Dear Me, Sincerely, Me.

I'm a sucker for letters. I love writing them. I love receiving them. I'm also a sucker for writing letters to myself.
Let me explain.
When I was younger, probably 12 or 13 or something, we did this thing at church where we wrote letters to ourselves in the future. Basically we were writing about our future spouses or whatever, and we weren't supposed to open said letters until we were getting married.
I still have them. Unopened.
We wrote other letters as well, like time capsule type things.
I still have them. Unopened.
Back in 2006, when I was 14, I discovered this website called futureme.org. It was made for me, I swear. You write letters to yourself, and they're delivered to your e-mail address sometime in the future. Back in 2006 I wrote one. The subject of the email, "Wow your old." Obviously showing my impeccable attention to grammar. It is to be delivered in 2013. I cannot wait.
Since then, I've written an email to myself each year to be delivered around the time of my birthday. As I procrastinated today, I recalled these emails, and pulled them up out of curiosity.
I've always been fascinated with my progression as a person.
Just like every other adolescent girl I went through phases. Phases that were somewhat reflected through these emails.
These emails have started short, and got longer and more detailed as time went on.
The content of the emails started more trivial, and became more heartfelt and deep as time went on.
But as I read the emails, I'll admit, I got a little sad.
Not so much nostalgia, but rather, the idea that my life didn't exactly turn out as I suspected. My dreams didn't exactly come true. My predictions, well, were wrong.
For example:
January 15th, 2008: "I still want to go to UF, in fact I REALLY want to go to UF, and I hope you're getting good enough grades for it."
University of Florida was my dream. I wound up not even applying. Not because I couldn't, it just became unrealistic.
Over time, the people I was once close and devoted so much time to, changed.
This is evident through the emails.
And it makes me sad.
Like I devoted so much time and trust into a relationship that seemingly turned out to be a waste.
And then I think, what if I did something differently? What would my life be like if I handled a situation differently?
What if I never left Florida?
Or what if I went to UF?
And then I think, "what if" nothing.
There's no point to "what if."
It is what it is.
"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be."
I'm happy!
I love my life.
I may have redefined my dreams. I may have redefined my goals. I may have redefined my relationships. And through it all, it has shaped who I am as a person.
And I like who I am now.
So I'm going to keep on writing letters to myself in the future.
Why?
Because reading them reminds me of where I've been, who I was, what I've overcome.
They might make me a little bit sad, but more often than not, I find my present self laughing at my past self.
Because let's face it, I've had some pretty silly aspirations.
And at the end of the day, it's really okay that not everything worked out as I wanted them to.
Because if they had, who would I be today?

What's On Your Mind?

