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Wow, this sucks...I had a bigass post, and this effing thing deleted it.
Thanks a lot blogger. That's a big fuck you, roger that.

THE NECESSITY OF BEING AN ASSHOLE

Why is it that people feel they need to, the MUST comment on things that they aren't interested in, to unimaginative lengths? Moreover, why do people who KNOW they are biased about the subject still press in their "opinion"? Moreover, why do people who don't even know anything about the subject feel urged to respond negatively, nonetheless?

These people can kiss my ass.

I understand that it is necessary in life to be able to handle constructive criticism, but should one have to put up with all-out bullshit? Should one have to keep a smile on his/her face while the small group of people that disapprove of his/her creativity shit on ones hard-to-reach yet now tangible accomplishments? Why is it that that small group seems just as big as the large group that approve, if not bigger? Not to sound too pessimistic, but I can't see how anyone would think that the majority of the human race isn't ignorant in their own self-admiration and completely inhumane. It's so ridiculous.

It really is. It's so sad that those who support me can't even rule over those who do not, not even in my point of view, or thoughts. This does not make me think any less of my accomplishments, no, but it motivates me to become larger than life within them, just so I can officially be on a higher pedestal than they are. I'm sure they would still be shallow-minded enough to say that I'm still nothing, but they would still be speaking bullshit, reveling in how much they only wish they were up there in my place, and how they only have a select few friends, because they were the only conspirators against me. And I won't care, because I won't be associated with them, and they'll have some crappy job, living in some crappy house, wishing they didn't have such a crappy life.

I was never like them, but I was in their circle once, and they did reveal these thoughts to me. So it really is true, that the bullies really do have low self esteem. Who'd have thought the grade school counselor was right, huh? I guess everyone has to find out about that stuff on their own, though. That's the way it always seems to work out with me. And even though I still have some close friends who are friends with these people, I'm just going to have to disassociate myself with these affiliations altogether, to keep my confidence, ambitions, and sanity. I'd rather have those three things than 50 friends and 5 bullshiters, which is what I'm going to abandon. Geez...I've left so many people this year, but I don't regret any of it. I don't care, I could just live the rest of my life by myself.

What am I even saying? Yeah, right.

LALALA, FRIDAY NIGHT AND A JUG BOTTLE FULL OF NOTHIN'

Alright, I know this has been long awaited....DON'T deny it. My Official Class Schedule, dunDUNdun Alright, here it goes:

Black Days

1st- Lifetime Sports (easy; should go pretty smoothly, even though the big biast/stereotypical/sexist/well, you get the picture/belly-button-just-the-right-size-to-hold-my-beer can-and-watch-tv fat guys is teaching it...things should go pretty smoothly)

2nd- AP English Language and Composition (I'm not sure how this will go: either well, nearly well, or fairly bad. But I hear the teacher is good, and man, what a character. I'm sure I'd be able to do a picture perfect immitation of her after a few class periods)

3rd- Career Exploration Class (this is going to suck Nads Hair Removal Jell...SOOOO boring, but I sit behind the [in my opinion] HOTTEST guy in the school, but that's not motivational enough for me to not try and drop the class, considering I've already done so and failed)

4th- Seminar 12 (Homeroom, no big deal, except....A LUNCH ALL YEAR, WOOOO. Oh, and this exchange student from Czech Republic sits in front of me, who's name is Peter. I feel kind of bad for the guy, because I'm always cutting up with my Canadian and Christian [Katie and Sarah] who sit behind me, and he has to practically hit me to get my attention.)

5th- Portfolio Developement (Should go great- it's just drawing/painting/making SOMETHING to go in the local college art fairs, as far as I know. I just hope the guy doesn't expect me to major in it when I go to college...)

