A Thought For Admissions People

(Marissa)

There are a lot of things that I kind-of, sort-of, really hate about applying for college. (I know, I complain a lot on here. It's where I come when I'm irritated. You should be honored. You're the cyber shoulder I come to cry on. What, other people read this blog? Nuh-uh. Who are you kidding. It's just you and me here.)

One of the things hate is that it makes me feel stupid. I think, Why didn't I just get an A in that class? It wouldn't have been that hard. If I'd knocked a few hours of sleeping out I could have still done it and everything else. Who needs to sleep? (Totally not true, there are some classes that the only reason I didn't get an A in them is because I refused to respect them or do the work. Am I proud of it? Erm... no. Would I do it again?... Don't ask me hard questions!)

I also don't like that I have to sit for multiple four hour exams which boil down eighteen years of learning into a number unfortunately distant from 36 or 800. I am not a number! I am smart! Sometimes...

It is possible, though, that what I hate most are their essays. I don't like when they're bad questions that plead for stereotypical answers (What does the world need right now? World Peace (and harsher punishment for parole violators... Name that movie)). But it might be even worse when they ask good questions and then expect you to answer it in less than 500 characters. What? They want me to talk about something I'm passionate about and how I pursued it in 500 characters? They're kidding, right? This post is already 1,192 characters. And I haven't mentioned a single thing that I'm passionate about. Well, unless you count world peace.

It does get to the point where I want to sit all admissions people down and explain to them that even if I spent the next century trying to communicate the whole of my person in 500 characters, all they would know about me is that I get frustrated easily. And then I'm tempted to just submit a list of words. Carefully chosen ones! Words like chandelier, gazebo, goulashes, sleet and flamboyant. Or write them a short fairy tale where the prince gets chewed up by a dragon. But that might be a bit too morbid.

Don't you think the admissions people must get bored? After reading countless essays about world peace and student's dedication to __________. Wouldn't they rather read about what I think clouds taste like? Raise your hand if you would rather read what I think clouds taste like.

OK. I feel better now. Thanks for sticking around and listening to me vent. Anytime you need a shoulder to cry on, you know where to find me.

Clouds taste like cotton candy, but only at sunset.

Over.

P.S. This post is now 2,187 characters.

Yeah, This Is What I Think About

(Marissa)

Hey guys, guess what?

It rained today. And I just had a bowl of the worlds best pineapple. And now I'm smiling inside. (And not failing Gov.) It's the little things, you know.

Today my completely amazing Lit teacher tried to convince me to apply to Stanford... Until today I thought it was spelled "Standford." Stanford, in terms of an actual place, is a little bit little bit like the moon, or maybe Wonderland in my head. You know, Alice and Neil Armstrong get to go there and I... I go to Utah, probably. (Nothing against Utah, guys. I like Utah, even if it's mountains aren't as pretty as mine.)

So I thought about it for a while. And then, when I was at the bus stop, I remembered that I have B's and I would have to take the SAT or ACT again and subject tests. And that it is extremely likely that when I go to college I will have a major meltdown. I will turn into a pathetic puddle of pathos and poor roommates will have to walk around me or, if they are extremely kind they'll throw me tissues from a safe distance. The bus stop is a place of crushed cigarettes and crushed dreams, I guess.

In California (or Washington, Rhode Island or Vermont) a major meltdown would be a complete disaster. In Utah I have family an hour from campus and they're much more likely to throw me tissues than I imagine roommates would be.

I actually had no intention of writing a post on this. I was going to tell you about how the jack-o-lanterns around my town are starting to mold over and cave in and how I ate breakfast this morning to White Christmas. "You know," I told my dad, "ethically you're not allowed to listen to Christmas music until after Thanksgiving dinner."

"I thought of that," he said, "but then I remembered how thankful I am for Christmas."

I was going to tell you my dad got back from Boston on Sunday night and brought us back red and gold leaves and holiday-ish aprons. Which was a big improvement on the snickers bar he brought me from the New York airport and the shampoo bottles he brought back from California.

I was going to tell you about how cute my little sister was as a flower on Halloween, how I helped her glue-gun petal-shaped material onto the brim of a witch's hat, which she'd cut away from the point and put her face through, and the amazing green scarf she used for her stem.

I was going to tell you about how I made a total fool of myself in Peace Building again. No surprise but surprisingly disappointing. Obviously I can't be a mediator because I get irritated with how difficult people in conflict are and I can't keep a straight face. Brother Ford quoted What About Bob and I've had the misfortune of seeing that movie many times. How are you supposed to not laugh when your professor explains that there are two kind of people in this world, the ones who like Neil Diamond and the ones who don't?

