I love the Black Eyed Peas.

 

I recall a time of frustration and confusion during which I received help from my deity above. I was 17 at the time, and had just begun college in the hopes of pursuing an education in architecture. Already, through the majority of my first semester, I had become discouraged from continuing an education in this field. The concept behind the design process class I had was a brutal one; time and time again my ideas and visions were ripped to pieces as I and others were humiliated in front of the class. This was to be the easiest time during my education, and I heard story after story of the pains endured during the arduous journey of architecture schooling. I decided to abandon the idea, and looked around hopelessly for something else that sparked my interest and passion as architecture had done.

I found nothing, though, that did such a thing. I loved nothing academically as dearly as I loved the unavoidable art of architecture. Surely there is something less grueling, thought I, and I persisted in finding something else to study.

Mum saw my confusion, and persuaded me to come with her to visit an architect in our ward. Although there were a couple of distinguished, successful architects in our old and new ward, we visited a woman who had just received her license a couple months before. She owned her own small business in renovation and loved what she did. She truly inspired me, and I knew I couldn’t discard my passion as easily as I had hoped.

“It was a miracle I made it through that program,” She told me. “Sometimes they work you so hard that you don’t even see the point. If it’s meant to be, however, it will happen.”

Is this where the Lord wanted me? I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I could thrive in anything the Lord supported me in, and I was ashamed to see that I had yet to fall to my knees and ask:

“Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?”

Later that evening, I decided to humble myself and do just that. I knelt before my Lord and begged for guidance. Tears ran down my cheeks as I listened to the humming silence that surrounded me, and as I listened I knew I would be answered. My hands were clasped together firmly, and I knelt there determined to be able to hear what the Lord was trying to tell me.

It didn’t take long for my mind to clear and for the thought of my mother, of all people, to come to my mind. I then felt that I needed to research and investigate the situation entirely, and that I needed to discuss what I found with mum. I was somewhat bemused by the answer, but grateful and happy to be assured, once again, of my heavenly father’s care and everlasting love for me.

The next day I attended my Intro to Architecture class. A guest speaker stood in front of us and lectured on the ruthlessness of modern architecture. I, being an aficionada of the modern movement, dismissed the majority of his comments as maudlin personal beliefs that concerned me not at all. Then, however, he turned his attention, rather abruptly, to the future of all those sitting in the auditorium.

“There is hope for a wonderful professional life, no matter what you choose to do,” he assured us. “You will be birthing creative ideas to the benefit of those you serve in whatever profession you enter.”

I smiled to witness the grace and benevolent mercy of my God. He had answered my humble prayer yet again, reassured me and comforted me. His promises are kept in every situation. Every sincere prayer will be answered. I will continue to search, for I have yet to find what I want to do. I have yet to decide what I will study and where I will go. But I hope I have the wisdom to go where the Lord directs me, for I know only there will I find happiness, and eventual acceptance of self.

My Shepherd, now receive me;

My Guardian, own me Thine.

Great blessings Thou didst give me,

O Source of gifts divine!

Thy lips have often fed me

With words of truth and love,

Thy Spirit oft hath led me

To heavenly joys above.

"O Sacred Head, Now Wounded" by Paul Gerhardt, 1607-1676

1. O sacred Head, now wounded,

With grief and shame weighed down,

Now scornfully surroundedWith thorns,

Thine only crown.

O sacred Head, what glory,

What bliss, till now was Thine!

Yet, though despised and gory,

I joy to call Thee mine.

2. Men mock and taunt and jeer Thee,

Thou noble countenance,

Though mighty worlds shall fear

TheeAnd flee before Thy glance.

How art thou pale with anguish,

With sore abuse and scorn!How doth

Thy visage languish

That once was bright as morn!

3. Now from Thy cheeks has vanished

Their color, once so fair;

From Thy red lips is banished

The splendor that was there.

Grim Death, with cruel rigor,

Hath robbed Thee of Thy life;

Thus Thou has lost Thy vigor,

Thy strength, in this sad strife.

4. My burden in Thy Passion,

Lord, Thou hast borne for me,

For it was my transgression

Which brought this woe on thee.

I cast me down before Thee,

Wrath were my rightful lot;

Have mercy, I implore Thee;

Redeemer, spurn me not!

5. My Shepherd, now receive me;

My Guardian, own me Thine.

Great blessings Thou didst give me,

O Source of gifts divine!

