OFFBEAT

Long after work and a few appointments, I ended up in the passenger seat of my own car in a scenic route down Pacific Coast Highway.

We made it out of Santa Monica alive, passing through a series of just...different things. I rolled the window down and partially stuck my head out, resting it on my limp arm. The music blared loudly through my speakers. By now, they've been halfway blown out and only a loud, static buzz is all I hear at volume 34.

I closed my eyes and felt the cool breeze running past my face. A collective mixture of restaurants, cafes, and bars all passed by as we sped on through the green lights - all oddly shaped and oddly named.

"I want to go there," I pointed. "Annnnnd...there." I pointed again.

At some point, I reverted back into my Millennial tendencies and withdrew into my phone. I read - let's be honest - skimmed through an article on Facebook. "11-Year-Old Chinese Boy Donates Organs to Other Patients on Deathbed." I softly told George about the little boy who suffered from a brain tumor and my voice cracked. Without warning, I felt the tears rolling from my eyes and down my cheeks. The floodgates have been opened. A swell of sadness hit my chest with a sharp pain and I sobbed a little more. I fucking lost it.

After a few minutes, I got over it and started thinking about how many beaches and cities we've driven through in the course of the past 15 minutes. I even saw a Fry's Electronics somewhere in what I guessed to be Manhattan Beach. I scoffed and smiled at that. We were both tired and wanted to head home. It was less of a death trap driving locally than being stuck in a gridlock on the freeways. Rush hour in So-Cal is like staring at an anatomical chart of the region. All blood-red veins marked on every highway, with several accidents and questionable icons that I had yet to identify as anything good.

I peeked my head back out again and breathed in the salty air. We stopped at a traffic light and I watched the Domino's employees make their pizzas for delivery. One worker saw me, and lit up in a smile as he waved his arm back and forth. I returned the wave as the light turned green.

I later had a mini meltdown in which I promptly threw my phone out of my room. It was the heavy medication that they've had me on, and it really got me ransacking through the subconscious closet of my brain. Every thought was an article of clothing, hung crookedly on a colored plastic hanger. I tore through this closet and threw everything out. I didn't need those. I haven't worn these things in a while, and it was time to get rid of it all. I confronted and confided in two people I love very much about my pain. What I have been carrying on my shoulders, I finally got off my chest. It felt amazing.

Now moving onto what I'm currently watching...

MINDSET RADIO

Life has been moving consistently uphill for me lately. Granted, I have grown into accrediting myself for the hard work I've put in. I used to be harder on myself. But now, I leave it to no one to either scold or acknowledge me for my thoughts and actions.

Personally, I think it's a great improvement. I was a sponge, completely empty of opinions and emotions that could withstand the tides of others' and their effect on me. Instead, I absorbed them from people around me or the environment I'm in. That makes me seem like an absolute tool bag. No no, a sponge. But I did have a mind of my own. It was just figuratively a lot harder to talk over the loudness around me.

And does this new change make me care less about the wellbeing of others? Well, yes and no. On one hand, I could care less about making an impression and bending or flexing to fit a mold. It can make me come across as sarcastic or standoffish. At this point, I don't even know if standoffish is a word. But bear with me. But on another hand, it helps me filter out all the little things that I shouldn't really be concerned with. And this clears my mind to care about the bigger scheme of things. If you're a friend or family member I care very much for, and you're healthy and alive, then I leave it to you to worry or work on any other problems in your life because that's what I'm doing with my own. It really eases my stress level and reminds me that I cannot control the water around me. Just my itty, bitty ship in this big, blue sea.

Because of this, I have pulled a lot of worry weeds planted in the back of my head and began investing in valuing things that will matter to me in, say, a year. Or two.

Side note, though:

Someone had stolen a pair of jeans, a couple of leggings, and a few pairs of underwear from my laundry while it was drying yesterday evening. I saw my upstairs neighbor standing outside as I left my clothes to dry in the laundry facility. He was smoking by the no-smoking sign and watching me.

Sure, I've nonchalantly filed a noise complaint before. But living below three adults, three children, and a small dog crammed into a 2-bedroom apartment does often sound like I'm living below a bowling alley. Or a haunted unit where disturbed souls go to open and close sliding closet doors. Or kids throwing each other off their bunk beds. Whatever it is, it's loud. And I can't help but invent a device that sends a seismic pulse mimicking a 6.0-8.0 earthquake to centralize only in their apartment when I hear them.

