Power Up

So last night, at around 12, The Sister and I got the brilliant idea to watch He's Just Not That Into You. Because sometimes you just need to watch a sappy chick-flick in the middle of the night.

Whilst watching it, I was reminded of something. The reason I post things like this, the reason I try to be honest in my posts, regardless of how difficult it is to admit to some things:

Words are POWERFUL.

In watching HJNTIY, I was empowered to stand up to a lot of things that I'd been letting just -- happen. Hearing some of the things they say in that movie woke me up to a reality I'd been avoiding, pretending it didn't matter as much as it did. In just shy of two hours, my whole demeanor changed.

Because of WORDS.

Because I heard someone say exactly what I needed to hear. Because someone's situation was similar to mine and they overcame it in such a poetic, right way that it made me feel like I could too.

That's why it's so important to write. That's why it's so important not to shy from the truth of situations, no matter how painful they may be. Because somewhere, someone needs to hear exactly what YOU have to say. Somewhere, someone will overcome something because of what YOU said or wrote.

Never underestimate the power of a truly kick-ass sentence.

Back Away Slowly

(This is the part of my blog where I play Dear Abby.)

I'm well aware of the repercussions that could follow me being so forward on my blog about the happenings of my romantic life (Ha, "romantic." I almost said that with a straight face). But I'm 20-almost-21, a girl, and I greatly dislike keeping things inside when I know that somewhere, maybe, there might be another 20-almost-21-year-old girl who could benefit from knowing that, somewhere, there was once a girl who went through the same thing.

So if you don't care to hear how forward I can be, OMGOSHLOOKAWAYNOW. If you do care: I have another relationship rant. Excited?

I made a connection a few days ago.

Every guy I've ever "been serious" with (Get your mind out of the gutter! By "been serious" I meant "officially called my boyfriend". Geez, people. What kind of girl do you think I am?) (Don't answer that.) used the same pick-up line. A pick-up line that I didn't know was a pick-up line until, well, a few days ago. It's a real kicker:

"You're FASCINATING."

That's it. Two words. Er, well, they were usually arranged into more elaborate sentences than just those two words, but the gist was the same. Because I didn't get crazy drunk every weekend or hang out at bars or wear enough makeup to singlehandedly employ every worker at Mary Kay, I was FASCINATING. And because I had goals and had written a novel(s) and WANTED things, I morphed into a kind of foreign-alien-science-project FASCINATING. (And let me tell ya, it is FUN to get stared at like you're a foreign-alien-science-project.)

But how long, exactly, does FASCINATING last?

Two months. Like clockwork.

Making the connection between the fact that my estranged ex's all thought I was FASCINATING and the fact that they bolted like a bored kid on an art museum field trip at an average of two months in (we'll skip the part where I tell you exactly how many estranged ex's I have to contribute to this data) helped me realize something. Something important.

Being FASCINATING is not enough. Being unique is not enough. Being "ahhed" and "ohhed" over is not enough. And despite how the media and general tween-teenage public adores the idea of being the subject of someone's obsession, it isn't all it's cracked up to be.

(*cough no this isn't another subtle blow at certain unmentioned vampire novels cough*)

Just a reminder. Learn from my slip-ups and hold out for someone who thinks you are FASCINATING and driven, talented, beautiful, amazing, etc etc.

Or become a self-professed hermit and live out your days dying of laughter to YouTube videos like this one.

(Guess which option I'm going with.)

Thank you, Travel Channel

I have a new obsession. It is called Ghost Adventures, and I love watching it at 1AM because it scares me silly. Also because the host looks like this:


...and because they do crazy things like this:



...that give me inspiration for Shiny New Ideas with lots of ghosts and fight scenes and really, really kick-ass fight scenes. And fight scenes.

Now I just have to fill in a plot around all those fight scenes and I'm good to go.

Flowing with the Go

I used to be a big proponent of going with the flow. You know, letting stuff happen. Hakuna Matata, Kumbaya, etc etc. I think this lifestyle stemmed from the specific type o' religion I was brought up in, a kind that supported letting the Higher Power work while we sat back and watched.

This lifestyle has its benefits. You never stop good things from happening. You are much more-- I want to say "relaxed," but it's really more of a blissful ignorance. You just ARE. Which is great. I am a huge supporter of BEING.

