She Wears Three Inch Heels

            She wears three-inch heels, a short skirt, and a tee-shirt with some band on the front. Somehow she manages to look put together, unique, and normal all in one. The bright blue bow in her short-cropped hair might help. Or maybe it’s the simple black framed glasses. She carries a bright green purse and doesn’t even need to say anything in order for everyone to know that she’s the confident type.

            I watch her as she takes her seat in front of me. I’m the one no one notices until I do something embarrassing. I’m the one with the plain brown hair, the too-full backpack, the blue jeans, the ordinary gray shirt, the cheep black flip-flops. I wish I was her, and so many others. Anyone but me.

            He sits next to me. Tall, dark, and handsome… or rather scrawny with gorgeous strawberry-blond curls and eyes that I would call ice-blue except that they seem to convey a type of warmth that I can’t even describe. For a brief second I think maybe he’s looking at me. Then I remember that I’m surrounded by girls who are ten times prettier that I am and infinitely more interesting.


Keep it to Yourself!

            Has anyone ever been talking to you and then they say something that begins with “I know I’m going to sound like a total bitch for saying this, but…” And after they say it you feel like it wasn’t that big of a deal, but then like an hour later you are thinking “What a bitch!”

            That’s where I am right now. I was talking to a friend about the fact that I was thinking about becoming a minor in pre-law and maybe pursuing a career as a lawyer. Well she gives me that line and says she thinks I wouldn’t make a good lawyer because I’m too empathetic. And then, because I really wanted to embarrass myself, I asked her what that meant (because I confuse empathetic with apathetic, which is hard to admit because I’m an English major!). Well, apparently she thinks I don’t care about anything. I just brushed this off at first, but now I’m sitting in my room and I’m a bit peeved. I don’t care about anything!?! That is one of the most absurd things I’ve ever heard!

            Honestly, it hurts my feelings that she would even think that. I’ve only known her for a year, but I think that should be long enough to know that there are actually a lot of things that I am very passionate about. Although, as I learned from watching Legally Blonde, some philosopher (Aristotle?) said something like “law is reason free from passion”. There are many things that I care about, but I think that it is important to see all sides of an argument. Sometimes this may result in me seeming wishy-washy, but I don’t think of that as a bad thing. When you are too passionate about something you may have a hard time looking at all of the evidence objectively.

            Anyway, I still don’t know what I want to pursue (other than writing of course!) and I don’t know if law is something that I really want to spend my time on. But I think I learned something tonight, no one will ever know me as well as I know myself. And to be perfectly honest, I’m not trying to brag, but I think I would make a good lawyer. The reason I’m on the fence about it is that I only want to do it if I know that’s what I want to spend my life doing, and I can’t make that decision right now. But next time someone tells me that what they are about to say is going to sound bitchy I might just tell them to keep it to themselves!

Sophomore Year So Far

            This semester is already killing me and it’s only about 1/3 of the way done. Thank goodness this is the last time I ever have to take a history or math class. Last year when I was just about to start college I expected it to be really hard; about as hard it is now. But I guess it doesn’t really start off that hard. I worked hard and got all A’s, but it wasn’t like I expected. So I think I kind of let my guard down this year. That was a mistake. I’ve been overwhelmed since week one.

            I feel like one of the few things I’m truly good at is being a student, so I’m handling it pretty well. But I wish that I hadn’t assumed that this year would be like last year. And I wish I hadn’t assumed that GE’s are easier than other classes. It is a lot easier to study for a class that you find interesting. So it doesn’t matter that I am taking a lower level math class because I just can’t be bothered. I expected history to be fine, but it’s actually my least favorite class of my college experience. I will willingly stay up till 3am finishing English homework but I won’t go past 1am for history, and that’s pushing it.

            There are two other factors making this semester my hardest so far. One would be my roommate. I’m rooming with my best friend that I met last year and it’s great… for the most part. I’ve discovered that sometimes it’s easier living with someone you barely know. And sometimes I feel like I’ve told her too much, mostly about my family. Plus, there isn’t that need to be really polite and to try not to step on the others toes. I’m still peeved that her desk is halfway on my side of the room and she’s hogging the bookshelf. And it bugs her that I let my homework stack up and then I panic about it the night before it’s due. The thing is, that’s totally normal for me and it’s going to happen every single week. I’m used to it, my family is used to it, but she’s always going to think that I’m just being stupid by procrastinating. And maybe I am, but that’s just how I function. Despite all of that, we actually get along really well. I know I just complained about her for a paragraph (and I could go on), but we have a lot of fun together too. This is also a problem, because we talk way too much at night. Which is fine for her because she does her homework in the day, but I do mine at night.

            The other thing that makes this semester harder is the fact that I’ve gotten really involved. I’m not complaining about this. I’ve always wanted to be the really involved person who is in all the clubs. I’ve been in the pep band since last year, and I’m in this honors society for sophomores (which I am kinda regretting because it’s kind of pointless other than resume filler). Then I joined the Rotaract club which is a community service group, and I joined the English club which will do fun English-y stuff. I’m supper excited about these two groups and I think they are going to be a great way for me to make new friends (cause I’m spending a bit too much time with my roomie) and get out a bit more. But I have to ask: why is EVERYTHING always happen on Thursdays! I think it’s a conspiracy.

