Throwback

Vintage is in my friends.

The kind of vintage that screams taking it back to the 8th grade.

Side tied shirts were awesome. Braces? Even better.

Eyeliner was everywhere. Black eyes were sexy.

Myspace was everything.

Lunch table spots were prime real estate.

Baggy jeans were the bomb.

Saying the bomb was cool.

Back packs were supposed to hit the back of your knees.

Everyone had their little kid pudge on.

Likes, interests, love interests, and hobbies could be described based on the content of the locker door.

Before high school drama of who was dating who.

When it was taboo to let anyone know of you secret crush.

Before we could all date. Based on the assumption that everyone's parents wouldn't let them enter into the sacred practice until the ripe old age of 16.

When it was cool to "go out" even though you didn't actually GO anywhere.

When the junior high dance consisted of boys on one side and the ladies on the other.

Dancing was both hands on each other's shoulders.

Apart from that one daring-hot-shockingly cavalier dude that put his hands on her waste. You go-getter you!

Even more common was the girl being taller than the little man. He hasn't hit his growth spurt, alright?

When texting wasn't even alive and it was all notes being passed in lockers with boxes that were supposed to be checked.

Curfew was 10:00 PM.

Ah, the lack of responsibility when grades didnt even count.

Now its all,

15,16,17 credits more.

18,19,20 credits bore.

No boxes to be checked. Only text messages. Confirming dates. Who uses a phone anymore?

No taboo secret crushes (except for mine on Ryan Reynolds. Don't worry baby I'm comin' to get you!)

Touching is alright, even welcomed.

Eyeliner has been restrained, but everything else has exploded until the person underneath is unrecognizable. The beauty of foundation.

My mom lets me date.... sort of.

My low slung back pack has turned into a leather weekender bag appropriate for my Mac.

My vintage flavor jeans instead of being baggy Gap jeans have turned into vintage 1970's high wasted trouser jeans, appropriate for both work and play. Not exactly the most comfortable when they're riding up in the most uncomfortable of places... If you know what I mean.

Facebook is everything.

"Going out" is now dinner and an awkward activity intended to break the ice. Thank you, but I will take my pasta and bowling shoes to-go.

Instead of finding a good lot at the lunch tables in the cafeteria, its meeting an old friend at a restaurant to "catch up." We all know its gossip about the people we used to know.

Serious relationships take precedence.

My life cant be described on the content of my locker door, rather on the walls of my chic college apartment.

The men are taller. And they are "men" now.

Curfew is 12:00... well not much has changed there.

Those were the days, and well so are these days.

Kicking it oldschool for now,

T. (14 years old)

Dream interpretation while avoiding Freud

I had the strangest dream the other night.

First, before I explain the dream please realize that I tried to make every Freudian assumption I could and nothing dirty ever came of it. Trust me I tried.

There is nothing scandalous that can be derived from this dream. Sad? Yes.

Dream:

I am driving in my beautiful and sexy automobile.

Along side me a peacock is running beside me.

I am running from him.

When I finally rush into my house there is a knock at the door.

When i open the door there stands the peacock.

He speaks up and asks for his feathers back.

What the devil can this mean?

I told this dream to my mother and we sat in the car contemplating what it means.

She said that Peacocks symbolizes attitude, and the peacock was asking for its attitude back.

I am open to suggestions. G could be right I suppose.

With much attitude,

T.

The building with the golden guy at the top.

There was a point in my life a few weeks ago that my life and point of view changed.

I watched her walk out.

She was smiling, I was crying -- not because I was sad, but because I was so happy for her.

She was so happy for herself.

She was purely, unadulteratedly, simply happy.

My life changed.

I knew she was going to come out of that building a different person.

From that point on she had someone else attached to her, forever.

I was apart of this great love affair.

I had never really wanted to be bound to someone like that.

I had never felt the need for constant companionship, and I have only experienced companionship in short bursts of an excellerated pace.

I want that. Im not jealous of what she has, I am simply wanting that for myself.

I no longer think in the terms of just T.

I want to answer that guest card T+1, please.

I want to be a packaged deal.

a bundle.

eventually a group.

Life isn't just about me anymore. Its about what I will do to get what I want. What I need in order to be truly successful here on this earth.

I have suddenly become one of those girls that we all gossip about, mock secretly. Maybe they have more gumption and gusto than the rest of us. To be forward about what they want. They march forward with true conviction about their intents. I

am now that girl.

She changed me.

She motivated me to become that girl, and I then realized exactly what I am missing.

My other half.

On the prowl,

T.

I Like It When the Girls Stop by for the Summer

Some things are just too good to pass up or forget. Not even for a moment.

Friendships.

Best Friends.

Tan lines.

Water.

Tanning oil.

Laughs.

Red Bull.

