About a month ago, I paid 15 dollars for a t-shirt which I recieved just a few days ago. I was told to wear my shirt on wednesday. I really like the color of the shirt and was excited to bond with my fellow classmates by wearing it. As soon as I got to school, I was told to remove it on account of the messege. "Seniors '09 feels good to be on top...thats what she said" I am aware that this is somewhat of a sexual message and some people even find it sexest. Most of the teachers I saw that day didn't even make it a big deal, so it was not a distraction. But others would stop the class and tell me to take it off casue it was distracting... but I think the distracting thing is that teacher interupting the class and telling me to take my shirt off. I think that people were more focused on simply making us remove the shirt than the impact it had on other students. This was just another chance for them to demonstrate their power over us. I suggested changing the "she" to "I" so then it would just be something that "I" said. Even though that little change takes away all the sexual and sexest humor, they wouldn't let me do it. They were more focused on making me take it off than what it actually said. I plan on wearing the shirt again, for it is a great color on me. I give credit to Max for getting the shirts for all of us AND raising over 400 dollars for our class. So all i ask is to not be asked to remove my clothing is school... or any other situation involving teachers. 

Sorry my blog is a little late.

Whole-Z

Santa Baby

Dear Imaginary Characters,

Santa:

Almost every year you have graced me with your presence and presents. I remember when I was younger and living in an apartment in Portland Maine, you visited me on a cold christmas night. I was sleeping and was awakened by your sniffling nose and old man's cough. I slowly opened my door and peeked my little blue innocent eyes out. My freshly made sugar cookies were eaten and I heard rustling by the christmas tree. I quickly shut my door and ran back into bed, afraid that you would catch me up. Moments later I heard some stomping on the roof and bells jingling. Oh santa.

Easter Bunny:

The first year I moved to New Hampshire I lived Newfound Lake. The night before Easter it had snowed a foot and you still decided to come. The next morning I woke up to many candy baskets. With tons of jelly beans, peeps and chocolate! As I opened the front door I noticed abnormally large bunny foot prints on my walkway. Was it really you mr. easter bunny? Or was it some phony?

Little One

She picks up another rock, peering at the indent in the soft earth before letting it drop with a muffled thump. The beach is the other way – she even has her bathing suit still on – but no, she wants to meander along the edge of the woods. The bathing suit looks ridiculous really. A bright pink onesie with silly frills; exactly what you would expect parents to put on their kids. Awww, look how silly and cute and adorable she is. It’s a good thing that little kids don’t have any fashion sense, otherwise they would surely detest their parents’ lack thereof.

“Eewwwww.” She’s found what she was looking for. Underneath the latest rock lies, now exposed, a horde of creepy crawlies. Grimacing, she pulls out an earthworm, admiring it. She puts it aside, examining the other bugs, placing them in a neat pile to the side. One of the other kids toddles over to see what could be so interesting. She ignores him, intent on her plunder, until he looks away and she casually drapes the earthworm around his shoulders. Screaming, the kid runs back to mommy, who glares defensively back at us. Sighing, I leave my protective perch on a nearby boulder and stroll up to her.

“That wasn’t very nice, you know.”

“I know,” she says, minding her little patch of bugs, not looking at me. She’s heard this before, I’m sure.

“So why’d you do it?”

“He was buggin’ me. Besides, everyone likes bugs, it’s not my fault. Here, have some.” She thrusts a fistful of insects at me.

“No thanks,” I respectfully decline. “So I guess you know a lot about bugs, huh?”

“Mmyup, that’s right,” she holds up a shiny black and brown beetle, “This one here – see it? – this one is the, uh, Hercules Beetle. He can lift a thousand times his body weight!” She brandishes the beetle again, expecting shock and awe.

“Really? It looks like just an ordinary beetle to me.”

“Nuh-uh, it’sa Hercules Beetle,” she takes the beetle back, holding it close to protect its identity.

“Oh, well that one is a, uh, European Strangler,” I point dramatically at the confused-looking earthworm looking for a way back into the dirt. “Be careful with that one, they’ve been known to attack chickens, cows, and small mountain lions.”

“What? I don’t know about that,” she suspiciously eyes the worm.

“Then I guess you wouldn’t know about the serious damage they’ve caused ever since they were accidentally brought over from France. They’re an invasive species you know, no natural predators.”

“Whoa,” she stares at the earthworm with new caution. As she watches the worm twisting its way back into the ground, her mom waves at us, motioning at us to come back to the beach.

“How about we head back to the water?”

“Nno, the water’s boring. Bugs are more fun.”

“Ah, but in the water there be monsters. Ever heard of the giant squid?”

“No…”

“It’s the size of a bus, with huge long tentacles and a huuuge beak – ”

“A beak?”

“Yeah, and it’s mortal enemy, the sperm whale, dives all the way down to the deep – where the squid lives – just to battle it out.”

“No way! We hafta get to the water!”

“Alright, let’s go!”

We dashed down to the beach, where she dove into the water to grapple with imaginary monsters. Startled by the display of voracity, her mom leaned over and asked, “What did you tell her?”

“I just told her about giant squids and sperm whales.”

“I suppose she’ll be wanting some books on the deep then. We just bought her that series on insects, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“And just last week she was in the backyard climbing trees to have a word with the birds.”

“Good idea, those crows can be a damned nuisance.”

“I wonder if she’ll ever settle on one subject.”

“Well, probably not.”

Sigur Rós - ( )

This is my review for Sigur Rós' album ( ):

I recommend listening to the album before reading this review, as it gives away what the album sounds like, so this is my spoiler warning.

This album is so extremely unique, that I will go through it track by track:

