,
Took their gifts both choice and many,
Ate their fruits and wore their flowers
Plucked from bowers
Where summer ripens at all hours?
But ever in the moonlight
She pined and pined away;
Sought them by night and day,
Found them no more, but dwindled and grew gray;
Then fell with the first snow,
While to this day no grass will grow
Where she lies low:
I planted daisies there a year ago
That never blow.
You should not loiter so."
"Nay hush," said Laura.
"Nay hush, my sister:
I ate and ate my fill,
Yet my mouth waters still;
To-morrow night I will
Buy more," and kissed her.
"Have done with sorrow;
I'll bring you plums to-morrow
Fresh on their mother twigs,
Cherries worth getting;
You cannot think what figs
My teeth have met in,
What melons, icy-cold
Piled on a dish of gold
Too huge for me to hold,
What peaches with a velvet nap,
Pellucid grapes without one seed:
Odorous indeed must be the mead
Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drink,
With lilies at the brink,
And sugar-sweet their sap."


Golden head by golden head,
Like two pigeons in one nest
Folded in each other's wings,
They lay down, in their curtained bed:
Like two blossoms on one stem,
Like two flakes of new-fallen snow,
Like two wands of ivory
Tipped with gold for awful kings.
Moon and stars beamed in at them,
Wind sang to them lullaby,
Lumbering owls forbore to fly,
Not a bat flapped to and fro
Round their rest:
Cheek to cheek and breast to breast
Locked together in one nest.

Early in the morning
When the first cock crowed his warning,
Neat like bees, as sweet and busy,
Laura rose with Lizzie:
Fetched in honey, milked the cows,
Aired and set to rights the house,
Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat,
Cakes for dainty mouths to eat,
Next churned butter, whipped up cream,
Fed their poultry, sat and sewed;
Talked as modest maidens should
Lizzie with an open heart,
Laura in an absent dream,
One content, one sick in part;
One warbling for the mere bright day's delight,
One longing for the night.

At length slow evening came--
They went with pitchers to the reedy brook;
Lizzie most placid in her look,
Laura most like a leaping flame.
They drew the gurgling water from its deep
Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags,
Then turning homeward said: "The sunset flushes
Those furthest loftiest crags;
Come, Laura, not another maiden lags,
No wilful squirrel wags,
The beasts and birds are fast asleep."
But Laura loitered still among the rushes
And said the bank was steep.

And said the hour was early still,
The dew not fallen, the wind not chill:
Listening ever, but not catching
The customary cry,
"Come buy, come buy,"
With its iterated jingle
Of sugar-baited words:
Not for all her watching
Once discerning even one goblin
Racing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling;
Let alone the herds
That used to tramp along the glen,
In groups or single,
Of brisk fruit-merchant men.

p>Till Lizzie urged, "O Laura, come,
I hear the fruit-call, but I dare not look:
You should not loiter longer at this brook:
Come with me home.
The stars rise, the moon bends her arc,
Each glow-worm winks her spark,
Let us get home before the night grows dark;
For clouds may gather even
Though this is summer weather,
Put out the lights and drench us through;
Then if we lost our way what should we do?"

Laura turned cold as stone
To find her sister heard that cry alone,
That goblin cry,
"Come buy our fruits, come buy."
Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit?
Must she no more such succous pasture find,
Gone deaf and blind?
Her tree of life drooped from the root:
She said not one word in her heart's sore ache;
But peering thro' the dimness, naught discerning,
Trudged home, her pitcher dripping all the way;
So crept to bed, and lay
Silent 'til Lizzie slept;
Then sat up in a passionate yearning,
And gnashed her teeth for balked desire, and wept
As if her heart would break.

Day after day, night after night,
Laura kept watch in vain,
In sullen silence of exceeding pain.
She never caught again the goblin cry:
"Come buy, come buy,"
She never spied the goblin men
Hawking their fruits along the glen:
But when the noon waxed bright
Her hair grew thin and gray;
She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turn
To swift decay, and burn
Her fire away.

