Happy birthday to me

I have no words left in me; they're all floating out there in the great expanse of virtual bits and bytes. Two things--I have finished my applications, each and every one of them. I am also, as of right the minute this is published (12:53) 18 years old. I can vote, have sex, and get my own passport.

Or I could do what I did ten years ago. See, when I was about to turn 8, I was not so happy. Why? Because I really liked being 7. I was sentimental, and emotionally attached to it as an age. So when I went to my parents in tears about turning 8, they offered me a suggestion: I was not 8, I was 7....plus 1.

I don't think, in all honesty, that I'm ready to be 18. I'm not ready to be "grown up", I'm sure as hell not ready to have sex (really, if I'm being honest, I'm not) or politically educated enough to vote or confident enough to go try and figure out the mysteries of getting my own passport by myself.

I am perfectly content being who I am at this very instant, and that person is not suddenly any different because she is a legal adult. There are a lot of expectations from people our age and from older folks like our parents once we turn 18, and I don't think that's quite fair. I was really no more mature at 7 years, 11 months, and 27 days than I was at 8 years flat.

And so I will remain at 17 plus 1, happy with myself, relieved that applications are in, and ready to sit on my ass in front of my laptop for the rest of the week. Also a little worried, because I feel like this blog is turning into one giant proclamation of "WE ARE WOMEN. WE ARE ONE. ONE BIG WOMAN."

Except it's just me and my Lone Commenter. I guess that makes me Blogger-Tonto--and hell, I can deal with that. I don't mind not getting the glory, staving off the fanfare and the indulgences for another year.

And I'm Indian. Clearly, this was meant to be.

p.s. Happy birthday, Weebil. You're awesome, and I love you very much.

Feliz Navidad

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, just one creature was stirring, and it wasn't a mouse.

It was me!

I'm feeling really sappy, because, well...college. I'm going, you guys are going. And I feel like I've still got some regrets that need to be cleared up. I've got a really hard time admitting how much I care for people face-to-face, and I think that needs to change before the end of the year. You guys deserve to actually hear it from me how awesome I think you are, rather than from your computers via this blog.

That'll be my New Year's resolution, I guess. That, and to be a badass. But that is for later discussion, and so for now--Merry Christmas!

On Weebil

Is it wrong that I actually expected people to realize that I was talking about Dune two posts ago? I didn't think for an instant that people wouldn't get it, because you're my friends...of course you'd all get the reference to a sci-fi classic.

Also, to explain to my dear single commenter: Weebil is my duck-billed penguin alter-ego. She (it? I've never thought of Weebil as anything other than Weebil) makes appearances in 'Do's birthday card from a few years back and possibly in the TOLO-book of eternal awesome, but I can't really remember for sure. Mostly, if I have to write and draw about myself in any way, I draw Weebil...which gives me an idea for my Drawing & Painting self-portrait, and I can already tell it's a BAD IDEA.

But it would be really funny.

Ms. K-E: Oh...well, this is interesting?

Me: This is Weebil. This is how I see my inner self.

Ms. K-E: Ah...So....how did you come up with this?

Me: It came to me in a flash of inspiration and magic.

Ms. K-E: Right...so...keep up the good work?

Me: Thanks. I'll just finish penciling in my platypus bill.

I kind of like Weebil, even though it (she?) doesn't really have eyes, or hands, or thumbs, opposable or otherwise. Weebil is still kind of cute, consider it's a creature of my own invention, and I feel like appearance-wise, Weebil accurately reflects how I feel about myself. IN MY SOUL. Or something.

The essay I wish I could send

Hi, my name is Weebil and you don't know me but I'd love to go to your school. By your school, I mean the school you work for, and while I'm sure working in the admissions office isn't your first-choice job, I understand that in this recession people take what they can get--speaking of which, I'd love if I could get a couple thousand dollars to help pay for tuition. Because you know, I really, really want to go to this school that has hired you in the face of economic hardship (either you're really good, or they're really desperate for cheap labor).

But honestly, when I added that second 'really', and I put it in Italics, it was because I meant it with every fiber of my soul. I swear to karma, since I'm an atheist who fully endorses each religion getting the same amount of respect, regardless of my own beliefs. Did I mention that I was a fake-Asian?

I'm also not only really smart (that's the Asian part), but big on community service and being around other people (that's the fake part, and I'm not sure where I get it from but I suspect my mother has mutant genes). I drink tea and coffee, but I drink my tea black and my coffee with milk, sugar, whipped cream, and a touch of chocolate. My favorite drink is a white chocolate mocha in the cold months and a caramel frappuccino in the warm ones. I like heat better than cold; and yes, I do know that "there are only so many layers you can take off" but I suspect I'm part lizard or something equally diverse, because I love nothing more than to bask in the sun--except, of course, the possibility of recieving an acceptance letter from this college.

If I get in, graduate, and become rich, I promise to buy you guys a really ugly, badly-designed building!

My undying love and devotion,

Weebil

Take me to Glasgow...

...Or, to be honest, just about anywhere that isn't here. New Zealand would be awesome and probably my first pick.

Hell, even Arrakis would also be awesome, provided I met up with some Fremen and got to learn how to ride a giant sandworm. And it's a barren desert planet under the control of a psychopath who says things like "Milk the white cat!"

So that should tell you just how much I really don't want to be here. And yet...I'm not miserable. I'm frustrated, and stressed, and a little ticked off at all my teachers. But I'm not strictly unhappy.

What. I know. Maybe it's because I haven't been rejected from college yet?