I got into the habit of not posting.
This changes now.
This could be a result of my laptop being broken.
Yeah, tragic.
It's currently undergoing surgery at the Hewlett Packard Factory.
Although it's been a total pain not having my laptop it's given me some time to think...and sleep.
And what did I think about?
Facebook.
Not that I missed it...but how it's taking over the world.
Facebook.
Facebook.
Add me on Facebook.
Tag me on Facebook.
Facebook.
Facebook.
Everyone has a Facebook.
My grandpa has a Facebook.
Yeah.
And personally I'm a fan of Facebook. Converted to the Facebook World 5 years ago...back when barely anyone had a Facebook. Back when people used Facebook for the simplest reason...to keep in touch.
I miss those days.
People take Facebook way too seriously.
A relationship status on Facebook makes it "official."
Starting drama over Facebook.
Facebook comment wars.
Deleting people as friends on Facebook.
Getting offended if someone doesn't comment, "Happy Birthday."
Getting offended if someone doesn't say, "Thank you." for a compliment on a picture.
Having lectures in class about "Facebook Etiquette."
Posting "vague" status' to prove a point about something or someone.
Poking people.
SERIOUSLY.
My dear friend Stephen made a good point today, in regards to not posting the date of his birthday.
"I don't want 21381765230962 comments from people who really don't give a shit. So when I get one, it's because someone actually remembered."
I mean, yeah, a friendly Facebook reminder that it's someone's birthday because it totally slipped your mind is nice.
But when you use Facebook as your primary form of communication, it becomes an issue.
Here's my rant about Facebook:
It's not my life. Yes I will admit, I have mastered the art of Facebook stalking, but really, who hasn't? My mother has. Please.
I'm not going to delete you as a friend. I'm not going to have "friend sweeps." Why? At some point, you added someone because you had contact with them. I honestly don't care enough to go through the 500 something friends I have to take the time to delete people. If I don't talk to you anymore, if you hate me, if I hate you...I don't take Facebook seriously enough to "de-friend" you to prove a point. It's stupid. I'm glad you care enough about Facebook to take the time to do so, though.
Furthermore, I don't need Facebook to define a relationship. And if you want to have your relationship advertised on Facebook...then don't hide it from anyone. Case closed.
To those who post every little thing about their lives as status updates? Get over it. Some things should be kept to yourselves. You're not proving a point. You're not gaining my sympathy.
OMG HE POKED ME WHAT DOES THAT MEAN!?
Well, I don't know. Because if he wanted to talk to you, he probably would've by now, right? Yeah, I'm not a fan of poking. I won't start poking, nor will I poke back. Sorry.
My english prof deleted his Facebook. He figured if people were his true friends, they'd just keep in contact with him without Facebook.
I thought about doing that for a minute.
But really, Facebook is a great way to keep in contact. I'll admit it. I've been able to rekindle many friendships from Florida or whatever through Facebook. And yeah, it's a great way to share pictures, share news/events...blah blah blah.
But when it gets to the point that it causes drama or whatever? That's when it's too much. And really, we're all guilty of it at some point. (all of us who have a Facebook...that is.)
Anyway, I think I'll go check my Facebook now.

Now boarding.

I love to travel.
And I love everything that has to do with travel.
...Even packing. (Trust me, packing is like an art form to me.)
Because traveling usually means vacations.
And vacations mean relaxation.
My most FAVORITE part of traveling though, are the airports.
Really.
And I really don't mind flying alone.
Something about going to the ticket counter. Taking care of business. It's empowering.
The best part of airports though...
People watching.
Airports are the BEST place to people watch.
Last week I went to Salt Lake City.
So I sat in the terminal at Sky Harbor and well, watched people. (And watched a little basketball too...conference championships...)
Anyway.
There were other kids traveling alone. I assume going back to school after spending spring break in Arizona. Or maybe going to spend spring break in Utah like I was.
There were old couples. An especially quirky old couple in quirky clothes. The husband brought back Wendy's...the wife spilled the giant cup of soda. Quirky.
There were families. With copious amounts of children. Why you would fly with multiple babies is beyond me...
There were businessmen carrying briefcases.
There were rich looking ladies with their Louie Vuitton luggage.
Then there were my favorite, the classy adult couples. One in particular, intrigued me. I sat next to the wife, who I noticed had a nice pedicure and a fresh set of Frenched nails. She wasn't the most fit woman, but she certainly aged gracefully. Makeup done, matching jewelery, shoes from Dillards. (I could tell because when changing from flip flops to her nice shoes, I saw the price tag on the sole) Her husband was looking particularly dapper. Blazer, slacks, loafers. Checking his e-mail on his i-phone. A very professional fellow. They were a very classy couple.
I wondered about them.
What was their life like? What did they do for a living? Did they have kids? Why were they going to Salt Lake City?
And then a lady came on the intercom.
"Now boarding first class passengers."
And there the couple went.
They flew first class, who woulda thought?
And that's when I realized.
I want that!
I want my future husband and I to be classy, professional people. People who can afford to travel. People who can fly first class.
Because I love to travel.
And that's when I made it a goal.
I have a list of places to visit. (Brazil, Panama, Italy, New Zealand/Australia, Alaska, Jamaica, Hawaii, India, South Africa, Chicago, New York City)
And someday, I will find a way to travel to all of those places.
My future husband and I...him in a blazer, me in my heels.
Flying first class.
Until then, I'll settle for traveling in the back row.
...with the families with copious amounts of crying children.