            Anyway, I’m having a great year. And I’m super excited for next semester when I get to take more English classes and less of everything else. And hopefully I won’t kill my roommate and suffocate on homework in the meantime! Just kidding! But seriously…

The Broken Bowl: A Poem

The broken bowl

lies on the floor

stunned, shocked

in tiny glass pieces

reflecting the kitchen lights

in a sad attempt at a rainbow.

A drop of water, like a tiny tear,

falls from the corner of one shard

falls the tiny distance

to the dusty hardwood floor.

The pieces are quickly swept up

and more tears, real ones,

join the other on the floor.

Then, crimson tears

flow from her

worn-down old thumb

painting the sink pink

as she washes away

the pain and the memory.

Everything is silent now

the screaming has stopped

but the tears continue

to stain her beautifully sad face.

Washing away the makeup

the fake smile

that had been there.

An Outsider among Outsiders

            I have this ever-increasing feeling that my life is all just a cruel joke. Ok, I know I have it pretty good, but I also seem to have a tendency of being left out in the rain. I’ve felt like an outside my entire life. I’ve never been able to find a group where I feel that I truly belong.

            I thought I might tonight, but I left feeling like I’ve been cheated. I went to the first official meeting of my college’s new English club. Everyone was very friendly and I’m excited for the upcoming events and meetings. I really think that I will make new friends through the club. But the thing is, everyone there seemed to already know each other.

            I think I know how this happened, but I have to go back to the beginning. When I started school here I went to orientation, like everyone else. And I had an orientation group, like everyone else. I didn’t realize this at the time, but the groups were based on our declared major. This also determined our student advisor and faculty advisor. The only difference was that my group and my advisors seemed to just be picked at random. I had the most hodgepodge mix of majors in my group, from exploratory to English to pre-pharmacy to business and who knows what else. My student advisor was an international relations major and my faculty advisor was from the history department.

            I didn’t know that my orientation experience was different from anyone else’s until half way through my first year, and then I didn’t think it mattered. But tonight I realized that these people probably all met at orientation and then when they saw each other in class that fall they probably became friends. Another thing that has contributed to my lack of knowing anyone I should know is the fact that I haven’t taken many English classes. While I am 100% committed to English, I thought that it would be smart to get most of my GE’s done early on. This also means that I don’t know the English professors very well, so I’m having trouble finding a new faculty advisor. It has occurred to me that everyone else is really close with their faculty advisors, especially among the English majors, and I’m not close to mine at all and I need to find a new one.

            It just seems like this is the story of my life repeating over and over again. Even among a group of outsiders I feel left out. On the bright side (cause I know I’m a bit of a downer), I guess it’s not too late to become an insider.

Up the Stairs and Through the Door: A Poem

up and up and up some more

up the stairs and through the door

passed the sink and passed the chair

through the door you’ll find it there

sitting high up on the shelf

sitting all alone and by itself

just waiting waiting on display

waiting waiting for the day

wishing and wishing to be moved

to a spot more approved

down the stairs and through the door

to a spot to be admired forever more

Abigail Brown: Chapter 18: The End

           Note: Last chapter! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I would really appreciate any feedback. Thanks for reading! =)

Abigail stopped midway down a flight of stairs when she saw him coming toward her. Brad, the jerk who’d given her shot after shot thinking he was going to get lucky. The same jerk that had laughed about her with his buddies, watched her fall on her face, and then thrown empty beer cans at her after she’d thrown up (although Abigail herself cannot verify this last point as she was too drunk to remember).

            The air around Abbey instantly became hot and thick as she clenched her hand around the railing. Her eyes were fixed on him when he looked up at her.

            His expression shifted quickly from confused to slightly amused. A familiar crooked smile unfolded across his face. Ha! He’s not even good-looking! Abigail was surprised by the thought that floated through her head. She felt that she should be mad, but she was stifling a laugh. This is the stupid guy I’ve been cringing over for three days?

            Abbey’s hand released the railing and she exhaled sharply, making more noise than she’d planned. Brad had been standing in the same spot since he’d noticed her. Abigail let out a short annoyed snicker and rolled her eyes as she moved her feet from where they had been cemented to the floor.

            “Whore,” Brad laughed as Abigail calming approached to walk past him. This stopped her cold and froze her with a hard expression on her face. A million waves of anger flooded over her and she couldn’t even think a single thought before she saw her first swinging fast and hard from its place at her side.

            Her firm punch landed in the middle of his soft belly, just below his rib cage. He doubled over before she could even retract her hand. Did I just do that? …Really? Abigail looked at her fist in astonishment as a smile spread wide across her hardened face. Awesome!

