I'm happy. And rap don't do dat.

So I have a tendency to obsess over things...

Exhibit A: Orlando Bloom
Exhibit B: Lord of the Rings (kind of sparked Exhibit A)
Exhibit C: Nancy Drew books (I read 121 of them)
Exhibit D: Harry Potter

(With the exception of A, notice how they're all books and/or not drugs, sex, or alcohol? Good on me!)

And that's all I'll go into detail about, but right now I'm listening to the Hairspray soundtrack obsessively. Constantly, actually. And when I'm not listening to it, it's running through my head. Something about this soundtrack just makes me want to buy a big can of hairspray, poof up my hair, and dance around. (Handjive anyone?)

But the real point is, it makes me happy.

But then I turn on the radio, and what do I hear? Rap songs about how someone really wants to bang some slut and who has too much money and who is overrated. I don't feel whole or good when I listen to what's on the radio. I feel like an object, demoralized and good for nothing but belonging on someone else's arm. When I feel like being worthless, I'll let you know.

Sure, not all music on the radio is rap or music like that, but such a large portion is that it is enough to bother me.

At dinner tonight, my mom, the college student who lives with us (Kerry-Lynn), and myself all had great big smiles on our faces. And halfway into the meal, my mom sheepishly admitted that she'd listened to the song Good Morning Baltimore the entire way to work. And then at work apparently it was all she talked about. I admitted to listening to the soundtrack all day, and so did Kerry-Lynn. We all love it, and it improved our day considerably.

Rap don't do dat.

Perhaps if people listening to happier music, we'd all become a little bit happier.

Damn I'm good

This is just one of those days.

One of those days: Noun. A day in the life of someone with a relatively normal life in which nothing particularly interesting occurs. Also which the person is in any way, shape or form tired and/or restless. See: Off day.

Are we clear? Good.

So I am particularly restless. One of those feelings where you really want to do something, but don't actually want to get off your lazy bum and act in the impulse. So I was perusing some of my original fiction on fictionpress.com and I was reading through this particular collection of short stories that I've been compiling since last September... just stuff that's no longer than two or three pages in length and is quite random in content. Stuff that you write while in Math or Theology classes when you don't want to pay attention but still want to appear like you're taking notes. (But if you're mother and are reading this, of course I never do that! I always pay attention in class!)

So while reading these short stories, I reached the opinion of: Damn, I'm good.

Sometimes I'll write stuff that when I go back and read it feels like I wasn't the one who was reading it. I can really visualize the imagery of the story and really see what was going on in the scene. Sure, I'm an amateur writer but sometimes I'll see something that just makes me step back and realize that I really am a good writer (which I tend to forget all too often).

So right now I am on the top of the world. And it feels good.

Okay. So, here's the deal

I hate thin people.

Before someone punches me, hear me out.

I hate the thin people who don't eat because they are so obsessed with conformity. And the ones who think that people who are overweight aren't beautiful.

I saw the movie Harispray this evening, which, if you haven't seen the show or the movie yet, is about a girl who is very overweight who auditions for a local dancing show in Baltimore. The movie is also about the integration of the 60's, and taking a stand on racial inequality. And you want to know something? The girl was beautiful. Sure, she was really overweight, but you could see her soul in her eyes, and it made you want to see more. The whole atmosphere of the movie had me smiling in my seat the entire time.

Now, into the present. It's so unfair that we all hold ourselves to the 'standard'. Which, if you take a look around, the 'standard' is, what, 3% of the population? How on earth could we hold ourselves to that?! That's not fair to us, and that's not fair to every teenager out there who is anorexic or bullemic because of our ridiculous standard of beauty. Sure, they might look good in a bikini, but more often than not, they wouldn't be able to hold an conversation beyond knowing every rapper or fashion out there.

I am not terribly overweight. I admit, I could bear to lose 15 or so pounds, but I don't care. I feel beautiful. I feel worth something. I feel comfortable being me. I prize that so much higher than looking great in a bikini.

A little sentimental

Okay, I've officially done it: I read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows in LESS THAN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. All in all, it probably took me somewhere between 15-18 hours, but I can't be all that sure because I got interrupted by a) sleep and b) my brothers raucous party going on all day.

So, I'm feeling a wee bit sentimental.

