Snogging: Optional.

Comfort can be found in the most elementary of places; the methodical rise and fall of the chest provides a calming sense of security, geniality, and a ridiculous display of happiness plastered to my face.

"Hello, I'm a thief, and I'm here to steal your heart."

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Bargain Hunter.

"Behold I do not give lectures or a little charity; when I give I give myself."

My parents used to always tell me stories to construct a healthy mindset for the future - call it a conditioning process to equip myself with a proper morality and faith in existence. I latch on to these ideals, and in most cases, take them to all new extremes.

For example, one valuable yet simplistic sit-down encoded the importance of having someone care about you on the inside, rather than the outside. As the wheels in my mind start jostling this information around at a young age, I come to the conclusion and creation of the theory of comfortableness. Like any theory it must be tested, with trial after trial and scientific reviews of its veracity and significance in societal weight. For the past 8 years, this method of serene relaxation of ones guise has been practiced. This is where I make my conclusion.

I'm a messy looking person: oversized shirts, unflattering sweats, and not to mention the shaggy locks often times found with a mind of their own. Thanks to the parentals initial installation of the ideology, I now find myself wandering the streets with holes in my pants and oil streaked on my uggs. Throwing inhibition to the wind, this comfortable cockiness fills my soul with joy. I assume that others find it unappealing and even offensive, though, especially when the clothing is riddled with cat fur (now that I read that, it sounds horrific). However, I figure that, hey, if you can see past the less-than-frilly wardrobe and old velcro watch, then you're definitely worth keeping around. A true test of character, really. Although, my self esteem came crashing down when a classmate recently approached me.

"Courtney, why do you always dress up for me?" he uttered, riddled with sarcastic tonality. And another individual,

"So, mountain woman, you going camping after class?" Last but not least, the roommate whom needless to say I'm in love with exclaimed one afternoon,

"If you wear that sweatshirt for one more day, I'm going to burn it!"

Can these individuals not see past the rugged image and through to my seemingly personable personality? This theory of comfortableness has contorted my mind in such a way to think that dressing like the homeless person on the corner of the street is a-o-k. In fact, I'm convinced that it's more than ok, it's a lifestyle-esque statement that, one would hope, demands acceptance from the world on a more genuine level. Could you image what life would be like if everyone judged based on character rather than appearance? Nancy Pelosi would have a tough time maintaining her rank, and plenty of celebrities would slip out of their realm of egotism rather quickly.

I can say, however, that I'm content with who I am, be it in a pair of old jeans or a dress, and I do happen to appreciate my hair in all its fury. Maybe a revolution might occur, and soon we'll be walking through the once-paved streets outfitted by mother nature, reverting to the prehistoric ways of simplicity and altruism. I'd have to wait until I'm able to buy a gun, though, so I can feel the pride and accomplishment of wearing my own grizzly coat.

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Annual Topsy-Turvy Day.

It's rather effortless to point out that there are a lot of things I do not understand. Such things consist of arbitrary car parts and up to date stats of the latest sport achievements, possibly due to the frivolous purpose they serve in my life. True, I'm sure it would be more attractive to a masculine figure if a girl knew exactly how to fix a muffler, however, I'd rather promote their exercise of knowledge and be a supporting subject. Sorry fellas, but I could care less about the fandom surrounding the over-glorified Lakers.

On the flip side, though, I find that there are in fact a lot of things that I do understand. I'd like to think that I'm quite intellectually aware in a pretty broad sense, and can easily become riled up at the mere suggestion of a political altercation. Even with a lesser known concept, I thank my communicative major for its rhetorical support.

To get to the point, as I'm repeatedly told by a writing companion to do, I understand relationships. I understand how they work, how they function, the expectations, and in turn, the violations. I can figure out an individual in a matter of seconds, and properly note their degree of 'meshability' within the intertwining of my cardiac organ. I can also figure out whether or not I will fit within their social constructs in a rapid fashion. Unfortunately, for once, something that I know I have been utterly exposed and taught to death on, fully aware of all circumstantial possibilities, has completely left me out to dry. How do you go from knowing so much of something, to absolutely nothing in a mere instant?

I blame it on good looks. I blame it on personality. Furthermore, I can blame it on the singular appeal of uncovering a genuine personage. I find peace in the fact that its something that I need, rather than want. Its just one patient-driven struggle trying to get there.

Amusingly enough, Kobe just scored 28 points against the Hornets for a 5th league win. Come back to me understanding, please?

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In Your Sleeve, Not Your Hand.

It's that time of year again: fog, food, and a little swine on the side. The common flu, or as it just may be, the 'ol flying pig, has found a comfortable place to lie within my body. Call it luck, or my conditioned hospitable-like charm passed down from my mother, my new friend has decided on an extended stay.