            Abigail skipped down the stairs two at a time enjoying the grunts coming from where she had left that jerk. She pushed the doors open and let the warm sun and fresh grass-scented breeze envelop her. Everything was finally right and Abigail walked away knowing that it was only going to get better.

 The End

The Teacher

            Imagine this if you will: a tall woman walks into the room. All eyes turn toward her immediately. She had bleached blond hair, a tattoo on her right arm, and a pierced nose. She is wearing a short printed red dress with four-inch high heels.

            This is my new British Literature professor. When our class first met her she was hyper from a few too many energy drinks and far too little sleep. She explained that class would be brief, very brief, this day due to her leaving for Tasmania in but a few hours. Her ten minute rant was filled with curse words and tangents. At one point people start packing up their stuff (which was admittedly rude due to the fact that the class was getting out an hour and forty minutes early), but this resulted in a brief lecture on American’s always being in such a rush. Before launching into a thirty-second description of the class she said calmly, “let’s all just slow down and have a cup of coffee”. At the end of our ten minute class she practically ran out the door.

            She may be the most insane teacher I’ve ever had, but she may also be the most badass. I have a feeling that I’m going to love her class. And I think all of us are going to find her energy and humor contagious, which always makes for a more interesting class. I can’t wait to share more of the wacky happenings of my Brit. Lit. class with you. So, I’ll be posting random updates about her crazy fashion, ridiculous stories, and hilarious antics. Everyone should have a teacher like this at least once.


            The other day a friend of mine brought something to my attention that I had never before realized: I think too much. Now, I don’t really think this is a bad thing. I enjoy questioning everything, and I like the fact that my brain seems to be in good working order. But, it does get in the way sometimes. Like when I’m trying to sleep and I can’t stop thinking about why certain people believe the things they do, or when I’m contemplating why the sky is blue. And I’m not talking about what makes the sky look the way it does, but I’m talking about who decided to call that color blue. And who decided where blue ends and green starts. And who decided that those things should be called colors, and how the hell did they come up with the idea of paint!? You see, it gets very complicated in my brain.

            So, one thing I’ve been way over thinking this week is attraction. Why am I attracted to different guys than my roommate? We are both relatively shy, have similar political views and morals. Yet I’m attracted to red-heads, guys who wear glasses, curly hair, guys who do well in school and make a solid effort (my list goes on and on). My roommate on the other hand likes the tall dark handsome type. Who doesn’t? But I look at the guys she likes and I think they are really attractive, but I’m not attracted to them. My roommate, however, doesn’t see anything in the guys I like.

            One example of how our taste in men varies is age. You’d think two 19-year-old girls would have about the same standard for guys, but we shockingly don’t. My friend (we’ll call her Monica) says she would date a guy as long as he was ten years younger than her dad… that would be about 40 years old. I almost choked on my soda when she said that. 40!!!! Forty years old! We are only 19, and she would date someone more than twice her age? This seems absolutely absurd to me. My roommate wasn’t nearly as shocked as me, and she professed that she would date a thirty year old. Again, to me this sounds ludicrous. Thirty is old, no offense to anyone. Is it so much to ask that I find a guy who is within four years of my age? That sounds very reasonable to me (although, it’s not exactly true. I would date a guy four years older than me, but only two years younger than me). And honestly, why would a thirty year old guy want to date a 19-year-old girl. I understand the whole thing about guys being pigs who just want to get into whichever pants belong to the hottest girl (ok, that’s stereotypical, but you know what I mean). But there is a difference between just getting with someone and actually being in a relationship. I have a thirty year old brother, so I know that they aren’t always as mature as you’d expect, but they have a certain maturity that most nineteen year old girls don’t have. I mean, I’m a really responsible and grounded person, but I’m very immature. To be fair, I haven’t polled any single thirty year old guys, so I’m not saying that they want to be with a 19-year-old girl. And none of my friends have gone out with guys more than a few years older than them. In fact, neither I nor my roommate have gone out with any guy…ever. Maybe my friends are just keeping all of their options open. They said that you never know who you are going to fall in love with. But please, if I fall in love with someone who is ten years older than me, please slap me.

            I’m done ranting about age. But I did have one more interesting observation to make. There is a perfectly good-looking guy in my geology class. I was looking at him on the first day of class. I assessed that he was technically cute but I wasn’t at all attracted to him. He looked a bit like the surfer type, his stance and his tan. So, I figured he was good looking but not my type at all. The next class I found out he was Brazilian, he’s here for the semester or maybe all four years, I’m not sure. The strange thing is that he instantly seemed more attractive. And day by day he is looking more attractive to me. I know, he still looks like the surfer type that I never fall for, but something about him is alluring. I think it is because he’s foreign, and part of me hopes that foreign boys aren’t like the guys here. Maybe they don’t like their girls five foot nine and size two, maybe they like short curvy girls who think too much and don’t talk enough. Unfortunately for me I don’t think I’m going to find that anywhere.

            Maybe girls all have different taste in guys. But in the end, whether they are old or young, nerdy or hot, United-Statesian or Brazilian, maybe all guys are really the same.