dear washer and dryer,

the other day my challenge was to write about the relationship i had with my washer and dryer. 
i set it aside and eventually forgot all about it until laundry day, a.k.a the day in which i face adversity. 


so naturally, i wrote a letter to washing maching # 8 and dryer # 22.

            Allow me to be blunt. I love you. I adore you. Without you I cannot live comfortably. I would be stale; I would have an odor of decay about me, as if I was dying without you. I think about you all the time, wondering when I will be able to see you. Sometimes we’ll meet after my afternoon class, other times late at night when the rest of the complex leaves to engage in nights of debauchery, leaving us alone. But alas! You run so cold and hot! There are moments when I feel as if I am the only girl in the world. But then there are the days when I feel as if you do not even remember who I am. I walk in and see all of these people using you, talking to you, but yet you stay with them, those that do not respect you, they sit on you and leave you messy and in disarray. They don’t love you like I do, but I feel as if you won’t make room for me, so I leave. Have you no soul? Do you not understand the mind of a teenage girl? All of this switching back and forth has done a number on my heart.  I run a few more miles on the treadmill, fix my hair, finish the rest of my textbook assignment, wash dishes, bake muffins, and get an update on the political ticker. I do anything that would make me more appealing to you when I return. Because I always return. Rather than ignore me, you jeer at me. You disagree on everything that I say. I say hot, you say cold. I want brights and you want wool. You refuse to work, you yell at me incessantly, you burn and shriek and gnash your teeth.  I resort to kicking and screaming, hoping that you would open up to me. You make me wonder why I stay with you, why I couldn’t will myself to walk out the door and never see you again. But you are not a friend that I can delete on Facebook. I can’t leave you. You have what I need, what I’ve been longing to get back all day.  You finally stop, once we realize how silly we look. I walk out the door, knowing that time will heal all wounds and I will forget how difficult you are just in time to go through it all again. 

this is how doing the laundry makes me feel. 

meet lola.

my challenge today was to spend twenty minutes drawing an object. well, that didn't really happen. but i did draw what i thought a robot would look like if she went to the gym. 


she would do cartwheels. 

and jumping jacks. 

and after she got the courage, she would face down the pull-up bar. 

i just really like this song. 

cage match.

my essay topic for english was to choose an argument that we feel passionate about and try to persuade everyone to agree with us. others picked topics such as whether Genesis is true, the legality of abortion, the double standard of rappers and the language they use in their music, but i lack the ability to be serious so i wrote about the dire need for cage matches. 

Rednecks Need to Find Something Else to Carry in Their Pick-up

It saddens me to see my fellow countrymen divided due to the never ending debate of gun control and whether the government should place restrictions on who is allowed to have a firearm and how and when are they to use it, or if the controlling of guns is unconstitutional for any sort of regulation would trample an American citizen’s right to possess a firearm. The argument consumes the dinner table conversation, church sermons, Facebook notes, text messages, grocery store check-out lines, and park benches. The controversial topic of gun control has torn the grand country of America apart, and even though regulations such as restricting guns and other firearms from felons, keeping an up-to-date registry of all of those who have purchased a gun and for what use, and the ordinance that all those who carry guns must carry a permit as well may be the easiest and most logical solution, when one looks past the surface, one would see that it would never work for it does not solve the real problem.

According to my research, the real reason behind the need to possess a gun is not to protect oneself or one’s family, but the possession brings the owner to his or hers most primal, barbaric instinct, the need for violence. Owning a gun gives the owner the security that they are capable of being violent. With this discovery in my cranium, I easily found the solution while watching the Tyra Show. The host, Tyra Banks, was interviewing teenage girls that recorded their fights and uploaded them to the website YouTube. The girls claimed that fighting made them feel good and that there was absolutely no other way to solve their disputes. Most times, the girls agreed that there wasn’t even a dispute to fight about, they were just bored. How quaint.  This approach towards violence brought many of my other observations to light, such as the fact that everyone loves a good fight club. In fact, students at Armstrong Atlantic State University made an attempt to begin a fight club of their own on Club Day, and even though the club was shut down by the administration before the eleventh student was able to sign up, the bestial desire for violence lived on. These two occurrences brought me to the conclusion that the solution to gun control is the abolishment of all guns and firearms, for the weapons will no longer be needed when cage matches are ruled as the law of the land.

