Earlyphobia

One morning at 7-freaking-20, I was pulling into the school parking lot. Now some, like my brother feel that this is an appropriate time to arrive for school. Although school doesn't start until 8 15, getting there an hour early seems to be a good idea. Every morning he tries to persuade me that he really ought to get there before the bell rings and that I'm the crazy one for not wanting to. He chides me for leaving the house at the latest possible minute, and consistently gets angry with me.

But I honestly don't see the benefits of arriving to school early. There's so much time wasted just sitting there being bored and it's awful. I don't particularly enjoy being at school and smelling the stench of awaiting homework. And, I'm partially allergic to mornings so I'm not in the greatest of moods when I do finally make an appearance. I would just rather spend that extra hour or so sleeping or making sure that I have all my stuff together and ready for the day. Or, heaven forbid, that I get to eat breakfast BEFORE I leave the house.

In all actuality, this really isn't my fault. For my entire life, I've been late, so I guess I'm just used to it, and enjoy it. I dont have to sit there and wait for everything to start because it starts when I arrive. But the reason that he wants to be there is that he has a girlfriend and just has to get there to talk to her. For an hour, I don't really understand why he's got to be there that early but whatever.

Maybe he's the one who's weird. Everyone else in the population of the high school loves to get there at 8 13. I hope I have him converted to late time soon. I don't know how much more of this early stuff I can take. ;)

The Best Get Together

I don't really have a favorite Christmas decoration. They're cool and everything, but to me, that doesn't make or break my Christmas. I love the get togethers and parties that happen up until the actual day. Hanging out with friends and family as well as my church family really makes this holiday so amazing for me.

So, instead of doing a favorite decoration, I'll do a favorite event. Every year, the Sunday before Christmas my church has this Christmas program. Anyone is allowed to do whatever they want, as long as they are serious and it pertains to Christmas. For as long as I can remember, I've been in this program either singing or doing a drama with my youth group. The exhilaration of being on stage in front of practically every person I know is almost overwhelming. Hundreds of eyes watch me as a complete this move or sing that note, and sometimes, it can be more than a a little difficult to continue under such scrutiny. But every time I'm on that stage, I realize that I'm not performing so that everyone will say how good I am, but how good God is by blessing me with the talent as well as the confidence to perform. Then, I shoo all the butterflies out of my stomach and continue to dance like never before. Once the final beat of the song is played, I look out into the crowd and see the entire congregation on their feet shouting praises to God. I feel honored that I could be one chosen to usher in His presence and happily join in.

But, no matter how much I love actually performing myself, there is one part of the program that holds a special place in my heart. See, my pastor is like my second dad/granddad. When I was young, both of my grandfathers lived at least five hours out of town, so there was no "grandparent-ly spoiling" for my family. But, we did have our pastors, and they acted as step-in grandparents though they're little more than 10 years older than my parents. Anyways, every year, after every other act is finished, he will walk up with his microphone as if he's going to dismiss, but then this beat gets started. To the unexperienced ear, it sounds exactly like "Santa Claus is Coming to Town," but it's not; in reality, it is "Jesus Christ is Coming Again." Using the same tune, he changes the words to make a more "religious" per say meaning to the song. Ever since I was a little(r) girl, I have loved listening to that song and can't wait until the 364 are over so I can hear it again. I'm not sure if he knows how important that song is to me, but one year he forgot to sing it, and I got mad. He hasn't forgotten since :)

Here's the words
You'd better watch out, you'd better not lie, you'd better not pout I'm telling you why, Jesus Christ is coming again.
He sees you when you're cheating, He knows when you're a fake, He knows if you're beneath his blood so be saved for goodness sake
Oh, you'd better watch out, you'd better not lie, you'd better get right or be left behind,
Jesus is coming again, Jesus is coming again, Jesus Christ is coming again!

Santa's Not Real?

Well, that was never a shock to me. If anything, I was the poor little kid who happened to blab that they didn't believe in Santa and start a huge argument about how they were wrong.

My life wasn't too awful knowing that there wasn't a Santa Claus. The toughest times were Christmastime at school. We were given assignments like "Write a letter to Santa telling him what you want for Christmas" or "Color this picture of Santa and leave it by the milk and cookies on Christmas Eve." These attempts of bringing cheer and the remembrance of Santa to the room worked quite the opposite. Instead of feeling happy that on Christmas Day I would have presents from a strange man in a red suit who knew if I was naughty or nice, I felt sad that I would have to tell my teacher that I didn't believe. And that was no simple task. My parents had always strongly cautioned my siblings and I to never ever say that Santa wasn't real, only to say that we "didn't believe." Because of this, I always made sure that I tried to whisper it to my teacher so that no one else would know. But someone always managed to hear me and declare it to the class, "Kiersten doesn't believe in Santa Claus?!" That would start a whole new round of teasing and a hundred questions on why I didn't believe. All I could reply while not flat out saying that he wasn't real was, "I just don't believe in Santa...No I don't get any presents from him...Yes I do get presents from my family, just none from Santa...No I'm not mad at my parents." I'm happy that I never told anyone that Santa wasn't real, because once everyone started to figure it out, Christmas seemed to lose its charm and no one got really excited anymore.

But honestly, besides the occasional teasing because I didn't believe, my life was never the worse because I didn't believe. I knew my parents loved me and they would buy me the most amazing surprises and that I would never be disappointed. And I'm kind of happy that I never believed because that means that my parents never lied to me and would never lie to me about anything ever. That was really important to them too because both had really bad experiences with finding out about Santa. And now, their relationships with their families aren't the best. So, maybe this means that before you lie about the little things, you should think about how it could effect the bigger things.