Thy lips have often fed me

With words of truth and love,

Thy Spirit oft hath led me

To heavenly joys above.

6. Here I will stand beside Thee,

From Thee I will not part;

O Savior, do not chide me!

When breaks Thy loving heart,

When soul and body languish

In death's cold, cruel grasp,

Then, in Thy deepest anguish,

Thee in mine arms I'll clasp.

7. The joy can ne'er be spoken,

Above all joys beside,

When in Thy body broken

I thus with safety hide.

O Lord of life, desiring

Thy glory now to see,

Beside Thy cross expiring,

I'd breathe my soul to Thee.

8. What language shall I borrow

To thank Thee, dearest Friend,

For this, Thy dying sorrow,

Thy pity without end?

Oh, make me thine forever!

And should I fainting be,

Lord, let me never, never,

Outlive my love for Thee.

9. My Savior, be Thou near me

When death is at my door;

Then let Thy presence cheer me,

Forsake me nevermore!

When soul and body languish,

Oh, leave me not alone,

But take away mine anguish

By virtue of Thine own!

10. Be Thou my Consolation,

My Shield when I must die;

Remind me of Thy Passion

When my last hour draws nigh.

Mine eyes shall then behold Thee,

Upon Thy cross shall dwell,

My heart by faith enfold Thee.

Who dieth thus dies well!

The University of Utah’s football team played Brigham Young University today in the game that is definitely the biggest of the season. It was fun; never before have I sat around and watched football while eating pizza and drinking (root) beer. I felt completely decadent.

I loved it.

It was so much fun to get riled up every time a play was executed well, and jumping up and down and yelling every time the U made a touch down. I loved stuffing myself with pizza and closing my eyes in agony when the Y intercepted the ball perfectly in the end of the second quarter. It was wonderful.

It was kind of like when I discovered I love baby back ribs in Cincinnati and ate an entire rack in 20 minutes. I like watching football.

I am such a man.

 

 

New development here:

I like Rob Zombie.

Huh.

 

Today I truly realized the fixation the Greeks had on the male body. I went Rock climbing today, and at rockreation they were holding a bouldering comp. I watched as varied men and women climbed totally impossible courses with various degrees of success.

My eyes fell upon one man as he climbed up the wall, his face torn into determination, holding his body up on a ceiling with three fingers and a leg. His shirtless back fascinated me; the toned muscles created a flawless collection of different planes that flexed and trembled, flowing seamlessly into powerful arms that clutched the wall in front of him. I’ve never seen such strength. His dark hair gleamed with sweat as he hung in suspension until he thrust himself up, swinging upward and grabbing the final marker.

I felt my eyebrows disappear into my bangs and my mouth fall open.

Wow.

 

Sometimes I just sit down, put on some music, and tell myself that I’m going to write something splendid. Something brilliant.

Not something that’s necessarily serious or deep, simply brilliant.

I think that that is the only time when any glamour is shed upon the institution of forming words and creating what you will, the only time when a cocky smile is truly merited. It’s fun to watch the words flow from your mind, tumbling down carelessly and allowing you to arrange them and following with exactness.

The majority of my week has been spent in confusion and defeated exhaustion. Ever since I’ve decided that I really don’t think I wish to pursue arch I’ve been completely burdened to see that I have no idea what I want to do. But then, in the midst of one of my glorious highs, that beautiful rush of exhilaration and brilliance and victory, I feel as if I can do anything. Restraint flees; I imagine the most inconceivable outcomes for my being, and I relish them and allow myself to entertain the ridiculous visages. I muddle about with the ideals and imprudence, and then I muddle about some more with a smile on my face.

I can take on the world. I can face an army that stretches on the horizon and envelopes me, swallowing me whole. I force it to step back so that I can charge. And charge I will. I feel like Obelix, endearing and physically invincible, the bulk of his strength stocked in his underdevelopment and his prolonged adolescence, his inability to understand. I don’t wish to understand right now, though. I really don’t care to overanalyze what surrounds me. In the end it’s not all that complex.

High as a kite, free as a bird.

For now, at least.

Today I went to special needs mutual (HA! I am a good person! Who knew?) Well, scratch all of that good person mumbo jumbo, because I wasn’t as reverent as I could have been. But I’m sorry, I don’t know how any person in that room keeps quiet, considering the things that are said. And yet they all do; every individual except for Amy Jo and I keeps perfectly still when such questions arise:

“How do you baptize someone with no legs?”