Gold Day

1st- TV Production (I wanted Newspaper instead of this, but damn it to hell...why didn't a sign up again last year? I'm kind of pissed about that, but it's my own fault...ANYWHO, I hope this goes OK, and I think I'll do good ONLY if the majority of grading is participation)

2nd- AP World Literature and Composition (This class is going to kick arse, fo serious ya'll. It's great, and all of my girl friends are in there....yea. English is definantly my strongest academic field, and I'm glad I like it. Plus, being in an AP class, I'm pretty sure MOST everyone else in there lieks it too, aside from the jocks/preps who are just taking it to look good for college)

3rd- Student Aide (Eaaaaasy peezy with a box of cheezies. I'm helping out this wonderful teacher, who happens to be the older aged mother of a kid I know, and who is an english teacher. The majority of the time, mind you, I'll probably be doing nothing or homework from other classes, but if I've nothing to do I'll be helping out with english stuff)

4th- Foods 1 (Seems easy right? Wrong. The vibe that woman was giving me was NOT cool...talking about taking notes, doing worksheets, all kind of other NOT hands on stuff....but she did mention some food labs. I'm hoping that's all just a front to gain our respect, and that for the most part we cook, otherwise...ahhh!)

5th- Library Assistant (Oh. Yes. I'm an aide in the library yet again. Another chance for me to catch up on homework, and to learn new liberal things. If all else fails, I'll be a librarian, bottum line. And these ladies are great- free pizza and soda!)

Did this all mork out to my liking? I guess for the most part. I'm looking most forward to my English classes and the ones in which I am a helper (which should be self-explainatory). Actually, I was signed up to work off-campus for the last three gold hours, but apparehently my sheet that I'd filled out so long ago got lost somewhere, because I never recieved any mandatory information or paperwork, therefore I couldn't leave school, and had to find some classes to fill the void. I will be doing that next semester though. Gah, I was extremely dismayed about that- because I had high hopes of working at the public library, whether it be voluntary or paid. I had my resume with me and everything. Well, so much for that idea. I don't know...it was just kind of heartbreaking to know that I had to stay in school instead of leave after 2 periods!

In other news...tennis. As of this moment, I am #5 on Varsity, which is pretty damn good conidering all of those ahead of me have been play for at least 3-4 years, and have recieved private lessons at the rate of $50 per lesson. I believe that if I try hard enough, and am determined enough, that I can make it to 3 or 4, but it sure will be hard. I'm satified at 5 though, all the better, because I don't want an even better chance at losing. The downside? I missed a practice, so not only do I have to attend a make-up practice on Saturday, but I've had to play the last 3 Advanced JV beneath me to keep my spot. The outcome? I beat them.

AND I had to play the one Varsity girl beneath me- the only person who's beaton me. You wouldn't believe how much I was sweating on that. The last match we played determined who would make #5- me, or her. And it was SO pertifying, not only was she the only one that had beaten me, but we kept tying and always ending up at deuce, and it kept going until the coach said we had to end it, because people had to go home.

So, they did this tied tournament thing that I've never heard of or seen before.

Sweat beaded down my face as I spinned my racket with one hand. I knew that it was now or never. This was it, and if I didn't win this, true, I'd still be on Varsity, but with that defeat I would not only lose my honor, but the chunk of respect I held for myself.

As the others attending settled down next to the court we were playing at, everyone became silent. Not only did they become silent, but everything around us- the wind, the birds- everything. I silently prayed for God to help me, but I knew that if I didn't help myself, all would be lost. So I told the old man that I would put forth as much effort as I could, and that I would NOT let my apponent win.

Words then came out of nowhere, and they sounded official. They rambled off slangs and rules that which I have never heard of before. They totally sliced tradition into billions of pieces, and now made another game within itself. The Tie Breaker.

I then served one ball. As it rose slow motion in the hair I felt a slight gust of wind at my back, and just as the ball froze in one small spot, airborn, and swunge me racket as hard as I could.

Her point

She then served two. My point, then her point. My point, then hers.

Just when I though it would never end, I told myself "No, she will not get another point. I will not let her." A small ray of light broke out through the cloudy sky, and I took it as my omen that it was now my time to shine. It was now my time to dominate. I called out the scare "5 serving 5." She had just won the last one, meaning that I would win this one, and she would win the next, if pattern proved correctly.

My point.