My Middle School Friends

Right now, I´m sitting here at Burns Middle School hanging with a group of kids that are ages 12 to 14. Let me just say that they must be on something because these kids are so hyper and have so many ideas that it just completely blows my mind. Like, they're always screaming or telling you this really random but funny story that happened to them while they were in class. For instance, today, this little boy came in and was telling me all about how his teacher ripped him off on his grade and gave him a 65 when it was supposed to be a 90. Then, he went into this long spiel(sp?) about how this teacher was awful and how no one liked him and how the rumor was that everyone was trying to get him fired.

But besides that, they're pretty cool kiddies. They're so little and cute you just wanna give them this big ole hug. They always seem to think you are the coolest person alive because you're in high school and you have a laptop. But with the laptop come all the little nosy students. They're all like, "OOH! You have a laptop...Whatcha doin?...Can I see?" A little annoying at times, but very cute.

They also can't really play their instruments that well yet either. They're still in that stage where everything is hard and they just don't want to work hard enough to play all the good stuff. But that's okay, they'll get there. All I know is that it feels so cool to be able to sight read their stuff on the violin when I play cello! And I can transpose the base clef into treble so I can play the cello part on the violin. Oh yeah, I am soooooo awesome!

Anyways, I promised the kids at the middle school that I would blog about them and I hope this suffices. Love you cuties :)

Metal Forks

So I have a question: what is wrong with allowing mature teenagers to use metal utensils when they consume their midday meal? Honestly, why do we always have to use plastic forks, spoons, and knives (what a joke)? I mean, it's one thing to eat outdoors at a picnic complete with plastic silverware, but in the cafeteria? I guess it just goes along with the theme of FAKE! The food is fake and therefore we need fake forks? The only problem with this hole free philosophy is that the food is so fake that you can't cut it. The fork breaks before your food does. And that, I have to say, is completely depressing. And if you are of a cleanlier nature and avoid touching food at all costs, then you are toast. It is completely impossible to cut any of the food into bite size pieces that will fit in your mouth without spilling crumby stuff all over yourself.

And why, you may ask, do these horrible people not let us have metal things with which to cut our food like normal human beings? *Drum roll please* Because, we will use them as weapons. Yeah. Okay, well I can kind of see where they get this idea, because when fights break out in the cafeteria and girls will use their nails and pull out hair, it may not be a good idea to have a pile of metal forks just screaming, "Use me to stab her!" But honestly, because a few people are immature I am forced to use my hands to split food or risk breaking the thing? I don't like the idea at all.

But you see, that's not even the worst part. The ultimate gut puncher is that in elementary school, WE WERE ALLOWED TO HAVE METAL FORKS! Isn't that great? When you are six years old and can barely write your name, you are still allowed more privileges than a seventeen year old? Come on. That is insane.

Celebrity Crushes?

You know those types of people who hear the name of a celebrity and freak out about how gorgeous he is and how he was amazing in this movie or that? The same ones who start those freaky fan clubs that know every single detail about that person's life and scream whenever that person's name happens to be mentioned? Well, I am NOT one of those people. I feel sorry for the person who has to deal with all the paparazzi and the crazy stalker fans. But sometimes I find what's really sad about their lifestyle is that America doesn't fall in love with the actual person for who they are, but merely for the different characters they portray in movies or TV shows. It'd be such a bummer to have all these people who completely adored you for someone you're not and just pretended to be for a few weeks. When would you ever find someone who would look past all of the fame, fortune and plasticity of Hollywood and care about the person on the inside?

Now, I'm not saying that I won't say that so-and-so is cute or that if we lived in the same town that I'd like to date them or something. But going overboard and writing the fan mail that they never have time to read, or pasting posters of them all over every single possession? I'm not so sure that's even good to think about. It's just kind of hard for me to fathom why someone would want to plaster this person's pictures everywhere when in two weeks that person my not be cool anymore. I don't know, maybe I missed one of those girl genes...the one where you're completely boy-crazy at twelve, love to spend the day shopping, and wearing pink, glittery stuff. Sometimes to me, celebrity crushes seem like a far-fetched dream that has a slim chance of coming true.

Life without me?

I know this may sound crazy, but I'm going to say it anyways. Have you ever been living your life, just being normal, and then wondered what would happen if you were to die right then and there? Well....I do....sometimes.

Now anyone who knows me knows that I'm not the crazy psychopath who is obsessed with death. But sometimes I just wonder what kind of legacy I'll leave behind. If I'm in my car and I nearly run off the road, I think about the newspaper story that could be published, "Girl Crashes while Driving Home." And then I think about what they'll put in the story. Will they know how loud I had my music, or what song I was listening to when I crashed? Will they dig deeper and know why I was in a hurry, or what emotions were going through my head? Or will they just assume everything or make up random facts to make it a better story? Or maybe....what if I'm not driving home? Maybe I'm riding on a bus to a volleyball tournament or I'm walking through the mall after an academic competition and then...BANG! I'm dead. What kind of story would they make up then?

Then I think that what people really thought about me would surface. Would my friends be sad that I died? Did they think I was mean and selfish and bossy, or nice and caring like I tried to be. I just have this desire to know how I will be remembered when I am no longer on this Earth.

This whole interest in the legacy I will leave behind was probably sparked by one person, Alfred Nobel. Yes, he died in the late nineteenth century so I know there's this nagging question, "How did he affect ANYthing in your life?" Well, we were in youth group one night and my youth pastor read us this story. Back in the 1800s, there was a newspaper story written about this man who had died in some sort of accident on the road. It discussed how the people responded to his death by being happy that the inventor of the destructive dynamite was finally dead. There was only one problem: the man who invented the dynamite wasn't dead. What had happened in reality was that Alfred Nobel's brother had died in the accident, but the reporter had switched the names. Once Nobel realized what the general public thought of him, he quickly worked to change his name and use his brain for the good of all people. It puts life into perspective and makes you wonder whether you're living the life that deserves a legacy.

