Face forward.

School is almost here. I leave on Saturday. My hope?

That this year will be better, better, better.

Incomplete.

Life goals I have become relatively attached to:

- read every book Vonnegut ever wrote
- see Niagara Falls
- watch every movie on AFI's Top 100 List
- have one entire wall in my house covered in postcards, floor to ceiling
- put my hands in the cement imprints at Grauman's Chinese Theatre, Hollywood
- get a tattoo that means something to me, when it means it purely
- go up to the top of the Eiffel Tower
- go on a cross-country road trip (complete with crappy/creepy motels)
- dance to "As Time Goes By" at my future wedding
- swim with dolphins
- live in a different country for extended period of time (studying abroad does NOT count)
- find a job that makes me happy to wake up for everyday
edits:
- ride in a hot air balloon
- see Coldplay in concert

A small, yet I dare say achievable, list.
One all my own.

Wishful thinking.

She will serenade us:



When we're in the city of lights:



And you are like him:



If I can be like her:

Fated to pretend.

Last night, as I muted the often-on television to say goodnight to my father, I heard a peculiar wheezing noise. It sounded as though this muffled breathing was coming from the fireplace... so like any rational and warm-hearted American girl, I immediately preceded to panic. My thought process:

"SOMETHING IS DYING IN THE CHIMNEY. SOMETHING IS DYING IN THE CHIMNEY AND OHMIGOD OHMIGAWD, IT'S PROBABLY A CUTELITTLEFUZZY SQUIRREL WITH TINY ROUND ADORABLE EYES THE COLOR OF PERFECTLYPOLISHEDSHOES AND BY THE QUIET AND PATHETIC WAY I CAN BARELY HEAR POOR MR. NUMNUTS BREATH HIS LAST HEARTBREAKING BREATHES, HE HAS PROBABLY BEEN IN THE CHIMNEY TRAPPED FOR SIX WEEKS DYING A HORRIBLE DEATH OF STARVATION AND ABANDONMENT, ALL WHILE HIS SQUIRREL WIFE HAS BEEN SUFFERING THE AGONY OF NOT KNOWING WHERE HER BELOVED SQUIRRELYWHIRLEYPUMPKINPIE IS AND HAS BARELY KNOWN HOW TO FEED HER SIX HUNGRY BABY SQUIRREL MOUTHS AT HOME AND HELP! WHERE THE HELL IS THE WHEEZINGCOMINGFROM? SOMETHING IS DYING IN THE CHIMNEY! DAAAAAAADDDDD!!!"

Like any calm and warm-blooded American man, my father preceded to grab a police-grade flashlight and the sharpest butcher knife my kitchen had to offer. After a thorough investigation, it turns out that the mysterious death rattle came not from a precious trapped squirrel, but from the fake golden retriever puppy on the chair closest to the fireplace. The ignorant faux puppy was curled happily (albeit stiffly) and breathed each of his mechanized and robotic breathes with the pleasant knowledge that with one forgotten flip of his switch to the "on" position by an adorable grandchild three days ago, the puppy could scare the BEJEZUS out of a gullible human.

Penelope.

I need a James McAvoy to push me on a swing right NOW.

Clarification.

My back-up plans for life, you know, in case the incredibly secure and high-demand (sarcasm) art history industry collapses:

1. Open cupcake, coffee, and speciality tea shop.
positives:
- cute wall decorations
- good excuse if gain excess weight
- be my own well-fed boss
-frosting
negatives:
- involves math, business, and baking
- financial investor?
- excess weight gain

2. Attend air traffic controller school, become certified.
positives:
- will make BANK
- impressive stories for cocktail hour
- power, like that of God's
negatives:
- involves math
- high stress
- good chance I'd crash two planes together
- long hours
- most likely to be placed in Nowhere, North Dakota

3. Open my own vintage clothing and thrift store.
positives:
- be my own fashionably dressed boss
- best pick of the litter
- be surrounded by things I love
- optional store cat in sunny front window
negatives:
- financial risks
- business skillz, of which I lack
- customer pet allergies

Let's Dance.

Looks like I've decided to have another go at this self-publishing, self-glorifying, (and ultimately) self-embarrassing mode of public expression.

But truly, what else shall I do with my time? Go outside and enjoy the sunshine, the green green grass, and the happy buzzing of the bees? Ha. You amuse sometimes, stranger.