Hello? Is it Me You're Looking For?

Morning or evening, kitties. I know you've been wondering where I have been these past two months.

I've been here in my bedroom, contemplating the universe and all its complexities like tollbooths and sugar free gum.

I've actually become a vlogger, is the truth. GASP! NO MILO SAY IT ISN'T TRUE!
My inklings, it is very true, and you've got to accept these things in life, because, frankly, you're all a bit sheltered and need to stop talking to your Beta fish like he can understand you.
Oh wait.
Talking to me again.
Poo.

So, yes, the vicious rumors that have been in the top news stories (presidential debate, what?) are true. I am a Youtuber. My channel is kinda like a rusty old shack. It smells, it has mildew, and cats live inside it to eat the mutated rats living in the rafters. Check it out. 

There you have it. Hopefully that partially excuses my absence. I will try to post more often. Here's some tidbits on my life in list form. (Did you honestly expect anything different, you weirdos?)

• I started a book club that meets at Panera Breads every other Tuesday. So far we've read one book, Perks of Being a Wallflower (WHICH IS AMAZING OMG FANGIRL FANGIRL WAAA) and are now in the process of reading Looking for Alaska (BEST BOOK EVRR OMGGGG SOOO GOOD LOL LOL). The girls in my bookclub are absolutely lovely and I couldn't have picked a better group.
• I have play practice every week now for hours at a time. I'm not as good as I should be, unfortunately, but! IT IS COMING TOGETHER. So hopefully the Oompa Loompas won't go on strike anytime soon.
• I got straight A's! Which automatically means I got $$. Which automatically means I bought four books (Coraline, This is a Book, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and love poetry). It's kinda like "If you give a mouse a cookie" but translated into "If you give a socially awkward teen an incentive for having no life and OCD study habits". Bestseller, I assure you.
• This week I have 3 field trips in a row. One to a Jewish museum (maleztov), one to John Brown University (yay, long car ride...*sarcastic glare*), and one for a "Worldview Day". Let me break down Worldview Day in a few quick phrases: "Old people, biased, no open mind, lame lame lame I am drooling in boredom look at my spit it's cooler than your lecture".
• Next week is Thanksgiving Break! Thanksgiving Break is the antithesis of Spring Break. Spring Break you get to go running naked rubbing jelly on yourself and peeing in public (Right? I don't know these things, I go to a private school...). Thanksgiving Break is where you stuff yourself into a human bean bag chair and wish with all your slow-circulating blood that your annoying relatives would head back to wherever God puts people like that (JK, Aunt Sandy, I love you!...Don't disown me.)

So there you have it! My updates! What're yours? What's your opinion of my channel? Should I continuously blog? Do you know where the children are?

xoxo

Milo

A Ramble for You

Jenna is currently:

• addicted to classical music
• loving independent films
• a vegetarian
• obsessed with plants
• a caffeine junkie
• into interior design
• shaking from aforementioned caffeine 
• wanting to have an actual unicorn
• accepting the clothing most know as "socks"
• full of plans she can never have
• a Doctor Who fan
• considering a degree in Psychology 
• warming up to the colour yellow
• freaking ready for Halloween

I have no purpose for this post. This is a trippy-intertwining-mind-bending-timey-wimey-journey that is a collaboration of all the thoughts zooming through my coffee-powered brain.  So bear with me.

  So lately I've been absolutely captivated by weird tourist traps. Such as Salvation Mountain, The Wonder Tower, and the Tri-State Spooklight. For years I've been craving a roadtrip with all my friends to travel the roads of America and stop at all the oddball places and stay in bed and breakfasts or camp sites. I would drive a big ole light blue "Little Miss Sunshine" style VW van, pack lunches and not stop at McDonalds all the freaking time, and stop occasionally pick wildflowers to stick in all the empty water bottles. Is that weird to say? Yeah, of course it is, but people like me are adventurers. The sad thing is that the roadtrip will never happen. None of my friends would ever be allowed to travel the great unknown. Which is ridiculous. Let your children free, people. Let them discover things anew. 

  I'm also hugely interested in cemetery exploring. I'm thinking about becoming a volunteer photographer for a site dedicated to Oklahoma cemeteries. The more I think about it, the more I get excited. Death has never phased me. Cemeteries are a beautiful place of peace and love, not dark and creepy like every movie makes it out to be. Actually, now that I've typed that, I think I'll jump over to that site and apply. YAY!

   Senior year has bust itself open on me and I gotta say it is one wild ride thus far. I love my AP Psychology and hate my AP English class...what's up with that? Actually, I know exactly why it's that way. AP Psych is busy work and yet super interesting. In AP English, we have a bunch of hooligans disrespecting classic works that actually are bloody brilliant (except Waiting for Godot...I hate that...). I have barely any friends who enjoy reading. Do you know how depressing that is? It's like having friends who hate Jesus to me. Reading is my life and hearing people bash it 24/7 makes me physically sick. I haven't been able to read a book for weeks and I hate it. My ideal world is me in a home of my own with ten beta fish reading books all day long. Oh gosh, my heart leapt just typing that.

  I know, this post is weird. But I had to write, guys, it was driving me crazy.

What are some material possessions you love? Here's my top 3

1. Rainbow mug
2. Unicorn watch
3. Ruby slippers

OH! REAL QUICK! What would you guys think if I did movie reviews on here sometime?

Chow, Inklings. 

xoxo

Milo

Crazy Men: A Fairytale

    Men are crazy. Yeah, girls are crazy, but let's just be up front. Women are crazy because men find that stuff appealing. You're never gonna find a man who's like "Yeah, I found this girl--I swear, she's my dream girl. She's average and is about as interesting a dirt. I'm one lucky fella." Crazy girls have this strange appeal. "Man, I found the best girl ever--she wrestles alligators on the weekdays, and on weekends she teaches CPR to a tribe of cannibals in Mongolia. I think she's the One." But crazy men on the other hand...that's just wrong. We can have weird dudes and eccentric males, but crazy men? Uh uh. Unacceptable. You are a man. You are the figurehead of stability and comfort. I don't care if you want to wear neon pink pants, you can't because you are the man. Now hand those pants over, I have some alligators to wrestle.
    I've really noticed this gender role, how men aren't supposed to be crazy, mainly because I have had the discomfort of dealing with crazy men. So I thought I would tickle your funny bone and tell you some woeful tales of men that are just not right. Names have been changed ridiculously to protect the identities of those humiliated by this story, although we regret this since we feel as a whole, men should be humiliated into acting somewhat socially acceptable.
   
