Take one pill every five hours to alleviate joint pain, minor aches, and fever.

This drug may cause nausea, cramping, projectile vomiting, headache, hallucinations, abnormal swelling of the tongue, enlarging of the belly button, temporary amnesia, loss of sense of taste, loss of extraneous limbs, hair loss, loss of teeth, loss of the use of your nasal passages, loss of bowel control, hearing loss, loss of breath, loss of the ability to use your thumbs, or loss of sanity. If you feel faint, that’s normal. Just lie down. Also, I would advise that you use this time wisely: i.e. re-write your last will and testament. Just a suggestion. You may also begin to hear a strong, screeching noise from your abdomen. Do not be alarmed. Merely drink a gallon of water and consult a nearby musician. If you hit a high C, however, see a doctor and/or prepare for takeoff. Avoid breadstuffs, caffeine, alcohol, seafood, and lettuce. Avoid the insatiable craving for Fried Dill Pickles, Mayonnaise, and Beets. That combination is simply gross. Really, your diet should consist only of Sheppard’s pie and yak meat. In case of an emergency, you may be able to drink Tang. Though proceed with great caution, as no scientist has ever been able to determine what exactly is in that stuff. Also, do not operate any moving vehicle—yes, that includes tractors, golf carts, and airplanes—unless you are among the 4 percent of users who experience “extreme kinesthetic aptitude”. In this case, you’re good to go. Some users may experience a deep sense of melancholy, accompanied with fits of life-questioning and sorrow. If so, we suggest you stay away from any Coldplay or James Taylor music. Otherwise, have at it. User may begin to stretch and shrink in odd places. It is advisable that you keep all young children away from you at least an hour after consuming the recommended dosage. Your features may become more grotesque than before, and unruly facial hair may begin to sprout in areas other than the face. That being said, it may be a good idea to have a bottle of Nair handy and ready to go. Unless of course, it’s Halloween. Remove all sharp utensils and weapons from your household prior to taking this pill. You will be held accountable for your actions in court in the event that you harm either yourself or others. Users have been known to wield any weapons in their sight in a savage-like manner after consuming the first dose. This includes pens, nail scissors, and belts. WARNING: Your colon may explode—so much so, in fact, that it may cause physical harm to innocent bystanders. Therefore, we strongly recommend that you lock yourself in a secluded area until the pill has worn off. Preferably to a large and heavy kitchen appliance. Many of you—a good 98 percent—may feel an overwhelming sense of impending doom approximately an hour after ingesting this drug. This is explainable; it is because you are about to die. If you begin to see a blinding, white light or any Biblical character, do not go towards them. Instead, call a religious official. Do not raise your arms above your head for longer than 4 minutes. We are unsure what will happen, but it probably isn’t good. 15 percent of users may find that you become completely immune to the force of gravity. In such a case, we advise that you wear the 50-lb. weight boots we included in the prescription kit. If you are among the 85 percent who do not experience anti-gravity, you may find that you begin to adopt feline-like characteristics. However, any sensations of growing a “tail” or a “coat of fur” are completely illusionary and should be disregarded. But we recommend staying away from mirrors just in case.

Do not take this product if you are pregnant, hoping to get pregnant, afraid of chickens, have had or have never had the chicken pox, or are uneasy with the Bubonic Plague. In the event of a zombie apocalypse, RUN. This drug will not prevent your untimely death in any way, shape, or form. This product may contain less than one percent of crack cocaine, gasoline, sheep wool, Worcestershire sauce, Elmer’s glue, lead paint, human hair, pork rinds, whale intestines, green eggs and ham, and octopus.

A Modern Fairytale

Once upon a time

In a land not too far away

There lives a little girl

Fabled in books and dossiers.

She has her head in the clouds

And her heart on her sleeve

But she always wears a smile

Because she aims to please.

This particular girl

Isn’t just like the others

She has long curly hair and

Fair skin like her mother’s:

She is always rather cheerful

And so easy to spot

Yet she’s often strangely quiet

And doesn’t say an awful lot.

You may pass her on the street

And she may offer you a smile

And if you want to know her,

It may take her quite awhile.

She isn’t a princess

But she could still pretend

That in her magic mirror

Her fairytale would never end;

She’d never let it go

She’d make it through the years

And with that certain spark of hope

Her smile would never turn to tears.

She lives, breaths, talks in melody

Dressed in her imaginary gown

Because who needs a suit of armor

When you can wear a crown?

Everyday she’s dreaming

Though it’s nonsense to the rest,

Because she doesn’t suit the role

Of the damsel in distress.

They put her on a pedestal

With the goddesses of lore

Though she’d give everything she had

To have never been adored.

They never ask her for her autograph

Or take pictures for the news

They keep safely at a distance

Till she’s shunned like a recluse.

Yet her smile will never falter

So she’s always picaresque

Does the China doll have feelings?

Or is her porcelain somewhat cracked?

We may never know, my friend,

If and how we have transgressed,

So we continue on until we’ve

Become almost obsessed.

We think that we may own her

And pin her down upon the wall

Ornament her with our labels

As “the fairest of them all”.

And so, with that in mind,

Here’s the moral to our story

If you see this girl, please treat her

As though she's real, alive, and worthy.

Bam. Last Post for October.

Look me in the eye and tell me life is just a figment of reality

Everything you say is so profound and yet I hear it as profanity

Logic doesn’t justify the methods I have used to prove your sanity

Minutes pass and still I’m doubled over in the sickness of your vanity

I’m the pawn in this little game, aren’t I?