Let your problems unfurl, guys. I've already ordered replacement clothes online, for what I can recall missing. Of course, that's me connecting the theft to them. But it's just me playing with stories in my head. I'm not too mad. I know I'm not going to be here for long. And (applying my change of thinking) I'm probably not going to remember my missing clothes a year from now. I am, however, a bit perturbed on the whereabouts of my underwear.

(End side note.)

I used to get more bummed out than I should on Sundays. "I have to go back to work tomorrow." "What did I do this whole weekend?" "Did I waste it away, yet again?" Those thoughts no longer arise as I realized that I enjoy my job and I enjoyed my weekend. Every single bit of it.

Now to make myself a mimosa or something...

I DON'T EVEN PLAY GAMES, BUT...

I freaking love Evolve's new logo. Evolve is a sci-fi co-op first-person shooter due for release sometime in 2014. And although I know less than nothing about games, I know what I like. And I like this logo.

Wait. Didn't I just say that?

I caught a glimpse of this little piece of work from Kotaku's post on my feed. "The Best Video Game Logo in a Long Time," it read. Oh, really? I decided to investigate further. Needless to say, I was more than disappointed to see a poorly constructed, measly excuse of a paragraph under the image. "The game this logo is for is multiplayer." Seriously? That's how you're going to start out? Read that shit out loud, Stephen Totilo. Don't forget to detangle your tongue afterwards. I mean, what the freaking fuck.

Here's why I think this logo works:

Simplicity: You can usually spot a logo that's trying too hard. In most cases, it's a logo that doesn't look like it's trying at all. Logos with too much flash and too little to say are usually pretty to look at, but why put your brand out there for consumers to mentally hit it and quit it? The most successful logos say as much as they can without the extra fluff. It's like budgeting for a Super Bowl commercial spot. Businesses are racking up millions of dollars to get an all-too-brief moment in the spotlight. And for what? To expose their brand, to evoke an emotional response, to be remembered, and to sell. Pick one. It's most likely all of those reasons. And you want to cram all of this into a mere thirty seconds, risking to be overlooked as your commercial plays during bathroom breaks and beer runs? Although this was more of a tangent than sin/cos ever will be, the point is to make EVERYTHING count or mean something. A logo is no exception.

Concept: Evolve's logo is pretty high up there in concept. It is virtually a representation/explanation of the game's premise. I mean, come on. That's freaking awesome. Most script readers roll their eyes aspiring screenwriters who can't sum up their movie in a sentence or two. This logo practically sets up the play arena by existing.

Negative Space: The colored shapes enclosing the letters leaves room to play with negative space. The red orange squares personify the letters as units, or in this case, individual players. The black background, or negative space, double up to separate these units.

Multi-Functional: Let's keep in mind that the game is a multiplayer with four players pitted against the fifth, who happens to be a giant monster with abilities that equate to the others. The second V in the word floats in the black abyss of a background to represent "versus", or used to frequent as "VS". It's set to not only divide the two parties, but can also be interpreted as the roman numeral for 5. How many players are in this game, again? The letters EVOL each reside in their own designated squares, each representing a player. The trailing bar following the last letter has the same length as the four preceding red orange squares do when they are stacked next to each other. This makes complete sense - four players versus the fifth, with the fifth exerting just as much power as the other four. You can also say that the giant monster (last letter E) evolved into the strength of its opposition, with the way the colored bar behind this E is elongated or warped to match the length of the others.

This isn't ground breaking news. This logo is fun to pick apart for those who understand, and still easy on the eyes for those don't. All of these are just my observations, but they're not just mine. I really appreciate how something so simple can be so effective...all because a little more thought was put into it.

SLEEP, AT LAST

I've always felt that I lacked sleep. I've been falling asleep whenever I'm hanging out with friends, and constantly feeling the guilt for it. But what started as an episodic cat nap yesterday turned into a trilogy of epic...well, sleep.

