X Amount of Kisses

This is a short story I wrote for Creative Writing. Enjoy!

X Amount of Kisses

One: I take it all in. I savor every delight as it melts on my tongue.

Two: I nibble at the edges, and I roll it around in my mouth.

I open my eyes to peek at my phone, to see if I had missed your call. As I peel back the foil of another Hershey chocolate, I hold it up to my mouth, take a deep breath and place it perfectly passed my lips. If it had only been an hour, or even a day, I wouldn’t be sitting here, but it’s been a week…a week since you’ve called.

Four…five…

I called after the third day to see if you were okay…you told me you still needed time to think; that you just needed space. I bitterly gave you your wanted space as I cried and pondered ‘How much space can one have until they’re gone completely?’ I succumbed to desperation rapidly as I watched the minute hand pass onto every new hour. All the while here I have lingered, at the side of my phone, patiently anticipating the moment where the name I long to read finally appears on my Caller ID.

Eight…nine…ten…

I’m not even sure what happened between you and me; it was literally when you pick the petals of flowers: he loves me…he loves me not. I went out of town for a week and when I come back you won’t even look at me. You barely even acknowledge that I’m there by your side, as if I am merely your shadow. After questioning you of whether I had done or said something wrong, you gazed ahead and aloofly replied with ‘No. I gotta go, bye.’ I don’t think it would bother me as much if you’d just talk to me; if you’d open up and let me in that I could only understand how you feel. Clearly, that is not the case: I’m left in the dark…so I’m plummeting into the creamy kisses you gave me.

Twenty-two…twenty-three…

I didn’t intend on indulging in them so quickly; I was planning on saving them for a long time…I had no idea I would need them so soon. You told me just before I left as you handed me the bag, ‘These are for when you miss me. When you need me, just know that I’m only a kiss away’. My tear ducts flood at merely the memory; I shove my hand into the bag and take a fist full of your love. I press the side button on my phone to illuminate the screen; a tear plops onto it as the time sneers back at me. I frantically unwrap a few kisses and stuff them into my quivering mouth; I suck them down to slivers, only to swallow the lake of chocolate and feel it flood down my throat. I pick up my phone, close my eyes and hold it as close as I possibly can to my heart; if I can’t hold you, this is the next best thing. I take another kiss to chew as I lay my head down on the arm of my couch. I squeeze my eyelids together, in attempts to hold back the tears, but the salt puddles still find a way out.

Thirty eight…thirty nine…

I feel the vibrations and my heart goes wild; it throbs so violently it’s as if it’s trying to pound its way through my rib cage. It’s almost to the point of prophetic pain, but I know hearing your voice would be worth the agony. I quickly swallow your kisses as I open my phone to find it’s a text message. I can accept that…I’ll take anything I can get from you. I open the message only to find a forward from my best friend; one about sending it to twenty people who you’re lucky to have in your life. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture; it’s just not from the one I was hoping for. I want to send it to you so badly, but I do not wish to provoke you further; all I want is to stop having to wait. I only want to hear from you.

Forty-six…forty-seven…

With text messages on my mind, I go to my messaging history and search for your name. It shouldn’t be too hard to find; we’d always stay up late in the night texting each other. I see the name I long for and my thumbs pounce for the ‘View’ button. As I read the heart-felt words you sent me once upon a time, my ambiguous feelings flutter down inside me as flakes of ash. They choke me just the same, one fleck at a time. Clearly, it is far too bittersweet for me, and yet it seems I cannot stop. I relish and abhor every word, and I feel my heart trying to discern whether to flutter or to crumble; it finally makes up its mind.

Fifty-three…Fifty four…

My tears sluggishly trickle their way across the bridge of my nose to soak the arm I’m resting on. I blink and wipe away the tears that blur my vision in order to look around, in attempts to distract myself, if only for a small while. I curl up my legs into a casual fetal position as I drag the kisses into my comfortable reach. As I bask in another one of your kisses, my large, teary eyes glance around until they rest upon a single vase. On top of my bookshelf, next to my key hook, there sits a clear, glass vase with a pear-shaped bottom and a long, skinny neck. Propped up inside are the red roses that you gave me on our anniversary; I dried them so they’d last forever. I crack a smile as I remember that night: a picnic in the park, a long walk along the bike trail and dancing underneath the stars as you sang in my ear. You pulled the dozen out of your large wicker basket and presented them to me so flawlessly. I don’t know how you do it, but every step, every breath and every word is perfect; you are perfect.