I'm trying to figure out exactly why I can't breathe at the moment - either my mucus cells are aggregating, or the brother used a full can of Lysol in the living room. I'm unwanted, unapproachable, and un- to the max. Yet, the two that I can consistently count on to knead at my stomach and prove their worth as comforting companions are the felines. Penetrating my zone of infection in a bold fashion, I can't help but callously wonder why this unconditional love can only be found in a cat. However, I digress.

One thing that a faulty immune system does bring is a bit of insight, or rather - outsight, as I would like to call it. I realized that yes, I do have a life, and when I'm sick it drastically takes a turn to a hibernative state. Like a bear, I become a gormandizer and drag my heels to bed as the sun sets. As a matter of fact, I can feel the Tylenol PM starting to suggest such a slumber at this very moment. Even though I would like to be elsewhere, the comfort of my germ-infested blanket is subtly calling my name with a sense of desperation.

"I'm coming," I respond. Then I think to myself, "Did I really just address an afghan out loud?" Warning: if you have the flu, stay out of the public for this reason.

I love winter, especially all the perks that come but once a year. Hot cocoa, layers upon layers, and roaring fires you can cozy up to are things that can seemingly be overlooked, yet auspiciously enough this sickly individual is emotively aware. The occasional viral infection can get you down. The occasional viral infection will get you down. Just be sure to grab the purring pets and a good book to ride it out.

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Noteworthy and Notable.

I find myself perched in the educational echelon of late nights and obsessive facebook updates with the constant tick of keyboards sounding: the library. Situationally located at the top of campus, this artistic literary domain is conveniently available to studious students for 16 hours a day. All alliterations aside, cubicle number 65 seems to be giving me a stint of grief. The green canvas of the side boards can arbitrarily conceal glances from my neighbors, yet even my Starbucks cup is violating my personal legroom.

Plateau's are a good place for some to reside, and amusingly enough, is what many of individuals settle for. My plateau, however enjoyable, is situated somewhere between squeaking by in the monotonous routine of schooling and really making that indent in the couch permanent. Although my perceptions have been slanted against the educational system, this complacency has led me to acquire several skills I would otherwise be without.

My independent nature and lack of desire for inclusive cramming sessions has led me down a steep and narrow path. This path, though some might idealize as dangerous and obtuse, continues to strengthen my ability to, for a lack of better words, get 'er done. This act obliges myself to the sometimes dreadful task of paying attention in lectures - even the ones covering corpselike concepts. When I am without an attention span for more than 2 minutes at a time however, I find that the skill of being able to bullshit is highly overlooked and severely underrated. Procrastination as well as the ever useful risky behavior of winging a test should be praised when successful. And, if the result of this attempt at lethargy comes out conclusively negative and somehow leads one to a falling out, think of our current president, Barack Obama.

"If the people cannot trust their government to do the job for which it exists - to protect them and to promote their common welfare - all else is lost."

We can just rely on the government to solve our problems. And learning from the best, can find benefit in universitality with equality and stagnicity.

Whoever says that college students are not learning is a blatantly naive remark. Throughout my short collegiate experience, I will openly flaunt and acknowledge the fact that I am amazed at the potentiality that is before me. As a Communication major, I could even go as far as to rhetorically twist my skills to even further enhance my oh so extensive resume. Ability to work well under pressure; ability to get the job done; high talent at prioritizing. I think I'm ready to face the real world now, CSULB.


2 Chronicles 7:13,
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Beat the Heat.

I couldn't be more excited. Summer has come and gone in a rapid fashion, and I'm left here to take what I've learned, and pursue forthcoming occurrences. It's amazing to think how quickly time passes. Although the days can sometimes seem to take forever, once over, one can regretfully never return to that moment of lax insipidness.

I sigh at this notion, as the sound of the little league world series cordially interrupts the rift of cars on the street below. Chula Vista, a California team, has made it quite far, and is now playing against the directly-controlled municipality Taiwan squad from Taipei. The series was forced upon my initial impassive self this last week, and as I bared the first few games, I now find myself attentively engaged in the competitiveness. I feel as if I should be painting my face in patronage. Talk about a complete social change. Now don't get me wrong, I love baseball, I actually really enjoy watching it. After all, I've grown up with the American pastime since I was a little girl. The sport has been known to drag, however, and at the time, I would have rather been watching all three extended editions of the Lord of the Rings trilogy more willingly than preteens with over sized uniforms. My dad, however, was determined to brain wash me. And, to say the least, he was successful.

Getting back to the matter at hand, summer can be seen as a brilliant shade of yellow, or an unpleasant humid drudgery. Although the rising temperatures have their faults, I revel and embrace the opportunity for a scrumptious glass of cold, iced sweet tea. Even when the heat has unsolicitously waltzed through your door, it gives one the opportunity to lounge on the couch and delight in a marathon of 'Blind Date.' Even the best of summer eventually has to come to an end. Alas, my diminutive vacation will come to a screeching halt at 8:00am tomorrow morning.

