Finding Those Dulcet Tones

i just have to say

2009-11-28T13:00:00.003-05:00

i just have to say that it takes a strong person to sit inside this very day and write a paper comparing research articles when you have a father that is willing and wanting to teach you the tricks to being a good repair man, a mother who is gathering eggs in her own beautiful back yard, dogs that are so ready to cuddle and play, a beautiful old piano that is so grand and is just waiting to be heard, and two very long legs that are wanting to stretch and tap all around this beautiful home.

and I just have to say that I am not a strong person today.

Banjo jamming for the win!

2009-09-24T19:01:00.003-04:00

Ok, so I'm trying my hardest to get it all done, and for some reason, I think putting my poorly-made banjo video on my blog is more important than my Nursing Research class study objectives. (Doesn't that just sound boring...well it is.)
Oddly enough, when I try to look this video up on youtube, I can't find it. Other people can, strangers in fact, and I know this because one actually posted a very nice comment. Go figure.

So for all my fans (hi Mom, May, Hank, and maybe Lily (although she's busy at the hospital right now), here it is...

You Got the Devil in Your Eyes (when you play the banjo) Case and Point-

2009-09-19T16:33:00.006-04:00

I've been playing Liz's banjo almost every day. I take it off the wall when I get tired of reading a textbook, which unfortunately happens almost instantaneously. I take turns with all the instruments, like they are each a child of mine, but I admit that the mandolin and guitar would be a bit jealous of old Banjo these days if they could be.

I'm writing a tune that I really like to play, which never fails to amuse and amaze me. I mean, how can I be a creator of these rhythms and notes that sound so good and feel so wonderful to play? I really don't understand it, and that's probably the magic in music. But anyway, there are no words to this tune yet, and I don't know if there will ever be. Maybe I can get someone else to write them for me. I feel like my lyrics are always kind of, well, bad. Nothing poetic about them, and if I try to make them that way, one can tell they are forced or just really sappy.

Ever since I've had my MacBook, I've used the imovie program with the built-in microphone and camera to record myself playing. I now have 74 clips, and a total of about six hours of just me and an instrument. (Actually, there might be a couple clips of me dancing, and if anyone ever stole my computer I would be more worried about them watching those clips than them stealing my identity and ruining my credit- I guess they're kind of embarrassing.) But I love my music clips so much. The majority of these clips are nothing special, but than sometimes I will go back and watch them and it will be a song that I really like, or some little tune that I fiddled around with for a couple of days back at the start of college. I'm kind of thinking that it would be fun to share them, for anyone that was at all interested. But like I said, I've made them to help me remember songs that I make up, or when I just need a distraction from something.

So, if I figure it out, I will put up a clip of the new banjo song I'm working on... we shall see.
I also want to start recording songs for Owen and Billy and Shayla's baby to listen to. That would make me so happy. Problem for me is I don't have a lot of extra time and since I ain't a professional musician, nor do I have a good way to record myself, I think it will take quite a long time. But I'm not giving up on the idea.
No no, never!

Chicken Update from the Child

2009-07-30T11:15:00.006-04:00

My parents chickens are doing really well. They are growing up fast, and when Mama and Daddy look into their baby chick pen when they return from their trip to Cozumel, they're going to think we replaced them with real chickens. Don't get me wrong, they totally miss my parents. My siblings and I are doing are darnedest to keep them cleaned and watered and feed, but I know they miss my Mama's sweetness and heartfelt songs of praise.
When I go into their pen they run away from me. Not so with Mama. They swarm around her, knowing their mother hen is there to take care of them. I can just look at their little bead eyes and hear them thinking,
"Jesus lady, what's your problem? You throw hay at us. You don't place the watermelon down like Mom does, you throw it to us like we're some kind of animals. Where's our fresh fruit salad? Our veggie tray? What did you do with our real parents?"
Well, chickens, they're coming home soon, and I'm sorry, but I'm doing my best, I swear.

Everything else is going swell. I'm about to go to town to help Lily move today, since I am the only one legally allowed to drive Dad's big-kid cars. But I don't mind. I love being with my big sister. It's oddly comforting, even though it was only five years ago that we would get into real, physical fights over things like me wanting to read her Seventeen magazine. Oh how things change.

Jamaica! And Happy Birthday Mama!

2009-07-29T00:36:00.007-04:00

I don't know exactly why it's taking me so long to write about my Jamaica trip. It's difficult to talk about something that was everything.

It was beautiful, tropical, mountainous, beachy, surprising, familiar, loving, scary, sad, grateful, giving, taking, spiritual, and as refreshing as the baths I took in the river each morning. I saw more dark, beautiful people than I've ever seen, more skinny dogs, higher blood pressure and diabetes, more skin fungi, more ancient blue-eyed men and women look me in the eyes with pure gratuity for just taking there blood pressure and asking them, "so why are you here today, what's bothering you Maa?"

They call the women all "Maa", and I caught on to it quickly. Calling them Maa made me feel like we were all related. I felt so close to the older Jamaicans. Maybe it also had to do with when we first got to the infirmary we were told to talk to the people, to touch them, to hold there hands, which I did. At first I was kind of scared to be this close, I didn't know if these people would shy away from my strange touch , but then when I would walk by they would hold out their old, withered hands and smile when I asked how they were. That feeling became much more familiar and comfortable.

This was also the most upsetting part of the trip for me. The infirmary in Jamaica is where the old and the poor, the physically and mentally challenged folks are left by relatives to die. Some of the men and women were completely gone mentally, but then some of them were leading conversations with us about the war in Iraq and were completely aware of the world, probably more so than I will ever be. This part of the trip was intense, to say the least. I will never forget it, nor will I forget the smallest, sweetest, juiciest mango that I picked up off the ground at the infirmary- the best I have ever tasted.

I must continue with Jamaica later. Somehow it is now 1 in the morning and yet I have hardly begun. I'm going to have to get somebody (Mom, Hank?) to show me how to upload pictures because the way I know how really sucks and I just know there is an easier way to do it. So more to come.