Sixty-one…sixty-two…sixty-three…

You have this way with words where every syllable refreshes me; it takes away the pain, and that is what I really need from you right now. All I want is to hear your voice. We have never gone this long without communication, let alone interaction. Whenever we had an argument, you were always the one to call the very day, before I went to bed, telling me you couldn’t go to sleep knowing that you’ve hurt me. Why aren’t you assuring me of it now? What has changed? What have I done?

Sixty-seven…sixty-eight…

That’s all I need, love: to hear the truth of how you feel. I really don’t think I’m demanding much of you at all…I sit up as I eye my phone sorely and squeeze the side button to light up the screen; all I see is the time and notice that my battery is running low. I begin to lose hope. I drop my phone at my feet and soulfully cradle my head in my hands. I drag my fingers down my cheeks, only to find all of my smeared mascara in the palm of hands. I rest my chin on the black mess of my right hand as I strum my left hand on my thigh, thinking ‘what am I going to do’.

Seventy-five…seventy-six…

I strip the last kiss, I hold it by its tip and kiss the cone tenderly, then slip it onto my tongue, to savor the sweetness slower than I ever had before. I poke the phone’s button with my big toe to see the time, close my eyes, reach for the bag which once contained your love, and crumple it in my hands. I lethargically arise from the cushions and laggardly make my way to the kitchen to dispose of my trash. As I drop the compacted plastic in the small bin, it hits me all at once.

I just wasted all of my kisses on you.

A Whale of a Tale.

As previously announced, I transferred schools for my senior year. It's still rather shaky...but I'll get the hang of it. Plus side to it all: LOTS OF POSTS!!

Anywho, for second period, I'm taking AP Literature Composition (flowery way of saying AP English 12) and we were instructed on the first day to write a personal essay introducing us and our background of English and what our plans for this year and college were. I wanted to get her attention, and I have a tendency to stick out when it comes to writing; I beat my own drum to say the least...and I wanted to do something different so I'd stick out instead of it sounding like everyone else's (not a word) and also maybe in impress her while I was at it.

I wanted to possibly have a theme of a well known novel and thought that would impress her, and for some odd reason, Moby Dick entered into my mind: "Call me Ishmael." I went off of it...and this is what came out of it. I left out of a word and I realized that AFTER I turned it in...so this is exactly what my teacher will be reading.

I find it rather nerve-wracking because this is basically her first impression of me and those are always the most important. I hope she likes me!!