Tell the truth for once and let the words roll off your tongue and tell me how it tastes

When the words you say are always just a little plot in the awful games you play

I could understand if you meant it when you smiled at me the other day

But I’ve come to know that something is awry when you look at me in just that way

So I won’t try to pretend we didn’t say goodbye.

Hey, Mister Tambourine Man, Play a Song for Me

Thick black notes juxtaposed on a blanket of white, littering the page with dots and straight lines, dropped almost haphazardly to create something magnificent. My recurring dream that life is a musical and I’ll wake up singing a song that everyone knows the words to and suddenly it’s not just me, it’s hundreds of people all singing and dancing along to the beat. A performance of Beethoven’s 5th Symphony in C Minor, Op. 67 circa 1808 in the infamous Theater an der Wien in Vienna, Austria. Hearing my favorite song on the radio when I’ve had a rough day and I can belt out every note and every lyric and suddenly it’s just me, John, Paul, George, and Ringo thinking about Yesterday. Songs that portray the heartache of slaves in the 20^th century, proclaim peace in times of war, and capture the despair of the Great Depression, that coerce you, envelop you until you’re there, experiencing what those generations had felt years ago. Louis Armstrong and Bessie Smith’s 1925 classic recording of St. Louis Blues. The familiar rush of electric energy that surges through my body the moment before the curtain opens on me to sing the first note. The warmth of the spotlight, the silence of the audience, the reverberations of the sound as it waves through the space, bouncing off people and chairs and windows and doors and coming back to me as if by gravity. The ability of a song to say just what I was thinking, but in words I never could have imagined. Mourning, melancholy notes giving way to upbeat staccato, pulsating in my ear, moving through my veins, drumming into my heart, consuming me, painting me a picture so spectacular and vivid that it’s so very real that you feel it in every fiber of your being. The distinctive voice of Ol’ Blue Eyes Sinatra that defined an era and brought hope to a nation in the time of war. And who could describe a White Christmas better than Bing Crosby? That sweet, echoing resonance that ricochets through a cathedral or a concert hall and replays in my head for hours on end—the sound of the voice, of singing. Singing serves as an escape, a way to communicate your feelings through poetic lyrics and intricate melodies. For me, singing is a not only a form of expression, but a way of life. Whether it be making up harmony with my friends, humming the tune of a song from Les Mis or Bye Bye Birdie through the halls, or belting out jazz or hip hop or country in the car, music is constantly on my mind. Music transports you to places you’ve never dreamed of—a delightful concoction of reality and fantasy that gives you hope. When my life is miserable, music is my outlet, my escape, medicine for the soul. I’m not me anymore; I’m with curly-haired Annie, “just thinkin’ about Tomorrow”, singing my troubles away. Or perhaps its midnight in Paris, after all the shops have closed and I see “La Vie En Rose” through the darkness, humming along to Edith Pilaf on a nearby radio as the lightning bugs get lost in the stars. Next I’m flying high above the clouds over it all on a magic carpet ride, “over, sideways, and under” till I’ve forgotten just how difficult life is—lost in the moment, lost in the fairytale. Then I’m in the heart of New Orleans listening to the cry of trumpets as they sweat in the sun, watching jazz and culture unfold before my eyes in the thick July air of Southern Louisiana. No matter where life takes me—no matter where I end up—I’ve been everywhere. I know that no matter what the future holds for me, I will always march to my own beat; head up, eyes forward, facing the music as I always have, soothing the soul as the ever-present melody crescendos on and on.

Halloweeeeeeen

HALLOWEEN IS ALMOST HEREEEEE :) Not only do we get to dress up like our favorite celebrities (you will all have no problem figuring out who I'm going to be), but we get free candy from people we don't even know. It's like winning a prize for doing nothing but cutting holes in a bed sheet and knocking on doors.
Since I've already devoted tons of blog space to the Christmas season, I thought it nay fair to devote this post to our most favorite holiday...in October.
Halloween is simply marvelous. When else will you see Batman, Spiderman, Captain America, and Wonderwoman all at the same party?
Or how about giant skeletons and spiderwebs littering your neighborhood?
And when else will you encounter tiny dogs dressed in tutus, bumble bee outfits, and multi-colored wigs? Or girls in too-tight leather and fishnet tights? Oh wait...

Anyway, Halloween is the time of year when normally scary or creepy people can come mingle with the rest of society and fit in. According to The Hunchback of Notre Dame, they will not only fit in, but they'll actually win prizes for their freakishness. Halloween, ultimately, is a time of acceptance for all and a night in which you can publicly embrace your strangeness.

So let it all hang out, people. Happy Halloween :)

A Few Things I Feel Strongly About

Phrases such as “the bomb dot com” and “failcake” should never, under ANY circumstances, ever be integrated into regular conversation…unless you were raised by wolves, and then you may be forgiven for your obvious lack of social etiquette. Also, any word or phrase ending in “izzle” should be seriously reconsidered.

Drunk persons who have lost the concept of “personal space” should not be able to use the “I was drunk” excuse. I don’t want your breath all up in my face, nor do I appreciate your inability to hold a coherent conversation. If you cannot prop yourself up and you need to lean on me on public transit or any other form of transportation, you lose all privilege to use the “I was drunk” excuse as your Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card for any idiotic thing you say or do for the remainder of the night.