Untitled 1
Nice, smooth intro to the album. It is like a refreshing glass of cool water after listening to some more intense bands recently (Aerosmith, Tool etc.). A more chilling (in terms of temperature) track (for Sigur Rós), which leads to expecting a more chilling album.
Untitled 2
The light drum beat helps this song, and as the song progresses it keeps the upbeat sound. Nice, gentle rock that is quite relaxing. More towards the end of the song the listener gets the feeling that it will lead up to a climax, either later in the song, or later in the album, and the very soft ending leads the listener to believe that it will be the latter of the two.
Untitled 3
A simple instrumental, with a piano played all the way through. Though I don't mind the vocals, it can be nice to have a good break from them. The piano is played over a chilling noise, most likely a type of guitar, and this track is a prime example of the cold feeling that the album gives.
Untitled 4
The album starts to pick up. A thundering drum beat starts off the song and then the ringing-guitar sequence leads into the vocals. The ringing guitar returns throughout the song, and would serve as the first climax of the album. Jónsi's vocals are at one of their best moments, and everything just goes perfect in this track. The ending silence leaves the listener waiting anxiously for the next track to begin.
Untitled 5
Until now, the album would fit best on a sunny, winter day. Cold, but not dark. As the fifth track rolls along, though, the album takes a much darker turn. The begining of the track, still feeling cold, now has a gray feeling too it as well. After the more upbeat, happy "Untitled 4," "Untitled 5" surprises the listener and brings a depressing feeling with it. Even the climaxes in this track have a much darker and deeper feeling than those in the previous four tracks, and the main climax in this one soars above the other previous ones. This track proves to be the major turning point for the album, as it brings a whole new feeling.
Untitled 6
After the dark "Untitled 5" there is no knowing what could possibly be in store for this track. It continues with the dark and cold feeling, with a steady drumbeat behind the saddest vocals up to this point in the album. The climaxes, much like in "Untitled 5," are of a gloomy and morbid nature, and it is clear that the build up from the first four tracks lead to all of these unexpectedly dark climaxes (the best of which thus far in the album is late in "Untitled 6").
Untitled 7
After what could easily be the peak of the album, the listener is most likely expecting the album to settle down for a close in the last two tracks. The begining of "Untitled 7" even suggests that, but this masterpiece of an album isn't done yet. The vocals are probably the most cheerless and despairing of the whole album, with an almost effortless feel to them. The track is home to several extremely dark track-climaxes (climaxes of the song, not the album(album-climax)), but in the middle of the song, and again towards the end, there is are surprising album-climaxes, just when the listener thought that the album was dying down! The climaxes are still of the sorrowful nature, and have been since the dark tone took over in "Untitled 5."
Untitled 8
The final track opens up with a not-so-dark guitar intro, one that will surprise the listener with the sudden change of tone. The drum beat continues the more joyful feeling. The vocals return to the jovial sound not heard since "Untitled 4," and the climaxes hold a new cheer that was unseen in the album until now. Parts of this track still include the darker chilling effect when the guitar can be heard wailing in the background, but overall, the track, though still chilling and continuing with the cold feeling, is much more joyous. About half-way through the song, there is a sudden change back to the darkness of the previous three tracks, as it is mostly a solid drumbeat with despair in the vocals once again. This shocks the listener, just as they were getting settled in with the happier side of Sigur Rós. This drumming leads into the greatest climax in the album, when the drumming, picks up greatly towards the end of the track, and the guitar keeps the extremely dark feeling with it. The highlight of the album, the peak, the climax. After hearing the great peaks in other tracks, this was not expected. And after the more jovial begining to "Untitled 8," the darkest part of the album was not foreseen by the listener in the very same track.

Now it's all over, and the listener is overwhelmed with feelings. The album hits hard with both joyful feelings and feelings of despair. Sigur Rós 's ( ) is one of the most emotional albums that I've heard.

As with any post-rock album, it is full of downtime and climaxes. This album just happens to make all of it amazing. Though it helps to be a post-rock fan before trying this album, you should give it a try regardless of your previous tastes.

As the art for the album cover suggests, and as I mentioned several times during my review, the album is best for a cold, gloomy day. Summertime listening, though could still be enjoyable, is not what was intended when the album was created. No other album is more appropriate for a cold, dark day. One of a kind.

Now after a little over an hour of the soft and deep Sigur Rós, I think I'll put on Ween's Chocolate and Cheese.

Dear Santa Claus

This is Peter McNally (from my earlier letters, you probably know me as Petey Pie, but times have changed). First, I just want to say hello and wish you a merry Christmas. Second, would you please give this message to Mrs. Claus? It’s very important. Thank you.

Mrs. Claus? It's Peter again. We don’t want Santa reading over your shoulder, do we, so tell him to leave the room. Is he gone? No? Well tell him that he can eat the cookies I sent with the letter. That should give us enough time. Is he gone yet? Good. Now we can be alone…

I have been thinking of you every minute since we last spoke. I know you told me not to try and reach you while Santa was around, but I just cannot wait. Please. We must be together, and this time, I can’t wait till Christmas.

Everyone’s talking about your current lover, but we both know that Santa is incapable of love – just lust. I know that there is a lot more in that sack he brings down the chimney at night than just toys, and that there are a lot of single mothers out there. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

If not for my sake, then for yours! How many times has he come home late from the toy factory, drunk on eggnog? A nose that red can’t come from cold whether alone. And when he comes home, is he tender? Does he whisper sweet nothings in your ear like I do? No.

This year, the only thing I want for Christmas is you.


Merry Christmas,

Peter

-PS. Burn this letter after you read it. Santa must never know.

I'm sitting in the library right now, a place formerly known as something of a knowledge haven and a good place to chill with friends. Times have changed, as have the teachers. No longer does a pregnant Mrs. E walk around, humorously cajoling the students. The impending birth of her baby had lightened her mood considerably at times, but the mood swings that accompany pregnancy took their affect on her as well. The new year rolled around, and the new face of the librarian beamed and smiled at us as we entered the double swinging doors.

"You can call me Ms. Media." She smiled again.

She seemed nice enough, we all thought. Ha!

Barely three periods into school, the reformation had begun. Sitting alone in the back corner of the library, quietly watching a soccer movie, the sound muted, I felt a soft tap on my shoulder. I turn to face the still smiling Ms. Media.

"This is a place of learning. Please no videos. They're distracting."

She must be kidding. Who was I distracting? There was no one within fifty feet of me, and the sound was off as it was!

The next few months were brutal, a constant battle of library domination between the boys of the senior class and Mrs. Media, the new librarian. We understood that we were being dicks, but we're boys, that's what we do. The relationship reached an all-time low when she caught me watching another movie. (Quick side note: as I was writing that last sentence, she just came over and took the soda bottle from my backpack. Strange.) Anyway, this was the dialogue.

"Ben, no movies allowed."

"Sorry, I must have been distracting the zero people near me."

"Come with me, we need to have a little chat."

"I'm doing fine, thanks, I think i'll pass."

"Come with me, now." Very threatening, Mrs. Media.

"Ummm...nah. I'm actually not quite done with this movie."

"Why don't you go take a visit to Mr. Dean."

"There's no way I'm going to go visit Mr. Dean."

At this point, I began packing my back pack and headed for the door.

"Leave the library."

"Why do you think I'm walking towards the door?"

"Don't come back this week, we'll try again next week."

"Try what? To repair our "broken relationship", Mrs. Media?"

"Goodbye, Ben."

"We should talk more often Ms. M."

That was fun. I should talk to her more often.