Call me Ashley. Many years ago I thought I would venture out into the large watery part of the world; I came to the conclusion that I need to start the voyage of my life. My goals were to prepare to hunt and conquer the many whales I chose to pursue. They are not all the same size, but they are all fearsome beasts in which I have to prove myself with. This thus far is my journey…
Prior to my expedition, I did not indulge in much reading. No doubt it would have strengthened me some, but I have never been known to be found engrossed in the pages of a novel. Normally the only cause of me being immersed behind a cover was if an instructor put it in my face and graded me on it. Terrible, I know; there’s much regret hidden in that fact. I decided before I set sail to become more engaged into reading; better late than never, or so I’ve heard. Because of that, I have attempted to plunge into some books, the most recent being Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.I had great success until reality popped its ugly head in. I tend to struggle in keeping with them, but it all depends on the story line and diction.
When I’m not on the hunt, I’m fishing for the larger bait, in hopes it will aid my victory in what’s really important to me. Even though this game is smaller and simpler, it still helps me develop into that which I want to become. One fish is of music: I spend hours groping the keys of our piano, marveling at the ring of the chords as I try to incorporate the pedal and keep steady hands. I want to create music, even if not at a superb level; I want to play that it might increase my capability to others and myself. Another is simply developing independence; clearly, the reasoning is obvious of why I would care to mature in this way; it shall advance me in my whale battles. I would be pleased in catching the fish of work; not only in employment but in simple services. Being successful in being employed has not found me, but I have been able to help in small ways such as tending children and keeping house.
Now, concerning hunting, I’m currently at war with a raging beast of the chilling name High School; just the sound of it makes one’s stomach churn. I’ve stared into its beady eyes with my harpoon in hand and challenged it to the death; it possesses my diploma. In order to obtain it, I have to pass my grueling classes, and if I’m doing so already I might as well work doggedly rather than lackadaisically. I tread forward with the mindset of obtaining a superb GPA, abandoning procrastination and execute perfect attendance. Much sacrifice must be given, mainly the addiction referred to by my elders as “Myface”, but the harder one works, the greater the reward. I aspire for greatness and hope it transforms into reality.
After receiving my diploma, I hope to be prepared to take on the ultimate challenge of sailing on alone into the college world. For many years now, I have fixed myself on the idea of drifting back to my small home town and taking on the role of a Vandal; of majoring in English and Creative Writing in hopes of potentially becoming a High School English teacher with a small writing career on the side. I also care to pursue Music Theory to further satisfy my hunger of song. Other topics of interest include American Sign Language and Massage Therapy. I am still figuring the astuteness of working a year before converting to Vandalism; whether the interlude would hinder me. If I do choose to do so, I’d no doubt work two or so minimal wage jobs to help me get my feet on the ground.
As I reflect, it seems I shall spend many months on raging seas. My journey being difficult is an understatement, but the magnitude of my joy and success is no exaggeration. Although I shall obtain greatness, so shall many, and the shroud of the seas shall roll on as they have for the past five thousand years, but I can say I rode them and conquered my whales.
Citation due to references and paraphrasing of Moby Dick: "Moby Dick by Herman Melville. Search, Read, Study, Discuss." The Literature Network: Online Classic Literature, Poems, and Quotes. Essays & Summaries. 2001. Web. 28 Aug. 2010. .

♫A Whole New World!♫

I'm an Eagle entering the Lions' Den. I have been asked to fit in...and I'm just thinking "How?!? I look different, act different, eat different...how am I supposed to fool them?!?" It's my Senior year, and I have transferred High Schools: I. Am. Scared.

I prayed about this...and I didn't quite get an answer, so I took it as the Lord telling me 'whatever you choose will be just fine'. I've moved into a Stake where everyone goes to Borah, the transportation will be cheaper to school if I transfer, I'll make friends and still get to take the same classes...and I headed for THE JUNGLE.

While hyperventilating all through registration, the butterflies in my stomach made me nauseous and I had more on my mind than I did on my plate. I wanted to go hide in a corner and cry...I even started to tear up while standing in line for my picture.. Momma Sippy was there to tell me it was okay, but the words smelled like vinegar; they were so bitter because I did not feel "okay" at all.


The greatest sacrifice I had was that I had worked so hard to get into the top choir at Capital; I went to all my sectionals, took my music home and very often skipped eating lunch just to focus on my music. My hard work paid off...but I gave it up to start anew at Borah...hoping maybe I could get into their top choir. At registration, the choir director informed me ever so politely that I could not, because auditions were last school year, it's a tough group to get into and the only way I can get in is if someone leaves the choir...even then there's a huge long list of people (especially girls) who will be getting in if that happens. So my chances of being in CDVE (their top choir) are slim to none. How wonderful.

That night, I found out that a girl who's insanely talented when it comes to music who went to Capital transferred to Borah and got in. (I have had a long history of being extremely jealous of this young woman because she has an amazing voice, is always the teachers' favorite and gets ALL the solos, composes her own music, and already has scholarships to the top music schools in America...and no matter how hard I work, she always can do better and I always feel like second best.) I lost it...I started to cry (at around ll) and didn't stop until 2 in the morning when I finally fell asleep curled up in fetal position on my bed.

I keep reminding myself "Only after the trial of your faith do you receive a witness of your faith", "I can do all things through Christ, which strengthens me", "Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding"...but I'm still scared and I feel so uneasy. I don't know if that's my nerves or the Lord telling me "This is NOT the right thing to do." All I feel is regret and worry...even though my own father told me that I should go to Borah!

I've heard that those who endure the greater trials receive the greater blessings...so I'm just putting all my faith in the Lord that he's there and he'll guide me along and that things will work out for me, that even though I'm a Capital Eagle, I'll be able to transition into the Borah Lion world...and pray that I will not be eaten alive.

I STINK!