If you call a phone number and the person on the other end doesn’t sound even remotely close to the person you were trying to contact, odds are you dialed the wrong number. In other words, it would be wise to hang up. If you continue to insist that you have dialed the correct number and yet the person on the receiving end denies that he or she is indeed Jose, Mary, Billy, or Tina, I would still recommend hanging up. Either Jose, Mary, Billy, or Tina does not want to talk to you, or you have mistakenly dialed another number. Just admit defeat and move on.

Vampires have gotten completely out of control. All of the Twilight books/movies/posters/fashion/gothness is entirely horrendous and frankly has overstayed its welcome. There are vampire TV shows, books, movies, various paraphernalia, appearance in Snoop Dog’s music videos, and its own MLIA site: My Life Is Twilight. Things, my friends, have gone too far. Twilight is a travesty to the traditional tales of vampire lore; if it is ever your misfortune to run into an avid Edward Cullen or whatever that other kid’s name is, I sincerely apologize. In my opinion, vampires need to go back to Transylvania where they originated, as the only benefit the Twilight craze has given to humanity is the sudden increase in the sales of Coppertone sunblock, so tweens can get that Edward “sparkle” (which, by the way, is false…everyone knows vampires burn in the sun).

It is entirely uncalled for to be rude to telemarketers. True, they tend to interrupt your dinner and magically seem to call at the most inopportune times (i.e. during a big business meeting, at 3:00 in the morning, in the middle of your wedding), but these people are just doing their job. If you were a telemarketer getting paid minimum wage to have people pull pranks on you, scream at you, or just hang up on you day-in and day-out, would you be able to muster up the enthusiasm to greet House #5785943 on your list for the day?

untitled

eyes with pops of color, vibrant and vivid and radiant

colors, sliding, mixing, a kaleidoscope of hues that dance in the moonlight

POP! POP! POP!

crackling in the heat, in the wind, in the air, in the street

POP! POP! POP!

spinning off into the sky, bursting with beams of colors

red, green, yellow, blue

POP! FIZZ! POP!

You see them, don’t you?

POP! POP! POP!

twirling about, cascading down, filling up the universe and enveloping you in light

POP! POP! POP! POP!

faster now, shooting from every direction, up, up,

coiling like a snake above the trees,

interweaving shapes and sounds,

POP! FIZZ! POP!

erupting, exploding, BOOM! BOOM! POP!

I'm __________, the ____________.

I don't really know how I feel about this whole Real World thing.

For example:

Now that I'm in an education class, I've realized that my decision to become a teacher isn't really that far off. It's getting more and more concrete as each day comes and goes, and I'm frankly a little nervous. I'm making lesson plans, unit plans, mapping out my future classroom...to be completely honest with you, I'm getting a little apprehensive about being thrust into the capital-R, capital-W Real World.

I guess this is what it would feel like to be a baby bird thrown from the nest before you learn how to fly. I just don't know if I can handle it.

It also doesn't help that whenever I'm confronted with the "What's your major? What are your life goals? What do you want to do for the rest of your life? How are you going to change the world?" dialogue, I feel like I'm reading through a script. It's like an out-of-body experience: Erin, English Major. Erin, High School English Teacher. My name as the title and my future projected afterwards.

As if I can even begin to explain my future. Life just doesn't work like that.

And yet we are expected to plan our lives, schedule ourselves into existence, chronicling our every move until we've molded our Future.

This is the scariest thing I've ever done.

!!! NEWEST OBSESSION !!!

I've probably already bored you all to tears with the extent of my obsessions: Disney, books, movies, et cetera, et cetera...all of which I'm quite positive I've mentioned too many times throughout the course of this experiment I seem to be engaged in BUT...

...please forgive me for mentioning my insane appreciation for a good novel just one more time :)

I'm currently reading Furious Love, a biographical novel (it's huge) on the scandalous love affair of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton. It easily trumps any chick flick ever made; the descriptive language of the author grabs you by the throat and doesn't let go until you're drowning in the grandiosity of a love that was so entirely over-the-top, so marvelously decadent in its nature--jewels of enormous size, yachts, gowns, minks, wealth, true Hollywood royalty at its finest--that it's almost unbelievable just how much you, as the reader, envy their passionate emotion.

The way it's described...there's nothing like it.

The greatest aspect of it all...or perhaps the worst...is that it's true.

Anyway, I recomment it.

And to that faceless face,

The one I wouldn't possibly try to describe,

I have something I'd like to say to send your way:

Well hello there mon ami...

I hope you leak a little smile the next time you think of me :)

Word Up Wednesday

It's Wednesday, and I haven't posted anything to my blog in approximately 43808520 years soooooo....I've decided to designate today as Official Word Up Wednesday and share some of my absolute favorite words with you all :)

insouciance: carelessness, indifference; blithe nonchalance

peripatetic: traveling from place to place; constant traveling

serendipity: knack for making desirable discoveries on accident; luck

auric: derived or made of gold

ebullience: bubbling enthusiasm

scintilla: a spark

logolepsy: an obsession with words

pulchritudinous: pretty

vade mecum: a favorite book carried everywhere

schizothemia: digression by a long reminiscence

Thanks for letting me exercise my English major on you today...

oh hey, fall

Yes, my caramel-skin-colored (and I won't even judge you if it's from a bottle) friends, fall is upon us.

Your worst nightmare is my dream-come-true, and I'm completely ecstatic that in just a couple of weeks, your skin will return to it's natural shade and we can all be one big, pasty family once again :)

Just kidding.

