What do college search and Justin Bieber have in common?

"You have every university chasing you like prepubescent girls going after Justin Bieber (it's okay, we don't get the appeal either)."

This is what I found in my inbox today. Absolutely brilliant college admissions marketing.

Of course it won't actually convince me to spend the money for an app for American University. But honestly, that's great.

Haha. I just looked at my little blurb up there that says "I'm sixteen and growing," except I went to the doctor today, and he said that I'm not growing anymore. I know I didn't mean it literally, but I still find it slightly amusing. I'll be short forever, while my brother's shooting up faster than bamboo shoots. I don't mind being short though. Not sure why. Maybe I'll think of reasons later.

I also realized that I'm a hard-hitting feminist. Never suspected that one before.

I'm actually not being sarcastic.

Hello I'm a workaholic.

My legs are all discolored from the bruises and mosquito bites, but I am proud and faintly surprised to say that I have survived the first week of summer without feeling the need to pull out my hair from boredom. I think those days belonged to sixth or seventh grade or something of those times, but it feels good to love summer, sweat and all. Even my Sunday School teacher noticed a difference: Wow, Jessie, you're so much... happier... now that exams are done. Having a car really helps; I can actually go places- what a novel idea. But of course, after being out of the house so much, I'm dedicating the next week to studying for sat2s. Although this was in great part due to my mom's nagging, I still think there's something wrong with me.

I have this obsession with doing work. Doing something. Being productive. I was looking through my past Facebook status updates, and very many of them went something like "wow, great weekend, now time to do work." As if I felt guilty for having fun. Even during this week, which was incredible, I still felt as though I could've done something more. As though I should've planned more productive things over the summer, other than GHP. There's always this unnecessary sense of urgency for impossible things, like changing the world. I think that I have trouble focusing on the small things (like studying for sat2s) and I start drifting off into a land of what-ifs, like what if I had found my love for poetry earlier, or what if I had done more with Club Smile, or what if I could found a charity, or what if I could've visited Whirlwind more during the year.

And now I'm beginning to realize that all I'm doing right now is talking about myself. I suppose that's what a blog is for, but something I've realized, as I said before, is that I can't do anything by myself. Don't laugh at me for believing in divine intervention, because I don't know why people think it's such a funny idea. But I really did think that I could do everything. Just me and all my "potential" that all the teachers say I have then find themselves disappointed at how I never quite live up to expectations. It might be possible that I believe in myself too much. Or it might be that I've watched too many movies and have convinced myself that things will just work themselves out. I can't really get at what's so wrong with me, but I know something is.

And another thing that suddenly struck me was how some people just grew up. Actually, how all of us just grew up. I don't know how it happened. So I went to some peoples' facebooks and started sifting through the virtual photos, trying to pinpoint the exact picture where everyone grew up. I couldn't. But if you just look at the last picture, and the most recent picture, well, the difference is so apparent and so shocking. I can't get over it. I wanted to cry. But that's not saying much, since I cry about almost everything, but I suppose it makes up for the laughter.

I need to stop immersing myself in the stories of the girls in chick flicks. They're not even real.

The faces I hate the most

There are some virtual smilies that simply nag me and beg to tear the last jitter-nerves in me apart. I never really knew why, so these are my lame attempts at excuses for disliking them so much. I do not mean any offense, LOL, in fact, this will probably only make me sound like a jerk who hates people in general. I really do not mind if you use these faces; this is just for my own entertainment. But, in no particular order:

1. o.O what is that face? Firstly, it's not even physically possibly to make one eye that much larger than the other eye. The nose/mouth/period is completely unnecessary as well; it makes it look like a dog, or an animal of sorts. But secondly, this face probably represents the most hated face in real life- that face that sore losers make when they sincerely think I'm strange and would rather keep me away from the kids. It's the silent "what-are-you-smoking-you're-absurdly-weird-get-off-of-this-planet" face. It makes me self-conscious. I'm a poor, insecure girl. Honestly, this face makes me back off, reread what I wrote, wonder if it was really that weird, then make me even more paranoid than I already am.

2. o.o It's probably the nose again. But what's up with this face too? It's not O.O and it's not .__. so what is it?! Wouldn't it just be normal eyes then? It's the kind of "woah-okay-you're-freaking-me-out" face, but it's too timid to stick up for itself and just do the whole out O.O already. Come on, either you put both feet in or you keep out of the water.