The government of America was modeled closely after the Roman Empire. The Romans idea of a good time was a good old fashioned gladiator fight. And if the system to cut down on prisoners and captives of war (terrorists) was good enough for them, cage matches should prove quiet successful for the United States as well. Of course, there are those who believe that without firearms, the United States would have no way to ward off threats from other countries with weapons of mass destruction. To this, I say, no one has nuclear weapons because all of the countries signed an agreement to destroy them, which means there shouldn’t be any left because everyone kept their promise, right?

Cage matches will cut down on deaths caused by firearms and will clean up jails and prisons, for people will have a legal and nonfatal option to solve their problems. For when one truly thinks about why one argues with others, it is because one feels the need to crush their opponent by any means possible, each insult being a metaphorical slap in the face or kick in the knee.  Therefore, the emotional state of America would be astronomically happier, for the people would be able to release the animalistic urges that society has told them to suppress, and if one is being honest with oneself, one would agree to the fact that it is much easier to recover from a punch in the face than it is to recover from an insult.

The matches will allow men to feel like men, to become the people they used to pay to watch at a bar. They will no longer be forced to keep the act up, to pretend as if they are fighting for their girl’s honor, they will be allowed to return to what men truly are, animals in a cage.

The government would take on a role like disillusioned parents, desperate to be hip and young, who allow teenagers to drink in their home because they truly believe that as long as the alcohol is consumed in a controlled environment nothing could go wrong. They believe that trouble would not ensue and perhaps the teenagers will become bored with the alcohol and decide to never drink again. The cage matches would be a way to bring domestic violence out into the open. Rather than keeping the terrible secret, using tax dollars to create domestic violence shelters, and having the police called to the house by a concerned neighbor only to hear that the couple is in love and they just had a bad night; if cage matches were legal, the couple would pay the government to participate in domestic violence. Eventually the couple would both become bored with the fighting and stop completely or they will pay such an incredible amount of money to fight that they would become bankrupt and would no longer have the money to participate.

The rules of the cage match are that a fight can happen at any time, any place, as long as a cage is in the vicinity, the fight will be barehanded-no weapons of any kind will be allowed, the fight will last ‘till the death (or when one of the opponents tap out, whichever comes first), fights outside of a cage is illegal, and spectators are welcome. The score will not be recorded which means that each cage match one enters will be assumed one’s first. Waivers and other procedures used to cover one’s butt will not be required for solving one’s problems by dueling another is the law of the land, meaning that it is the only way.

The Cage Match ordinance is a multi-faceted regulation, for it will create jobs and will overall rid the country of its economic crisis. People will be needed to construct the cages, keep record of cage match appointments, referees for the matches, doctors and medical staff for the end results, and kickboxing classes for those who would like to go into the match prepared.

Overall, cage matches can cause what beauty pageant contestants desperately wish for, world peace. Besides, cage matches have to work, for everyone must work out their problems or stay in the cage until they do. 

not a music video, but a must see youtube video. 

top ten.

my challenge today was to list the ten things i would want to do every day. 
rather than going the "these are all of the things i wish i could do" route, i decided to make a realistic "to-do" list of sorts, with the hope that all of these things will actually happen on the same day. 

fly a kite on the beach


have chocolate milk and pancakes for breakfast


see a play that makes me laugh and i end up quoting it for the rest of the day thereby becoming obnoxious to everyone around me. 


listen to music


open my mailbox and have mail


pretend i have my own cooking show as i prepare dinner


write an essay in hopes that one day it will be published


have a good hair day


play a round of "spoons" late into the night


go on a bike ride 


it is impossible to not have a good day after you listen to this song. 

it's anthropology, my dear watson.

today i proved that i didn't have to take notes, pay attention in class, read my textbook, or read the outside reading assignments in order to get a 98 on the test. i would take the time to question the legitimacy of the course , but instead i chose to do something more productive, such as solve the mystery as to why the professor's hair is always wet. 