So I went on a date to a Barber Shop Quartet concert one night with a friend from school. He's really into music as well...although I don't think he appreciates men who can sing well A Capella as much as I do.

Things were going very well and the performances were phenomenal...until I had to go and screw everything up...

My hands were really dry and I hate when my hands are dry--that and chapped lips, so I usually have lotion and chap stick. Any who, I reached inside my bag and grabbed my favorite lotion: Warm Vanilla Sugar. Knowing a little goes a long way, and that it's pretty strong, I put a little dab in my palm.


As soon as I start to lather the goodness into my skin...he starts coughing.

"Are you okay?"

"*cough* What are you wearing? *cough cough*"

"Uh...some lotion?"

His eyes get huge and he leans in like he as a severely important secret and he whispers to me "You stink."

At first I wanted to laugh at how ridiculous he looked...but then he coughed again, and I realized this is not the time nor place.

"You don't like Vanilla?"

"I hate Vanilla..."

I didn't know what to do so I flung my hands to the chairs on the other side of me and started to frantically wipe the scent off my hands. I'm pretty confident I apologized at least five times too. He laughed at me while coughing and told me I was fine...but I was too embarrassed to accept that and so I hid my hands inside my bag.

At the end, I apologized for being a terrible date by trying to kill him with the toxic fumes of my lotion; he told me it was okay and not to worry about it...but he hasn't asked me for another date since...

Oh well, he wasn't that cute...but who doesn't like Vanilla?! I mean honestly...that's bizarre.

"Just Blame It On Me."

I've flown on airplanes before but NEVER have I had one like this. I had assumed it was going to be a normal flight until HE showed up: a shorter man in his upper 30's with brown hair, blue eyes hidden behind some glasses, a couple of "beauty spots" on his face that needed a good shave came and sat down next to me with a small smirk on his face. He put his bag underneath the seat in front of him, and sipped his Moxie Java coffee that smelled like French Vanilla and said "Hi!"... I said hello back and that was the beginning of my flight from Boise to Lewiston...


After the flight attendants went through all the rules and procedures and we took off, he began to tell me how he was going to leave soon because he's been up since 4 doing things for work and flying all day...so he's going to crash in the two empty seats at the back of the plane. "It's nothing personal, I'm just tired...and my brain is mush." I just nodded and said "Oh, no you're fine. I hope you get some sleep." not knowing what to say.

He never left to go to the back.

He continued to talk to me about small things like where we were going, what I was doing in Boise. He told me he was going to Seattle; it's where he lives. How he grew up in Minnesota and prefers the big city and how Boise is so small! What I was doing in Boise, where I was going to school...etc. I just answered his questions as politely as I could, figuring it would be a long flight if I didn't...

***

I wish I could remember all that he said, because this guy was the funniest man I've ever met!! Being tired was seriously a huge plus for him and me because he made that flight the best one I've ever had. Although his coffee breath was overwhelming, it was extremely pleasant to talk to him.

He asked me, since I told him I was going to see family, what my family was like. I told him "I'm the youngest of 10." (Including Susan's children)

"Oh, haha, are you Catholic or Mormon?"

"Haha, yes I'm LDS..."

"Oh, right on! Yeah, I came from a Catholic background so I know how that goes...except my family was the outcast, kind of like the lepers of the community, because we only had 3 kids.

***

His two 'one liners' were "oh, right on!" and "Just blame it on me". For example, when he asked me what I did I told him I wrote, "Oh, right on! Are you any good?"

"I wouldn't say so bu--"

"No, you supposed to say 'yes'; confidence is key."

"Oh, sorry..."

"Oh, don't be...blame it on me; everyone else does. It's easier that way."

***

He continued on telling me that he collects things for his work, and told me he was looking for some tractor parts, asking me if there's any in Lewiston or where I'm going. I said "Maybe not so much; even though they're small they're still cities. Possibly out in the country."

"Oh yeah?? Right on! So like they have these graveyards of deceased tractor parts with gravestones saying "RIP John Deere"?? Because that would seriously be perfect for me." I just laughed and we discussed it for a while longer.

