amantes sunt amentes.

happy

3 year anniversary,
gabe!!

quod alius

another short story

I woke up to the screeching sound of some type of bird. Or was it a bird? Oh wait it’s my mother. And suddenly buckets of ice water poured all over my body, as she ripped my down blankets off of me. Yes, God does love me. My mom finally trekked out of my derelict bedroom as I made to get up. I was asleep for another 10 minutes. The hawk came back to peck at me again and I surrendered. The glacial hallway of my ice block of a house presented me with frost bitten toes and my body temperature dropped to sub zero. Is that even possible? Did Dad forget to pay the heating bills? My arctic expedition to the kitchen was brutal in only a pair of sleeping shorts and a t-shirt from when I was 7.

Life got even better at breakfast. My depiction of a gourmet breakfast is: a delicious bowl of Raisin Bran Crunch (note the extravagant “Crunch”), skim milk to wash it down, and a multivitamin. Oh we get even fancier during the weekends, we upgrade to pancakes and whole milk. But the fact that my brother finished the entire box of my beloved Raisin Bran didn’t aid me after my icy trek. Yum, milk and vitamins!

I travelled through the frigidness to get to the bathroom, my salvation, with its glorious heaters! I stepped into the shower and felt the warm rain hit my back, I can hear the Hallelujah chorus! Feelings of rejuvenation coursed through my body and I was no longer in Siberia. I stepped out of the shower and reached for my toothbrush, so happy to get rid of that morning breath (hey, I have people to impress!). My damp, brown, strawberry scented tresses can wait until after I’m finished getting ready. I disappointedly walked out of the sanctuary of a bathroom and a cool draft hit my face, goose bumps all over again.

Now in my “fortress of solitude”, I opened my closet and an assortment of colors were arranged behind the mirrored doors. I picked out a pumpkin polo with a pocket on the sleeve and paired it with a pair of chocolate shorts. Being a girl, I chose another outfit, dark jeans and a plaid button-down. I went through five and ended up wearing my first option. I then used range of hair products to tame my beast like hair, which masked the sweet strawberries with the smell of Mrs. Turnblad’s bee-hive. I smoothed on a pinch of sand beige concealer and a dash of mascara, which turned my eyelashes into a three-legged spider. Finally finished, I went through seven pairs of shoes and walked out the door.

I hopped into the shotgun seat of my dad’s fire engine red, gas-guzzling SUV and went off to hell, I mean high school. We were driving through a labyrinth of streets and onto the great sea of the 101. The busy fish were fighting their ways onto off ramps, pushing to get into the lanes, and showed off their bright red tail lights. Merging onto a different freeway, the ocean became vaster, and there was more space to breathe and let the toxic carbon monoxide flow.

I finally made it to school, late no doubt. Like the day can get any better. And this was just an hour and a half of my daily grind.

sona si latine loqueris

a short story for media class:

I walk down the hair-care aisle of Target, and as I’m looking for my plain ol’ shampoo, I pick up a box of Clairol Hair Color Toasted Almond: Brown #67. The color takes me back to when I was in 7^th grade, and I was staring at the same box (though it looked a bit dated then) with my natural dark brown hair hanging over my shoulders. I decided that I needed a change from my normal, boring dark hair, and I bought my first box of Brown #67 that day.

In the 7^th grade, there is always a group of girls, popular no doubt, that are in to fashion, hair, make-up; basically, the girly norm. Those girls always new what was in (with the help of their high school sisters), and they were the epitome of cool. Well, the day I bought my first box of hair color was the day I was noticed by their kind. I was invited to eat lunch with them. They all had N*SYNC lunchboxes, and ditched my old friends. By that time they were boring, dark haired dorks. I started noticing boys and gossiping about other girls with my new friends, the girls I trusted most, because they always gave me their honest opinions on my outfit.

I had my eye on the cutest 8^th grader in school, and told my best friend, the one who first invited me to eat with the cool girls. Within the next hour, the entire school found out. The ugly side of Brown #67 started to show, but went unnoticed. Rumors began to spread about some of the popular girls, and everyone blamed me for spreading them. My roots started to show through my color treated hair. My best friend became my crush's girlfriend, and then I knew I had to cover up my dark brown with the Toasted Almond again, and get things back to cool-me normal.

The day I went back to Toasted Almond, was the day I went back to the no longer boring me, considering my bleach blonde, frizzy head of hair. The popular girls disowned me and the cute 8^th grader had another girl. Alone in my frizzy, frizzy world. I came across my old friend while eating lunch by myself, and apologized for my snobby behavior towards her. She forgave me and actually dug my new ‘do.

I put down the box of Clairol, thanking God that my dark brown locks grew out of its bleached phase. I thought of how many boxes of color the cool girls had bought since then, and I walked away from the hair-care aisle of Target, never touching Brown #67 again.