Birthday/Celebrations

I have a very strange relationship with anything that celebrates me as a person. I love it when I get to see the people I love and spend time with them. I love it when they say they want to be with me and just have a good time. But I hate having to talk about it or hate it when they think I expect more than just seeing them.

People have been asking me what I want to do for my birthday, seeing as it's coming up. I don't know what to tell them...

It's not that I don't want to do anything. On the contrary, I'd love to do something. I'd love to say, "Shit, son! It's my birthday! We're gonna party til the crack of dawn!" Or something similar and less silly.

But I can't bring myself to. I keep answering with, "I don't know. I don't really want to do anything..." Such a lie! I want to have fun and I want people to come over and I want birthday hugs and I...I want to just not feel bad about wanting to have a party.

When I was younger, I was a very selfish and self absorbed person. My cousins can vouch for that. (You should also know that this is actually really hard to share, considering this is me showing you a very vulnerable part of who I am...but this is all about me being honest, right? Right. Also! I'm not looking for pity or any of that bull. I would just like genuine thoughts, if you're so obliged.) In fact, even now they make fun of me or remind me of how horrible I was. I really was a brat. And selfish. Things needed to be done my way. I needed the attention. It was just who I was. I was a stupid kid that would do these elaborate performances and they were always pathetic and boring. My cousin's called me Angelica (they still do) behind my back. (That Rugrats character...the older girl that was bossy and a little witch.) I didn't know they did at the time, until recently when they confessed about it. They joke about it now and stuff. And I put on my fake smile and throw out a fake giggle. Do I find it funny? Of course not. My own family is telling me how much they hated me back in the day. I get it, I was a kid. Yadda yadda yadda. Trust me, I've seen kids like that that have grown up to be amazing and sweet and everything...

But knowing that they disliked me, knowing that even the adults were annoyed with me...it's made me not want to have celebrations. Yup. I'm a psychological disaster. ha! I just feel uncomfortable...and it's a problem I guess I'll hafta get over.

How do you get over disliking that part of yourself? Not who I am now...I know I'm a good person. I really do. I try to always maintain honesty and I try to always be delicate with things (I don't like hurting people's feelings, unless they've been hurtful to people I care about, then I don't give a flying rat's ass). Who I am now is nothing like what I was back then. It still doesn't change the fact, though, that I can't stand that little girl I had been. I can't stand her because my family couldn't stand her. So, again, how do you get over that self loathing? Especially when people still remind you of who you were?

I could probably go up to them and say, "Dude...I'm not like that anymore." Or something of the sort. But why bother? Besides, if they feel like clicking this link they'll know exactly what I'm feeling. I can probably guess their responses, even.

I'm not writing this so I can point at them and say, "Douchebag douchebag douchebag." No, they had valid reasons as to not liking me very much. And if they carry on that resentment til this day, I can't blame them. I feel like I deserve it and I'm not going to stop them - even if it hurts.

So how do I allow them that while still wanting to be a little selfish on my own birthday?

Ew. This whole thing sounds pathetic. Whatever. I'm in a confused rut right now. And I feel like either laughing or crying. Laughing because I'm actually very happy. My social life rocks currently, my professional life is still in the works (but I have hope), my writing is awesome as of late, and I'm in like with someone.

Crying because I need to get over this bullshit and have no way in doing so without sounding insane - as this blog has proven.

Anyways! My birthday is coming up. And all I want is a birthday hug. And maybe a birthday kiss.

Best,

C

P.S. - Call me "Angelica" one more time and I'll seriously show you what it's like to deal with a bitch. :) Have a good day.

Dating.

Be warned now: this is a rant. One about how ridiculous some people are when it comes to dating. I'm not saying I'm an expert. What I am saying, though, is that people need to seriously stop trying so hard and just be sincere. Unless they're sincerely insane...in which case, they shouldn't be dating.

I've told my friends this story many times. Well, many friends this story at least once (though, I'm sure I've repeated it on occasion). Anyways! So here is the perfect (and true) example of what not to do on a date:

I was picked up a few minutes late. That didn't bother me so much. It wasn't like we were on a tight schedule. So my dad opened the door while I was still upstairs (grabbing my purse and spraying the last bit of perfume). He introduced himself to my parents and such, said hello to my younger siblings and all was groovy. Went downstairs, said bye to the familia and we walked outside. The first thing he says to me was, "You never go out on dates, do you?" I kind of laughed and asked, "I'm sorry?"

"Your family acted like they never see a guy come pick you up."

"My family just likes meeting people I have in my life...sorry if that bothered you."

"Nah, it's cool. Just feel like I'm in Junior High again."