I was going to, and I guess I already did. That's good, because I have homework, and I should be exercising right now.

Over.

Rainbows... Can You Say Cliche?

(Marissa)

You know, today wasn't a bad day, but it was long and hard. And it was a day off. If someone had asked me what I wanted today to be like I would have said, "Lazy." Or maybe, "Calm," "Relaxed," or "Quiet." It was none of the above. The end of it is, when I got home to day my mood was dark. Cloudy. Grey. A little bit evil. I swear, I'm not in a bad mood all the time. I just blog a lot when I'm in a bad mood.

Anyway, life was not making me happy. Then my mom kicked me off the computer so that we could skype with my grandparents, to have Family Home Evening. And, of course, the Family Home Evening lesson was on gratitude. Can you say Ensign?

Mom was kind of jumping the gun on Thanksgiving (I guess I am too), but she had us all go around and say what we were thankful for about the person next to us, thankful for that we hadn't been at first, so on. And you know what? I am really thankful for rainbows.

Rainbows are a little like hearts in the that the world has gotten all the symbolic milage out of them they can take and they are now reduced to cliches. Saying your thankful for rainbows is like wishing for peace on earth when you have the good fortune to see a falling star. The correct response is Really? Seriously? You couldn't come up with anything better?

But I am thankful for rainbows. Every time I see one I think, God loves me. I know that everyone around me can see the rainbow, but it does seem like it's just mine. It feel like the worlds awash with God's watercolors just because I don't feel happy. I saw one walking home today and my shoulders felt lighter.

I am grateful for rainbows, that my parents love each other, that my little sister loves the world so much, for washing machines, for playlists, conditioner, cool hats, dimples and thick cream. I am grateful for Jane Austin and pianos and stained glass windows. And I am really grateful for rainbows, despite the cliche.

Sometimes, though, I forget.

Why do I do that?

Hiking... Or Lack Thereof

(Marissa)

So, funny story. Remember yesterday when I was on here telling you about my weekend plans (exalting that I had some, for once)?

Well, last night I got back from the Halloween party at eleven thirty-ish, still growling about stupid James Bond writers and their refusal to let Bond retire or any of his poor girlfriends live, and went pretty much immediately to bed. I thought about staying up with a book to distract me from my head ache (curse you, whoever brought those amazingly delicious chocolate cookies), but realized that sleep was probably better medication. Besides, I was going for a hike at twelve today and so it was probably best to go to bed at a reasonable hour. So, like a reasonable and responsible person, I went to bed immediately. I didn't even floss my teeth--don't tell my dentist.

This morning I woke up with the sudden realization that I'd forgotten to do Gov homework and that, for that I would surely fail the class, not get into college and end up as a bum on the streets, like Mr. Violetti said I would... Then I woke up a little more and started cleaning up the house and doing homework.

A few minutes before twelve I headed over to Foodland, our agreed meeting place. I'd locked and double-checked all the doors, turned off all the lights, filled up a water bottle, and left my homework half finished and the bathroom half cleaned. I felt very righteous while I went, because I wasn't just lazing around in my pajamas. When I got there I sat around for a few minutes and, because I'm me, started worrying that I'd got the wrong time, place, or day. Then I realized that all the people I was supposed to meeting live twenty minutes down the road from me and have their own Foodland. Also twenty minutes down the road.

...

So I walked back home, swinging my water bottle and feeling very stupid.

Now I'm sitting in a cloud of bug spray, feeling sunblock rubberize my face, still decked out in hiking gear and wishing that I'd listened to my mom and gotten my drivers licence over the summer. Also wishing I hadn't listened to my mom and had ignored the bug spray on the counter. What do they put in that stuff? Makes my head hurt...

Funny, right? Ha...

Maybe I'll go to the beach.

Over.

Happy Halloween

(Marissa)

Let's face facts. We all have stupid ideas from time to time. It does seem to me that I have more than my fair share (see Adam Popcorn), but we're not going to get in to Fate's slighted hand again. In any case, I have placed wearing my beautiful pure white dress to school on what happened to be a rainy day (have we talked about my school's mud? it's red) firmly into that not-such-good-idea folder.