But I think sometimes that lifestyle gets taken to extremes. Sometimes events arise that need to be LIVED. Sometimes situations pop up that need to be attacked and beaten and wrestled into submission. Sometimes your life veers wildly around a corner and you have to leap on it, inject it with a syringe of muscle relaxant, and drag it back to the appropriate path.

The downside of BEING is that it becomes a crutch, an easy-out for people to avoid having to do difficult things. "I'm letting life happen" can become code for "I'm too scared to enact the changes I'd need to make my life better." So you end up settling for a lot of things that fall into your lap instead of fighting for the things you really want. And you wake up one day to realize your life isn't a grand as you thought it'd be.

Even though most self-help books proclaim a life of going with the flow and letting events happen, don't forget to fight too. While amazing things can fall into your lap, amazing things are usually amazing because they were achieved after a long battle. It's your life, after all. Do you want to wait for things to happen or make things happen? Me, I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of wishing and hoping and watching the clock.

Me, I'm in the business of not merely BEING, but EXISTING.

A Trial

Setting: A court room, high noon, late summer. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolls.

Sara, looking very anxious, rocks back and forth over the defendant's table. She periodically eyes the crowd behind her as though she recognizes them but can't...quite...place them.

The door behind the judge's podium opens.

Disembodied Voice: All rise for the Honorable Judge Oxbow!

Crowd stands. Sara freezes, gaping at the judge as he rises to the podium.

Sara: Yazoo??

Oxbow: Does the defendant refuse to pay respect to the Honorable Judge?

Sara: You're not a judge -- you're a pirate!

Oxbow: Let the records show that the defendant--

Sara: *scrambling to stand* No, no, I'm standing! I'm standing. See? Standing.

Oxbow: Good. Now the state will hear the case--

Sara: What state? WHERE ARE WE??

Oxbow: *exasperated* THE STATE will hear THE CASE of Thorne, Pate, and Unnamed vs. Sara Raasch, Author.

Sara: *groans* Oh no.

Crowd sits as the Honorable Judge Oxbow sits. Sara remains standing, head hanging, as she comes to understand why she has been brought to this godforsaken place.

Judge Oxbow bangs his gavel.

Oxbow: Release the jury!

Sara: "Release"? What the--

The door beside the jury box opens and a group of all-too-familiar faces files in. At this point, Sara whirls on the crowd behind her, then back to the jury, crowd, jury, crowd.

Sara: Object! I have an objection! Objection, OBJECTION, Your Honor!

Oxbow: The trial has not yet begun. There is nothing to object!

Sara: You've compiled a jury of all the characters who had really, really unlucky roles in my books. This isn't fair! And the crowd-- the crowd is a bunch of the minor characters who died in town explosions and battle scenes. THEY ALL HATE ME!

Oxbow: So?

Sara: SO this won't be a fair trial!

Oxbow: You wrote me without an eye. How's THAT for fair?

Sara: Profanity. Carry on.

Oxbow: *adjusts his judge's wig and waggles the gavel at Sara* I don't think you fully realize the consequences of your actions, Madam.

Sara: *snorts* Madam?

Oxbow: Because of your negligence, innocent characters have been suspended in a state of frozen animation for MONTHS. Their lives have literally stopped because you, YOU, were careless and selfish. We have gathered today to hear both sides once and for all and to come to a ruling.

Sara: A ruling?

Oxbow: *shifts through papers* I call the first plaintiff to the stand: Crystal Thorne.

Sara is the only one, again, who doesn't stand when the back doors open. Crystal marches down the aisle and heads straight for the podium where she takes her seat with a flip of her pink-and-black striped hair.

Crystal: Thank you, Your Honor. Nice wig.

Oxbow: *adjusts the wig again* Why don't you begin by stating your case to the jury?

Crystal: Don't mind if I do.

Crystal faces the jury. Sara keeps a stern focus on the defendant's table, afraid to look at the jury for fear their vengeful gazes might incinerate her from the inside out. Or outside in. Neither would feel very good.

Crystal: I'm Crystal Thorne. 16 years old. I should be in the prime of my life, right? Frolicking through a KICK-ASS story. Making sequels. Conquering love triangles. But where am I? WHERE AM I?

Crystal pounds on the podium, enraged.