   Story Numero Uno. There once was a very socially awkward lad named Penguin Biscuit. Penguin Biscuit had been homeschooled all his life and never really got out much to talk to women, but he found them pleasant and smelly in the best possible way. One day, he met this girl named Milo Breezyskits at co-op. She was everything he ever wanted, except she wasn't an elf and didn't have any clue on reading binary. He had somewhat befriended this lass and decided that now was the time to make his move, even if she had repeatedly stated she in fact had a beau. So one day, she went to urinate  and he followed her. He creepily waited outside to ask her a serious question. She was very creeped out by this. He told her he had intentions to flirt with her and knew he had no chance but wanted her to know. She awkwardly walked into class. The next day he gave her fake earrings. Her ears were not pierced. Then he realized she had rejected him, so he told the class she did not know how to read. They were in highschool. If she didn't know how to read, honestly, how did she get into highschool... The rest of the year was filled with Penguin Biscuit yelling at her, running away like Napoleon Dynamite, and sneering. He was a crazy man.

Story Numero Dos. Not long ago, a very clingy young man by the name of Jingjangle Spankybutt decided to contact his ex-girlfriend. He had not spoken to her in two years time, and she found this somewhat okay to reconnect in a friendly checking-up kinda way. Unfortunately, Jingjangle Spankybutt had other plans. He had been vaguely hinting about her beauty, his success, and how he wished to see her someday. She absent-mindedly said things like "yeah, that'd be cool" "mmhmm" "okay bro" and the like. Somehow, Jingjangle Spankybutt took this as a sign to pursue her like a fox that did not want anything but to be left in peace to eat some dead mice or something productive. So Jingjangle informed her at eight in the morning he would be invading her abode with his Spankybutt presence. This, my dear reader, did not fly. He kept trying excuses to see this girl, who had told him explicitly that she was only clad in men's underwear and wished to be left to drinking tea. She also reminded him she had a boyfriend who would not enjoy random romps of two people such as them, especially if Jingjangle had been saying how much of a knockout Milo was. So Jingjangle left her forever with a very unceremonious "a'ight bye". He was a crazy man.


Story Numero Tres. There was a boy new at a school who everyone called Yelkie VonSmootie. Yelkie was a talented minstrel who played sonnets for many a maiden. One maiden caught his eye and he decided to compose a song specifically for her. Unfortunately, it was about male genitalia. He would play it for her endlessly after school, thinking himself charming and clever. In reality, he was just really smelly and very annoying. He declared his affections to this girl by viciously biting her hand until it bled and asking her out shortly after. She said no. He went out with a lesser maiden with the brain capacity of a saltine cracker. There was much rejoicing on the creeped out maiden's side. He never talked to her again. He was a crazy man.



The End.

What's your crazy opposite gender story? Comment comment or I'll smack you down with a brick.

I'm a fan of positive reinforcement.

Senior Vows (PART ONE?)

This year is the BIG year. My last year of high school is coming up in a few weeks and I can hardly believe it. Last I checked, I was still the fat awkward home schooled freshman that always smelt like a Bath and Body Works blew up on me...my how times have changed...Now I'm this big old adult lady who's addicted to mugs and cats I can't have. I don't know if this is more pathetic or on the road to improvement. 
   Looking back on high school, I have definitely grown. Getting a random e-mail from my ex boyfriend this week has certainly reminded me of that. I used to be a very dependent, right-winged, emo chick freshman year. Sophomore year, I was a very insecure but fun-loving chickadee who really wanted friends. Junior year, I had a lot of emotional ups and downs and struggled with finding myself, and also realized that old movies are in fact very awesome. And now this year is my last year. And I plan on doing what every senior has always promised. I'm going to make it the best. So here is my vows of how to accomplish such a legendary quest. Enjoy.

                                                       BIG FAT SENIOR VOWS

1. Wear one thing that stands out every single day. I realize I dress very boring. That is funny, because I find myself very not-boring and therefore this must change or else someone will have to die. 
2. Not tolerate crap. I have let many a person use me as a welcome-mat and now I'm thinking of becoming some other form of home decor that isn't as cruddy as the one aforementioned. 
3. Work hard. Yeah yeah, we say it every year. But obviously this year counts the most. Otherwise the world will burst into flames and a million babies will be aborted, or something severe like that it seems. 
4. Stress less. How can I work hard and stress less? By spacing out my time, taking short breaks, and not throwing my math book at the wall screaming "CURSE YE BOOK OF LUCIFER!!!"
5. Organize. Let me tell you a scary story. Once, Milo had some lunch. It did not appeal to her, so she stuffed it into her teal backpack and was going to throw it away like a sensible child. But, alas, no, she forgot! And there the lunch festered and spoiled until it oozed a deep black liquid and grew hair like a very ugly baby. And Milo kept forgetting her lunches until they took over her locker, turning it into a smelly abyss of mold and squelching nastiness. All who opened the locker died. So Milo vowed on her blog never to let such a plague cover the land again.
6. Have fun. It's my last year, I'm gonna be wild and crazy. All who are not pleased, stick your head in a toilet and come back out only when you realize I'm right.
7. Go on adventures. Even if my friends wanna be stinkfaces, if I wanna do something, I'm gonna do it. Headstrong and fancy-free, watch out world, I'm wearing my sassy-pants this year!
8. Take a risk. Like setting a church on fire or shaving someone's head while their asleep. Or raise my hand and discuss my opinion--something risky like that.

What are YOUR senior vows? Comment below or blow up a building, I don't care.

I Fully Endorse This Random Jazz/Girly Blabber

   Ever since I was 13, I have woefully been creepily addicted to Seventeen magazine. Woefully because, well, let's face it, most girls who read Seventeen magazine aren't really the kind of people you expect to win a Pulitzer Prize...or even a 1.0 GPA, but hey, who am I to judge? Point is, that stuff is a female's crack cocaine. And even though I rarely see anything in there remotely useful or fashionable (Wearing overalls and pearls? What are we, a redneck Kate Middleton?!), I read on to collect the few gems of fashion/love advice/ OMG moments (yeah I said it...)/interviews.
   
    Because I have read SO many dull and pointless interviews, with the exception of Emma Watson and the higher intellectual women in Hollywood that seem as rare as an albino Beaver/Moose hybrid, sometimes when I'm getting ready, I imagine I'm being interviewed in my own little head. Which is absolutely preposterous. Mainly because I have the fashion sense of a homeless woman who stumbled into an Old Navy (with a few exceptions--like my giant knit parka thing. That thing is COMFY). But, a girl can dream that one day, a little naive thirteen year old will look at her and say "Wow, I wish *I* could look like that hobo..."
                                                   AND NOW YOU CAN.