Oh wait...
Today was my Mama's birthday, (even though all day long I was thinking that it was tomorrow), and I just have to say that I am so very grateful that she was born and made into the mama I know and love so freaking much. She really is the best. Hope you are having the time of your life in Cozumel, Mama! You deserve it all a million times over. (Oh, and for your birthday I cleaned house. I even washed the hallway walls free of its mildew. Of course by the time you are home again it will probably all have grown back and the floors will be dirty again and the rugs full of chicken poop, dirt, and dog hair. But just know it was clean at one point while you were away.)

From Chigger Bites to Scared of Life

2009-07-06T23:04:00.005-04:00

I have two lovely chigger bites on my left ass cheek. They itch and it is inappropriate to scratch my behind in public. My MRI on my right knee shows that my knee is full of tears and three different kinds of cysts- Baker's, synoptic, and meniscus. I don't feel like looking all of these things up right now. I mean, I have lived with them for almost three years (or who knows, maybe longer) and I don't feel like it is a big deal. I just can't bend them all the way, and they hurt once in a while and I feel like I won't be able to have babies without extreme knee pain, and I get jealous of old people and young people alike who can squat and sit with their knees bent. OK, so maybe it is a big deal in my life, but it shouldn't be. Everyone I talk to has knee pain, it's just a way of life. Right? All I can do is wait and see. I've got an appointment with the Orthopedist two days after I get back from Jamaica, and hopefully it will all get better.

Speaking of Jamaica- I am leaving on Friday and it all feels so weird to me. I've never been out of the country and I know it's going to be good. But right now I am a bit anxious. I still haven't conquered taking blood pressure properly. Which ties into my entrance into the Nursing School. Today, one of the many things I did was go to Helen's Uniform shop to order the things FSU told me to buy. It was kind of fun. I felt like Harry Potter going to Diagon Ally to get all his Hogwarts' school supplies. There were three other girls from FSU getting fitted and asking the same questions I had in my head.

Do my shoes have to be bought from this store, can they be Reebok?... How many polo shirts do I really need to buy. If I have to wear them to class ever day I should at least buy two since I know I will get dark chocolate stains on it... Should I buy a new stethoscope that costs $118 compared to the $15 one that I bought... When will I get my freaking patches to put on my scrubs?

Actually, those were mostly my questions, but I couldn't help but wonder about what the future holds for me and those three other starry-eyed, scared shit-less, girls. Maybe the one with her mom and two younger sisters will become my best friend; we will study together and cry together, or maybe she will become my arch competitor. It is all very exciting and extremely scary for me.

I feel like I have a million and one things to say, nothing poetic or interesting really, but I figured it was time to write some words for the cyberspace world. I think I have been hiding from any sort of work or thinking. That is why my summer has been filled with reading Twilight, watching Heroes and True Blood, spending more money than ever necessary, and working a pretty straight forward job. It feels nice, other than the fact it makes me feel guilty to be using up my time not accomplishing anything. It's a break. I was tired of school and being alone, and now I am still tired of something, I just haven't figured it out yet.

And now I am tired of my emo thoughts. I think I will crank up the music and start packing now.

I'm adding pictures that I have recently taken with my new camera.

Just Some Words

2009-04-16T17:18:00.003-04:00

It's been too long since I've taken the time to write on my blog. And now that I actually should be studying for every class, and finishing up lab reports, and revising my poetry, and writing a biography about Billy Collins, and working on my song that I'm writing for guitar class, I figure it is a perfect time to write. No? Well, "Too freaking bad!" I say to myself.

It's odd how my mind works, because when I have all these things that I must get done, I crave so badly to stop everything and be one with the earth, whatever that means. Like right now, all I really want to do is go home and watch the chicks grow and help Daddy build that beautiful home for those babies. But no, I am stuck inside the FSU library, sitting next to a middle-aged woman who is listening to loud eighties pop rock (Journey perhaps) through her ear buds. Once in a while she starts a short conversation with herself, unless she is actually on a hidden phone, which I must add, I am always tricked out by.

But I feel good at the moment (despite the poor music choices being made around me). I think I might go get some Pitaria and look over my notes for Anatomy. Thankfully we are learning about my favorite subject- the reproductive system! Although I must admit that I still have the hardest time completely understanding the freaking stages of meiosis and how all our chromosomes converge and split and do it all over again. Maybe I should have a sit down with my professor and chat about how babies are made. He is pretty cool. In our notes he compared the Punnett Square to the game Battleship. Can't beat that humor!

Hope everyone is doing good. And just know that Miss. Honeyluna is wishing she was with you, whatever you may be up to.

When Mama Walks

2009-03-06T00:04:00.004-05:00

Mama’s feet are desert beauty.
Cracked like the Grand Canyon,
Worked over by long ago rivers
That once flowed through her,
Leaving prints embedded in her
Heals. Her arches stand so proud,
Ballerinas have tried to steal them
Right from under her ankles.

They are dancing feet, bouncing
Babies-feet on the cool, hardwood
Floors of sleepless nights.
I know they’re sweet, because
Each time she works in the garden,
The ants go snacking one by one
To those beautiful red-nail toes,
Leaving venomous puss-filled pox,
Where they bit into her tasty flesh.

Mama’s feet have walked far
Distances, along all types of paths-
Gravel roads, rocky river banks,
Red roads, sandy beaches, burning
Tar roads, and the oil-dirt grounds
Where we live in Lloyd, Florida. I look
At my Mama’s feet and see it all- the
Hardships, the dreams, four babies,
The men, the dancing, the music,
And, Lord has mercy, the love.

Gardenia petal tops, rough and callused,
Dirt in the cracks, red chipped nails,
Can you see it? Just look at those gems
In the rough and admire their desert beauty.

Ben Sollee Stealing my Soul

2009-02-27T00:32:00.007-05:00

I wept tonight in a very public place. All eyes were not on me, thank God, and it was in dark in the club, so I was not embarrassed. It started the moment this young, fair skinned man walked onto the the empty stage carrying a very good friend of his, the cello, in his arms. I don't know what it is, but music can make me cry, weep, laugh, and move like the crazy woman I was destined to be. Anyway, this time wasn't any different, only more so.
I decided to see this man, Ben Sollee, because it was free and I had looked him up on youtube and I seemed to like his soulful voice and cello playing. I guess it didn't hurt that he was majorly cute and smiled a beautiful smile when he played.