My house is a disaster. Kathy ( my mother) decided to pull out the Martha Stewart in her, to re-decorate our house. Kathy likes to do this every year. Two years ago she decided she wanted to repaint our living room. Up rooting my self to the kitchen was horrible, I could not watch my t.v show because everything smelled like toxic paint. The ending result was very good I must admit. Last year she wanted to get new furniture for the living room, because the couch did not match with the color on the walls. Martha would jokingly come ask me for some advice with what colored couch we should get. Flipping through the pages, as if I were a speed reader, I randomly pointed to our future couch. Surprised my mom took my advice into consideration, and finally decided that was the couch for us.

Now this time, Martha wanted to get our house re-insulated. I don't really mind that it is getting re-insulated, because who doesn't want to be warm throughout the winter time. The only problem with this is that there is noise 24/7, cold seems to seep its way under the cracks of our house. 

I just wish that Martha would take a vacation and be happy with the way the house looks. I think I might be able to get through the rest of the winter with this construction still going on. There was no reason to start now, they won't be done till the summer time, so pretty much were sleeping outside all winter.

Bitter excitment

Today at my moms work, I got the most important phone call ever in the history of time. Twirling around in my mothers comfortable chair, the phone rings. It's my sister Amber. Someone I have not talked to in ages. I hear giggles, sighs. I finally figure out that it isn't just my sister Amber on the phone, it is also Jade, and her boyfriend Nick. I am excited, I have never "three way'd" with my sisters before. 

"Coke?"

"yeah, whats going on?".

"well Nick and I have something to tell you." I can't quit tell if it is good or bad. I really want to know what is going on, so I ask the unasked. "ok what do you need to tell me?"

" I am pregnant"

Pausing for ten fifteen seconds I finally realize what she had said to me. 

"shut up!!"

I have never been more excited in my life before. I can't wait to be an aunt. It is going to be very exciting. The baby is due on my birthday. I can tell you this. If that baby has the same birthday as me. We are going to have some problems. ;)

I spend most of my time during school in the library. While in there, it is only natural that i develop an inner hunger which must be fulfilled. I slowly pull out something to eat, which I will clean up after, and i hear the familiar voice of a librarian saying, "no food in the library." I then argue with her for a couple of minutes which results in my getting kicked out. What gets me the most is how the librarians eat food in the library all the time! it makes no sense. Why does this rule not apply to them? Another rule about the library, which i hate, is the "no gaming" policy. In one instance, I was sitting alone playing super smash brothers, a game downloaded onto my computer, which takes up none of the school's precious internet. I had headphones and was not disrupting anybody. A librarian then goes out of her way to come behind me and look at my computer, a total invasion of my privacy. She then proceeds to kick me out. Sometimes life isn't fair, but this is simply rediculous. I love the library, and spend most of my time there, but the librarians are making it a place of constant paranoia where you are forced to always be on the look out for lurking librarians trying to kick you out. I hope someday our library will be a place of laughter and smiles where children are free to game and eat as they please.

Blue Pride

“So Obama advocates cutting school?” a tall slender man spat, refusing to face my direction. His tall red signs bounced in the air like ?booies? in a sea of political turmoil. My movement to face him was slow, on account of the four 8 foot high blue signs precariously balanced on my arms. Behind my thick fighter pilot aviators, my deep green eyes burned with pride.
“No, actually, I am here today because this election is more important to me than a day of classes, which my teachers are letting me miss”
He stood like a rock, continuing to stare vacantly forward– silence was my answer–condescendence was my answer. I rebuttaled with my omnipresent smile, and turned back to the piles of people pressing into my high school. I was living history, and I wasn’t about to let anybody bring my day down. Even as the hours passed, and the sun boiled away the fog that clung to my me and fellow stick holders, I stood my ground. Occasionally, one of my fellow Red’s would approach me and attempt to chip away my determination with political banter. One of the liveliest of my newfound Republican neighbors was a pompous stubby man, drenched in his own sweat, and looking painstakingly like Michael Moore. While chewing his large wooden march, which simply befuddled me, I was met with yellow teeth and the stench of barbeque chicken infused with a point about Barack’s view on abortion. His rant was soon sprayed across my face, and I became quickly grateful for wearing my sunglasses. My voiced faded under his booming cackle, and I turned away.
Hours later, I found myself pressed into a standing cubicle, sheltering my Voice with a thin cotton sheet. Sweat dripped down my fingers as I filled in those little oval boxes for the first time in my life. I handed in my ballot to a short old man, who murmured “thank you”. I said the same back. As I walked out of my tiny town office, I choose to abandoned the sea of sign holders, and aid my father in his futile attempts at last minute canvassing. I felt I should humor him, on account of the serendipitous parallel between his birthday and Election Day. We drove about our trailer park packed New Hampshire settlement, following a tiny map, which seemingly lead us directly into the woods. As the sun left us, we were met with the lights that outlind the silhouettes of a plethora of characters answering their doors. I had been canvassing for weeks, and was ready for the harshest, most unruly bunch of people. But tonight we were only knocking on the doors of known liberals, a position that eliminated the chance of getting a gun pulled on us. It was practically seven when I persuaded my father that it was too late to “Get out the vote!” any longer. We drove home through the shadows and turns of a bumpy back road in the middle of nowhere.
The rest of the night was spent with our eyes glued to influx of polls illustrated via my father’s computer screen. Our cheers we met with millions across the world, when the monumentous decision was made. On the converse, I felt an equal number of people sigh in sadness and defeat. I quickly released that the next dinner at my girlfriends republican household would be expodeitnally tense. But the smile widened on our faces, and I knew nothing could bring me down from my moment of bliss. For the first time in my life, I felt so important, and I felt so involved. The taunts of the sign holders faded into the background of my pride. For the last few months, while my friends were out to find the next girl, or the next party, I was out for the country. To me, I could have just as well supported McCain, and the importance of my involvement would have still sufficed. I discovered, as I dropped my ballot into an oddly too electric scanner, that I was at last completely in control of my actions; and in some small way, my country. I cried myself to sleep November 4th, not because my country had just made a huge step for African Americans, or because all my canvassing and sign holding had paid off; but because I knew that this was the day I truly became a citizen, the day I became a man.

Lost Dog!

