Blonde Ambition

What is there to say? I've never felt compelled to type up lengthy, soul-baring entries, brief blurbs about what's going on lately, or even quick little reposts of the multitudinous random things that make me laugh because a)I have my irl journal for the irl things, b)I'm obviously the only commenter 'round these here parts, and c)I've always felt so awkward talking about myself on my very own lj anyways. But the month is almost over, and I figured I was due for an entry, so here we are.

On Tuesday I'll be 18! I suppose with nationwide legality will come the end of my Lolita complex. It's hard to be jailbait when men can't go to jail over you, after all. I don't see myself purchasing cigars and porn to celebrate, and thankfully I won't have to sift through tawdry happy birthday comments from people I hate/don't know on facebook while yearning for well wishes from people who don't know I exist, because I've deactivated mine recently. The lack of wit and humor from the unwashed masses and the prevalence of "hahas" and photo albums consisting of nothing but scenesters posing in front of their bedroom mirrors finally drove me over the edge. People who I actually want to keep in contact with can just, oh, idk, CALL ME. There's no need to remind me via my wall that we're going to meet up at such-and-such time at whoever's house, so bring that hair dye we talked about and if you could take your mom's car since it has a backseat and blah fucking blah. Call me old fashioned, but I find it really rude to talk openly about your ~super fun exclusive plans in a public venue. Surely I'm not the only one out there who has ever checked her news feed and found a photo album posted Sunday afternoon of your close friends having a grand old time the night before, whereas you yourself had never even heard a the faintest whisper of an invitation to the festivities. My inner first-day-at-new-school-sitting-alone-at-a-lunch-table loser knows exactly how much being excluded hurts. So yeah.

This paragraph is going to be the single most boastful, self-worshiping rant to every flow forth from my mind, so if any reader thinks of me as a vile bitch by the end, I must apologize in advance and explain that I'm not normally this unbearable. Ok, so my long-awaited (by me, at least) vocal recital is this Sunday. This baby has been in the works since May. Eight solo pieces, 4 duets. And those duets are with Megan, my co-headliner, as it were. Now, it's apparent to anyone with functional eyesight that I physically overshadow her...I'm several inches taller even without the ever-present 5 inch heels, my posture is awe-inspiring (horseback riding your entire life will do that to you) while she tends to slouch, and as a final point, let me describe our outfits we're going to be donning for the recital. She'll be in slacks and a blouse. I have a sequined silver and black miniskirt that I bought for the senior party back in April but have not yet had the chance to wear. I'll be pairing it with black tights, black patent futuristic-y heels, and what is pretty much the most badass shirt of all time. In a stroke of supremely divine good fortune, I stopped by Belks on Wednesday and just happened to find it along a back wall. The photo on the website does not do this heaven-sent garment justice (and wtf why is it almost 15 dollars cheaper here?!)

Girlfraaaand is not rocking it a fraction as hard as I do, and I NEVER think that about myself. That's saying something.

Oh shit, I'm late for a thing, I'll have to finish this up tomorrow or something. TO BE CONTINUED.

ETA: Or, you know, almost a week later. So, the recital and my birthday have come and gone. The former went splendidly...I didn't choke and forget snippets of lyrics in my classical/MT pieces as I have been wont to do at NATS competitions in the past, didn't have any moments of horrific "OH SHIT THAT SOUNDED TERRIBLE" panic, didn't trip on any one of the 3729653734 trips up and down the steps to the stage...basically, didn't do anything I'll be regretting on my deathbed. But as for what I DID do: took an extra breath before ~the~ cadenza in "Ach, ich fuhls" (DAMN IT), clipped off an entire measure of "For Good" (lol oh well no one noticed), belted notes I had no idea I had the capacity to belt in "Alone" (fucking WHEE). Seriously, the "WOOOOOAAAAAHHHH" wailing before the second chorus that I usually just play as 80% head voice? I opened my mouth and it came out as pure chest-y rocker dynamite. Same with the ending. Nothing short of a miracle, tbh...usually, during performances where my heart is trilling like a jackhammer and I can't keep a note steady to save my life, the LAST thing I could manage is this full-volume melismatic shit pushing the limits of my passagio. But you know what? IT WORKED, and now I feel a glimmer of confidence, as though maybe my musical career ambitions actually could succeed in reality and not just in my imagination. Now, if only I could learn how to ~sway mah hips in time with the rhythm without looking like i'm suffering a stilted epileptic fit...move over Robert Johnson, I'm going down to the crossroads, gonna trade my soul for the ability to dance like somebody other than the dweebiest white girl on the planet. Really though, it's a problem. I need to find a dance instructor who wouldn't be put off by my donning a paper bag over my head in utter mortification over my complete lack of talent. I manage to make everyone in the room feel secondhand embarrassment when I attempt to so much as bob my head. To reiterate: A PROBLEM.

As for my birthday...uh...

You know what, let's not go there. So allgoodtonight.livejournal.com, I guess I'll see you again in two years? No point in typing out Tolstoy-esque tldr-athons for a nonexistent audience. So that's that! Let's hope my eighteenth year of life treats me well.

And what a relief it is. Sometimes, after a couple of years, you look back at your journal entries and come to the realization that you sound like a complete 13-year-old fucktard. Which, essentially, I was. So I've officially baleeted everything I've ever posted...well, except for the Slytherpuff thing. 'Cause it's kinda interesting.

You're a Slytherpuff!: This is a rare combination but those that are true Slytherpuffs are not people you want to make your enemy. You take loyalty very seriously and if someone gives you their word you expect them to keep it. You either project a cold exterior and have a heart of gold inside or you seem all cuddly and nice on the outside and you are ruthless on the inside. People frequently underestimate you but this usually suits your purpose. Whoever has your loyalty is a very lucky person because you will fight tooth and nail to protect them. You have a protective streak and you like to champion the underdog. In life, experience has taught you that it's better not to be too idealistic or expect to much of other people. Still, deep inside you, you still have hope that everything will always turn out for the best. Your weakness is that sometimes you trust blindly, follow without question and this can lead you into trouble. With the loyalty of a Hufflepuff and the ruthlessness of a Slytherin you are a formidable person!

Wow. That's really uncanny--- the perfect description of me.