One day remembering her kernel-stone
She set it by a wall that faced the south;
Dewed it with tears, hoped for a root,
Watched for a waxing shoot,
But there came none;
It never saw the sun,
It never felt the trickling moisture run:
While with sunk eyes and faded mouth
She dreamed of melons, as a traveller sees
False waves in desert drouth
With shade of leaf-crowned trees,
And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze.

She no more swept the house,
Tended the fowls or cows,
Fetched honey, kneaded cakes of wheat,
Brought water from the brook:
But sat down listless in the chimney-nook
And would not eat.

Tender Lizzie could not bear
To watch her sister's cankerous care,
Yet not to share.
She night and morning
Caught the goblins' cry:
"Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy."
Beside the brook, along the glen
She heard the tramp of goblin men,
The voice and stir
Poor Laura could not hear;
Longed to buy fruit to comfort her,
But feared to pay too dear.

She thought of Jeanie in her grave,
Who should have been a bride;
But who for joys brides hope to have
Fell sick and died
In her gay prime,
In earliest winter-time,
With the first glazing rime,
With the first snow-fall of crisp winter-time.

Till Laura, dwindling,
Seemed knocking at Death's door:
Then Lizzie weighed no more
Better and worse,
But put a silver penny in her purse,
Kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of furze
At twilight, halted by the brook,
And for the first time in her life
Began to listen and look.

Laughed every goblin
When they spied her peeping:
Came towards her hobbling,
Flying, running, leaping,
Puffing and blowing,
Chuckling, clapping, crowing,
Clucking and gobbling,
Mopping and mowing,
Full of airs and graces,
Pulling wry faces,
Demure grimaces,
Cat-like and rat-like,
Ratel and wombat-like,
Snail-paced in a hurry,
Parrot-voiced and whistler,
Helter-skelter, hurry-skurry,
Chattering like magpies,
Fluttering like pigeons,
Gliding like fishes, --
Hugged her and kissed her;
Squeezed and caressed her;
Stretched up their dishes,
Panniers and plates:
"Look at our apples
Russet and dun,
Bob at our cherries
Bite at our peaches,
Citrons and dates,
Grapes for the asking,
Pears red with basking
Out in the sun,
Plums on their twigs;
Pluck them and suck them,
Pomegranates, figs."

"Good folk," said Lizzie,
Mindful of Jeanie,
"Give me much and many"; --
Held out her apron,
Tossed them her penny.
"Nay, take a seat with us,
Honor and eat with us,"
They answered grinning;
"Our feast is but beginning.
Night yet is early,
Warm and dew-pearly,
Wakeful and starry:
Such fruits as these
No man can carry;
Half their bloom would fly,
Half their dew would dry,
Half their flavor would pass by.
Sit down and feast with us,
Be welcome guest with us,
Cheer you and rest with us."
"Thank you," said Lizzie; "but one waits
At home alone for me:
So, without further parleying,
If you will not sell me any
Of your fruits though much and many,
Give me back my silver penny
I tossed you for a fee."
They began to scratch their pates,
No longer wagging, purring,
But visibly demurring,
Grunting and snarling.
One called her proud,
Cross-grained, uncivil;
Their tones waxed loud,
Their looks were evil.
Lashing their tails
They trod and hustled her,
Elbowed and jostled her,
Clawed with their nails,
Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,
Tore her gown and soiled her stocking,
Twitched her hair out by the roots,
Stamped upon her tender feet,
Held her hands and squeezed their fruits
Against her mouth to make her eat.

White and golden Lizzie stood,
Like a lily in a flood,
Like a rock of blue-veined stone
Lashed by tides obstreperously, --
Like a beacon left alone
In a hoary roaring sea,
Sending up a golden fire, --
Like a fruit-crowned orange-tree
White with blossoms honey-sweet
Sore beset by wasp and bee, --
Like a royal virgin town
Topped with gilded dome and spire
Close beleaguered by a fleet
Mad to tear her standard down.