Fall Colors

The prettiest and greatest thing about fall is the changing leaves. The brilliance of the gold, scarlet, and fiery oranges mesmerizes all who witness their beauty. When I come home in the afternoons, I love glancing out the windows and noticing how every color, though different, seems to fit perfectly with the other colors around it.

But I have to say, there is this one tree, and I have no idea what type it is, but I call it the "Fire Tree." Believe me, it completely deserves it. When autumn first begins, the leaves are dyed a bright, sunny yellow, but only on top. As fall continues to progress, the leaves on the inside of the tree begin to changes to the gorgeous yellow and the leaves on top crisp to a pumpkin orange. Finally, towards the end of the season, the inside burns the bright orange and the top is a dusty rouge. Every now and then, the sun catches the leaves just perfectly, and the tree seems to glow from within. Now I'm not a very good artist, and never have been, but seeing this tree makes me wish that I could just attempt to capture the beauty displayed before me. But, since I don't have this talent, each time I drive by, I take a few extra seconds to look at the tree and think about how pretty it is. And that, is pretty much the highlight of most of my fall days.

I Feel Pretty

I'm not sure if people have done studies on this or not, but does anyone else notice how you always feel so much better and more confident if you think you look good? I mean, the days that I feel awful, I dress sloppily and I don't feel happy all day. But the days I wake up and I'm happy, I look in my closet and find the cutest outfit and make sure my make-up looks absolutely fabulous. It doesn't matter what's happening that day or how many projects I have due, "I feel pretty" and that's all that matters.

So with this attitude, you'd think that I love shopping. Well, you're wrong. I'm not sure why, but the lure of new clothes and such doesn't really appeal to me. Well, I take that back. If it's not my money, but I'm still buying for me, shopping for clothes can be a lot of fun. If it's for me, and I have a friend/sister, and it's not my money, and we leave when my feet start to hurt, then I love it. Otherwise, ehhh, I'm not so sure. Hours upon hours spent in a store trying on ten different when outfits when you might buy one, does not sound appealing. And that's just one store! Then you have to drive/walk over to another place to find the exact same style clothes with a different brand, so you gotta try on stuff there too! It's like the field trip that never ends. So yeah, all you religious Black Friday shoppers, while you're standing in line at 3 A.M. in the freezing cold so you can get this present for your grandma, think of me, snuggled up in my covers, oblivious to the outside world :)

Birthday :)

So over fall break was my birthday and of couse it was one of the greatest days ever. Not because of the presents I've received or anything like that, but because of the people who came to my party and the time I spent with them. That to me is better than any sort of gift they could bring to me. I don't get to spend near enough time with the people I care about and these occasions grant me that time. I feel bad for the people who think that if they don't have enough money to buy me a present then they shouldn't come at all. Like, that seriously doesn't matter to me, and I wish that they could know that and still come out and enjoy the fun.
The Friday before my birthday, we had a party with just my family. It was sort of chaotic, but that was to be expected with such a large group that included three children under the age of four. We ate dinner and laughed at funny things that had happened during the week. Overall it was a great night, and we had so much fun chasing the little kiddies around and playing outside. Oh, and I got a new cell phone...yay!
The next week, I had a small party with a few of my girlfriends. That, I have to say, was hilarious. It was supposed to be a movie night, but we talked so much that we only watched one movie: The Proposal. After we watched it we laughed for hours and then made s'mores indoors which was pretty great if you ask me. We had several of them catch on fire, too, which is kind of scary when the flaming marshmallow is right next to your face! Just a small fire hazard. But then, we broke out the camera. I started taking random pictures: goofy, action shots, and a few good ones. It's so funny how people react to the camera. Like sometimes they'd run and hide, or others....hide behind a tree like a secret agent. Yeah, you may not want to ask about that one. haha!

Sensory Halloween

Well, as many of my friends know, I don't do Halloween. My parents didn't like the idea of having the five of us dressing up to participate in the most Satanic day of the year (not dissing I promise, just explaining why I don't do it). Anyways, a few years back my church started this thing called Harvest fest so I'll describe that.
Busts of laughter ring through the air as I perch on my stand. "Okay, it's all clear. Ready? Set? GO!" I shout to the 3 feet tall children beside me. As Superman races the Incredible Hulk through the huge inflatable obstacle course, I catch glimpses of their red and green costumes. Next in line, Cinderella is anxiously awaiting her turn, although she doesn't appear to be more than three years old. Shyly, she bats her eyes at the adults while she waits for the green light. Her smile melts my heart like marshmellows in hot chocolate. As I once again give the signal to the kiddies to race, I inhale deeply. The scent of hot dogs, hay, and bonfires penetrate my nostrils and again I am reminded of the amazingness of fall. Protecting me from the freezing temperatures I have on 3 shirts, a sweatshirt, leggings, blue jeans, and an amazing UK sock cap. With the wind nipping at my cheeks, I look around at the smiling faces and realize that this is the greatest place to be on Halloween: serving the community and spreading the Good News :)

All Clammed Up

Anytime I get mad or extremely emotional, I just completely lose my voice. It's not like I don't have enough words, because believe me I do, it just feels like my vocal cords have been strangled by my emotions. When someone says something that goes against what I believe in a derrogatory way, my anger instantly flares up in such a consuming way that it's kind of scary sometimes. Like today, we were in US History and my teacher was making remarks about republicans and democrats. Now I know that that shouldn't make me mad or aggravated, but sometimes it seems as if he's taking a personal stab at me and my beliefs. When he finally asked me what I thought on the matter, I was so mad that all I could do was bite my lip in an effort not to say something uncuth and rude. But then the problem is that everyone misinterprets the silence as admitting that I'm wrong, which is totally not the case. Sometimes I wish that I was gifted in the art of thinking quickly on my feet, but as that is not the case, I'll just have to get over it.

