Things Have Changed for Me.

For those of you who don’t know, I’ve had this blog for almost two years. It started over spring break, in a hotel room in Florida, during my eighth grade year.

Sometimes I look at pictures from back then and I wonder how I’m even the same person. I’m a good inch or two taller than her, my hair’s different, I actually wear earrings, I can play (and I use the term “play” very loosely) two instruments, I’ve attended three writing programs, I’ve gotten out of The Kilt, I’m in high school for God’s sake, and somehow, I’m still her.

But I’m so much more, too. I’ve changed, gotten new friends, met new people, discovered relatively new things that I like and don’t like (Like: acting, drawing, taking photos. Don’t like: Chemistry, math, writing term papers), and grown up a lot.

I haven’t posted on here a lot lately. I know this. And it’s not a loss of interest because at least once a week I try to write a post and I just fall short. I have a theory, and it’s this:

I’ve outgrown this blog.

I was thirteen when I started this blog. Since then, I’ve started high school, learned how to cut my own bangs, written at Bryn Mawr, Champlain, and Lake Forest, knit two elephants, celebrated two birthdays, and been places I’d never been before. There’s so much I want to talk about, but I just can’t on this blog.

So, I’m starting over.

I’ve started a new blog, which I will link to on this post once it’s up and running. I’ll let this one float off into cyberspace, but just know that I will not be updating from here again.

It’s been fun. Thanks for reading.

xo Iz

 

EDIT: new blog link: One Day, All Will Know.

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“Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

There’s a lot that’s happened since I’ve written on here last. I’ve finished my Freshman year of high school. I went to a concert with a mosh pit (and had a fabulous time, even if my dad didn’t). I went to the Writing and Thinking Workshop and met the most wonderful people ever. I went to LBI for a few days. I lived with my grandparents for a week. I went to a Tim McGraw concert that was in a semi-indoors pavilion that was 130 degrees Fahrenheit. I woke up at 3:30 a.m. to drive down to NC. 

But these are all stories for other posts. Instead, I’m going to tell you about my morning. 

So, last night, my Tia K and Tio S discovered bedbugs in their bed at the rental beach house in North Carolina that we stay at ever summer for a week. If you want to know more about this tradition, go poke around on my mom’s blog, because she’s talked about it a few times. We called the realtors, left a message (because it was late), and they slept on the couch. This is kind of how my morning went down today:

7:40 a.m. — wake up to sista and female cousins 1 and 2 talking loudly. Explain to cousins that they can’t go in their parents’ room because they didn’t sleep there the night before, due to a bedbug infestation discovered around 9:30 the previous night, and are sleeping upstairs on the couches in the living room.

8:00 a.m. — go upstairs, make an appearance, and go back downstairs in an attempt to sleep.

8:45 a.m. — attempt fails. Go upstairs and eat breakfast (for those wondering, it was Froot Loops).

8:55 a.m. — go on internet.

9:15 a.m. — engage in several rounds of Uno with FCs, sista, and Tio S.

9:45 a.m. — after losing several rounds of Uno, get called downstairs by Mom.

9:47 a.m. — clear room out for precautionary de-bedbug-ification.

9:48 a.m. — nearly lose it because, “You either have to throw out your yarn or put it in the dryer.” (Explanation:  it’s 100% wool. And my sister’s Christmas present. And I’ve been working on it for almost a month.)

9:49 a.m. — put canvas bag, camera bag (if those stupid bugs touch my camera, I swear…), and emptied toiletry bag out on the deck. Yarn remains in canvas bag, because, “I am NOT throwing it out.”

9:52 a.m. — rejoin Uno game. Lose miserably.

9:58 a.m. — try to figure out which pillows were here when we got here and which ones we brought with us.

10:11 a.m. — final round of Uno ends. Go up to Mom and Dad’s room and get changed (finally).

Everyone’s kind of going about their normal business. Tio S is taking some of the kids down to the beach (but it just rained last night, so I don’t know how well that’ll go over). Puca’s watching from the deck, because he doesn’t go to the beach. However, the only difference is we’re all a bit more itchy for no particular reason.

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an open letter to my characters

Background info: I’m doing this challenge called ScriptFrenzy, in which I write at least a hundred pages of script (screenplay, theatre, TV, comic book, whatever), starting it on April 1 and finishing it on April 30. The website sends out pep talks in the form of emails, and the other day I received a pep talk with a “list” written by my characters listing their demands, as listed below:

“1) They would like to wear capes more often. (This one seems negotiable.)

2) They sense that you are starting to struggle with them a little bit, and they swear that by page 30, they will be more interesting (and funnier!). They’ve really just been finding their footing this first week, and now that they’re loosened up, they promise to blow your mind. Razzle-dazzle! Jazz hands! It’s all coming your way this week.

3) {Illegible} (Dinosaurs? Binoculars? I can’t really read this one.)

4) They would like to hang out with you this weekend. No pressure! And just for 10 pages or so. They say they have a surprise waiting for you.

5) Your main character would like to let you know that the on-set catering company you’ve hired to feed them puts out deli trays that frequetly skimp on the ham.

