I'm at Tay-la/Ponderosa/Diabola/Icey's house! I don't know what she really goes by these days online. *sigh* (Edit by said girlie : "Try Taylor?")

So.... Good X-Mas, I suppose. I got everything I wanted, woot! I'll write later... if I feel like it...

Er... Not feeling very literate or eloquent this evening, so I'll shut up, sign off now, and we'll go watch Dark Knight or something. Bye.


My Sister's Kalimba

This is what I am giving my sister for Christmas :

It is called a kalimba. Rhymes with Simba and marimba. But it's neither one of those. I picked up this little thing at a music store in the city about a 45 minutes drive from here. Rodney gave it to me for like 20 bucks.

My sister has been wanting one of these things ever since this African lady came to her school and played it for them. I doubt she'll ever play it when I give it to her, but just the same I know she'll be tickled pink.

So this little thing is also known as a thumb piano, and yup, you guessed it, you play it with your thumbs. When I bought it, it was soooo out of tune. So with a pair of pliers and my fingers (ouch) I gently tuned a few notes to a major scale. (The high notes were too much, maybe I'll get to them but they're so tough!)

Of course I probably did it all wrong, so today I did a little research. I learned that that was not the proper, official way to tune a Kalimba. *sigh* But whatever. I also learned that a guy named Hugh Tracey started making these things in like, the nineteen hundreds. Sooo... curiosity got the best of me and I turned the little kalimba over, trying to make out the old torn sticker on the back.

It's kind of hard to read. (Sorry about the quality, I took these pictures on my cell phone.) But it looks like it said Tracey to me. So I did a little more research... and guess what? On eBay, one of these babies is worth at least 150! And here I am, squeaking away with an authentic kalimba for 20.

I hope my sister just loves it.

PS. Check this out - the kalimba there looks almost just like my sister's!http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kalimba


I have read far too many books...

Today, when I got dropped off from a friend's house, my mom and two sisters were at hair appointments and my dad was at work, so I was home alone. I went upstairs to my room. Looking down the hall I noticed a light on in my sister's room. So, I went in to turn it off. I saw blood on the floor. Omgomgomgomgomg. I blinked and it went away. I looked into the closet. Dead body. Oomgomgomgomgomg. I blinked and that too went away.

Serious investigation time! I went into... I dunno, Alex Cross mode or something, and got down on my hands and knees, scanning the room. I leafed through her closet too.

I sighed, and sat down with my back against the bed with a relieved smile.

And jumped up and searched under that.

Sensing no danger, Alex Cross I left the room.

And I have read far too many murder books. *sigh*


Is this...

Love? Is it? Becuase if it is, it sucks. It's blind. It's also retarded.

And it's god damn what I've always wanted and now I wish it never, ever showed up because it's too weird, even for my crazy life.

Screw it all.


roll the dice

And, here I am, wondering what the hell life is going to deal me next.

My life isn't bad really, but I'm not about to say it's perfect either. It's a game of chance, and it's all determined by some fool pulling levers and pressing buttons behind a green curtain. *omgomgogmomgomgommg literature reference ooooooo 0_o*

Life IS a whole lot like the Wizard of Oz. It's full of witches and winding roads, and a ragtag group of friends who attach themselves to you and will love you no matter what. There's the sparkling cities in the distance, the ever-enduring thrill of the chase to one day get what you want. There's the good witches of the north who grant you a little help and quick alliance when you need it, but disappear as quickly as they come.

And you wake up... and was it all a dream?

Yesterday I went to this guitar center a few minutes down the road, searching for a part-time job or something. And I found the guy and went in, and we talked for a while. Then the other shop owner walked in and asked if the Odyssey was our car. I told him that yes, it was. He commented on the horse sticker and asked if I rode horses.

I said that no, my sisters did. And my mother smiled and told them what fun times they had at the stables. It might have been sarcasm, but surprisingly I couldn't tell.

So it turns out the owner I was talking to first happened to have three horses of his own, and my mother jumps to it: "Do they need to be exercised? I'm sure my twelve-year-old would be more than happy to help."

And the encounter ends goes as so. I go in to look for a job, they said that they don't have any positions open that pay but maybe they could take me as a job shadow, even though they already have one. My mother and I find out that this guy has horses and she throws my sisters' names in the hat for helping out. He says his wife will give my sister a call about a horse gig. He says he'll give me a call about a job at the guitar store.