***

He told me about his family in Seattle, his two sons and his wife, Whitney. The older boy of 10 was named Raphael...which I thought was so amazing I couldn't remember the other's name, but he's 5. He asked me about my family; I tried to explain to him my living arrangements and how it came to be that way...it took about three times for him to grasp the concept....I also told him about the age range of the family and how they were pretty quick at first and I was the unexpected one.

"How big's the gap between you and the next?"

"Well he's 21 now and I'm 16."

"Oh wow! Ten years! That's a while!" I just kind of stared at him with the 'Seriously?' look...he stared back and then smacked his forehead and laughed, apologizing again that he was tired. "Okay, let me figure this one out...-puts hand up to his forehead to think and is quiet for a while- Ooouuuuch...I'm sorry I can't think. It's like I tried to flex my brain but it collapsed instead; it really hurt actually!"

"Haha, well don't hurt yourself, it's not that important."

He then continued to tell me he really was smart; he was the valedictorian at his high school, went to college at 16 (he skipped two grades) and majored in music (he plays piano because he cannot sing). He prefers math but he's a pretty good writer "I mean, I wrote the graduation speech so...I have to have some talent, right?" I told him I was interested in English, and he said his English teacher in College was the devil, whose purpose on this life was to make everyone feel inferior...and he claimed that class was his first B...ever. He also told me to never forget that writing all depends on perspective; with out it, it basically sucks.

"So years from now after you write your award-winning, life altering book that brings world peace, eliminates world hunger, even makes cats and dogs want to live together, you say "It was the man on the airplane...he talked perspective.""

"Haha, yes, the crazy guy who slept in the back of the plane....he changed my life; I suppose I can never forget." We both just laughed.

***

I went on to tell him I also was into music, that I was in choir, and used to play the French Horn. We discussed the amazingness of a French Horn (basically that they're the best instrument known to man...which they are) and also that we both wanted to play string instruments: he wanted cello, I wanted violin.

I told him "I played one note on the violin, and it sounded like a dying cat..."

"Then I think you should stay clear from them completely...but I've never really liked cats anyways, so that's okay." He went into how he loves all animals...expect cats and really just wants to step on their heads. All his piano teachers had like 15 of them, and they were always mean and they smelled worse than horses. "So if you ever want to play the violin for me, it would be music to my ears...I would just sit there and say 'Ah...dying cats...the most beautiful sound in the world.'"

***

"Now, where are we going again?" I spent the next while again trying to explain Lewiston and where it's at.

"It's about 40 miles from Moscow, near Clarkston...small way from Lapwai..." He just stared at me with the best blank expression ever known to man.

"Kay, that's all a foreign language to me...even though I know you're speaking English; they're just words. Well, actually, there more like syllables but they aren't forming anything coherent..."

"Well that's the best I can do, sorry."

"Oh, it's okay, you can just blame it on me."

***

We talked more about home, why I lived with the Sippy's; he also moved out once as he went off to college. We talked about how sometimes you just need to get away, because the longer you stay the worse things become and the less you can stand it. He asked me again why I was going up to Moscow, I told him to see family and that my grandmother wasn't doing well. We talked about that...and his grandmother went through something really similar.

***

They then announced we were landing down in Lewiston soon, so I thought I'd start to say "my goodbyes".

"Thank you so much for talking with me! It was extremely plesant and entertaining."

"Haha, well thank you. Yeah, it was pretty entertaining huh?? But I think the funniest thing about this whole flight was that you stole my seat."

"You're kidding...did I really?!?" He just laughed and teased me by walking me through which seats were what...I felt so bad...and I apologized about 5+ times.

"It's okay, just blame it on me..."

"I do blame it on you for not saying anything!! Now you'll know me as the jerk who stole your seat and wouldn't let you sleep!"

"And I'm the guy who talked about nothing for an hour."

***

We said our goodbyes and he wished me well with what I was doing...including grandmother. I told him he better move over before another no good ten year old--I mean teenager stole his seat. I got off the plane, and he continued on is way to Seattle.

I suppose I wrote about this because I feel obligated to remember him now because not only did I tell him that I'd never forget him, I told him I'd write about him in one of my "books". So there's the story of the insanely tired coffee man who sat next to me on an airplane and told me about perspective...and if you didn't like it, you can just blame it on me...;]

Tribute To My Father: Happy Daddy's Day

I was taking AP Language Composition this last year, and we had to write three essays that we could potentially send to colleges. We had to write about a significant event, person etc...and the first one I wrote mine on was my father. My wonderful father as done so much for me; I appreciate everything he's done...and I love him so very much. This is dedicated to my father: I love you Poppa.