Sadie Hawkins

Okay, so as many of you know, Sadie Hawkins is coming up. And I was really bored during AP Calculus so I decided to look up the origin of Sadie Hawkins. There was a comic strip back in the late 1930's created by a man named Al Capp. He made this little town, Dogpatch (no lie), and explains the origin of Sadie Hawkins Day like this:
Sadie Hawkins was the daughter of one of the earliest settlers of Dogpatch, Hekzebiah Hawkins. She was the homeliest gal in all them hills. . . . For 15 years, [she] had failed to catch a husband. Her pappy, in desperation, one day called together all the eligible bachelors of Dogpatch."

He declared Sadie Hawkins Day. A starting gun is fired, to give the boys a head start, then a second gun is fired, and, as her father says, when Sadie "starts a-runnin', th'one she ketches'll be her husband."

Sadie did catch one of the boys. The other spinsters of Dogpatch reckoned it were such a good idea that Sadie Hawkins Day was made an annual affair.

So, later in the strip he uses Sadie Hawkins Day to spark an ongoing romance between Daisy Mae and Lil Abner. So that's why the girls ask the guys and the rest of the random traditions that go with the dance. Random fact of the day for ya! And it's all on www.straightdope.com. Isn't that great?

Oh and here is one of the strips that appeared in papers all over America:

Computer Age

Have you ever been working on something on a computer and then it just not work? Well, thats happened to me several times lately. Like in Spanish class, we were supposed to be logging into this one website, but for some reason, it wouldn't let me on. We checked my username and password and I got three other people to try, but it just refused to work. And then yesterday, I was working on one of my blogs for English, and I decided to edit one. Well, when I tried to fix it, there like wasn't any text wrap or anything. It just continued typing on one solid line and when I went to post it, it stopped at random places in the middle of words. And then, today when I logged on, it didn't even recognize that I posted anything at all! It was just so weird. I worked for at least 30 minutes on that one post and now it's gone :(.

SIDENOTE: One of my favorite things about computers is facebook. OH EM GEE :D That website has been the cause of my procrastination on homework on several occasions. It's just so fun because there are millions of different applications to do or quizzes to take. And then, you can "stalk" people. Like you go and see what so and so was doing today or if they have any plans for the weekend, and they'll NEVER KNOW! I guess it could seem a little "creeper-ish" but as long as the only people who can view your profile are your friends, then there's no harm done. Another great thing is that I can keep in touch with people all over the world: my cousin in England, an exchange student from Germany, a girl who's from Brazil and anywhere in the US. All of this, I might add, from the safety of my own computer screen. I can see amazing pictures from vacations goofy videos of what they did last weekend. So just for the record, if you don't have a facebook, get one :)

October

Well, first of all, for those of you who don't know, October is the coolest month ever. The main reason for this is the obvious: my birthday is on the 20th and my best friend's was on the third. So basically, its like a party month with fall break thrown in, which is pretty great if you ask me.

But, I love fall. It's the time of change, which can sometimes be unwanted because that means that school is in, but it's usually much-needed. The cooler temperatures inspire warmer attire which means sweaters (jonny :D), jeans, hats, scarves, and boots. Along with Friday night football games, there are blankets and fires and books to read and hot chocolate (yay!) to drink. Seriously, I cannot think of better ways to spend my time than huddled with my friends and family just chilling and playing games in autumn.

Perhaps the best thing about October and fall in general is the way the leaves turn color. From the vibrant green of summers gone to the fiery colors of fall. It's times like these when I wish I was an artist because then I would spend my entire days sitting in the field by my house just painting the view of the ever-changing trees. Their hues are so bright, so magnificent that it seems a shame to only be able to enjoy them for mere moments. Sunset is probably my favorite time of day during this season. The warm light slanting across this beautiful landscape melts my heart and makes me so happy to have lived to see another day.

SIDENOTE: Did you know that there is even a piece of music entitled, "October"? Yes, that is how truly amazing this month is :).

Well, they're cute!

You know those things that you wear on your feet? Yeah, those. Well, for the past few days I have been chosing shoes for their fashion instead of their comfort. I have the smallest feet in my family: 6 1/2 to 7. And although my mom and my sister wear size 7 1/2, a half size makes a huge difference. When we go to church and I need a nice pair of heels to go with my outfit, I can practically feel my foot breaking as I try to walk up the few short steps to get in the building. That's not fun.

For the past few days I've been wearing shoes that "fit" but they hurt like the dickens. Like the ones I'm wearing right now: they are so tight on my feet that when I take them off during class, the tops of my feet are purple from the pressure, but I can't figure out why. And the back of my heel has been rubbed raw for the past three days because I keep forgetting that these shoes really kill my feet. Some people ask me, "Why do you keep wearing those shoes if they obviously hurt you?" To this I can only reply, "Well, they're cute!" This doesn't seem like a good enough excuse, but it's enough for me. The perfect shoes make me feel really good, even though I don't think to look down at other people's. Just a touch of irony for you!

Time

How come it seems as if I never have enough time? Day in and day out I race the clock, vying for those few precious moments where I am alone surrounded by only God and my own thoughts. But all too often, after being caught between homework, sports, friends, and everything else, I barely have time to collapse in my bed before it's time to do it all again. Sometimes I wish I could have that remote in Click or something to where I can pause my life, but they haven't actually invented that yet. Oh well. Maybe when I'm older I'll look back on this time and be proud of the young lady that I am. Hopefully, I'll rise out of high school one of the best, with a bright future ahead of me, and with God by my side.

