yeah suckage
so graduation is in 20 days and i have like 3 finals due next week! its insane..i cant keep up with it anymore..im so done with school its not even funny.
hmm today is thursday so starting w/ friday:
friday: school,nails, jamie's
saturday: work 8am-10am then work 4pm-close
sunday: work 10am-3pm then tattoo!
monday: school,senior yearbook party, red cross banquet 6pm
tuesday: school
wednesday: school, senior awards 7pm
thursday: school, nails
friday: school, hair, pics, Prom!
Saturday and Sunday: @ the shore!
The rest of the week after prom is pretty much finals and im not taking any so i wont be in school again until the 21st for grad practice and senior breakfast hehe
oh and by the way
boys suck :-)
<3 Celli (p.s. there is gonna be this really long thing after this entry about nice girls...read it--its amazingly true...i applied to all of it.)
this is really long but PLEASE read it. its so true. This is my tribute
to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become
friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and
their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are
doing something wrong. This is for the girls who don't give it up on
the first date, who don't want to play mind games, who provide a
comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they've heard a
thousand times. This is for the girls who understand that they aren't
perfect and that the guys they're interested in aren't either, for the
girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest
glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive
that hope that maybe... maybe this time he'll have understood. This is
an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in
skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care more than they should for
guys who don't deserve their attention. This is for those girls who
have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time
again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without
saying a word. This is for the girls who have been there from the
beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from "there are
plenty of fish in the sea," to "time heals all wounds." This is to
honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are,
who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it. This is
for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it's an
experience that they don't want to miss out on. For the girls who have
sought a night with friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling,
rude comments and explicit invitations that they'd rather not have
experienced. This is for the girls who have spent their weekends
sitting on the sidelines of a beer pong tournament or a case race, or
playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy friend or a comatose
crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from
someone who doesn't care enough to invite them over but is still
willing to pass out in their bed. This is for the girls who have left
sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone
understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and
time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to
watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt. This is for the
girls who have been told that they're too good or too smart or too
pretty, who have been given compliments as a way of breaking off a
relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.
This one's for the girls who you can take home to mom, but won't
because it's easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship;
this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and
touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never
real to begin with. This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into
their head and heart and bed, only to discover that he's just not
ready, he's just not over her, he's just not looking to be tied down;
this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it's easier to
believe that it's not that they don't want you, it's that they don't
want anyone. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and
their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first
place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable
and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you've returned home
alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning
a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little
too softly for the girl he's with to be a random hookup. This is for
the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally
having realized that it wasn't that he didn't want a relationship: it
was that he didn't want you. I honor you for the night his dog died or
his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his car and you held him,
thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or said the
right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he'd
realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you
realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next
morning after failing to sleep. This is for the "I really like you, so
let's still be friends" comment after you read more into a situation
than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when you choose
friends, you seldom choose those which make you cry yourself to sleep.
This is for the hugs you've received from your female friends, for the
nights they've reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and
amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the
despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing
that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a pillow and
your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used and abused,
who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving
something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we've believed that
something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing
we'd have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisified
with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for
the girls who don't think that they deserve more, because they've been
conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys.
This is what I don't understand. Men sit and question and whine that
girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and
belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them; who use
them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest
will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who
are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet
and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share
in their lives, that girls play mindgames, that girls love to keep them
hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were you to meet one of these genuinely
interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and
sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were you to give her your number
and wait for her to call... and if you were to receive a call from her
the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and
straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you
intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and
perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or
would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the
"stalker chick" you'd met the night prior, who called you and wore her
heart on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you
not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and
once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once
more for this "nice girl" who you just cannot seem to find? Because
therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you're
not looking for a nice girl. You're not looking for someone genuinely
interested in your intermural basketball game, or your anatomy midterm
grade, or that argument you keep having with your father; you're
looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a
connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the
condom you were using during it. So don't say you're on the lookout for
nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take. Sometimes
we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl
in the low cut shirt or the too tight miniskirt won't answer your
catcalls, sometimes you're looking at a nice girl in whore's clothing -
- we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and
turn back to our friends, but we're all thinking the same thing: "This
isn't me. Tomorrow morning, I'll be wearing a teeshirt and flannel
shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hungover best
friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me." You never do. Why?
Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who
welcomes those advances. You don't want the nice girl.. so don't say
you're looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy
and intent, three things we're willing to extend - - but in return,
we're looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things you
never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the
race they're running they're chasing after the whores and the sluts and
the easy-targets... the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with
water and towels and a congradulatory hug (and yes, if she's a nice
girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won't matter), hoping
against hope that maybe you'll realize that they're the ones that you
want at the end of that silly race. So maybe it won't last forever.
Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes
and make their way to the concession stand where we're waiting;
however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race
to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what's a concession
stand at a race without some chocolate?)
