Ke$ha...she likes biker stuff...and trash. Garbage bag chic? I think so.

Yes, readers and bloggers alike, I watch some reality TV. Mostly, I stick to The City. I can stomach it the easiest.

I like fashion. I enjoy getting dressed in the morning, I enjoy shopping. But I don't understand why fashion shows have these outrageous designs that look more like Halloween costumes than actual clothes. It's couture, but unwearable.

Lately, I've begun to appreciate bohemian-style clothes, bags and accessories. I enjoy the loose, hippie kind of flowy clothes and prints.

Even though I tend to pride myself on being scholarly and not really succumbing to shallow ways of my contemporaries, I don't mind talking about fashion. I don't see it as being shallow. Clothing choices are often the result of society's influence on the population of any given area or status. One can analyze regions, entire countries and eras based on fashion. One may also determine the rate at which people continue to disregard contemporary or popular beliefs and customs...and how fast those people group together and become a trend all their own. The hippies of the 1970's, for example, and even the hippies of today. How fast did the idea of the hippie become fashionable? Quickly, my friends. Who's to say that anything remains original?

peace&&love, my friends.

Hail, hail.

So basically, I've been flip-flopping around about my major.

First semester, I took a class called Childhoods Lost, about kids who were in foster care, who needed good parental care, who did not have the chance at a childhood. The kids in these books broke my heart--and made me want to help.

Thus, I've been considering social work. I've thought about this before, and I keep thinking about it. I just don't really want to be a psych major at Wells, but I suppose it's worth a shot.

English feels right though. Writing and analyzing is what I love. Why should I change my goals? I suppose I'm lucky that this is the hardst decision I have to make at the moment. They only get harder after this.

peace&&love

Love like crazy

I really despise stereotypes.

Any kind of stereotype. Why are people placed into categories? What category am I placed in? I'm curious, but honestly I don't care. I don't believe in stereotypes. I don't deserve to be boxed in with anyone else, so why would I box in others?

There's a party goin' on, raise your hands, sing a song

CONFETTI is on my mind, folks. Confetti cakes, that is.

I really enjoy making cakes, as does my best friend. Therefore, epic cake-making may be a-happenin' very soon!!! I went searching for pictures, ideas for designs, and I found some weirrrrd cakes...who really wants a cake that looks like a molar? Honestly? Who wants to eat something that reminds them of pain, needles, and the dentist? Weirdos. That's who. No offense.

So, I really want to get this internship at Random House in a couple of years. It would take up my whole summer, but who could ask for a better opportunity??? It would be such a good experience for an aspiring writer/publisher such as myself.

I decided I have a love & hate relationship with William Faulkner. No way around it.

peace&&love hot stuff.

Nutty Cracker Suite

Three, four, and five year olds clapping around in tap shoes and tutus. Ballet mothers who think they know what's going on when really they have no clue. Props that do NOT cooporate. Tears, fringe, and costume changes. This is my life.

For today, at least. The KAC spring dance performance appeared yet again. Luckily, I enjoy helping out. But as I stood there, in the wings of my old high school auditorium stage, watching the little ballerinas bounce around the stage, I can't help but wonder if I will ever be a "dance mom."

I don't actually think I will be. My best friend has danced since she was three, and it hasn't been easy for her. It's more than the physical aspects of dance--there are politics that effect young dancers from the very beginning. I wouldn't want to put my kid through that, unless she or he really truly want to dance. However, if my kids are anything like me, they won't have the talent to dance...I'll end up carting them around to soccer/baseball/volleyball/tennis/basketball games and matches. Ah, well, I suppose we'll all see what happens. It's a ways off.

peace&&love darlings.

Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name?

"Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free."

"I like people who shake other people up and make them feel uncomfortable."

Once upon a time, Jim Morrison spoke the truth.

I've been preoccupied with life a lot lately, society. I crave change. I want the world to feel a shift, in power, in corruption, in greed. I need the hate to stop, the pain to cease. It hurts so badly to watch others suffer.

In three days, I consumed this book, The Help by Kathryn Stockett. It took place in Jackson, Mississippi in the early 1960's. Everybody knows what went on then, but I have to ask, how many people recognize how terrible those events were? How many people ache for the prejudice and racism that STILL EXISTS to dissolve as quickly as the snow that appeared on Mother's Day? I know that I do. Every day, I hear side comments and conversations among people, even those in my little New York village. Words, sentences, comments that people don't even realize are racist or prejudiced. It's changed since the '60's, but not entirely. We're aware of the hate, but people find other ways of showing it. The relationship between blacks and whites is not the only type present now--Bosnians, Hispanics, any person immigrating to America can feel hate today. Who recognizes hate but the ones actually, directly, effected by it?

I fear the kind of hate that becomes infuse within those who are hated. I fear the moment when a person believes they are less than the person standing across from them because of a petty difference--the color of one's skin or the fluency of one's English, one's intelligence or where one's parents were born. It's as pathetic as hating someone for the color of their dining room walls.

Personally, my biggest fear is that one day, I too will learn how to hate. I never want that day to come, and I will fight it with every ounce of my strength. I will not allow it to consume me too. My love for all life is much too powerful.

peace&&love, beauties.