Proud to be an American

"...Oh say does that star-spangled banner yet wave, o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!" The perfect ending to the greatest national anthem. Each time I hear this song of love for our country, I imagine the generations of soldiers, families, and refugees who have made America the wonderful place that it is today, and tears blur my vision.

For more than two hundred years, men and women have fought to keep our country safe and to protect the freedoms we so often take for granted. Daily, they risk their lives to protect the stars and stripes and what they represent. See, the flag is not just an item to be saluted. It is a virtual representation of all that this country has been, is, and will continue to stand for. Freedom for all people. Freedom is more than a word, it is a lifestyle. When you look at Americans, we are allowed to gather together peacefully without having to receive government permission. We can speak up when we believe our government is making a mistake and we won't be shot dead on the spot. We can have a different color skin or religion and not be persecuted. How amazing it is to say, "I am an American!"

People who are ashamed of our country break my heart. Some refuse to stand and say the pledge or talk during the singing of "The Star-Spangled Banner." Others come right out and say, "I am ashamed to call myself an American." Sometimes, I am attempted to scream, "How dare you? How can you live here, enjoy the freedoms, and bask in the respect and admit shame of residing here? People have lost their lives and livlihoods protecting the land you despise. Why don't you go tell their families that their sacrfice wasn't good enough?" But then the thought just splits my heart into tiny pieces.

For those who don't see the importance of saying the Pledge and respecting the flag, I am grieved. Each morning, as you stand and recite the words, somedays it may seem like rote memorization, but ponder the meanings of the words. "I promise to remain loyal to all that the United States of America represents, to this nation that allows me to choose my leaders, we are one, unified nation, only surviving through the power of God, never to be divided or destroyed, with freedom and fairness to everyone." So basically, when you refuse to say the pledge, you are saying that America is nothing and you'd rather live anywhere but here. I'm sorry but that irks me. Wait, no, I'm not. The least you can do to honor the veterans around this country is stand up for about 30 seconds in the morning and pledge to everyone around you that you will not let their efforts end in vain.

SIDENOTE: In the Olympics, the team who wins the gold in any given event has the honor of hearing their national anthem played as their flag is raised. When the US wins, I'm so excited and I can't wait to hear our anthem played as our flag rises higher than any other nation. Even though I'm not the one who won the gold medal, tears drift down my cheek when I hear the sound. Maybe it's the fact that the song signifies that they didn't win the medal for themselves, but rather for the glory of the entire nation which then gives it all to the Christian God upon which this country was founded.

Tears

If eyes are the windows to the soul, then what are tears? Tears come in any moment: joyous, embarrassing, or full of sorrow. Are these drops just outward displays of the truth held captive?

I know that in any emotional moment I cry. When I find something hilarious, often I'll laugh until I can feel the tears in my eyes. Or, if I'm really happy for someone else, that their impossible was made feasible these little droplets find their way to my eyes.

Needless to say, in any sad moment, tears are on call and ready to slide down my cheeks at any given time. I remember last year, one of my friend's mother had died, and we all went to her funeral. As I looked in her casket and saw her cold, unmoving body laying there, I felt my heart breaking. I had the sinking feeling that she would never smile again, never hold her daughter close after a break up, and never be a light to all who knew her. The knowing weighed on my heart, and tears came unchecked.

Also, in an embarrassing moments, in addition to flushed cheeks, tears prick the corners of my eyes. I'm not sure why, but that always seems to happen. The other day, I got pulled over for running a stop sign (which I didn't do), and though I only received a warning, I was crying so hard I could hardly talk to the officer. That's the only downside; I get so choked up that I can hardly breathe much less talk to people.

Just for the record, I'm not depressed or anything. I was just thinking about tears and what they could mean to other people as well as me.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

For people like me, it's very hard to grasp a concept that isn't real. Science fiction just is not my forte. There's almost no way it can happen on this Earth in my lifetime. Now I know you can use your imagination and pretend, but that's stretching it a little far.

Now, there was this move that came out not too long ago called The Curious Case of Benjamin Buttion. Well, the storyline is that this guy ages backwards and somehow has to find his true love in the middle and learn to live with his life. I have several problems with this idea. First, how does one person age backwards? I know they explain it, but why did it pick that guy's family, what made them special? And why, as he got older, didn't anyone figure out what was wrong with him? Second, isn't it a little creepy that he finds his true love when she's 8 and he looks to be 73? I mean really.

Oh, and the thing that ticked me off was the hummingbird. Now, what strong, egotistical Russian sailor would get a tattoo of a hummingbird on his chest? Then, when he dies, a hummingbird flies out to the middle of the ocean as if it was a sign that his spirit was free. It's seriously impossible for a hummingbird to have enough energy to fly that long without a break; their wings are just flapping too many times. And if that wasn't enough, in the middle of hurricane Katrina (category like 5) a hummingbird flies to a hospital window, which just happened to be the old lady who's telling the story, and that gives her closure to let go and die. Seriously, birds are the first to sense weather changes and get out of the place. Why would there still be a hummingbird hanging around and flying through the thick of things? It's impossible and totally ruined the film for me.

Now don't go hating on me because I can't stretch my imagination that far. It's people like me who notice random details like that and solve crimes. But really, if you want me to be able to relate to things, keep them real and believable! I cant empathize with someone or a situation that could never, ever exist. I'm just saying. :)

Awkward Turtle Moment

So, we were competing in quick recall last night, and it's customary to shake hands after every match. Since this was the final one of the night, we began to clean up and reorganize the room we had used. As I was collecting the pencils I noticed there was one boy I forgot to shake hands with. So, like any other nice person, I walked over, shook hands, and said, "Good game." He held onto my hand a second longer than normal. Then, just as he let go, he blurts, "Hey, you want my number?"