"Really, dude?" He seemed to drop it after my annoyed remark.

So then he opened the car door for me (which was nice) and jumped into the driver's seat. We started off a mellow conversation about what movie we were gonna watch. When I noticed he started to drive to a restaurant I asked where we were going. "Oh. BJ's. I'm starving, aren't you?"

Well, no. I wasn't. I didn't know we were going to dinner. Just thought we were chilling out before the movie. I ate before this date. To answer him I shrugged and said, "I already ate...but...I don't mind sitting with you."


He gave me this sideways look and I smiled. What the hell was I meant to do with that look? Punching him in the face seemed too early in the date. "Hey, you look pretty," he suddenly said, surprising me.

I gave another smile and said, "Aw. Thanks, I do try."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Uhm...that I try to look pretty for special occasions."

"Oh. Right...whatever."

I just looked out the window until we arrived at BJ's. When I got out I accidentally hit my head on the door frame. I laughed at it and said, "Well, that was classy." "More like retarded," he decided to say. I probably should've punched him then...

Anyways! We sat at a table and a really kind waiter came to take our orders. My date insisted I have something to eat. So I asked for a small appetizer with an iced tea. All was cool. Until we had this conversation:

Him - "So do you drink?"

Me - "Occasionally, yeah."

Him - "Smoke?"

Me - "Nope."

Him - "Drugs?"

Me - "Uh. No."

Him - "You know weed is considered a drug?"

Me - (I gave him a look and nodded) "I know that. I don't do drugs. Uhm...I feel like I'm being instigated by an officer."

Him - (He laughed) "Oh no, man. Just wondering, 'cause I do drugs."

Fabulous, I thought. Just fabulous.

The waiter came back to make sure we were doing alright and told us our order should be out soon. My date gave him this horribly rude glare and snapped out, "Dude. Can you give us same space?"

The waiter actually apologized as I sat there with my mouth hanging open. "Did you seriously just say that to him?"

"What?" He shrugged and blew it off. I just sat there glaring at him.

"So what do you like to do for fun?"

I was still sort of shocked that I gave my regular answer to that question instead of pummeling his face in with my glass. "Reading, writing, going out with friends. Disneyland-ing."

"Cool cool."

"Uhm...you?" I was trying to just be cool. I mean, maybe he just had a bad day? Maybe...

"Oh yeah. I like snowboarding. Hanging with friends. Ya know, the usual. Oh," he paused and smiled at me, "I also like ****ing."

"What!"

"Haha. Yeah, thought that might get your attention."

Now. Even to this day, I don't know why I didn't throw my food at him. Nah. I knew why. I wanted to watch the movie. And so I figured, I'd get him back. Somehow and someway.

A few more rude comments to the waiter on his part, an apology to the waiter on my part, and we left the restaurant. On our way out he sort of said to himself, "Now if I can only find the car..."

"I remember where we parked."

"You do?"

"Yup."

"I knew you were good for something. Now you need my beer in your hand and you'd be the perfect woman."

I said something along the lines of, "Wow. Douchebag." And he rolled his eyes and said, "Oh. You're a feminist." I held my tongue to that. I wanted to watch that movie. Which one? Paranormal Activity 2.

I like scary movies, so I was hoping for a good freak out. On our way to the theater I told him as much. His response: "I hate scary movies. I can't believe you're forcing me to go with you. I'm scared of that bruja shit. Seriously, you're mean for doing this to me."

He acted like a baby all the while. I rolled my eyes and said, "Whatever, dude." Then, as we were on the freeway, I noticed how he kept looking out his window instead of the road. And I looked out to notice another car (a similar model and make to his) pull up and a dude in the driver's seat give him a look. My date nodded his head and all of a sudden the car jolted as his foot hit the pedal to the floor. I laughed. Seriously. Could this guy be serious, I asked myself. He looked over at me and said, "Oh. Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He said it with a "sly" smile.

I gave him a dumb look and shook my head, "Don't know what you're talking about."

I wasn't going to let him think he was badass. Because he wasn't. Stupidass more like it.

ANYWAYS! So we get to the theater and I'm finally thinking, "This movie better be good. Because if not, someone is gonna die. And it ain't gonna be me."

We watched the movie and all the while he's jumping and freaking out next to me. And I'm laughing. It's hard to scare me with a movie. Really hard. I just found the whole thing hilarious, to be honest. And this guy next to me was also making me laugh (not my date). The theater was packed so there were no empty seats between anybody, so I had my date to my left and this group of guys around my age to my right. This one guy to my immediate right was covering his eyes and saying, "Dude...stupid bitch. Get out." And he was joking with me and stuff. My date didn't seem to notice because he was nearly pissing his pants.

