The High School Dance

Sweaty palms. Clumsy feet. Earaches from standing too close to the speakers. I remember all of it. The anxiety I felt over going stag again with my closest friends. The tedious time spent in shopping malls fretting over what outfit to wear just in case the guy you were crushing on would for some miraculous reason ask you to dance. It was all about impressions and statements and everything in between. The dance was where you either conquered the momentary love of your life or failed to be even slightly noticed.

As much as I despised all of it, I made a conscious effort to make appearances. But secretly, I didn't want anything to do with it. High school dances were nothing but a self-indulgent event for all the people who loved high school, who considered it the "best time of their lives." It was all too forced and fabricated for me, personally. I always knew I'd get over that crush and the fact that he never did ask me to dance. In fact, I knew I'd forget his name and that none of it would even matter ten years down the road. Some people saw high school as the pivotal point in their life. I saw it as a small stepping stone, an insignificant event I had to put up with until the real important shit came along. I didn't want to be another hamster in a wheel.

If it hadn't been for my less-than-impressive GPA or the fact that I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, I would've been on a plane somewhere far from here. I wanted to start over, be anonymous, be forgotten and never look back. But it didn't quite work out that way. When you stay in Santa Ana post high school, the dance never seems to end.

For as long as I've stuck around here, I've done a pretty decent job at dodging awkward run-ins with people I'd like to forget. I don't care if so and so had a baby or that once popular cheerleader put on 50 lbs. It never comes as a surprise. Half of those girls were already banging a guy or two in high school and getting knocked up was inevitable. And once the cheerleader stopped cheering, the Cheetos she consumed on a daily basis finally caught up. Natural metabolism can only do so much.

My best friends call me a snob for declining Facebook friend requests from people we went to school with, but let's just say I'm "keeping it real." I don't care to impress anyone who attended that concrete slab we all called Century Penitentiary. I don't make any conscious efforts for anyone but my closest friends and family. For me, the dance ended my senior prom back in 2002. I can't control the fact that I'm still somewhat stuck in Santa Ana, but I can control who I keep in touch with, who I choose to share my life and future plans with. For some people, Santa Ana is where they were born and it's where they will die. The dance will continue. People will stay superficial and pretend they're all great friends unified under a school mascot. They'll convince themselves that Santa Ana is the best place on Earth. As for me? I want to be the hamster that escapes. Fuck the wheel.

Makes you appreciate the awkward years

It's such a shame this show only lasted a season. I really wish I had tuned in when it was on TV. The episodes were so well-written and the characters loveable in every sense. I will always hold The Wonder Years on a very high pedestal, but this show ranks very high on my list.

A slump.

I know it's barely going to be a month since I graduated, but I'm already terrified I've fallen into a slump. I've applied to a few jobs and haven't heard back from any of them. Pretty discouraging.

When I get home from work, I pretty much feel fried. I feel like retail is killing me, literally. I've had this shooting pain in my back from the lack of support in my shoes and the fact that sometimes I work eight hours straight without a break. I don't know how much longer I can listen to my own sales pitch. I'm sick of beauty products. I'm sick of working so hard for such little pay.

I feel like my creative side is lacking life and luster. I have so many ideas, so many beginnings and middles without ends. I start writing and always hit a wall. I haven't read a book in months. I feel like a total slug.

I know this is temporary and I can't let anything stand in my way of my dream, but God do I wish something good would come my way. A little help. A little...something.

Is it Sunday yet?

Push the reset button.

Can't sleep. I'm sure the exhaustion I actually feel will kick in in about 20 min...In the meantime, I thought I'd write. I'm feeling slightly anxious right now. As happy as I am about graduation, the typical melancholia is setting in. Being a student was such a big part of my identity for the last eight years of my life. And even though I am set on going to grad school within in the next 2 years, I am flipping out over the various huge question marks that are currently lingering over my head. Where should I apply? What writing sample should I include? What if I do awful on my GRE's? What professors should I seek advice from? What if I'm not good enough? What if I don't get any to any of the programs I apply to? Augh. I know I just have to reset my goals list again and take it one step at a time. Right now, I just feel like I'm at point A. I'm hating the thought of working at PB full-time. My resume right now is totally unimpressive and needs major polishing and updating. I'd also like to get back my writing. I need to compile the books I want to read over the summer. I need to get back into a healthy workout routine. I need to do so much!

This to do list is growing...Also, my exhaustion has kicked in.

Embrace it.