The final blow. I now new there was no turning back. My coached looked on at us both with an ashen face, but her eyes were alive with the fire of anticipation. I looked at me teamates, and saw the same gaze. Just when I thought things couldn't get any quiter, suddenly there was no sound around me. It was as if there was never such a thing. I unconsiously bounced my ball, 1...2...3, I rose up and my ball went high into the sky, and WHOOOOOSH!

Fault 1.

The situation could not have been any higher in anxiety. It was all around, like oxygen. One more ball to serve. It would be impossible for God not to her me calling to him now.

I fling the ball up in the air, for what I hope will be my last time. It's in, it's in! Now I have to be swift! Here it comes! There it goes again...it's coming back, aahhhh!!!

MY POINT!!! I WIN THE MATCH!!! UNBELIEVABLE!!!

But I still have to play her again.

OUR WAKING LIFE

How very queer it is, dreaming. Some people think the oddness of it derives from dreaming about totally bizarre things and instances. They think the strange part about dreams is dreaming about the things you never even think of, or places you've never been, things you've never done, and that kind of stuff.

These things do not stick out to me. What I am refering to are the dreams about people in your life, or that have been in your life, and how just one dream of them can change your view of them dramatically in reality. Why do we let dreams like that affect us in such a way? To such a degree that we let the subconscience dream world-of no order or function- rule the decisions we make and the way we live in our waking life?

I just had a dream. I had a dream that Logan was back to his good old self- coy, humble, modest...you know, his better qualities. The strange thing is, it took place a few months from now, and we were in the yearbook room at school. He was signing the wall, which is traditional for graduating yearbook staff (though he already graduated), and we started making a painting on another wall. We were laughing, and smiling at one another when the other wasn't looking...it was so peaceful. The serenity it put it me was just...very relaxing, like it was just so great to be in that instance, to be alive, and not think about anything else.

But then I woke up. I woke up with those feelings inside of me, and maybe Logan was still inside of himself somewhere, deep down inside, behind all of the hate and lies and terrible things. Maybe all it would take was a little bit of time, and someone willing enough and patient enough to save him. The feeling is strange and unfamilier, and I know it doesn't belong. It's just wishful thinking. And even if it were true, I feel it would be weak of me to try again, after all he's done to me.


Things can never be the same.

THINGS I'VE LEARNED ABOUT MYSELF SINCE LIVING WITH, WELL, MYSELF
PART I - The Bad

• I am the most stubborn person I know, about anything and everything. Actually, most of the bad stuff about me probably all falls back to this one singular fact. Once my mind is set in one direction, there is no changing it, it doesn't matter what you do or say, and that is kind of sad. I honestly think that one of these days I'm going to die because I'm so stubborn. (i.e.- Eat this spinach, or DIE!)
• I have controlled rebellion. This is not to say I am a rebel without a cause, nono, because then it would be uncontrolled. For instance, if I have clear intentions of cleanning my room, and right when I begin someone comes in and says "clean your room" all delay it for 15 minutes or something, just in spite. If someone bought me clothes without me picking them out beforehand, I would not accept them, no matter who it was, or how great the clothes were. Also, I think the reason I have this lies within the low expectations my family holds for me. Therefore, I rebel against them, and give them no credit towards any accomplishments. Hah.
• I have a tendency to shove my foot down my throat. I wouldn't call it sticking my foot in my mouth, because sometimes I say some really hurtful things, but don't really mean it. For instance, I got on this kick about saying fatso a lot, and one day I happen to say it to one of my very good friends- who happened to be slightly obuse. Thank goodness she'd known me well enough to know I meant nothing by it. Needless to say, I stopped using that word. I've also had others hold grudges against me, even grown women, because I was pretending to be a snood, and they actually believed it.
• When I get mad, I get mad. These occasions happen rarely, because one, I'm a pretty posotive person, and two, most of the time I unwillingly hide my feelings, as much as I'd like to get them out. The fact that it's hard to understand the dynamics of my personality may also contribute to this, because what's the use in trying to explain yourself if no one is going to understand anyhow? Therefore, in the rare moments that I get pissed, it is best not to be in the same room. Why? Well, I myself might kill you, you may go def by my boyish screaming and hollaring, and objects will be flying through the air with consistancy. Honestly, I don't think I can count how many holes I've put in walls with merely my fist.
• I am very touchy about my private space, that is, my room. Unless permitted by me, no one should even THINK about going into my room, whether I'm in there or not. When I'm in there, the door is most all of the time shut, because I like to feel alone as in, I don't want to see your ugly faces (this isn't directed towards anyone, lol). The only person allowed in my room is my cat, and sometimes even he doesn't get the benefit. If one happened to open my room door without knocking...well, I don't even want to think about the consequence right now. Knocking is alright though...I don't mind knocking.
• Lastly, I have household paranoia. No, I'm not afraid of being alone, actually, I prefer it that way. What I mean is, for example, if I'm talking on the phone, I'll go around the house to make sure it phone is secured in it's place, and then I'll talk in a secluded area. It doesn't even matter what the subject is. I always think someone is somewhere...listenning to something...So I'm very precautious, to the point of it being ridiculous.