3. XD I do not know why I dislike this face. I use it myself, occasionally. In fact, this is probably what my face looks like in real life. I just feel like this face doesn't fully encompass everything it's supposed to mean. This face is supposed to be a wholehearted guffaw, but it comes out as a silent "you're-funny-but-I'm-not-actually-laughing" face. I know that's not what you mean by it, but I feel like the "HAHAHA"s and the "LOLOL"s and the excess of exclamation marks better suffice.

4. "..." I know that is not a face. But this is probably the worst of them all. Because I do not know how to respond to these lifeless dots. They just make me feel like a loser.

5. -.- It really is the nose. This face just reminds me of that chubby Mashimaro doll. Although I do think it's a cute stuffed animal, I don't agree that you're quite the same. I'd prefer you use -___- or --; LOL. I am so picky with these faces.

6. ;D This face is the worst when used by one of the male gender. It belongs to the creepy pedophile, and I'd rather not believe that my guy friends fall under that category. It also implies unneeded sexual innuendos that only my husband should be allowed to say to me. The wink is just creepy in general. Who winks? Where's that even come from? Who decided that closing one eye while grinning ear to ear would imply something sensual? Goodness, this world that we live in.

Well, now you know how to virtually bother me.

I think I'll go post something pertaining to my life now. :) <-- that is a good smiley.

a quarter portrait

This is a quarter of me.

I'm making it a mission to find my other three fourths.

I apologize for the short title-less posts,

but I've been having short thoughts.

They come in bursts.

As I'm sure you've found out by now,

with the five posts in one day,

then those two weeks

of nothingness.

I was going to say though that

anonymous comments

really creep me out.

And that I just realized today that tomorrow is the last day of junior year.

And that I will miss it.

And that if I'm ever doubting that You're there,

all I need to do

is walk outside.

Oh gosh, I'm having unrealistic romantic fantasies with anonymous strangers again.

Make it stop.

Epic Mafia has taught me

When you start pretending, you begin to realize how easy it is. How easy it is to deceive people, fool them, mess with them, use them, and still not feel guilty at all. I used to believe that these people would one day be stricken with grief and decide to change their ways, that they'd just drop their plate one day with some epiphany etched in their eyes and with their mouths shaped in the perfect little "o," and that they'd be different. Just like that. I used to think that I could change people.

But they honestly couldn't care less about what you or I say. They live their lives, we live ours. Occasionally they'll sweep into your life and ruin it, pretend to love you then crush you, lift you up then stomp you down. Usually they'll leave you on the ground. But occasionally they'll change and transform into glittering testimonials, and sure you can credit yourself for the transformation, if you're really that egotistical. But it's all so deceiving.

I used to trust everyone. And I'm half-proud to say now that I don't trust very many people anymore. Humans just aren't meant to be trusted, I suppose. (But there are those few girls who I love so much and you know who you are. I trust you guys:)

And what's weird is that I always thought I knew people. I thought I had more insight than other people had and could tell straightaway if someone was trustworthy or not, or if he's a good guy, or a bad guy, or if he really loves your or if he's just playing. I thought I knew! But I don't. I'm wrong half the time, and now I'm just making up things, probably. I don't know anything about anyone, so I should probably stop acting like I do. Nobody is who he is face value. Nobody.

Oye. I hate doubting myself. But I do.

I need to spend some time with myself. Honestly, I'm losing it again. I blame the game.

I thought I knew what I feared most. I thought it was pain. Physical pain. The slits on the wrist, or the throat, the bleeding from the head, the sharp blade that comes closer and closer. Or the chainsaw. Or a fire.

But now, I'm thinking that I fear that no one will love me, or people are talking bad things behind my back. I'm deathly afraid of that too, I realized. I'm so paranoid. I do want to be loved, I do...

But I actually think I'd pick the latter over the former. Still afraid of physical pain.

But then again... living an entire life without feeling loved is a pretty darned hard life to live.

On the Radio by Regina Spektor

lol: turn off the music from my own mp3 player-- bottom left sidebar

This is my new favorite Regina Spektor song. Every new song I hear by her ends up being my favorite, actually. Her voice is so unique, and her lyrics are fantastic too. Mmm. Such happy music:)

This is how it works: you're young until you're not.

