Invisible

I'm not that girl who is irresistible; the girl that you pine over for months, even years. I’m the after thought. I’m not the one that the “hotties” “dig”. And I’m not one to complain. I have never been good with the “hotties” or maybe, just not good enough. I’m the girl with the frizzy hair and glasses; who rolls out of bed in the morning and feels invisible all day.

I’m not the girl with a lot of friends. Maybe, I don’t know how to socialize or maybe I’m just unlikable. I’m not the girl who starves herself for attention. I’m the girl who says things loudly and crudely just to make you steer clear. I don’t have a lot of style, I have t-shirts and jeans.


Sometimes I look onto those girls with admiration and sometimes with utter disdain.
Sometimes I envy their shamelessness and sometimes I just can’t grasp the concept of these people. Maybe I just haven’t grown out of the seventh grader inside of me. Iron clad with braces and tragic glasses, I really was invisible. Maybe I still am.
Do you grow out of being invisible?

Harry Potter. Reunion?

I'm gonna reread harry potter. At least from goblet on. to see if any of it actually makes sense or if i can ever fully regain my fangirlish tendencies with that book or if they have died. forever. And whether or not watching channels on youtube like the Vlogbrothers or Fiveawesomegirls will just be a reminder of the life i once lived.

I guess i should probably be ashamed that a book has taken up a lot of my young life..... but i still wonder

Can you still be a nerdfighter and not be fangirling over harry potter....

God i hope so.


ALSO: I love being a fangirl. It's so much fun.

Secrets (blurb)

They say that secrets don't make friends.
That might be true in the way of some people.
But some people don't want friends.
Or they do but they can't bear to be hurt again
It's a little mind boggling because I'm sorta the type to get back on the horse and try again forever.
Maybe it's my lack experience
Or maybe its that I will be naive forever.
But for now I think I need to keep trying.
If I don't Ill die

Just a blurb

What is a blurb exactly?
Is it one single thought one sentence or one paragraph?
A blurb is what you make of it something that might be stand alone but is just as important as the rest of the connected thoughts in your brain.
Then again, is a thought ever really disconnected to another one?
I could keep going on like this forever.
So I think I will.
Actually...
What I meant to say in this blog is that this smiley : / is beggining to look happier and happier each time I type it.
How strange.

Blog psh more like Blurbing.

I believe this is going to be an ongoing thing. These are pieces of writing, thoughts and just little things I've been thinking about.

Cinco de mayo

"I can confidently say that I, sir am nothing." spoke the bespeckled man across an aged mahogany desk.

“How can you be nothing, Mr. Marth? I have two working, eyes I can see you.” argued a suited man on the other side of the mahogany desk that the point was being made across. Tall and balding, Mr. Suppers was quite the opposite of Mr. Marth’s petite and pointed structure. Staring intently, Mr. Suppers waited for an answer from his opponent. Condescendingly, he let out a “huh” as long fingers danced across the desk.

“All I mean is that I have no category. I am neither hero, nor villain”

“Then why are you here” Mr. Suppers asked almost immediately in a way that sounded and meant like ‘Get the hell out of my office,’ words he did not speak. Instead he, tactfully added “Sir this is an agency for the ‘gifted’ and If you are not, I don’t think we have need for you,” The way he said it, gifted, was malicious, jealous even like they had something that he didn’t , like he was a cat chasing his supernatural mouse.

“I’m sorry I wasted your time, I just thought that, - maybe you needed someone- er like me” With this final sentence Mr. Marth rose to his feet, a whopping 5 feet and three inches, took his hat from the desk and made way to the door.

“Mr. Marth, wait.” Said Mr. Suppers, rising to his feet, “What did you mean? ‘People like you?’”

Turning back to the man before him Mr. Marth penetrated him with his eyes, a glint of disbelief buried deep in brown eyes.

“When I said I was nothing you should have believed me.” As soon as the last word fled his pink tongue, did he disappear into a cloud of what seemed to be water vapor.

“Damn it, Mr. Marth” Mr. Suppers spoke to himself, seating himself again in defeat. He then proceeded to fix his crooked pink tie.

Late April.

"So after a year of being made fun of for not knowing anything about Hillary Clinton I decided to Google her. It turns out that her ankles are not as huge as I thought; maybe she went on weight watchers or became friends with Jenny Craig.

LATE FEBUARY.

The stripes that covered the rug were methodical, almost eerie. Now it may have just been their uniformity or the fact that stripes had never sat just right with the blond headed girl. The Crumpling of the papers clenched in her petite hands was accidental. Maybe another nervous habit was evolving. My papers, wonderful, she scolded herself. How am I supposed to show Mr. Hopp these? She scolded once more, attempting to salvage the slightly crumpled resume and various other pieces of material to aide in her job search.

Late ‘07

Picking away at the layers of skin around my fingers; perfection is only a tear away. Skimming the surface of the once undamaged fingernails the wall tack scratches the nail as it glides across the see through surface. Nervous habit turned addiction; the wall tack sits beside the keyboard waiting to rip flesh from thin fingers. At school, at home, about thirty minutes a day is set aside for this task. Why I seem to go insane without something to prod at my long fingers.

Perfection, the habit all started when I began to seek perfection in my fingernails by trimming them with nail clips instead of harsh, uneven teeth. Well the nail clips had a sharp tool that is supposed to be used for cuticles, and needless to say, instead if cuticles I used it to shove back and tear uneven skin around my fingernails.

I’m sure it’s just a simple habit albeit one that leaves my fingers barren and cut ridden and exposed to the many bacteria of the world.

blondage < bondage, words to live by

the smell of peroxide burns my nostrils as i brush my bangs into my eyes. IS it the downward motion that makes the bleach smell so bad or is it just the fact that bleach and scalps were never really supposed to mix. Looking in the mirror is sort of a 50:50 shot sometimes I see myself staring back and sometimes I see someone else entirely. Someone from another lifetime maybe. So I try to adjust my secretary-esque glasses in hopes that bringing my attention to the familiar shape instead of alien strands of hair hanging from my damaged scalp. With a shrug and a sigh I continue my day, hoping no one sees the straw like strands and instead substitutes the color for the red that it used to be.

So here I am, dye it back or not, I know that I'm the same person either way, I mean one more car wrecked in blond than in red but really that doesn't make up a person's character does it? I'm just worried that the superficialities of the world will get to me eventually and I'll become more look oriented than brain oriented. That would be bad. '

I'm pretty sure that three hours in a chair cannot makeover someone's whole character, but if it does, is it for the worst? I remember an episode of something or other where a character changed her hair and claimed that she wanted to see someone else staring back at her in the mirror, someone who hadn't made so many mistakes. That's not the case with me, my only recent mistake besides the car crash is laziness and I'm not sure that a hair color can change that. I'm not sure anything but will power can. That's up to me, not whats in a bottle, whether it be of hair dye or medicines.

I'm not sure what I have to say and maybe i just needed somewhere to write. A nice blank text area, whether it be in ms word, a blog or in a bulletin, text areas are quite welcoming :)

As I type in this alien skin of mine, I think that maybe this isn't so bad. I mean it's not permanent. I'm sure the red will return someday.

I do not think blond is my color. In the mirror I like to look at a girl with a full head of red hair, not pale straw colored alien craziness.

I'm not sure. but I think that I still get points for trying something new.

Good times

It's times like these when youre just sitting in front of your computer replaying the triumphs of your day that you realize how beautiful life can be.

I wish I had a couple of sunflowers and a hippy skirt :)

I would go to my forest.
I mean.. if it were spring.

I miss my forest... It's enchanted