And there I stood, like a deer in headlights, "Uhh.....ehm....ehhh...sure?" So then he asks to put his number in my phone and looks at it for a second and, "How do you use this phone?" Now that would've made since if I had one of those complicated iPhones or something, but I have one with the numbers in plain sight. Just a little strange in my opinion, maybe it was his redneck-ness that led him to that, I'm not sure.

It doesn't help the whole academic team is guys, minus the few girls who had already left. Once the guy left the room, they all stormed around me and were like "Oh my gosh Kiersten, do you want my number?" and then turning away from laughing so hard. After being embarrassed for the next ten minutes, I happened to make the off-hand remark that all of the guys on our team already had my number, and one of the coaches responded, "Oh, so it that how it is?" More embarrassment.

Finally, it's time to go, but what do you know? The guy is STILL THERE. So while still trying to avoid him, I ask one of the guys to walk me out so he won't talk to me. So I think I'm in the clear. But, when I come to school the next day, I learn that someone had told the guy that I was already taken by one of the guys on the team so I couldn't go out with him! I didn't know whether to hug him or to hit him because I really didn't want to talk to the new redneck guy, but the guys on the team are friends, and yea. Just awkward turtle moments all around! Red cheeks for me, hearty laughs for everyone else!

Laughter (dont make fun of the length)

"A family that laughs together stays together."

Wow, there could never be a quote better suited for me than this one. For as long as I can remember, I've laughed at anything and everything. In elementary school, I was known as Giggle Box. I don't know why, but I just love laughing, even if I'm laughing at something stupid. Maybe it's because people are so much more fun to be around when they're happy and smiling and they feel better when you laugh at their (sometimes corny) jokes. But seriously, I've lost too many staring contests because I've broken into spurts of laughter. It's not that everything's a joke, but I prefer to find pleasure in the simple things in life, expound upon them, and it just makes me happy so it overflows into a laugh.

Now, is it just me or do people have different facial expressions when they laugh? Like, I can tell in pictures which ones I'm truly laughing in because of my eyes. When I'm laughing hysterically, my eyes "disappear" and my smile spread over my entire face. If I'm just smiling, you can actually see my eyes and my smile is normal size. (Left-picture smile/Right-actually laughing)

I think laughter is the glue of relationships. When you laugh you're giving that person your approval and keeping things light and fun and not always serious. Without laughter, the world would be dark and foreboding and thats just not how I want to live. There are so many things I have to be thankful for and it makes me happy. Knowing that Jesus is my savior and that He helps me through every day and every situation is enough to make me want to laugh and dance every day.

Another thing about laughter is that you have to be able to laugh at yourself. Even though it's one of the hardest things to learn, it makes life a whole lot easier. For instance, I was playing volleyball at Daviess County the other night and this really funny but embarrassing thing happened to me. I was running to the baseline to pass a ball with my hands over my head, but just as I'm about to hit it, the entire team is yelling "OUT!" So, I instantly pulled my arms back down and ducked so the ball wouldn't hit my head. There was only one problem: the momentum I had running back added with suddenly ducking caused me to lose my footing and I fell. Well, fell may not be the right word, more like, flopped I guess. Anyways, as I'm getting up, the ENTIRE GYM is laughing at me, and for a second I almost started crying. But, then I thought, "Wow, that probably looked pretty hilarious," and just like that, I started laughing and almost fell again from laughing so hard. Now, that's going to be a funny memory for weeks to come instead of becoming an "awkward turtle" moment.

SIDENOTE: When I say I've been laughing for as long as I can remember, it's actually longer: since I was born. Most of my friends know that I'm the third and middle child in my family with an older brother and sister, but there's a story that only a few people know. After my mom had Ethan, it appeared that she had the "perfect" American family: a husband, two children, and a dog. Everyone she knew pressured her into thinking that since she already had a boy and a girl, that there wasn't a need for any more kids. Soon after, she found out that she's pregnant with me. Throughout the entire pregnacy, my mom cried and cried because she didn't know what was going to happen or if she could handle three kids under the age of five. But anyways, once I was born, mom said I smiled and laughed all the time, as if that was God's way of telling her that she had nothing to worry about. Kinda neat. :)

I bet you go to church camp for God

Actually, yes I do. Church camp is one of the few places that I can actually be myself. In the craziness of competition or praying at the alters, I always enjoy myself so much that I'm almost depressed when it's time to go home on Friday. Every year this is a most looked forward to event in the whole youth group. We spend 360 days planning pranks we'll pull on our friends, reminescing about last year, and trying to keep in touch with the people we met and became friends with. It is, without a doubt, one of the greatest places on Earth.

Beginning on Monday, this camp takes complete strangers and puts them on teams competing for first place: a blue ribbon!Even though the reward seems small, it's surprising how much everyone bands together to try to win. With crazy team competition and sports games, it's not surprising that when you come home, you many have a few tshirts ruined with mud or baby food. The people there are the nicest you could ever hope to meet in your life. Sure, no one is perfect and sometimes there is a little bit of drama when we get caught up in the moment, but overall, everyone tries to be nice and let Jesus live through them. I have so many close friends from this camp that I've known for almost ten years (wow, I didn't realize I was that old). We keep in touch even though we're from different cities and I love them almost as much as my own family.

But what's better than the games, competition, and friends, is the fact that every night God is there in a most powerful way. Counselors have been praying all day that at night, when all else fades away, the one true thing will remain: that everyone is here to have an encounter with the Lord of all the earth. No matter what's going wrong in your life, He's there to wrap His arms around you and make you feel whole again. He doesn't care how many mistakes you've made or anything. As long as you're willing to give your life to Him and repent of your sins, He will take all of your problems and bad things and give you peace in return. That has to be one of the greatest feelings in the world: knowing that even though you're broken and bruised, someone still loves you and wants to help.