There were so few people at the show that we each had more than enough space in our personal bubble, which feels weird at a club, and a little wrong. I felt like I had to take up more room than normal; I didn't want the performers to feel bad. So I stood strong and I clapped loud and I whoo hooooed all night long.

But the boo hooooing happened when he played this song about change and about becoming a daddy (he told us that his wife was pregnant with their second baby, and at age 24 and being a touring musician, he told us that people usually have a lot to think and say about that). But his song, oh lord help me, it got me. From the moment it started until he stopped bowing that great stringed instrument, I was taken over. I bet it's the same feeling people get when they go to church and they feel the heavenly spirit upon them. What I felt was the love pouring from this young man's heart, down his arms, into those strong hands and gentle fingers, through his mouth, and out for the world to hear. And I felt so blessed to be one of the ones that could witness and feel this.

The whole time I was listening to him, I was trying to come up with what I was going to say to him after the show, because I had to somehow express how much his music meant to me that night. But when I did met him, it was as weird as it always is when I meet someone who has just blown my world but wouldn't recognize one hair on my body, let alone know such personal things as I know about them. All I could say was, "thank you, that was just awesome", and in my head I think "stop sounding like a crazy girl that doesn't know anything, of course he knows that was awesome" But he asked if I played, and I said "yes mandolin", and he said something about frets and having a map to the instrument...and I was gone after that. Too much going on that I just shut down. I know I said something that was stupid, but I'm not going to let it ruin my experience. I just wish I knew how to express myself better sometimes. It would make life a lot easier, and I think I'd have more friends. Really awesome, cute, cello playing friends.

Oh, I just found this picture that I had to share. Look at him and tell me you don't love him. Notice the earrings, the t-shirt, and his little boy in his arms... at the beach I might add. Now I know this man could be totally not what I think, but in my mind he is pretty cool, and I bet you, he's that way in real life too.

Ok, well that's it. Check out his music is you want. Now I just need to buy one of his cds...

Sorry, but it's another poem.

2009-02-19T23:32:00.000-05:00

This is the latest of the class poems. I think it's a little silly, and not so good, but I enjoy it, and that counts for something, yeah? I feel a bit strange posting up each of my poems, because I know that all who read this probably write at least three poems a day, each better than my own, but I'm okay with that. Hasn't stopped me from embarrassing myself before, so why start now?

Now the problem is I have to revise them all, making them significantly better than before. (Actually, that shouldn't be much trouble. Heh.)

So here you are...

My Genes

I wish I didn’t have the genes for stretch marks,
And spider veins. They both creep on my body as I age;
I’m only nineteen.

I’m glad I got the music-making genes, even though
Neither of my parents know where that came from.
(It came from them both.)

I don’t like how I have the anti-social, awkwardness gene
Which makes me feel lonely, even when my world is encircled
By so many beautiful people.

I like how I got the gene to feel rhythm and not be afraid
To move wherever I am, even if it gets me strange stares and makes my
(Once) boyfriend call me a dork.

I hate my gene that makes me hate. I love my gene that makes me love.
I don’t know if I like the gene which makes me second-guess myself,
I just don’t know…

I like my jeans that hug my ass and make me walk proud.
I don’t like the jeans that are too short for my long legs and make me
Feel self-conscious.

I like learning about genes, about babies, about life. I hope to one day
Find a genome that I really love, and swirl mine with his, and see
What that creation looks like, what genes
She or he will love and hate.

Her name is Chloe.

2009-02-14T12:28:00.000-05:00

She is our new apartment puppy, but her real mommy is Amanda. Right now she is tucked between my boobies, feeling my heart beat and absorbing some heat. She's half dachshund, half chihuahua and as cute as a button.
This is her first day with us, so of course I had to create a sling out of a long-sleeved shirt and pretend that she is my baby. So far I have discovered that she likes to sleep a lot, she is not afraid of big stuffed animals, she pees in little amounts (but quite frequently), she likes to follow you real close, and she yelps real loud when you accidentally kick her as you're walking (sorry girl).

She's precious, and she makes me happy.
What do you think?

My mandolin and Mamacita

2009-02-05T14:04:00.000-05:00

My Mandolin

When I
Play my
Mandolin,
I feel it
Transform from
A small, wooden
Box with strings
To a living creature
Fondled at my breast.
I love feeling its heart
Beating, it’s soul tumbling
And singing. It brings me close
To God. Makes me feel like I’m living.

Ode to Mama

Mamacita, Mamacita.
She brought me
Soup and Bread.
Dark chocolate
and Sudafed to cure
My bruised heart
And stuffy head.

Emotional Rant- You've been warned.

2009-02-02T00:57:00.000-05:00

How can someone break your heart when you weren't even in love with him?
I don't understand, but it probably wouldn't help if I did anyways.

When I saw him in the room full of people I love, my heart started pumping so fast and hard, I think it was trying to spring out of my chest so it could beat him up.
"Let me at 'em", my heart was saying to me. "Let me show him what he did to us."

I'm not mad that I saw him tonight; it had to happen sooner or later. In fact, I secretly have been wishing to see him, but it definitely did not do for me what I wanted it too. The last time I was with him we were still a couple and I kissed him goodbye. That must be why tonight was so difficult for me. He didn't even say hello to me when I walked in, he looked at me once the whole night, and I know this because I couldn't help but stare at him. He looked a bit haggard and I wonder if I had something to do with that, or if it was just too much partying the night before. Selfishly, I hope it was me.

If I was an angry person, I would be so pissed off at him for showing up to my sister's house, knowing perfectly well that I was probably going to be there, and yet, I'm not angry, just teary-eyed and tired. I feel weak for wishing that he would realize he made a mistake and ask for me back, but since that's not going to happen, I should study some Anatomy and microbiology, because I have those tests on Wednesday and I can't just ignore that part of my life, although I desperately want too right now.

Anyway, I'm quite fine and normal I would say. Just hoping for some lighter days ahead.

On a lighter note, I was watching the news tonight and saw that picture of the world's greatest super hero champion swimmer, Michael Phelps, taking a hit from a bong, and it made me happy. Even the greatest Olympian of the world smokes weed. Let's think about that one for a moment. Aww, the irony of it all.

One of my poems.

