Take... luck!

Have you ever had one of those extremely embarrassing "Take luck!" moments that comedian Brian Regan talks about? Here, let me show you what I am referring to:

Do you ever start to say something and in the middle of what you’re saying you decide to say something else completely? There’s already words out there. These friends were leaving the other day and I started to say “Hey, take care,” and I decided to say “Good luck” instead like half way through, so it came out neither.

“See you later, Brian.”

“Take…luck! Take luck and care. Take care of the luck. Good luck taking care of the luck that you might have…if you have luck, take it, care for it. TAKE LUCK CARE OF IN IT WHEN YOU TAKE LUCK CARE OF IN IT…[continues to yell nonsense words – lots of ‘em].” You’re sure to see them again.

Well, the other day, I contacted a Spanish Egyptologist, alumni of JHU, to ask him all about the Johns Hopkins program, and other random questions about my future. As I type now, I look down to extremely short, finally-growing-back stubs of fingernails, seeing as I ripped them all off in a moment of weakness. Basically, writing that email, trying to sound informed and yet not snobby, dreading his reply, and finally driving myself into a panic attack led to the utter destruction of my pretty, long nails. They have not been this short for years! And, if that was not enough, the next day, he CALLED. On the PHONE. As some of you know, I have inherited part of my father's distaste for phones.

So now, I sit, on the sofa, having had to stop in the middle of an Algebra test, smiling, and bobbing my head up and down like a moron, mumbling "yes!" "great" "oh?" and "ooooh"s over and over. Bumbling idiot! But, the best part was me trying to stutter out "graduate studies." I know, this is not a hard one. I have said it hundred of times before (probably more since I started writing to colleges). But NO. Annalisa could not bring herself, in that moment of dulled wit and strangled reason, to say "graduate studies" decently. It was definitely a "take...luck!" moment. "GraduATel. Gra-du-etl. Gra-dua... *sigh* Stoodies... stu.. stud.." Yes, truly embarrassing, and so incredibly silly. After all, Dr. whats-his-face was nice, kind, and helpful. And here I am, making myself sound like an idiot. Gotta love unexpected phone calls.

Trees and chachquis

Today, for the first time ever, I was almost eager to have my own Christmas tree to decorate. Mostly because, after envisioning a lovely version of a cute little Christmas tree was taken over by the mob-effect decorating that takes place at our house every year.

Strange, eh?

Even stranger is the fact that, most likely, next year, I will be missing the little moments of decorating with the whole family:
-trying to decide whether to use the lemon tree or a little pine-like bush-tree that some random guy gave us
-having Schindler's List playing in the background
-after pausing the movie, having to go out to the TV cabinet and closing the door so as to shut the paused dead guy from sight
-having Joseph play "Christmas" music from his Ipod, which included the Ramones, ACDC, and a wild assortment of other extremely unique characters
-trying to convince Mom that the mantle can only hold so many chachquis at once
-trying to convince Joseph that the itty bitty tree bamboo-stake-propped-up-tree could only hold so many lights/ornaments at once
-going over to close the cabinet door again to close off the dead guy on screen
-unpacking boxes and boxes of THINGS--all which smelled of mildew to some varying degree
-trying to decide why all our little Pesebre figurines were OLD people, and why there couldn't be a young shepherd person that didn't look like a girl disguised as a guy in order to tend to the sheep
-putting plastic Poinsettia flowers in Tessa's collar, thinking how cute she looked, and then watching as she shook them off and began attacking them
-trying to dance along to Joseph's random Russian song that was playing, and ending up flat on my face as a combination of a sofa-hit-me-on-the-way-down and my-slippers-are-slippery

This is what makes the holiday season special:

SAT-be-gone!

Hurrah! I am now officially over with SATs, SAT II subject tests, and the like. Alright, alright, I am still waiting for my last Molecular Biology test results, but, all that that influences is how highly/terribly Johns Hopkins thinks of me from here on out. Tests are done, college applications are done (as soon as I send in the one for JHU this afternoon, at least), and I have been enjoying myself immensely these past few days.

As I browsed through my blog in these precious moments of freedom, I realized that I never recounted my past SAT experiences and adventures. Yes, adventures. For SATs. Not even the test itself, really, but rather what LEADS UP TO said annoyingly-long test.