   I will tell you the few beauty tips I've collected in the past few years. If they're of any use, bless you. Obviously your face had been hit by a rock or something if you need this chick's advice. But, hey, we all have issues. So here we go!

• Aveda's Dual Foundation. I have this boyfriend. He has no idea what foundation is. Let me explain to you males, because one day, your woman will be screaming at you that you can;t see her unless she's wearing this junk. Basically, foundation is this skin-colored gunk that can either be in a powder (like what I'm about to describe/endorse/shamelessly plug) or a liquid ooze. I make it sound bad. When you first use it, yeah, it can get pretty weird. You either end up looking like an air-brushed Anime doll or an Oompa Loompa. I was a cross between a stunned crustacean and a geisha when I first started using the stuff. Now, the thing about foundation is that 1. A little goes a long way 2. It can get sweaty real fast and 3. It can make your face look like one of those chest-things in Alien are ready to come out. A.K.A Grandmother Acne Breakout may come for a visit. BUT! This Aveda stuff is all natural *waves wand of Mother Earth mystically* and is heavy enough to cover all zits/red spots/discoloring without making you feel like you're wearing a masquerade mask all day long. It's $25, but I'd say it's worth it.

• Spat! Hair Color. If you haven't heard, I have blue hair now. No, I did not get beat up by a Smurf, thanks. Yeah, you're very funny, with that "Was your father a blueberry?" line. Very clever. No, but, although this time around I did not use Splat!, I have in the past. Guys, that stuff is made directly by magical elves with punk rock hair, I'm telling you. It has very vivid colour, washes out in time for school or whatever you need to look "civilized" for, and really just looks plain awesome. Plus, it's mega cheap, which usually is a bad thing, but not in this case. This junk is only $8. Zoo wee mama.

• Falsies Black Drama Mascara. A long time ago, I went to the most outrageously overpriced formal in my life. I had just run out of mascara and needed some serious lash-power going on, because this was the event of the year (which is absolutely pathetic seeing as we all just snuck out thirty minutes into it because they forced everybody to play musical chairs...) So, I had barely any money, and needed to get all dolled up. Well, this stuff packed a serious punch to my eyes, in a good non-abusive way. I looked like I was seriously wearing false eyelashes (which aren't as stupid as everyone thinks, by the way). I don't use it now because I wanted to switch, but I think I'll be going back soon. I'm pretty sure those sticks of pure lash pleasure are around $6-$7.

• Sally Hansen's X-Treme Nail Polish (I'm faking the name, I have almost no clue what it's actual name is. Sally Hansen's something something X-TREME!). Okay, so, usually when I hear the word "X-Treme" and see it misspelled in that atrocious style that brought us the delinquent "TOYS R (backwards) US" sign, I have my doubts. BUT! Surprisingly, this wasn't being advertised to me as a muscle enhancement, a male performance pill, or a skateboarding competition. This is actually some quality nail polish going on. What I especially love is that they have TONS of pastels, which are my favourite nail colour to have. Tyler got me some Mint of this brand for my birthday and it is by far the best nail polish I've ever used. It wasn't streaky or weirdly thick or too smelly. Just right. And me being the absolute cheapskate that I am, I was thrilled to find out they only cost about $2.50, which is more than 50% off those retarded OPI polishes you spent half your allowance on. 

Okay, so those are my most endorsed products ever. The stuff I use daily, real quick, is

1. Aveda Foundation
2. Eyelash Curler
3. Chubby Stick in Strawberry
4. Any blush I can find
5. Illegal Lengths Mascara
6. Justin Bieber "Someday" perfume
7. Garnier Curl Scrunch. DO NOT BUY THIS STUFF. It dries your hair out quicker than being shoved into the sand of the Sahara. I just have to suffer through because I'm too cheap to buy new gunk. 

And that is seriously it. My number one rule in makeup is:

Don't take away from your features, but enhance them.

If God wanted you to cover up your face that bad, you would have come out of the womb with a paper sack over your head.

Don't wear buttloads of makeup to impress anyone. Obviously, if the person you're trying to impress finds that much makeup attractive, they have a clown fetish, and that is never a healthy relationship to be in--believe you me. ;) 

Now, fellas, I know this probably bored you to tears. BUT! Think of it this way. I just helped you with about two years of gifts. Yeah. That's right. Even if your girlfriend is no where near as ugly as I am, I think even pretty people might want some of my suggestions. ;)

Cheers folks :D

Choking on Self-Expression

I am tired of not being myself. I don't really remember a day where I feel completely like myself and I'm tired of waking up knowing that it'll just be another Fake Jenna kind of day. I mean, yeah, I'm mostly myself. But is a "mostly a boat" which is cut in half sea-worthy? Does a "mostly book" with only 56 out of 101 pages have a good ending? Will a "mostly safe" insane asylum with one murderous fiend running around naked with scissors still be a good idea to visit with a bunch of middle school girls? No.
    I want to grow up. Somewhere, Peter Pan is laughing his green tights off at me, but I'm tired of waiting for things to happen. I don't really understand what wise old sage set all these limits of growing up so that when you're just a teenager in high school you can't really do anything. I don't understand why I can't get the things I want most in life. Which, yes, sounds completely and utterly selfish but who doesn't think that? Who hasn't wasted precious seconds on eyelash wishes that'll never come true and precious minutes waiting for 11:11 to come just so nothing can happen? Raise your hand if you've never really really wanted a magic genie to pop out of thin air. Raise your hand if you've never listened to Jiminy Cricket and wished upon a star. We're all raised with these bright Disney-centered fantasies of us growing up with everything we ever dreamed of. I'd really like to meet someone who has that. Not even being sarcastic.
     Nothing tragic has ever really happened to me. I don't really think myself depressed or crazy-pessimistic. I just look at things different and I see everyone just has this gaping emptiness and it's choking me. This junior year of high school has been almost literal insanity to watch. People have warped themselves into things that barely resemble who they used to be. Like a Picasso painting except freaking scary as crap. The world I live in...I feel like I'm the only one watching it as it crumbles into microscopic pieces. And I'm not shootin' any political crap your way. Honestly, I could care less who you're voting for. I'm saying as a whole. I see it in everyone. There's something dark in everyone, no matter who you are, no matter what you say. It's in you and it's crouching behind your eyes and it's waiting for you to snap. And this year, I saw it snap. Like a dragon's jaws, SNAP SNAP SNAP, people who I cared about turned into things I don't even try to understand.
    But I'm okay. I have two loving parents who spoil me way too much. I have an amazing boyfriend who makes about everything cliche a reality (in the best way possible). I have two churches now (Thanks Skiatook for welcoming me back home). I have the...wait for it..."bear necessities, the simple bear necessities". I'm not gonna lie to you and say my friendships are fine. I think the thing I've learned out of this whole year is I need new friends. Or maybe I need to be a better one. I just don't even know.
   Can you tell I'm lost?
That's my point.
  Everyone is lost.

