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!