It all began in second period, drama, when I took on a curling iron in battle.
I digress, this, is hyperbole.
It was really Abbey ( sunny and beloved fellow actor at the particular period ) giving me ringlets while Raquel ( expert and ingenious director at the particular period ) was going over some character analysis. In the beginning of the process, I looked like a poodle. But, skill and practice prevailed in Abbey's hands so by the end of it I was not particularly resentful towards the way my hair had put every once of tornado imitation it had into its appearance. It could not have been more than four seconds later when my position on the matter took a swift and powerful roundabout turn when somebody is the room said "You look so cute."
I. Don't. Enjoy. Being. Called. Cute. I don't enjoy getting hearing words that are typically in compliments because they should either, A) Should be sent back to the factory of ABC's to be recycled into a new word or, B) struck mercilessly by the same being that annihilates people in the name of grammar. Or, so I thought.
For the next few class periods I would attempt to vanish into the back of the classroom and repel any sort of attention to myself. But, right as I was booking it to my car, I was stuck once again by an audible attack. "I love your hair, it looks really refined." I was astonished when I found myself smiling, not recoiling, when it was done.
I couldn't figure out why this was, at least not until I got another compliment a little later. "Well, it looks classy. You pull it off well." Then it clicked. I did like compliments. Just not compliments that someone gives anyone where they appear different. The have a ring of a cough-out in my ears. Thus, once again, intelligence in all things prevails.
Once I had gotten home and eaten dinner I went downstairs to watch Julie and Julia. Which then made me to finally go and make a blog. No, I don't plan on getting famous. I plan to consistently spew words out into cyberspace for no one really to read them. I figure that blogging is just like fishing in the middle of a storm. You can't see a fish anywhere in sight, you are really just doing it for yourself.
I do, however, to style my writing kind of after a long-form improv style. I have not yet decided it it will be like The Herald, or The Community.
In the meantime, take a chiller and stay.
-Kay
