Please return all the white gloves.

My day started at about 6:30 a.m. I worked the 5k run, which means ripping off sweaty tags from people as they go through the finish line. Rebecca did most of the ripping, and I put all the tags in order on a spool.

Spool is a silly word.

Then, we went to her aunt's for lunch. Which was awesome, because it was a Burris shindig. Any Burris event is worth going to.

After that Rebecca and I went to Lehigh Field to help carry a humongous flag in the parade. We were supposed to have about forty people there, but we only had about twenty show up. So, I turned into Commander Wilson for a little while and yelled a lot.

We ended up with enough people with the use of many cell phones and a guy in a golf cart.

We got to wear white gloves. I felt pretty legit, let me tell you...

I saw Bryan, Callie Ann (who ran in the 5k!), Caroline, Nikki, and Erin. It made me pretty much really happy.

When I got home I ate some things I shouldn't have and then slept for about four hours. Woops.

And, so here we are. After this crazy hectic day this slightly crazy girl is sitting in her computer chair typing about things that don't necessarily matter, but seem worth writing anyway.

Also, I learned two pizzas is not near enough for a girls night. Lesson learned.

Also Also, I learned that being friendly in a grocery store and trying to be nice and have a small conversation with the cashier is a harder task for me...because I drop things and leave things and the old guy with the mustache in line behind me gets slightly annoyed. Lesson learned, but not going to change the politeness level.

The Queen of Hearts

I love candles. I have probably five in my room--all different scents. I never burn them all at the same time, but they are always there in the case that I must burn them.

Sleep has not been happening for me lately. But, when it does I have the strangest and most vivid dreams ever. I had a dream a couple nights ago that I had to make frames for my work, and if I stopped for any reason I would be fired. Unfortunately, I really had to throw up...but, I couldn't stop to throw up or I would lose my job. So, I continued to make frames.

I suddenly woke up and sat up in bed. Then, I jumped out of bed and started breathing really heavily because I felt like I was about to throw up everywhere.

One time my brother and I were sleeping in the living room. I woke up to him beating me on the back because I was throwing up all over the floor. It scared him half to death. It scared me too. I had been dreaming that I was throwing up, dying and no one was saving me.

I don't like the fact that my dreams kind of force their way into my reality.

And I really hate to puke. I puke like the flipping exorcist girl...and my body will hurt for days.

Now, I must leave to work on some sketches for an art portfolio I really need to get finished. They are inspired by Alice in Wonderland.

The Skeksis and The Mystics and Two Gelflings

I've been listening to the Steve of many Wonders in my car. And, at home I listen to some random songs I bought until I get my ipod back. They include MIKA, Regina Spektor, Imogen Heap, and I'm ashamed to say....the Mamma Mia soundtrack. Shun me if you must.

I think I might watch the Dark Crystal for the millionth time before I go to sleep.

I read the Secret Life of Bees finally, therefore I can watch the movie now. It's a cute book, kind of strange in some parts...but that might be why I like it.

I also went to see The Time Traveler's Wife last weekend. The movie was really good, it was a lot like the book. The book was really raunchy, though. I'm not a fan of that. The movie wasn't bad in that aspect, the raunch was kept to a minimum. Props to the director.

My dad told me to stop making the coffee so strong because he can't even handle it. I told him to stop being a wimp and drink it like a man. He didn't find it as funny as I did.

I fell asleep on the couch for a little while, and when I woke up the stock market channel was on. No wonder I fell asleep......stocks=the most boring market of all markets. I love farmer's markets, flea markets, etc. Stock markets not so much.

My current project: I'm turning an old text book into a sculptural book. I'm cutting a square out of the middle of a lot of pages so it makes like a secret place to put things. Then, I'm going to decorate the outside of the textbook in Jane Austen theme--with flowers and vintageness. It's gonna be a good time. Plus, I just really like turning a stupid old Personal Finance book into something artsy and happy.

Take that stock market. Even your silly little books aren't safe.

I got a whole bunch of free books from the library:

-The Philippines' Fight for Freedom
-Make Your Own Professional Movies
-Knickenbocker's History of New York
-Six Who Dared
-Journey Through the Land of Eloquent Silence
-The Land and People of Chile
-Mother India's Children

A Thousand Faces

Once upon a time there was a girl.

