Because Sociology was canceled, and I am going to wait and eat lunch until my lunch break, I am currently in the library, and I feel like expressing my...dorkiness to the world; mkay? Mkay!
This is titled: Why I love stage movement.
Why do I love stage movement? There is really only one reason. I am not particularly good or particularly fond of it. It's not a camaraderie class, or a easy class. It's hard and I have to work to be decent. BUT, I love it. And why?
Because...it has scope for imagination:
Yes, while I am doing all my silly stomping and marching, squats and statues and what not, there is always one thing going on in my mind. Today, it was Mulan.
As we march across the room, to our distinctly asian music, I have one thought running through my mind; I. Am. Mulan. My warriors are all around me, all men, and I'm the secret woman. I have proceeded to sing "I'll Make A Man Out of You," all day today. Complete with warrior march. While I go to class.
As I raise my invisible "spear," it is not a spear to me, but a wand. I raise that wand and imagine my billowy robes. As I do the whole "move like taffy," exercise, I stick my arm in the dueling position, ready to AK* some of Voldemort's posterior.
I raise my hands in front of me; I am Rafiki raising Simba while on pride rock.
When we do sitting statues, I am not just Rachel; I am a super hero, in flying position. And yes, my name is often 'The Feline Avenger.' My cape billows from my neck.
After doing 3 minutes of marching (Yes. 3 minutes. Of solid marching. My thighs are becoming quite hard.) and when I have to arise from the ground, I pretend I am a vampire, a newborn. (sorry, all you vampirelore people out there; twilight sparkly vampires will always be my favourite idea of a vampire.) Or a tigress. Or something even stupider.
When we do our rapier work (yes, me. With a sword. Lord help us all), I pretend as if I am slashing Zombies.
And we do everything to either Asian Techno or Asian Swing or Asian Battle Songs. Give or take; imagine that.
[end of nerdfit.]
I hope everyone is well. I saw Annie and it was quite precious. Jazzy was stupendous. And everyone else was alright. :) And that pencil moustache really suits you; reminds me of something else...
I found a hotpink guitar paperclip in the library. I'm taking it; because it makes my day. One has to find the small things in life to enjoy. Sure life is tough but we just have to count our blessings. I was feeling off yesterday, and I thought, "God, why ever are you not showering me with blessings? I don't understand. I'm a decent Christian; I have a slight potty mouth and I gossip something awful, but I'm trying to fix myself. I love everybody and try to do my best in everything; but why are things not going my way?" But then, I started thinking about it, and things are going my way; slowly but surely. And I am truly blessed; but it's all about patience my friends; patience.
My motto that has been deemed a stupid motto by someone who is even stupider is this:
Pray about everything, worry about nothing, and do your best.
[end of Godspeech.]
Speaking of speeches, I got my grade back from communications on my Zombie Speech (In 3 parts: The Zombie's Prevalence in Pop Culture, The Zombie, and Survival), and I made a 100. Speaking of this, reminds me of something else: I have this whole outlook on life where I will things to go my way. When it involves me at least. I pray, and then I will that I'll do well and... I do. It's fascinating. "It's like magic!"
...I fell like such a freak. More so than usual. :(
I also feel a bit like Pollyanna. "Let's play the glad game..."
Sadly, I do play the glad game. I was talking to Chris the other day and he was complaining about having so many scripts to read and I told him it could be worse; he could be bald. He agreed; that would be worse. We then figured out that he would be bald when he got older; I think it disheartened him a little. And then, after this whole eye surgery deal, I told him it could be worse. And he didn't see how, but I told him he could be blind. And he agreed, it could be worse.
...I'm so infectious. I'm like the happy disease. And I'm using a whole lotta semi-colons (;) for some reason. Pardon me, English teachers as you wriggle in pain.
Actually my happiness is making me vomit a little because it's so out of character. I am usually so... snarky.
So, onward with snark. November 21st, New Moon is arriving to theatres. One of two things is going to happen: I am going to dress like Alice Cullen, the love of my life who I want to be so bad it hurts; and I am going to squeal with girlish delight at the whole experience because I secretly love those books with all my heart that isn't taken up by Harry Potter or Nutella. Which doesn't leave much space, but you know...whatever.