But as the temperature drops and the trees begin to chameleon, I get more and more excited that fall is here!!!!!!! The JMU campus is lit with red, orange, yellow, and green--a kaleidoscope of color scattered before me as I walk to class listening to N*SYNC blaring at an ear-splitting volume on my iPod. Every leaf that falls in front of me makes me feel like I'm stumbling on happiness personified. I feel like no one appreciates just how spectacular the transition of the seasons can be because they are too busy whining that they can't properly tan in 50 degree weather.

But because most of you may be mourning the loss of beach weekends, outdoor barbeques, and coping with the irrepressible urge to drench your hair in lemon juice, I have a few glass-half-full philosophies that may just change your tune.

Fall means new scenery, breezy afternoons, sweaters, football, and my favorite bright-red sweatshirt, which in turn leads to hot chocolate, snow, peppermint-flavored everything, boots, scarves, mittens, and...that's right...CHRISTMASTIME.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I'm filled with Christmas cheer.

It could be a little early for a few of you, but I thought I'd spread a little Christmas joy in October this year, so here you go:

It's never too early for the Season of Giving ;)

good music, good people, GOOD DAY

There are some days that are just so blatantly awesome that you know you'll remember them forever.

You know what I mean.

That one time you won the second grade spelling bee or went on your first date or found your favorite long-lost sweater.

Days that will go down in infamy....obviously.

The best part about this particular genre of days is recognizing its blatant awesomeness before the day actually ends, so you can take full advantage of the time you have left in the 24 hours to put your best efforts towards making it infamously incredible.

Today is one of those days.

Not for anything in particular...just because I physically cannot stop smiling (which, to those of you who haven't yet picked up on my off-handed description, suggests the rather delirious state of happiness in which I existed today).

So much so, in fact, that a random passerby stopped me to inquire just what I was smiling about.

:)

To everyone out there, I hope your day was as wonderful as mine...even if you did nothing at all noteworthy :) Goodnight :)

If you want to get a glimpse into my mood today, here's a little something that might help you out: click here.

"These are a few of my favorite things..."

Instead of writing an intensely long blog post this week, I've decided to take the easy way out and just show you all the creative portion to my UPB application. Enjoy :)

I think...

...I think too much.

Do you believe...

...in the American Dream?

It sounds a little pretentious, right? Three little words, one big idea: the back-bone of a nation founded on the beliefs of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, a major driving force that motivates many immigrants to persevere and gain freedom in a land of opportunity, and the overall belief that one can overcome financial and social obstacles to achieve one’s goals. Three little words you learned in history class, cushioned by lots of other words in your thick, heavy textbook; almost lost on the page next to black and white photographs of skyscrapers, ocean-liners, and smiling old men you didn't recognize. Three little words that contain a mouthful of meaning and substance for people who put their entire lives into these words, believing them, living them, chasing them.

But does it exist? The American Dream? Does it belong among the history books? It could be that your premonition about the American dream is as though it is a little outdated, something to be cast aside with other grand ideas that never came about. Cynics would scoff at the very thought of the American dream--it's an unattainable ideal to them, something you wish for when you blow out the candles on your birthday cake...something they categorize along with leprechauns, unicorns, fairies, flying reindeer. They equate it with imaginary things--intangible things you can't see or feel. It's something to make fun of.

Are they completely right?

I don't pretend to know, of course. I'm not a great philosopher. And I'm not a historian. I only know what I think--and I often don't even know that.

However, I would say that those three little words are associated with the utmost form of happiness that we, as humans, could possibly imagine. There is no real definition for it--it's a shapeless, ever-changing entity. To the woman in front of you in line at the supermarket, happiness is finding the right man, getting married, and having healthy children by the time she is 35. To the family of immigrants at the JFK airport, happiness is embodied in the ticket they're holding--a ticket signifying a new life, a new place, a new home. To the little boy you see every day at the bus stop, happiness beeps, talks, and cost $19.95 at Toys R Us. For you, happiness could be sleeping in late...a good song on a radio...a trip to the beach...a new car...a relationship...winning the lottery.

When people are asked what they want most out of life, the most typical reply is “I want to be happy,” as if happy is some sort of place, either near or far away, like a petting zoo or Disneyworld or even some place in the clouds. Or perhaps it's something you grow into, like shoes or clothes. To a certain extent, happiness can be these things, but it is mainly a process fueled by attitude and the right mindset. But I don't think it's a place, or a person, or even an idea--it's a way of life.

To me, the American Dream is a glimmer of hope in a world full of darkness: something to strive for, live for, wish for. It's something to never let go of--but it doesn't consume you either. It just exists there, in the back of your mind, wishing with all it's might to come true.

If I had one wish--just one--it would be to never wake up from my American Dream :)

Creative Writing Piece #5893058

"Sweet dreams" you said,

Your breath hot as fresh bread

right out the oven. You smiled ear to ear in the dark.

We'd said almost nothing;

Silence interrupted by some song--either Zepplin or Sting--

on your car radio. Sky lit up like the ballpark

on the Fourth of July.

You said, "Doesn't time fly?"

Tryin' to make conversation

but not expecting an answer.

Silence spreading like cancer,

save the radio station.

And now it's September;

But don't you remember

Those endless summer nights of ours?

Moonless skies, a blanket of stars,

A picnic dinner and old binoculars

stolen quick from my Ivory Tower.

