Cute days with no cars. Eff that.

I woke up today with really big knotty hair, wearing an over-sized tie-dye t-shirt and cropped sweatpants. I glanced at the clock. 12:01.

12:01? WHAT? When did I become a teenager?

While a part of me is perplexed because I never sleep past nine, the other part of me feels particularly disgusting. Summer time is when my perfect cute outfits really go down the toilet. I mean, I shower and everything still (sometimes ;]) but I just don't really try as hard. That's why I decided to dress up and put on my new wedges, blow dry my hair, do my makeup, that sorta thing. All to discover there is no car in the driveway. I was supposed to meet my roommate today. So much for that. Thanks parentals.

So I'm sitting in my house, looking adorable mind you, without a car or any other means of transportation since all my friends work every second of their lives.

Gah. Unfortunate.

This is the first day I've looked moderately attractive in a very long time. The boyfriend isn't here either. So basically I've gotten all dressed up to see my friends Mary and Frank, who are dating incidentally and are about as interested in seeing me cute as they are Frank's two-year-old miniature poodle Suzie. Perhaps I should give up and stop trying completely.

Either way, yesterday Alanah basically sexually harassed my boyfriend to the furthest she could without actually insulting him or me. She was literally straddling him on my living room floor, asking him question after question about his...sexual prowess, I'm guessing we could call it. He answered each question like the average five-year-old would (which I generally equate him to be about five years old), by giggling.

:I

My reaction exactly.

Later he escaped her grasp by running out of the room and outside, then running back inside through the front door and hiding in the bathroom. I felt like a middle-schooler all over again. Later while searching for him Alanah and I ran out the back door and Alanah tripped down the back steps, flipping over a few times and spraining her ankle. My family has this rule where if someone hurts themselves, you ask if they're okay and if they are, you are fully allowed to laugh. However, Alanah was hurt, so I didn't laugh. Even though the fall was quite impressive.

Haha. Sexual harassment. Always a good laugh.

Hey, teen novel idea. Right hurrrr. :D

"You in?" asked Olivia daringly.

[Ahem. Olivia is my "pen name" almost. No, that's not true. But it's the closest I can get to what it's actually called. I use the name Olivia to replace my own in real life situations that I like to document. That might not make sense to non-writers, or even to writer-writers, but it's what I do.]

Daniel gulped. "If you're in," he said and looked up into my eyes--blue, blue, blue eyes. So much of it, I could feel myself drowning. Being enveloped into the soothing pools of blue. "I'm in."

[Daniel is mah "bffl" as my friend Alanah would say. "Boyfriend for life." This makes no sense for several reasons that I'm not going into. It's just another illustration of the oddities that are my friends. Daniel isn't his real name and...I don't know if I feel like saying his real name yet or even if any of this really happened. I may have actually already said his real name, but I'm sure as hell not doing it now.]

These words did not come easily, but truthfully. It wasn't like he was convincing himself of anything, but more that he was having trouble admitting that they were, indeed, true. Because they were. And some things just were. However, accepting that. Accepting the fact that some things in life just "were" without logical explanation as to why was a very complex idea for Daniel to understand.

It just was. We just were. Together. Why? Your guess is as good as mine, but I'm not sure there even was a reason. "Some thing's just are," I had said this during a particularly heated argument earlier that month. (And by argument I mean, me trying to stir up some sort of inner controversy within Daniel, but failing miserably.)

"What does that have to do with anything?" Daniel blustered. His poor mind could not grasp the fact that I was just mad at him. I can't really remember if he'd done anything or if I was just in a rotten mood, but either way--we were fighting. "Some things? What do you mean by some things?"

"Not everything can be rationalized!" I shouted and walked into the kitchen. Daniel followed me from the living room still wearing a confused expression upon his sweet, sweet face. "Some things in life just are the way they are because that's the way things are and you can't just label everything in your bizarre little scientific mathematical book of why everything in the world is the way it is!"

Daniel took a deep breath. "Go again."

I shook my head. I was angry, so very angry. I just wanted him to love me. To really, really love me. The way I did him. And I was frustrated that at the moment it didn't appear he did or that he ever would and I wanted him to so, so badly. I wanted him and his entire being and I wanted him to want me in that same way, but I wouldn't voice this.