He didn't call.


Of course everything I get at fourteen, my younger sisters get almost everything I do at their age. I waited for a cell phone forever, the same day I got a real phone, they did too. They are twelve and nine. Ugh. Same with lots of stuff, curfews, extra-special privileges... ugh. Ugh. Just... ugh.


Today is not my day...

Let's see. My stomach is killing me, not just a bug. The muscles hurt, everywhere, it feels like I got socked in the stomach. So I either must be this drunk (and I don't even drink - can't stand the smell of alcohol, ew!) and someone socked me in the stomach, or I have ... I don't know, stomach cancer.

And my ears are ringing, so let's add ear cancer to the list.

I couldn't play a single thing at my oboe lesson today. Not gonna lie. I sucked. Everything I can usually play fine, I just couldn't play it at all, something as simple as... I don't know. I held trills for too long, ran out of breath in two measures, forgot to lift my fingers up and put them back down. Ergh.

And I can't walk in a straight line. So I really must be drunk. So drunk I don't even remember drinking. (Because last time I checked, I'm freaking fourteen and I don't drink.) But then... I never can really walk in a straight line. So does that make me a permanent drunk or a permanent clutz?

Well, let's think about it. I can't play my freaking oboe, I can't walk in a straight line, and I have ear and stomach cancer... Today flat out sucked!

I'm joking. Compared to lately this feels like one of my better days.



How is it only 5:45 and this freaking dark out? Where did the light go? Eh?


Query #2


Why does my life feel so complicated so suddenly? Gah. I almost preferred middle school when only girls cared about me and only a few guys did. Now it feels like nobody really cares about me that much...

Now my life is in reverse. Everything I did is becoming undone. I thought I found my religious path, now I’m teetering once again on the line between There and Not. I knew I would do this, then I knew I could do this, then I thought I could do this, and then suddenly I’m not so sure. Instead of getting better at life, I’m getting worse. I’m losing grip, going from Found to Lost again. Marching band is over as soon as it started and my weekdays are empty again, just like my heart feels right now.

I know that sounds so emo. But it’s all going backwards.

In middle school, I had all girl friends and only girls cared about me as far as I knew, with only a few guy friends. But now... I’ve spent all this time wishing, and now that I’ve got it I’m wishing it away. (I'm not telling what that wish is.) I was confident, like I knew where I was going, but now I just wish I could turn back.

We were born from the darkness and clothed in the light, but now I feel naked, alone, and in the dark. Everyone can see me, who I am, yet they don’t know or accept or understand me at all.
I never wanted to be emo, but it feels kind of inevitable right now.

I should be happy. I’ve always been happy. Some days I am, some I’m not. I guess this all comes with the wonderful package of being a teenager.

But even though I have clean clothes, warm meals every day, a good school, clean water, a house that we own, cars, a full unbroken family, no drugs, perfect health, every material thing I could want, and my father having a job… I’m not happy. I feel so selfish. There are some people in the world who have no clothes, no food, no water, and no place to sleep at night. No family, no friends, no medicines for when they’re sick, no comfort, no hope.

But sometimes I too feel like I have no hope.

I just don’t get it. What would I even hope for? I don’t know what’s missing in my life. My social life has a lot to be desired, but when you think about it, I’m so lucky. I have no effing idea anymore, I’m just going through the motions. And I’m wishing all my wishes away. And here I am, I said I wanted to grow up and get a job but I’m too scared for an interview.

My little sister has now thrown her name in the hat for all the kids on the street as their babysitter. I don’t get it. Why didn’t I do that? Why wasn’t I as brave? That’s not even bravery. That just says here I am, call me and give me money for eating your food while your kids watch movies while you're out getting wasted or whatever.

I wish for attention occasionally, but when I have it, I shy away from the spotlight. Should I just wish for nothing because I’m no happier once I get it?

What is wrong with me?

On second thought, don’t answer that.


All right, kids, here's a good metaphor for you. Metaphor for. Phor for. Haha. Er, wow. Mmm...Sorry. I'll shut up now.

But anyways:

What on earth are you supposed to do if you see an endangered animal eating an endangered plant? Anyone care to enlighten me?