2009-01-29T11:21:00.000-05:00

I told you I would try to post some of my poems, and here one is. I know it's not perfect, but it's alright for now. I just had to write something about Mr. Spaniel, although I also started writing a poem about Mama's feet. I should finish that one, because I like it too.

This is the first draft of the poem, so any commentary is welcome, even if that includes, "Jessie- just write another poem."

Monster Party

I met him at my brother’s monster party.
Me ironically showing up as a party monster-
Black heels, skin-tight 80s, glittery,
Jazz dance outfit that I found at Goodwill,
Hugging all the sexy and awkward curves
On my body. Feeling naked and silly,
I had nothing to hide. The lampshade
Strapped on my head, along with my giraffe
Legs, brought me close to seven feet tall.

He was a just-got-off-from-waiting-tables
Monster. Plaid shirt, wheat skin,
Intelligent, Dominican head,
And those orange old-school Nikes
Made him just under 5 feet, six inches tall.

Hearts on my fingers,
Hearts in my morning oatmeal,
Hearts on my Anatomy Lab notes-
I started tracing them everywhere.
Somehow I had turned into a Middle-School
Girl with a lovely crush on a boy.

Laughs, kisses, movies, and wet eyes,
I’m still finding his hairs embedded
In my carpet. I wake up knowing the head
(Or chest) from which these hairs came
Is no longer around for me to touch.

I didn’t want it to end,
But with him saying he was afraid
Of being in love (again),
And me saying I just want
To love and be loved,
There was only one lonely answer
We both didn’t want to hear.

So now I’ve learned that I shouldn’t go
For the short monster afraid of love,
And also,
I need to vacuum the carpet more.

This is not a poem.

2009-01-13T00:10:00.000-05:00

My first poem for my fancy college poetry class is due tomorrow. Truth be told, the class isn't really fancy, nor does it feel like a college class. My teacher is twenty-four years old, and curses like he's one of my family members. What's up with that? The odd thing is, he's probably going to be one of the best teachers I have at FSU. He's enthusiastic about teaching, he wants to hear what his students have to say, and he gets us involved. What more could I want?
Well, what I would like is some direction is this freaking poem that I have to write and read out load to my fellow classmates tomorrow. I thought it would be quite simple and easy to write a poem about this time last year (or any other year around this time), but when I started writing, I realized that I've never written a poem without a structure outline or rules. That makes me feel a little sad about myself. I've never even finished writing a whole song, even though I've started many. I pretend to be an artist, but not for anybody but myself. The urge to be an artist is there, oh yes it certainly is, but I have never felt very successful.
I know I have my music, and for that I am very grateful, but I don't feel like I own it, if you know what I mean. In my family, I really have the least knowledge about it, it seems to effect me the least, and the truth is, I'm not a good listener. I don't even know the words to songs I've heard millions of times. Sometimes I'll be "singing" along to a song I know, and I realize I have never actually listened to the words. It really makes me sad, but then when I try to listen, I end up forgetting to listen and my mind wanders and I think about other things. And not important things, just stuff like, "What am I going to eat later? Man my lips are chapped. Why is that? I wish I didn't always have chapped lips. I should be thinking about other things. Gosh, I wish I was a deeper person..." And other silly, self-critizing crap.
Anyway, it's late and I really should get some sleep. Not to mention write that poem. Hah. I'm excited about tomorrow morning because I have to get up early for my first microbiology lab-we're going to be working with flames and Escherichia coli! That last statement was ment to be sarcastic, but now that I think about it, I really am kind of interested and excited. I like that hands-on stuff.
Wish me luck! I hope everyone that reads this, (meaning Mama, and maybe Hank and May) are all having very nice days.

Bouncing All Around the Moon

2008-12-19T23:47:00.000-05:00

The world is wondering, where did HoneyLuna disappear to? She's been missing for months, only to be seen by, well, quite a few people really, probably more than anyone is used to see of her, except her beloved Mama and Daddy. But that is where the real problem lies.
She has a hard time writing these days. She thinks, "Why would anything I say be something someone wants to read? It's all the same really- school, grades, roommates, boyfriends, cottage cheese and pineapple." Ok, so that last thing isn't really something she talks about all the time, but it's on her mind right now since it's sitting so patiently six inches away from her MacBook, ready to be devoured.

"Oh yummy," HoneyLuna says after a nice chow down on her curdled milk and acidic, yellow fruit. How pleasant a meal is after five hours of working in a Sushi joint, where everything smells like soy sauce and tempura, (and sometimes, on a most unfortunate evening, tonight for example, it smells like a fetid diaper because the exotic fish was ordered by some fool). But cottage cheese and pineapple remain a welcome treat for Miss. HoneyLuna of the Night.

Now, back to the story of where HoneyLuna has been since we last heard. She's been to the moon, of course! A hell of a place, she would like us to add. It seems as though she has been floating around, touching ground every few minutes, enjoying the sights and feelings as she picks up moonstone memories as souvenirs.

HoneyLuna also reports that she is very proud of herself for "getting shit done". Take for example today. After driving Mr. Spaniel (name has been changed for sheer fun) to his house of work, and having a lovely chat with her ever so beautiful and bright sister, Miss. Maybetheawesomestpersonintheworld, HoneyLuna started her day of doing stuff. She traveled to her own house of work, we will call it Sushi YumYum for now, to pick up her much appreciated paycheck, and did a bit of Christmas shopping in the Market Square plaza. As it turned out, this shopping trip was not in the least overwhelming like most Christmas shopping tends to be, which delighted HoneyLuna to the sun and back. Then, bravely she ventured to the bank and chatted with a very nice finance lady about applying for the evil, but much needed, credit card. HoneyLuna found out she knows nothing about credit and financial stuff, but she is still waiting eagerly to see if she has been approved so she can start building up her credit- "something that adults do," thinks HoneyLuna.

Now that HoneyLuna thinks about it, she realizes that she really didn't do much today, but that fact's not bothering her at the moment. She has a table growing with gifts, which makes her happy to see, even though she doubts anyone is really going to like their presents. But that's not what Christmas is about. We all know it's about finding something that a loved one probably doesn't need but is getting it just because it's what we found in a moment of desperation. Haha, just kidding, (sort of).