Well....that's that....stay tuned for more fun-filled facts...

...I've come to the conclution that I have way too many naked chicks in my blog...oh well.

You are the mystery woman

Which Ultimate Beautiful Woman are You?
brought to you by
hand holding - you like to be in constant physical
contact with your special someone but you don't
want to take things too quickly.

What Sign of Affection Are You?
brought to you by
you're fuck.

What swear word are you?
brought to you by

REALITY IS ONLY A DREAM

We're all little machines
With joysticks beneath our feet

This world is a crease in a dreamers wrinkle
And all we can do is breath and think

What if it's true that nothing exists
Beyond your eyes seeing limit
All this was made up just for you
Nothing else is real, everything is untrue

You see other places on the screen
But that's not real; only created by a dream

They try to make you ignore
Any other possibuilities

When an accident happens
And it changes someone's "life"
One commonly refers to it as "waking up"
Is this theory not so hard to believe?
Are those times the only times
We ever REALLY wake up?

But, oh no, it couldn't be.

Gradually but surely
They mold you back to your usual thinking
Where everything seems like it usually is
The epiphany is gone, and you're "living" again

And all of the annoying people you see
Are just fragments of what you could be
And all of the beautiful people you see
Are just fragments of what you could be

'Cuz in a world that's only a dream
All you can do is breath and think

FINDING SPECKS OF SOMETHING IN A BOWL FULL OF NOTHING

Today, before I was arisen, I got a wooping 3 hours of sleep. They say 1-3 hours of sleep is worse than not sleeping at all...but I don't think I'm buying it. I went to paint at my sisters today, and that's why I had to leave at 6:30 in the morning: for the two hour drive. Mush to my dismay, the majority of the paint was all over me- legs, arms, hair, everywhere.

Namely, the specks of paint on my arm told a much deeper story than that of being clumsy with a roller brush. My uncle Ricky, who past away to brain cancer last year, was a painter. Every now and then, when he wasn't sitting on his porch drinking a beer, I would catch him coming back from a hard days work. He would always be wearing a plain white shirt, white jeans, white shoes, and a white ballcap. The ironic part is that hardly ever were these white clothes white. There would always be different, intricut patterns on these clothes of his. Not only were the clothes colored, but his arms and face as well. Today, the tiny white specks scattared all over my arms reminded me of how he always use to have those very same marks.

Needless to say, I wore my "scars of battle" with pride for the rest of the day.

======Quote of the Day=======

Kyle (my nephew, age 4): Hey Tasha, you have a really BIG BUTT!

Tasha (my sister, age 30): Oh yeah? Well you have a really LITTLE...you KNOW what!

YET...YOU'RE STILL BEAUTIFUL

Something about the beat at which the raindrops hit
Reminds me of everything about you-hair, skin, lips...

But that is a lie.

No raindrops are falling, but I like to pretend
And when I pretend, we're together again.
Moments last but once, yet dreams last forever
And now I'm having trouble realizing
Which one it belonged to: our being together

Those moments seemed they would last me
My whole life and then some
Yet the dreams are still coming...

Will I ever wake up?