For the next 14 hours, I dreamed of reading a book in a small town ice cream parlor. Got recruited by some undergraduate film students to narrate for their project. Got stuck in the parlor's bathroom stall. Walked with a friend for miles to his aunt's house, carrying too many of my purses and his duffel bags. Went hiking and camping with all of my friends. Watched a bunch of neurotic high school students cause an uprising in their prep institute by opening classroom doors and screaming carpe diem themed lines. It inspired me to dress as a zombie pirate to yet another Pirates of the Caribbean screening, and my friends followed suit. I spent the day lounging out in a pool with my little brothers and a few friends. One of them ordered Italian food and I opted for the caprice salad.

I remember everything. It was a grand adventure, far different than the usual, abrupt scenes of confusion and bloody murder. I always seem to dream about questionable things and wake up feeling lost or worried. It spills over to my waking life and haunts me throughout the day. Because of it, I find it in me to constantly question the intentions of others. This long, dragged out dream of ice cream, film projects, friends, walks, sunsets, camping, family, carpe diem and even my goddamn caprice salad all made up for the countless nights of incomplete sleep, waking up before my alarm or just feeling that something is amiss.

My boyfriend would always tell me about his dreams, all drawn-out tales of post-apocalyptic action-packed adventures with his friends and his favorite older brother in tow. He'd fight dragons, robots, zombies and men who were out to court me. His dreams would take place in castles, baron lands, or even outer space. They were spectacular and easy to envy. So while I was left with a snippet or a few scenes to sum up the totality of my night's sleep, he recalls his slumber in crisp, high definition detail.

I feel as though I was finally given a chance to experience something good, and different, at best. Although it doesn't lie in the same sci-fi realm as my boyfriend's, it's a start. It might not be a noteworthy experience to some, but it is to me. It's about fucking time.

FORT-MAKING TIME

Introversion at its finest. Talking about installing mini-fridges and microwaves.

ON REPEAT

Doing a little experiment on myself.

Gonna write some things down, stop when I've hit a brick wall, then drink. Anything I write after I drink is under the "Not Sober" section.

Sober:

Wish there was a monetary incentive for getting your taxes done early. The sooner, the higher the compensation. I'm sure there'd still be stragglers.

Every year, I try to squeeze every dollar back from both federal and state. As the imaginary coins jingle and jangle in their pockets, I shake harder. I could have sworn there was more deducted from me last year than what I got back. Touche, government.

Money rants aside, I recently came across a blog of someone I know. It was filled with long words that made little sense put together. The thesaurus was her bible, but her understanding of it was quite limited. And I get it, I get it. She was just trying to seem mysterious and philosophical. All I got from reading it was grayscale pictures of household items and a try-too-hipster vibe. And I've got nothing against her - nothing! College and exotic-looking friends will do that to people. Well, it did something to her.

Not Sober:

Shit talking aside, I didn't really mean to shit talk. But I have a feeling I'm going to. I'm not even in a bad mood or anything. I mean, what I really want to do right now is make a fruit smoothie and mix little EDT tracks on my iPhone with the volume on blast.

My mind wanders...

I always feel primitive when I'm scratching my head. How can you look smart scratching your head? We've familiarized ourselves with the notion that scratching one's head is symbol for stupidity or dull thinking. But you know what? My head was itchy.

SALLY FORTH

Lipstick smeared and mascara stained,

Sally holds her breath.

They pounded on the bathroom door

but Sally's high on meth.

1 SECOND EVERYDAY

My entire year of 2013 can be summed up in a matter of six minutes or so. Inspired by Cesar Kuriyama's 1SE project, I decided to film a second of each and every day for an entire year. Needless to say, I spent the greater majority of New Year's Day putting together a compilation that still ended up flawed in both quality and accuracy. My high-def vid file format nearly tanked the YouTube uploader with its jurassic 1.46 GB in size. So here's a lesser version of it while I enjoy the real deal in the comforts of my own Macbook (not that you care, lolz). I found it uncomfortably fast but still refreshingly nostalgic.

MONTHLY

June.

Internships + production gigs, class, and late nights.

July.
Lazy days, busy schedule, and the celebration of summer.

August.

Freelancing, job offer, and a change of pace.

September.

A sense of stability, introversion, and my birthday.

October.

Haunt, taco costume, and a get together.

November.

Food in excess, packing boxes, and family.

December.

Projects, first time snowboarding, and Christmas in general.