One may lead a horse to water,
Twenty cannot make him drink.
Though the goblins cuffed and caught her,
Coaxed and fought her,
Bullied and besought her,
Scratched her, pinched her black as ink,
Kicked and knocked her,
Mauled and mocked her,
Lizzie uttered not a word;
Would not open lip from lip
Lest they should cram a mouthful in;
But laughed in heart to feel the drip
Of juice that syruped all her face,
And lodged in dimples of her chin,
And streaked her neck which quaked like curd.
At last the evil people,
Worn out by her resistance,
Flung back her penny, kicked their fruit
Along whichever road they took,
Not leaving root or stone or shoot.
Some writhed into the ground,
Some dived into the brook
With ring and ripple.
Some scudded on the gale without a sound,
Some vanished in the distance.

In a smart, ache, tingle,
Lizzie went her way;
Knew not was it night or day;
Sprang up the bank, tore through the furze,
Threaded copse and dingle,
And heard her penny jingle
Bouncing in her purse, --
Its bounce was music to her ear.
She ran and ran
As if she feared some goblin man
Dogged her with gibe or curse
Or something worse:
But not one goblin skurried after,
Nor was she pricked by fear;
The kind heart made her windy-paced
That urged her home quite out of breath with haste
And inward laughter.

She cried "Laura," up the garden,
"Did you miss me ?
Come and kiss me.
Never mind my bruises,
Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices
Squeezed from goblin fruits for you,
Goblin pulp and goblin dew.
Eat me, drink me, love me;
Laura, make much of me:
For your sake I have braved the glen
And had to do with goblin merchant men."

Laura started from her chair,
Flung her arms up in the air,
Clutched her hair:
"Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tasted
For my sake the fruit forbidden?
Must your light like mine be hidden,
Your young life like mine be wasted,
Undone in mine undoing,
And ruined in my ruin;
Thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden?"
She clung about her sister,
Kissed and kissed and kissed her:
Tears once again
Refreshed her shrunken eyes,
Dropping like rain
After long sultry drouth;
Shaking with aguish fear, and pain,
She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth.

Her lips began to scorch,
That juice was wormwood to her tongue,
She loathed the feast:
Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung,
Rent all her robe, and wrung
Her hands in lamentable haste,
And beat her breast.
Her locks streamed like the torch
Borne by a racer at full speed,
Or like the mane of horses in their flight,
Or like an eagle when she stems the light
Straight toward the sun,
Or like a caged thing freed,
Or like a flying flag when armies run.

Swift fire spread through her veins, knocked at her heart,
Met the fire smouldering there
And overbore its lesser flame,
She gorged on bitterness without a name:
Ah! fool, to choose such part
Of soul-consuming care!
Sense failed in the mortal strife:
Like the watch-tower of a town
Which an earthquake shatters down,
Like a lightning-stricken mast,
Like a wind-uprooted tree
Spun about,
Like a foam-topped water-spout
Cast down headlong in the sea,
She fell at last;
Pleasure past and anguish past,
Is it death or is it life ?

Life out of death.
That night long Lizzie watched by her,
Counted her pulse's flagging stir,
Felt for her breath,
Held water to her lips, and cooled her face
With tears and fanning leaves:
But when the first birds chirped about their eaves,
And early reapers plodded to the place
Of golden sheaves,
And dew-wet grass
Bowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass,
And new buds with new day
Opened of cup-like lilies on the stream,
Laura awoke as from a dream,
Laughed in the innocent old way,
Hugged Lizzie but not twice or thrice;
Her gleaming locks showed not one thread of gray,
Her breath was sweet as May,
And light danced in her eyes.

