Done bitching.

Sorry about that.
(That's a great song, by the way. It's off of Goddamnit!, which I'm kind of loving right now, in all its debut drunken lovesick punkish glory.)

I don't have anything exciting to report, except that some important lawyer's assistant emailed me to set up a Yale interview. That should be pretty interesting.

Also, I made a third blog for the occasional freewrites/creative writing I spit out every once in a while. (Ready for a youtube moment? Link in the sidebar!) There's a tiger on the top of it that makes me happy.

That's all, folks.
L

Ossifer, I swear!

I'm not entirely sure what my tirade against underage drunkenness is going to look like, but for a few months I've been mentally preparing myself to write a scathing little piece where I tell all of the moronic people I constantly read about in my news feed exactly how spineless they are. I need to be in the right mindset, though. A couple times, I've come close to getting the inspiration I really need to just take off on this and not look back until I have 500 words of bitch-slap, which is what I'm holding out for.
My friends, I've kept my mouth shut. I'm good at that.
But you're really starting to piss me off and completely disappoint me at the same time.
Do you have to live by my standards? No. Actually, I'm not entirely sure that most of you have the balls to.
Should your standards be just a little bit higher for yourself?
I think so.
Can't wait to see some of you next week. If anyone actually reads this post, you may want to shut the hell up in advance.
*hearts*
L.

perfecta paene sunt.

So I spent my Latin lesson with Magistra reading "The Night Before Christmas" in Latin. Easily made my day.
And (points to title) my applications are almost done. "Almost" as in I have one brainless supplement essay to do that should take me roughly fifteen minutes due to my refined bullshitting skills. Thank you, Catholic school, for eight wonderful years.
I'm pretty happy about this. Duh.
Also, I heard from all my early action schools, including the BC thing. That earned a double take, especially the honors program bit.
They only accept the top 5% of candidates for it.
Yeah. I know. I don't know what to think about it yet, but I'm avoiding too much thinking at this point. My general lack-of-thought process: I'm in BC. I like BC. This is good. Christmas is almost here. More importantly (sorry, Jesus) vacation is a day away and I have a paper due tomorrow but after that I get to spend a day at school eating cookies and watching movies and folding paper stars and sitting on the gym floor with the rest of the seniors while Brady has an extended story time and doing absolutely BLISSFUL NOTHING.
Why am I this excited? I don't know. There's just something about doing nothing at school that's way more rewarding than doing nothing every other day of the year, and I feel like a five-year old waiting for snack time.

This, my friends, is what the Christmas spirit is all about.
L

Ouch / Yum.

Hot chocolate makes everything better.
I've been trying this mint chocolate truffle kind that's completely amazing and good for the soul.
Other than that, I don't really feel like blogging today, so maybe I'll try again tomorrow.

L

Mox.

Writing's straitlaced punctual formality sometimes
permits the words to arrange themselves as they please,
seated systematically by handmaids in petticoats to a timely repast
of a conveyed idea. then shifting gears
like a cherry red Ferrari slide in
the apostrophes and contractions &toomany-ands-buts-ors
(polysyndeton being currently indisposed at the moment)
plugging up and slowing down the sentence flow,
blotting things up as they please as long as it
SAYS SOMETHING, say anything,
Say what? and the dialogue speeds back and forth
like a ping-pong match to the
tune of trashy pop in the background--
"Yeah. That's right."That's what I thought.Take that!WHAT NOW,
breathlessly running down spit-stained sidewalks from flipping off
all the polysyllabic briefcased hotshots three blocks up.

(If you're wondering what that's about, I had gone back through my posts and found a really cool freewrite I did the October before last... So I tried it again.)

I'm just plugging away at some more application joy, and that was my writing release.

Pray for me.
Or shoot me, whichever comes first.
L

[Edit]

(Here we go again.)

Walk it out.
Walk it out, like my calf has cramped up in the sixth inning,
two outs in, playing second base against that girl
with the monster line drive--
churning up the dust in the diamond,
swirling around, blowing drily in a cloud fed by the breeze
that kicks the sand up into my eyes...
Strike one.
I'm standing out in the field,
standing out in the field but my leg is still stiff,
stiff like my writing style right now,
cramped into this formalized diction and 800 SAT word banks
that scream Trust Fund Baby.
I can't sound like a heiress. They already have those;
they don't need another one.
Why can't I sound like me, like the ex-second baseman,
who knows what it's like
when the dust gets kicked around in the sixth inning
and can still go on with a leg cramp and the sun in her eyes
and gets a watermelon slush with her team when the game is over.

[/Edit]