6) Your minor characters suggest that if you want to kill someone off this week, it would be MUCH more unexpected and powerful to kill off your main character.

7) The whole cast wants to express the fact that they love you, and that you are pretty much their only hope for playing a part in a completed script, and that playing a part in a completed script is something they’ve dreamed about since they were kids. Back then, their parents discouraged them from hanging around writers, saying it would lead to nothing but heartbreak. But look at them now! They’re in a script that will be completed THIS MONTH! It’s such a dream come true, and they can’t thank you enough. Again, no pressure.

8.) In closing, your main character would like to repeat the point about the ham.”

This is my response to them.

Dear characters:

1. No, you cannot wear capes. You don’t wear capes to begin with. Unless you’d like me to scrap the current plot line and risk never finishing, you’re not putting on capes.

2. Jazz hands? Are you trying to tell me something? Because no, this isn’t a musical, and this isn’t a knockoff Glee episode. Oh, and I’m not putting Chicago in the script, either, so don’t give me the razzle-dazzle. Just be yourselves, okay?

3. Also, your handwriting could do with some improvement, and this is coming from me, so you know it’s bad.

4. I can hang until seven-thirty tomorrow morning, and then probably the rest of the weekend, until the procrastination catches up to me and I have to do my homework. And feel free to stay for longer than ten minutes. Really. I won’t mind. But when I’m not hanging with you tomorrow, just know I’ll be plotting your demise really shocking cliffhanger new character that messes with your mojo next move. And what’s this about surprises? You know I don’t like them.

5. Okay, I don’t know which one of you complained about the ham thing, but I’m on a tight budget. I still owe Mom money because of that fabulous camera which I am going to do your casting portraits with later. You will learn to deal with the lack of ham. You have a kitchen, for the love of God. Use it. Stock your own ham. At least one of you has the cash for it.

6. I’m not killing anyone. Moving on.

7. I love you all, too. Even though you try to talk to me when I’m in public, and I end up looking slightly crazy.

8. Again, get the ham yourself. I can’t hire anybody else.

Love, your writer.

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We’ve only had *three*, people.

So today is a “snow day”. If you’ve seen my mom’s recent tweeting and/or facebooking, then you’d know that it’s more of an “ice day” and it sounds like we’re in a war or something, with all the gunshots.

I was half-awake at around five-thirty this morning, thanks to someone scraping ice off their car in the driveway, who shall not be named. I glance at the clock to see if it’s one of those mornings when I woke up like two minutes before the alarm, see that I could potentially still sleep for another hour or so, and tried to go back to sleep. Anyway, I hear my door creak open, and my mom whispers, “Lou, no school,” to which I replied with something to the effect of:

Except, you know, I was half-awake, and didn’t even open my eyes. And I was lying on my side, so it was only one arm. 

So anyway, I wake up at eight-thirty, go downstairs, eat something, you know, the usual. And then Sista and I go upstairs and catch up on Human Target (whoever Christopher Chance is, he’s fabulous. Mom likes him too). And by catch up, I mean watch the episode that was on this Monday, because someone deleted the one from two weeks ago, about the opera (Hulu, I’ll see you later).

So later I check up on Facebook and there’s a mixture of, “YES! ICE DAY!” “Why aren’t we in school?” and “The groundhog didn’t see his shadow! No more winter!” I think Puxatawney (or however you spell his name) doesn’t follow the Weather Channel.

And then I see a few people complaining about how much school they’ve missed.

Okay, people, look. We’ve had exactly THREE snow-or-otherwise-intolerable-weather days, and about six delayed openings, each with a 90-minute delay, which, when added together and divided by sixty equate to nine hours, which is about as long as I’d be at school if I had rehearsal that day (now that I think about it, it’s probably even less. It feels like we’ve had that many delayed openings). I’d like to point out that last year, we had a SIX-DAY weekend due to “the white death” and then a couple more snow days, and NO delayed openings. As a result, they took away the Monday after Easter from the Easter break. So far, I haven’t heard anything about taking that day away again. And it’s not like today was unanticipated. My siblings’ ski trips got postponed because of it.

My point? Take what you get. Have a dance party with your siblings. Do that thing you were supposed to do last weekend. Make bread. (Yes, I’m making bread at this very moment. Don’t hate.)

See? Just ignore Ross when he walks in and judges you with his eyes.

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I hate elephants.

Not the animal, the knitted object.

I made this pink and gray elephant for my cousin for Christmas, as part of my sister’s genius idea that all the kids (me, my sibs, and our four cousins on my dad’s side) should do a secret santa, since the adults already do one, but we all had to make the object. Bro1 did a mask for one of our cousins (I don’t know why, he just did), and Bro2 had me. And forgot my present (a CD made with K, our “babysitter”), so I got “hosed”, as Dad would say (and he did say it. Several times).

Anyway, I made my cousin an elephant (she’s five and she loved it). However, I, being not terribly smart and not thinking everything through at the time, brought it into school while it was still mid-production, because I had a free and then a study hall. It was a little-known fact that I knew how to knit, so a ton of people were like, “you knit?!” the first fifteen minutes I had the stuff out (even more people found out when my World Cultures teacher saw me wearing the sweater I made over the summer). I had the pattern with me, so everyone was like, “ohmigod, that’s so cute!”