Days, weeks, months,years
Afterwards, when both were wives
With children of their own;
Their mother-hearts beset with fears,
Their lives bound up in tender lives;
Laura would call the little ones
And tell them of her early prime,
Those pleasant days long gone
Of not-returning time:
Would talk about the haunted glen,
The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men,
Their fruits like honey to the throat,
But poison in the blood;
(Men sell not such in any town;)
Would tell them how her sister stood
In deadly peril to do her good,
And win the fiery antidote:
Then joining hands to little hands
Would bid them cling together,
"For there is no friend like a sister,
In calm or stormy weather,
To cheer one on the tedious way,
To fetch one if one goes astray,
To lift one if one totters down,
To strengthen whilst one stands."

Mandy Moore

I do not necessarily categorize myself as a feminist, but I do indeed hold certain feministic values and opinions, especially regarding the way in which women are sexually objectified in both the "real world" and in the media. It literally sickens me the way women are sexualized by men, as if we are simply objects to be used to gratify their every sexual whim and desire. Disgusted by the overt, gratuitous, and completely unnecessary sexual imagery in magazines, movies, and on television, I am finding myself growing more infuriated with the misogynstic attitudes of today's society with each passing day. The portrayal of women as purely sexual beings in music videos, and perhaps most pervasively in videos such as "Girls Gone Wild", not only sickens and infuriates me, but it really makes my heart break every time I see them because it reminds me of the incredibly slippery downhill slope we are on. Commercials, movies, advertisements....they are all predominantly focused on glorifying sex and manipulating women to believe the myth that physical attractiveness and sexuality are the most, if not the only, important attributes for females to strive to attain. Girls are starving themselves, getting plastic surgery, and stuffing their chests with silicone all in an effort to be more pleasing to the male eye. We are expected to fit into a ridiuliously unattainable and quite pathetic mold, all because society teaches us that we should behave and look a certain way. Ok....I'm on a tangent right now, and I'm getting way off track. My point is this. I saw Mandy Moore perform her new song "Extraordinary" on The Tonight Show the other night. She is not only insanely talented, but a million times more gorgeous than her stick-thin, anorexic, fake-breasted counterparts. She is curvacious, healthy looking, and a perfect example of the natural female form. She is the kind of starlet America's young people should be admiring because she personifies the healthy, confident self image that girls need in a world that tries to convince them that they are never good enough, nor skinny enough to be truly accepted. Anyway, that's that. I just really admire Mandy Moore because she is strong enough, confident enough, and comfortable enough in her own skin to break out of the mold that we are all expected to conform to.

Gary Coleman is the shit!

I was born in 1982. Growing up, I watched "Silver Spoons", "Small Wonder", "The Facts of Life" and a number of other mediocre half-wit sitcoms. For the past few months, however, I began watching the real classics. "Sanford and Son", "The Jeffersons", and most importantly, "Good Times". I can honestly say that I have NEVER laughed so hard at any show....ever. "Seinfeld" of course is hilarious and makes me crack up every time (even after I've seen the episode 10 times). But there is no other television show in history that can compare to "Good Times". I Tivo every episode, and it never fails to make me practically double over with laughter. Well, Sunday night, I was curled up on my couch with a blanket, pillow, and remote in hand watching "Good Times". Gary Coleman was the guest star, and he was so hysterical that I seriously laughed for a good 10 minutes straight. (Granted, I had just toked on a little somethin', but it was hilarious nonetheless). I have underestimated Gary Coleman for so long! I thought he was just the little short guy on "Diff'rent Strokes" who said "What you talkin' bout, Willis?" I thought of him as the former child-star whose parents fucked him up and now he's an unemployed loser who beats the shit out of bus drivers. Well, I can say that I have a newfound respect for him. I respect a lot of things, but I have true admiration for people (even actors) who have the ability to make me feel absolute joy, even if just for a short time. Gary Coleman truly is the shit!

Four Down, One to Go.....