Let's just say, the guy on my right would've been a much more interesting and enjoyable date than the guy on my left.

By the end of the movie my stomach was hurting because I was laughing so much. My date said, "Never doing that again. You're lucky I like you."

"Oh, yes. Super lucky." That was dripped in sarcasm. Which he never seemed to get.

He drove me home and walked me to my door. Looked like he was expecting a kiss, but I just smiled and said, "Thanks for the movie." I walked in and he walked off my property.

For months he texted me saying how much fun he had and how we should get together again. I sent him this one day when I was just fed up:

"Were you on the same date I was on? Looked like you would've rather gone drag racing instead of spend another minute with me. So thanks, but - actually - no thanks. I'd appreciate if you never tried getting into contact with me again."

A day later he texted me and said, "You were the wrong Natalie. My bad."

I responded immediately with, "Really? Because you mentioned PA2 three times in those texts. You also mentioned doing BJ's again to the text I responded to. You also said how it's funny we used to work together - you're not dating anyone from there, we'd all know. So! Really, dude? You're hilarious. LOL. Have a good one."

And proceeded to block him.


I wanna sit here and tell you what you shouldn't do on a date...but I think it's pretty obvious. And if not, then you seriously need to go and get a clue. From someone. Anyone. Or just deal with the fact that you might need to get someone who is so clueless you both can be idiots together.

:)

Best,

C

Google Plus.

Oh. Yes.

Let me explain to you about this most amazing website ever.

It's like Facebook. But it isn't. It's like Twitter. But not really. It's like delicious meat drenched in amazing-sauce. Yes, that yummy!

So far, everyone is awesome on the site. I've met some pretty cool peeps. And I've been lucky to not experience any spam...

Yet.

See, there's a downside to this site: it's so new that everything seems amazing, until stupid people and stupid things start happening to make it go booooo.

I'm sounding really childish right now, forgive me. I'm going through geek-mode. And aggravated-mode.

Geek because this site rocks my socks off.

Aggravated because I know it's gonna go to the gutter once the stupidity of humanity starts ruining it.

I hope it doesn't get ruined. Silly though, really, considering everything awesome on the web somehow gets ruined. Well, anything popular. Trust me: this site is going to sky-rocket into popularity. It's Google for hell's sake.

But when it does become popular, I wonder if the people I've met will still interact with me. Or maybe they'll move on...or they'll be washed out.

Or, worse yet, what if I'm washed out? Sigh. Time will only tell.

But, dude, G+ is the shit. Everyone should get on that sort of level.

Best,

C

Book Country, Support, and Life.

This blog has been a long time coming. Seriously.

Book Country:

Let me tell you about Book Country. It isn't just some site where people post up a little chapter of a story they're thinking of working on. Or where they giggle and read cute stories or cry over a sentence that just speaks to them.

No.

Book Country is a community. You know Twitter? That's a community. You know Facebook? That's a community. Book Country is this...magical place where writers and readers and editors and anyone who just wants to get lost in different worlds and have their own words be taken seriously can come and hang out and get along and help each other.

It's silly - this infatuation I have over this site. But then, when I really think about it, it is so far from silly.

This site has made me a better writer. A better reader, even. There's this whole support to it. Like I said, you don't just post a chapter and hope for the best. Well, maybe you do. But you up it a bit. You have to put in more than just your own writing. You go off and read something out of the ordinary for you. See, I primarily deal with Romance. Romance is my thing. Paranormal, historical, anything...but then Book Country came into my life. I went from reading about happy endings to reading about broken hearts, frozen lizards, and dead men walking. About robots and aliens and the apocalypse. Don't get me wrong, I stuck to Romance, but Romance didn't cut it anymore when I started reading High Fantasy and Sci-Fi and all those amazing tales of different worlds and different species. It, basically, rocked my world.

Book Country doesn't just better you as a writer or a reader. It betters you as a person looking for something more. It opens your eyes and connects you to people who help you become the best version of you (in the writing/reading community). Let's just say, if Book Country was really a country, I'd immediately go and get myself citizenship there. And live happily ever after...

Check it out: www.bookcountry.com


Support:

I had applied for a job. Didn't get it. And it didn't bother me that I didn't get it. I mean, of course I was crushed, but I wasn't too heartbroken over it. I'm used to being "rejected." I had sent queries back in the past (when I was far from experienced and so not ready for that step) and dealt with those heartbreaking form letters of rejection. Then there's boys, of course. Rejected by some of those guys. And then friends. And then family.