And she had a gnome collection and a tendency to fall down and trip over things.

Her hands were always covered with ink, paint, charcoal, pastel, and graphite.

She sneezed everytime she walked out into the sun.

One of her favorite things to do was shower. And, to wake up in a place and know that she was surrounded by people who love her.

She would knit until her knuckles hurt.

I found this girl one day while I was staring into a mirror and we shook hands.

She was quite nice, but sometimes I would become very annoyed with her.

But I would forgive her again, and we would go back to being happy with each other again.

And we praised God when good things happened, and cried when bad things happen.

And everything was good.

The Not So Much of an End.

They accepted us as one of them.

You know how sometimes you walk into a room and you don't know why you went in there in the first place?

School makes me feel that way all the time.

I don't belong in the whole "high school" thing.

I'm on Student Council, which means I'm required to work the homecoming dance. I bring a big thing of soda, set it on the table with the others, and socialize awkwardly and avoid dancing at any cost.

The Cha-Cha Slide and The Cupid Shuffle are do-able.

Today marks the 8th anniversary of 9/11. I was in the third grade when the terrorist attack happened. I remember very little, but mainly the faces of the people around me. I see my dad, feverously flipping through the news stations. Sitting on the very edge of the chair in the living room that he usually reclined and lazed in. I sat on the floor, watching the different channels flash back and forth. I remember some of the faces I saw. Mainly, I remember knowing one thing, one thing even a slightly confused nine year old can understand-- there were people hurting and there was nothing anyone really could do to stop it.

There was nothing that could reverse.

No universal remote that could rewind pain.

They wouldn't let us go out to recess that day. I didn't exactly know the reason why, but I didn't question. I wasn't really old enough or important enough to question. Someone told me there were snakes on the playground so we had to stay in. I think, another said it was bees. Or, a stray dog that could possibly be dangerous to a group of 200 third graders.

My dad took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead a few times when watching the news.

I moved up to the rocking ottomen and rocked back and forth as the images on the television screen flashed.

He told me to write the words, "Twin Tower Attack" in my homework log. So, I did in my crude third grade scrawl. I either threw away that homework log book, or it is sitting in the drawers in the living room. I'm not exactly sure.

I hate pain. I hate the pain that others feel that I can't take away.

I also hate that it takes so much pain to bring people together and acknowledge each other as fellow people again. Pain makes blinders come off and realizations of humanity and likeness in others set in. Strange isn't it?

I mean, look what Jesus did. His pain brought humanity to it's knees.

A people is more than its faces, but how it treats each other.

Ghandi has nose hair.

4th Street Festival is a very amusing place to be. It's an arts and crafts fair that I went to yesterday with some friends. Pretty great times. Some of my favorite artwork included a bobble head type Ghandi, a chicken made of hot rollers, a woven forest, and pottery. I love all pottery.

Hannah and I are going to put a table in the People's Festival on 3rd Street. It's a local artist fair rather than a widely known artist fair, like on 4th street. Hint--3rd street is much cheaper and still really quite schweet.

We got "free" oragami, and by free I mean, with a donation to a Catholic Fund.

I bought a cameo necklace for only eight dollars. That pretty much rocked. And, I got some kick butt prints from some ladies at 3rd street. Art is pretty much life.
Like air and coffee.

Today at work Elizabeth and I started setting up Christmas trees (I know it's early, but technically it's only a forest until we decorate them). We set up this one that was an "upside down table top tree". We called it the Christmas Bush. And so, after we got done putting together all these trees we smelled like "synthetic Christmas". Because, as you might have guessed, these trees are not real.

Shocker.

I think I might start on Lomography. It's a type of photography. You can tell by the -ography's at the end.

We had a Michelle Obama paper doll book at work. Well, I suspect the book was all first ladies, but M.O. was really huge on the front, so she gets all the credit. Good job first lady on teching little girls how to dress their paper dolls.

Tomorrow there is no school because it's Labor Day. And, it's my birthday. I was born on Labor Day.

Get it? Pregnancy goes to labor which goes to child. And hence, I am upon this Earth.

My hands still smell like plastic trees.

Influenza Porcina

I'm slipping into a sugar induced coma right now. Never let me convince you into going on a late night candy run. Even if I say that I've been craving candy corn all day. Really, though. I'm pretty sure I ate enough candy corn and those silly orange slice things to kill someone.

