Just Desserts

It's no secret that I'm not exactly a fan of Twilight. At the same time, I am thoroughly convinced of Merlin's adept skill in improving upon anything and everything idiotic. But, just in case you weren't privy to those particular tidbits of information, I present you with the evidence that follows...

The Chocolate 'Surprise'

You know how there are some things that just shouldn't be done? Well, the atrocity you're about to witness is one of them. And, boy, oh, boy, is it a dozy.

Monsieur Alfredo and I: A Complicated Relationship

It looks so innocent, doesn't it? Harmless, even. But, alas, this nature had no part in my experience with this venerable pasta this day. It was not to be... 

Fully Aglow

Your taste – the feel
of your mouth, the edging
all along your hot pink tongue – it's like
burnt sugar, trembling,
Crumbling black-brown
molded
oh so firmly
to the insides of my mouth
Yes, yes
I can taste it
I can feel it
I can

Really, People? Bumps AND Polls?

Okay, so I set up a poll. In case you didn't notice. And it was nice. I liked it. New experiences and all that jazz, ya know?

Here's the thing: only one person actually took the time out of their horribly busy day to vote.

That.
Is.
Pathetic.

Now don't get me wrong, I know that some of y'all have never even seen Merlin. Maybe you don't care to. Or maybe you don't get Syfy. Or you don't like hulu.  Je ne sais pas. That's your business. But I do know for a fact that some of you do watch it. Regularly, even. Would it kill you to take, oh, ten seconds, out of your day and just click your mouse?

Nice Weather, Isn't It?

I hate Kentucky weather. Or, rather, I hate Kentucky weather in September.

Farewell, Love...

Lord, it hurts. It hurts so much. I mean, it's not like I expected to meet the love of my life in high school, but he would've been a great First Love. Well, in a way, I guess he kind of is. Just not in the way I expected. The way I'd hoped.

The worst part is, I think I could have loved him, might have loved him. Or, at least loved him as much as any sixteen-year-old girl could. I just can't help but think of how perfect everything would've been if he'd been straight. Yeah, yeah, I know it probably wouldn't have been "perfect". Well, not to that extent. Still, I pretty much had our life together mapped out. Pathetic right?

But here goes...

We would live in a little house, just outside of town, where we would raise our three beautiful children. We'd argue over names the first time I got pregnant, during "our" first pregnancy test. Well, technically, it would be be my first test, but he'd be there in the bathroom with me, so, I guess you could say it was "ours". But, in the end, we'd decide to compromise.

We'd both be published authors, with him leaning more towards the poetic side of things, and with me more inclined to prose. It would all be wonderful. We'd understand when the other needed their Writing Time, their creative space. 

Sigh. What a beautiful, beautiful dream. But that's all it is. Just a dream. 'Cause it's never gonna happen. He's gay. I might as well face it. He's never going to like me the way I like him. It'll never happen. No matter how many times I cry, no matter how many times I wish that things were different...that he was different, or that I was different. He'll never love me that way. Respect me? Yes. Like me? Maybe. Love me? Never.

The Good, The Bad, And The Fugly

Okay. So, I told him. And...he's gay. But I think I'm okay with it. Well, as okay as I'm ever gonna be with it. In a way, I think I always knew, deep down. That doesn't change the fact that I still really like him. But I'm pretty sure I'm gonna be able to get over it. With some time. And a lot of TLC. No, not the music group.

Still, I can't help but wish that he wasn't...you know. Oh, well. It's not as if there's anything I can do about it.  

C'est la vie. That's life.

Okay, okay. So I'm not okay with it. I mean, it's not like I'm mad at him or anything. Just kind of sad. I just wish that I'd worked up the nerve sooner, instead of later. Normally, I would just be all "Whatever", but right now, I know that would be nothing but straight up bull. Pardon my French.*

To be brief: Why are all the cute ones gay? Good God, why?

 Meanwhile...


As if that wasn't dramatic enough, I'm also currently in love with my best friend. Yes, I know. I'm officially a living, walking, breathing cliché. Embarrassing, right? On top of that, just to add to my life's regular dosage of utter madness and insufferable mayhem, he just broke up with one of my friends. But just hold your horses for a sec - it gets better. Apparently, he broke up with her for me.

In conclusion...

I'm in like with one guy and possibly in love with another. Emphasis on the possibly. And I can't have either of them!

But it's okay. I'll be all right.

I think. 

*And it actually is French. Or, more specifically, Old French. The bull, I mean. Its origins lie within the word "bole". And yes, I really am that much of an etymology nerd. Or just a nerd in general. Depending on how sincere you are. 

An Epiphany Of Sorts

Bet you're wondering why this is up there, huh? Well, allow me to elaborate.

Okay, so today my mom shoved this ginormous stack of brochures in my unsuspecting hands. And not just any brochures. No, these were college brochures. And that's when it hit me - I'm going to be going off to university soon. I'll be leaving behind everything I've ever known, everything I've ever loved, for some strange place I've never really been. And, right now, I'm not even sure I'm going to like it out all that much. Is that weird? For me to spend all of this time preparing for something I'm not even sure I want?

Other than that, life's been pretty good. I guess. Cut out my hopeless infatuation with a sweet, adorable would-be homo, who remains oblivious to my affections, no matter what I do, and I'm all set!  

Translation: he still doesn't have a freaking clue.

On top of that, I still have yet to finish my English project. I thought things were supposed to get better after freshman year, not worse. Apparently not.