This morning, I was looking through an old journal of mine from 2003. I had just begun to discover my passion for writing and was already at work with my first "novel." I think I wrote about fifteen pages until I realized my idea was completely ridiculous and I myself, was not interested in the subject matter. Now I've got a story I'm actually excited about and looking forward to working on (and maybe even finishing) this summer. As I get ready to graduate tomorrow, I'm still not having doubts about every decision I made up until this point. I'm glad I switched my major a gazillion times. I can't imagine going into any other field and feeling satisfied. I enjoy creating characters and worlds filled with emotions far too much. I'm going to embrace the self-doubt and self-loathing that comes with being an aspiring writer. It's my dream. I am living my dream.

Adios Orange County?

Last night, Mark and I saw an article on Huffington Post regarding the ten best/worst cities to live in post-graduation. Coincidentally enough, Austin, Texas showed up on the best list. Not surprisingly, Los Angeles was on the worst. Ever since John mentioned how the Austin's been flourishing to Mark and I discovered it's home to a top MFA Creative Writing program, I've been curious. With Mark's graduation this weekend and mine approaching rather quickly, I feel my head spinning with excitement, fear and motivation. Aside from my family and few close friends, there's nothing really holding me back here in Orange County. I'm dying for a change of pace and scenery. And, the thought of not having to pay over a thousand dollars for a measly one bedroom apartment in Orange County is kind of...refreshing. I just keep looking at pictures and reading about the city and I ask myself, "Why not?" I mean, Mark's already made a big move once. And, what better person to have a new adventure with than your best friend? I feel those Austin city lights calling...

It's as simple as a dog with funny teeth.

On days like today when life feels unnecessarily complicated, I look at this picture and find myself instantly smiling. I can't remember how I ever stumbled across it or why, but I'm extremely grateful to the person who took it. :-) . Sure, it may seem nutty to some, but I'm glad I have that silly (and dorky) sense of humor.

The only poem I'm not ashamed of...

Music & Love

I believe in second chances because I believe in love.

I know now that it all depends on good timing.

We lost time with discord, but now we're dancing to the same rhythm.

Do you hear the music playing? Babe, that's our music.

Dance with me now, let's get lost in this beat.

Do you feel that pitter-patter of my heart?

You always had my heart

and from the beginning, I knew it was love;

The kind of love that makes your heart beat

faster with every second. And you hope the timing

is right. I remember sitting in the car listening to music.

Making out under the stars, we found our rhythm.

Dance with me now, to this perfect rhythm.

Let your heart dance with my heart.

Nothing else matters now, let's just dance to the music.

In this song, let us be lead by love.

It's all about timing, oh how it's all about timing!

Dance with me now, dance to this beat.

Do you feel my heart beat?

Do you feel the speeding rhythm?

I feel a breeze of confidence that our timing

won't let us down. Here babe, put your hand on my heart.

Can you feel my love?

God, I love this music!

Let's make love to the music.

Let our hips make some beats.

Let's make sweet love

under these stars, in a continuous rhythm.

Let your heart make love to my heart.

Steady babe, it's all in timing.

If ever there were a perfect time

To know what music

Really feels like it'd be now. In my heart

there's a beat. It's a continuous beat.

And that never-ending rhythm

Will never die. That's what you call love.

It's all in the timing. So, let's dance to our beat.

Let's dance to our music, let's dance to our rhythm.

Feel my heart babe. This time, it's love.

"Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass." ~Anton Chekhov



Perfection.

The Lover

I like it this way, Elena told herself as she observed the tire tracks left behind on her dirt-paved driveway. They looked permanent there this time, as if nothing could wash them away. Even if a storm hit, she would still notice the tire tracks. They were perfectly etched in her memory. The tracks meant he was there, and then he wasn't. Elena knew he wasn't going to stay. She knew it from the way he had acted like a guest the entire weekend, picking up after himself, re-packing the simple things like his toothpaste and electric razor.



There were "I love you's" and "I missed you's", but she knew better. She wasn't nineteen anymore, working at Delancy's. It worked then. It worked again at twenty-five, then at thirty. But at thirty-six, his charms just seemed mechanical. But nevertheless, she let him in. It had been raining and he looked pathetic, standing there in a soaking wet suit and a bouquet of red roses. Elena didn't even like roses.



She didn't ask where he had gone or where he had been. He didn't try to give any explanations. She just handed him a towel and stood by the doorway as he took off his slacks and unbuttoned his dress shirt. It was one of the few things she still loved about him, watching him undress. He always looked so vulnerable and unsure of his body, which she also loved. So when he walked over to her and pressed her up against the wall, she allowed herself to feel him, just one more time.



