Being Different

Why do we have to be so similar? Why do we have to ask so many questions? (The irony in this post is already getting ridiculous)

Why do we have to be asked why we wear what we wear?

I could walk into school with my hair dyed pink, but yet be wearing a new shirt. What’s the first thing someone’s going to notice?

You guessed it. The hair.

People have the problem of noticing the big things about people; the things that stand out the most.

People have the right to be different. If you’re a girl and you don’t feel like wearing girl clothes, that’s fine with me.

But suddenly everyone needs to judge. It’s a need. People feel the need to barge in on other people’s lives and judge them. Who’re they to talk? They’re the people who wear Abercrombie and Fitch every day, and have to have matching clothes and boots with their posses. It’s just straight up fucked up. And it makes me upset.

That’s the beautiful thing about being different and unique.

I don’t believe in such things such as “Goth” or “Punk” you’re what you make yourself, and don’t let anyone tell you different.

Memoir

[The following is a memoir that I had to write for my English class, so I decided to write about my deceased cat]

Have you ever had the thrill of welcoming a new pet into your family? In the autumn of 2007, I welcomed my kitten Rocko into my family. He looked like a cow. A small cow, with black and white spots. He could just barely meow at two months old. He was the first to come to me when I walked into the room.

Getting a pet is usually a lot of work. You have to adjust your schedule, your routines, and possibly the way you act. But it’s enjoyable. You’re not alone, and you have someone to talk to. When I first got Rocko, I had to keep him in my room to keep him from torturing and attacking our older cat, Max. Later on they soon warmed up to each other and became close, and before I knew it, Max was taking care of Rocko as if he was one of his own. At five months old, Rocko was into everything. He was scratching at the couch, pestering Max, and he was extremely hyper and running everywhere, and couldn’t stay still for a couple of seconds.

A horse was how you could describe him. Well, not as I described him. My family said that he was big enough to put a saddle on. Weighing twenty pounds, he could be large enough to ride, my family thought. My family members had always disregarded Rocko, and paid more attention to Max. Rocko was a little ditzy, and wasn’t the smartest, but I did love him, and there wasn’t a single reason I could think of to not love him. Although he was big, Rocko was extremely skittish. If you were sitting on the couch, and moved your leg just slightly, he would jump five feet into the air. He was also scared of thunderstorms, and by surprise, ants and spiders as well.

Today, I don’t have Rocko or Max. Rocko sadly passed away last year around the beginning of January. He was only three years old, but the time I had spent with him was fun, exciting and made me feel overjoyed. I still miss him to this day, but it makes me happy knowing that he’s with Max, and that they’re both happy.

Exams

I'm sitting in the front row, sitting at a desk, pencil in hand, twirling about. I stare at the innumerable amount of questions I have sitting in front of me. I let out a sigh as I attempt the first problem when someone coughs, throwing my focus off. I turn back when I hear the tapping of the other student's feet against the floor, the slight tapping of pencils, and more thinking habits as I try my best to stay focused and work diligently on my test.

Downton Abbey

My most recent preoccupation has to do with a show that you may or may not have heard of; Downton Abbey.
I'm currently on the second episode of the third season. To be completely honest, I didn't think that it would grab my interest much. But it did.
It's extremely exciting, and it makes you want to keep watching. (I managed to watch the first season over an unhealthy period of only 3 days) 

The show is about a family of aristocracy that lives in an abbey by the name of "Downton Abbey"
The family suffers through the pain and loss of a loved one that drowned on the Titanic. They must go to their cousin Matthew Crawley, to become the new heir. 
Throughout the show, Matthew and Lady Mary Crawley-daughter of Lord Robert and Lady Cora Crawley- have an off and on recindling relationship that they refuse to pay any attention to. 
That's about as much as I'm going to give away for now. I suggest watching it, and you won't regret it.

A Night Of Christmas Songs [12/12/12]

    I walk through the doors to find people buzzing around, trying to find where they're supposed to go. My knee-highs are falling down, and I'm practically stepping on my black skirt. My bra straps are falling down, and my tuxedo shirt is becoming discombobulated and uncomfortable.
      I make my way through the hallway and into the band room, to find my peers aged from fourteen to eighteen putting on their cummerbunds, rosettes, and bow ties. We're all a family, this is our time to shine.
      I ask for some help for my cummerbund and rosette, as I help several other freshman with theirs. I hear the voice and I turn around.
"Here, you two hand out pamphlets at the door, you've got the biggest and best smiles in the chorus." Says the instructor. I take the compliment. (our chorus is around 100 people, so this was a big compliment.)
      I turn to the girl next to me, and we both say goodbye to our peers as we make our way out the door and on to the stage where we will soon be performing on. I awkwardly gallop down the stairs, holding my skirt and trying to make myself presentable for the crowd.
We make it to our destination and I grab a stack of pamphlets out of the box, as does she.
"Ready?" I ask.
      She nods, as they open the door to let in the rush of the crowd. Filled with adults, children, teenagers, elders; people eager to get in. We get several "How are you?" 's and "Thank you" 's and maybe a couple of crabby citizens with a lack of Christmas spirit. No mater what, we keep our smiles glued onto our faces, and hand out the last of the pamphlets as the announcer begins to speak.
      The concert band is on first. The first chords of an unfamiliar Christmas song begin to play, as I get goosebumps down my arms. This was my favorite part. This is what gets everyone in the Christmas spirit. I cheer for my best friend on stage, as the chorus waits to make their performance.
      Several Christmas songs sung by the eight grade later, we make our debut. Not as a chorus, but as a family. I take my place as an alto, and keep my eyes on the conductor as we sing our first notes to "The First Noel"
several songs later the pressure is on as we begin to sing several fast-yet beautiful- Jewish songs. The lights are on you and you feel the pressure, but you pretend it's just practice. You, the instructor, and the chorus, no one else. Not the camera crew, not the audience, not even the two amazingly small diamond microphones that pick up even a plane going overhead. (There are only 3 in the world, the only people who have them are the person who invented them, and the Boston Symphony Orchestra, pretty cool if you ask me!)
      We finish with "We Wish You A Merry Christmas" And the crowd goes wild. We all bow, and stumble off the stage with a flushed color on our faces from standing for an hour and a half. No breaks in between, no water, just singing.
      I'll always have in my head, that the conductor once said "Never underestimate what you do, because it can be life changing"
And this, this was a life changing experience.