“Why didn’t Christ’s Daddy ever teach him how to shave?”

“My friend, Dorkus (no joke. I was shaking with silent laughter for ages) is from Africa, and says that my cat can’t go to heaven, but what if I throw my cat to heaven? Will heavenly father throw him back?

I couldn’t help it. To mask the fact that I’m an immature twit I wrapped my scarf several times around my head, in attempt to hide my grinning face. For some reason I don’t think my clever antics helped to deter this obscene lie that I am an immature twit. It’s a lie, though, I tell you. Don’t listen to these rumors that I’m a jovial Muslim who prefers plaid turbans. It’s simply not true.

So, anyways. The following tidbits rock my world:

• The band Jet: I heard “Are you going to be my girl” ages and ages ago, but never figured out the name of the band. It popped up yesterday by chance, and since then I’ve been absolutely smitten by the rock band. “Radio Song” Is beautiful.
  
• The Phantom of the Opera Movie: My excitement is split in two, and one half of it is in all actuality anxiety. To stick something as classic and dear to my heart as Phantom on the big screen is a bold, risky move, but I’ll see it all the same, because the trailer looks freaking awesome. I will also ignore the fact that the director is the same man who captained that despicable, nauseating BLASPHEMOUS FILTH that was Batman and Robin. Any true Batman fan vomited after seeing the lewdness of Arnold Schwarzenegger failing in his unwholesome attempt to portray the multifaceted, brilliant character Mr. Freeze and erased the nightmare from conscious memory completely. I have to represent. (Batman TAS all the way, yo)
  
• Thanksgiving: All U students have Thursday and Friday off, but since my Intro to Arch Professor is a slacker (just like me!) there is no class for me on Wednesday either. Huzzah, huzzah indeed.
  
• Diesel Sneakers- because I now own a pair of adorable red and white ones.
  

Alrighty. This entry will probably become one of the largest compilation of run on sentences known to the wide world of the Itraweb. Maybe that’s what I’ll finally get into Guinness for. Awesome.

I’m done. The emotions I feel are extreme, but the passions I harbor are not. I don’t feel enough satisfaction from these designs to merit such hard work, such sacrifice that will be required down the road. I’ve come to abhor the studio and everyone it in. I’ve come to despise what I create.

It’s not sad; I’m not going to turn my decision to change my major into a whirl of sappy, morose sentiment. I’m simply not happy or proficient at what I’m attempting to do, so I’m going to change whatever it is I’m doing.

That’s all. It’s rather exciting, really. Everyone must face pragmatism some day. Sometimes visions must wait.

Mum and I walked into the store. This place never sleeps; rather, it fills itself with all types of tired people, drifting from one product to another. Today we were additions to that fatigued torrent that trickles in and out of the maze of isles, searching for whatever we’re looking for. We were both very tired, not wanting to be here, but compelled by the idea of our family devoid of our primary fodder: cereal.

“Now remember,” mum wheezed through her cold-ridden throat, “I’ve consumed a lot of medication.”

Today as we walked down the cereal isle, I backtracked to pick up some cheerios. I noticed mum was dead ahead of me, pushing the cart in front of her. And all I can say is: I had a moment. I had a 'Rachael' moment. I felt the uncontrollable urge to attempt to lob the bag of generic cheerios over her head in an effort of ultimately landing the cereal securely in the shopping cart. I didn’t hesitate; I imagined the bag flying majestically through the air and mum’s surprise as the unidentified object plummeted into the cart she pushed in front of her. The vision was beautiful.

I hurled the bag up, carefully aiming and judging the force of the bag with my tongue sticking out of my mouth. It soared through the air, twirling around a couple of times before landing squarely on my mother’s head. I’ll never forget the way it slowly slid off her head, down her face and onto the linoleum floor. As the bag made its way down to the floor, it fell and uncovered her face.

That expression was priceless, absolutely classic, yet I didn’t react to it; I was still in a somewhat peculiar confusion as to the absurdity that had just occurred. She stood there, her arms limp at her side, with every muscle in her face relaxed but those controlling the eyebrows, which were pulled down into this droopy “It makes so much sense yet I still can’t believe it” look.

I stared back, still confused, in an expressionless face that seemed to say “you heard me”.

She watched me intensely for half a second longer, before rolling her eyes and returning to the cart without a word.