Just wondering.


Thought you'd like to know...

That my math teacher wears the same shirt every Friday.

*tears out hair in frustration* What a creeper, now I'm losing hair over the lack of clothes he has. Teachers arent thaaaaat dirt poor. Er, I hope.


Guess what, kids?

I wish I could look like her.

She is so pretty. If anything, I will completely steal her bangs. I don't think I could pull off the actual hairstyle, my hair is too thin. But I so, so love her bangs. And her eyes are a beautiful color.

And here are mine, a muddy red-brown. Yeah, red. I've been told my eyes look red.

Mildly creepy.

Anyways. I just want to throw it out there that I wish so much I could be as pretty as this girl is.



My sisters are so weird. Here I am doing my world history homework, and I can hear them bickering downstairs.

"'You are an idiot' is different than 'you're being an idiot!'"
"I never called you an idiot!"
"Yuh-huh, yes you did!"
"You did too!"
"Yeah well now I'm going to call you an idiot because you're being one!"
"Wait, so I am an idiot or I'm being one?"
"Both, you idiot!"
"You're the idiot!"
"No, you're the idiot!"
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
"That's not nice!"
"Yeah, well, try getting called an idiot, you idiot!"
"You just called me an idiot! Stop calling me an idiot!"

Wow. Sisters. They kind of give the word idiot absolutely no meaning, and it kind of stops sounding less like a word and more like a simple noise with no meaning, like a grunt. *sigh*

Unicorn Turds, Voldemort's Nipple, and other lame Potter Puppet Pals wizard-swears

If you don't get those references, watch this PPP video. http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=TqTHmzMk0Cw

Moving on.

The most very strangest thing happened to me today. But I'm not about to post it on this blog because it is so weird. As far as I know there is only one of you who could relate to what I would say on here.

If any of you actually care, you can email me and I'll tell you that most very strange thing that happened to me today.


Chasing Storms

When I grow up, I am sooooo going to be a stormchaser.
Or a marine biologist. Jeez. It's not like these two cross, unless I want to chase storms over water. Which is not likely.
Or.... wait there a minute....



...Are very, very weird.




Okay, no really.

I was eating dinner tonight and the conversation at the table came around to the fabled winter break. Which is a mere two weeks away! And I happily announced that we had sixteen days off. Counting weekends, but whatever.

My dad muttered something like, "oh, to accomodate Kwanzaa and Hanukkah and such crap."

"Dad," I said. "Come on. I'm sure you wouldn't like it if they didn't let Christians off for Easter or what have you."

"One nation under God," he retorted.

Ouch. Welcome to America, Cypress. *for more free sarcastic commentary, please stay tuned*

"You can't try to control someone's religion," I mumbled, a little bit hurt. "It doesn't work." I don't know if he heard me, because he didn't reply and my sister, sensing silence (which is forbidden in my house *ominous music*) changed the subject to horse saddles or something stupid like that.

So I cleared the table and went upstairs and ate a Starburst. Because Starbursts make the world better.

(Naturally they have gelatin. Is there anything in the world that doesn't totally kill animals to make peoples' lives better and their thighs extraordinarily fat? I shouldn't complain though. You poor creature that died, just so I could have a Starburst tonight. Thank you, so much, because you made me feel better. May your spirit be forever blessed because you died for the sake of simply human enjoyment and thigh obesity.)


Second Grade

Know what is funny?

I was actually popular in second grade. It was a good year for me. First grade was terrible, I was teased here and there, had a terrible teacher who patronized me at every possible moment. I was a few pounds overweight, bad at math, only a few friends, etc. The whole nine yards. Yeah. But second grade was a great change. I had a loving, gentle teacher and she coaxed me out of my shell one day around the third week of school and I became my elementary-school self again. Yup, bubbly, talkative, outgoing, all of the above.

And I met AS (not actually her name, but I'm paranoid and don't want any real names online *sighs* what can I say?), and we were best friends instantly. She was one of the most popular ones in the entire second grade. And she was so much fun to hang out with! We'd go over to each other's houses at least twice a week, and we were the best of friends.