HoneyLuna is sorry for the poor quality and oddness of this blog. She is tired and believes she has completely forgotten how to write. Truth be told, she's just being lazy and wanted to write something. And so this is what you get. HoneyLuna hopes you are well, and says, keep smiling because someone will notice, just like the sushi chef at Sushi YumYum did tonight when he said to HoneyLuna, "I like you. You know why? Because you always smile, even when this place is shitty."

What a nice compliment, don't you think?

Halloween!

2008-10-31T22:09:00.000-04:00

So it's Halloween night, and it's just me and Elephant, (who is my roommate Abby's new bunny rabbit whom she so nicely surprised me with yesterday) at the house tonight. I do have plans to go out with my new man tonight, and since I still need to take a shower and gussy myself up, then I guess I better make this short.
I really wanted to put my pumpkin picture up, which I carved on Monday. This means her face is caving in just a little bit, but I think she's still looking hot.
What do you think? I did not win the pumpkin carving contest that I did this for, but in the end, every time I look at her I get a smile on my face, which is as good, if not better, then the stupid beanbag chair that was given to the winner. Hehe, just kidding, it was a fine beanbag chair that I would have been proud to own.
Happy Halloween everyone!

This is Me Smiling

2008-10-12T22:48:00.000-04:00

I just had such a great weekend. I really did not expect it to be as good as it was, since my four exams are on Wednesday and Thursday and usually this would weigh me way down, but somehow I put that aside and enjoyed these two school-less days more than any other days in quite a while. I did get some studying done, not as much as I really need, but I'm sure I will be ok.

Saturday night was amazing with it's rhythm and blues, older dancing hippies that are so fun to watch, late night talking, hay gathering, bat watching, contest spinning, cheesy-joke telling, and more giggling than one girl should ever be allowed to sound. My face is still sore from all the smiles produced last night. It was also the latest I've ever stayed up. I feel like a bad girl, but in the most innocent of ways.

Today was really nice too. I did something that pleases my soul- I played music with my friends and recorded a few songs to send off to The Florida Folk Festival. It's amazing to me that we actually did it in a few hours, and really, what we made was not all that bad given the lack of rehearsal and lack of good recording equipment. We ended up using the microphone on Stephanie's MacBook and using Garage Band to "mix" it. I use quotations here because for each song, we recorded only one track and added nothing. It's quite the bare bones recording. But it's something I'm pretty proud of. Thank god for MacBooks and their ease of use. I just hope it's good enough to get us a spot on the Folk Festival line up.

Oh, our band name is Cicada. What do you think?

Now it is my time to get stuff done. Take a shower, read tons of text books, and get sleep (my favorite of the three).

I just wanted to let you know that today, I am a happy girl. And it feels really nice.

What Are They Afraid Of?

2008-10-02T21:57:00.000-04:00

I'm so pissed off. I came home from my 9 p.m. Anatomy Lab, rushing to catch this Vice Presidential Debate. Being that this is the first Presidential election that I can vote in, I've been trying to learn about the candidates and, even though it is something I don't necessarily like, I've been learning about politics.

So, I came home, turned on this debate, which is still going on as I write this, and watched for about thirty minutes up until both fucking vice presidential candidates agreed that they will never think of marriage as anything other than something between a woman and man. Sure Barack Obama and Joe Bidden will give rights to homosexual couples, and Palin said that the McCainies wouldn't take their rights away either, but no, they won't ever let them get married. I don't understand why they are so afraid of same-sex marriages. Who is this going to hurt? I really wish I could understand. No, I really wish they would understand.

And how many times can Palin say that she and John McCain are "mavericks"? I'm really quite tired of these people. Right now, I don't trust anyone. Yes, I want Obama to win. I actually have hope in my heart when I hear him speak, but I can't say if this is due to what he preaches or how he preaches. But I've decided that I really don't like politics in general. It's so much back and forward, "well I did this", "no, you didn't", "well you did this", "no that is not true".

And Joe Bidden can't pronounce "controversial" and Sarah Palin can't pronounce "nuclear". Did she not pay attention in her high school chemistry class? It's called a nucleus. Gawd.

Okay. Well, I'm not used to this much people-bashing. I have the habit of wanting to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, even if it does seem like everything they stand for is something I don't agree with. And I know that this gay marriage issue is a relatively small topic in this debate, compared to the massive economy fuck-ups and the war, but to me it's big. It's not just about gay marriage; it's about how these candidates view people that are unlike themselves. There is estimated to be 25 million gay people in the U.S. and if these candidates don't even respect and grant them the same freaking rights as themselves (if they are indeed straight candidates), well than I don't feel like I can completely trust their judgement on larger issues. It fills me with sadness that we are not a loving and open minded society.

To put it from a teenagers point of view- this sucks!

YesYesYes!

2008-09-29T22:25:00.000-04:00

I just found out my grade for the first Anatomy and Physiology Lab practical that I took over a week ago. Amazingly I got a 97.56%, which I think it is pretty funny that they gave such a precise number. This is the way of a science teacher, I guess. This is an ok grade, I guess. Hehe. Actually, when I read that number, I said, "yesyesyesyes, Ha HAh!, I did it. I did it!" and then I slapped my face a little. I don't know what made me do this part. Maybe it was to wake myself up and out of this wonderful dream of acing my first anatomy exam, and all the other ones that I've taken so far.

Things just seem to work out for me some how. It's not as though I feel everything is easy. Nay nay. Just ask Mama about all the times I called her last week, crying because it was "all so hard". But after I have these moments of breaking down, I do what needs to be done, and with a lot of help from the family, everything ends up really nicely.

I have a hard time giving myself credit. I don't know why really. I know that I get a lot of help from people, and maybe that's why, but I also think that because I know I have to do these things, like study or clean up after myself or whatever it is, I don't deserve to take credit for it. It's just what I do. I know I'm not a genius, even if one of my professors tells me that this is the case. (She really doesn't know me. She just sees my grades and knows my mama, who really is a genius.) I know I was born too lucky for words to express. The family I have is amazing, and the outlook of life I was born with doesn't suck either, for which I credit my papa's genes. I'm also tall, so I get to see things from a higher point, which really makes a difference. Just kidding.

