The Sound of Music

Since I do not wish to take the time to check my analog wristwatch for the time, I will go by my phone's [potentially more accurate] estimate that I have two hours and 17 minutes til I turn 17.

In the larger scheme of my life, 17 does not seem monumental. It lacks the saccharinity [that's a word! Well Safari doesn't mark it as misspelled!] of 16, and the scary legality of 18. I can legally do magic outside of school, but not much else.

In reality, though, 17 is pretty damn important. It's my last birthday in high school. My last birthday among all the friends I've grown up with– well, since fifth grade. I am sadly not really in touch with anyone from Culver, save on Facebook, which really doesn't count but enables them to read this should they choose to do so. What's up?!

18 has this sense of being the first nail in your coffin, even though you're still young and in college [most likely. In high school, actually, for most people]. Sixteen is the perfect age to capture youth. 17 just middles along, not young, not old. Like Britney Spears in "Crossroads!" I think.

There were certain things I wanted to accomplish before my seventeenth birthday, and it didn't really work out. However, they were rather trivial, so it's not too horrid. Maybe I can just knock 'em out by the end of the actual year.

Senior year will probably be one of the more memorable years of my life and I'll be 17 for the duration of it. I had more to say, but now I'm blanking. This is what old age gets you!

I'm young though!

I think my biggest regret this year was failing to see "The Sound of Music" once.

I am 16, going on 17...

Where did our love go?

Hello. Hello!

Love=blog...by the way.

Personal post time! Senior year is different. The work isn't harder, it isn't easier, either, but there's this big, sharp, shiny axe swinging over our heads like one of those oh-so-easily escapable scenes from a James Bond movie. In less than a month, early apps are due. In less than two months, state university apps are due. In three months or so, everything else is due. This is serious business. We can't just bullshit our way to an A, this is college! This is madness. But we haven't gone Spartan. Yet.

Ooh, every time I come up with what would be a killer ending line, like the last one, I have more to say.

My desk is buried under envelopes and flyers and brochures and postcards and..nail clippers. The last thing aside, the whole college thing is chomping down on my life.

I go to sleep. Dream. I get into my top school! Wake up deliriously happy and then...crash. Nope. I go to sleep. Dream. I get rejected from my top school! And a lot of other places. Wake up in despair, gasping and then...oh. Still too early for that one.

What happened to dreams of archeological digs and underground treasure hunts, etcetera. They were a bit random, but they were cool! This current situation is rather annoying.

And then! The college essay thing. Or rather, the [37] college essay[s] thing. Everything is viewed through that lens. "Ooh, this lisptick doesn't match my eyebrows! Could I possibly extrapolate this into some symbolic brilliant essay?" or "Ooh, I brushed my teeth! Let's examine these intricacies" or "Ooh I met Al Gore in third grade at Samy's Camera. Story time!" I'm not dragging on anyone's potential essay. Some people have the gift of taking something mundane or seemingly insignificant and transforming it into brilliance. I, for one, need to be in a strange mood at a strange time to write well without wanting to tear my hair out. I don't know what my final essay[s] will definitely be on. I may need to bite my tongue.

The other thing is, it is extremely inconvenient to have a birthday in October this year. Or at least, it is extremely inconvenient to have a birthday in October this year if you are me.

This is my last birthday in high school [it's on Tuesday if you, ahem, were wondering] and though I am only turning 17, NOT 18, I wanted it to be special! I wanted to have a proper, return-to-somehow-epic "party" [I use that term in the loosest sense] with a guest list that would read something like "eh forget it, let's just invite 'em." But. My lack of prior planning has led to absolutely zero plans, two days away from my actual birthday. And all the Saturdays this month are wonky. Plus, everyone's frantically trying to finish their early apps. Boohoo.

In retrospect, this post seems like one looooong whiiiiine. But do not interpret it so! This is just a not-so-soothing meditation on the process. I'm excited for the future. Browsing websites for programs is actually really fun, because if I get in, I have a loooot to look forward to. Just realized that could be read as "loot." Ha.

The bit about my birthday might have been whining, though.

Hola

I've managed, for the most part, to banish thoughts of this blog, lest I become overcome with guilt.

I don't have time to write a lengthy post, at the moment, but I'd like to say that machinations are seriously underrated.

Really, I can't wait to be a dictator.

I'm Looking At You, Model UN peeps

In the event that any of you clicked on the link in the signature of my latest [justified] rant...

Go work on your topic synopses and bios! Freshmen are more responsible than you! Yeah, fighting words. You gonna take that? Hmmm, hmm? Don't ignore me!

Seriously, I'm not kidding, do your work.

I know that, on occasion [be nice to me], I can be a little... overly enthusiastic? aggressive? pushy? ab-so-lutely mental about things to do with the club?