This blog posting is a waver about my lost puppy. I lost him just two days ago outside of Dan & Whit’s. He has large, black claws, three rows of teeth (very sharp), and red eyes. He is quick to anger, and knows no emotion other than hate, anger, and disgust. He is often unreasonable and lacks the restraint of other dogs (and most other animals for that matter). He was wearing a red collar with his license and a pentagram shaped pendant on it. He likes to stand on his hind legs so he can look people in the eyes. If you find him, make sure he doesn’t bite you. If he bites someone, and they escape, he likes to come find them (usually on the one year anniversary of the bite) and finish the job. When he stands on his hind legs and looks you in the eyes as described earlier, be careful. He expects people to maintain eye contact; if one looks away for even a second, he might have a kind of a breakdown, like he did with my cousin Richard, poor guy. In the day he will probably be pretty easy to spot, since his fur lights on fire if it ever comes in contact with sunlight. In the night he stays in the shadows, but he can still be seen pretty easily because of his eyes, which glow red in the presence of a sinner. He answers only to the name Zxhecthalexial, Bringer of Darkness, and if you say his name six times, something happens to his eyes, and he grows these weird bat-like wings.
If you find a dog that matches that description give me a call!
-Peter

Retro Junk Rant.

What ever happened to actual good television shows? Nickelodeon used to have great shows, now all their junk is stupid. Whatever happened to the Rugrats? BEFORE Nickelodeon decided to 'grow them up'. The rugrats are not meant to be grown up, why would Nickelodeon make the show into 'Rugrats All Grown Up'? Tommy is meant to have one strand of hair on the top of his head, and Angelica is meant to be the little mean girl. Now all the television shows are corny. And where did CatDog go? Whats better than a cat and a dog stuck together? And Ren and Stimpy?
The Disney Channel hasn't gotten as bad as Nickelodeon.
Now back to those educational shows, where's Reading Rainbow? It's still around, but whats up with their new intro? It sucks to say the least. And then after Reading Rainbow, Gullah Gullah Island would come on, and it was a show with Humans but yet they had a guy in a frog costume living in their yard! What about the Magic School bus? I miss those rides to the moon, or down someone's throat! And did you hear about Seaseme Street? They want to make the Cookie Monster into the Vegetable monster? Who the hell wants a vegetable when you can have a cookie? And what are they going to do, change his color to green? Yeah, I don't think so!

The Asylum

This short(ish) rant brought to you by a rather rediculous court case that a friend of mine happened upon. Bored, he was flipping through television channels when he noticed this. The story goes that some guys were drunk, and drove their friend home with the stereo on full blast. Woken by the noise, the nextdoor neighbor (also drunk, it seems) proceeded to come outside to chuck rocks at the offending car. The idiots in the car yelled at the idiot in the driveway, who yelled right back, and after chorus of drunken roaring which never came to anything, the idiots parted ways. Next week the driver came back to notify the neighbor that he was sueing him for the damage done to the car. And this case was televised no less.

Nevermind that any money the prosecution might be able to squeeze from the accused stone hurler would be quickly outpaced by court fees. Nevermind that this could have easily and civily settled out of court. What amazes me is that it even got into court. What honorable judge would allow such an argument to take over their court?

Here is possible solution that I think would be able to filter out all the petty arguments that people try to take to court. If the two parties were sat down in front of a mediator they could probably sort it out. Since most petty cases these days seem to focus on cash, the mediator could propose a monetary settlement out of court, and possibly stress how much it would cost to actually take the case to court. The mediator would not be able to refuse anyone the ability to sue, because there are often extenuating circumstances and it should not be up to just that one person to decide. Instead, the mediator could report to the judge, and based off of that and the following courtcase, and decision could be made. It wouldn’t be much more than a patch on the system, but it would be an improvement I think.

My weekend

I feel obligated to tell everybody my plans for this weekend; it is jammed back of adventure and will be exhilarating. This weekend I will be attending three major sports events. The cross-country team will be competing in New Englands, and both the boys and girls soccer teams will be competing in the Class I state championship game. Because I have superior school spirit, I will be attending all three of these historical events.

The time and locations of these three events are perfect. The cross country race begins at 11:30 in Manchester. The race lasts about 25 minutes so we'll leave at around 12. It takes roughly 45 minutes to get to Nashua, where the girls game is. We will arrive in perfect time to watch the whole game, and it is extremely convenient that the guys game is right after the girls game at 3 on the same field. This game will end at around 5, and we will eat in either Nashua or Manchester.

I am really looking forward to this saturday, and it will be quite entertaining. I have attended every boys and girls soccer game so I think it will be awesome if they both win and I think that they both deserve it. It's going to be a memorable weekend.

Richard

As it turns out, I have a cousin named Richard. I just met him two weeks ago, and before hand was completely unaware that he even existed (how embarrassing). As it turns out, he has been living near me for some time—seven years. In my basement. He has shoulder length curly red hair, many freckles, and he is very pale. My guess is, that is due to the fact that he has been living underground for so long. I'm not sure why he has been so reluctant to reveal the fact that we have lived in the same house for so long, but I think he's just shy. It's okay though, he has kept in touch by watching me from behind air conditioning vents when I sleep and when I eat my meals. That's just his way of doing things. Some might say it's strange, but I think it's just different—unique.
Let me back up. Richard's parents wanted a girl, so when Richard was born, he was put up for adoption. For the first half of his life he was raised by raccoons in eastern Los Angeles. They taught him much about music and audio engineering. The flashing lights and brightly colored knobs kept him happy and quiet. But the years passed quickly and Richard soon became a young man, and a life of audio engineering was not for him. He had wanderlust, and the raccoon bites had become infected.
He traveled to Europe for a while and before long, life for him became nothing more than an irritation that occurred between cigarettes. He fit right in. He started a London based band known as the "Hearty Polyp Chuckles", and became an instant success. But a life of rocking was not for him either; the screaming fans confused him and the drugs made him grumpy and unsociable. He joined a support group to help him through all his troubles, but they were grumpy themselves and promptly told him to go to hell. Thoroughly disillusioned, Richard longed for a simple life. The life of an underground hermit. The romantic pastoral life that he had dreamed about since he was young. Now he is fifty five, is socially awkward and has just recently worked up the courage to reveal his existence and family connection to me. Personally, I don't see the resemblance, but how else would he have known the names of all my relatives, my mother's maiden name, what my favorite color is, and what position I sleep at night unless he was related to me.
Right?

Halloween

I am looking very forward to halloween this year; I already have a costume prepared. This year, I am going as superman. It's a tight blue muscle suit with a red thong - I am going to be looking hot. However, I am slightly hesitant to go door to door asking for candy. This uncertainty is not due to my tight and embarrassing clothes, but due to the fact that I will be trick-or-treating with five year olds surrounding me. I will feel guilty, knowing that I am taking candy away from these innocent little kids, but it's a dog eat dog world out there. Herbert Spencer once said, "it's the survival of the fittest." I am stronger than these kids, quicker these kids, and I have a better costume than these kids. I am sick and tired of people telling that I am too old for halloween; I love the hate, gives me a new purpose. This year, when I arrive at the doors and they say, "how old are you? You're too old." I will laugh at these questions, and will rudely grab a handful of candy, despite the sign above the candy telling me to grab only one. 