Crystal: I've been trapped as nothing more than the blinky line thingy in a Word doc for MONTHS! MONTHS! I'm young! I'm interesting! I'm bubbly! LOOK AT MY HAIR! Any author would be THRILLED to have my story. And she's just-- she's just--

Crystal breaks down into sobs, unable to continue. The jury turns, as one, and sets an even more threatening glare on Sara. Sara shifts, pretending to pick at a spot on her jeans.

Oxbow: Thank you, Crystal. Will the next plaintiff please approach the stand?

The doors open again. Sara turns this time and smiles when she sees who the next plaintiff is. Surely HE will stand up for her...

Maxence Pate stands beside Crystal at the podium. He puts his arm around her as she continues to blubber.

Max: I had the same problem too. A solid plot. Strong characterization. A promising future. Then she had to go and lead me on. Make me think I was special. She kept primping me, what she'd wrote of me, but she never wrote more. I just stopped. Do you know what that's like? DO YOU? To just STOP? It doesn't feel right. It ain't right!

Crystal howls, a bit too theatrically. Sara giggles, which elicits shocked gasps from the crowd. One of the jurors stands, hands in fists, but is convinced to sit by another juror.

Oxbow: Do you have anything to say for yourself, Author?

Sara: *giggling* I'm-- sorry?

Oxbow: Sorry? SORRY? Sorry doesn't make up for the wasted months! The stopped lives! Characters FROZE because of you, and you're "sorry"?!

Sara: *standing* Look, I'm sorry you got all worked about this, but it's hard. Don't you realize how awesome all of you are? It's nearly impossible to stick to just ONE story.

Oxbow: That's precisely why we're here today. Jury? Have you come to a conclusion?

One of the jurors grunts in agreement and hands an envelope to the Honorable Judge. Sara squints at him. He looks familiar too -- almost piratic...

Crystal: Wait! You haven't heard the last plaintiff!

Oxbow: *rips envelope from juror* Well-- that's really beside the point. Decision's been reached.

Max: The decision can't be reached yet! SNI is in the hall!

Sara shudders and glances over her shoulder at the mention of her arch nemesis.

Sara: *growling* SNI...

Oxbow: *hastily tearing open the envelope* Oops, too late! Jury's decision: Sara Raasch, Author, will drop all other stories and focus wholly on completing the STREAM PIRATE sequel. Case closed!

Max: What? That can't be the decision. Case not closed!

Crystal: Yeah! You rigged it! SECURITY!

Oxbow: *trying to sneak off podium* Thank you all for coming here today-- Sara, you will be expected to carry out sentencing in the next few hours-- until then, I must--

Oxbow runs out the judge's door, followed closely by Crystal and Max and most of the jury.

Max: Stop! STOP! You stupid pirate!

Crystal: I didn't even get to wear the wig!

The crowd joins the chaos by erupting into an all-out character fight. STREAM PIRATE characters against all others, everyone screaming about how important THEIR story is and how shiny THEIR dialogue is and oh, look, THEIR settings are SO much more exotic...

Sara stands in the middle of the courtroom. Yazoo, Crystal, and Max are still chasing each other through the judge's quarters to her left while her arch nemesis SNI is still waiting in the hall to her right. Hm.

Decisions, decisions...

An Hour in Sara's Head

10:00PM:

I made a decision. Go big or go home, right? So that's it. I'm doing it. I'm going to move to ENGLAND after graduation!


10:05PM

*prepares Excel spreadsheet of British cities*

*prepares checklist of things needed to move to UK*

*settles in for a long night of research*


10:15PM

Wow...um...there's a lot of stuff. You need. To move to the UK.


10:20PM

What the hell is a Resident Labour Market Test? Or a shortage occupation list? A TIER TWO WORK VISA?? WHY DO THEY LET DENTISTS AND CHOREOGRAPHERS IN BUT NOT ME??
10:30PM

Maybe if I find an employer...who will put up a job for a month, but not tell anyone about it...so at the end of the month, I'll apply...and the employer will tell the UK border people "Oops, we couldn't find any established Brits to fill this position, so we REALLY need this American Sara girl"...
10:40PM

*whimpers*

10:45PM

What about Scotland?

...

Nope. No, Scotland IS part of the UK. Now they REALLY won't let me in.