Reisens.

Barefeet.

Swim Suits.

Wake surfing.

Summer.

You.

"Here comes the sun Little Darling,Little darling,

the smiles returning to the faces Little darling,

it seems like years since it's been here Here comes the sun,

here comes the sun and I say it's all right"

Changing desires and choices.

Living and learning,

T.

There is a Hidden Message About a Boy Who Loves a Girl.

M and I were in the car today.

Talking about wanting a man,

and not being wanted back in the same passion.

Are men really incapable of having that desire of wanting a woman? Or is it that desire only procured by the women that don't deserve it. The women that seem less than par.

In women, there is a point when that man, that individual, is what they physically want. Not sexually and crudely, but desire with their heart. Stomachs turn, and we are drawn to that person. Maybe its estrogen, but maybe not.

For me,

wanting someone makes perfect sense.

I have an intellectual connection that seems natural.

Personality is where it hits the homerun in the ninth inning for me. I'm a bit immature, but ultimately wise. If someone can understand and relate that's it.

I'm hooked.

That

"MMMMMMM"

DANGIT

DYNAMITE

feeling that is just uncomparable to anything else.

It wrenches at the gut, and kicks in the stomach.

It hurts so good, and eases the mind all at the same time.

I need that connection until they rip the romantic, love connection rug right out from under my feet.

How do I make that individual want me back?

How do I kick them back?

Make them feel exactly what they have put me through

Love potion NO.9? (if only)

Some women just have the finesse, and are able to make a man want them so badly they act like an idiot and they want that undeserving tart. I do not posses that gift.

Most of the time I'm glad, but this time its different.

I want you to want me. I need you to need me.

If only it were that simple,

T.

"Do you care if I don't know what to say?

Will you sleep at night? Will you Think of me?

Will I shake this off, pretend it's all okay?

There is someone out there who feels just like me.

Those notes you've wrote me

I've kept them all

I've given a lot of thought of how to write you back this fall

With every single letter in every single word

There will be a hidden message about a boy who loves a girl"

Hello twenty. Goodbye H.

I'm no longer a teenager.

Hello true adulthood.

Way to go T. Another year older. I am excited to report that you are a better person that you were last year. Older, wiser, smarter.

I think I finally have a grip on the filter between my brain and my mouth, I at least like to think so.

I also believe that age is softening me. I cry all the time. Its pathetic.

Im vastly more aware of the social and spiritual reprocussions of my actions, and I love it.

Plan for the 20's:

Get married

Start a family

Graduate from college

Graduate from grad school

See 10 new countries --

(one each year? That seems reasonable)

Be a better person than I was the day before.

Rule the world. Just kidding, kind of.

Pinky and the brain would be proud.

On another note--

2 years is a long time. A really long time.

Its hard enough to wait a week for something; letting the anticipation build, but two years seems ridiculous. How do people do this?

H, is leaving.

The things that he has said have had an enormous impact on my thoughts.

His birthday note to me was so sweet I giggled like a tween for an hour. Kind of embarassing, but I couldnt help it.

His adventure is going to be incredible.

2 years and the next ten will pass quickly im sure of it.

But not too quickly please. make sure to take advantage of it. Love yourself, love others, love experience. Never let your experiences be dull or not worth while. Make each day memorable. Take advantage of each expereince that is thrown your way.

Here's to a great twenty-frist year of life,

T.

Ifly.

Travel is a passion of mine
No correction.
Going to unfamiliar places is a passion of mine.

Recent Developments to hate the "traveling" part of travel.

1. What is so hard about getting a plane in on time? Here is my theory. They hired men to do a woman's job. Punctuality is not a prominent masculine trait. Air traffic control hired the wrong gender. Men are good at many things, organizing and getting things where they need to be when they need to be is just not one of them. Next time hire the chick.

2. Obesity is a shame. I am a complete advocate of being the person that God made you. But recent studies show that its a minuscule percentage of people that can trace their obesity back to genetics. Meaning its just your fault. Please buy two seats. I know I am cruel, but spending the duration of a flight crushed against the window while the man who is causing this current condition is talking about the audacity of some people to suggest that he purchase more than one seat because of his size has lead me to this conclusion. The phrase its not me its you really does apply here.

3. My bag never fits in the overhead compartment. My fault? Possibly. I just cannot travel without several options to choose from on a day to day basis. its jut not possible. I'm female, and over packing is inherit. Now that is genetic.

4. They charge $8 for chicken Cesar salad with no chicken, 4 croutons, and lettuce that had started to rust. boo..

5. I never get seated next to the more than eligible bachelors that are always seated behind me and on the other side of the aisle. They always are next to the working business woman who has her blackberry out the whole time. Who is that fun for? No one.

That is my air port/flying rant.

T.