reasons why your hair is wet:


you are an olympic swimmer in training. 


you put on some beyonce and have a hair-flipping session to pump yourself up for class. 


you threw a coin in the fountain and fell in. 


it is your attempt to stay cool in the savannah heat. 


you had the choice of either wearing too much bronzer or drying your hair and you went with the former. 


the constant pulling of the fire alarm on campus has inspired you to be as fire resistant as possible. 


you heard a rumor that jane goodall never dried her hair. 


your wool cap matched your outfit today, but by the time you got to school your head was sweating. 




and now for a playlist inspired by hair:
freak'um dress, i am not my hair, samson. 

the giving tree.

happy is a yuppie word.

           

      The first thing I noticed was his shoes. They were moccasin styled- striped pink and green. A sort of shoe-slipper hybrid you would expect to be worn on a granola head. The green stripes really made his green polo pop, so much so that his collar did the same thing. “Popped” collars are a culture shock to me. I always thought that it was a look that only Johnny, Soda Pop, and the gang from Grease used, much less yuppie, old dads at a fall ball lacrosse game. But there he was, in all of his popped collar and high waisted, steam-pressed jeans glory. And we were the lucky ones who sat behind him.

            “He does forty push-ups before each game so he can play with a certain finesse.” Yes, I am certain that Carter (the unfortunate son of the yuppie dad) does push-ups in hopes of finesse. As if with every repetition he completes he thinks, “I really hope the rest of the guys notice my finesse,” or “I can’t wait to wear the tee shirt with the sleeves cut out so I can show off my finesse.”

            And the game begins.

            I’ve never been to a lacrosse game before and I was most surprised at the violence. The boys ran up and down the field as they pummeled one another. No, seriously, they just kept wacking each other with sticks. I feel as if some of the players forgot about the rubber ball they were supposed to be chasing. And that was how the group of parents sitting on the sidelines separated each other.

            A woman under an umbrella with red hair that appeared to have the texture of straw, screeched “hit him harder, hit him harder” as a Kennesaw Mountain High School Mustang fought a Woodstock High School Wolverine for possession of the ball. I was confused as to which player she was giving parent-of-the-year advice to, but then when the Wolverine smacked the Mustang on the head she was in search for a referee.

            That was when the rather violent mother and the yuppie old man with a son that is the “utility tool of the team because he can play every position in lacrosse” found each other and began talking smack about the other team. The woman didn’t know who the opposing team was and Carter’s dad knew that the team was good, just not “state-championship caliber” like their boys. As if the lacrosse game was a cosmic joke, Carter, the golden boy who has “plans of going to West Point” and “puts red bull in his cereal” was caught twirling his lacrosse stick.

            Yes, the yuppie dad’s son stood on the field and twirled his lacrosse stick. The dad’s cover up? It was fall ball lacrosse, and since “any boy is allowed to play” the others simply cannot compete to Carter’s standards. So Carter twirled his lacrosse stick in boredom. It is such a pity that the game wasn’t challenging enough, Carter worked for all of that finesse for nothing.

            But as the parents wondered who Carter belonged to and for once the dad wasn’t willing to admit that he was the gene pool that created that stud of a boy, the players stampeded down the field; the ball was in the Wolverine’s court. The yuppie dad, in an effort to remove himself from his baton twirler of a son, yelled for Joey to go deep. I guess Joey ignored the yuppie dad’s requests because the dad looked at the other parents (how dare the witty comments he makes not be heard by everyone) and said, “I wish they wore shock collars so we could control them.” That sounds like a swell idea, really. Why would we want the team to listen to their coach when they have screaming parents on the sidelines? Yeah, that makes sense.