Thanks for listening.

Church Confessions

I'm going to talk about a little something I rarely ever discuss with other people. Church and religion. *just lost 6 readers, I'm sure*. But not necessarily my faith or what I believe. More like what I've been going through the past few months. 
 Usually I try to write a little bit cynically funny, but tonight I'm feeling like I just need to lay this out on the table for someone to see. I don't quite know for who to see, but just someone to acknowledge it and say "I understand". That's really what I think people want most in life--someone to understand.
   Some of you readers may know that I've changed churches in the past few months. This wasn't my choice. And that is what this blog is about.
    Let's back up a bit. I had been going to my former church since I was six years old. I was the veteran in the youth group--I had been going the longest. And for many years, I felt spiritually dry as a bone. Sure, I could regurgitate Scripture back to anyone who asked, but I wasn't feeling it. I wasn't excited to go to church. I only went to activities that sounded fun. I was going because I had to and had a stinky attitude about the whole ordeal. For years and years this happened. 
   I dated my former youth minister's son for a year and a half. And, yes, my former youth minister was really nice and I know he wanted what was best for us. But, unfortunately, knowing the innermost thoughts of his son tainted my image of how effective his teaching was. That and I found him to be a little too right-sided for my taste and really too bland for me. (As we all know, I can be quite spunky...) When he left, I was bitter as all get out. I was bitter about the hypocrisy of Christianity and those who followed it, and I had no hope for a better youth minister to come into the picture. In fact, I was thinking it could only get worse. I attended church less and less and was trying to find a new church to go to.
   Then Josh came. 
Josh was totally different. He was Radical with a capital R, and was sometimes even too radical for me to handle. But in a good way. Unorthodox methods of teaching, bringing up topics in the Bible I didn't even know existed, and planning events that were actually a guaranteed good time. It was crazy. I found myself craving church even more, for the right reasons. I found myself growing closer to God and loving this feeling of excitement and community. Everything was going excellent.
   I got super close to my youth group. See, my family is no longer really a part of my life. Basically, I have my mom, one aunt, my dad, and my sister. Everyone else is dead or disowned. I had never really had a love for family. But my church turned into my family. A lot of the kids I considered to be my very own siblings, and to this day, I would fight to the death for any of them. They are amazing kids who are fun and silly and yet still are mature enough to take things seriously when the occasion calls for it. Guys, I can barely put this all down--I loved my youth group so much. Scratch that, I *love* them still. Every single one of them. They were everything to me. I would leave church grinning all the time because of these kids and I'm grinning now just thinking about all our crazy adventures in our big ole church bus. 
     And then in the peak of things, something happened. I don't know what. I don't know if people realize that, either. I have literally no idea what happened, everyone. I wish I did. All I know is feelings got hurt. That's it. And because of that, my dad decided me and my mom and himself would relocate and not be members of my old church--my home church with my beautiful and amazing family--to go somewhere else.
   I am broken because of this. I go to my boyfriend's church now. And everyone there is super sweet to me and I especially am liking their new intern. And it's great to spend church with my boyfriend. But let's be honest.
   It's not the same at all.


The lessons aren't deep enough for me. The singing is TOO refined. I haven't sang in church like I used to. My church, we would clap and yell and rejoice in worship. In this new church of mine, I'm scared to. I just stand there and sing as quiet as possible, and that's when I'm feeling rebellious. Most times I stand there, staring at the projector screen, feeling this knot in my stomach growing into a boulder in my gut and my eyes glaze over and I'm wishing I could be somewhere different. 
  I mean no offense to the people there. They're really great people, not even saying that to be polite. But when you feel like you got a divorce from your church, it's a gut-wrenching feeling. Something I don't think any new church can bring back in me...
   The worst part of all of this is that I don't even know if anyone cares. I had waited for my old friends from my church to text me or call me and ask where I was. Heck, one of them is my very own neighbor, and I was praying he'd call and ask to drive me back to where I thought I belonged. But no one said anything to me. And I try to visit as much as I can. But people treat me different now. Guys, I'm the same old Jenna! I still dance like crazy to pop music in the car, I still laugh obnoxiously, I still like talking in the wee hours of night, I still watch horror films, I still play dubstep...I'm the girl you guys used to want to sit by on the long rides home. I'm still the girl you video-taped jumping into the ocean for the first time. I'm still the girl who wrote your play last year. I'm still the girl who was there when you needed me. 
   I got my mom to ask my former minister's wife if I can come to church camp with all of my old group this year. This family was like my family as well. Russell and Jennifer would be my legal guardians if my parents passed away. But now I never even talk to them.
  I asked my friend if it'd be cool if I came to camp with her. This girl and I, we were the very best of friends. Yeah, I probably didn't appreciate her as much as I should have, but, my goodness, she was amazing. No one was as sweet as her. She could make me laugh all the time and she is SO creative, it's insane. She also loved to read. None of my friends read. She and I would yell about character's love triangles till our throats hurt. I asked her if me tagging along with her would be fun. She said "lol, yeah". 
   And that is why my heart is broken and that is why I sometimes feel like God has turned his back on me. 

Dreams

What would my dream life look like? A lot of kids say this:
I wanna go to college.
I wanna get married.
I wanna have babies.
I wanna die in my sleep.
How boring! This is my dream life.
I graduate high school and get into mischief. Not anything immoral or illegal, but the kind of adventures that make people's jaws drop and say "Wait, you didn't REALLY do that, did you?!" Dying my hair completely blue and wearing tacky Goodwill shorts and being thin and wild and crazy. That's how I'd graduate. I'd hop in my car, which is thus far imaginary, with its back plastered with bumper stickers. I'd crank up my radio full blast to "Fight for Your Right" and drive off with all my friends drinking energy drinks, screeching with laughter and headed to wherever the wind takes us.
          I go to college and read books that stuff whatever dorm space I have. I go on weekly random quests with a group of friends who seem to have jumped out of the pages of a John Green novel. I learn stuff, sure, but the time goes quickly so I can do what I really want.
              I do get married. With the big dream wedding I've had in my head since I was thirteen. Everything is perfect, and if not, the little hitches are the kind that make my sides hurt from laughter. It would only be described as magical. Something people think about in the quiet moments of their lives. 
           But what I really want is a bookstore. Full of dusty and new books. Beloved paperbacks and treasured hardbacks lining the walls and smiling down at the eager customers hunting for them below. Music that strikes my mood playing over speakers as booklovers unite in my own little piece of heaven. Today I finally thought of the name I would pick for it. It would be "The Henry Bemis" after the famous Twilight Zone episode "Time Enough At Last". You'll just have to watch it. 
           There would be a coffee bar which my dad could most definitely run easily. (He's a coffee maniac.) I'd also serve muffins and ice cream. I'd have used Bibles tucked in a special shelf that would say "Please take free of charge. I'd rather lose a book than lose a soul." and "If not to take, please highlight a special passage you have in mind for the one who will take this later."
       Then I would let people buy a song on iTunes to play over the speakers if they had one stuck in their head. They would donate $2, one for the song and one for charity. 
        I'd have specials on random book subjects, such as "Distopian Novel Day" and "Cheesy Romance Thursdays" and discount randomly, such as, "50% Off Anyone Who Can Quote a Poem by Heart". 
It would be absolutely lovely. <3 Absolutely. 

