College, college, college... and I have my first blog follower!

The first and most important thing that I must discuss is that someone is finally following my blog! Her name is Chelsea, and she happens to be one of my best friends. Thanks for making me feel somewhat interesting, Chels.

Anyway, I've been thinking a lot about college lately; namely other people's experiences. I still have quite a few friends in community colleges, which makes me look back on my own experiences at one of the local CCs. I hated it. H-A-T-E-D it. At the beginning of my "higher education," I'd started college in August of 2003, when I was still a confused 17-year-old. I had decided on a school called The University of Redlands, located approximately 45 minutes east of Los Angeles. The appeal was a) it was small, b) it was a liberal arts school, and most importantly, c) it wasn't too far from Disneyland. Unfortunately, it was in the Inland Empire, which is a dusty, smoggy, desert that is even worse than LA itself.

Needless to say, I immediately regretted my decision and chose to return home for my Sophomore year. Because my major was undeclared, I had no choice but to go to College of San Mateo (CSM), the closest community college. I'd been there before for various reasons; I'd even taken film classes there during the summer before 7th grade. It didn't seem like it would be terrible.

It was awful. It felt like being back in a public high school, which was one of the last things I could have wanted. I had very few quality teachers, a hell of a time finding parking, and the old buildings had absolutely no air-conditioning. You must understand that CSM is up at a bit of an elevation, and the late-summer heat was awful. There were countless times that I sat in my seat, sweat blurring my vision and my head feeling light, unable to concentrate due to the 90°+ temperature inside the classrooms.

After three semesters at CSM, I transferred to an art school (that would literally accept anyone) out of desperation to make a quick escape from community college. When I hear my friends talk about their schedules, it makes my body tense up even imagining waking up at eight in the freakin' morning to be at class by 9am. There just weren't enough options!

That's all for now. I think I lost steam.

My ideal Valentine's Day.

I am entitled to this pathetic display of corporate-based holiday lust solely given the fact that I have never had a real Valentine's Day. I've had 24 February 14ths in my lifetime, and not one of them has had one shred of romantic value. When I was 16 I was given a heart-shaped cardboard box filled with Jolly Ranchers, courtesy of a freshman who had a crush on me. Flattering? Sure. Embarrassing? HELL YES. It was in the middle of my algebra II class and everyone saw it happen; it was awkward and the silence of my classmates was overwhelming. Despite my crimson face, I couldn't help but feel a burst of excitement that someone had gone out of his way to spend $3 on me.

The only other Valentines I've ever received have been left out on the kitchen counter from my parents. I will even go so far as to admit that they leave a card for me "from" my cat, which is funny and never gets old. And as hilarious as it may be, I'm finally yearning for a "real" Valentine's Day, complete with all of the crap that usually makes me want to barf. Why doesn't the world partake in the whole everyone gives everyone they know a Snoopy Valentine with perforated edges stuck into a tiny novelty envelope and maybe a piece of chocolate wrapped in pink and red foil? Wasn't that nice? I always enjoyed decorating my shoebox for Valentine's Day; the best part was seeing your classmates stuff things into that little slot (shhh).

These days I am 25-years-old and nobody does that sort of thing, most unfortunately. At this age, everyone has a boyfriend or girlfriend (or both... I'm not judging) to supply the sappy Valentine's Day crap. Now I have a boyfriend of my very own; as I recall, one who isn't particularly keen on the Hallmark holiday paraphernalia, but I'm still hoping he will indulge me so I can at least have one romantic holiday in my life. Just one.

This is how I envision the day...

We wake up in our economy motel room in Anaheim. He lets me sleep in; I am awoken to a kiss and a card. We get dressed (in cute clothing, of course; I'd be wearing a casual red dress) and head out to Disneyland, where we enter the park holding hands. We sit down at the Carnation Cafe for a breakfast of croissants and hot chocolate, and then begin our stroll through the park. He can't resist buying me a stuffed animal, which I accept with a shy smile and hug to my chest. We go on all of my favorite rides, all the while cuddling and kissing throughout the day. As the sun begins to set, we leave the park for our romantic dinner reservation. We drink glasses of red wine over a nice dinner and gaze into one another's eyes. We head back to the park for fireworks, and he buys me a silver ring from one of the shops along Main Street; he slides it into my finger and he kisses my forehead.