Lucky for me, I was able to take a trip back home for a quick visit and bask in the little-big-town feeling that it consistently exudes. It's your typical expanding farm settlement, where you're bound to run into someone you know at all times of the day. An inhabitant of this area, however, has undoubtedly mastered the technique of invisibility, as well as the art of dodging. Call it a mark of a true towns person, or merely temporary unsociability, it's guaranteed that all who live here have used this skill at least once at the grocery store. The temperature is always hotter than you'd want, and fans are consistently zooming. You begin to ignore the sweat that seems to never go away. The heat, though, always makes the pool glisten that much more, and soothingly drinks you in as you take a dip. The neighbor's dog is considered your dog, and your cat is considered a trespasser. After the initial preliminary discourse is concluded upon my arrival, it is made clear that I will be mowing the lawn, and my brother to hedge behind me. Life is good.

Even scattered thoughts in this small town, simply cease to exist. Your mind is always filled with contentment, with the instilled notion of enjoying the things you have, and living for the moment that you're given. My heart swells at the idea of my childhood, and the persona passed down through my family. We're simple, we love, we eat. The same potatoes and eggs are anticipated every weekend morning, ending with deep laughs throughout the night. I can't imagine my life not being able to appreciate what I've been given, what I don't have, and even what I can't have. A mark of the little towns, this is where character is built. This is where real people exist. You won't find them in bustling cities with egotistical navigators who can't wait for you to finish crossing the street, or even to return the greeting of a smile. It's as if these individuals don't know how to talk, laugh, treat others; don't know how to enjoy the simple things, let alone the ability to properly heckle at a baseball game. Neighbors are just the noise-makers next door, yet to me, are considered family. Boar hunting is seen as obtuse, and, even though I can't help but giggle at the idea, enjoy a nice boar sausage patty from time to time.

I can confidently say that I'm happy to be who I am, and where I'm from. Some people try to forget their hometown, and set out to join the monotonous crowd of busy-goers. Even if I don't end up returning and establishing a permanent residency, I will always be a hands in the dirt, hands in the cookie jar, hard working appreciative girl. Thanks, Visalia.

Proverbs 27:8,
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Update: Chula Vista wins the championship game!

Hurricane Hunters.

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if there wasn't any sunshine. Always hidden behind a towering and disseminated great oak, caught on the hinges of a perforating sky-scraper, clouds egotistically pocketing its rays. Shadows are all that remind us of this veiled entity, yet go unnoticed to the adjusted commoner.

Every day that I walk out my door, I find myself in the same systematically routine forecast, that is, completely engulfed by the sun's glow, with a parrot customarily squawking in a neighboring tree. By the end of the day, my skin is found a shade darker, and the cosmetic paint on my 24-speed gently losing its luster. The blinds tenderly stir as the air caresses them, rocking in a side-to-side motion. Everyone, every individual, can be found out basking in its glory. Walking their undersized dogs, jogging to the rhythm exuding from their ipods, or marveling in the sensation of sand beneath their feet, individuals feed on the energy and dynamism the sun emits. Without fail and leaving all doubt at the gate, you are not only consistently surrounded by light, but set up for several prearranged human interactions.

As spirited as the warm weather is, I can't seem keep my fleeting thoughts away from the rainy season. There's something about a damp morning, mist entwining with the fabric of your shirt, being pressed softly onto your skin, and fog that obstructs even a 20-20's view. The sound of rain outside your window at night comes with a soothing echo, as it beats down above you and rolls to the earth below. Flowers open up to the gift of life it brings, and I rejoice in the use of my electric blanket. Staying in doesn't seem as estranged, and a lack of desire for even the simplest of discursive motions is a meteorological acceptance.

I feel as if I have been on the same path, over beaten and insolvent, rising with the sun and falling with it. Like a machine, I recharge my batteries at night to fall back into the same lethargic motion, paralleling the systematic forecast. I am the sun.

I burn throughout the day, and find myself sinking into the comfort and coolness of the ocean, its waves rocking me to sleep. I clamber out of its depths each morning, and draw on my mask of luminosity. I'm ready for the rain.

Maybe its because I'm eager for a change. I have an irrational mind, one that cringes at the idea of residing in a certain location for too long. My time here is just about up, and I'm ready for the rains to come, to salute me on my way to the next destination. The earth is slowly rotating about me, as I make my way to another hemisphere. I'm ready to experience the next stage in life - to explore, to dream, to relinquish in the mere concept of getting closer to finding out just exactly who CourtReplies is, and where she belongs. Call me an adventurist, or even an apathetic stability-challenged individual, I know that if all else fails, for now, I can assuredly count on one thing.

A breezy 78 degrees and an exasperating feathered friend. Here's to 295 more revolutions, earth.


Ecclesiastes 2:1-26,
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