Birthday Dilemma!

My birthday is slowly creeping towards me, and honestly, I can't wait. And yeah, it's two months away, but folks, I'll be a LEGAL ADULT. Can you believe that? I can't. I still can't believe I graduated second grade, never mind being able to buy lottery tickets or cigarettes for small children! (I jest. They at least have to be 12 ;] ) Anywho, I am absolutely and totally conflicted about what sort of awesome party madness I want to partake in. Sure, parties are for kids, but folks, I only get a few shots left at being absolutely immature without judgement! 18! It's a big deal! I gotta live it up! So, I'd like a lil feedback. Just say which of these you find appealing:

• Alice in Wonderland
• Rainbows
• Books

YOU DECIDE!!!! (Although I may do something completely opposite of your opinion ;] )

A few other minor notes:

You know what sucks about being in the musical Beauty and the Beast? Having the music stuck in your head at a constant basis. Really, the song "Gaston" is only funny the first 150 times...But yeah, the play is in a week and God is pretty much the only thing that can shape it up to what it needs to be.

ALSO.

My schedule has been cray-cray. I am ready for summer and dying my hair blue, that's fo sho.

Alright, that's it folks. Please, holla back.

A Story for You

I love telling people stories. Being a writer, that's what I practically live for. And I'm pretty decent at it. I always can get a smile out of all my stupid adventures I go through, even if it's me describing the weird look I got in-line at Target or how my shoe fell off once. So, I thought I'd start sharing some of my adventures with you. I found a quote today that goes "I got this idea of doing a really serious big work--it would be precisely like a novel, with a single difference: Every word of it would be true from beginning to end." (Truman Capote). So, my big work of the day is telling you a little funny truth, from beginning to end.

I was 12 years old and it was the last day of school. Our school always put on these giant festivals on the last day, full of jupiter-jumps and slides and this year, they even had a human hamster ball to run around in. It was a big deal, especially to a 12 year old itching to wreak havoc on the world. I was in a particularly rebellious mood that day. Something about finally being freed from my toughest year yet (If I only knew how insane eleventh grade would be...) and the heat of the summer not only was frizzing my curls but making me a little restless.

That feeling peaked when my very best friend, who had been kicked out of school a few months back, appeared to partake in our Last Day festivities. Now, I don't know if you've read my last post, but I had a mega-crush on my middle-school best friend, David Pilgrim. He was rowdy, loud, smelled like beef jerky, loved the colour orange--everything I wasn't. So of course I was extremely obsessed with him.

One thing I *was*, though, was crazy. So when David's mom offered to have me come over I jumped on the opportunity. Spending my last day at my true love's house instead of having normal fun was the best idea ever! (Every bit of that sentence was coated in seven inches of sarcasm.) We drove over and began to do what we did best--be total and complete morons.

David's older brother, Reese, got a car for his 13th birthday. Apparently to the Pilgrims, not only was 13 the beginning of teenagedom, but also the appropriate time to introduce your child to illegal driving practices. I remember it now--a grubby, crappy, green Geo-Trakker with a clutch. It was the ugliest car I had ever seen and I wished my parents were cool enough to buy ME my own ugly car at age 13! (Unfortunately, I am almost eighteen and I still don't have an ugly car to call my own...) Reese had a fantastic idea--let's all drive in his birthday gift!

We did. Reese drove. His older brother Dylan drove. Then, suddenly, a fantastic idea was made, even MORE fantastic than letting under-age tweens drive a car illegally all over a residential neighborhood without adult supervision! It was collectively agreed, that I, Jenna Buschmann, should take the wheel and drive the band of brothers around merrily. This was *such* a brilliant plan, because, not only did I not know how to drive clutch, but I had never drove any car EVER in my entire life. Obviously, this was the brainchild of people having the characteristics of head-trauma victims.

David, my usually wild friend, sobered down enough to tell me this wasn't a good idea. I, trying to impress my extremely freckly best friend, cast this bit of sage advice out the Geo-Trakker's window and went behind the wheel. This is what I remember:

• I was driving great when it came to straight lines
• Oh look! A cul-de-sac!
• How do I turn?
• Is this the clutch? What's the clutch for again?
• THIS IS NOT THE CLUTCH!!!
• THIS IS THE GAS!!!!
• NOT ONLY AM I DRIVING IN A STRAIGHT LINE, I AM DRIVING IN A STRAIGHT LINE HEADED FOR A WHITE METAL FENCE!!
• THERE GOES THE FENCE!!!
• I RAN OVER SOME DAISIES!!!
• OH CRAP I'M NOT WEARING A SEATBELT!!
• OH CRAP, HERE COMES A HOUSE!!!!
• OKAY, I JUST FREAKING HIT A HOUSE!!!
• ROCKS ARE FALLING ONTO REESE'S CAR AND I JUST HIT A HOUSE!!
• "Crap!!!! Holy crap!!!" I am saying a word my mom does not allow me to say and if David tells my mom I said crap, I am screwed, which is another word my mom does not allow me to say.
• WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT?! I'm not getting in trouble for saying "crap", I'm getting in trouble for HITTING A HOUSE WITH A CAR AT AGE TWELVE.

A little girl who had been swimming in the house's backyard came out and basically looked like I had just killed Santa Claus before her very eyes. Then this old man walked out and said

"What the f--- do you think you're doing???"

"Driving...."

"NOTHING?! S---, you call this NOTHING?! You ran into my house!!!"

(me, thinking: I said "driving", obviously this isn't "nothing", I just said the word "crap". I don't disobey my mom for "nothing".)

The rest is a blur. I found out that Mrs. Pilgrim was this guy's friend. And we somehow made a deal so that he didn't call the cops on us. I know the boys got in more trouble than I did because they told me to drive. I also remember I refused to drive go-carts for 4 years because of this.