Here's to You: #2

"Was that your bf on the phone?"
"No. That was my uncle."
"Oh. Do you have a bf?"
"Uhh, Nope. Why do you ask?"
"Oh. Just wondering."

That's the first conversation we had. I'm not even kidding. He said "BF."

"Why is your hair two different colors?"
"Well, I dyed it. And now the dye is growing out."
"When are you going to cut your hair?"
"Uhh...I don't know."

That was another conversation we had. He seriously asked me why my hair was two different colors.

Now, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't glad that he even talked to me. Or acknowledged my existence. I mean, I was the new kid to band, I knew barely anyone in marching band, and I had to sit next to him in concert band...every day.
Now, I'd be lying if I said I didn't think he was kind of awkward. Okay, maybe I was a little bit too...I was the new kid, I was feeling out my surroundings, and I didn't want to say anything stupid or whatever.
Now, I'd be lying if I said that he was like anyone I've ever met, or that based off those first several encounters, we'd be as close as we are today.

He drives me crazy.
I mean that in the best way possible.
He is so competitive. So. Competitive. Especially with me.
2009 National Championship: Florida vs. Oklahoma. We talked trash. We made a bet. Needless to say, I got dinner and a movie.
We played soccer. It resulted in a bloody leg. I have a scar to prove it.
He talks so much trash.
He argues so much.
It's not a bad thing, really. I argue as much as he does. And for some reason, we get some sick satisfaction from instigating each other.
No really, he knows EXACTLY what to say to provoke me. (and vise versa)
Usually it has to do with sports.
He know's SO MUCH about sports.
It's cool though. I know if I say, "OMG DUKE WAS UPSET," he'll know exactly what I'm talking about.
But he never let's me win. Or admits he's wrong. And forget him telling me I'm right.
Drives. Me. Crazy.
It's okay though...I'm the same way with him.
I'd like to say I know him extremely well. I mean. I do know him extremely well.
But he's like a rubik's cube. I think I've got him figured out, and then I'm totally confused again. And it drives me crazy.
He knows me very well though.
He knows what I'm going to throw in an hour long game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, Slap. Which resulted in my left hand being swollen to the point that I couldn't play the piano. (Again. Competitiveness...)
And he knows when I'm upset about something, even when I don't want to admit it.
And he knows, or at least tries, to make me feel better all the time.
Because he's the most hilarious kid I know.
Even if he talks about poop all the time. Okay, not all of the time.
Although, we did sit in Sam's Club one day talking about farts.
But he does always make me smile. And he cracks me up.
He's the right amount of sarcastic. And refreshingly witty.
It isn't always rainbows and butterflies though.
Sometimes we get mad at each other.
Drives me crazy.
But we get over it. And everything is back to normal.
And even when our friends were in World War III with each other, we somehow weren't.
Sometimes he's a douchebag though.
Drives me crazy.
Actually. He's usually the right amount of douchebag...at least in my opinion.
Anyway, I think we might have set the record of the longest conversations ever on facebook chat.
One night, we were talking till 5 am. We had jazz band that morning. Yeah, neither of us went.
Sitting in his car, talking on the phone, texting, facebook chat, skype...talking to him just never gets old.
We originated the Question Game and we even created rules.
Really, I could write a novel about us.
I could talk about when he jumped in the pool in Florida with his phone in his pocket. Or how we spent 3rd quarters together in the stands every football game. Or his church ball games. Or how we texted each other rap verses. Or when we would walk to the spot after 1st hour. Or when we didn't pay attention at all during graduation because we were too busy taking pictures and talking.
I could talk about the time we floated down the Salt River and he tried pushing me off the air mattress. Or when we climbed A mountain one night. Or the times we hit the gym. Or when we played 1 v 1 bball and I beat him...once.
I could talk about all the time we spent this year during POA band season. Every day for lunch and dinner during band camp. Walking around after football games. Driving back from Homecoming at 3 am. Being bus buddies for the bowl trip. Buying t-shirts at the mall in El Paso.
I could talk about lunches at Barro's. Or ordering the same Vito, no tomatoes, sweet peppers, and a Cherry Coke, at Jimmy John's...always. Or baking brownies. Or my mom making him eat a ridiculous amount of pasta. Or when he put on an apron and made me corn dogs. Or how much he loves the cakes I bake. Or how he eats tons of Thin mints at 2 am.
I could talk about the time he came swimming when I was babysitting 5 kids. And the 5year old girl totally fell in love with him. And then all the kids begged me to invite him for dinner because they liked him so much.
I could talk about when we bought sneakers. Or when we watched Seven. Or when we ordered at Carls Jr. then backed out of the drive thru. Or when he did that at Taco Bell because he forgot his wallet.
Most importantly, I could talk about how far we've come since those awkward conversations. How comfortable I am with him. How goofy we are. How he drives me crazy, but how I couldn't imagine life without him.
So, here's to you!
Salud.

