STUPID SMILES AND AUTOGRAPHS, THIS IS A SONG FOR FRANCE

It takes great skill to be a true berry picker. One cannot simply go out and pick a berry off of a bush, oh no. One must not only be on the same level as that bush, but one must be born with the amazing talent of a true picker.

Firstly, this is not just some simple, easily done task, however task-oriented this career may be. If you want to make it to the big leagues, you have to know, first of all, who you're going out there for. If you touch the greens, you've definantly got your head out of the game. You can't even go for the pinks either. No, you have to be in it for the blues. Some of them like to confuse you, however, and rub their pigment off to look as a dark purple. Do not be fooled, these, too, are blueberries.

Secondly, you've GOT to know what you're doing out there. You've got to know how to whip that bugspray on, slap on the Deo, and go go go. If you can't do that with skill, don't count on even making it out into the field. When and if you DO get out there, you can't just look at your obsticles as objects, you have to treat them as real, living things, because they are. Make sure you're on the same tune with the bush you're trying to get by, and know that these are it's berries, not yours. Treat it as though you are realiving it of a great pain. After all, it must suck to have to be in the sun all the time, always carring a huge load or berries.

Often times, many are frightenned to pursue this skilled career field, and that's OK. Not many are built to handle it. When you're a berry picker, you have to smell, see, and live berries. You pick berries all day, and after you're done, you see them everytime you close your eyes. You DREAM berries, even, and when you wake up, you live the amazing experience all over again. Low pay? That's ok, because you are the one gifted with this superhuman power of picking berries. Some can't handle it, and often go into catatonia, or deleria. Don't let THIS happen to YOU. Instead, think about why a blueberry is called blue, and not purple. Think to yourself that if is WAS called purpleberry, people would wonder why they weren't called blueberries. Then, sum it all up by self-titling these amazing berries blurpleberries.

Do not feel burdened if you are the holder of this amazing talent. Know that yes, you do have a very important, if not vital, place on this earth. There will come a time when the big man says "Hey..." and that will be your calling. That will be your destiny. THAT will be your time to go out there, and do the best you can, because damn it, it's all you've got.

Boy oh boy. Guess who got a job (well, sort of). Oh, and did I fail to mention...here's the BEST part...40 cents a pound! HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA

****runs off and rips hair out, the end****

DAMN IT ALL TO HELL, I LOVE SUMMER

Why does it JUST SO HAPPEN that the day you move your booze to an ACTUAL hiding place instead of the back of the fridge, your parent just SO happens to clean up that part of the house? Insanity, I tell you. Luckily, my older sisters had left them and forgotten them, so I noted this to my mother, and told her I was hiding them from my brother, before she even asked about them. Phew, but DAMN IT I haven't had a taste in months...I knew I should have drank them.

Summer, summer, summer. It seems the older you get, the more pressure is applied to the measly little days of the year you get to take off. Pressure about a job, college, scholarships, and so many meaningless "call me"'s. It seems, as well, that the older you get, the harder it seems to forgive and forget. I guess so many things just begin piling up that one becomes overloaded with evidence of how much many situations tend to suck. This, however, comes from a considerably large overdose of school, namely high school, which is packed full of melodrama. At least, let's hope it dose.

Still yet, I hold true to the fact the summer is my favorite time of year. No, not because of some cliche "guys in bathing suits" or "the pool!" Summer has the best sunsets, and you can live your day more thoroughly, because the sky doesn't become dark until around 9. During this time of the year, you aren't closed in inside because of any nasty weather, and there aren't as many carwrecks because of that. More people ride there bike, instead of polluting the atmosphere with big cars, when they're only driving about a mile or so. Most importantly, summer is beautiful. You can spend a whole summer goofing around with your friends, or you can spend the entire thing alone, and get to know yourself a little better.

Not to get too off subject, but...I want to go home. I want to see my dad.

TORN BETWEEN NOTHING AND SOMETHING AND NOTHING

I've been putting a lot of thought to the letter that was written me. I've felt so compelled to write back, but still motivated enough not to. I think, in the end, I will not, though so many thoughts about what I would say have come and gone with every breath I've been taking. If I were to write him back, though, that would begin corispondence, which I do not want. I thought about maybe giving him some poems I'm written, but I know he would just misinterpret them, and take them directly, when they're really JUST poems. Mostly, though, I've thought about what I would say, were I to write back, but I think it'd be best not to even make an attempt. To give him another chance would simply be to restart a song on a CD, that you know ALWAYS skips in the middle, and you can never get to the next track. I'm on the next track, and I'm pretty sure I don't want to go back.