Of course, I didn't realize that I was totally dumping... I don't know, whatever she goes by these days (Ponderosa/Icey/Lacking Inspiration/whatever). Yeah. I felt like a complete total bitch because I only realized this a few years ago and apologized then. but yeah, she stuck with me, which is very, very good. Thanks for that, I love you!


Pretty soon, I had it all. I lost weight, was best friends with the most popluar girl in school, made lots of friends, could sing (we entered the talent show with another girl singing something from the Sound of Music), jumped rope, star student, outgoing and friendly...

Second grade was so easy. My biggest problem was how on earth I was supposed to hold a pencil without dying when I sprained my wrist, or what happened to my jumprope that I left on the playground. So blissfully simple.

And I was happy. Not to mention in love with the cutest guy in the whole second grade, JR. We professed our undying love for each other on the bus ride home one day.

Isn't it funny how second grade works...

Here is what happened after second grade:

AS : AS and I were in different classes for third grade, but that was okay. We weren't as close as before but we were still very best friends. I still found friend-making easy, but that was thanks to her. In fourth grade we were in the same class again but it wasn't easy for us to be friends anymore. She'd changed, and she had started this Cheetah Girls club with three of her friends. I had no idea what this was, but she wouldn't ever tell me or show me a CD of their music or anything, and they would not let me into the club. She apologized profusely, saying that they (she) would soooo let me in if there was a fifth cheetah girl. Right. One day she sent me a note asking why I wasn't talking to her and I pretty much died. I called her like every single day. I wasn't really sure what happened, but we just stopped being friends. Thankfully, just at the right time, a new girl named KR stepped in to help me understand what was going on. I just felt like I was falling and spinning and didn't know which way was up. To this day I still don't know what happened.

My jump rope : One day, a few weeks later, I found it twisted on a swing. Problem solved.

Sprained wrist : It healed in time.

JR : After we professed our undying love nestled deep into a bus seat (stop having dirty thoughts, we were in second grade and there was no dirtiness involved, GOD!), he got off at the stop before mine. And I have no idea why, but we didn't speak again until high school freshman year, when we were in the same section in marching band. I don't even know if he remembers any of this, but I'm not about to ask him. I do remember, obviously, because I was so mad that he didn't kiss me. =) I wrote that down in my little diary I kept for second grade year. In green pen. (Yes, I flipped through it yesterday. And decided to write this on my blog.)

Life was so easy in second grade. Today I came home in an emo mood with no idea why... But whatever. Think of lovely second grade, what different turns could my life have taken? If I stayed friends with one of the most popular girls in the grade. If I had been the one to kiss JR and not hoped he would be the one to make the move. If AS and I had been in the same class, if KR hadn't come along to save me...

I just wonder about these things, sometimes, lying in bed at two-thirty in the morning...



I burned my hand on the stove today... it was lovely. And yes, I was using a stupid oven mitt. But it slipped. So now I have a shiny pink mark on my hand. Yay. Wait till I tell my mother. She'll freak out.

So anyways, now that I'm in a very deep mood...

He, Whose Beauty No God Can Grace, is back on my bus!

I don't even know if that's a good thing or not. But I hope so. Maybe it will help me get used to guys like him a little more *coughcoughliesthroughteethcoughcough* . But if not I guess I'll just be walking home from now on.

*sigh* Life.


a new book, a blank page, and other bad poetic metaphors i dont feel like getting into

Yup. New blog. In case you haven't noticed. Why do I always start this way?


*ahem* moving on. Anyways, I'm Cypress... typical American teenager. Yeahhhh... Right now, surprisingly, I don't have much to say. But I will. Don't you worry. =P


Wow, you really read all that? Danggg. Props! =]

Well, I see you've just had the imponderable joy of stumbling onto the blog of an 18-year-old girl who can't really describe herself in 500 words or less, such as in little text boxes like these. She didn't intend her blog to really become so much like her online diary (she was hoping it would have an interesting, helpful purpose to serve the world and all) but blogging is just kind of fun. This girl's a bit of an environmentalist and a full-tilt vegetarian, a bit of an artist who can't draw, a bit of a writer who can't find time to read, and a completely hopeless romantic. She enjoys white chocolate, coloring, wading in creeks, music, Doctor Who, and speaking in third-person when it's unnecessary like this.

Now go read the rest of the blog and meet her, if you like of course. :)