This halloween has the potential to be the most phenomenal halloween ever. I am going be bring home several pillow cases of candy, because I am willing to run over any little kid that is standing in my way. I have yet to decide whether or not I will be going by myself, but either way, it's going to be an awesome and memorable time.   

Halloween

Poetry Journal

Dead For You

I swam skeleton in the night,
The way you wanted me to be
Cuz in that violent black sea
You dove just to leave me

I fought so against our blight,
The way you thought I should
But out of the burning wood
You fled, fleeting you stood

I tried forever to do us right,
The way you made me try,
I never thought I would lie,
Now all we ever do is cry

But I hold onto a precious light
More beautiful than any wife
Worth even the worst of strife
The very meaning of my life.

Hidden

I wanna be the morning light,
Kiss you softly when you wake,
Pull you from your darkest night
Not just another blazing mistake
I wanna see you smile


Let me take your soft hand,
I may not be the perfect guy
But the stars and I understand
That every girl deserves to fly
And I wanna see you dance


I wanna drift away with you
Into the darkest unknown,
No cold future I wish to rue.
Into this life we were thrown,
And I wanna see you there


Let me watch you breathe
Softer than an angel’s skin
Such elegance you achieve
With an even brighter grin
I wanna see you smile

Pumpkin Plaster

We slithered like snakes
Creeping cautiously through,
Stopping for candy breaks
Pumping sugar into our night
We didn’t know what to do
As we hid from the moonlight

Words clouded in the cold,
As we set our sinister goal
Deciding on the most bold,
To tackle such tyrannic task
Knowing full well of the toll
We pulled down our masks

Flying faster than his shadow,
He set each pumpkin airborne
Ignoring the freshly lit window
His rampage he had so held
Ended quickly as it had born,
When a man burst, and yelled:

“This is my 12 gauge gun,
Its time for me to have some fun”

Spelunking

My friends proposed an idea, an adventure per se. We would go roaming undergroung through the storm drains. Of course, in a spirit of discovery I simply had to acquiese. From town we walked to the Ledyard Bridge, where underneath is where the storm drains open into the Conneticut. We happily crawled into those concrete tubes, venturing into the darkness. The drains were too small to stand in, but a thin trickle of water on the bottom detered any comfortable sitting. So in a bent over sort of walk, we transversed the tubes. At first graffiti tags accompanied us on the walls, terse notes saying that so-and-so had been here. Soon though, they left us to stay behind. The only distinguishing features on the wall now were water stains, marking the passage of past torrents. I was surprised to find that instead of steadfastly descending into the dirt, the pipes opened up here and there, broken up by small ponds. Sometimes we encountered small obstacles: a short gap between tubes, or one tube ending with the next starting above our heads. My friends likened it to a simple video game, where the challenges steadily became more difficult, to which I concurred. Every so often we were given a reprieve from the tubes which forced us to bend our spines into a shape resembling a question mark. The pipe through which we crawled would come to an end, and we would enter into a large cylinder high enough to stand in. Above our heads the storm drain covers would rattle whenever a car passed over. Eventually we decided to escape the concrete maze. However, not wanting to backtrack all the way, we opted to see if we could fit through a smaller tube which would lead to a manhole cover just off of the main road. We fit, in a sense. The tight squeeze forced us to get down on our bellies and crawl down the passage. After what seemed like an extraordinary amount of time to travel such a short distance, we emerged from the tunnel. If anyone was watching, I’m sure that they would have been surprised to see several teenagers climb out of the street and casually dust themselves off before walking into town.

The room was an obstacle course. Weave through the tables, go through the crowd of kids, dodge each teacher that came at you, make sure you don't drop the plastic cups. As I got my plastic cups situated in my arms, I readied myself for the course ahead. I had little time to make it to the end and play house before our parents came to pick us up from preschool. The pressure was on. "Ready, Set, Go!" I was off, around the tables, through the crowd of kids, dodged each teacher. I was almost there. It was a straightaway, only one thing stood in my way, the last table. Next thing I remember is in my car seat heading to the hospital. My mom offered me a Twinkie and I accepted. What had happened? I felt my forehead and stuck on my head was a bandage. We arrived at the Emergency Room at Mercy Medical. My mom scurried in before dad and I. My mom talked to the attending nurse and I was mesmerized by the rack of magazines. "Caitlin Connelly, Please follow me this way". The doctor was ugly to say the least, he had a terrible comb-over. The front only had one patch of over comb and then the back was all comb-over.  Am I really going to get stitched up by this plastic surgeon, who can't even fix his own hair? How the hell is he supposed to fix the gapping hole in my head?  "Lets get a look at this" his voice was irritating. Next thing I know, this freak show is ripping off the band-aid on my forehead. He conversed in conversation with my mom for a few minutes and next thing I know is I am being told to lie down, so he can stitch my forehead up. As I laid there, restrained by my so-called mother and father, the tears began to flow. Everyone has betrayed me. My own mother and father are putting me through this pain. There was only one person who hadn't betrayed me, my dog, Bentley. I screamed for Bentley, "BENTLEY". Thirty stitches later, I was fixed. As my mom thanked the doctor, my dad took me by the hand and started walking out the door, I slyly turned around and laid my eyes on the doctor, I stuck my tongue out. 

childhood memories

Thinking back on my childhood memories, I laugh. I would like to think that my childhood was abnormal, in its own special little ways. I pretty much was born on the hospital floor. My mom said that I shot out like a rocket, and I haven't stopped since.  The day I was born my sister (kendall) who was two at the time, decided to bring me a birthday present. After all who doesn't want a birthday present on your birthday. She brought me Cherry Garcia ice cream. Although the gesture was nice and all, who wants ice cream on there birthday. My sister was my best friend, my sisters friends were my best friend. Who's ever lap I landed on seemed to be my best friend. My dad is from England and although he sounded normal to me, everyone else thought he was a little odd. I don't know what it could of been. Maybe how he wears socks under his flip flops, or the fact that he has no pair of socks that match, not one. Before my mom and dad got married, he was married before. He had two daughters, my sisters Amber and Jade. They are old now early 30's they both live out in L.A and act, well try to at least to act.Every easter my dad would dress up in ridiculous bunny outfits, that would of embarrassed me if I was old enough to understand how hideous they were. I can still remember those long ass easter egg hunts, keeping kids preoccupied for hours. My mothers kid store is the best place ever for little kids to go and harass their parents to buy them something. "put it on your birthday wish list" They would always hear. I never heard those words till I was 16. Yeah I guess you can say that I am kind of spoiled. Spoiled from my mom with little barbie dolls, and love. I remember the day that my parents got divorced. I am told that I have what really happened on that dreadful day all wrong. I still think I am right. It really hurt me when my mom and dad started to date again.  It was harder for me to let my mom go off and date this random man, who turned out to be my step-father seven years down the road. I was happy for my mom when she got married. Everything was going to be good for her. She was finally happy, and moving on with her life. When I didn't think things could get any worse. My mom gave me a little brother. The cutest boy in the world!  I love my brother very much, through all the fights, that happen every ten or twenty seconds. It's fun, keeps you on your toes. Now I am all grown up, my sister is now in her second year at college. She was the first to go off. Now its my turn. All my thoughts and anxieties going through my head, "is this what I should be really doing?" " I hope I can hand in all my applications on time" "My essay better be friggen good if I want to make it into college".  I wish I could bundle up, and go back to when I was a little girl, with no consequences for my actions, no homework, no leaving the nest.  But when I think about it, I am always going to be the wild and crazy little girl I used to be, lets hope not as crazy. The warm bright personality that rubbed off onto other people, or how I brought smiles to people's faces when I attempt to sing a song for the people in the old folks home. I am ready to take this big step forward in my life. With all my best intentions brought forward!