Abby, one of my roommates, has been saying lately that she doesn't like living with me because I'm too perfect and she can't be as good as me, or something like that. This is someone who is trying to get into nursing school (with the pressures of a dad telling her that if she doesn't get in, she has to live at home next year and go to school there), who works a couple days a week at the mall (which would drive me crazy, especially where she works because it is dark, there's bad, loud music and the ceilings are low- a claustrophobic's nightmare), and she's in a sorority. Plus this girl has many friends, and she manages to keep in touch with all of them throughout the week. I feel good about myself if I hang out with one friend in a week.

Even though I'm pretty darn proud to be who I am, I often times think I should be more like Abby. She has friends, she's making money, and she's doing relatively good in school. Sure I've got her beat in grades, but does that really matter in life? No, it doesn't. Of course, it can make it a hell of a lot easier to get into the nursing college.

I don't know where I've been going with all this gibber-jabber. I just wanted to talk about school and grades and what it all means. It's basically my whole life right now, which is really alright. It's actually a lot of fun, when it's not tearing me up from the inside out.

At least I can still watch new episodes of The Office.

I do love Jim and his sexy smile.

Interview and the Beat that Wouldn't Stop

2008-09-22T21:10:00.000-04:00

Well I just got back from my interview for the International Medical Outreach. This was only my third formal interview I've ever had, and let me tell you, it was intimidating, nerve-racking, and maybe just a little bit of fun. I really was trying to be myself and to think quickly. I was determined to wow them with my intelligent, deep answers, but I guess that's not who I am because everything that came out was pretty silly, and not in the least intelligent. Formal interviews are so scary to me.
At this interview it was three seniors, who have all been on the trip before, sitting in front of me, judging every word I say, never smiling, asking tough questions, and making me sweat and giggle like a pig being tickled. (I guess I giggle even more when I'm nervous). The second question they asked me was about altruism, and Jesus God, I had to ask the interviewer what the freaking word meant.
So I write this to say that I don't have high expectations that I will be getting called back for a group interview. Oh well.

I've been super busy lately. I should be studying right this second. I'm scared that I'm not going to be able to get everything done. I haven't made below an -A yet in college, and even though my focal point in this whole ordeal is not grades, it's still makes me worry to realize just how easy it would be for me to screw myself over by messing up my record.

The person above my room has, of recent, been either creating a rap cd or is playing a game that requires the same beat to be played for longer than thirty minutes at a time. Bum chick bumbum chick bum chick bumbum chick. Over and over again. Once in a while it will do an extra bumbumbum in there. I'm trying to be chill about it, but it's starting to drive me up the wall. I might go ask him what the hell he's doing.

I think it is my time to study some Lifespan Development. I've got my first exam tomorrow and I'm not that enthralled with this notion. I'm just praying it's going to be easier than I've been anticipating. It's my third test in the past week and I am bout ready for a break. Usually after taking a test I at least feel relieved that it's over, but lately I haven't even had time to feel that way. I have to focus on the next on. Really, if I think about it hard, which I'm not to keen on doing at the moment, this is more like real life than I'm used to. Life doesn't always give us breaks, even if we do feel deserving of one.

And the bum chick bumbumbum chick keeps going on.

International Medical Outreach- My new Passion?

2008-09-10T00:14:00.000-04:00

So tonight I've spent hours upon hours trying to create the perfect essays that will get me chosen to be apart of something called International Medical Outreach. It's basically a small-scale Doctor's Without Borders type program, except it's for pre-health students at FSU. They go to Jamaica, St. Vincent and Belize and do amazing things, even though they are just six or so students with basically no experience and two or three doctors leading the way. I have decided that I want to do this with a passion. I've only written two of the four essays, not because they are long and hard, but because they are short. I have a problem with writing down too much. My limit for each essay is 300 words, and like my mom said, "that's only half a blog". How am I supposed to tell strangers my background in 300 words? Well, I tried to do that very thing in the first essay. The second one wants to know why I'm interested in the program and how it relates to my future goals/interests in the health field. I don't think I did a very good job explaining this, but I gave it a shot.

So I'm going to post my essays, or what they are at this moment, right here for you to read, if you feel like being one wild and crazy guy (or woman, if you are one). If you have suggestions, or think they are both total pieces of crap, tell me about it. I know I've probably got some grammar issues. I'm not really sure how to do commas and semicolons and parentheses sometimes. I appreciate all the help I can get.
Here it goes...

1.
My mom gave birth to me in our home in Tallahassee with the support of midwives, my papa, a group of good friends and family, and of course my three older siblings, although I have reason to believe they stayed out of my mama’s way. I tell you this because even though I can’t take credit for what happened that day, this beginning of my life tells a lot about who I am now.
I chose to go to a different kind of public high school; one with a population of two-hundred and thirty students and a tight nit group of teachers who love what they do. It was at this school that I met some of the most generous, creative, open, and loving people, and they quickly became a family to me.
During my high school career, I discovered that I have a true passion for playing the mandolin (who knew?), and have since started up a bluegrass/folk band. I also was involved with the Student Government Association and became the President during my senior year. I was active in the Drama Club all four years, the Dance Club where we got to create our own dances and perform them, and a Tai Chi class.
I graduated Valedictorian, (mind you my class size was only seventy-five), knowing that I wanted to be a nurse-midwife and that I would try with all my heart to make this world a little more cared for and loved.
I decided to come here for college with hopes of getting into the nursing program. So to cope with the huge community difference I applied for, and was accepted, into the Nursing Living and Learning Community, which turned out to be a great group of girls that are now my good friends and support.

2.
I.M.O. is exactly the program that I have wanted to be apart of! Every ounce of my being wants to go to a place that is unlike the U.S.A., (which is fortunate in so many ways), to work hard, get a hands-on-experience, and share whatever it is that I have with people who really need medical help.
The moment I knew nursing was for me was when a man from the Maasai Warriors came to my school and told us about the need of medical attention in Africa. I thought about how prosperous we are here, and how it only makes sense that we go and help our brothers and sisters who are in need. I then realized that I could be the one making a difference. So even though it is my desire to focus on pregnancy and childbirth in my future career, this need to go and help others is what pushed me to choose a life in health care.
I appreciate my schooling and am thankful for it all, but I feel like I never do anything real with the knowledge I acquire, at least not yet. For the most part, my schooling has been from lectures and textbooks only. I’m ready to do something real! I don’t want to take a exam which only testes how good of a test-taker I am. I don’t want to write a paper that will be looked at once and thrown away. I want to help. I want to go to a beautiful land, with beautiful people who appreciate the small pleasures of life, and who can teach me things that aren’t taught about in textbooks. I want to be apart of a team of students and doctors who just wants to make a difference and who is actually doing it!