Complaining

Most days, I walk into school and say, "Oh my gosh it is absolutely freezing in here. I stayed up all last night trying to work on all that homework," and it's true. Our school does not know how to keep the right temperature indoors without running up the AC bill, and with all my hard classes on one day, it's no surprise I get a lot of homework. That's not the problem. The problem is the response my friends give me, "Gosh, can you find something else to complain about?" I don't understand. I have to sit there during every class and lunch and listen to their sob story while offering kind words of sympathy, but when I'm not happy that I forgot a jacket and I fell asleep reading that last chapter in AP US history, no one has the time to sympathize with me?

I guess I'm just being selfish and I probably shouldn't complain as often as I do. But, I may not even be in a bad mood when I say it, or even really complaining. All I mean to do is state a fact that doesn't make me happy. But the instant someone says a word about complaining, my whole countenance drops, and my day is ruined.

I don't know if you've ever had one of those days, weeks, or years where everything seems to be going wrong. But if you do, I'll be here to sympathize and I won't tell you you complain too often ;)

People who live in glass houses, should not throw stones

I've heard this quote for as long as I can remember, and it holds true in many aspects of life. Good news: I try not to throw stones and hurt people, and I feel like a better person. Bad news: not everyone has reached the same conclusion. They still throw stones and don't care how much it will hurt the people around them.

Recently, I went on a trip with some teammates and we had some interesting conversations. But in the midst of the hilarious anecdotes, one girl began to make fun of someone she saw at a football game and went to school with. "She's ugly, anorexic, and her personality makes her uglier, and she thinks that guys like her, but they only use her,"and in that one sneering comment, they completely demoralized a poor girl that most of the team had only known by name. After hearing this sad description, my heart hurt for her and I began to wonder about the unknown details of her life. Then, a realization hit me, it's comments from girls like these who drive innocent girls to do the unthinkable. Day after day, the digs, the jabs and the snotty looks slowly but surely drive them to the brink of their confidence: to a place where they're not good enough, not pretty or smart enough, and it's heartrending. Ever since that day, I've prayed for a watch over my lips that I might not accidentally hurt someone in the same way they hurt that girl.

On a lighter note, this quote has quite a funny memory attached to it. I'm on the Academic Team and have been for about seven years. A couple of years ago I went to my old school to help with the newcomers. One of the questions in the match was to complete the quote, "People in glass houses shouldn't..." and those four children were clueless. They'd apparently never heard it and were trying to think of a logical answer. Finally after ten seconds of hushed whispers, the captain squeaked, "take showers?". Enough said :)

Richards are never late, everyone else is simply early

If you know me or my family even an inkling, then you know about our....problem. No matter where we're going, who we're meeting, or what we're doing, we are 99.99% of the time at least fifteen minutes late. Sundays are the most obvious because who doesn't notice a family of seven trailing in at the end of praise and worship? A little conspicuous don't you think?

Sophomore year, I had an academic tournament the morning after our school's Sadie Hawkins dance. Being the dancer that I am, I of course didn't make it home until around midnight and stayed up talking about it until one. Five minutes later at 5:30 (well it seemed like minutes) my mom comes rushing in my room telling me that I have to hurry. While still comprehending the fact that my mom had turned on the lights, my cell phone rang, and as I looked at the caller ID I remembered: I had a tournament and was supposed to be at school right then! I open the phone and, "Kiersten! Where in the world are you? We're about to leave." Groggily, I answer, "I know, I'm sorry. I'll be there as fast as I can." So for the next 10 minutes I'm running around my house, brushing my teeth, hair, and trying to find an outfit that's cute enough for the only girl on the quick recall team. Nice huh?

My second favorite late memory was when I wasn't really late at all. Orchestra was leaving at like 5 am for a trip to Gatlinburg and if we weren't there on time, then my teacher said she would leave us. (For some reason, when she said that, the entire class gave me a look. I have no idea what could have prompted that notion.) Everyone else, being the punctual people they are, arrived at 4:30. At around 4:50 I still wasn't at the school and my best friend was getting worried so she called my cell to see how close I was to the school. When I answered the phone in my sleepiest and most confused voice, I asked her why she was calling me so early in the morning. Panic-stricken, she tried to explain that our school trip was that day and that I had to be there in less than ten minutes or I'd be left. Stifling the laughter that was threatening to explode, I replied, "Hey calm down, everything's okay." After a few more minutes I assure her that I'm only 2 minutes from the school and that I'll make it on time. She's still mad at me! haha!

In closing, don't ever ask me to be early, it's almost like asking the sun to rise in the west, it just ain't gonna happen! :)

Random Thoughts

Writing is fun, or at least I think it is. Every day the circumstances I go through make me want to write my own story or poem to express what I'm feeling. Then, I get really excited because I have a topic to blog about. But wouldn't you know, that the instant I open the computer the idea is gone like snow in June without a trace!

Now I know that sounds really nerdy, but I don't care. I've embraced the fact that I love to learn, write, and be on the academic team. Not that it matters that I'm not cool, it doesn't hurt that bad. As long as I'm the girl God created me to be, I'm perfectly fine with wherever or whomever (even if it's no one) He puts me.

Accents=Cool

I don't know what it is, but I think that accents are so cool. Listening to English or Scottish people speak just fascinates me. Sometimes, they talk so fast that you have stop what you're doing just so you can understand what they said five minutes ago! I don't know what started this fettish but when my cousin brought home an Englisher as a boyfriend, I knew I was hooked. Just noticing both the obvious and subtle differences in our pronunciation and word choice is really fun.

