crushing season

i am always fascinated by new crushes.  you guys are always different, but in general, the routine is always the same.  it’s like there’s a unstated protocol for “crushing season.”

first, there’s always that moment, that click in our heads, when we first see you in a new light.  A better light, with a twist of optimism and wonder.  then once that’s established, flirting begins.  Haha, the fun part.  No matter who it is, we always have to hint here and there to see if the objects of our new affection feel the same for us.  Jab here.  Poke there. We have to see what’s really going on between the two of us.

Ok, let me stop here.  At this point in the routine, it’s always a freaking game.  Why is that?  Why can’t you guys and us girls just stop playing games with each other?  Honesty isn’t always a bad thing, is it?  Life would be so much easier, hearts would be spared the longing and possibly heartbreak, if we were all just slightly more honest.  Even just slightly.

But I was musing with my two good friends today, and we all decided that the initial stage of a crush, that fleeting flirtation, is much more enticing than the actual guy we’re after.  There’s something in the “thrill of the chase” which makes all the mystery and goofiness so much fun; Even moreso than dating or being swept-off our feet.  Sure we’d LOVE to know if you LOVE us back, but there has to be that scavenger hunt to the answer first.

And generally, this is how it pans out.  “you’re sweet, you’re funny, you’re what I’ve been looking for, you’re perfect, BUT…”  why yes, of course.  There’s always the problem of the “but.”  And I’ve never figured that one out, the need for something to be wrong between two people who have affirmed that they are attracted to each other.  All the weirdos and all the creepers, however, never seem to have this problem.  But all the normal and coveted single men of planet earth, just-so-happen to have this problem (generally).

Then it just dies out.  The girl moves on.  Or she muses in what could have been or what should have been and why it was nothing more than that.  Que horible.

Then “pop!” You see Mr. So-and-So in a new light…and thus begins another season of wishful thinking & hopeful smiles.  What a cycle life is.  I wonder when it finally take a straight path.

c’est la vie,
Chappie

a step backward

I ventured onto my high school campus for the first time in 6 months yesterday. And the verdict? It was weird. Not the “weird” of “Wow, I feel so old” or “I can’t believe I used to go here.” It was more like “what happened?” kind of weird. Not only had the bell schedule changed, but ASB was 4th period, I didn’t recognize any more than about 20 students, and my former choir teacher was walking around with a walkie-talkie handing out dress code violations to students wearing the wrong shade of blue.

I talked for over an hour with my ap calc and homeroom teacher that I had seen every week for the past six 6 years; we talked about everything from the new school year, to my first quarter at Cal Poly, to wine-tasting in Napa. It was very refreshing, actually, to talk to Mr. Viramontes as a person, not as a teacher. And he wants me to call him Rick now. Weird, once again. I really needed to hear his advice though, his reaffirmation that the work ethic I carry and my purpose at school is heading in the right direction. When someone of that brilliance and wisdom says that they believe in you, oooh goodness, it erases all the insecurities and second-thoughts you’d been having since the first week of school. I should really email my teachers more often. Thank you, Mr. V.

After visiting with a couple of my favorite teachers for a couple hours and randomly seeing others walk across the quad, I walked back to my car and left. Weird. It was just a different aura without the Class of 2007 there. Without that stupid ASB drama of last year or seeing girls walk around with pink hoodies or hearing Tina Oh screaming across the quad. And I realized at that point why so many previous seniors never bothered to come back to visit the school which probably made them into excellent college students. Oxford keeps trucking along without you. Students still score high enough PSAT scores to rank them as National Merit Scholars like Michelle Quach, Mr. Meloche still advises yearbook without Hana Kim or John Sohn, and ASB still plans lunchtime activities like nobody ever knew who Kunal Patel was.

Talking to a couple 2008 seniors made me smile though; life goes way beyond the parking lot of Oxford Academy in dinky little Cypress, California. Leaving all that high school drama behind is the best thing that happens to graduating seniors, and just hearing the complaints they have are so menial and minute compared to the drama you face once you leave home. I did talk to Amy Shaw though, a senior who seemed to have it all figured out. She said, “it’s all just a waste of time and won’t matter in the big scheme of things. Things like winter formal drama, etc.” Exactly. You go girl. And go tell it on the mountain because had I known what you know, I would’ve just shut up and focused on grades a little more, been much more satisfied with my last year at 4th smartest school in the nation.

Even though I reminisce about high school all the time, the friends I made throughout my six years there, the teachers I relied on, the “knowledge” I gained, I appreciate that I’m 4 hours away, stepping outside the microcosm of high school.

c’est la vie,
Chappie

blonde ambition

“Everything’s changing and I don’t feel the same.” -Keane

after going to the choir show last night and seeing people from high school, i forgot how much i’ve changed. Not emotionally, but physically. “Oh my gosh! Your hair!” I heard that all night and completely forgot that I used to have those long wavy blonde locks, the ones I’d tie up in a messy bun, or straighten to unwantingly look like “LC.” And looking back through pictures from senior year and even Kaua’i this summer, I really do miss my hair.

“It’s just hair; it’ll grow back,” is what I’ve always heard. No. It isn’t “just hair.” It’s who you are, especially when you’ve had it a certain color or certain length, most of your life. For me, blonde was a happy-go-lucky, smart, high school girl who didn’t need anything but her friends and energy to keep her going. I feel different just looking at those old pictures. Maybe it’s because I decided to slice my hair off right before college. Different look = a different person. Well at least that’s how I feel. Now I understand why the girls who go on talk-shows to cut their 3 feet tresses off start bawling like babies. It’s not about the hair, it’s about that fear of losing a part of yourself.

And when you look at pictures of yourself in high school, seeing yourself with close friends who know and understand much of who you are, seeing yourself in activities you used to do back at home, seeing yourself as comfortable, it only reminds you of how different now is. It’s like there’s a glimpse of hope in me that changing my look back will bring me some sort of peace. Comfort? I guess that’s the right word.

Let’s just see how brunette fairs in the winter.

c’est la vie,
{v} Chappie

home

is spending time with your closest friends and shopping for music in used record stores.

c’est la vie,
Chappie