I'd like you to know I do this with the purest of intentions. Practicing for world domination, of course. Ordering around freshmen, sophomores, and the occasional junior is definitely the best way to warm up for the day I rule the earth. So is Model UN, for that matter.

I will allow weakness to shine through for a moment [imagine this next bit in a weary, plaintive voice]: I just really, really want this club to succeed. It'd be really amazing if we can build Model UN at Beverly to a decent, competitive program and I would love to know I played a role in that. The club's "executives" have put so much into this and I really have to credit the president-vp team of Donya and Natasha for being so organized and dedicated.

This club is pretty awesome and its members definitely have potential. I actually can't complain too much, because a sizable amount of people do show up every week, respond to my emails, and are genuinely nice, good people. However, would it really kill you to be more on top of things?

As much as I love acting as mini-Zeus and being thought of as a first-class bitch, I'm beginning to lose sight of sweet li'l Mallika who hasn't shown her face since around seventh grade. Or maybe it was fifth. Perhaps you Beverly Hillsians are just terrible influences on me.

*disclaimer: Yeah, if you know me, you'd know with what attitude to approach this post.

The Chains of Change

The title of this post sounds like a nicely pretentious novel or what not. It actually has little relevance to this post, except for the last word.

oooh, I smell cookies!

Anyway, back to the topic. It's come to my attention that a lot of my posts are viewed as forced and slightly pretentious, despite my professing of hate for pretensions. Like with the "'tis" and "'twas" and what not.

And my desperate pleas for comments [coupled with excessive self-deprecation] is said to be pathetic. And I guess I agree. Often, it's meant to be sarcastic or whatever, but it gets old. I kind of don't want to read old posts, because they make me cringe now.

So, from now on, if I need to advertise this blog, I'll post a link. And c'est tout. I won't beg in the actual post itself. Do what you want. Life's good. Yeah.

Comment Harlot Doesn't Quite Have the Same Ring to it

In my defense [defence!], I, the Master of Advertising, did this quite late last night, and I did regret it in the morning. I just chuckled. However, I have decided that I need no defense [defence!] and will now proudly keep it on, in a display of defiance!

Until the tape wears out.

SHOCKER [alt. titled "Shut Up"]

TWO POSTS. ONE DAY. This must be a special day, indeed.

Which brings me to the topic of this post. There's a lot I could say about this topic, but I want to sleep. So I'll make it short.

Today is, if you look at the timestamp, February 14. In the Roman Catholic Church, this is the feast day of St. Valentine. It also falls smack dab in the middle of Lupercalia.

Yes, I do not let things go.

Today, I had the epiphany that "Singles Awareness Day" can be acronymized into "SAD."

[This epiphany factors into my Eleven Embarrassments of February 14, 2011]

There are usually three schools of thought regarding this holiday among the curious species Student highschoolis -erm, lost train of thought- aha!:

• I don't really give a hockey puck. Go Canucks.
• Looooove [Blogger is being a grinch and not letting me form the heart emoticon with excessive '3's. Use your imagination]. Members of this subspecies usually have what anthropologists [Student highschoolis is considered to be human, much to the surprise of Parent Ofteenagera] term a "boyfriend" or "girlfriend" or the politically-correct "significant other."
• VALENTINE'S DAY IS A HORRIBLE, COMMERCIAL WASTE OF TIME. IF YOU REALLY LOVE SOMEONE YOU'LL SHOW THEM 24/7.

My ire is addressed to the last group. Personally, I don't know where I fall. I guess the first.

But what annoys me about the third group is their persistent cynicism. To be blunt, many of these people are kind of bitter. Or pretentious. Or both. And if you fall in the third group, and you're neither of the above, sorry, I guess. But it's annoying. Just let things be. Yeah, candy makes and greeting card companies make a mint of the holiday. Yeah, love should always be present in a relationship. But does the celebration of Valentine's Day personally harm you [please don't lecture me on the fallacy of this argument. You get what I'm saying]? It's kind of sweet. Call me crazy, but there's a special kind of feeling in the air during holidays, for me. Holidays like this one disturb the tedium, lend themselves to talk and special games/activities/what not. And why begrudge the second group of their happiness for no good reason? Sure, sweet gestures may mean more on a random day, as opposed to a dictated one, but so what? Let them deal with it.

I'd like to make clear that I think I have no personal bias. In fact, from a character/history profile, you may have pegged me in the third group. But I'll have you know that I'm actually an optimistic sucker for adorableness [HONESTLY, COUNT THE NUMBER OF 'adorable's IN THE LAST POST AND SEE WHAT I MEAN].

I'm not sure if I clearly made my point in that rambling paragraph. Tell me your thoughts in the comments. I'm desperate! Not unlike some members of the third group, secretly. Whoops. I promised I'd be nice. Scotchmallows and roses, people. Or Bordeaux. Oooh, marzipan.