And it's not just English accents that are cool. In America there are so many different accents that are native to each state, and sometimes the regions within the states. For instance, us Kentuckians have a seemingly distinct accent. But western Kentucky has a totally different one than Eastern and that's where everyone gets confused. It's the mountaineers who have the extreme country accents and don't wear shoes, not us.

On one of our last days in Hawaii, we took this trip around the island to see what treasures it had to offer. At one of the stops we met up with several families who were jumping off a rocky edge into a ravine about 30 feet below. As we watched the crazies jump, a girl from another family stood next to me and after we'd talked for a while she asked, "Are you guys from Texas?" It took everything in me not to fall down laughing. In my mind, Texans are a completely different breed and our accents are nothing alike, but for this Orange County, CA native, we're one and the same. It was kind of cool to be compared to a Texan though; I'd never gotten that before this year.

Who am I like, again?

Similar Sire, Similar Scion

What a funky way to switch around "Like father, like son"! Sorry I just think it's cool how they're all s's and they just kind of roll off the tip of your tongue.

But anyways, what relative am I most like? Well of my parents, it's definately my mom. People just look at me and they're like, "Oh my gosh. You're Linda's girl aren't you? You look just like her." We both love crossword puzzles, reading books, and watching the very cheesy Hallmark movies. On a side note, I know that most people don't like cheesy-ness. But my mom and I just love them. We also react to things the same way. Like seriously, my dad has asked my mom a question and then asked me the same one later, and we give him the exact same look, tone, and choice of words. It's kinda scary. He always says that if one of us commits a crime then we're both going to jail because the DNA is so close.

But I also steal several traits from my dad, even if they're random. When I watch TV or read a book, I like to stretch out my legs and cross my ankles and my pinky toes. I know that sounds weird like what planet are you from, but I just do it. Our faces are long and angular, and I also inherited his teeth which, unfortunately, meant that I had to get a pallette expander. Another random feature is that when we smile, we lose our eyes, or they look like "sunshine eyes". We both love sports and can play almost every one out there. But perhaps my favorite trait is our loud voices that can be heard miles away.

Now with four brothers and sister, I'm not going to tell you everyway we're alike and different, but I'll try to give you the run through:

• My sister has been my hero for as long as I can remember. I wanted to walk, talk, and dress like her because she was the epitomy of cool in my book. She's a great sport, hanging with a sister nearly four years younger who looks older than she does. When we went to the airport the ticket person waved her through and said that he didn't need to see the ID of people under 16. To this I replied, "Well, they asked to look at mine..." Oops.
• Ethan and I are definately the most analytical in our house, paying attention to detail and having things a certain way. We both love reading and learning about new things so we can play quick recall and be the best.
• Austin is like my twin born 18 months late. We look alike, talk alike, and sometimes Mom says he is the male version of me. Also known as my ShaBa, (sharing buddy, ask later), we have so many inside jokes that everyone looks at us really funny. What's even better is that while some people think we are twins (because we obviously look alike), we've been mistaken for boyfriend and girlfriend before...kind of awkward.
• And finally Jared, the affectionately called "little blonde kid". He's loud, attention-demanding, and a natural born entertainer. I would say that he and I are the most different. But I remember when he was three and I was the only one who could understand him. I was like his older sister protector who knew exactly what he needed and could get it for him. So I think we'll always have that bond together, no matter how much we get on each other's nerves.

That's really long, but I had too many people to compare to, and I didn't even include my dog, Lexie!

Family Proverb

"A family is like a forest"

Really? I don't feel like a tree; I feel more like a bush. Everyone else is like 6 inches taller than me, and they love to rub it in my face. But I don't care, being 5' 6" isn't half bad. I can limbo 10 times easier, and it's harder to find me when it's time for chores. On the flip side, it feels like no one notices the little bush among the great tall trees. I never want to cause a problem and if the squeaky wheel gets oiled, then what happens to the silent wheel? Absolutely nothing, because why fix what isn't broken? So in return for being a good little bush, I get to continue being a good little bush. Fun fun.

I'm not complaining or anything. I love my family even when my little brothers get on my nerves. I know I can count on them when I need them the most and to help me through the tough times. But when the sun is shining, I know we have this great relationship where we can laugh at each other and spend hours talking about nothing and feel we've accomplished everything. So maybe that's how the forrest can be dense. There doesn't have to be so many in number per say, but the fact that a family can be close knit can provide almost a shield so everyone bears the pain instead of the tree falling alone.

It's funny how people gawk at big families. While we were vacationing in Hawaii, a waitress asked my dad if all of us kids were his. When he answered yes, the smile froze on her face and she squeaked, "Congratulations," and scurried back to the kitchen. I laughed the entire way back to the hotel after that. She thinks that it's a punishment having 5 kids, but it's really great because I can make an entire volleyball team with just my family. Now, how many people can say that about their forest?

Wow, now that I'm reading this is sounds like random babble, and I'm really sorry for making you read this, but it's all I have right now. Maybe as this thing goes on I'll have more....understandable things to write about!

Name Change

For the past few days, I've had several conversations about names. Like why do people shorten their names when they get to a certain age, from say Robert to Bob? It just makes it so hard on the people who know them to get used to a completely different name with the same face. Sometimes it just makes me wonder, what will changing your name do? I mean seriously, if I like you, I will like you whether your name is Samantha or Sam, so why don't you just pick one and stick with it? Although, it would be kind of fun to go by something different for a while, but it just seems a little silly to me.

Maybe it's because I'm so sleepy I'm delirious that I'm typing this right now. Oh well. Something is better than nothing. Or is it?