***

Who I am: a sister, a friend, a lover, a music appreciator, a writer…in the most accurate definition, I am myself. Broadly defined I am a young woman of society just trying to get through life. Religiously defined: I am a daughter of God who loves me. With all that said, I am that which surpasses all: I am my father’s daughter; without my father, I could not be me.

My parents divorced when I was too young to remember my mother at all, and my father took on the challenge of raising six children alone. He constantly worked, and wasn’t always around, but he was there enough. At the time I didn’t understand what he was doing, but as I reminisce of my childhood I see he taught me the importance of hard work, whether success followed or not. He always told me that family was most important and proved it through his diligence to meet our needs. With a lack of feminism, he taught me to be strong, tough, and to “stop crying”. He also walked me through problem solving and improving my situations. Because of this, I started doing my own laundry and cooking simply at the ripe age of five; I became a rather independent and efficient Preschooler.

In later childhood, he focused me on responsibility around the house and accountability for my choices. He raised me to be devoted to my religion, and I love it above all still today. Since my father was usually absent, my siblings did some disciplining, but I did a lot of it myself, including washing my mouth out after uttering my first swear word. Overall, he taught me to be an upright young woman and to be accountable for my actions.

As a teen, he gave me guidance and support through my hardest trials. In my depression and anorexia years, he did everything in his power to heal me. Because of him and the lessons he taught me before, I overcame a life-threatening situation; all because of that unconditional love he has for me. He also loved me enough to let me go. Due to my father’s depression of being laid off and a step mother with Borderline Personality Disorder, I was emotionally abused and my father decided to let me live with another family so that my needs could be met and to have a proper mother. He sacrificed losing me in order to allow me to grow and develop into the woman we both know I have potential for.

My father changed me for good; because of him I am myself, and that’s something pretty significant. Who I am: dedicated, respectful, determined, virtuous and gentle. Intellectually defined: I’m the typical woman, occasionally caught up in emotion but still have a sturdy head on my shoulders. Academically speaking, I am a potential future graduate of your school.

"What's a Gym?? Oh...a GYM!!"

I truly am spoiled here at the Sippy's house. Not only is there amazing food and that Mrs. Sippy bakes wedding cakes for a living, but they have a theater room upstairs which includes a mini fridge full of soda, and a shelf stocked up with all sorts of candy like Swedish Fish, Laffy Taffy, assorted candy bars and licorice. It has overwhelmingly comfortable furniture and dim lights perfect for taking naps, AND it's quiet with a nice chess/checkers table to do homework, so I spend a lot of time up there with all the parties and naps I take. I've also discovered that the more time I spend up there, mysteriously the more candy is missing, and what is more inexplicable is that I've gained about five pounds since I've moved in!! One would assume those are all connected, but I'd deny...but also admit I'm a liar.

No matter where the "pudge" has come from...I want it to go away; it's most distasteful (although it wasn't to gain it. ;)). Now I've been around the block a time or two before, and I don't want to go down some certain alleys and short cuts again, so I'm trying to go down a different route: EXERCISE. The problem is, I've never been the athletic type; I'm a watcher/appreciator rather than a doer/player..."so now what's the procedure?"

You could say that I'm as "edumacated" as Homer Simpson, for I've never stepped into a "gym" (Pronounced like 'guy' with an 'm' at the end) and don't know anything about them, except you exercise there...and that's what I'm looking for. :D

Momma Sippy is far more dedicated to her work outs by going five days a week with her membership...and so I thought I could go with her so I'm not totally out of place. Well, I'd need a membership, and it just so happens that her son, my best friend, Adam just left on his mission to the Marshall Islands in April and he didn't cancel his, and is still being charged for his account every month, and they can have someone replace him or pay a fee of $75 and show them his papers that he is really gone. Momma Sippy took me in there and we worked it out that I'd have membership from Adam's old account for the summer, and then when school starts, she'd cancel it. Don't you just love win-win situations? (Mrs. Sippy saves the day again...)