Without giving away the entire plot for you poor souls who actually have a life, I found the seventh book more than I had hoped for and imagined was possible. I cannot imagine being J.K. Rowling. Either she's a great manipulator of circumstance, or she planned out every damned detail from the beginning. Who would really know?

So anyway, why am I feeling sentimental? There is an easy answer for this. This is the end of an era. The first book was published in Britain in 1997. This is 2007. Ten years devoted to Harry Potter, ten years of fans and fortune (for the lovely Mrs. Rowling, anyway.) I hopped on the bandwagon in July of 1998 while in England with my family for a week or two. A cousin of ours recommended the books (amongst huffs and puffs, as he is also a children's book writer and not nearly as successful as Rowling) and dad purchased the first two books in a store to read to my brother and I. I remember sitting in the attic of The Limes, our aunt and uncle's house, listening to my dad read aloud The Philosopher's Stone, and becoming immediately enthralled. This whole other world of magic was just so cool! And when we came back to the states, I read the books in school. I remember a classmate coming up to me and asking what I was reading. I said, "Harry Potter! It's really good. You should read it!" I was a little disappointed when they said, "Sure!" without meaning it and walked away. And then a few years later, Harry Potter 3 was released in the states, and that's when the obsession hit America. I can remember finally being old enough wan the fifth book came out to stand in line and wait until midnight to get our copies at Book People. And then I found it subsequentally difficult to read at midnight on the car ride home. The sixth book I got while in England. I sat on the couch for a straight twenty-four hours and devoured the book. When Dumbledore died, I remember wanting to throw the book at the wall, but I couldn't bring myself to do it... I had to keep reading, you see... and it also would have damaged the book.

And so, with book seven being released, I don't know what to do. Sure, there will be movies for the next few years, and I'll be first in line to see them, but in truth, this is the end of Harry Potter. This is the end of the last nine years of my life. At this point in time, that's more than half my lifetime. My parents tell me that I've always loved to read, but Harry Potter was when I realized how awesome and wonderful reading truly was. 'You mean there's more out there than beginners books and school? Show me!'

I grew up with Harry. Yes, he was older than me when it first began (me being only 8 at the time and Harry being a whole 11!) but as writing the books caught up with Rowling, it just so happens that I am Harry's age at the end. The seventh book when Harry is 17. I am 17. I couldn't do what he did.

Harry will linger on longer than the obsession with the books and movies allow. He will, at least, stay with me in my heart for the rest of my life, having shaped my childhood and my way into adulthood.

Yarn Fumes... it's true!

I just thought I could share this with yall. Proof that Yarn Fumes really do exist.

This is my friend Brandlyn lying happily in my scarf collection. (I knitted them all, except the hole-y green one and the really dark red-purpley one).

Har Har Har

This rating is because (GASP!) I said "death" twice and "murder" once (check my "someone really needs to tie me down" blog)

Okay. So this REALLY makes me laugh. Like, my sides hurt.

What do you say, I should break out the cuss words or something?

Anyway.

Yesterday was my brother's birthday. He's sixteen now and has officially been unleashed to the world of driving. We went over to my dad's house last night and had (more) cake and went swimming and generally had a good time. Hooray. :)

Now, if you'll excuse me, I haven't had a shower yet today and my hair feels GROSS.

Behind the bookshelves

So, I kind of realized something today.

I'm much braver in my imagination!

And it's not only 'brave'... it's kind of one of those things where I can see myself doing something in my imagination, but would NEVER, EVER, EVER do it in real life.

Which is why today I found myself behind a bookshelf staring at a boy today when I was at the local library today.

He was really nice (he held the door open for me! And he even apoligized for almost hitting my car with his car. Haha). And you know what thrills me the most? He was at the library. Returning a book. Which means... he can READ! But basically after the, "Sorry I almost hit your car," "Yeah, I guess I should have been paying more attention anyway, it was my fault, too." conversation that we had, I left to go peruse the shelves. And then when I went to check out, he was standing there chatting with his friend behind the desk. And while I had every intention of waltzing up there, checking out my books, sending him a flirty smile, and then waltzing out the door, instead I jumped into the audiobooks section and peered through the cracks until he left.

For a loosely-based-on-fact-but-really-nowhere-near-the-truth version of the events (I even wrote about it!) click the link: http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2244814/12/

So yeah...

I guess sometimes we find ourselves behind the bookshelves peering out and wishing we were out there instead.