10:50PM

$#@!%
10:55PM

I guess...I should...maybe...*sigh*

11:00PM

I made a decision. Go big or go home, right? So that's it. I'm doing it. I'm going to-- I will-- My plan is--

My plan is--

My plan is to marry a British citizen and move over there with him. Yes? Yes.

*prepares Excel spreadsheet of US cities with large British populations*

Take THAT, UK Border patrol. I can be SNEAKY. You and your stupidly tight reign on who you let in your country...leave me stuck in here in America...we'll see who wins in the end. Yeah. WE'LL SEE.

But you know what? We already won ONE war against you guys. Just sayin'.

Damn it. Now they REALLY REALLY won't let me in.

Gotta stop talking.

SOS!!

I don't even have a ship. Our a soul. Eh, well, maybe I have the last one. Jury's still out.

Anyway, I have a PROBLEM, guys. As some of you know, I graduate into the real world in November by way of college diploma.

o_O

(No, I don't just look for excuses to use the cute little wide-eyed dude facey thing. My life gets hectic and crazy all on its merry little own.)

I, unlike (or perhaps like) most college soon-to-be-graduates, have absolutely no plans for post graduation. None. Zilch. Nada. Goose egg, baby. It's like the end of The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus. It just leaves you all gaping-mouthed and hand-waggling, unable to mumble anything else but "Wha-wha-what?!"

When I get all panicky about my future (which, believe me, happens a LOT), I watch Gilmore Girls. Heck, I watch Gilmore Girls when I'm anxious, depressed, lonely, heartbroken, etc etc insert-forlorn-adjective-here. That show always serves to give me a good perspective on what I should do, because minus the whole Ivy League school thing, I am Rori Gilmore. It's creepy, actually. I really should sue the creators of Gilmore Girls for identity theft but, um, I really like Gilmore Girls. So don't worry, Amy Sherman -- you're safe.

This most recent viewing of Gilmore Girls (season 7, in case you were wondering) left me bound and determined to increase my statistical odds of doing something WORTHY after graduation by researching the hell out of various cities. Why cities, you ask, and not jobs? Well, I'm pretty flexible about what I'll be DOING doing. Retail (*shudder*, I know, but it's always an option), secretarial stuffs, or even panhandling. I'm an excellent panhandler. Piracy is always an option too. I've been training for that for years.

So you see, I'm more in need of a definitive locale than a definitive job. This is where the SOS comes in:

Where in the world should I live?

(Okay, that's a bit broad -- I should narrow it:)

Where in the United States should I live?

(Eh, still too broad:)

Where in the continental United States that has very low humidity, mild summers, few mountains, many bookstores, and ample copper-skinned male pirates should I live?

(The last one is negotiable. They can be pale-skinned male pirates too. I'll even *gasp* settle for copper or pale-skinned male ninjas. Though, if you know the color of a ninja's skin, well, you are truly a remarkably sneaky individual.)

Help a poor, lost college student out and leave your city suggestions in the comments. Rori Gilmore and I thank you.

A Letter to Risk

(No, not this Risk. Though the Middle Earth version of Risk is EPIC hours of fun. Despite the fact that no matter who's playing, the "good guys" always win. I think it's rigged.)

Dear Risk,

Hi.

It's been awhile. Remember me? Red hair, brown eyes, freaky obsessed with pirates? Yeah, that girl. I know we haven't really been on "speaking terms" lately, and I guess it's mostly my fault. No, actually -- it's ENTIRELY my fault. I've kept you at a distance by use of denial and dance-like avoidance maneuvers. I've become very good at avoidance-dancing. I break it down, yo.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry -- jokes aside, I have been dodging you at all costs. So I guess it should come as no surprise, then, that you don't really work in my favor anymore. My life has become mellow and quiet, and I have no one but myself to blame. This began a few years back and progressed up through those proceeding years until I find myself today, here, now, writing this letter to you for all the world to see. I made a lot of decisions that piled up and turned into one big snowball of "safe" decisions. I'm not proud of it. I'm not proud of any of it. I took the easy way out 9.7 times out of 10 and never looked back.

Until now.

Now I see where those snowballed safe decisions have gotten me. A quiet life. A pass-by-and-never-be-noticed life. A life that I really don't want.