In all, I am overly spoiled here at the Sippy's with my very "cush-cush" life style of packing on the pounds and then taking them off just as easily. Poor me...I have to endure so much strive. *dramatic sigh* No, but really, I'm so very grateful for all that Momma Sippy does for me and that I've been given the opportunity to be a part of her family. I'll also be letting you all know how my "Biggest Loser" summer with Mrs. Sippy is going. Wish me the best of luck!

When Life Gives You Lemons...

My sister asked me to post this rant on the blog so she could read it...even though I already read it to her...*sigh* I posted this on Facebook...but I wanted to rewrite some parts so it's a tiny bit different, but has the same point.

So, I was on FB and I saw a little "like" group called "Unless life also gives you water and sugar, your lemonade's gonna suck", and being so opinionated, I had something to say about how untrue and ignorant this is.

First of all...since when is life a free ride that gives you everything you could possibly need?! Call me crazy, but I always thought you had to work, not just work but work hard, for what you wanted...for as long as I know it's always been that way. With all that said, we should already have the water and sugar in our lives, due to our choices, beliefs and what sort of efforts we put in; you reap what you sow.

Now, this is where my religion steps in and plays a major role in my thinking...for it is who I am. Any Christian who's read The Bible knows that Jesus Christ is not only our Savior and Redeemer but is also referred to as the "Living Water". ( St John 4 for example) If we want peace, everlasting happiness and eternal life, we must have the Living Christ in our lives...and if we do, we shall never thirst. He has those arms stretched out for us and he will draw us in "with healing in his wings" and will make us whole. So if we strive to be more like him, draw unto him, he will draw unto us and we will have water.

Now concerning the sugar..."sugar, spice and everything nice" shouldn't just apply to girls, it should be a part of everyone on this planet. Is it? Not in the slightest...but honestly!! Who likes bitter people?! Who enjoys being around people who are distasteful, hurtful, selfish, crude, deceiving, rude and overall unpleasant? People are drawn to others who are considerate, kind, gentle and loving...when's the last time you've heard someone compliment another for being snotty? Or stuck up? How about sweet? We should already be producing our own sugar for in spite of what the world around us says, people have the potential to be "good"; it just depends on whether they act upon it or ignore it (but even if they ignore it, it doesn't negate the fact that they can be "good").

So already, we have two out of the three ingredients: Water and Sugar. And with these two amazing things combined...you have very sweet water...it may be semi delightful but something's definitely missing. That's where this life we've been given comes into play....and provides the lemons. We have this one life, and yes, it's tough...but it's fair. Even though it may chuck those lemons at you and get juice in your eyes...it as still given you the opportunity to produce a beverage far beyond plain sugar water; it's giving us the upper hand!!! So be grateful; open your eyes and when life give you lemons, you better make that lemonade...or else they will go to waste and all you'll have are lemons that's drip into your wounds instead of in your pitcher. Get off your lazy butt, quit your whining and moping, accept the "disguised gifts" life gives you on a regular basis and make the best of them...for you already have what it takes to make life great...but you only get lemonade if and ONLY if you put all the ingredients together. Don't settle for less and see things for what they are...but what they can be, which includes your situations, and ultimately yourself.

"Unless life also gives you water and sugar, your lemonade's gonna suck"...Unless you also put forth effort to make lemonade, your life is gonna suck.

Sister Knows Best...

For the past couple days my eldest sister has been trying to convince me to get into blogging. She says it's because she thinks I'd really like it...but I think it's more because she has recently deleted her Facebook account and wants to stay in touch; apparently phone calls are out of the question. I finally gave in and told her to help me make one...there was far too much frustration for one silly Blog.

I always thought that it was people like my dad who'd not understand technology...so I felt rather foolish when I didn't know what in the world was going on. Who knew such a simple thing could be so complex!! (In all reality, it should say, "Who knew a teenager could be so stupid?" but...the answer would be everyone...and my pride will not allow that.) But my beloved sister stepped in and walked me through it...and here we are.

This, obviously, is my blog. I still don't know exactly what to do with it...so I suppose I'll just see what happens. So far, since I am really interested in writing, I'll just post a lot of my "work". And also since I'm an overly opinionated young woman, I'll post some rants on here as well.

For my sister: "I hopeb your sabisfieb...I hopeb your sabisfieb!" :] It's the brain damage...what can I say?