Here's to you: #1

So I decided that I would start dedicating my posts to people, occasionally that is. And by that, I mean, blogging about someone significant in my life, because I feel like it's the least I can do to show my appreciation for whatever they do for me. I'm calling it, "Here's to You." (Kind of like giving someone a toast. Just on a blog. Through writing.)
Here's the catch.
I'm not naming names.
I don't want it to be some sort of advertisement, and some sort of competition/controversy of who's name is on the blog, but rather, I want to explain the impact these people have on me, and publicize the awesome people I'm lucky to have in my life.
So, enjoy!

Over the years I've had many friends. Some closer than others. Like, way closer than others. But not all of those friendships have lasted. And that's okay. Really. Because from every single one of those friendships, I've learned lessons. I honestly don't regret any of them.
But I'm not here to talk about the friends I've lost.
I'm here to talk about the one friend I've kept since sophomore year.
I moved at the end of October my sophomore year.
It was the roughest year of my life.
But I'm not here to talk about the roughest year of my life.
I'm here to talk about the kid in my Spanish and Block classes.
The kid who called me "Florida."
Who made fun of me for writing, "Fresh to death, THUG LIFE 727," all over my stuff. (I seriously hated Arizona, sorry.)
The kid who originated (yes it was this kid) the name, Sca-Harlot. (He was making up raps, I told him the only word that rhymed with Scarlett was harlot. Mistake? maybe.)
I was searching for a picture today, and I came across some from sophomore year.
There I found pictures of the kid who befriended me when I was the Negative-Nancy-New-Girl.
The kid who might be more competitive than me.
Put us together and we'll own you in a debate. About stem cell research, specifically. (Don't play Risk with him though. He's over the top then.)
There was a solid year that I barely hung out, let alone talked, to this kid.
Then we had seminary together 2nd semester senior year.
It's like nothing ever changed.
This is the kid I would trust with my life.
The kid gives the best advice, I assure you.
"Fake it till you make it."
And even if he goes to another school, we have the best catch up seshes. At my house. Til 2 am. During winter break, specifically.
And this kid knows how to have a good time.
Specifically for my birthday. Dancing. Hard.
Or conquering mountains. Or floating down rivers. Or pool hopping.
And I know this kid has my back. Always.
I feel like I just don't give this kid enough credit for how awesome he is.
At the end of it all though, this kid is someone I know I might not see every day, or talk to every week...but I always know he'll be there when I need him most. Especially when I want to have a good time. (Involving, but not limited to: pudding, toilet paper, Bahama bucks, and the Boondocks)
So, here's to you!
Salud.

Okay, seriously, I'm on a roll with keeping this updated...

You know how sometimes you just have a great day?
Yeah, that was today for me.
I mean, it wasn't anything extraordinary...
My life doesn't suck, I do have other good days...
But today just felt exceptionally great!
It could be due to the fact that I'm coming off of a Monday being super stressed, feeling burdened with decisions, and drowning myself in a Weather and Climates test (Whoa now, don't underestimate that class. That test was way harder than I expected.)And then coming off a Tuesday being sleep deprived due to the previous night's cram sesh, and having to take said exam, AND having class all day. (No really. I have a 5:30-8 pm class on Tuesdays)
Anyway...I'm sitting here, trying to figure out why today was so great.