That was Friday night.



On Saturday, she made them coffee and they sat on the porch. A couple on the beach played with their young daughter. "Daddy! Daddy! Throw the ball my way!" she shouted enthusiastically. Her curls bounced with every jump.

"That could be us," he said.



That will never be us, she had thought to herself.



That night, they made love twice.



"Do you still love me?" he asked her.



"Of course I do," she replied.



The next morning, he was gone.



I like it this way, Elena told herself, sipping her coffee. At nineteen, she thought he was the love of her life. And she did love him, at nineteen. She loved him at twenty-five and even thirty. But at thirty-six, she no longer did.

Why Up is easily one of my favorite films of 2009

When I saw UP for the first time during Christmas break, I remember thinking, "Am I really bawling like a baby right now?" The first ten minutes were absolute perfection; I was engaged, I was moved, I was in complete and utter awe of Pixar's genius. It really didn't surprise me (after all, they've been thoroughly consistent since Toy Story) but I was wondering, "How is it that Pixar has brought me to tears yet again?"

Okay, so I'm not a stranger to crying during films. My boyfriend, the screenwriter, pokes fun at the fact that almost anything seemingly touching in a film can produce a misty eye or two. While there is some truth to that, not every film touches me in such a way that it enters my mind from time to time, the way UP certainly has.

Sure, the film had three things I happened to love: Lots of balloons, a dog (a talking dog, at that!) and an exotic bird. That alone, reeled me in. It already had the Liz-is-interested stamp of approval. However, I wasn't ready for the undeniably touching love story I was about to experience. This film wasn't about two extraordinary people falling in love, rather; it was a film about two ordinary people wanting to do extraordinary things.

Even though Carl abandons his home and leaves behind all of his and Ellie's belongings at Paradise Falls, UP by no means sends the message that you should give up on your dreams. Instead, it reminds you that the relationships you build with loved ones can too, be extraordinary adventures. When he finds Ellie's Adventure Book with the note she left for him, one thing becomes clear. Life is what you make of it.

So why is UP easily one of my favorite films of 2009? Well, it reminds you that no matter the places you go or the things you do, it's the loved ones you surround yourself with that ultimately enrich your life.

Consider it the start of greater things

I'm finally doing it. After six weeks, I've finally gotten the nerve to blog about my adventures/mishaps of my last semester at Cal State Long Beach. What I had written before was rather melodramatic; kind of pathetic, really. It's been such a long time since I've really written about my life in any detailed fashion. Yes, I may have a slight addiction to twitter, where I tend to share the tidbits and tidings of my daily routine, but this is a little different. It's more...personalized.

As I enter my seventh week of Spring semester, I can't help but to feel a little victorious. Eight weeks ago, I couldn't fathom the idea of waking up before sunrise, let alone stay on top of my game school-wise. But it's happened. I've grown up. I realize it's taken me almost a decade to come to my senses, to realize what I was good at, and what I should aim for, but a decade is better than never. This isn't Irvine Valley College anymore. I'm not nineteen and sleeping in until noon, going to Disneyland for the afternoon instead of class. I don't even know that girl anymore and while I realize that is disgustingly cliche, it's true. I came to Cal State Long Beach completely terrified that I would fail. I was never supposed to transfer. I was going to get stuck in that little community college forever. I was going to eventually give up and find a job, like most everyone I knew in high school, (minus a kid). But, for whatever reason God only knows, it didn't happen that way. Failure wasn't in my future. Failure still isn't in my future.

There are a few people I never had the opportunity to thank on my way here and I wish I could have the chance to do so. I wish I could give them a big hug for allowing me this open door of possibilities. There was Ms. Lechuga, who was filled with nothing but mercy and gave me that 52.76% on my final which I so desperately needed to pass. There was Bob Miller, who never gave me the answers to any of the questions, but allowed me to figure it out myself. To this day, I don't believe he knew how much his advice, guidance, support and friendship meant to me. Even if he's watching down on me now, I know he's not taking any credit. That's just how he was and that is why he is always going to have a special place in my heart.

With about ten weeks of school left, I feel excitement. Sure, there's a little fear there as well, but it's the good kind, the kind that keeps you on your toes and gives you reasons to keep going. I may be stressed and tired and anxious for the semester to end, but I know that when it does I'm going to feel a little sad. This is where I've grown as a person. This is where I've gained confidence as a writer. This is where the beginning of my adventure really began.

This campus, this beautiful melting pot, is my stepping stone.