You were so very proud of your prize:

"Pulled the wool right over his eyes!"

Out way after curfew, parents both asleep.

Mom didn't care, but Dad didn't approve

Because of something you would say, think, or do.

He'd sworn up and down you were a creep.

You wearing your smirk

So pleased with your work;

Filling your head with hot air.

You'd regale me with your stories,

Your pitfalls, dreams, and well-deserved glories,

An "I love you" mixed in there somewhere.

You were cute in your own way, you know?

I knew you cared even when you didn't say so...

I could tell 'cause you got sort of jealous when the other boys stared.

It was young love, wasn't it?

It was, of course. But we wouldn't admit it.

So we just laughed it off.

I loved that you didn't force me to connect

with you--you made me so nervous! You were perfect;

You laughed with your eyes, knew how to dance, sang "Hey Jude" in the shower and made beef stroganoff...

And you were always right--right as rain.

I was inspired by Delillo and Twain

and Hemingway and Faulkner and the dead

Who were impacting the living.

But your look was so unforgiving.

I was just saying whatever popped into my head.

I loved you. You loved me.

We were just too different to simply be.

I just wanted to be remembered, that's all.

I didn't mean to bring it up.

We sat awhile, then packed your truck

And took one last drive past Mr. Jae's house, the middle school, and city hall.

One final kiss under our paper mache sky

Listening to the crickets' lullaby

And basking in the sweet by and by of it all.

DISCLAIMER: None of the aforementioned events ever occurred; nor are they based on real-life persons, places, or occurrences :)

I Believe in the Beauty of Dreaming

tick tick tick tick tock

I feel like it's been ages since I've updated my blog...I've been caught up with Orientation (which, by the way, I miss terribly) and the start of the new school year so hopefully my tardiness is forgiven :)

Anyway, here's a little bit of prose to get the ball rolling for September; I started writing it awhile ago and just stumbled upon it again the other day...enjoy :)

Have you ever noticed how much time is wasted in a day? The time you spend doing absolutely nothing at all, but staring off into space without a thought in your head or a word in your mouth or a purpose in your heart? The time you spend in transit from one place to the next—from the grocery store to a restaurant to a concert to your job…what about those? All those mundane tasks you do rather mechanically--robotic, even--muscle memory going about it's business, folding laundry, cooking dinner, getting dressed. It's noon, it's 3:00, it's 8;37, it's time for bed. Day in, day out, shuffling to and fro, tick tock, tick tock. Where do all the empty seconds go?

We're "wasting time", "killing time", and occasionally "using our time wisely". We "take the time" to do the things we most want to, but we can't be bothered to use our "precious time" to do others. Time "flies", "goes by". "Time is what we want most, but what we use worst".

Tick, tock, we're on the clock, saving daylight and setting alarms, waking up late and rushing around, errand after errand, meeting after meeting, time after time.

Last night I met with some of my friends to sit around, watch a movie, and simply enjoy each other's company. How many times have you done that? How much time have you spent that you've forgotten because it wasn't headline news, but it made you smile at the time--made you who you are? I don't know how long we stayed there--to you, we could have been wasting our time away--talking one moment and being silent the next, doing nothing with our time except enjoying it.

I don't think silence means wasting time.

I don't think doing something "meaningful" with your time necessitates using it properly.

But I've been taught--through experience and through simple human inference--that time is fleeting and, if you let it do so, it can push you headfirst into the thrashing whir of life and you'll begin to lose seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, and years of memories if you don't make every possible second count...

...sometimes...

...all the time...

...anytime...

...if life were an equation, here's how it would go: time doesn't count. People count, laughs count, tears count, places count, memories count, you count.

So thanks for spending your time with me :)

Happy New Year!

Or, school year, that is.

The week I thought would never come has come at last (flashbacks to Mary Dupuis as Mae Peterson in Bye Bye Birdie: "It's come at last! At last it's come! The day I knew would come at least has finally come at last!"). I wouldn't say I was particularly looking forward to it, but I wasn't dreading it either--packing up all of my stuff, running last-minute errands, and final good-bye dinners with everyone has consumed my life the past few weeks.

So since I've been bogged down with dreams of 50% off Staples coupons, 2-for-1 binder deals, cheap apartment buys, and packing all of my possessions in portable containers, I've decided to devote my last blog post for the month (since I'll most definitely not have time to write one during FrOG week) to s-c-h-o-o-l because my graduation year is getting closer and closer, and--let's face it--I'm a little scared.

Dear Calendar Year, 2012:

It would be really wonderful if you could slow down just a tad.

I know you're just itching to ring yourself in Jan. 1st 2012, but me not so much.

I'm not sure if you noticed, but I've already turned the big 2-0, had my emotional breakdown for doing so, and moved on. I don't know if I can handle another major milestone just yet, so just cool it. I'm already too old to read Seventeen Magazine and I've come to accept the fact that soon my mailbox will be littered with AARP newsletters and my subscription to Better Homes and Gardens. Let's not get any grey hairs soon out of spite, okay?

And also, it would be wonderful if you could just hold off on making your grand appearance anytime soon. I'm a junior now, in case you hadn't heard.

I'm not too thrilled about being pummeled into the Real World, having to "make it on my own" and grow up.

So maybe you could take a vacation for awhile.

I hear Venezuela is nice this time of year.

Or Barbados.

Or a galaxy far, far away. That'd be my preference, but hey--your call.