THINKING

At the OC Fair with empty wallets.

It's been a while since I've written. So I'll start this post with a dapper photograph of a group of people in their twenty-somethings standing in front of a large, wide-ranged ferris wheel. Just a group of toothy smiles, arms around shoulders, and girly lean-in/lean-back poses. What you wouldn't see here are the two black guys who were obviously in a relationship and oblivious to their surroundings. It took a while for us to lean over to the right so they wouldn't be included in this gem.

I'm running on two hours of sleep because I had a night's worth of teeth pain from a prescribed gel. Thanks, dentist. Should've known you weren't a real doc. I kid. He's a kind, Korean seoul. Only when I did doze off for those two precious hours did I have the worst nightmares.

I shook myself awake in a small, muffled cry and my boyfriend wraps his arms around me. "Don't worry...I'm here." I opened my eyes in the dark, and without turning, replied, "But my nightmares were about you." I smiled as he apologized.

I've been feeling at ease lately. It usually happens when I compare today to the same day one year ago, and also a year before that. I've improved quite drastically since last year. A year ago today, I was living in an over-priced apartment complex with too many amenities no one had much use for. I was working in an office to contribute solely to my savings, but not so much my character. And I was a day away from breaking it off with a temperamental and emotionally unstable ex. My skin condition, one that I've been struggling with for about 7 years to that date last year, was in a full blown outbreak. And I was unhappy about a lot of things. Waking up feeling guilty, like I was disappointing someone out there, at any given time.

I think back to the present date and think of where I'm living. My rent's been reduced by about 50% since that luxuriously unnecessary sublet. I work on my own doing graphics with a regular 8 to 5 schedule, getting paid as a freelancer. I'm in a wonderful relationship with someone I plan on spending the rest of my life with. And my skin is doing absolutely swell. No outbreaks since the year prior. I'm making it a weekly habit of spending some time with friends, trying to find a workable balance between obligations and spontaneity. And I've dropped that concern for the invisible nobody who I seem to work for every day to impress. Life is easier. Better. There are more possibilities and everything that is supposed to come is approaching rapidly. Like an express train running late.

It's kind of strange to see what drives people. I look at some of my friends, and see that many of them are not looking to settle down anytime soon. This is myself included, for at least another 5 years. By that, I mean I'm not really looking to pop out any kids and adorn myself with guilty pleasures while I'm on maternity leave. I'm not planning on resorting to daytime TV to curb my boredom. I don't want to purchase real estate just yet. On my phone, I have a list on my Notes app. It reads "Goals for 2013." I've got 8 things on that list, and I've accomplished 5 of them already. 3 of which I cannot, as they were dependent on a path that I have not gone down.

There are times when I sit back and think to myself that this is some of the best times for me. I'm young, there are still possibilities, and I haven't made any concrete decisions that I will have to stick to for the rest of my life.

Are you doing what you want? If not, can you change it? I always try and devise a plan for little things I contemplate on doing. They're usually monumentally life-changing, but I play with the idea and begin to construct a possible strategy. There's always a path to it. It just takes some adjustment to make it seem more possible.

I'm getting too preachy here for my own good. It's just a moment of reflection. I'm sure I'll get sarcastic and dry-witted sometime between now and the next time I come back to write and ramble.

Until then, find whatever it is that you're looking for.

RAMBLING

Cue the title theme for The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. The ceiling fan on one click of the pull switch. Slower with two clicks, slowest with three. On the television, Gollum raises a live catfish to his mouth, gushing with blackened saliva.

George picks away at a leftover bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos, engrossed in the film. I lie back and watch the ceiling, shadows rapidly stretching across from the fan blades. I used to throw beanie babies at my ceiling fan to see them crash and spin out from impact.

He takes a break from pouring the red hot crumbs into his mouth and I peer up at him, a suspicious child.

The Perfect Intoxication. I'd like to think I achieved one of very few in my lifetime, on this night. It's an accumulation off my things. First, the atmosphere. My friends, the people whom I find familiar, pleasant, and comforting. Check. Second, the day after. I have absolutely nothing to do and all day to do it tomorrow. Admit it; sleeping in is pure joy. Check. Third, the substance. Both good in options and taste. Check. Mix well with timed consumption and I have successfully acquired The Perfect Intoxication.