Dear Easter Bunny,

I guess I can understand why you didn’t come last year. I mean, I know I’m a little too old for you now, but I would appreciate something on my bedside table when I get up on Easter Day. Even the year before last, when both you and I knew that I had outgrown your fun and games, you stopped by to put a chocolate bunny next to my pillow. That was really nice, and delicious.
I know it was the highest recorded snowfall in the history of the Upper Valley last year and the weather probably wasn’t much to your liking, but I still expected a small present from you. So, even though I moved to the middle of nowhere, and I know it’s a trek to get all the way out here, could you try to make it this year? I’ll make sure to have my driveway plowed before then to make it easier for you. There’s a “Dolph” sign at the end of it if that helps.
When I was a kid, I got a kick out of the hide-and-seek the egg games. I spent hours doing that before my parents made me sit down and eat some breakfast. But, I think you needed to give my parents better directions or something. They pretended like they knew where all the eggs were, but they didn’t. They even had it down by how many of each color there were, but that didn’t help. If I asked for help, they’d tell me to keep looking and I would eventually find it. They just didn’t want to be embarrassed by looking and not finding anything either.
I think maybe a map would help, a detailed, colored map that shows the location of each egg. It’s really disappointing if you don’t find them all at the end of the day. It’s like Easter Day is incomplete. Plus, it’s really gross when you find them three years later, covered in dust and mold, lodged behind your refrigerator. A map would be the best idea. That way my parents wouldn’t have to be embarrassed by not knowing where the eggs are.
I think it’s time you invented a new egg for dyeing. Raw eggs don’t work. We bought a kit one year that let you stick faces and hats on the eggs you dyed. They turned out so nice that we left them on the mantelpiece to look at and admire. We forgot about them quickly, but it started to smell after a few weeks and my cousin and I went out on the street to smash them to bits. Wouldn’t it be nice to have an egg where there wasn’t a need to smash them because they’re rotten? What if they’re works of art? Boiled eggs last longer, but they still go bad. Draining eggs is very difficult and I usually end up breaking them. I think you’re next task should be to create an egg that stays fresh forever and still looks authentic enough when dyed.
Anyways, hope to see you in March. Dark chocolate is my favorite, in case you wanted to know.

Cecilia

Cold Water

My foot collapses beneath me. It doesn’t feel like stepping into snow. But there’s a crunch, and, suddenly, my body is dropping. My eyes close, and my heart falters. My arms reach to the sky, but to no avail. The melting world around me disappears. The world is black. The world is silent. My body is limp. Suddenly, life slows down. The talons of death begin to grip every inch of my body. I feel the water seeping into my clothes. It’s all around me, and it’s pulling me down. My eyes open. They look for something. They look for anything. The icy water grabs them, and forces fear into my mind. I desperately search for the light, but the sun’s warm rays are augmented with an icy window. The light shows through the watery prison in a soft shade of blue.
My arms thrash frantically through the cold dark liquid. I try to hold myself together. I feel panic coming into me. It’s bringing me down faster than the water now. My arms are thrashing faster now. Quickly Will, quickly Will. You have to try. I have to try. The water pushes itself against my mouth. My lungs push against my mouth. They are crying, they are screaming like a thousand babies for what they want most; air. My eyes hurt so much. My clothes feel so heavy. They began to latch onto me. Everything is grabbing me. Everything wants me to die. I can’t die. I can’t die. I search for an opening. The water burns every bit of my body. I shut my eyes, slipping back into the darkness. The freezing water hurts them too much. This can’t be the end. I can’t stop here. I push up against the ice. My soaked gloves slide on its surface. I kick, and I kick– I can’t sink. What can I do? What can I do? I can punch. And I punch. I punch harder than I have ever before. I slam my fists against the lakes thick sheet of ice. I hit, but nothing happens.
Suddenly, without warning, my body supercedes my logic. The icy water flows into my mouth. It electrifies my teeth, and clots my throat. My body tries to breathe, but only chokes as the lake travels through me. I push even harder against the ice. I kick even harder. But the thick sheet of imprisonment will not move. And the panic becomes too much to bear. And my hope begins to sink. And I look down. All I see is the darkness. It calls out to me. It reaches up, with its frosty grasp, and it begs for me to fall. I’m scared. I’m so scared. But I look away. I look along the plane of ice. It stretches endlessly in every direction. The water is thick with chunks of frozen debris. The light from above gives the water near the surface an eerie visibility. I turn my head up towards the light, and I see ripples.
There is a chance, I can make it. There is a chance, I will not die. I kick, and I swim. I move my limbs like I’ve never moved them before. I push the weight of my 8 year old body. I push the weight of my soaked winter gear. I push the weight of utter desperation. I push till I am free; and I burst through the water. The sun shines down on me, smiling happily at my freedom. My lungs rise as I gasp for air, but I only breathe in water. Hands reach down and grab my arms. They tug me upwards from the darkness. Are they the hands of God?
My father pulls me up over his back. I euphorically gaze around. The trees in the distance drip with the thaw of spring. The snow, the ice, and all of winter’s frozen tyranny, are dying around me. I bob up and down as my father sprints to land. He drops me onto the slushy, mud filled, snow. I’m choking. He hits my back, and gelid water flies out my mouth. Air bursts into my lungs like a hug from a mother– breathing never felt this good. My dad kneels down to my level, and looks me in the eye. His voice shutters as he scrambles the words:
“Can you breathe??”
I nod my head, only to realize I cant feel anything. I look down at my drenched snow pants to see my legs shaking. I suddenly notice that my whole body is shaking, and I look back at my father.
“You need to get inside”
He spits out, as he swoops me up in his arms, and begins to run to the house. I look up to the cloudless sky and focus my eyes on the sun. I whisper:
“I thought I’d never see you again”

What was that?