Anyway, just kick back, take a few sedatives, maybe sleep it off a couple of years...whatever floats your boat.

Heck--there are already rumors that you're ending the world. You just don't have to rub it in all the time. Give the other years a chance.

They've even made movies out of you.

Horror movies.

Plus, to make matters worse, some pretty scary things have been happening to us the past couple of years (i.e. sinkholes, oil spills, locusts, and fashion disasters).

I don't even want to know what you have in store for us.

So maybe you shouldn't be showing your face around here just yet.

All I'm asking is that you just take your time getting here and let me enjoy my last few years of adolescence.

Okay, post-adolescence. Whatever.

Thanks.

Love, Erin

Check Out:

operationbeautiful.com.

You're welcome :)

"It's your life, what you gonna do?

The world is watching you.

Everyday, the choices you make

say what you are

and who your heart beats for."

Hey Joe

I was going to devote my blog post today to inventions (specifically the VHS/DVD Player...I mean, how strange is that? How do you even come up with that?), but then I realized that if you're a new blog follower of mine, and you happened to stumble upon my blog and my lame blog post on inventions is the first thing you read, you'd be greatly disappointed.

And probably never follow me. And you'd laugh.

So I've decided to spare you all with what would have definitely been a rousing interpretation of inventions, and will instead attempt to tickle your fancy with an insightful blog post on the untouchables in the job industry of America.

A-hem.

This morning, as I trudged into work at 7:00, half-asleep and stumbling through the door of the office in a semi-drunken sleep-stupor, I saw a deeply-tanned man with a hedge-clipper just choppin’ happily away at a rhododendron bush in the parking lot. He was just doing his thing—a little snip here, a little watering there, until the hedges were pristinely manicured.

I’d never actually noticed that we even had a rhododendron bush in the parking lot.

Anyway, when I went to get the mail at lunch, he was still out in the 100 degree heat, watering the plants and picking up trash left by the drunken Pour House regulars last night. He gave me a little wave as I walked to the mailbox, so I decided to say hello.

Apparently his name was Joe. And he had been working in this area for close to 15 years, and was trying to raise enough money to bring his family over to America from Mexico.

But I don’t want this post to get all profound and sappy, so I’ll spare you the details of his reality-show-worthy-life-challenges.

Instead, I’ve decided to take the opportunity to (hopefully) enlighten you all in an effort to give the under-acknowledged a little well-deserved acknowledgement :)

Ever heard of a Septic Engineer? That’s a lovely little title for a repulsive, underpaid job. Day in, day out, being called into houses to take a look at the piping, unclog the drains, determine the problem. Then, after that job is done, the Engineer will comprise a new blueprint for whatever septic system would work best in the house, and install it himself. Doesn't sound gross to you yet? Well, just think: experiments.

An obvious second would be your neighborhood garbage collector. Think it’s annoying having the garbage truck BANG and CLANG outside of your house at 3AM? Try being the person who has to wake up earlier than 3AM to drive a disgustingly unsanitary truck from suburb to suburb and manhandle your kid’s dirty diapers, soiled napkins, and 3-week-old leftovers.

Do you know someone who’s a lumberjack? If you don’t count Paul Bunyan, you most likely don’t. That’s probably because they spend all their time outdoors in isolated areas, work in terrible weather, and get paid minimum wage for hours of back-breaking, hot, and highly fatal work. I did a little quick research, and it ranks among the top 15 most dangerous and underpaid jobs in America.

I don’t want to get up on my soapbox and preach to you, because I’m so very far from perfect that I don’t have cause to do so. But I think if we just take the time to recognize those who deserve a little recognition—whether it’s a janitor, or a waitress, or even someone who lent you a smile—we’ll spread a little love to the world.

Because, no matter what, everyone could use a little love :)

Jumping Through Hoops

"Hold your horses world. I've been hearing all kinds of rumours about someone being cast to play me in a film about Richard and myself. No one is going to play Elizabeth Taylor, but Elizabeth Taylor herself. Not at least until I'm dead, and at the moment I'm having too much fun being alive...and I plan on staying that way. Happiness to all.

I would like to add something to my earlier tweet. Always keep love and humility in your heart. Never let yourself think beyond your means...mental, emotional or any otherwise. You are who you are. All you can do in this world is help others to be who they are and better themselves and those around them. Give. Remember always to give. That is the thing that will make you grow. That is the thing that will give back to you all the rewards that there are. Don't do it for yourself, because then it becomes selfish. Because then it becomes about yourself...which is wrong. Giving is to give to God. Helping is to help others. Every breath you take today should be with someone else in mind. I love you."

Elizabeth Taylor wrote this on her twitter page not too long ago.

I love it.

I feel like, in just a handful of phrases, she summed up our entire existence as human beings--trying, desperately, to carve out a meaningful existence for ourselves in a world that will often prevent us from doing so. In our own attempt, we may prohibit or even thwart others from getting answers, getting recognition, getting mere acknowledgement.

Don't be quick to judge, or react; you never know what burdens someone else may be dealing with. The struggle to live a meaningful life is hard enough by itself, let alone with any unnecessary baggage. Physically, emotionally, or otherwise.

Be stronger and remember that trials can only strengthen your willpower to survive. I'm not a religious person, but I do believe in that. You can persevere, you will, and you'll benefit from it.

I promise.

And I implore you all; never, ever think you know someone enough to judge them according to your perception of them. Because you don't.