There were talks of impulsive decisions that were ridiculously impossible to the naked eye. But doable. That's the beauty of it. "Let's go to Vegas right now, actually." I don't remember who brought it up. It sounded like a good idea. In the fit of a game of Apples to Apples, priorities came down to visiting Disneyland. No longer any parents to consult with, but instead our own financial consciences.

Growing up. The shift of the wicked scales between time, energy, and money. You can only pick two at a time.

It's 4:51 am. I'll just leave it at that and go to sleep.

THIS WONKY SCHEDULE

On set working in art department for our production designer.

Throughout the shoot, I worked on an assignment for Thursday's class. I thank George for taking fifteen minutes to award my MacBook Pro with a free, legitimate version of Final Draft 8. I'm quite the program hog. I'm spoiled. Not like a rotten egg or anything. More like a girl's future when her parents decide to buy her a stupid T-shirt that reads "Spoiled" in glittery cursive. And you ask yourselves why your daughter thought stripping was the only way to earn money to blow on blow...

Well, that escalated quickly. I just kind of took a penny and threw it down the hole to see how deep it is. The penny never hit rock bottom.

Two more classes to go and roughly two more months of this wonky work schedule. These commutes to LA will usually end with horrendous traffic. If you think you can escape its piercing, finely-manicured nails by waiting it out until late at night, you're wrong. One word, two hours: construction.

It's 2 a.m. right now and I was supposed to get up in about 6 hours. But I'm not called in for production tomorrow so I get to do what most girls do on their days off and buy me a set of tires for my car. And so ends my night.

MONTHLY

January.

Cold weather, heavy jackets, and wishful thinking.

February.

Valentine's, lover's birthday, and indulgences.

March.

Spring, bad news, and Portland travels.

April.

Commutes to LA, crashes, and mental breakdowns.

May.

Pursuits, maturity, and experience.

WHAT USUALLY HAPPENS AFTER I SPEAK MY MIND

SLEEPING GIRL

My body is floating.

I used to hated walking out of a movie.

I'm not well in the head. So I'm just going to q-tip my brain right now, and write whatever word comes out as quickly as I can.

Plain cottage funding closet iron sleep deprivation depriving souls son sunflower exhibit love cotton and appearance absence father issues extremely painful plane down into ocean sore because establishment development dull moment bear bare berry straw gold blonde sweet beer bottle chip tooth salsa dip party fiesta nightly rate motel crave you tote bag vehicle invigorated driver unmistakable passenger exhilaration doesn't seat slew sloth fly porn pornographic off head slide mansion sound music notes secret private class high education marijuana drugs sex alcohol hair pulling drilling alchemy chivalry shivering glitter crank men twirl spin rabbit hole unpaved road dead end float fly die.

As I read through the triggers and patterns in my choice of words, I can only conclude that there are so many things wrong with my psyche.

So, so many things.

I always get paranoid. I know that Mr. Tozzie in my AP History class would say, "If you think they're talking about you, stop. They're not. I wouldn't even be that narcissistic to think I'm important enough to others to be talked about."

I woke up in my bed alone, facing an untouched box of complimentary chocolates between the legs of my large Teddy. I'm notorious for finding food in my bed. Sometimes it's okay to eat. Other times, I spit it out.

Disgusting. I know, I know.

Off in the distance somewhere, a bartender weeps.

ABSO. LUTELY

I think it was a good decision to observe the majority of semi-special holidays on Mondays. Makes people want to kill themselves a little less. America sleeps in, and the streets are clear of road rage. Free of another day wasted sitting in front of the computer, pretending to work. Consider Sunday nights less of a countdown to another week of monotony with Monday holidays.

This weekend was full of dreams that I actively enjoyed being in. My sleep was simply impeccable.

I got promoted from set PA to 2nd AD some time in the morning before the sun even came out. I never spent so much time with strangers, working alongside one another like we know each other's mom's and shit.

Thought I'd humanize and write about my normal life in vague statements so that you could get an idea as to where I'm at, but not enough to sink my battleship.

ASSHOLES

We think we know everything from day one. We think we can be the best we can be, fall in love with the person who will do the same for longer than forever, get the job we’re destined for (and be good at it), and wrap up the story of our lives at the age of early twenty-something.