That's as far as I've gotten, because it's too unrealistic to continue my fantasy. Aside from that, my cat is meowing incessantly and it is hurting my brain.

Yet another post at 2-something a.m.

I'm currently reminiscing about the fun times I had with the kids at my last nanny job. I really miss the girls a whole lot, since they spent the most time with me; they're incredibly bright, talented kids with very bright futures. I was the one to quit, and I did it for a lot of reasons. Being a nanny makes it hard to travel because the family depends on you (as they should), and given that I was trying to get through the last month of school made everything extra stressful for me. On my last day, the 8-year-old (Isabel) sat on my lap and hugged me, which nearly drove me to tears in front of her (I managed to hold back my pitiful whimpering until I was driving away).

It's hard to be a big part of someone's life and then cut off contact so abruptly. The guilt that I felt made it ridiculously hard for me to leave them, but it would have been selfish to stay. I have too much going on to commit to a family anymore. It's sad. I was a nanny for four years and it helped me grow up a lot, while retaining playfulness and a sense of humor. All three kids taught me a lot about... well, everything. I feel sad right now. I think I'll contact my ex-boss tomorrow (i.e. today) when I wake up and ask about taking out the kids (although I doubt the 12-year-old boy will want to come with us... he's much too grown up... ha!). I would really hate if I never got to see them again.

This may possibly be the most sentimental I'll get on here. I'm feeling glum because I still don't know when I'll next see my boyfriend.

"Reflections" (a song by Christina Aguilera, heard in the film 'Mulan')

Just kidding, Christina Aguilera has nothing to do with my blog post. Tricked you, didn't I?! Ha! I'm good, I really, really am. Wowee.

I think about my life quite a bit at night; by night, I mean 2am or later. I reflect on things that have happened throughout my twenty-five long years on the planet, thinking about the way things once were at various ages. There are many events that have shaped my being, as cliché as that sounds. I could really get into the details here and spend a good hour mapping out entire memories, but a) that would take a long time, b) some of those memories are unpleasant, and c) nobody wants to read it. That's understandable, because I'm not a very good storyteller, which is just a fact. That's fine with me.

The memory that has been swirling around in my mind (swirling? swishing? spinning tumbling?) took place when I was a mere twelve years of age, i.e. I was impressionable, awkward, and completely pathetic. As I mentioned above, I'm not going to write out the event or even bother talking much about it at all; I just wanted to talk about talking about it to make you curious.

Not really.

I think the only thing truly lacking in my life is a friend with whom I can do crossword puzzles while nursing a cup of coffee (or, in my case, gulping down a huge iced soy latte within a few minutes). Just imagine my friend and I looking sophisticated and intellectual, glasses on and deep in thought.

(please try to ignore the watermark on this photo, as it's not mine and ideally, I will never wear reading glasses.)

There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. I've changed subjects several times and left you with nothing but annoyance with yours truly. If you feel so inclined, send me a gift card for Peet's coffee and a book of crossword puzzles. A snazzy mechanical pencil would be appreciated, as well as any/all of your hard-earned cash. Thank you.

How?

How is it possible for humans over the age of 13 to have trouble differentiating between your, you're, they're, their, and there? Where on earth were all of these people during... oh, I don't know, EVERY ENGLISH CLASS EVER TAKEN DURING ELEMENTARY AND MIDDLE SCHOOL? And what about "Heather and me went to the party" or "Nobody wanted to talk to Heather and I." Really? You really can't see the difference?

Typos are more understandable; everyone is allowed to type poorly when drunk, so I'll let that slide, because I'll just assume that everybody is drunk all the time. Anyhow, there is a grammar demon clawing at my insides, and I get it from my mother, unfortunately. You should see us watch television; we always comment on poor grammar at the same time. I can hear it from across the room, regardless of whether or not I was paying attention to the program in the first place.

For the love of all that is good and holy, please learn these basic grammatical rules. They are so ridiculously simple, and for the sake of retaining my sanity I refuse to believe that so many people are really that stupid. This is in no way a shout-out to myself for being a genius, as I would likely test at an intelligence level only slightly higher than "complete moron." I'm tired, as it's past 3am, and this is the perfect outlet for the grammar nazi inside of me (plus, I don't want to directly hurt anyone's feelings).

And, uh, please don't be offended if you're one of the dolts to whom I'm referring. I'm sure you're a really nice person with other special talents.