My favorite English professor once told me this analogy concerning literary works, but I think that it applies to people as well. We are all onions...we have a thousand, a million layers. You may peel one away, maybe two, exposing new things and learning new quirks. You can educate yourself on their habits, their dreams, their emotions. But it takes a lifetime to get to the center. The heart. The very essence of a person.

So never, ever assume. You just don't know.

I Just Realized

that I have a lot of pet peeves.

But I still tend to like a lot of people despite them.

How to Protect Your Computer From The Blue Screen of Death

Disclaimer: I am not a computer genius. Nor am I even equipped to handle your laptop at all. Having taken the aforementioned disclaimer into consideration, please read on. Be my guest.

This blog post is my one and only attempt to salvage my e-mail from spam. I currently have a whopping 1994 e-mails on my AOL account, and I just checked it last month. This is my plea to the masses to stop the insanity. STOP.

1. Dear Funnypicture67, I DO NOT KNOW WHO YOU ARE. I’m also quite positive that no one—no matter how great of friends you may be—wants to get an average of 9 e-mails from you a day. No matter how hard you try, I don’t think it’s good conduct to bombard their inbox with e-mails from you. At least give the impression that you have a job. Also, I don’t know who you are trying to contact, but I don’t think it’s me. I’m pretty sure we probably aren’t friends, because if you knew me at all, you would know that I do not want to see nude pictures of anyone over the internet. Especially of Rod Stewart. EW.

2. When you misspell a word, it shows up in red. With a squiggly line underneath. That helpful little squiggle can save you from misspelling the word “penguin” in a professional e-mail to your boss, while also saving you from endless embarrassment when you accidentally add an extra “s” to the end of “as” in a “Happy Birthday” e-card to your 6-year-old niece. I’m not the Spelling Queen, but hey: It’s free, it works, let’s use it :)

3. A funny picture will never, ever magically materialize into a unique desktop screensaver no matter how many aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, or colleagues you forward that e-mail to. Nor will you win an iPad, Dell Laptop, or $1000.

4. Along the same lines, you will never, ever, ever have 87 years of bad luck if you do not forward that e-mail to 4893025732 friends in the next five minutes. If I receive another e-mail telling me that I will die tomorrow or lose my leg to Necrotizing fasciitis, I will re-send you that e-mail 15 times until you get Necrotizing fasciitis too. Plus I’ll break all of your mirrors. And put a curse on you.

5. No matter how important you may be, Bill Gates would never send you a personal e-mail. If it looks as though he has, you are most likely being spammed by someone who wants you to send them money or your first-born child. Bill Gates is an important man, and he cannot be bothered to send you a personal e-mail about investing in the next version of Windows Vista. Unless maybe you’re Donald Trump.

6. I really, really, really (times infinity) don't want to be forever flooded with those pictures of kittens that think that they’re human. It may have been moderately funny the first time that kitten used a “z” instead of an “s”, but I honestly can’t handle their gangster slang anymore. I’m sorry. I just can’t. If you send me one, you take the blame when I attach a Hitler mustache to your precious kitten and send it back to you. You’re just asking for it.

The internet can get a great tool for those who know how to use it; otherwise, it’s just another vista for the crazies of the world to continue their rampage to destroy the world with viruses, spam, and those godforsaken chain letters (which, in my opinion, are the source of computer viruses, and therefore should be avoided altogether). Please do not participate in the mayhem, and by all means avoid the blue screen of death.

Listen Up, America

“Cause when you’re a celebrity, it’s adios reality…you can act just like a fool, and people think you’re cool, just ‘cause you’re on TV” –Brad Paisley

Every time I hear Mel Gibson’s latest slanderous tirade or Alec Baldwin’s latest drunken rant or Lindsey Lohan’s latest arrest or Paris Hilton’s latest sex tape on TV, that song pops into my head.

Shows on MTV or NBC are quick to judge the actions of American celebrities with little to no actual incriminating evidence to convict them of whatever horrendous accusation they’ve come up with. Magazines fuel the rumors, whether true or false, with condemning pictures taken by paparazzi that camp outside their favorite restaurants, their children’s schools, their studios, their homes.

Could you imagine how difficult it would be to hide your minor family squabbles, health issues, or even daily emotions all day, every day, 365 days a year?

It’s unfeasible, really.

You wouldn’t be able to control your temper on a bad day, much less your most clandestine and personal opinions.

So, America, the next time you jump to conclusions and denounce the actions of the celebrity you love to hate, think about this:

To put it simply, human beings are not built to sustain extreme adoration. Fame is such an unnatural occurrence, it’s nearly impossible to achieve some level of normalcy when you’re crippled with celebrity status.

Just a little something to think about :)

Bon Voyage, I'm Settin' Sail.

Big, bright sun and fields of green grass. An endless sea of trees that filter out until there are miles and miles of ocean. Mountains, valleys, Midwestern grassland, railroad tracks, one-horse towns, big city lights, warm, sunny days and chilly, endless nights.

I could useeeeeeeeeee a vacationnnnnnnnnnnnn.

If you’re reading this and you happen to be one person short for a cross-country road trip, I’m your girl. I don’t care if it’s to Wisconsin or Las Vegas or Maine or New Mexico, I’m ready to pack up my stuff and hit the highway. I’ll even paint the “Or Bust” sign for the back of your Mom’s Volvo.