            At the beginning of the game I was excited. I knew my brother was pumped and I couldn’t wait to see him play. And then as I waited for the game to begin I read my book and enjoyed the autumn weather. I laughed when I noticed the shoes of the man standing in front of me and I thought of him as a goober and then turned my attention to other things. If he spoke softly or if I sat on the other side of the field he would have been nothing other than the guy with the funny shoes and this essay would have never been written. But as he talked (so loudly that reading was out of the question) I began to learn an incredible amount about the man I didn’t know and his family I never met. I don’t even know what Carter looks like, but I do know that were he was going to college was a running joke in the family because the college of his choice seemed to change every week. I do know that his father wants him to go to West Point and that his sister, Katie, has her act together. I knew that the man worked for an airline and he didn’t like the new boys that “just got out of college and seem to know everything” and all he wanted to do was “show up, fly the jet, and leave.” I suddenly found myself with enough information to perform a quick search on Facebook and steal his identity; not that I would want to have the identity as the goober old man who has the ability to enrage those that don’t even know him, but I could if I wanted to. I turned to my parents and found that I was not the only one who was more irritated than amused by this man. I was a savage beast on the inside, I promised myself that I wouldn’t care if the Wolverines lost every game left in the season, I just couldn’t let them lose this one, I couldn’t bear the thought of yuppie old dad leaving in victory. But alas, I suppose the goober knows what he is doing after all, for the Kennesaw Mountain High School Mustangs win, dashing all of my hopes of watching Carter’s dad eat his words. And that was that, the game was over, the dad could now update his status and have other yuppie parents comment on it and tell him what a grand dad he is, and I left a touch more jaded of the world than when I came. 

this post has a case of lisztomania. 

"a" for effort.

a few weeks ago, my english class was given the assignment to look through the history of armstrong college and then make an observation about the progression of modern times. 

The pictures are yellow and they smell bad. Everyone in the yearbook looks cute though I'm sure the girls cried when they saw the pictures. Which kind of tells me that I shouldn't be so freaked out about my own pictures because I probably don't look as bad as I think I do. The buildings are beautiful. I wish Armstrong still looked like that- majestic. I wonder if they think that "Grease" was true to life. I hope that they did, cheesiness and hair grease and all. But then again, I'm not sure if I agree with Hollywood's depiction of high school (but John Hughes knew exactly what he was talking about) anymore. But I still hope that they watched Bandstand and wore full skirts and danced like how dancing is supposed to be. 

this is the first building of armstrong college. 

this song told me how the atlantic was made. 

i guess the change in my pocket wasn't enough.

the challenge i had for the week was to write down everything i bought:

susanna! button pin
man with goggles button pin
owl tree stand
tiger in grass coffee cup
"other people's rejection letters" book
castle pillow
blueberries
bananas
ovaltine
two percent milk
eleven gallons of gas
milo's sweet tea
a pot of tea 
red velvet cup cake
purple ruffled scarf


and guess what the best part was? all of these things cost sixty-seven dollars and my phone number (twenty-two dollars for gas. boo.)

"having money is rather like being a blonde. it is more fun but not vital."




this post was written as i listened to my favorite "walking in fall" song. do it, i dare you. 

midterms are tomorrow.

oh no. 

this post was created to the sweet music stylings of cee-lo.

when you feel embarrassed, i'll be your pride.

today, my challenge was to 'try a medium that is subtractive.'

i don't know what that means. so instead i will write about my crazy college adventures thus far. like how i and my friend bobby renee 'studied' at the gryphon tea room. she was pretty certain that our waiter was 'checking me out' (and he did look kind of cute) so for the first time ever, i wrote my phone number on the receipt and then ran out of the building. 

August 11^th 2010

Well, I guess the last few posts haven’t panned out as I thought they would. But tonight is the night of all nights, the last night I will be sleeping at home. That’s right, I leave for Armstrong in the morning, and I am not planning to be back until Thanksgiving break. Truth be told, I am excited. Truth be told, I am lying. Packing all of my belongings and prized earthly possessions in the car is freaking me out. I don’t know if I’m ready for this, if I’m ready to have a life of my own, to live without my family. I can now see why it is that some people never truly leave the nest, it’s too comfortable here. I actually had thoughts of wishing that I was going to Kennesaw instead of Armstrong because I wasn’t certain if this was the right decision after all. But, I am going to blame my terrible case of stage fright on this one, I never feel excited before I do something huge like this. Never. It is only after the experience is over with that I can truly appreciate it for what it was. Like a rollercoaster, people scream and cry over the thought of being turned upside down and flung down a metal track at unheard of speeds. But somehow, the ride doesn’t seem so bad once it’s over and you are safe on the ground and in tune with the laws of gravity once again. I just can’t believe that I am old enough for this to be happening. I just don’t know. It is this sort of moment that makes me stop and thank God for being there. For now as I am bombarded with all of these thoughts of growing old and the body shutting down and wishing to be a child again, I am so glad that there is more to life than this life. There is something else, something better. And that, my dear Watson, is what truly excites me. I completely owe everything I have and live for towards God and the promise that there is something after death.