I do like Edward Cullen, I do. I like his broody prissiness. I just don't like the fact that he watches Bella sleep. That's... creepy. That and the fact that he actually goes back and oils her window so he can properly sneak in without making a sound.
Edward: That's creepy.
I do hate Bella though, although, as bad as Kristen Stewart is, I do enjoy her portrayal of Bella. She takes the whine factor down a lot. And I am thankful. I do hope she plays off the whole "Edward's gone," thing better than Bella does in the book. 4 blank pages with nothing but months on them to show the passing of time... please Bella. No boy is worth wallowing in self pity! I haven't done that since...
...
...Let's play the glad game! At least Edward isn't dead!
[Just kidding; the last time I wallowed in self pity wasn't too long ago, (I usually light a candle and listen to Celine Dion and just...lay there. My mother tells me I can be a little dramatic. *sigh* C'est Vrai.) but as for the matter of doing it over a boy, I don't think I've done that since like, the 8th grade.]
But let's talk about High Brow literature: Harry Potter.
Voldemort is. The best. Character. In this world. EVER.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
I am Lord Voldemort. That was always my Harry Potter nickname. Well, technically we called me Lord Voldiepizzle [My gangster Wizard Name; yo.], but still, more or less.
Which brings me to the birthday present I still have to put on my car. Kaley [lovingly] sent me 5 bumper stickers that look like this:
I can't find an adequate picture, but they say "Republicans For Voldemort."
Now, yes, I realize this is supposed to be an anti-republican joke (Oh, you liberals are so witty!), but, once I am both Lord Voldemort and I think Lord Voldemort is the...cats meow, AND I am a God-fearing Republican, it must go on my car. But where to put it? I think it needs to cover up that cheesy one that says "And what difference do you make," that I didn't put on there because it's cheesy. No one will help me take it off though, because they think it's cool. Blegh.
...HARRY POTTER RULES.
So, yeah, that's life. Pretty delicious, I daresay, but busy. I read a lot. And watch A LOT of Disney movies. And Anne of Green Gables. I'm getting in touch with my inner child or something. Whatever.
Speaking of reading, I have one tiny qualm to discuss before I exit. If I, have to read, one more book with a beautiful but unnoticed heroine, who gets the dreamy popular guy and they fall in love within two weeks, and no one notices her but him, and oh, she's so special now, and wait, SHE IS SPECIAL in the way that Jesus was special to her whole entire race and she's going to be the saviour to them all, all while having her dreamy mancake and being gorgeous and unique and interesting, I AM GOING TO BARF. All these cheesy teen books are so cheesy. I've read a few lately because I'm not feeling up to reading the meaty classics I usually read, but heck, I'm dragging those bad boys out. I cannot take another selfless and gorgeous heroine. I can't. I can't do it guys.
WHY CAN'T A HEROINE BE FAT AND UGLY UNIQUE. I feel like I'm ugly, (I've already figured this one out; it's good to be ugly [in fact I favour being ugly] because then people like you for you and not for your looks. America is obsessed with looks; it's good too be liked for more.)or at least not ubber attractive by normal standards, and I'm unique and interesting. AUTHORS, QUIT MAKING YOUR HEROINE'S BEAUTIFUL. I'M TIRED.
Thank you Jane Eyre. For simply existing.
(sidenote: WHY IS THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME NOT A BROADWAY MUSICAL [besides in Germany.] I WANT TO KNOW.)
I'm going to go get lunch now. G'dbye.
-Me.
Pee.Ess.
GUYS I THINK I'M PSYCHIC. NO SERIOUSLY. I had a dream last night that my mom worked for Sesame Street and she had kept Elmo, Grover and Oscar the Grouch and they were in my closet. I don't know why I dreamed this because there was honestly no catalyst.
THEN I FOUND OUT IT WAS SESAME STREETS 40TH ANNIVERSARY. THIS MORNING.