Not once has it come across my mind to write back in hostility, because that's just openning the scab back up. I've thought about writing something along the lines of how great things are going now that he isn't around. How all of the self-respect I'd lost with him is quickly catching back up with me, and how no friends are better than half-assed ones, per se. Maybe I could just write him for the hell of it? No, he can find his entertainment somewhere else. Hey, maybe he can read about me in a gossip magazine one day.

I saw the sunset for a fleeting moment today. It was really nice, don't get to see many of those anymore. I love flying in planes, and today I questionned myself on the career of being a flight attendent...just questionned.

I had a dream about Him last night. It was refreshing, but kind of baffling. After all of these months, why do I still have these same kinds of dreams? I guess it never escapes you, y'know, that four letter word. I can't quite remember many details, but I know it was at a small party. Paculiarly, it took place at my old house, and I think that maybe Logan and I were dating again, but Logan had walked out of the room and left He and I alone. We were sitting side by side on the edge of my old bed, and we were talking about stuff that slowly evolved into meanningful things, and about how bad I'd been treated. Then He put his arm around me, and said it'd be OK. I leaned in, and He put his head on mine and said that he'd always be there, whenever I wanted to be with him. Whenever I wanted to try again.

But that was just a dream.

ANNUNCIATING WHILE CONTEMPLATING

I do not wish to turn this into an update blog, but I haven't anything better to do, and my creativity is being drained by a bloody thirsty, and work thirsty, summer school teacher, sooo...take it or leave it ;) It's all pretty much me talking to myself, so I can do whatever the hell I want, it's my blog, afterall.

I was called yesterday by a resteraunt called Pasta House, to which I applied last week, so hopefully they'll have good news for me. I've been practicing tennis like hell, and doing pretty well if I do say so myself. I won 3 games the other day (and only played 3), and they were 4-0. A girl asked me to be her doubles partner in some tournaments next month, which I've been wanting to do anyhow, so I was glad she'd ask me, since she's pretty good herself. I have a lot of confidence on the court, which I think impoves my game, and definantly causes those playing me to be intimidated :) I'll still keep my fingers crossed, but I'm pretty sure I'll make Varsity. My grades turned out to be split in half with As and Bs, but all of the Bs are a point or 2 away from being As, so I'm still really happy about it.

I've started on a new project: I'm writing a movie script. Usually, I start writing something, start off really strong, and then somewhere along the line loose focus and completely drop it. I really hope that doesn't happen here, because I can honestly see this movie happenning. I've been meaning to start on some scholarships, but it seems that anytime I'm out of school I just want to hang out and be lazy, which I suppose is understandable. You'd be suprised what eight hours of math can do to you.

My "new" good friends, Sarah and Katie, and I have decided we are going to have a three day festivity called "Happy Not-Birthday!" We're each going to celebrate our not-birthdays one day at a time, at one persons house at a time, and do whatever. Sarah is going to get a pinata for her's, and she's also going to have a tea party and Mud Pie. Ah, to be young again, or at least feel so. I'm going to rent lots of movie, but at the moment I seem to've forgotten everything I'm going to do, hah. Surely there will be pizza somewhere. Oh, I'm going to have a Dairy Queen Ice Cream cake, at least.

Well, might you guess what has befallen me on this rainy Wednesday? It appears, while under a frenzy of "drunkenness" (maybe so, but maybe just an excuse), Logan has decided to contact me through E-Mail. That's right, you've gueesed it, ANOTHER apology note. I know what you're saying: But there's so many already, how can there be another? I have a simple hypothesis: his *fresh* relationship has deteriorated, and school is out, so now he's bored. My reply?

Oh well, asshole.

Indie rock! You're my most favourite type of
music... Your music channels lots of emotion.
On the top it seems simple, but underneath
there's always a deep meaning... As your name
you're independent from most of music! Stay
that way! Good on you! There's so much
variation in your style...from deep and
thoughtful like The Stills, to happy go lucky
like Belle & Sebastian, to dancy and catchy
Franz Ferdinand, and back to boogie down Hot
Hot Heat and The Rapture...


What genre of rock are you?
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