I was walking down to the Canoe Club when I saw a couple frantically paddling a double-kayak to the dock. The kayak was tilted towards the back and seemed nearly flooded, but they managed to bring it safely into port. When the inundated boat was hauled out of the river I saw the source of the trouble: the tip of the boat was gone. The yellow plastic ended in a strangely smooth way, as if it had been left in a strong acid. The couple stood on the dock looking dazed and lost. I approached them and asked what happened. They both looked up at me in surprise, as if jolted out of a daydream. Then, slowly, with both trying to talk at the same time, they told me:
They had been kayaking down the river, just having a day in the sun. Paddling along, more absorbed in eachother than their surroundings, they paid little attention to where they went. Slowly and unnoticed, a mist crept across the water, arriving silently on slippered feet tiptoeing over the water, it surrounded them. Suddenly they noticed the change: surrounded by a whiteout, they could only see a scarce few feet from the boat. They laughed nervously at the novelty of it, but the mist swallowed up the sound, making them silent with unease. The water had calmed, smooth as glass but just as impenatrably murky as before. The river seemed to absorb their cautious strokes: what ripples were created disappeared quickly as the water remained resolutely calm. Thinking logically, they made their way for shore, but land never came. Pushed by an unspoken fear, they paddled faster, but no matter how they flew over the glassy surface all they found was fog. Then, a disturbance, ripples in the water, this time spreading quickly across the surface. Again, from the left, the power of the displacement rocked their boat--but soon all was still again. Defensive now, they frantically scanned the vague waterscape, looking for the threat. Suddenly, out of the water loomed what could only be described as a massive catfish. It opened its gaping maw and latched onto the back of the kayak. A horrible sucking noise broke the silence and the beast began swallowing their boat. Screaming, they both took up arms and hurredly slapped at the fish with they paddles. Seemingly surprised by the ferocity of their retaliation, the monster fish sunk back beneath the waters, claiming the back end of the kayak. Their fight done, flight took over, as the couple paddled furiously away from the behemoth. To their relief, spears of sunlight streamed through the mist, chasing it off. Apparently they had gotten completely turned around, since the Canoe Club was now in sight, towards which they paddled before they were swamped.
They finished their tale slowly with great difficulty, as if they couldn’t quite remember the details. I would have asked them their names, but I never got the chance. After telling their account, they broke off, their eyes unfocused. Staring blankly, they walked aimlessly away until one of the employees interrupted, asking just what had happened to the kayak, to which they monotonasly stated that they must have hit a rock.

"Okay Class, Pick your partners!" Within .5 seconds, everyone had a partner. In all the confusion, I hear this high pitched voice. " I want HER to be my partner!" her pointer finger slowly arranged itself in my direction. Who was this short, curly haired freak? And why did she want to be my partner? Probably because I just answered the math question correctly. I didn't even know her name. Cindy was it? Oh crap, I highly doubt she knows my name. My new friend was different, I couldn't point my finger on it, but there was something about her that was different. I liked it. From that day on, we became really good friends. And I found out that her name wasn't Cindy but Sydney. That was in 7th grade, and now We're both Seniors. I'm excited to walk across the stage and receive my diploma with my best friend since 7th grade. She was my first friend and are we really going to go separate ways come next September? I told her, We would apply to some of the same schools, so there is a better chance we will be together. We've been with each other through thick and thin. She's been there to pick me up at 11pm on a school night because I couldn't take it in my house. And I've done the same for her. Of course we've had countless fights and they've been about god knows what. And we will probably continue to have those silly fights. We laugh about the most stupid things. We are quite crazy at times. And we both can annoy the heck out of eachother. But I'm glad to have a friend like her.

Friends and Family

My friends and family mean the world to me. Even if it is screaming and fighting with them all the time. They are my back bone. I can always rely on my family and friends. I have had one friend for about 6 years. She moved here from Maine. I was her very first friend. We have been inseparable ever since. Most of the time our friendship consists of unimportant fights. We understand each other so it is always nice to know that you can have an easy conversation with someone that understands you easily. My family not so much. They always have to evaluate what I say. It then turns into something that I never meant to say. I love my family, I love my friends. I remember this one time in 8th grade when we went on a trip and I went with this friend of mine. I was having a very hard time, and she was there every step of the way to help me. She understood what I was going through and did her best to comfort me. I have never gone with her to visit her family. I always promised my friend that I would go with her. I am going to keep my promise. Even though I get into fights with my family, it is the best family that I could ever of been born into. I know that they are not perfect. But I would not want to live in a perfect family. There would be no fun in that. I have a big family. I am more close with my family on my dads side since they like to see me more. My mothers side not so much. They live the closest to me, but don't put out the effort to visit me. My dad's side is all uncles. All we do when we see each other is joke with one another. They are easy to make fun of. Its just a bunch of laughs when I visit my family. So pretty much I wouldn't be anywhere today if it wasn't for my family and friend. and I just wanted to say thank you to them. 