Then it happens.

It messes up. It gets knocked off course. We get into arguments with ourselves as we struggle to get the things we want while ensuring that we will always have what we need. Some of us confuse our impulsive desires with our practical necessities. The fine line between good and bad get a little bit thicker, until the line is no longer a line but instead a place.

And in this place – the place where all us twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, ongoing something people wander – lies our justifications for all the things we have done and all the lives that we have affected. We call ourselves good people, but quite honestly, we have all done our share of pissing people the fuck off.

We are assholes with an explanation. That’s who we are. It’s what we do. We are the assholes, and we spend our entire lives explaining why. Isn’t that it? Lest we can be the ones who acknowledge this to stay grounded, but still try to become better people.

IT HAS BEEN

It has been about two to three months since I've had a proper manicure and pedicure. I know this because I patiently let all of my nail polish from the prior session peel away. All I have left are two stubborn crescent moons of polish left on my two big toes. You're disgusting, Julie. Shut up. You're just me talking to myself.

It has been more than two years since I have seen Shantira Jackson. My boisterous, pumped up friend and former roommate who is tall, black, religious and nothing - NOTHING - like me. We only get along when we discard our pants, watch comedy television, and sing off-tune together.

It has been three days since I've cut my finger by accident with a knife. I blame my mother, of course. Broad had the nerve to lovingly give me a bag of oranges; one of which I was eager to eat for breakfast at work. Note to self: do not use your SOG knife to cut fruit.

It has been about fifteen hours since I was under the influence. It's all apart of growing up.

It has been five seconds since I've received a spam email. I die a little on the inside when I get one. First it was the postal mail, and now our emails. I just wanted to sign up for your damn site. No, I don't want to receive updates from you. I don't care if you're excited about something you're selling. It is easier to break a leg than it is to unsubscribe from a registry.

It has been seventeen hours since I watched a good movie, and about six days since I've seen a bad one. The good movie happened when I decided to eat dinner and watch a movie by myself yesterday evening. The Edwards in the University Center plays a lot of smaller, independent movies. You know those movies that play only in "Select Theaters"? This is it. As I tilted my head and smiled at another innocent and lighthearted masterpiece by Miyazaki, I felt at peace.

It's been three hours since I've talked to my mother. A little more than two hours since I've talked to my boyfriend. A little over a day since I've talked to one brother, and about three weeks since I've talked to the other brother.

One month since I've considered liking dub step. Almost a year since I've stepped into a friend's throw up. Four and a half years since my car accident. Almost two years since I've eaten at hotel buffet in Vegas. Almost two months since I've first had Lay's Sriarcha Sauce chips. Two days since I've scared myself. A week since I've online shopped. Three hours since I've given advice. One day since I've asked for it. It's a bit strange, and it's a bit nice. This feeling while counting back on all the little, insignificant details that somehow all provide a line to re-trace our steps back to when we've made them. It has been too long.

TGIF

While I spent the first portion of my day installing apps on my boss's Android because our network was down, I also began learning an editing program from a 500-something page book. There are two books in total. Would anybody like to keep tabs on me and force a submission deadline of notes I've gathered while reading through software text? It'll really help me push through both textbooks. Pretty please?

"Pretty please?"

If I just said "Please?", would it risk getting overlooked or dismissed because it wasn't pretty? What am I supposed to say if it wasn't a pretty request? "That please...has a nice personality." When did asking for a favor turn into a visual description of Please's aesthetic appeal? Not only is it pretty, but it can also be topped off with "a cherry on top." Now I've turned this request for a favor into a dessert. How much sugarcoating does one really need to get shit done?

I've done all the work I had to wrap this short work week up. Here's to airplane travels with a group of friends tomorrow. Oh, boy. I can't wait to walk barefoot through airport security looking like crap. If I were a celebrity, I'd hate being photographed in the airport. You're jet lagged and hungry for painfully overpriced airport restaurant food while a handful of strangers entice you with questions and words.

A few weeks ago, I received some bad news that pretty much left me devastated. After crying about it for a couple of hours and seeking solace from a few close friends, I got over it and began rummaging my brain for a good plan to rebuild what I thought was lost. I've learned many times around by now that nothing can really break a person. Unless a body builder comes over and snaps me in half. I guess that could really break someone.