It wasn’t long after this that I doubled into fits of laughter. For those moments though, those limited moments, I honestly didn’t know what to think. I just stood there, wondering exactly why I refuse to function as a relatively normal human being. I had just chucked a bag of cereal through the air for no apparent reason at all. I didn’t know why. After I realized just how ridiculous it all was I was laughing like mad, bursting into a grin sporadically every now and then (I actually think I offended quite a few people because of this; I would just look at someone and start laughing) It made the shopping trip extraordinarily enjoyable.

Mum didn’t mention the incident, we just went along, wearily laughing at each other and the world as we plowed ahead, leaning on the cart. I think she was happy to see that I would do such a thing. My lows are low, they are. But in the end, the self portrait I paint is one that portrays certain things quite clearly: On the whole, I enjoy life.

Never before has an outfit gone so badly. Today I decided to go nice yuppie, but had, er, a few problems putting it together. I wore a nice knit black turtleneck with my wool duster, my hair in a semi-messy upbraid that went perfectly with the feel of the look and my tweed bag. I slung my new (and freaking expensive) cream colored scarf from white house, black market around my neck. But then the two crucial questions popped up: what skirt and which shoes?

Oh, how the shoes make or break the outfit! I was originally planning to wear the Jane Eyre flats (Mum and I call these shoes the Jane Eyre’s because of the simplicity in color [black] and design. Think these with a more square-ish toe minus the bow) But alas, I stepped out my bedroom door to see they already donned the feet of my mother! With 3 minutes until I had to be out the door, I had to think quickly and effectively. I decided to wear one of my many black skirts, and shoes like these . The skirt was a mistake. It’s the concept of the poodle skirt in the materials of the feminized menswear trend, and it’s cute if worn right. But today it was not, and it was terrible.

As I walked, I found that the duster + revamped poodle skirt combination caused the skirt to ride up to mid thigh, where it poofed out and billowed about my cold legs, looking like a trashy mini from hot topic. The shoes, which are dressy by nature but can be dressed down with the right things, made it look as if I were trying to be dressy with a trashy mini from hot topic. The shoes are cheap payless, but really look classy most of the time, especially with flawlessly done yuppie. This attire, however, really brought out the ‘cheap’ in the shoes.

To add to this, in all the flutter of trying to get to physics lecture on time I forgot to tie the duster. As I walked to class the belt flapped about my legs, sometimes getting stuck between my legs in the wispy swirl of the skirt. I didn’t have time to drop my belongings and adjust myself, however badly I needed it, so for some reason I decided to tie the belt, which is attached to the back of the duster, to my purse. The extra long scarf was looped around my neck several times and then tied onto the purse as well, so as to prevent further disturbance to myself. As I opened the door to the physics building, I saw in the fated reflection of the glass how ridiculous I looked. Imagine an individual in an interesting wispy mini skirt poking out of a wool duster in children’s ivory heels. It seems as if she is completely set on not losing her purse, seeing as every loose piece of cloth that wraps around her is tethered onto the brown tweed purse that holds no logical place in the misunderstood-teenager-getup.

I can laugh about it now, but trying to get around campus was embarrassing, humiliating, and extremely difficult to do without flashing every student that walked by. It was absolutely wretched.

So I have learned, once again, the virtues of waking up on time.

I was disappointed with Galliano’s latest show; Dior 2005 Spring-Summer was dull, just an overview of past successful looks of his. But I must say, He’s still brilliant, and pieces such as this one prove that Dior will always be a power house in fashion. (Christian Dior Haute Couture white satin crinoline dress with cherry-blossom amethyst-and-gold embroidered bodice.)

 

How delighted I am! In 12 days we’ll be putting up the tree, devoting ourselves to the laborious activity that usually takes anywhere from 3-5 hours. I absolutely love this tradition; I adore waking from my thanksgiving nap to mum prying open the box to our faithful artificial tree. We got a new one this year, a 7 and a half foot pre-lit tree that will stand majestically in our sitting room in less than two weeks. Everything is so precise; such attention is paid to establishing the perfect balance. We stand back, searching, looking for the perfect place to put that one ornament. Weeks after it is up we continue to perfect it, moving a golden ball here or there when we walk by only to have the other saunter on by and put it back. A gold silk runner will sit atop a rich maroon silk on the coffee table, upon which will be placed the exquisite Italian-crafted nativity I’ve been in charge of setting up for years. Ricky and I will combine our forces to tackle the porcelain village, which takes brilliance and practicality. Ricky is appointed head of electrical, while I stack videos underneath a white cloth and position the small houses and shops, the school and the white church.