If you are interested, that picture really has nothing to do with this post. It's a photo taken of an organic farm in Belize. I just liked the look of it.

It's all about the Wall

2008-08-31T22:34:00.000-04:00

I came back to my apartment today from a day out with my mama, and what did I find but all three of my roommates (plus one cute Asian guy) painting the living room walls yellow and lime green. Wow! I knew that they were all wanting to paint the place, because they've been complaining about the whiteness since they've moved in, but I certainly wasn't expecting to come home today to find a totally different apartment. They also moved in a bunch more furniture and rearranged what we already had. It's pretty cool that these girls get something in there mind and actually follow through so quickly. It's making me realize how negative and inactive I really am. It's a fun thing to realize about oneself, for real.
For example, when they first told me that they were going to paint, what popped into my mind and eventually came out of my mouth was, "Who's going to be doing all this painting? Does anyone really know how to paint a house? It's going to be really hard to paint around all the doors, cabinets, outlets, and the refrigerator. And do you really want to paint it all white again when we move out in less than twelve months?" But I'll be damned if we all didn't just do it in two hours, which includes moving the fridge after Paige, one of the roomies, persuaded me that it could be done.
Now I'm the only one in my apartment that doesn't have her walls painted. And I must say that it's made me feel a little left out and behind. This feeling is not unfamiliar to me though. (I just realized that I could start talking about me feeling like I never fit in, but I've decided to spare you and me of that agony tonight.) Let's just stick to this decorating thing. So instead of painting my walls, which even after witnessing how easy it really is I'm still not convinced I need to do it, I've decided to put up lots of things up. This includes, but is not limited to...
a mermaid mirror my Aint Liz gave to me,
my happy, Mexican, paper flags,
a Maxfield Parrish calender,
a hanky my mama got at Goodwill,
a dry erase board that I keep my schedule and notes written on,
and a few paintings.
So I'm pretty content at the moment. At least have these few things up, right? There is still one wall of my room that is completely bare.
Do you have any ideas for my room? I'm open to any suggestions. Even if you say, "Hey Honeyluna, I think you should line one wall with a snake tank (say that ten times fast), and get yourself a boa constrictor as a pet." Although if you do suggest something such as this please don't expect me to follow through on your very thoughtful suggestion. Thanks and lots of love. -H to the Luna

First Day of School

2008-08-26T01:42:00.000-04:00

Today was my first day of being a sophomore. I felt the most stressed I've felt in three months, but it's almost refreshing to have something to care about, work on, anticipate about and all those other stress-inducers. Almost.
I'm taking a nutrition class, my first class of the day which starts at 11:15 am, and I think this one won't be too bad. A little bit of Chem, a little Bio, some knowledge that I got from all the years of attending my mama's Weight Watcher meetings, and good old fashion studying should do the trick.
I also have an Anatomy class at 5:15. This one is going to strangle me, whip my life around, but then I'm going to give it the old Jessie domination that it needs so I can get into Nursing School. One of the many things my teacher told us 240 hopeful nursing students about the class was that on all exams and quizzes we must spell all words correctly, or else it will count wrong. (By the way-FSU Nursing College only accepts 75 students each semester into the program. I'm sure you can see that the majority of us girls, oh, and the occasional gay guy, will not be fulfilling our dreams of becoming nurses. And looking around the huge lecture hall today, I saw quite a few determined looking ladies. and 3 enthusiastic boys. It scared me just a little.) So the thing about the spelling shouldn't have surprised me. I guess it makes sense that nurses know how to spell the correct body part that is giving you trouble or spell the medicine that is going to save your life, instead of something that could possibly kill you. This is all very fine and dandy, but hell, I couldn't even spell Ibuprofen or Aleve when I was asked what drugs I've taken in the last 4 months at the blood bank today.
This class may possibly bring out some bad memories of my dreaded reading/spelling disability. Which is ok, because every time I work through an obstacle like that, it makes me feel that much more accomplished. Learning to read for me was the hardest thing I've had to put my brain through.
God it was hard. The only way I got through it was because I had some amazing teachers and an even better mama who would listen to me struggle but only ever give me positive encouragement. I still cry just thinking about all the times she would sit with me as I tried to sound out words. I'd get so frustrated with myself and tell her "I can't do it, I can do it," and she would only say, "Jessie, yes you can. You can do it." She was right. But I completely believe I wouldn't have been able to learn to read, and love it at the same time, without her help.
So my Anatomy class might be like that; a whole lot of struggle and hard work, but an even bigger sense of accomplishment.
So tomorrow is my second day of being a sophomore, with two whole different classes. I'm nervous and excited. I also feel a little lost right now, but once I get a system down I'm sure I will be feeling better.

New Home

2008-08-21T21:58:00.000-04:00

Well, I'm here! I've made it to my very own (not counting my three roommates) apartment, complete with a full-on kitchen, my own room and bathroom (which I'm super happy about), creaking noises from my neighbors up above and a strong bass pounding through the ceiling. But I understand the need for music, oh, and the need to move around, which in these cheaply made apartments means I'm going to be hearing a lot of creaking. I'm not worried about these noises though. When I'm awake, they will become part of the background noise that our brains somehow can magically make seem to disappear and when I'm asleep, well, I'll stay that way.

This morning I was completely aware that once I packed up my clothes I was no longer going to be able to stay home. That's why I laid on the couch for hours, watching something that I can no longer remember what it was, thinking about how I was perfectly happy being a stay-at-home daughter, and why the heck should I move out and go to college when I've been perfectly happy doing nothing? Well logic got to me, or societies expectations did, and I went through my clothes, put the ones I like most in a trash bag and let myself except the fact that I can do this and it's going to happen even if I can't.