Thanx court :-)
hmm today is thursday so starting w/ friday:
friday: school,nails, jamie's
saturday: work 8am-10am then work 4pm-close
sunday: work 10am-3pm then tattoo!
monday: school,senior yearbook party, red cross banquet 6pm
tuesday: school
wednesday: school, senior awards 7pm
thursday: school, nails
friday: school, hair, pics, Prom!
Saturday and Sunday: @ the shore!
The rest of the week after prom is pretty much finals and im not taking any so i wont be in school again until the 21st for grad practice and senior breakfast hehe
oh and by the way
boys suck :-)
<3 Celli (p.s. there is gonna be this really long thing after this entry about nice girls...read it--its amazingly true...i applied to all of it.)
this is really long but PLEASE read it. its so true. This is my tribute
to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become
friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and
their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are
doing something wrong. This is for the girls who don't give it up on
the first date, who don't want to play mind games, who provide a
comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they've heard a
thousand times. This is for the girls who understand that they aren't
perfect and that the guys they're interested in aren't either, for the
girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest
glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive
that hope that maybe... maybe this time he'll have understood. This is
an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in
skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care more than they should for
guys who don't deserve their attention. This is for those girls who
have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time
again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without
saying a word. This is for the girls who have been there from the
beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from "there are
plenty of fish in the sea," to "time heals all wounds." This is to
honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are,
who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it. This is
for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it's an
experience that they don't want to miss out on. For the girls who have
sought a night with friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling,
rude comments and explicit invitations that they'd rather not have
experienced. This is for the girls who have spent their weekends
sitting on the sidelines of a beer pong tournament or a case race, or
playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy friend or a comatose
crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from
someone who doesn't care enough to invite them over but is still
willing to pass out in their bed. This is for the girls who have left
sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone
understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and
time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to
watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt. This is for the
girls who have been told that they're too good or too smart or too
pretty, who have been given compliments as a way of breaking off a
relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.
This one's for the girls who you can take home to mom, but won't
because it's easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship;
this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and
touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never
real to begin with. This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into
their head and heart and bed, only to discover that he's just not
ready, he's just not over her, he's just not looking to be tied down;
this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it's easier to
believe that it's not that they don't want you, it's that they don't
want anyone. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and
their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first
place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable
and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you've returned home
alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning
a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little
too softly for the girl he's with to be a random hookup. This is for
the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally
having realized that it wasn't that he didn't want a relationship: it
was that he didn't want you. I honor you for the night his dog died or
his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his car and you held him,
thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or said the
right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he'd
realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you
realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next
morning after failing to sleep. This is for the "I really like you, so
let's still be friends" comment after you read more into a situation
than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when you choose
friends, you seldom choose those which make you cry yourself to sleep.
This is for the hugs you've received from your female friends, for the
nights they've reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and
amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the
despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing
that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a pillow and
your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used and abused,
who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving
something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we've believed that
something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing
we'd have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisified
with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for
the girls who don't think that they deserve more, because they've been
conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys.
This is what I don't understand. Men sit and question and whine that
girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and
belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them; who use
them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest
will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who
are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet
and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share
in their lives, that girls play mindgames, that girls love to keep them
hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were you to meet one of these genuinely
interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and
sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were you to give her your number
and wait for her to call... and if you were to receive a call from her
the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and
straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you
intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and
perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or
would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the
"stalker chick" you'd met the night prior, who called you and wore her
heart on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you
not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and
once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once
more for this "nice girl" who you just cannot seem to find? Because
therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you're
not looking for a nice girl. You're not looking for someone genuinely
interested in your intermural basketball game, or your anatomy midterm
grade, or that argument you keep having with your father; you're
looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a
connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the
condom you were using during it. So don't say you're on the lookout for
nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take. Sometimes
we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl
in the low cut shirt or the too tight miniskirt won't answer your
catcalls, sometimes you're looking at a nice girl in whore's clothing -
- we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and
turn back to our friends, but we're all thinking the same thing: "This
isn't me. Tomorrow morning, I'll be wearing a teeshirt and flannel
shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hungover best
friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me." You never do. Why?
Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who
welcomes those advances. You don't want the nice girl.. so don't say
you're looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy
and intent, three things we're willing to extend - - but in return,
we're looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things you
never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the
race they're running they're chasing after the whores and the sluts and
the easy-targets... the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with
water and towels and a congradulatory hug (and yes, if she's a nice
girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won't matter), hoping
against hope that maybe you'll realize that they're the ones that you
want at the end of that silly race. So maybe it won't last forever.
Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes
and make their way to the concession stand where we're waiting;
however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race
to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what's a concession
stand at a race without some chocolate?)
Thanx court :-)