And then, things took a turn down I-will-never-sleep-again lane.

People started asking me how long it took, and whether or not I’d make them one. It’s not that the pattern’s very hard, because it’s not (M, you could totally make one), it’s just that it takes a long time if I don’t have free time to make it (my cousin’s was made mostly over Thanksgiving break, with one or two weekends) and after a while, you start hating it. I hadn’t gotten to that point yet, so I told them to bring me 500 yards of yarn and we’ll talk.

I got 1,000 yards by December 5. Now, I know all you math peeps are like, “That’s only two elephants, stop complaining!” No. It means I have to make four more elephant halves, eight foot pads, four ears, and two underbellies. If I spend two weeks on each half, one weekend on both ears and all four foot pads for one elephant, and another week to do the underbelly, that’s about six weeks of just. Making. Elephants.

I’m about halfway through the first elephant, which is mint green and for L. MKZ wants a baby blue elephant, but she wants it smaller, so I’m going to only cast on half the stitches. Oh, and now my sister wants an elephant. Add three more weeks to that.

To top it all off, there was a yarn sale two weekends ago and I got a ton of really cool yarns that I have a few project ideas in mind, none of which involve pachyderms. But, because of all this, I have to wait until I’m done with the freakin’ adorableness that are the elephants.

So, in short, this is what my friends are like, waiting for their elephants:

And this is me whenever it comes up in normal conversation:

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A Series of (occasionally) Unfortunate Haircuts

For as long as I can remember, I’ve liked playing with hair. I used to try all sorts of craziness on Barbies when I was little. I like reading those books about how to do the perfect hairstyle or whatever. I learned how to do a French braid when I was eight. Only problem? My hair is almost never long enough to do any of the things I know how to do.

I was a pretty hairless kid until I turned one, and even then, my hair wasn’t somewhat long until I was five. I have a lot of hair, it’s just not super thick. And I have a tendency (which drives some people crazy, apparently) to like to cut my hair (No, I wasn’t the kid that would cut her own hair). I’m not the kind of person that goes every six weeks, but I’m the kind of person that when I go, I go all out and get something different done. When I was six, I had shoulder-length hair that I (read: my mom) got chopped off. Like, all the way off. I had an ear-length bob by first grade class pictures.

(Sixth birthday. Taken from Facebook.) [side note: wow, I still had teeth?]

That was the shortest it ever was. Until I turned twelve.

(Summer 2008. Photo taken from Facebook. Taken about a month and a half after haircut.)

I liked it at the time, okay?

There have been a bunch of other things in between (No dyeing. Yet). I’ve almost always had some form of bangs, whether blunt or side. There was a point where I had Alice Cullen from Twilight hair (Lots of layers and wispy bangs), and I mean from the first movie. I had a Rihanna bob for a while in fifth grade. The more recent ones were the Rachel (I seriously did. I promise you. I brought the picture in and the hairstylist was all, “Oh, I love this look!”) and I did Hayley William’s hair from “The Only Exception” video, only not as short (that was late July/early August of this year and I was still afraid of losing too much length, so I said I didn’t want it to be any shorter than shoulder-length. I ended up looking more like Carrie Underwood when she cut her hair to shoulder-length). This time around, I did Cassadee Pope’s hairstyle, only a teeny bit longer, because it was pretty short.

I only told one friend that I was cutting my hair, L. I showed her a bunch of ideas and she agreed that I should go with Cassadee’s hair. My friends also have a tendency to flip whenever I announce that I’m getting a haircut (I was twelve, people. I’m not going that short for a really long time). She’s pretty chill about it whenever I get a haircut, as long as she knows I’m not going to shave it all off or something, and she and I think alike on this stuff.

It was between these three:

I ended up with the far left. Far right was similar to what I’d previously done, and I probably had the middle one inadvertently at one point or another. I mean, there’s only so much I can do with my hair. I like the way this one looks, so I might keep it for a while.

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It made sense in my head, okay?

So, I quit NaNoWriMo.

But I had reasons!

Number 1: there was no way I could finish on time. I wasn’t even at 10,000 words yet! I was supposed to hit 25,000 on Monday.

Number 2: Even if I was making the daily word count, it was getting to the point where I kind of hated everything about what I was writing. And to make matters worse, three days in, I came up with an even better idea that, no matter how I tried, I hated how I was writing it.

Nothing about this was working. I wasn’t even hitting 1,667 words a day. It was, like, 48 words a day, on average.

The only plus side was that I came up with a really awesome character that I need to work into another story or something, because she’s not going anywhere for a long time.

In other news, there’s this new contest we’re being forced to enter in school, the Scholastic Art and Writing Competition or something. Apparently, there’s an essay category, a short-short story category, a short story category, a poetry category, and a novel category. I don’t know how the novel thing works, but I’ll roll with it. I’ve got about six ideas, so we’ll see how it goes.

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