I remember going back to David's, waiting for my mom to get me. We were sitting alone in his room, which usually I would've been thrilled about except I felt like I just swallowed my own lungs. And I remember him turning to me. And he looked very handsome to a 12 year old girl who got in a car wreck. And I thought, "Gee, this may become a moment where he realizes I could have killed us all and he wants me to know he loves me because our near-death experience made him realize he can't live without me!" And he opened his mouth and said these very profound words:

"Jenna. I know you have had one rough day. And I want you to hear something that I think will help you...

Jesus take the wheel!

Take it from her hands!

Cause Jenna just ran into a house!

And almost killed us alllll!

I just thought you should know."

So my best friend not only did not cheer me up, but now has ruined Carrie Underwood songs even more than they were ruined before I crashed a car into a house.

So there's my story.

I'm getting my license this month.

Feel assured.

An Open Letter to Younger Jenna

A few days ago, my dear readers, I had come across a rare find--a diary. Whose, you may ask? My own. From when? 5th-7th grade. My dear readers, I eagerly read through those pages with such fervor you would have thought I had stumbled upon the Dead Sea Scrolls. Instead, I discovered a frightening truth...

At age 11-13, I was most probably certifiably insane.

Example A, I had "Fallen MADLY in love!!!!!!" with about 8 boys every week. Apparently, I've had a lot of soul mates in my time, all of which never knew (and still do not know) that I even considered them to be possibly candidates for fathering my young. Which is fine by me, because a lot of them are either pot heads now or noodling someplace that no one's ever heard of.

Example B, I had an extreme love/hate relationship with my best friend for 11 years, Allison. I apparently bought her chocolates and fine jewelry and then she slapped me and called me a witch. None of which, by the way, is probably true, so this means not only did I make connections with males quickly but also I was a sociopath...all the makings of a great gold digger someday, my friends.

Example C, I was madly in love with my best friend for two years, who was my "super hot boyfriend". Let's just clear this up. The kid called me 5 times in my life, liked to sing a song about butt paste on a constant basis, and for my birthday had his mother give me his toys from when he was 5. Needless to say, it was a shame to see such a heartthrob leave my life. I have no idea how I carried on.

Example D, I believed I had telepathic powers for about a week. I have no explanation for this. When you know, you know, I suppose.

SO, looking back at this tragic and dramatic time of my life where every single stinking detail was crucial to my very essence ("I have a scab in my nose! OMG, my dad made me take out the trash! WHEN AM I GONNA GET A PHONE!?"), I decided that I would write this very amazing Open Letter to myself just in case time travel ever happens and my tween-self decides to venture past the time/space continuum.

Dear Younger Jenna,

I hate to tell you this, but that entire songbook you made with the lyrics "I'm like a pie, get it while it's hot!" and "My soul is full of cobwebs and screaming" will not be produced into a multi-platinum album. Also, David Pilgrim will NOT marry you, so forget about writing your name as "Mrs. Jenna Pilgrim" about five zillion times, because you're just killing trees. Oh! Good news. I read the notes you wrote to "Future Jenna" and I'm pleased to inform you that not only have you NOT ever smoked or drank, but, in fact, you also have managed from employing yourself as a stripper and you've never done it either, so, yeah, thanks for the memo. It sure helped contain myself from signing onto the Night Tripps 7:30-12:00 shift. Also, your band? "Smashing Walls" (totally NOT a knock-off from Smashing Pumpkins, I'm sure)? Didn't make it. I know it's tough to hear, especially since you made that band after your first guitar lesson and knowing only how to play "Brain Stew" and then forgetting how in a matter of hours. But I have some good news. You have an awesome boyfriend now (you've had to meet a few jerks beforehand, though). That kid who you thought you were in love with because he liked dragons too? Yeah, him. Oh, and your parents? They still love you (but also still yell a bit). And Allison turns into a very sweet girl who has impeccable taste in fashion (because you and her are about to discover Seventeen in about 2 months). And Briana, who is "really nice but not sure if she likes me", yeah, she's one of the best friends you're ever going to have. And you're going to be even better at writing. And you're going to get a phone. So, congrats. You did things pretty well. :)

--Older Jenna

200th Post!! Prom Edition

Wow! I just looked at my profile and this will be my TWO HUNDREDTH POST on My Mother Was a Rose! Sorry I haven't kept up lately. I know the followers are few because this is a wordy blog and I'm not fashion-acceptable or quirky or whatever, but I really appreciate all you who tag along with me :) Here's to you and here's to me blogging every so often! *pops open a bottle of IBC Rootbeer*

So, as you can see, it is the ****PROM**** edition of the blog! I'm a junior in highschool now (can you believe I started this blog as a naive little freshie?) and my first prom is in ...wait for it...

TWO DAYS. As you can tell, I love making lists. Really, you've had to see this coming--

WHAT I'M WEARING:

1. Cobalt blue dress. I wish I could delve into detail on this one, because it is *quite* smashing but alas, I won't because my boyfriend and I are keeping our dress/tux matters a surprise till the night of. I actually thought this was the tradition, but apparently that's strictly a wedding kind of deal...Watching "Say Yes to the Dress" has ruined my perspective of how teenagers actually deal with formal attire, so...yeah. I will tell you that I got it for a steal. Originally $288, down to $99, never been worn, brand new. Got it at a place that closed the DAY I walked in. It was like my fairy godmother popped in and hung that on the rack. Which kinda creeps me out, because obviously she follows me at a very close proximity...
2. Shoes. Also, a secret. Apparently Tyler has "sick treads" which means "cool shoes" and will not share, so, I cannot say much but I will say this: I will fall down because I hate heels. The end.
3. Jewelry. If I did actually have a fairy godmother, it would be my "adopted grandma", Brenda, who surprised me with vintage rhinestone jewelry. I hate shiny and rhinestones, but somehow, these are a great vintage glimmer that I couldn't resist--oh gawsh, how girly did that sentence just sound? I need something a little more macho before I start waving my hands around squealing. I'm gonna go pump some iron or something, bro.
4. Nails. Doin' it myself because I'm part Asian (racist? More like admiring). They'll be pink. Once again, SHALL BE PUMPIN IRON SOON, BRO.

My open letter to the dress code of prom:

Dear Prom Dress Code,

Go swallow fish whole. You are making all these lovely ladies look like the poor homely woman from 19 and Counting. We're not Amish spinsters--we are women. So excuse us for having boobs and hips and legs. Point is, if a man wants to lust, no amount of fabric can stop that horndog. I'm not saying "Hey, let's show up in a g-string and dance like we're reproducing!" But what I am saying is, I dress modestly for school--more modest than a lot of the sophomore study body (men included). If this is a Christian school, let's have a little faith in our own student population to work within certain restrictions without looking like someone who can churn butter without hesitation. Seriously. If this keeps up, pay for my dress alterations yourself, because I for one do not like paying for a crap-dress.