Let's rewind a year. Last year Katie called me on my totally lame Halloween-ness. (Again.) It's true. I'm a complete party-pooper. I'm trying really hard right now to think of a Halloween when I wasn't either an angel or a witch, but nothing is coming... Oh! I was a Gypsy once. Anything more than that would have taken more creativity than I felt like giving to the holiday. So we decided last year that this year I would not lame with Katie. The plan was that Katie would be Elphaba

(Wicked. If you don't know about it, google it. and then help me convince my dad that he has to take our family to see it) and I would be Galinda.

(I'd like to think that's because I'm blond and not because I bear any resemblance to her in the personality district. Right, Katie? Right?)

Katie reminded me occasionally throughout the year (and this week), but it wasn't until this morning at when Katie walked in fully decked out in costume that I actually remembered. It was an awesome costume. Especially the shoes. I love your shoes Katie! Anyway, after that kind of shaming I had to go home and rifle through my closet. I came out with my white dress. And the hat Andrea brought me back from Finland. I looked at the clock and thought, "Oh, gosh, I don't have time to curl my hair," then I looked at the mirror and thought, "Oh, good, I don't have to." First time in a long time that my hair and I have gotten on together.

It was raining at school. My heels kicked up mud. It was hard concentrating in Gov--er, GOPO. Not that it isn't always, but especially so today. Anyway. Bad idea. The good news is that my dress is still white. The bad news is that it is possible that half the school has seen my slip. I don't know because there are too many layers to that dress to keep track of them all. And slips are, you know, slippery.

I went straight home and (after humming a few bars of Loathing) and put on the roomiest pants I could find and a sweat shirt. I've finally realized why I wasn't born a princess. I don't think princesses get to wear big ugly sweat shirts or painted up pants. They have to wear beautiful dresses with many layers and stiff, gorgeous fabric all the time. Poor them. They can't spill milk all over themselves or run through rain and kick up red dirt onto the back of their legs. I'm grateful for my jeans and my oversized sweaters. Bless them.

My weekend has now begun. Tonight I have a party (what? you thought I had no social life? just because you're right doesn't mean that you need to rub it in), tomorrow there's a hike (if it isn't pouring) and I'm making caramel apples with Katie and watching Sherlock. (It's a modern remake of Sherlock Holmes from BBC and it's so much better than it sounds. The plot holes are gaping but the cleverness of the lines is more than enough to make up for that. It's on PBS's website.) Monday and Tuesday are days off. I love long weekends. They're gifts from God and a reluctant DOE.

I'm supposed to be cleaning right now so that my poor mother (husbandless while my father is enjoying the fall weather in Boston) doesn't have to. You notice I always blog when I'm supposed to be doing things? Anyone else seeing a pattern?

Happy Halloween.

Yesterday

You know what I wasn't doing yesterday at ten o'clock? Taking the ACT.

It feels oh-so-good. It's possible that for the rest of my life I will keep track of ACT dates, just to revel in the fact that I am not trapped in a school room with scary posters trying to remember what the distance formula is or, an even harder question, why I care (...Got me). I hope that I don't do that, though. That will mean I lack things to celebrate.

In any case, at the time that many of my more unfortunate classmates were decoding evil science problems I was here, with these people

I know that was too many pictures. But they're so cute! (They're my neighbors--except for the first one, which is Mei. They brought me cookies on my birthday. They have a little sister who's picture refused to be posted, and she was the one who told their mom that I had to have "strawberry" cookies. Adorable.)

We were picking pumpkins. And red onions. And corn. I did not know those things even grew here. The corn is delicious. The red onions yummy. I haven't eaten the pumpkins. Incidentally, pumpkins are hard to pick. They like to stay on their vines and they have unfortunate bristles.

It did get hot and there were no caramel apples (to my lingering disappointment) and I was very tired while we picked because, while I'd known we were going, I hadn't realized that we were required to get up at seven o'clock to get there and I did not go to be at an hour conducive to me responding well to that wake-up call. But I wasn't taking the ACT.

I wrote my first essay for college this week. It had me seriously freaked out. That wasn't helped by Brother Ford's list of things he'd fail us for. However, the essay did make me realize what I love about blogging. I love not citing things. I love not putting on a cover page (or not forgetting a cover page and having to send an apologetic email to my teacher). I love using fragment sentences and not making my parents proof read. Mostly I love not being graded.

I also have to write a short story. I'm half way there. I'll post it Tuesday if I don't hate it by then.

Over.

I Don't Want To Brag, But...

(Marissa)






















I live here.

And here.

And here.

Just thought you should know.

Over.