Well, my summer "vacation" (yeah right, by the way) is officially over. I'm heading back to school tomorrow and my feelings are mixed. In one sense, I'm dreading it because it marks the return of endless reading, writing, and paying attention in classes that are often times less than intriguing. Dozens of assignments, essays, and research papers await me. Hours of reading the 15 or so books that are currently sitting on my bookshelf collecting dust. Pulling all-nighters, stressful cram sessions, and numerous trips to the library are just a few of the not-so-delightful things I have to look forward to.
On the other hand, I'm excited. This is my last year and then I will officially be "Miss Webb, English Teacher". I'm too ecstatic for words to explain the joy and anticipation I feel for the day when I am no longer a student, but instead, the teacher. I have worked so incredibly hard to get where I am today, and I honestly can't even imagine how great it will be to actually say that I have achieved my dream. This is what I've wanted since before I can remember, and to know that everything I've worked for is finally within reach is simply indescribable. The light at the end of four long, and somewhat grueling years of college is finally visable.
Fuck substitute teaching. Fuck Hollywood Tan. Fuck squeaking by, wondering how my rent and bills will be paid on my meager wages. Soon, all of that will be behind me. Granted, teaching is perhaps the most underpaid profession in the world, but compared to where I am now, I will be a rich woman. A new car with A/C that actually works, a cozy little house with a white picket fence, and an entirely new life for both Alex and myself awaits.

Sticks and Stones

I wish I could understand mean people. Why do they feel joy when causing others pain? Do they actually get a thrill from trying to hurt people? Do they receive some sort of warped satisfaction knowing that someone else feels bad??? I just don't get it. I'm not going to name names, but there's one person in particular who seems to enjoy disrespecting me and slandering my good name. I've been nothing but pleasant to this person, which makes me all the more confused. In the past, I would let people's mean, malicious, disparaging comments bring me down. Now, I just feel sorry for them. When people put me down and try to hurt me, I actually feel happy. Happy because I'm not like that. Happy because I can take pride in the fact that I don't stoop to cold-hearted, immature levels simply to make myself feel better. I thank God that he has blessed me with a kind heart, and all I can do is pray for everyone else and hope that they can discover peace and love for themselves and for others.

Looking forward to beer bongin' down the river...

As the end of summer nears, so does an impending float trip. My destination of choice is the Huzzah down in Steeleville, where the party atmosphere is indescribable. I can't wait to kick back, relax, let loose, and drink an insane amount of alcohol. :)
There really is NOTHING better than camping and floating with a fun group of people, knocking back beer bongs at 9 in the morning, and sitting around the campfire talking and just having a good time. I can't wait.
Check out this link. I've never heard beer bonging explained so eloquently. It's hilarious. :)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Funneling

The Other Head

As I grow older and wiser, I'm starting to mature and realize that not every man on the face of the Earth is after one thing only. However, thanks to no-good boyfriends and backstabbing "friends", I have been conditioned to believe otherwise. For about 4 years or so, I have truly believed that sex and cheating were on every man's brain 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. I guess I was so bitter and jaded that my hope and faith in the opposite sex completly evaporated until I was determined to be single forever simply to save myself the heartache of future failed relationships in which I would inevitably be cheated on. Well, I must confess that I feel differently now. I don't know what's changed exactly. I've been praying more, and I've been asking God to help restore my faith in men, because my number one wish is to meet and marry the man of my dreams. Well, whatever happened, I'm glad. Now that I've learned that not all men are cheating nymphomaniacs, I think I'll be much happier as I await the entrance of Mr. Right into my life. :)

Elliot Yamin

Yes, Elliot Yamin is kinda goofy looking, but that boy's got some talent! His song "I'll Wait For You" is probably my favorite new song on the radio. His voice is so incredibly sensual, and the song is insanely romantic. I don't care what people say about "American Idol". Some of the top songs in the country are from Idol contestants, even some that didn't win the grand prize. Kelly Clarkson, Carrie Underwood, Elliot Yamin, and Chris Daughtry all kick ass. Though, Clay Aiken is still a douche. :)

Happiness

I feel so happy today. I feel hopeful, optimistic, perfectly content, and truly excited about my life for the first time in a while. I feel that my life up to this point has been just a hint of the joy and happiness I will experience. I'm looking forward to continuing to enhance myself, fulfilling my heart's desires, and living my dreams. :)