Mama, Daddy and I all meet at the new place, unloaded my bed, my desk, my mandolin, and a hell of a lot of other things. My favorite part was when I was in the kitchen, putting away my canned foods and new cooking utensils. My daddy was laid across the couch, his head resting on my mama's lap. Mama was looking at him with eyes full of love and possibly tears. I think they were whispering to each other, or maybe they were using telepathy because something was definitely being said between those two. Whatever it was, it filled me with emotion. Right then, as I was settling in my new home, my parents were settling with their togetherness. Last year when I moved out for the first time, my parents definitely got closer. Now they seem to hold hands all the time and they even stopped to kiss on the stairs of my new apartment like they were teenagers in love for the first time. Hehe. I love that they do that. I only wish that same kind of love for myself one day, because it sure hasn't happened yet.

So mama took me shopping and we got quite a lot of food and household items, which I am so very grateful to have. After mama left me I unpacked and listened to the Beatles White Album. The day really flew by for me. By the time I was half unpacked I was starving and figured it was time for me to create my first meal. I made the fast, simple, trusted meal of spaghetti, salad, and garlic toast. My stove and oven both performed beautifully and the food was good enough. Nothing like Mama makes, but I figure I'll have time to be more creative than a jar of tomato sauce, noodles, a simple salad and sliced bread toasted with butter and garlic powder.

There is so much I could mention about being on my own in this new place. Like the fact that my bathroom smells like plastic from my shower liner, or that I'm just using my dishwasher as a drying rack because truth is I like washing my own dishes. The walls in this place have been painted a billion and one times, and I can tell one of the last tenants had the walls a purple color. Now everything is white and bare, but that will change soon enough. I have a beautiful painting of a girl reading a book that I somehow got from my friend Robert's house for free. I didn't steal it, I promise, but Robert is never going to let me forget that his parents gave me this painting. So she is going to be on my wall. I have some other things that will go up, and since I love the feel of Mama's house, there will probably be some aprons hanging on my wall to emulate what I have grown up with.

Think I will go eat some frozen grapes and read Harry Potter now. I don't have a TV, although I did find out today that cable comes with the apartment. The idea of having a TV in my room is pretty tempting. I can picture myself coming home from school and turning on Project Runway as I eat leftover pizza on my bed. That does sound awfully nice, but I'm sure I'll get a ton more done without a TV. So, no Jessie, you can't have one in your room.

I'm a happy girl. It's been an emotional week, but I think it's all going to be really good. Really good.

So many choices.

2008-07-30T12:54:00.000-04:00

What to do today?
Play my mandolin?
Read Harry Potter?
Watch a movie on one of the 100 movie channels we have?
Dance around the house in my bra and shorts to the Dixie Chicks or maybe the Rolling Stones?
Wash my dogs?
Hit some notes on the piano?
Eat lunch?
I've cleaned the kitchen up from last night and this morning's egg-salad bagelwich I made for breakfast. I've swept the porch, which reminded to water those plants. Which now hosts the nests of two different bird families I believe. I went to the garden and picked approximately 15 red ripe tomatoes and made a bouquet of those funky zenias. That's really all I have done today. I guess I will now wash up those stinky pups. I could definitely benefit from that.

I just feel like writing

2008-07-27T23:44:00.000-04:00

I am just going to write like my drama teacher taught us how. If you are stuck you just write nonsense or whatever pops into your mind. You never let the pencil leave the paper, or in this case I guess you never let your fingers rest from typing. Sometimes crazy ideas come out of nonsensical things and ideas spring forth that turn out to be masterpieces, or that is the idea of it anyway. I always really enjoyed my drama class. We would start out by sitting on the ground, because there were only ever a few chairs spread out in the room and on days I wore a short skirt I would always grab one up before another classmate got it. So we would all sit around, usually chatting with someone or reading or maybe sitting on your boyfriends lap and talking to him in sweet little wispers. Of course I never really did much of those things. I was the one who would get prepared for class, taking out my notebook, a sharpened pencil or favorite thin point pen and would wait until Trish would start the class. Trish was my teacher. She has long black hair with a few gray streaks set in to get lost in. She would smile at me every time she looked at me and this made me feel loved. Sometimes I would talk to her as kids would stream in, always after the tardy bell had rung, and we would just chat about yoga or a new play we were working on or the school's bluegrass band that I had the pleasure of being in. Trish was, and I'm sure still is, one of the coolest teachers a kid can have. I only ever saw her lose this cool on the rare occasion when a student would get really disrespectful, which wasn't often because Trish's coolness demanded respect and we all could sense that.

Trish wasn't the only cool thing about my high school. My whole school was like her. Calm, respectful, creative, loving, beautiful, and usually very joyous. It was my perfect home away from home. I have plenty of friends who couldn't wait to get out of high school, but the whole time I was there I knew that I would miss it. I don't long for it, I don't believe I'm the type of person to wail over the past for long, but I look back on those days with such appreciation and love. I miss the little things. Like sitting under the two trees all year round, with all my friends jammed together on one picnic table. I loved the different times of the year on that campus. During the fall, the pecan trees would drop their fruit and I would eat them with pride. Then when winter came, usually lasting only a few weeks if we were lucky, I would wear my denim jacket lined with the most comfy faux wool and I felt so chic and cool. When spring came, the flowers in the cemetery neighboring my school would bloom and we photography students would spend most of our class period outside experimenting with the new light. Summer was the fun time, with school almost out and adventures awaiting. I will never forget my ninth grade year when just about everyday around one o'clock it would start pouring. I loved the rain then and I love it now. It was magical how it rained at almost the exact same time everyday, and then a few hours later it would be bright and sunny again.
So I do miss my school. They say I can go and visit, and I have, but really it's not the same. For one thing my school moved to a different campus. It's nice, but so much of why I loved my school was because of the old campus. Sure it wasn't at all adequate for what we had grown into, but it was damn special. Also when I go to visit, I feel just like that, a visitor. It's no longer mine. Which is good. I had it once, and now it is there for the others. Other kids will get to have Trish's love smiles, and the experience of walking down the hall and greeting teachers and other students as family.
Oh me oh my. It is nice to let words flow, even if they are sometimes jumbled and would never do for an official essay. I think Trish was right. Maybe I haven't discovered a masterpiece but I did get to thinking about some joys in my life that I haven't thought about in a while. Good times, good times.