You love until you don't.

You try until you can't.

You laugh until you cry.

You cry until you laugh.

And everyone must breathe until their dying breath.

No, this is how it works: you peer inside yourself.

You take things you like,

and try to love the things you took.

And then you take that love you made

and stick it into some--

someone else's heart

pumping someone else's blood

And walking arm in arm, you hope it don't get harmed,

But even if it does,

you'll just do it all again.

This is so great. Some things are just inevitable; you can't control everything. You can only do so much- I think that's why she mentions how they listened to the song on the radio twice. It's happening, and there's nothing to stop it, so you might as well just pause and listen to the long solo. And she portrays love in words so well... it's as if she's giving two different views on love- one's a bit apathetic toward the idea, and the other's hopeful. But they're both true.

And she even says that you gotta love yourself before you can love someone else. My goodness, I love Regina Spektor. She could teach us so much. Try listening to some of her other songs.

"The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - that you’d thought special, particular to you. And here it is, set down by someone else, a person you’ve never met, maybe even someone long dead. And it’s as if a hand has come out, and taken yours.

A task for you.

1. Go to Google.com

2. Type in "Who's the cutest?"

3. Click I'm feeling lucky.

It's a flood of memories when there's grammar mistakes.

I was going to rant about history and how we obviously never learn from our mistakes, but then suddenly, all these memories overflowed my mind, and it was, as sad as it is, more real than the flood in Indonesia or the earthquake in Haiti. And my heart hurts.

It hurts for those hot summer days when everything's too humid and too sticky and the ice pop's melting rapidly in your hand but it's worth it because the little girl's lying in your lap and playing with your hair. It hurts for that one breeze that just halts your movements and pulls out a sigh of relief. It hurts for all that chalk those kids wasted on me, that vicious shirt-eating thing that crumbled colors and drew smiles. It hurts for that day when I was dressed in the same clothes I'm dressed in now, this blue tanktop and white shorts, when I looked in the mirror and pretended to love my (un)luscious lips and became a star on Shocco's next top model. It hurts for that six flags trip that ended up brining my personal fitness grade down five points because I skipped a day of summer school, but it's okay because we rode Goliath three times and that's all that matters. It hurts for those endless nights of fountain hopping on Stanford's campus, when it was too cold to stand in the water but we did it anyway so that the hot chocolate could taste better afterwards. It hurts for those nail-painting sessions and the fumes that nearly suffocated me, but that was a really pretty gold. It hurts for the park across from Vanderbilt. It hurts for that night when the clouds moved across the sky faster than I imagine jet planes to move, as if they were going on an important excursion to some important place, like heaven. It hurts for the days at the pool, the pizza consumed, the frisbees thrown. The somersaults before frisbee games. The countless korean circle games, most of which I don't even remember. The putt-putt that never gets old. The lake that's too dirty to swim in but perfect for paddle boating. The fresh smell of those rooms, the chilling air conditioning that's always too cold, or too hot, the stiff beds, the Kix. It hurts for those girl conversations late at night, with all flavors of Mochi ice cream and all kinds of poker games to play afterwards.

It hurts, but it's soothed. I'm so at peace when I listen to this korean music that's playing right now and remember all those great memories. Whirlwind, Nashville, Shocco, Stanford... I'm so ready for summer. I can taste it. Everything already feels lighter. And brighter.

And I'm going to miss those seniors so much. I don't think you understand the extent to which how different it'll be next year. I'm going to be the big (wo)man now... I never thought I'd actually reach this point. I never thought it'd come. But it's coming. Holy crap,

There's only two more weeks of school.

APUSH in eight hours.

Now's about the time when I start scheming of ways to make a time machine- not anything too special, just a nice, simple one- so that I can go back in time and hold back those overly ambitious Spanish and British and French from discovering the New World so early on. Maybe convince them to wait two hundred years. That way, there wouldn't be so much to study. The AP test would probably just have thirty questions or so about how some little Asian girl named Jessie prevented the European countries from expanding. That would be great, please.

I have plenty to say and plenty to study, but the past has defeated me and I'm going to sleep.

Eff.

I just wanted to say that I just read five hundred pages of U.S. history text in two days.

holy mother duck.

All I know is that I'd hate to be a historian.