Maybe it was being able to sleep in, because I didn't have class until 11.
Maybe it was not waking up to my alarm, but to a text saying, "Good Morning!" from one of my favorite people in the world. Because a "good morning" text from the right person ALWAYS makes my mornings better.
Or maybe, it was sitting in class re-reading my syllabus', and realizing that on the Friday before spring break, one of my classes is cancelled, and the other, I realized doesn't have an exam in...so I can miss...thus...starting my spring break a DAY EARLY.
Maybe it was finally sightreading the piano arrangement of "I Stand All Amazed" that I've been obsessing over for the past couple weeks. And maybe it was the sweet girls who told me how impressed they were at how great it sounded...even though I was just sightreading.
It could maybe be the fact that I went to institute. Mayyyyyybeeeeee.
Maybe, perhaps, possibly, it was lunch with Al my pal. Because I was cracking up so hard, as usual. I don't even remember why. Regardless. So much good.
...Or it was maybe the fact that I fiiiinallyyyyy got my memory card back from him. Loaded with 250 songs. Ohhh yah.
Maybe though, it was going to my first kickboxing class with Olivia. Which was SO TIGHT. And I didn't even look as pathetic as I thought I would. The teacher complimented me. What?!
Oh, maybe it was Florida beating South Carolina. And Nova was upset. Yeah, I went there.
Maybe it was not only finding mail in my mail box, but having it be a certificate congratulating me on making the Dean's List. Shucks, thanks.
But maybe, it was just appreciating the little things, not worrying too much, and enjoying the now. After all, life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass...it's about learning how to dance in the rain.

When you wish upon a clock.

Confession: I'm an avid 11:11 wisher.
Yeah, some people claim they wish on 11:11. Whatever.
I go so far as to follow the rules of 11:11 wishing...Which are as follows:
1. Don't say what you wished for. EVER. Or else it won't come true. Go ahead. Ask me what I wished for. I dare you to. Many have tried. All have failed. I'm not telling you my wish. I'm not playing around with this.
2. Don't sit around waiting at 11:10 watching the clock for 11:11 to happen. That's like cheating. It's like babysitting the base in tag. Or goaltending in basketball. Whatever, just don't do it.
3. If someone tells you it's 11:11 and to make a wish...then freaking do it! Jeez. Consider yourself lucky for having someone care to share the opportunity to make a wish with you.
4. If you are within sight of a clock, it's always helpful (but not always necessary) to kiss the clock. For extra luck. And who doesn't want extra luck?
So I realize this kind of makes me crazy. But I have reason to be!
In 10th grade, a dear friend of mine made me a "wish bracelet." She said to make a wish when I put it on, and when it fell off...the said wish would come true. At this time, we had just moved to Arizona, and were living with my aunt. I wished to find our own house. My bracelet fell off in February. The Friday after it fell...we moved into the house we live in now.
WHAT. Yeah.
Ever since then...I've believed in wishes.
Okay. Maybe that whole thing was sheer coincidence.
Maybe the bracelet fell off because I had showered and swam with it...for several months. Maybe it was just it's time.
That very well could be.
But that doesn't stop my believing in 11:11.
Wishes give us hope. We've been taught to wish since we were little, each year blowing out our birthday candles..."MAKE A WISH!"
It gives us hope that although our dreams and aspirations may be a bit far fetched, there's a slim chance that it might just happen. It might just come true.
I'll confess that my 11:11 wishes are typically the same. Or some derivative of the same wish. I have this wished tucked away in my brain, and as soon as I see that it's 11:11, I wish it. And you know what? It will come true. Or maybe it won't, it's really not entirely under my control. But it keeps me motivated. It gives me hope. What's life without a little something we want to pursue, or achieve, or fulfill to keep us motivated, and to keep us from living without a purpose? And who's to say my wish, or anyone's for that matter, could NEVER EVER be granted?
Anyway, I'm going to keep on wishing.
Because it can't hurt.