I've been rejected in places. By people I've wanted to love, by the dream I've always wanted to live out...so I know what it's like to be told "Nope. You're not good enough."

Usually people will bicker and feel bitter about it...but I don't. I hurt for a while (depending on what it is and how extreme my feelings are linked to the issue) but I usually pop right back up. And it's not because I'm a strong person. I'm not strong at all - compared to some.

See, I have support.

My family and friends have always been there. They've seen the good, they've seen the bad, and they constantly see the ugly. But they make me feel invincible. They make me feel like I can take on the world and every single obstacle it chooses to present me with. And you know what? I put on that mentality. I take that image they think I am and I wear it like a glove.

So this is where I say here and now: my support is limitless. And I love it.



Life:

There are some haters these days. Some cruel individuals that feel the need to shout out their hate over people simply because they're (let's be honest) jealous of what that person has.

I'm gonna bring up Rebecca Black. (OMG! Shoot me now!) Nah, I'm serious. Let me mention her this ONCE.

Sure, her song isn't my favorite. In fact, I was a hater. Why was I hater? Well, let me ask this: why her?! Why did she get all of the attention? Whhhhhhhhhy?

I don't know. No one probably knows. But she did and I'm over it now. She's a sensation and she has the support of top celebrities: Katy Perry and Lady Gaga.

Yeah. Them! Big guns, right? And you know what? I'm happy for her. She was...bullied. Like, literally. People told her to go kill herself. People told her that she was a horrible human-being.

People hate her because she's getting attention for doing what she WANTS to do. And doesn't every celebrity get this sort of treatment? ...What the hell?

Why? Why should they? I'm not going to "hate" on people anymore. At least, try not to. Unless they seriously do something to hurt me or the people I love.

So I'm backing Rebecca Black. And anybody else who decides to get famous fast by doing something "horrible."

Also...why do people like the haters? Since when is being vicious a quality to be admired?


Best,

C.

Two Weeks.

For two weeks I had disconnected with the life I have here in Southern California. It was a gift my amazing family decided to bless me with: a graduation present.

Three countries in fourteen days. Sounds insane, doesn't it?

It was.

I thought it would be relaxing. That maybe life would provide for me a time to myself, a time of self discovery - of peace.

Oh, how I was wrong. The tour I had signed up for had other plans in mind. I waltzed through the streets of Rome without a chance to catch my breath. I swept Florence with the cuff of my jeans. I fumbled to stand through the French Riviera and Avignon. Then I stumbled into Barcelona only to fall to my knees in Madrid.

The food was delicious, the people were amazing, my tour group was a gem, and my mind had never been so clear.

Anyways.

I can't explain how I feel now. I'm not saying I've completely changed. I'm not saying I've changed at all. But something's different.

I was away from the news, from media; I was away from music and the food I'm accustomed to. I was away from my family and friends. I was away from everything I knew.

The only anchor to the life I have in California was my cousin - my companion on the tour. She was all I had to remind me that I'm going to return to the life I left behind.

Silly, isn't it? It was only fourteen days. Not a year or even a month. Two measly weeks. But those two weeks were long and short at the same time.

Something is different. I hope it's the fact that I took into myself all those beautiful people I had surrounded myself with. From California, to North Carolina, to Florida, to Texas, to New York, to Wisconsin, to Australia, to Canada and to South Africa...from Roman to Spanish to French.

Each one of them had something to offer me. Little or big, it didn't matter. They gave me a smile or a way of saying things. They gave me new sound, new laughs, new ideas.

They were my inspiration. And my cousin was my anchor.

"Life is brighter. Beauty is contagious."

The time I spent in Europe with my tour is a time I would never trade. Even through the drama and even moments where we were lost - literally. It's still a time I would relive. And I would do it all the exact same way.

I'm still Natalie. Just with more to offer now.



Best,

C

Commencement.

I, as other students of my school, have been invited to speak for my graduation ceremony.

Obviously, I declined. I'm not a "speaker." I barely articulate myself well in writing, how could I possibly try doing so in speech? So I passed on it.

But their "prompts" (suggestions on what we should speak about) made me really, well, think. One of them more so than others:

It asked us to think back on our college career. Then it asked us to pick a professor or a class that we appreciate...that will resonate with us after we leave UCR.

This is what I originally thought about that prompt:

1. There is no way in hell I would be able to pick one professor. I've been pretty blessed with those I had to sit in a lecture with. There were some who made me laugh, some who made me think, some who made me question myself and others, some who...who just inspired me. One? I could pick five. Easily. And each one for different reasons. So my speech would run on too long and it'd be way too kiss-ass-y. I wouldn't want to go for that, thank you very much.