It seems like everyone I know has been somewhere exotic or exciting this summer—somewhere besides hot, sticky, humid Richmond.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love the eight-oh-four; but summer means vacation, and I would pay good money to go on one.

But since spending money is scarce, I’ve had to live vicariously through the marvelous vacations of my friends this summer. So far, they’ve been to Disneyworld, Italy, France, South Carolina, Costa Rica, Bermuda, the Bahamas, Germany, New York, Jamaica, and England over the duration of the break, while I’ve been working 8-5, Monday through Thursday, May to August.

Okay, so I’m just a little bit jealous.

But also very, very happy for them :)

But, if you want to know how I’ve most skillfully used my time here in Richmond the past couple of months, you can either click here or read this brief overview of the life of Erin Brooks, ultimate connoisseur of Richmond summer festivities:

Movies: the Goochland Drive-In Theatre is a serious must-see for you last-minute I-better-do-something-with-my-summer procrastinators. It’s a good drive from Richmond (though it’s scenic), but they play anything from Grease to Despicable Me to Inception to, unfortunately, Twilight. Who wouldn’t want to get $2 hot dogs, $1.50 snowcones, and pay $7 for a double feature under the stars? Plus, it’s a cheap date idea :)

Festivals: we have the Strawberry Festival, the Tomato Festival, the Watermelon Festival, the Greek Food Festival, the French Film Festival…the list goes on and on. From great wine to good music to free T-shirts, there’s a little something for everyone. I almost always hit up the Strawberry and Tomato Festival in Ashland (I was runner-up for Little Miss Strawberry of Hanover in the 90s haha), but I’ve heard woooonderful things about each and every festival Richmond has to offer.

Sales: for all you shopaholics (and yes, I’m one of you) there are oodles of great sales in the summer. Saxons’ semi-annual sale puts Nordstrom’s semi-annual to shame. For you out-of-towners, Saxons is a giant Utopia of footwear in Short Pump that is most likely worth your time and effort to visit. Why pay $200 for cowboy boots when you can wait until July and get them half price? And for those of you who like to plan your fall wardrobe as early as you can, you’ll appreciate Nordstrom’s fall preview sale. I first experienced it this year, and I’ve never felt more like a movie star. I literally was whisked behind VIP curtains to check out this fall’s best goods, all for a discounted price. Satins, velvets, leathers, you name it—it was a shopaholic’s dream and a wallet’s worst nightmare. All in all, wonderful experience :)

Concerts: Innsbrook, my friends, is kick-A for concerts. This year Blake Shelton made an appearance, as well as Chicago, Earth Wind and Fire, Counting Crows, and Sublime. Nearly every musical taste is satiated during the course of the summer, and all well-worth the $20 or so. Throughout my 20 years on the planet, I've seen my fair share of live music, but I'll admit that there is simply no comparison to a good outdoor concert on a breezy summer night. Last year I saw Willie Nelson up-close and personal for under $15…where else can you listen to cheap-yet-classic live music and pick up a marijuana leaf shirt for a decent price?

Well, that’s only partly how I spent my summer…we also put a pool in, so as of mid-July, I’ve been basking in the sunshine, getting burned to a crisp, and enjoying the smell of chlorine in my hair.

Other than that, I'm ready for vacation.

That's All, Folks!

I don’t know if you guys noticed, but college is kind of a big deal.

When you’re a college student, people take your future very, very seriously.

It seems as though all of the conversations I have had this summer revolve around my future and what I intend to do with it.

Last night we went to my aunt’s house to celebrate my grandfather’s birthday, and while the conversation was picking up—I think we were laughing at something my 1-year –old cousin did with the neighborhood cat—my uncle decided that it was the perfect time to ask me about College Life and my capital-F Future. Laughing stops, people lean forward in their lawn chairs, crickets cease to merrily chirp. Scratch that record, ladies and gentlemen, because s*** is about to go down.

“You still planning on being an English major?”

Oh, no, of course not. I meant to tell you—I just submitted the paperwork and now I’m majoring in Clown Acrobatics with a minor in Fooseball Strategy. It was either that or Recreational Hypnotism, but I decided that my undying love for circus antics made Clown Acrobatics the obvious choice.

Ha.

I don’t know if any of you have ever been confronted with this question, or any derivative form of it, but after hearing that phrase over and over this summer, I’ve come to the conclusion that the world is not very welcoming to the common English major. There are no “ooh”s or “aah”s when you proudly announce how you plan to spend the rest of your life.

It’s a common misperception that the English major cannot exist outside the realm of libraries, classrooms, and cubicles for the local newspaper.

…

So, I’m a little at my wit’s end with the whole I’m-obviously-skeptical-about-your-future-Erin-perhaps-you-should-take-my-advice-because-I-know-what’s-best-for-you look that people keep flashing my way these days. I’m just kind of tired of it.

Or perhaps I’m just tired.

I don’t know.

All You Need Is Love

Everyone knows it, everyone wants it, everyone is confused by it.

Love hurts sometimes, and it doesn’t always make sense. Maybe you love someone who doesn’t love you back. Maybe the public perception of love isn’t as idyllic as it appears. Maybe love just doesn’t come in one size, shape, color, or background. There’s no handbook, guidelines, or rules to go by—it's always new and revolutionary, unique each and every time.

It shouldn’t matter whether or not you think he may be out of your league,

Or whether or not your family, your parents, or even your friends approve.

Love is something magical, something that should be fought for.

And no matter what the circumstances may be,

you should always root for love.