Flutterby

Flutterby

The butterfly winked at me, the eyes on its wings flashing brightly in the few sunbeams that made it through the canopy above. Around me birch trees grew in a strangely purposeful grid, giving the effect of walking down ephemeral corridors as I moved amongst them. It was a place that I had seen many times off of the road and had always meant to visit, but had never gotten around to it until now. The glade was shady and covered in soft green moss, although with a definite lack of wildflowers (which is why I was surprised to find a butterfly there). While I wandered about the butterfly hovered in a sort of expectant air, always staying in sight. The twinkle of its wings suddenly drew my attention away from the trees, prompting me to properly inspect it as it fluttered about. It was unlike any flutterby I had ever seen: its wings were a deep black that seemed to shift between earthy hues of rich dirt, red clay, and mossy loam. The eye designs on the wings, by comparison, were a piercing blue which somehow managed to catch the light of the scarce sunbeams just right.
Now the butterfly flitted past and behind me, hurrying now to some destination. Not wanting to see it go, I followed blithely along. When it floated into thicker brush I hesitated, but continued on, figuring that I might as well explore a bit. I picked my way through the thickets and overhanging trees, stumbling and snapping fallen limbs in my passing. Soon though, I broke through into a clearing. Squinting from the intense light, I paused to take in the idyllic scene. Long yellowed grass with a smattering of goldenrod swayed in the breeze, while a small stream cut through the glade, crystal water tumbling over round-washed stones. I saw that my butterfly had joined more of its kin to flit amongst the grass, tasting of the wildflowers. How extraordinary, to find not one but many of these beautiful creatures. But wait, I couldn’t pick out my butterfly from the rest. As if sensing this ripple of uncertainty in my otherwise cheerful thoughts, the butterflys scattered, each speeding in a different direction. Panicked, I froze in place. It seemed terribly important that I follow my butterfly, the one that had brought me to this place. I felt that the others would lead me down insidious ways, to the darkest vales of the wildwood. Then out of the corner of my eye, a bright blue flash, and I turned to see my flutterby winking at me through the trees, offering me safe passage. Sprinting, I broke back through into the shadows of the forest.
Tumbling through the brush, I kept the winking eyes just in sight. The flutterby was too fast, I couldn’t keep up. The forest got in my way, branches whipping at me, hidden roots. My foot caught. I tripped. The trees parted, revealing a steep embankment, but I couldn’t stop, my momentum carried me forward and off the cliff. Rolling down through the dust, earth and sky blending in my muddled vision, nothing broke my fall until a peculiarly soft thud halted me.
I had landed on emerald moss, soft and springy. I bounced off of it onto sturdier ground, dusted myself off and only then finally looked around me. Here the woods were darker, great trees twisted up from the earth to blot out the sun, allowing only the rare ray of sunlight through their gnarled boughs. The green moss crept everywhere, whilst spotted toadstools peeked up from beneath the roots and plate fungi spiraled in staircases up the trunks of tree. And there were the ruins. The buildings had fallen, great walls torn down by the passage of time, with only the foundation stones still standing firm. But the statues still stood. Great monoliths of granite, looking as if they were cut from a single slab. Breath taken, I walked gingerly amongst them, while their many faces peered down at me in mourning, jubilation, rage, and submission. Sadly, they too had been touched by time: the creeping moss covered much of their bases, and roots silently worked their way into the stone, widening the cracks. I felt awed, and somewhat excited: this place was beautiful and secret, and I was here! There were no signs of frequent visitors; I might even be the first to find this place since its makers departed. But wait, why did they leave? So much effort had been poured into this place; it must have been of enormous significance to its builders. Why would anyone leave this behind? While I stood there, thinking my perturbed thoughts, a shimmer caught my eye. My butterfly! I had scarcely noticed its absence. Now it came rushing to me, beating against me with its small wings, hurrying me from the way it had come. My curiosity piqued, I glanced down the row of statues to what lay beyond. It was dark. While the twilight of the ruins gave them a somber air, this darkness was menacing; something more than just the shade of the trees.
The air and earth rumbled, as if a great horn was sounding just out of my hearing range. From the dark came a gust of wind which seemed to break around the flutterby, but what was left of its power still lifted and slammed me against a tree. Heaving myself up, I saw the butterfly lying broken in the moss. Hesitating just enough to cradle my guide in my hands, I rushed away from the ruins. The next blast was diluted by distance, but regardless hurled me up the hill. Sprawled at the top, I collected myself and darted into the trees. The third wave of air attacked, but was broken by the forest, with only breezy tendrils clutching at my clothes. Panicked, not know where I went, dodging limbs as they zipped past, I just ran. Seeing a light to my right, I veered towards it, flitting through the trees.
I burst through the trees, suddenly disoriented. I was back where I began, in the corridors of birch trees. I collapsed, my head reeling with it all. I opened my hands to see my guardian undamaged-well, unchanged. It lay still. I set it on the ground, and spent the longest time just staring, willing it to move, and despairing in how its bright eyes had lost their glamour. After the sun had set, the nights chill drove me sadly away, with only a small burial mound as a monument to what had happened. I’ve returned many times to that place, wandering in the forest hoping the chance upon the great relics hidden in the wood, or simply waiting amongst the white sentinels. But the forest seems to turn me back, and no guide comes to show me the way.

Letting Go

All of my life has been a constant fight with my family. Over nothing but nonsense. Sometimes its me starting it, because they come and annoy me when I am clearly doing something else. It might be because of my short temper, but they know me well enough not to do it. It starts off with me and my mom talking. Then my temper starts to take over. My step-dad a person who I thought was my enemy. The only enemy here is myself. He would come down and take over the situation, because he didn't like how it was sounding. That really pisses me off. I realize now that he was only trying to help me, but always went about doing it in the wrong way. Sometimes the fights get so bad. My brother starts crying, then I go and try to comfort him. Not the best time to do, since I am the one that made him cry, and I'm still upset. I don't like to hurt the people that love me, and are just trying to help me. I took my family for granted. Having a life changing experience really turned my life around. I am very greatful for that experience. I love my family, I try not to do things that hurt them. All I want to do is be the best daughter, friend that I can be to them. Its time for me to return the favor.

Where's the Respect?

My junior year I decided to take Anatomy and Physiology instead of Chemistry. I thought I would put it off until my senior year, so I would have an easier class to look forward too. Not too much homework.
The first day of school didn't start out too well. The day prior I had gotten a molar extracted and it went terribly wrong. I go to my first three classes and they seem alright and the kids in the classes weren't too bad. Then Came 4th period.
I walk into class 3 minutes late with a peanut butter and jelly. The kind of peanut butter and jelly that had the perfect amount of peanut butter. Not too much, not to little, spread out evenly on one side of the white bread. And the jelly, was grape. The best kind of jelly to put with peanut butter. Grape jelly isn't like strawberry or raspberry where you get the seeds stuck in your teeth and then it takes hours to get all the little seeds hiding in your teeth out. The kids in the class were decent. All juniors, so of course I felt superior since I am a senior. Mr. Falcone gave us an activity to do, and I unconsciously put the tempting and magnificent peanut butter and jelly down. Next thing I know, Some Junior, Whom I have never met before, is eating my peanut butter and jelly. He knows that its mine and yet still proceeds to eat it. I wasn't mad, more aggravated and confused.
Now everyday that I come into 4th period, he is always asking me for some of my food and if its not asking then he's helping himself to it. Within the last week, we have gotten to know each other and now I don't mind as much, but where's the respect?

Grammar Fun

Here are links to some of my favorite grammar websites:
“Guide to Grammar and Writing”
http://grammar.ccc.commnet.edu/grammar/
Look for topics in Word and Sentence Level

“Online Writing Lab at Purdue University”
http://owl.english.purdue.edu/handouts/grammar/index.html
Look for topics in the Purdue University Online Writing Lab

“Strunk & White” on-line
http://www.bartleby.com/141/index.html

"Hamilton College Writing Center"
http://www.hamilton.edu/writing/index.html

Enjoy!