Last May I took the SAT for the first time--after two PSATs and all too many "Collegeboard Official SAT Question of the Day" redirected to my inbox. Why take it in Barcelona when I could fly up to Germany for cheaper? So, yes, I flew up to Germany, stayed with a wonderful family (what do you call a family, of which ALL of the members are your friends? Hmm . . .) and took the SAT as planned, as well as the AP Spanish exam.

For the first round of SAT II Subject Tests this October, I stayed in Spain, and went down the night before to stay with some friends that lived er . . . "nearby" the language school where I was to take it. This one was fun--in retrospect, of course, seeing as most of it can be considered as the very image of Murphy's Law. Three days before the tests (I was to take Subject tests in French, Spanish, and Molecular Bio), my AP Bio teacher sent me a link to some material to look over. The day before the test, I realized that there were roughly 30 pages (when transfered to a Word document) of material that I had NEVER seen. I take that back . . . 6th grade science class provided some background info, as well as the TV show House, and the last 3 months of my "religion" class in 4th of ESO. Long story that is no where near PG. So, I spent the night before cramming everything from the most intricate details of the digestive (talk about unpleasant) or just how a flower "works."

The morning of, we got up extra early, only to find that the digital watch I was planning on using had... yes, died. This was not even my watch (which had died the week before). The sheen of its blank face mocked me. So, mom hurriedly handed over her watch: extremely small, rectangular face, and it was a REAL watch, with HANDS. I knew then I was done for. But, I had to run up to the mirror to put my eyeballs in and actually SEE the watch anyways. Lo and behold, incident #3. Have you ever tried to punch holes in your notebook paper, and, it sort of makes this floppy half-circle, with one side still intact, so that you have to rip it off to actually "finish" the hole? Well, now, imagine a contact lense, with the center in this annoying half-punched hold state. Is that even possible? Well, sadly enough, it appears so. I have ripped, scraped, and torn contact lenses, but never had them do the hole-punch effect before. Just lovely before a big test. Add in the fact that, my usually-magical-bag could not produce an extra pair of contacts, but only my purple glasses.

So, off we go, out in the cold, trying to weave out way through the nasty one-way-streets labyrinth that is Barcelona. Of course, all streets that you NEED are going the wrong way. At long last--and laughing my head off by the end, seeing how inane the whole situation was--I stumbled into the school, more than half-blind (for my glasses are from YEARS ago, before I was blind as a bat), nervous as heck, and COLD. I have never dropped my pencil during a test before. I did this time. 7 times to be exact. In a row. Needless to say, I did horribly on my Bio M exam--luckily aced Spanish, and did very well on my French one.

This December Bio M test (yes, I took it again :P) was less eventful the day of, but, the night before was, a nightmare, quite honestly. The little 2 year old of the couple that we stayed with was sick. And she screamed. Very loud, very long. Who knew that someone with a lung infection could ring those vocal chords so loud without ever stopping to breathe? Seeing as this post is getting extremely long, I will cut myself short. Suffice it to say that I discovered that there is no need for 1-2 hours of sleep to begin dreaming. And, when your brain cannot easily pass from a conscious to a subconscious state, your dreams are incredibly realistic and vivid. That morning, I had a glass of Gazpacho, accompanied by a glass of Coke. Feed me, fuel me. What else could I ask for? :)

And, now, I must away, back to schoolwork, and finish up these essays for Johns Hopkins. Wish me luck!

Dear Diary

Well, I realize that most people keep a diary to KEEP others from reading their thoughts. But, I want to share this one entry from one of my many, many spurious diaries. Now, please keep in mind that this was back in 2000, so, I decided to show you EXACTLY what I wrote. You'll see :P Enjoy~

25 January-2000 Teusday

Today I had music. I lisetened to a music symphony by *erased, written over* Leopard Mozart. It was of a familly had a party. Their was some people that had to come a long way. They went in the snow. We closed our eyes and imagined it. When we opened our eyes, it was SNOWING!!! A little but snowing!!! W*scribble in an "h"*at a good day. I learned silent night on flute. 8:54. Oh no, time for bed. no, asleep!!