How is it that everything I write in here becomes depressing?

Here are the ways I plan on securing my spot as the cool indie girl of AASU:

Urban Outfitters

Vintage-y looking dresses that don’t show a lot of skin- but do show off my tan

Carrying my Complete Works of Earnest Hemingway around with me

Riding my classic Huffy bicycle with a wicker basket to class

Talk about my music in a somewhat snobby way

Wear a fedora at all times

I really just hope my room has enough space and that everything looks clean and not cluttered.

And that my teachers haven’t assigned any homework. That would be terrible. 

this post has been justified. 

they call me 'quick draw mcgraw.'

today's challenge was to draw three different objects at different speeds. 
now, there is a reason why i am not an art major, but that is part of the fun, right?


i have lost the usb cord for my camera, so i haven't been able to post pictures of my living quarters, so i decided that my dorm room would be the perfect setting to draw. 

the castle-esque drawing is the design on my pillow from urban outfitters. yay for sales!


the next is titled "sheldon" which is my fish, and yes, that is a tea pitcher. i told my grandfather all about sheldon in a letter one day, i told him that i would love to draw a picture of sheldon but i didn't know how to draw a fish so i would just draw a robot instead. i guess it's time to write to my grandfather again. 


the four bottles once contained italian lemon soda from target, but now they sit on my windowsill. 


the cups next to the bottles are measuring cups from anthropologie that my dear mother sent to me in a care package, the theme was "everything needed to bake a cake."


the susanna! is a pin that i bought at shop scad, a girl named ana created it from sheet music from the "oh susanna, don't you cry for me" song. i secretly have a crush on scad kids. 


the star girl is a book that i first read in the fifth grade, it's been with me ever since. 


whip it, where the wild things are, and date night are all movies that i am sort of in love with. especially whip it. 


and last but not least, a room would not be complete without a quote next to the door that reminds you to do something spectacular every time you leave. the quote on the post it note says, "run up to someone, yell 'tag!you're it' and run away." thank you ellen degeneres. 


this post was drawn with a pencil full of lead and a lightbulb.

midterms are next week.

oops. 


this post was written in the passenger seat. 

letters i write but never send.

while cleaning out my desk today, i found a letter i wrote about a month ago but i didn't have the address so i stuck it in an envelope and forgot all about it. 

the smiths, 


i am writing this in an anthropology lecture, which is the most obnoxious and boring subject ever. 


i inadvertently started a dance party in the laundry room when i played "bang pop" by free energy. 


cale and riley, stay in school and go to college so you can get down and bust a move while washing your brights. 


this is all i know how to draw. 


ella greer.  


this post was created to the hit tune from free energy. check it. 

do something dangerous.

one afternoon, i bought a new notebook. 

i then wrote my "observations" english class assignment in it. 
the paper was about the employees of urban outfitters, and how i both envy and loathe them. 

and then i found this website
and decided that it was a good idea. 


the first day asked me to trace the path of the moon to my window.
i am certain that there are other various obstacles, but i only know how to draw dinosaurs and robots. 

the next day wanted me to find a poem that i liked. i chose tom petty's "wildflower."

"you belong among the wildflowers
you belong in a boat out at sea
you belong with your love on your arm
you belong somewhere you feel free


run away, go find a lover
go away somewhere all bright and new
i have seen no other
who compares to you."

this post was produced by the sweet beats of the red hot chili peppers.