"Sometimes," I began again, "things just are. Like us. We just ARE."

"What do you mean 'we just are'? We just are what?"

"WE JUST ARE!" I yelled again. "We're together. We're people. You're a boy. I'm a girl. My name is Olivia. Yours is Daniel. We just ARE as we ARE. And no, I'm not saying that there isn't a grander plan for everything, but you can't just know it."

"I know that," he said calmly. He never got angry, never ever. He got upset, but never angry. Fighting was always me yelling at him because he never yelled back, which only made me angrier, which made him sadder. It was a vicious circle. "Do you think I don't know that?"

"No," I said. "I don't think you do."

He gulped. Why was he always gulping? Why did I make him so nervous? Why didn't he care? Why wouldn't he fight with me? Why did I want to be with him?

"I'm sorry," he apologized. A completely unnecessary apology I'll tell you. "It's just difficult for me to let go."

And like that my heart fell back into place and I felt terrible. I didn't mean to yell at him. So we'd start over and I'd remind myself again and again. This is just him, he DOES care. I swear to you, he DOES.

So here we were. So close to breaking up. "I'm in," he said. The boy who always wanted things to be simple, clean-cut, right there decided, after second-thinking himself, that he still wanted to be with me. He wanted me and that's all I could ever ask for, right?

Harry Potter--A near perfect new god. Okay. Whatever. Just read the damn post.

Numero tres:

First things first, just asked Noah how school was. His response was, "Good. NO! WAIT! WAIT! WHAT DID YOU ASK? NO!"

Haha. Love it.

So the third thing about my life. It's the thing that really pushes my life past mildly amusing and into hilariously gut-busting.

I am a very strange person.

I never pretend that this isn't true. Ever. I spend my time with a wide-spread group of friends who are easily just as strange as I am. For many reasons. My good friend Mary bought me a squid hat for my birthday (if you're wondering what a squid hat is, it's a large fleece hat that rises a foot and a half above my head with tentacles falling from the sides and big bulgy eyes coming out the top). Yes, a SQUID hat. About 80% of all conversations with my boyfriend David eventually fade into anything that concerns Harry Potter. As it is with many of my other friends meaning that anyone who doesn't like Harry Potter generally has a pretty difficult time fitting in with us because we have so many debates about "Snape's reasoning for staring into Harry's eyes." *SPOILER ALERT FOR ALL YOU "HP FANS" WHO STILL HAVEN'T READ THE SEVENTH BOOK: (fake HP fans in my personal opinion. I mean...what?) Snape's looking into Lily's eyes. COUGH.

So, yes. I'm a character. Point proven. Accept it now or never enjoy reading my goofy posts again.

Another large portion of my time is devoted to watching this bizarre dub-over of the Sorcerer's Stone. I nearly pee myself every time. Check this shit out, bitches. (However, if you aren't as strange as I am, I do not condone your viewing of this video. If you are not going to appreciate it, then don't watch it.)

HARRY POTTER--THE NEAR PERFECT NEW GOD

Watch the "Dear Reader, Wizard People" series and prepare to be amazed.

I showed my athletic cousins this video and the conversation went a little like this.

Tricia (a skinny tan girl who plays varsity soccer): "Um. Wait, what did he just say?"
Me: He's talking about the boy holding the quaffle. Calling him the "ugliest boy in the world" it's because the boy is in Slytherin.
Tricia: (said with a particularly stuck-up tone) What's Slytherin?

Okay, die. My heart skipped a beat when she said that. To not know such simple information, the thought of it makes my skin crawl. Tisk, tisk. But yeah, now you know I'm a huge Harry Potter nerd.

And that's to say nothing of my obsession with Nancy Drew. The games, not the books.

I mean...WHAT?

No, LOLJK. I really do love Nancy Drew games. But in the spirit of sharing youtube videos, watch this video and just try and pretend that it doesn't make you want to pee yourself. In a bad way this time, not a good way.

HOLY SHIT. WHY IS THIS ASIAN CHICK COMING FOR ME?!

So basically, if you don't want to pee yourself. Don't watch these videos.