I think what really scares me about the future is the uncertainty. If the allotted time spent on thinking about the past, present, and future was presented in the form of a pie chart, the future pretty much makes up the entire body of Pacman. The area where his mouth opens makes up the times I've thought about both the past and present. I really ought to sort out my priorities. I'm dedicating too much of my happiness on things that cease to exist and more than likely will never happen.

Listening to: Regina Spektor - "Laughing With" (Live Version) 

RELIGIOUS MUMBO JAMBALAYA

I know I'm officially a Mac user when I try for the Alt + A to Select All.

I don't know why I started off with that.

Yesterday, a friend of mine texted me about her annoyance with some Facebook friends on a feed complaining about the possibility of schools introducing sex education at an earlier age. Friends who happen to be the same as she (about 23). "Can anyone see the irony in that?" she texted. Why yes, friend. I can.

Earlier today, I read about a Texas state rep who recently filed a resolution to implement the inclusion of God and the Ten Commandments into the state's public schools. Phil Stephenson, I believe.

Religion is such a touchy subject. Touch, touch. Poke. You never know who you're going to offend or what friends you're going to lose with the statements you make. But I mean, as insignificant of an individual as I am, I guess I can just sit in my own little corner and quietly sort through my thoughts on the matter.

I don't really know why the push for religion is a priority, given the current circumstances that the nation is in. There are more pressing matters at hand, in my opinion. The economy could be - could be - a pretty big one. You know, could. Globalization has been opening up access to a new pool of workers who are able to work for significantly less pay than Americans. Middle-wage paying jobs are now offered overseas, and corporations are growing more profitable because they do not employ as many people as they used to. The financial wellbeing of the senior management and owners are being ensured at the expense of average employees. Tax policies seem to favor investors and high-wage earners. This isn't anything new; the employment rate is at an all-time low within the past thirty years. I don't even know if Stephenson's proposal will actually provide measurable results in bettering the nation, let alone the state of Texas.

But to what purpose does it serve to include the public acknowledgement of God in the state's public schools? I thought the public acknowledgement of God was made clear from the many, many many times in demonstrations, boycotts, pamphlets, television syndications, holidays, the bottom of my In-N-Out cup, small booklets passed out on the corners, organized groups, publicized fits of outrage...fuck--Church? Forgot about that one. I have friends who are religious. But those closest to me believe and feel as they wish, and allow me to do the same. I don't really feel threatened by those who propose similar resolutions as Stephenson's, because this world is progressively growing. The vast majority, compared to past centuries, have grasped the ability to reason. Surely they won't take a big, fat step back and call takesies backsies on what the Supreme Court already ruled against years ago.

The primary purpose of school is to educate those attending. You'll open up a big can of worms by advocating to support prayer and display of any religious citations on public schools. To specify, WHAT religion? There are too many versions that will probably demand the same acknowledgment. Which version is right? Surely not the one you believe in? How convenient. And don't call me Shirley. #snuckinanairplanereferencerightthurr

It's actually the conduct of the believers that leave such a bad impression on the idea of religion itself at times. I always thought that religion existed as a form of spiritual support, to better oneself in ways they wouldn't have been able to without. Maybe I'm wrong, but strong believers who remind me as to why I should convert make me feel as though religion is an inevitable disease. I would like to think that those who truly believe their religion to be right can give it enough faith to spread to willing believers, not resisting skeptics. Before asking non-believers if they can change their entire basis of reasoning and insight on existentialism, ask yourself if you are capable of doing the same.

I don't mean to sound as though I am attacking the idea. It's only those who try to shove it down my throat that really make me see the corruption behind it. I don't mind coexisting, because there are many different paths that an individual can take to find guidance and ways to improve as a person. I happen to have taken a different route. It is extremely hard for me to listen in on arguments from someone who disagrees with something that goes against the Bible, but doesn't adhere by its teachings entirely. Pick and choose, if you wish, but please allow others to do the same.

I think the Bible is a rulebook enforced for those who accept the legitimacy of its teachings. It doesn't apply if you don't see the value in it.

And I'm not even mad or anything. I'm just, you know...sitting here. Having eaten my Lean Cuisine too quickly and all.