I. Have. A. GIFT.
*Avada Kedavra: The Killing Curse. DUH.
This is titled: Why I love stage movement.
Why do I love stage movement? There is really only one reason. I am not particularly good or particularly fond of it. It's not a camaraderie class, or a easy class. It's hard and I have to work to be decent. BUT, I love it. And why?
Because...it has scope for imagination:
Yes, while I am doing all my silly stomping and marching, squats and statues and what not, there is always one thing going on in my mind. Today, it was Mulan.
As we march across the room, to our distinctly asian music, I have one thought running through my mind; I. Am. Mulan. My warriors are all around me, all men, and I'm the secret woman. I have proceeded to sing "I'll Make A Man Out of You," all day today. Complete with warrior march. While I go to class.
As I raise my invisible "spear," it is not a spear to me, but a wand. I raise that wand and imagine my billowy robes. As I do the whole "move like taffy," exercise, I stick my arm in the dueling position, ready to AK* some of Voldemort's posterior.
I raise my hands in front of me; I am Rafiki raising Simba while on pride rock.
When we do sitting statues, I am not just Rachel; I am a super hero, in flying position. And yes, my name is often 'The Feline Avenger.' My cape billows from my neck.
After doing 3 minutes of marching (Yes. 3 minutes. Of solid marching. My thighs are becoming quite hard.) and when I have to arise from the ground, I pretend I am a vampire, a newborn. (sorry, all you vampirelore people out there; twilight sparkly vampires will always be my favourite idea of a vampire.) Or a tigress. Or something even stupider.
When we do our rapier work (yes, me. With a sword. Lord help us all), I pretend as if I am slashing Zombies.
And we do everything to either Asian Techno or Asian Swing or Asian Battle Songs. Give or take; imagine that.
[end of nerdfit.]
I hope everyone is well. I saw Annie and it was quite precious. Jazzy was stupendous. And everyone else was alright. :) And that pencil moustache really suits you; reminds me of something else...
I found a hotpink guitar paperclip in the library. I'm taking it; because it makes my day. One has to find the small things in life to enjoy. Sure life is tough but we just have to count our blessings. I was feeling off yesterday, and I thought, "God, why ever are you not showering me with blessings? I don't understand. I'm a decent Christian; I have a slight potty mouth and I gossip something awful, but I'm trying to fix myself. I love everybody and try to do my best in everything; but why are things not going my way?" But then, I started thinking about it, and things are going my way; slowly but surely. And I am truly blessed; but it's all about patience my friends; patience.
My motto that has been deemed a stupid motto by someone who is even stupider is this:
Pray about everything, worry about nothing, and do your best.
[end of Godspeech.]
Speaking of speeches, I got my grade back from communications on my Zombie Speech (In 3 parts: The Zombie's Prevalence in Pop Culture, The Zombie, and Survival), and I made a 100. Speaking of this, reminds me of something else: I have this whole outlook on life where I will things to go my way. When it involves me at least. I pray, and then I will that I'll do well and... I do. It's fascinating. "It's like magic!"
...I fell like such a freak. More so than usual. :(
I also feel a bit like Pollyanna. "Let's play the glad game..."
Sadly, I do play the glad game. I was talking to Chris the other day and he was complaining about having so many scripts to read and I told him it could be worse; he could be bald. He agreed; that would be worse. We then figured out that he would be bald when he got older; I think it disheartened him a little. And then, after this whole eye surgery deal, I told him it could be worse. And he didn't see how, but I told him he could be blind. And he agreed, it could be worse.
...I'm so infectious. I'm like the happy disease. And I'm using a whole lotta semi-colons (;) for some reason. Pardon me, English teachers as you wriggle in pain.
Actually my happiness is making me vomit a little because it's so out of character. I am usually so... snarky.
So, onward with snark. November 21st, New Moon is arriving to theatres. One of two things is going to happen: I am going to dress like Alice Cullen, the love of my life who I want to be so bad it hurts; and I am going to squeal with girlish delight at the whole experience because I secretly love those books with all my heart that isn't taken up by Harry Potter or Nutella. Which doesn't leave much space, but you know...whatever.