Mum has given me grief; I’ve been mad and angry and hurt by the way she chooses to fill her roll as a parent at times. But she has always made this season so significant for me, I never flood with excitement for anything else, really. Our family is rich with tradition when November rolls around, and I enjoy life much more that usual. It’s fun to decorate the house and cook cookies and sing carols, but what a wonderful thing to celebrate! How honored I am to recognize the birth of my Lord!

I listen to the voices. Anger, in shaking bitterness, is finally attacking the negligence, the sickness.

I feel completely nauseated. Not only by what people will do, but by what people will accept. Sometimes one can’t forgive; sometimes it’s completely necessary to remember.

With the lights out
it’s less dangerous
Here we are now
Entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now
Entertain us
A mulatto
An albino
A mosquito
My libido
Yea

I reach for the speakers. The sounds of the band nirvana drown me, deafen me. Exactly what I want: the inability to hear, the inability to understand. I don’t want to analyze this situation. I want nothing but the firm promise I make to rid my consciousness of anything about this. I can’t help but ponder why. Why on earth? I question the strength I’ve always perceived. Then why, why would one make such ridiculously weak, pardoning decisions? I listen to the music:

And I forget
Just what it takes
And yet I guess it makes me smile
I found it hard
Its hard to find
Oh well, whatever, never mind

I smirk briefly when I think of the lyrics to the song. How grossly inappropriate.

Today, as I stood waiting for the bus, a man on a bullet bike flew past me. His bike glistened in the falling sun, the annoyingly powerful muffler pounded through the air louder than the bat’s snore (hats off to the muffler, I know). I admired his bike for a second before I realized the bloke didn’t bother to wear a helmet.

Life expectancy: approximately 2 minutes, 39 seconds

I thought this odd, until 5 minutes later yet another helmetless bullet biker soared past.

Ah, Darwin in action…

In a couple of weeks mum and I are going to go to New York to look up some agencies. This is what I've collected so far, listing from most preferred to least (marilyn is last because the woman on the phone sounded a bit snippy, and to be honest, I was somewhat offended) Anyways...

AGENCIES


1. IMG Models
304 Park Avenue SouthPenthouse
North 12th FloorNew York, NY 10010
Phone: (212) 253-8884Fax: (212) 253-8883
OPEN CALL: Thursday 10:30-11:00

2. DNA
520 Broadway 11th Floor.
New York, NY, 10012
(212) 226 0080
newfaces@dnamodels.com
NO OPEN CALL

3. Elite
111 East 22nd Street New York, NY
Phone: 212-529-9700
OPEN CALL: Monday: 3:00 -4:00

4. Next
newyork@nextmodels.com
15 Watts StreetNew York, NY 10013Phone: 212-925-5100
OPEN CALL: Wed 10:30-11:00

5. NEW YORK MODEL MANAGEMENT
596 Broadway
#701 New York, NY 10010
212.539.1700
OPEN CALL: Tues & Thurs 10:30-11:30

6. MARILYN
300 Park Avenue South,
NY, NY 10010
info@maryily-ny.com
212.260.6500
NO OPEN CALL

FALLBACK AGENCIES

I Model management
info@1modelmanagement.com
424 West Broadway
New York, NY 10012
attention new faces
NO OPEN CALL

Ford
142 Greene St, 4th FloorNew York, NYPhone: 212-219-6500
NO OPEN CALL

WOMEN
199 Lafayette St. 7th Floor
New York, NY 10012
(212) 334 7480
?

Guileless Litany

My fine little darling,
staring, gazing, hoping
looking so charming.
Dancing in the night
sparkling like a diamond
so here’s to you darling,
here’s to you darling,
here’s to you darling.

I hope you find somebody other than you,
other than you,
other than you,
I hope you find somebody other than you,
other than yourself
to adore.

My vain little darling,
Buzzing, hording, crowding
around you, they are swarming
look into the mirror
Just absolutely stunning
so here’s to you darling,
here’s to you darling,
here’s to you darling.

I hope you find somebody other than you,
other than you,
other than you,
I hope you find somebody other than you,
other than yourself
to abhor.