Haha. Just kidding. Maybe that's just me. ;]

The worst thing is that my life isn't all hilarious. In fact, when I'm not tripping over myself, it's quite serious.

Numero dos:

My family is a ridiculous bunch. They make jokes and drink beer and sing songs to cats and dogs. My mother wrote an entire song about "hippopotamus fights." It had at least five full verses. My father's specialty is really terrible joke-telling. A favorite tidbit is playing tricks on my eight-year-old cousin Noah. When I was a kid, my mother used to babysit my three cousins daily. From sun-up to sun-down. It gave us a lot of time with these kids and during the summers my father would always ask Noah how school was, knowing very well that Noah didn't have school. "Good," Noah always replied nonchalantly and then my father would make whatever "hey gotcha" noises he could think of. As loudly as he could muster. "Ahhhh! I can't believe you fell for it again!"

Just a ridiculous group of people, but the strangest most unexpected part about my family is that we deal with a lot of serious shit. A lot, a lot. I could name ten kids right now who my family has attempted to save from lousy home lives. And I'm not just talking about conversing with these kids. My best friend Alexis nearly moved in with my family in the beginning of sophomore year because her crappy parents decided to unexplainably move all eight children down to Florida. My mother painted the room a soothing shade of lavender and bought a big wooden "A" from wherever Better Homes suggested. My parents put their hearts and souls into that room and I mean that in the least gay way possible. And then, once Alexis had been moved in for a week, her father came and essentially kidnapped his own daughter. Since then she's really not better. She's much, much worse. For reasons I can't explain on the internet.

I don't know if it's a trade off or if it's a fact of life, but even with my selfless parents and cozy home, my life is stock-piled with shitty situations. Sure, I am never TECHNICALLY in one of these situations, but I watch kid after kid after kid be used, abused, neglected and just generally knocked down again and again and again. This was why my parents nearly adopted foster child Jay. Nearly. He left a few days ago. For good. He finally pushed my parents to the place where they couldn't return from.

It's just so unbelievable sometimes. Meeting kids like myself who have totally healthy home lives is such a refreshing surprise when it happens.

I'm not going to pretend that my life isn't hilarious most of the time. I got some wonderful stories up my sleeve friends, but I guess all I can say is that life is most certainly NOT black and white. And trashy teen novels, more importantly, anything written by Meg Cabot is generally shallow and one-sided. All you hear about when you read these books are encounters from generally "unfortunate" girls with "super hot" teenage boys with dirty blond hair and sunkissed skin. The unfortunate girl always trips or says something embarassing in front of the boy and it's always the end of the world.

Why is that?

That's why this is real. My teen novel, if I decide to write one, will be about real situations that are funny and are unfortunate, but always have real understandably serious situations mixed between. It's important to have the balance. I mean, I don't want to sound like shallow drunken whore every second of my life, do you?

First Post: Horror movies suck (at least in my personal opinion, every time I wake up at 3:15, I think I'm possessed)...much like my life.

Numero uno:

My life is hilarious. It was something I learned a very long time ago. Perhaps it was as early as second grade when I kicked a kid in the balls for making fun of me (I later referred to it as "kicking him down there" to my mother who told me I was wrong, but inside condoned every second of it) or it could have been as late as ninth grade when I went on a date with my childhood crush, which later turned into a long-term relationship. It could have been early or late when I realized this...but nevertheless, it's true.

When you're destined to have unfortunately hilarious things happen to you, you can do one of two things. You can (1) try to hide it, feel embarrassed when others pick on you for it and act defensive in the process or you can (2) embrace every second of it because, the truth of the matter is, your hilarious encounters with large objects conking you in the head and dates with obviously flamboyant boys make other people giggle. In the end, that's all I want. I want you to laugh.

So if that means at my expense, hey, take it. I don't have pride. When you're constantly avoiding basketballs thrown at your head (and I'm not just talking about "that one time in third grade gym class) and stairs (stairs are a big one) you learn that pride can't exist. If you're gonna have pride and be tragically clumsy at the same time, then you can basically say goodbye to ever being happy again. You gotta accept your stupidity. One step at a time.

Basically I'm gonna tell you all my funny stories and you're gonna either laugh or feel embarrassed for me...or both. I don't really care. As long as you're entertained, I'm happy. :D