LOL. The attention span of a goldfish, I tell you. And, 8:54?! Goodness, I do not even eat dinner by that time anymore. And, amusingly enough, this entry is one of my worst grammatically. I mean, the others had cute misspellings here and there (just how many variations of "great" can YOU come up with?), but, my grammar was usually somewhat cohesive. This time though, excitement must have slurred my thoughts :P Really though, I read at an incredible rate. I devoured books, and I quote, Jan 14: "Today I finished the Return of the Indian. I loved it!!" and then, Jan 15: "I finished Seacret of the Indian today. It was good but I liked Return of the Indian better" and then go on to discuss possible new books to read. Crazy, I tell you.

And, as I mentioned before, while diaries are usually meant to remain secret--and merely for your own entertainment or nostalgia years later--, I am terrible at sticking with those kinds of unspoken rules. So, what do I do? Spill my guts to my mom. We laughed, we cried, we gasped in shock at how sad and lonely of a child I was back when... But, mostly, we giggled ourselves silly at my "grown-up-like" analysis of what was going on around me. Sad and lonely as I was, I was certainly a bright child :P Also, I can pinpoint the exact date of when I have cleaned my room, seeing as it usually results in one or two successive diary entries after a long time with blank space gaping at you.

But, why oh why, do I write down the beginning and the conclusion of the juicy parts of my life? (The confused Annalisa with her first crush would be sure to send even the most reserved into a fit of giggles/chuckles, :D) *Sigh* Well, perhaps I should try my hand at writing a PERSONAL diary, meant only for myself, and written in on a somewhat regular basis? (As opposed to whenever I clean my room and find my diary, and then narrate the most interesting tidbits to my mother)

I just realized how strange parts of this post might sound to you, the reader. Tell my MOM!?! Juicy tidbits!? Hehehe. Well, I am proud, thankful, and happy to have such an open, honest relationship with my mom, to the point of reading her my old diary entries. That is what moms are for--especially such amazingly cool ones as mine (and many of you can second that, now can't you?) :)

Well, it is late (past midnight), and, my diary-reading session lasted for a little over half an hour, but, my room is STILL not finished. I have cleared off my bed, and made a path to it from the door--so, basically, I am back where I started. Although, it is true that the floor is clean, and you can see patches of golden tile gleaming through whatever is scattered across the floor still. Wish me luck?

Cleaning your room

How to clean your room in under an hour: do not, I repeat, do NOT be me. Simple as that. For, I remembered today why cleaning my room should be left until a natural disaster or another such emergency requires it, or until I have to move. Most people do not realize what a painful, arduous, emotionally taxing experience cleaning my room is(it has been 3 hours already, and still maaaany many things to be sorted through and placed accordingly). And, before you roll your eyes at me (yes, YOU), hear me out at least.

TO most, cleaning your room includes sweeping/vacuuming their floor. Well, I have to find my floor first. Even so, that is never enough, because I HAVE to go through everything I own, and decide what to do with it. Unfortunately, other than clothes, most of my personal items have no place in the world, yet have that annoying "sentimental value" tying me to it. I am very pleased with how it is going so far, but, it has also been 3 hours. And, instead of finding my floor (which, I DID catch a glimpse of about half an hour into this whole adventure), I have erased whatever hint there had once been. I am beginning to doubt its very existence.

The funnest part of going through everything (and yes, I realize that actually paying attention to everything while going through it is what makes this all drag on for so long, but I cannot help it) is reliving my past. The handful of diaries that I have unearthed (with an average of 4 entries per diary--and, no, they are not extensive. There are a loooooot of blank pages, trust me) bring me back to the me from years ago. Photos, note cards, train or plane or bus or boat tickets make me think of everything I have seen. And, I keep most everything. Terrible habit, I know.

Even though it is a long, thankless task, it serves to remind some people of just what a simple suggestion can branch out to. Also, I have been able to see how far I have come, how I have matured, and what parts of me still remain the same. A truly soul-searching adventure, full of books, old creative writing assignments, photo albums and postcards. To all of my friends: I have most likely seen something related to you today, no matter how long it has been since we last saw each other. So, know that I am thinking of you today, and smiling at the silly all-school retreat moments, missions trips to Tijuana, GEM-K, or even from when I lived in Castefa. 17 going on 18 years gives a lot to look over :)