The Fault In Our Stars

Expect my review and rating on "The Fault In Our Stars" to be up soon!
I'm busy with school and midterms, so it may be about a week or so before I actually come around to actually writing something. If you're looking for a brief review: It was amazing. It was realistic, and it was so entertaining. I read it in about 3 days, and it was both humorous, with a hint of romance and drama.

A Cold Night On Baker Street [Part 1]

    It's a quiet night in 221B Baker street. It's winter, and there's a cold draft blowing through the apartment. Not powerful, but just enough to make the hair stand up on Molly's arms and produce goosebumps.
    A protective arm is latched around her waist. The hand belongs to her newlywed husband of six months. The grip tightens as Molly shivers from the bitter cold that suddenly hits.  Molly leans upward and reaches to the end of the bed where she and Sherlock had nearly kicked them off in their sleep, and dragged them up toward she and him.
The motion caused Sherlock to stir beside her as his grip loosened.
"Are you alright?" He asked, as he sat up, suddenly startling his wife. He placed one of his hands to her side and the other to wrap around her neck and chest to give her a hug, planting a kiss on her cheek.
"Yes, just cold." She responded. She knew he'd have a fit as soon as she told him. He always tried his hardest to make his Molly comfortable in the best way possible.
"I might have some extra blankets, let me check in the closet." he announced, releasing his grip entirely and stood to exit the room.
She watched him leave as he made his way into the closet in the hallway.
He soon returned with a large wool type blanket of sorts and shook it out to cover it over Molly.
He stood next to her, hugged her, then moved his arms up and down her back to produce some kind of friction to warm her up.
She giggled at the sweet gesture and casually responds "Yeah."
He climbs back into bed and he returns to his dominant spot as her protector, wrapping that same protective arm around her wasit again as they both drift fast asleep.
    The next morning he awoke, his arm still protectively around his wife. He silently slipped out of bed, as he did most days. The clock in the kitchen said 9:23. He perused around the kitchen looking for something to make for breakfast. Sherlock was about a good a cook as he was an idiot. He decided to wait for Molly to wake up.
He thought it strange. Someone in his home, in his bed. His wife. It still all seemed so surreal, of course he hadn't thought of it much, everything became such a habit and a routine that he didn't notice how strange it was.
But it was a good strange, he thought. Not being alone, not having to worry about falling asleep in a cold bed with nobody to hold; to make him feel alive. She, Molly Hooper- Holmes, rather- made him feel alive. Without her he was nothing.
As he exited the kitchen, he peeked into the bedroom to catch a glimpse of molly yawning and stretching.
"Good morning." Sherlock said with a grin.
She jerked her head and smiled to see him standing there in the archway.
"'Morning to you too, want some breakfast?" she asked sweetly.
Molly got out of bed and made her way towards the kitchen, and grabbed some eggs and bacon.
Now that Molly and Sherlock were married and living in the same apartment there was no longer any disguising body parts to be found in the fridge. He did miss it, but it all came with the price of being with Molly, and he wouldn't change that for the world.
He observed as she reached to grab the pans out of the cupboard. She was still in her pajamas and had thrown on one of Sherlock's old sweatshirts from university.
He grinned "Is that my sweatshirt?" he asked.
Molly stopped and forgot what she was wearing and checked.
"Oh, yeah. I found it in the drawer. You don't mind if I wear it, do you? I still need to do the laundry..." her voice trailed off as Sherlock made his way over to Molly to link his arms around he waist, hugging her tightly.
"It's perfectly alright. You look cute in it."
She smiled as he released her to continue making their breakfast.
----
Sherlock was sitting at the table in the kitchen, as Molly gave him his plate of food, and brought hers over and sat down across from him.
He hadn't had proper breakfast since he was a child until Molly moved in.
He honestly did appreciate the effort that she put into it, even if he wasn't all that hungry for a big meal anyways.
He just appreciated her. Molly. His Molly at that. And she was his as he was hers.

Book abandonment

So I have decided to abandon the 400 page book, and trade it for a slightly more interesting 300 page book.
And guess which one it is?
"The Fault in Our Stars".
I read 100 pages yesterday, and I'm already impressed an intrigued. I most likely write a brief review when I finish the book!