Sincerely,

I Used to Have a Womanly Figure Until You Eclipsed It with Your Crazy Conduct Rules

If I could chose 3 songs to play for prom they would most definitely be:

---Kids by MGMT

---Internet Friends by Knife Party

---Sandstorm by Darude.

Your three?

Have a fantastic time and I'll upload pictures on some sort of place where you can creep with ease!

xoxo,

Milo

Goals 2

So, a lot of the time I'm thinking about goals I need to reach. I have a weird obsession with to-do lists and bucket lists (cool news about my bucket list--I reached 17 items in my entire year of being seventeen--pretty cool. 18 is my goal for next year!). And last year I made a movie/book summer goal (which I only half-succeeded). But this year, starting on March 20th, the first day of spring, I will be setting these goals:

• Wear dresses. I'm a girl, for Pete's sake.
• Write a book. No more half-butted tries.
• Be the interesting person I've wanted to be.
• Catch a firefly.
• Make stuff that I want to make.
• Get a job.
• Workout.
• And say what I feel.

These goals end in the fall. If I don't like how it goes, it's over. If not, keep it going. What are some of your goals?

Also,

I'm really wanted high school to be over. Because my ULTIMATE goal is to dye my whole hair cobalt blue. Yep yep.

A Mini Rant

You ever have a song for a special someone or even a best friend? I sure do. In fact, I have entire playlists for people. But one thing I hold sacred is THE song, the ONE song that all parties involved agree that "this is our jam, homes." I think it a cardinal rule to save those songs for people, even if you hate their guts years later. Because if you hear it, you instantly think of them. That song represents you and them and cannot be defiled by recycling to another person. For example, the following songs are forever ruined for me because of past relationships:

• Fall For You by Secondhand Serenade
• There For You by Flyleaf
• Nicest Thing by Kate Nash
• Thinking of You by Katy Perry
• I Miss You by Blink182
• Hummingbird by Nevershoutnever
• Together With the Sundown by Stephen Jerzak

Those songs I still really like and sing along to. But they're sacred and I won't re-use them for anybody. Just like I have specific hate songs for each person those previous songs used to belong to.

• Ex-Girlfriend by No Doubt
• BlahBlahBlah by Ke$ha
• 1930 by Gaslight Anthem
• Alligator Blood by BMTH

And now I have sacred songs for my boyfriend now. Which will always be his no matter what. Even if he doesn't know I actually have multiple songs for him...Yeah. But still. Sacred.

And I have songs for my friends like:

• Hey Ya! by Outkast
• The Twist by Frightened Rabbit
• Misery Business by Paramore
• Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes
• Dinosaur by Ke$ha
• My Darkest Hour by Scary Kids Scaring Kids

What are some of your sacred songs and do you feel the same as I do when people recycle your sacred songs for someone new? Yeah, I'm talking to you, ex-boyfriend who just wrote a blog using my song for some chick. I ranted thanks to you.

GOOOOOALLLLL

Some goals I have developed randomly this week:

• Get off my butt.
• Get a job.
• Work out.
• Study like a boss.
• Find new music.
• Learn to wear dresses.
• Suck it up.
• Read the Bible more.
• Less cookies.
• Write like I mean it.

What are your goals of this week?

An Open Letter to the New Hunger Games Fans.

Dear New Hunger Games Fans,

I see you just re-read Mockingjay for the umpteenth time and are just about to text some other Hunger Games fan about how you're so glad Katniss is with Peeta and how you wish it ended different but OMG for realz you are so so excited for the movie, can you believe it's coming out in a month??????

Let me stop you there.

I am your predecessor. I am Veteran Hunger Games Fan. I read those books you're squealing over two years ago. And let me be the first but hopefully not the last to tell you something:

Shut up.

Here are a few facts I can assume about you right off the bat:

1. You never read books for fun except for
2. Twilight, which you're still hung up about and also
3. You're most definitely a teenage
4. Girl who found this book because of
5. A friend JUST LIKE YOU

This is a mania, kids. You are overreacting. If you were a normal book nerd like myself and my coven of others, I would accept you. But the fact that I see you more interested in wearing atrocious boots and gossiping about a boy you'll forget in four years gives me pause. What is a girl like you reading a book? And then I realized you're suffering from a serious illness.

Post-Twilight Obsessive Pop Culture Trash Shock.

Or PTOPCTS. Or better yet "Boredom".

Please stop talking about these books everyday of your life. They're really good, yes, I'll give you that. But that book you just read in school? The Great Gatsby? Or even The Old Man and the Sea? Has about twenty times more meaning and value than this little fad you latched your teeth on. And sure, we all love talking about popular stuff. For awhile, I've indulged you and entered your little chit-chats, happy that maybe my generation is reading again after Twilight. But then I realized how ugly this situation is getting.

You are going to take over the world and I am onto you.

And the rest of us Veterans are onto you.

We will find you.

We will find you and take away your posters of Liam Hensworth and while we're at it, we will take your ugly boots, too.

We can't let another Twilight phenom-situation ruin our reputation AGAIN.

What am I talking about?

Look at the teen book sections of wherever you want. Count how many vampire books there are. Yeah. *That*.

Don't screw us over again.

Sincerely,

A Concerned Veteran

Author's Note: I am not personally angry at any individual for finding the Hunger Games. They're very good books. It's just the excessive blabber that I'm starting to feel a little homicidal towards.

Agree? Disagree? Spar it out below.

Shameless Plugging and/or Job Hunting

Things I Would Do If I Had a Job:

1. Give money to my parents. Definitely.

2. Buy shoes. We've been through this one.

3. Buy new clothes. See, I know you hear that from girls all the time complaining that their clothes are out of style and such. I am not that girl. I am saying I have dropped three sizes, torn my favorite jeans and sweater, and stained three shirts in a month. I legitimately need new clothes or else the whole world is gonna have to deal with me naked. And you don't want that. NO ONE wants that.

4. Buy movies. I want a big collection of movies so my friends can come over and watch some of my favourites. I'm wanting Coraline, Little Mermaid, Hot Rod, and *coughcough* Titanic. Oh! And also Up. I love Up. <3

5. Buy crafting supplies. Two words: Chalkboard Mustache. That's all I'm gonna say.

6. Get jewelry. All my necklaces except 2 broke in three days time. Me without a necklace is pretty much me being naked. And as I said before--you don't want that.