Thanks, Slone. (But really, thanks for going along with my sugary needs.)

I started knitting some purple fingerless gloves with and owl cable on the front of them. The pattern I used was screwy, so I'm going to frog it (undo it) and start again my way.

Tomorrow I'm going to an art fair with some of my favorite people in the world. Then, bonfire at Rebecca's house with more of my favorite people in the world. Saturdays are delightful.

And you know what I very thankful for? God put my birthday and labor day on the same day this year. Why is that so special you ask yourself? Two words: no school. Mhmm...no school on the birthday.

I let my hair do it's own thing tonight after I took an early shower. It got so big that my shadow looks like I'm wearing a helmet, or maybe a spacesuit. I'm actually quite impressed. It wins the award for most unintentional afro of the day. Ten points, hair. Ten points.

I couldn't figure out how to open a graphing calculator today. If I can't get the silly lid off, how in the world do they expect me to do actual math and things on it? Graphing calculators are made especially to make sad little Pre-Calculas people cry and throw things. It's a true story.

My current art project right now is a pastel of an old Irish man sitting on a stone wall.

There is an industrial sized germ-ex in all the class rooms so we don't all die from the flu of the swine.

H1N1 is upon us all.

I'm really trying not to laugh.

Trying really hard.

And failing really bad.

Epidimics aren't funny, Melissa....

I don't know your name, small child.

See the little boy in the photo? He was afraid of me. Well, he was afraid of white people in general. He had never seen an American before. He lives way up in the La Tigre mountains of Honduras. I suppose that missionaries had never ventured up into his part of the mountains in the past years of his short life.

That threw me off a little, the fact that he's afraid of the people who want to help him just because he had never seen anything like them before. How was he supposed to know? What he saw were some loco gringos with bandanas, loose shorts, muddy tennis shoes, and bags of food. How often does that come to YOUR house? How often does that come to MY house?

What if God approaches me just like we approached the little boy? What if God comes in ways I'm scared of, in ways I'm not used to seeing? Like a peer at school that I wouldn't normally spend time to, or an older lady at church who just needs to be loved.

I think God comes Loco Gringo style into our lives all the time, but we don't accept it because we don't understand it. These little blessings he sends us are denied because we don't know how to open our hearts to these disguised gifts of love. Or just because we don't see it at all. Is that wrong or shameful, or is it just a mistake on our part?

This school year I'm making a point to find these people. These people that either I am the Loco Gringo too, or they are to me. Someone I normally would look past or just not invest time into. This year I'm going to be myself, and let others find me for who I really am.

Or, at least, I'm going to try.

Yesterday I wrote about how I wasn't doing anything astounding for God in the place of my life where I am right now. I really was wrong, Curt encouraged me in that. How could I say something like that?

Don't the little things count too, Melissa?

I'm human, I suppose. Although, most times I don't feel like it. (slight giggle after that sentence)

Water erodes a rock over time.

Starbucks brought back the Pumpkin Spice Latte.
This makes me very happy.

Grandma had lunch today.
This makes me very happy.

I got to work with Wes today.
This makes me very happy.

MIKA has a new c.d. coming out.
This makes me very happy.

I'm going to an art fair Saturday.
This makes me sooo very happy.

Basically, life is just really schweet lately. Busy, yes.
I'm worn out beyond what I could ever believe. I wasn't even this worn after building houses and working in Honduras. I think that's because the work I was doing in Honduras was ayude otra personas en el nombre de Jesuchristo. And my work here (work, homework, babysitting, cleaning, blehh) really is quite necessario, but not necessario por el kingdom. The "work" I do now isn't helping anyone grow spiritually, or really doing anything positivo por anyone. It's hard coming from such uplifting and encouraging things to things that need to be done, but don't really fufill anyone's life with love and compassion and God.

I wish I lived in a place where I could directly see how my life affected others. That way I know whether or not I'm doing good or just wasting time and love.

All this aside, where I'm at right now isn't so bad. It's stable at least. That's something I always strive for.

I do wish that I lived somewhere by an ocean, like a little village in Greece. That would be lovely.

Sleep seems more important than blogging about frivolous and random things...so bye.

Via con dios.