2. Most students would pick a class that they excelled in, I'm sure. They'd pick one that made them feel comfortable, that they flew by with pretty colors trailing from their bums. They'd argue it was their calling, that it opened their eyes to what they really wanted to do with their lives. They'd even probably recite a snippet of their final paper, or discuss the physics behind the theories they studied. (This is me just being bitchy, forgive me.)

3. Speaking about my success seems boring. And so...fake.

So this would be my speech. Or, erm, a form of it. Maybe a rough draft?

Latin. Yes, the dead language. I took a course on it. In fact, I took five. Well. I took four, then I repeated the fourth. We'll get to that.

Latin will stay with me. Not because I remember everything, mind you, but because it was my Hell (it deserves a capital). It was my nightmare, my anguish. Latin made me cry. It cracked me and it stole parts of my soul. I was it's bitch, basically. There were nights where I couldn't sleep. Days where panic attacks were my only companions. I dreamed in Latin, but never understood a damn word.

It was horrible.

Yet, it is the one class that I would easily and with no hesitation give my appreciation to. If it were a person, I would hug her. If it were a man, I would beg for him to be my husband. If it were a child, I would nurture her. ...I would give Latin my last breath if I could.

I failed in Latin. Or, rather, nearly failed. It was the single class that I worked my ass off in and yet the single class that kicked my ass for somehow not trying hard enough.

From UCR I would gladly take my failure over my success. Because with that failure, I take with me determination. You see, Latin pushed me. Latin hurt me: physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Latin punished me. And Latin made me feel useless.

But...Latin never gave up on me. I know that's silly to say and I know others would argue that it was me that never gave up, but they'd be wrong. I had given up. Repeatedly. I was going through hell with it, why couldn't I give up? I couldn't because every day a tiny little voice in the back of my mind would say, "Natalie, you can do this. It isn't hard. Just...try." And I'd retaliate with something along these lines: "But I am trying."

The voice would never say anything again. Instead, it was that book I'd glance at. That bible of a dead language, and if I opened it, it'd start me off with something easy. Something I could manage.

That book was my anchor. I slept with it on my nightstand and I hugged it to my chest while I walked on campus. It was my companion, and it never left my side.

Again, it's silly to think that a book could never "desert" me. But imagine if it hadn't been so imposing. (It was, literally, the size of a bible. Not those pocket sized ones...the large ones. The big mommas.) I wouldn't have glanced at it, I wouldn't have even cracked it open...I would have allowed myself to fail.

The point of this crazy-talk: I'm going to leave UCR not with stories of success (though, I do pride myself in them), but with the story of the one class that I nearly failed. The one class that I collapsed in. The one class that drove me to tears and near insanity.

I leave UCR with Latin and the dedication I found in myself because of it.

But don't ask me to translate or speak anything of it: I will shank the hell out of you.

vale,

C

Dream.

Don't we all have one?

Whether it's to run across a country, be in two places at once, skinny dip in the Atlantic Ocean, or become a world leader...we all have a dream.

It's something that we all want, something that we all crave: the single thing that pushes us on in life just so we can reach it.

I'm going to share my dream with you: I want to be an inspiration.

When I say "inspiration," I mean inspiration. I want to be the woman some child can look at and say, "Momma...I wanna be like her." The woman a man can look at and say, "Damn...I wanna be her." And a woman another woman can look at and say, "Pops...I gotta get someone like her."

I'd like to change the world, somehow. I want to be involved, to be part of something beautiful...

My dream is difficult to reach. In fact, nearly impossible. I'm a nobody. I don't have much to offer the world. I'm not gorgeous. I'm not a genius. I'm an average chick.

An average chick who writes. So there it is. That's my one little weapon against the world: writing. It's all I have. To be sure, I'm not marvelous with a pen/keyboard.

Average - the word of the day.

But writing is all I have. Writing is what I can do fairly well. And writing is the only thing that makes sense to me. Also, it's the only thing that drives me absolutely insane. Seriously, I've never felt so much hatred, frustration, bliss, confusion, love...the list goes on. Writing brings out the best and the worst in me.

My dream is to inspire. The one thing that might help me reach my goal is the one thing that requires inspiration: isn't that a bitch? More than that, though: it requires support. Every dream needs a dreamer, every dreamer needs a pillow.

I have a pillow. I have such an amazing pillow.

And - for whatever your dream is - count me as a pillow. So long as it has nothing to do with harming children or animals, I'm game.

Also, please, share your dream. :) Tell people. Don't be shy about it. Dreams sometimes need a little bit of publicity, after all.

Best,

C - The Dreamer


P.S. - The sass will return sometime soon.