7. Go out more. Self explanatory.

8. Buy books. I am DYING DYING DYING DYING to get the new John Green and Daniel Handler. Buying them and keeping them for life would make my little book-lovers heart explode with joy. <3

9. Support To Write Love on Her Arms and Invisible Children. Links say it all.

So there you have it. I've applied to two places. No luck. If you have any writing jobs, babysitting (although I struggle with patience, I'd tough it out), cleaning, odd-jobs, hints of hiring--ANYTHING. Please feel free to comment/contact me somehow because I am not ashamed in saying that I am begging you to help a poor broke adolescent pay her way to prom and actually get a life worth living.

Chow.

The Worst Valentine's Day of All Time.

Would you like to hear a story, children? I'll tell you one. I will tell you a story called:

THE WORST VALENTINE'S DAY OF ALL TIME.

Yes, children, this is a true story, although I wish it wasn't. True and happened to me, your narrator, about 2 or so years ago, way back in the day when I was young and an idiot.

I was dating this kid.

Big. Mexican. Sweaty. Somewhat funny. Extremely hormonal.

Nothing against him, just stating the facts.

Anyways, this kid, he was my boyfriend for a long while, actually. Almost a year when Valentine's Day rolled around. I got him a gift. Homemade. Took hours. He got me a stuffed dog, roses, chocolate--pretty neat. Except when I handed him his gift, you know, the one I worked hard on?, yeah, he set it on the table and didn't even look at it. Great.

Big. Mexican. Sweaty. Somewhat funny. Extremely hormonal. Very driven.

Drive to what? To make out on his couch. For two hours straight. I wasn't very keen on that plan, let me tell you. Not very keen at all, especially since I was wanting to watch one of the most epic movies in the history of films---The Princess Bride. Who wants to be sucking face when you're watching epic swordfights and witty banter? Not this girl.

Then I watched him play videogames for an hour. He tried to let me play, but apparently I fail at life so he took the controller away and showed me how.

Big. Mexican. Sweaty. Somewhat funny. Extremely hormonal. Very driven. Kinda sexist.

So afterwards we went to the movies that my dear sweet parents offered to take us to. Guess what the movie was about? Undying love? Nah. Sweet quirky romance? Nope. Blood and guts? A girl can dream. No, we watched a film all about the enlightening and uplifting topic of suicide. Have I ever expressed my deep love for my parents? Oh, yeah, and they also invited half my church to tag along. Including My Worst Enemy of All Time. She sat next to me the whole time yakking into my ear. And on the way home? Stupid Ex Boyfriend (thank God he's my ex. THANK GOD.) kept squeezing my thighs. I don't really understand why, apparently thigh squeezing is sexy to big annoying Mexican horny teenage boys, but whatever. Not me.

WORST VALENTINE'S DAY OF ALL TIME.

Thank God I have a sweet, cute-as-a-button boyfriend whose legitimately funny, doesn't sweat a lot, lets me screw up in videogames, lets me watch movies uninterrupted by nasty face-sucking rituals, and who has a car so we won't be forced into watching depressing films that no one should ever pay money to see.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY.

<3

P.S. I am not racist to Mexicans nor do I not accept people with weight issues. I just feel that way when someone grunts at my gifts and drops them on a table like they're trash.

Shoes. Ohmigosh.

What have I been wanting to get a job so bad for? These.

Coffee Talk

I'm trying again. With only one topic per time. Today's topic: Coffee.

My parents are coffee junkies. I know, a lot of you can say that about someone in your life. "Oh, Ted? He's a coffee addict for sure." You don't understand. You have not gone to strange locations late at night with your parents for a "coffee meeting" where snobs talk about the best regions for roasting. You do not know every member on staff in your parent's favourite coffee house. You do not constantly smell roasting coffee beans in the breeze off hand or bring homework to your teachers with the tell-tale stains of your parents mugs leaking onto them. So don't even begin to complain.

I used to hate coffee. It was gross, bitter, and overrated. People worship coffee. I think the reason Oklahoma has so many churches is so that people have an excuse to deal out free hot coffee to people once a week without looking strange. It's a place where people feed their addictions. Oh, and also learn about Jesus--but not before they get wired. Anyways, I was a hipster and thought coffee too mainstream. Shoot me up with some pricey foreign hot cocoa and I was good to go. Then, magically, one day, I hear an urge inside of me, calling out from within the depths of my tummy.

"Jenna," the urge whispered loudly. "Jenna, try a frappucino."

I resisted. Oh, did I resist. But one day, I hear the urge again while my mother was at Starbucks shooting up with a long named coffee I didn't dare to ever taste.

"Jenna." The urge was a bit cross now. "You try that frap or I'll kill you."

Not one to tussle with the likes of an angsty urge, I gave in. One carmel frappucino. Whipped cream and caramel sauce drizzled across like ink across a fluffy stark white page made entirely of hopes and dreams. Then I tasted it. Raised the concoction to my lips. And spat it out. It was gross, guys. SUPER gross. Tasted like cardboard and homeless. But the urge, she did not stray in her quest.

"Jenna, you moron. Go for the mocha."

I was hesitant. Why weren't urges more specific? I ordered again. Whipped cream. No special sauce. It looked boring. Blase. Old school. What was I thinking? How could I have ever trusted that urge? It was going to be filthy, just like my parents' coffee. But, I sipped it down, bitterly to prove the urge wrong.

OH. MY. SWEET. VEN. DIAGRAM.

It was heaven.

We have not parted since.

<3 Mocha frappucinos, I am your humble tastebud slave.

Internet Junkie

Here are the best websites you are ever going to get addicted to.

1. Pandora. My favourite stations? Dubstep, Big Band, Daft Punk, Death Cab for Cutie, Film Scores, Flogging Molly, Paramore, Never Shout Never, Noah and the Whale, Skrillex, and Sufjan Stevens.

2. 8 Tracks. Pretty much a very, um, MATURE version of Pandora. With more specific playlists. My personal favourite genre of theirs is piano covers and indie love songs. ALSO. They have some sick dubstep if you pick through.

3. Pinterest. I fought it. I fought it bad. Then I saw the photos of books and art and houses. Oh. My. Lands. Try to find me on there: milomontser99

4. Stumbleupon. You type in your interests and suddenly, the computer becomes your very best friend. I have never read so many internet comics in my life, nor horror movie reviews, or amazing art. It changes your life.

4. MLIA. You wish your life was as cool as these people. So you try to make it on there. Even if you have to lie.

5. The entire I Can Haz Cheeseburger database. You will find a specific genre of sarcastic humor to visit EVERY. DAY.