Then again, I don't plan on worrying about college. Where I go, I go. And there I shall either be happy, or I won't be there at all for more than a year. One way or another, I am determined that things shall work out. Besides, what else the Internet for except to make a horrible place less horrible? I have Skype, and I have GoogleTalk and four email accounts and also a cell phone that I never use but STILL.

I also have this blog, however much comfort that provides (a surprising amount, actually). I'll probably be just as sporadic a poster as I was when I first created it, but whatever. The point stands. See, I'm not entirely sure whether or not I want to freak out about college, and at this point it looks like a big fat NO.

To quote: Once there was an ugly barnacle. It was so ugly that everybody died. The end.

That's how I feel about college.

On being part of fandom

I am one of a group millions strong. And you know what? Despite all that, I am neither small nor utterly insignificant. It's pretty awesome. Turns out if you love something enough, you'll find your way to other people who love it too. Then they share things they love with you and you share the new things you love with other people, and in the end you are not only touched by someone miles away, but you touch others--and you can be proud of that.

Fandom's been a pretty big part of my life for 5 or 6 years now, and I feel like I've gone from a total fanbrat into someone who actually knows what makes her happy and just likes to spread the love around. It's kind of cool like that.

I don't really have too much to say on the topic, other than a) it consumes a lot of my free time and b) it's worthy every bit of it. How else do you get to constantly be discovering new things that are recommended by people who you know like the same things you do? There are always new tidbits out there on the Internet.

Also, I'm currently serving as a link between the Internet fandom and the RL fandom base, which is a newish experience but totally fabulous all the same. Auntie Beeb, why are you too cool to be contained?

Too many words, too little sense

Too many words. TOO MANY. I've read so much in the past week or so that my brain is leaking out of my eyes. It's worse than the one time I read my dad's old copy of Count of Monte Cristo, which is tiny and has dictionary-letter sized font. I read 300 pages of Anna Karenina and another 100 of Gibbon, plus all the little shorter readings in between from things like Sewell and also that one book I've been reading about the third apocalypse.

Speaking of the apocalypse, I'm not really into the whole 2012 thing, mostly because as awesome as the Mayans were, I predict that when they said "End of the world" they meant "Coming of the Transformers". I translate this as 'If you're really unlucky, you'll either turn into Shia LeBeouf or a giant robot will fall on you. Otherwise you're set.'

I know, I'm probably being really incoherent right now. Proof of my poor physical health as an excuse: if I put two fingers on my closed eyelid, I can feel something pulsing really fast and spastically. It's probably some twitching blood vessels or something (aka I HAVE NO IDEA WHY). But hey, in my brain-dead haze, let me say this! As proven by the last post, I like myself. But I like you guys too, O Semi-Visible Readers!

And also the rest of my friends. Even though they won't see this, so that's moot (which is pretty much the best word ever, because even though it's legitimate, it totally looks like an Internet word: mo0t).

Anyways, I do like you guys, even though it probably doesn't seem like it much anymore. I'm not at my nicest at school, for pretty obvious reasons--none of us are at our best, and while for some people that just means being quietly less happy, I opt for the anti-social brat personality. Let me reassure you all that you are excellent and make me happier than miserable, no mean feat. You are all fine folks, and if you were on a reality TV show I would text in to vote for you even though I NEVER EVER TEXT.

And then I'd laugh a bit, because I feel like if there's one thing nobody wants brought up at reunions or ever, it's their stint on a reality TV show. I mean, they're meant to be entertaining and therefore give people certain edits to make them look like nerds or bitches or total nuts. But really, do you think they're quite that nuts in person? I'm guessing more than half are just acting that way under pressure. The rest ARE nuts, and I hope to stay far away from them.

Wow, I'm blathering. Blather blather blather. This is why it's a good thing I don't have Twitter. All my Tweets (and I am not the sort of person who tweets...I prefer a more savage bird-call) would be like this. Sporadic and off-topic and not only boring, but about as coherent as "Someone set up us the bomb!"

P.S. If you don't get the reference, I cry for your soul. You are going to Nerd Hell unless you click here. And even if you do get the reference, I'm sure you'll click it anyways, because who can resist?

Viva myself! Again!

It's part two of Viva Myself, wherein I talk about maybe sort of even liking myself sometimes. Shocking, I know. But I need it, and I want to, so I'm darn well GOING to.

I'm halfway competent at school, even if I procrastinate like a failure, and I think my continued (relative) success is because I'm actually pretty smart, deep down.

I don't particularly like my nose (it has long been the bane of my face), nor do I like my jaw structure (it's lopsided) or my chin (it's round and protruding) or a lot of other things about my body. But you know what? I like how I look anyways. When I put on makeup, it's because I want to and I think it makes me look nice, even if it really might not. If I dress up, it's for the same reason. And when I do, I am pleasantly surprised by how I look. I actually like some of the photos of me that are online, I just pretend not to. But I do.

I like my taste in music, and in literature, and in movies. I'm a proud fangirl.

I have absolutely no interest in a relationship any more. I feel independent and finally, properly, calm about the whole idea. It was hard to reconcile wanting a boyfriend with not wanting marriage and children, and now I don't have to.

I like that I'm happy most of the time. I'm pretty good at being happy--not necessarily cheerful, but happy.

I'm practical. A little crazy sometimes, and an outrageous dreamer (sheep farm in New Zealand! Re-enacting parts of LotR with the help of iPod music, some horses, and a few friends!) but I have a sensible head on my shoulders more than 80% of the time.

I am not coordinated in the least, but I still feel graceful sometimes.

I like that I'm finally capable of admitting that I like myself. I hope this doesn't somehow make me a social outcast (I have theories on how we like to be miserable), but I kind of feel better all the same.

I may not be able to sell myself to colleges, but I have successfully sold myself to me.

Viva myself!