I do like Edward Cullen, I do. I like his broody prissiness. I just don't like the fact that he watches Bella sleep. That's... creepy. That and the fact that he actually goes back and oils her window so he can properly sneak in without making a sound.
Edward: That's creepy.
I do hate Bella though, although, as bad as Kristen Stewart is, I do enjoy her portrayal of Bella. She takes the whine factor down a lot. And I am thankful. I do hope she plays off the whole "Edward's gone," thing better than Bella does in the book. 4 blank pages with nothing but months on them to show the passing of time... please Bella. No boy is worth wallowing in self pity! I haven't done that since...
...
...Let's play the glad game! At least Edward isn't dead!
[Just kidding; the last time I wallowed in self pity wasn't too long ago, (I usually light a candle and listen to Celine Dion and just...lay there. My mother tells me I can be a little dramatic. *sigh* C'est Vrai.) but as for the matter of doing it over a boy, I don't think I've done that since like, the 8th grade.]
But let's talk about High Brow literature: Harry Potter.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
I am Lord Voldemort. That was always my Harry Potter nickname. Well, technically we called me Lord Voldiepizzle [My gangster Wizard Name; yo.], but still, more or less.
Which brings me to the birthday present I still have to put on my car. Kaley [lovingly] sent me 5 bumper stickers that look like this:
I can't find an adequate picture, but they say "Republicans For Voldemort."
Now, yes, I realize this is supposed to be an anti-republican joke (Oh, you liberals are so witty!), but, once I am both Lord Voldemort and I think Lord Voldemort is the...cats meow, AND I am a God-fearing Republican, it must go on my car. But where to put it? I think it needs to cover up that cheesy one that says "And what difference do you make," that I didn't put on there because it's cheesy. No one will help me take it off though, because they think it's cool. Blegh.
...HARRY POTTER RULES.
So, yeah, that's life. Pretty delicious, I daresay, but busy. I read a lot. And watch A LOT of Disney movies. And Anne of Green Gables. I'm getting in touch with my inner child or something. Whatever.
Speaking of reading, I have one tiny qualm to discuss before I exit. If I, have to read, one more book with a beautiful but unnoticed heroine, who gets the dreamy popular guy and they fall in love within two weeks, and no one notices her but him, and oh, she's so special now, and wait, SHE IS SPECIAL in the way that Jesus was special to her whole entire race and she's going to be the saviour to them all, all while having her dreamy mancake and being gorgeous and unique and interesting, I AM GOING TO BARF. All these cheesy teen books are so cheesy. I've read a few lately because I'm not feeling up to reading the meaty classics I usually read, but heck, I'm dragging those bad boys out. I cannot take another selfless and gorgeous heroine. I can't. I can't do it guys.
WHY CAN'T A HEROINE BE FAT AND UGLY UNIQUE. I feel like I'm ugly, (I've already figured this one out; it's good to be ugly [in fact I favour being ugly] because then people like you for you and not for your looks. America is obsessed with looks; it's good too be liked for more.)or at least not ubber attractive by normal standards, and I'm unique and interesting. AUTHORS, QUIT MAKING YOUR HEROINE'S BEAUTIFUL. I'M TIRED.
Thank you Jane Eyre. For simply existing.
(sidenote: WHY IS THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME NOT A BROADWAY MUSICAL [besides in Germany.] I WANT TO KNOW.)
I'm going to go get lunch now. G'dbye.
-Me.
Pee.Ess.
GUYS I THINK I'M PSYCHIC. NO SERIOUSLY. I had a dream last night that my mom worked for Sesame Street and she had kept Elmo, Grover and Oscar the Grouch and they were in my closet. I don't know why I dreamed this because there was honestly no catalyst.
THEN I FOUND OUT IT WAS SESAME STREETS 40TH ANNIVERSARY. THIS MORNING.
I. Have. A. GIFT.
*Avada Kedavra: The Killing Curse. DUH.
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