My brash little darling,
flying, fleeing, fleeting,
come now; I gave warning,
especially when you cry
your beauty is alarming,
so here’s to you darling,
here’s to you darling,
here’s to you darling.

“Fog, I’m sorry, but we’ve burnt all the coal.” The Captain stated grimly to the man. “But,” He declared as he looked down despondently, “The crew and I have agreed that we are willing to…

Burn our shoes.”

Fog looked the captain in the eyes. “I have 6 hours to get to London. Even shoes won’t help me now.”

He looked around at the crew in defeat, then up at the sky, as if finally beaten, ready to accept what was to follow. When he saw the seagulls, however, a thought sprung to his head. Of course, the inventor thought, the flying machine…

“The birds…” He said in discovery.

“Excellent idea, Fog.” Said the captain triumphantly. “We’ll burn the birds!”


Scenario taken from "Around the World in 80 Days."

"Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you walk into an open sewer and die."

Mel Brooks
US actor, comedian, & movie director (1926 - )


Yesterday, as I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling above me, a thought came to me:

“You’ve got some sense of humor there, God. Really, you do.”

I walked down the hallway to hear mum addressing the bat on a certain issue. I overheard:

“I want my home to be a good home, and I don’t want any lethargy or complacency disrupting the function of my home…”

“I realize that,” The bat droned back. “I’ll volunteer in a little while at a school, perhaps.”

“Well, you need to because I can’t have you sitting at home all day in front of the TV if you’re going to continue living with us.”

“Can I at least get rested from my trip?” (The bat returned yesterday afternoon from a semi-lengthy trip to Texas to help my aunt, who’s going through a bad time. Apparently She over dosed on all her poppers before she went, in the mindset that the doctors in the lone star state that she had set up previously would give her more. They wouldn’t, so the majority of the time she was tripping through crazy withdrawal, creating more of a burden for my aunt than any help. Apparently she folded dirty laundry twice.)

“Alright, mom, take a day to get rested up from your trip.”

“I’d like a week and a half.”

Well, my agent called today.

Apparently she’s been trying to get a hold of me for weeks (someone forgot to give them her new number when she moved, but it definitely wasn’t me)

Apparently Ford modeling agency is scouting me tomorrow at 11:10

I have a physics exam in a week and one day, but I refuse to study right now, even though I have plenty of free time. Today in studio we turned in a project (which I think turned out spectacularly, I hope Larry bear and teacher are good to me), so I was only in class for 20 minutes. I came home, did my makeup so that I look completely hot, and now I’m writing. I could have done a lot of much needed physics studying, but I’m a bad person, so I didn’t.

I love this season. The brisk chill of the wind is bitter but mysteriously warming. Waiting for the month of November to end is always the hardest part; I want to put up the Christmas tree and the decorations and watch the snow fall from a toasty house. I want to play Christmas music and drink hot chocolate. Excitement fills my throat and my body and makes my beam every time I think of it. November is so difficult, it’s such a tease to watch the valley be bleached out by soft snow and the store windows covered in everything Christmas just to know that It’s so far away. Oh, the excitement!

I’ve also decided to take on a new endeavor this season; a rather obvious one that I think will be incredibly fun. I’ve decided what I want and I’ve decided that I’m going to get it.

*grins mischievously *

Well, I think I’m off to maybe study some physics.

Maybe.

As I turn last weekend’s events over and over in my head, one famous phrase keeps coming to my head:

“I’ll get you, my pretty...”

Our computer has died. Just died. We do have two fully functioning computers, but Rob's alienware has a virus that prevents it from being useful. Daddy sent me a copy of Knoppix, which is the coolest thing in the world. Linux rocks my world.

While viewing the comp's files from knoppix, I stumbled upon some ancient documents Carter wrote at my house a couple months ago. Really, I'm embarrassed; the writing is sloppy, broken, overly passionate and maudlin, and overall juvanile. What can I say? The writing is just like the author in so many ways.

On Saturday I met this adorable guy named Rob. He's adorable, polite, charming, incredibly hot, and an extremely good kisser. I must say that I'm quite flustered by it all; I like him so. When I juxtapose him with Carter I laugh, to be completely honest. He has this jet black hair, and this smile that just melts me into this amorous little puddle of adoration. He's cute in many ways, and I like him quite a bit. I suppose that's why this entire affair is so absolutely tortuous.
Oh my. I suppose a life deficient of romantic entanglements would be an easier one, but I'm afraid I'll never learn...