I taste summer on my tongue

Just one more week of school until it's officially summer vacation.
There's something so special about summertime: it's a mixing of hope and potential that comes in a basket of early morning sunshine and fresh grass.
It's the chance to be who you really are, away from the drudges of schoolwork and annoying classmates. It's all the possibility that's in eight hours of sunshine that was never there before. January is not the mark of the new year, our calendars revolve around summer, and when the time comes, the alarm clocks in our souls sing simultaneously.
Summer- six letters, two syllabus, and countless possibilities.
Maybe I'll dye my hair pink, go on a hike, change up my style, meet amazing people- who knows? And it's the not knowing that makes it all the more exciting.
The sun is up, the birds are chirping, and the faint buzz of the lawnmower penetrates the walls. It is summertime, child, be at peace.

xoxoxoxo,
J.

Have Beens, Never Were's, and Spencer Pratt

There's this new show on TV called I'm a Celebrity... Get me Outta Here.
The thing is none of the people on the show are celebrities.
They are have-beens.
They are not stars that have faded over time, but stars that were puny and had a chance to shine.
The most notable is ...
drum roll please...
Spencer Pratt.
I don't hate, but I don't like him AT ALL.
He's a jerk.
And he's thinks he's the shizznit.
He annoys me.
He makes my blood boil. He makes me want to reach my hands into the TV and smack him.
I don't understand how he can call himself a celebrity with a straight face.
He's a leech that sucked off LC's fame on the Hills.
And no, don't worry I do not watch the Hills. Puhleease. The media has not brainwashed me completely.
So moral of the story:
Spencer Pratt, if you ever come across this blog, because I'm sure you google yourself to see what people are saying about you, you suck.
So does your bombshell bimbo wife.

Case in point.

I need a job.
Actually, what I need is money, and since I'm not so keen on prostitution and drug dealing, getting a job seems the best way to do this.
I'm sick. Not physically, oh no, I'm fit as a fiddle. What I suffer from is Hyper reality. No girlfriend, I did not make that up.
Ever since I started watching Gossip Girl, and 90210, and all the other tv shows I would never admit to watching if you confronted me, I have begun measuring my own standard of living by their standard of living. Them being the TV characters. Not even the people who act them, but the people inside the TV.
I know I sound insane, but I can't help it! When I go to the mall and my friend says "Oh this dress would look so hot on you," I take one look and say "Serena would never wear that." When my cousin points at a guy and says "Oh, he's a cutie!" I take one look and say, "Oh him? He doesn't compare to Nate." My cousin looks at me baffled and says, "Huh? Whose Nate?" And I sheepishly hang my head, and mumble "Some kid from school."
So recently I have been looking through my wardrobe and I realized that NOTHING I own would be worn by the girls that go to Constance Billard. (Please don't ask.) So my sense of style has changed dramatically, much to the dismay of my mother's pocketbook.
She has realized that she can no longer take me shopping because my style now leans towards Very Expensive. Plus the economy.
Anywho. A girl of seventeen on the social scene of the Upper East Side (please don't point out I live in the Pacific Northwest) needs a wardrobe, and since my mother won't pay for it, the burden now lies on my shoulders.
So that is why I have to get a job.
So I can fit in with the people on TV.
My mother says that it's not a job I need, but therapy.
Retail therapy, anyone?

Negligence

I realize that I have been slacking, and I do offer you my most sincere, albeit slightly dramatic apologies. I realize now that when I created my blogger account, I had made an obligation, a promise, I had given my WORD that I would write faithfully, and I have not. I have become just another last blog post was last year kind of girl, and it hurts me. Because I am NOT that girl.
In case you haven't noticed my most recent obsession is regency. I want to wear gorgeous muslin gowns, and go to masquerades, and fall in love with a rake. Ohhh, most definitely a rake. I want to live in a time where there are Lords, and Viscounts, and Dukes. And if a man is seen alone with a woman she is compromised, and he has to marry her... and people believed in honor, and dignity, and your reputation was your worth. I want to be a debutante, and have a coming out party.
The only problem is that there are no longer respectable rakes, only manwhores, and a coming out party would be an entirely different thing.
It's so not fair! You don't understand, I belong in that time period just as surely as the sun belongs in the sky. If only I was born 200 years earlier.
We're supposedly better off now then we were in the dark ages, but I can't help mourn the things we lost, the things that were destroyed by the evils of capitalism, feminism, and democracy (he he he). Valor, and honor, and basic morals, and our fear of God, and most of all the respectable Rakes.

currently reading:

RED HOT ALERT

I haven't vanished off the face of the Earth.
I have not been kidnapped for my awesome style tips.
I am still alive, and my heart is still very much beating.
FOR KRIS ALLEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He's married :( Is this going to be a pattern?
John Mayer was with Jennifer Aniston, Chuck Bass didn't exist, and Kris Allen is married.
I fail at life.