So I'm writing to you, Risk, to come to a truce. I promise to put an end to my snowball safe decisions if you promise to start working in my favor. As proof of my commitment to this promise, I quit my job. No promise of another job. No idea what I'm going to do with the next few months (really, years, but who's counting?). Totally and completely jumping into a big bucket of inky-black Risk. I'm serious and I'm eager and I'm hoping you're serious and eager to agree to your end of the promise. Playing it safe and making the "wise" decisions have only gotten me -- here. And here isn't so great anymore. I'd much rather be terrified and happy than safe and mediocre. So I'm taking the first step, making the first move, nudging the first pawn across the chess board.

It's your move, Risk. But know that I'm ready. I have nothing left to lose -- and by that I mean I have nothing left to lose that I know I wouldn't survive losing. These past few years have, at the very least, created in me a sense of strength. I can survive, and I will survive, and it's about damn time I started surviving on my own terms. My decisions now.

Bring it on. Give me risks to take and mountains to climb and horrifically exciting adventures. Get me out of this rut and take me somewhere -- deliciously ambiguous.

Forever Your Girl,
Sara

Decompress

My way of decompressing between projects is to go through my old Word docs. I'm usually pleasantly surprised by the things I find, and that surprise urges me to get to work on whatever is next in the queue (probably my post-apoc DISCOVERY).

But as I was wandering from doc to doc today, I found a poem I'd forgotten. I wrote in during my slam-poetry kick (that lasted all of about a month), but it's actually pretty decent. So I shall share it with all ya'll while I continue decompressing on this lazy Wednesday afternoon. Cheers.

Second place is the first loser.

But in your eyes, second place feels like first.

In your eyes, second place feels like the ribbon broke on my stomach,

And the crowd cheers my name

Instead of hers.

But the way you say her name echoes with the voices of a thousand cheering fans,

Reminiscent of a time so precious I could never, ever, ever begin to touch it.

Memories so strong and adrenaline-filled and sweat-drenched that I can’t even see their blur as they rush by.

You look at me.

And I don’t care.

Maybe you will say my name like that one day.

Maybe you will lay awake hoping to hear my feet pound towards you,

Hoping to feel my breath beat on your face.

I don’t care that I can see her in your eyes,

That I can feel the years of desiring her on your skin,

And the way you hold me, run your fingers over my goosebumps and soothe away my strain,

I know you touched her even sweeter.

But I don’t care.

Why don’t I care?

I know you talk to her, still.

I know you laugh at what she says, and she laughs at what you say, and the line connects you, connected you, will always connect you.

I nod and smile and wave it off.

Because in your eyes, second place feels like first.

In your eyes, as long as I’m in your eyes,

I can run, and pretend the weight in my stomach is really the weight of the ribbon breaking on me.

Second is all I deserve.

I wasn’t fast enough. Simple as that.

Why don’t I like myself?

Why do I expect to win first place with you when I’m not even first in my own race?

I surrendered myself to a lifetime of dedicated imagining,

Like all I would ever get is pretending that the look on your face was put there by me.

Like I wasn’t worthy to put that look on someone’s face.

Like I could love her out of you.

But I won’t.

I can’t.

I cannot love you enough.

Do I hear me?

I can’t make myself enough!

And this life of falling asleep on dreams,

Of pictures I wish were of me,

Isn’t enough.

Because I deserve to win my own race.

I deserve to feel the ribbon break on me,

To hear someone say my name like the voices of a thousand screaming fans,

To feel him hold me like he’s holding adrenaline in his arms,

And to see only me looking back from his eyes.

150 Followers!!

You GUYS!

*love taps your shoulder*

I feel all special. And not at all pressured to be clever and cute and inspiring and wise in every blog post like some authors I know.

Even though I'd planned to do some kind of cute and clever and inspiring post on motivation and persistence, I can't. Because I found someone who does it better than I ever could. So I'll let her show you how to keep the inspiration up while I go apply to more jobs.

No Rant Part Trois. Sorry.

Unless you want yet another extended rant about the sheer idiocy that accompanies a job in retail. Which I would be more than happy to provide, but I fear if I share more disheartening retail stories I will single-handedly begin a retail revolt. I also fear that if I rant more at all I shall explode in rants too violent for Blogger -- thus I am left with one option.

Extreme bouts of happy things.

Happy thing #1:

(If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you've seen me post linkage to this. WATCH IT. You will love it. Promise.)