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Just Wondered If I Could Still Do This

Looks like I can! Well, I wonder how long it will take before Hannah notices that I did this. Anyway,

 

Wait... Really?

Uh so it seems I now have ten thousand views on here, and I didn't even notice. Well, erm, thanks guys...? Whoever/where ever you are....

I finally feel ready to make another post.

I don't know why it's taken me so long---maybe because of AP tests and how my creativity and drive has been sqeeezed out of me like toothpaste---but I am now ready to make another post on this good old site for public humiliation. Ah, blogs. What do do with you.

So much has changed since that last post... So much I would never believed if you had told me back in March. Oh dear. In a way though, I'm glad that there is a gap; it sort of illustrates this change that I've been going through.

Well, I'm not moving to Boston. That's big. I thought I was going to for my senior year, but alas I am not. This probably makes me the happiest out of all of the significant things that have happened these last few months because it so elegantly ties into everything else good that has been going on in my world.

We were all so positive that we were moving, but in the course of ten minutes my whole future changed for a second time and I saw myself living here and being able to stay in this homely valley. I can't imagine any other way of being now. Believe it or not, I'm actually glad it happened, as in the whole ordeal. Sure, it was the source of a lot of stress and worry (not to mention blunt fear) but it really did so much for the better in my world. I learned so much about myself and my peers through the process, and I even made a new best friend.

Today, it is my birthday. I'm pretty sure this is the best one so far because it has been so different than the others. For one, it's the first time my birthday has been at/during school. And secondly, I got to spend some wonderful time with the best friends and family anyone could ever ask for. They're all better than I deserve, that's for sure.

In such a contrasting tone to my last post, I would like to announce to the world that I, indeed, am happy.

I reject your reality and substitute my own.

Denial is a curious coping method. It does more harm than help, yet somehow it's too satisfactory to leave behind. Why do we deny? With some healthy Google searching and random forums, I've come up with the following sequitur:

• "Denying is the first step to accept unpleasant facts, and it varies, some take seconds and other take years."


• "It's to painful for some to deal with; causes depression in some."


• "Cuz it suks."


• "I believe that sometimes reality just hurts people and if you deny it then you don't have to deal with it. People like to blame others and not get real with themselves, it is their coping mechanism! Very tragic but true!"


• "They would rather live a lie."


• "Sometimes people are too stubborn to accept reality because they know the reality of what really is will either be something they don't like or will hurt them terribly. No one likes feeling uncomfortable or being hurt, so we deny reality as a type of defense mechanism. "

You can sure as purple drink deny an event, but I've realized you can't deny denial. So why not face it here for the entire internet community to see? That's the spirit.

Sometimes, I lose hope.

Farewell, dreams.

Dem Wisdom Teef.

On Friday, I had the wonderful opportunity to undergo minor surgery to extract my WISDOM TEETH. That's right. All four. All impacted, meaning that they were still in little balls in my jawbone and hadn't yet come out and grown their own roots. They are much more painful to extract that way. I'm sure that you can tell it's been a party around here. THE PROCESS: What I can recall. I flopped myself into the chair, saw Caroline passed out in a cubicle next to me, and made some jokes with the anesthesiologist who laughed with me while rudely sticking a 3 1/2 inch long needle in my hand. And wiggling it around. And digging it in. It looked really gross. Then she started pumping some clear fluid into my veins and I put my head down. I think it took maybe ten seconds for me to go out. Next thing I know, I hear voices. It was really odd because I knew time had elapsed (two and a half hours, actually) but my brain had no recollection to make the assumption off of. I don't think that makes sense. Anyway, I remember giving people thumbs up before I opened my eyes, then finally looking out of the window while my mom told me I had to move to another chair. Then I remember feeling relieved that I had moved/didn't have to move anymore. A few minutes later I opened my eyes again and saw that the window was in a different spot, so I asked/groaned through cotton how it had moved. My mom told me I had stumbled and been dragged over into another chair. Half of my head said.... oh yeah, while the other half didn't believe it. I sat in the chair for a certain amount of time---don't ask me, I have no idea how long. I remember the news was on the TV above me, and I saw that the President of Egypt had finally stepped down. "MUUUH-BRRR-AAAGGHHK! Ehhhhhh Gnnnne!" I remember I kept trying to talk to the ladies all around me about it, and one of them said something about how it would effect the whole world, especially England. Then I remember I was texting and they were all laughing about that. Imagine some old lady chuckling, shaking her head and saying Teenagers. Little Rascals.

The anesthesiologist was jokingly-mad at me because apparently I had made her pretty braid fall out AND she had to miss her lunch break. Caroline and I had the most difficult wisdom teeth that they said they had ever extracted because they were WAY high and tucked away. Caroline, in fact, was lucky that she didn't lose her molars. So they just drilled and drilled, cracked and cracked, dug and dug. My sister said that not only we would have shards of jaw bone up in there for years, but if we got punched or bumped in the face our jaw would break pretty easily until the strength came back. Cheer stunting is going to be FUNNNNNNN. Each of us took a little over an hour, which is supposedly horrifically long. I wouldn't know, of course, but yeah. Then some lady helped me back into the waiting room, where I took that lovely picture above with my mom's phone and sent it to Franny.

Um.... I remember getting in the car. I remember faintly wanting a "VNNNNUUUUHH" (vanilla) frozen custard, recieving it and promptly spilling it all over myself and getting really mad at my mom. Then I remember leaving Designer's Resource downtown (my mom had to pick something up) and repeating, "How did we get here?" while my mom studiously ignored me. I have no idea how I missed the 35 minute freeway drive down TO Designer's Resource, or waiting for my mom while she went in, or the 20 minute drive home from there. My brain just goes: High fived a nurse-->Got in

the car-->Custard-->Leaving design store-->stumbling out of the car and walking into my house.

Then I was mad at another something or other while my mom reminded me that I was going to be a responsible, good patient. She made me get into her bed and turned on the TV. We don’t have TV. Really, we don’t. My mom doesn’t believe in cable or satellite. More than half of our channels are Mexican or Korean or something, and the other half are pure craft and jewelry crap. It really sucked. And the two shows that I was maybe okay with looking at, but not really watching (That 70’s Show and something else I can’t remember) were all fuzzed out. My pain medicine wore off suddenly. I don’t know if it was so painful that my eyes were watering, or if I was crying. But I’ll tell you, she hurt like a B. I just stared at the wall for hours until suddenly my sister Emily was there saying that she could see I was in pain from just looking at my eyes, and suddenly I was swallowing more pills than an addict.

Yeah, so it was fun.

Around nine PM I'm pretty sure my friends came over. I remember playing with the cat, um...... playing with the cat............................ Man, I really don't remember anything else. Shoot. Wow. I have no idea what happened. That's so surreal.

I don't even remember what I did yesterday. All I remember is eating pudding and Evan came over and brought me sherbet, which was sublime and tastes like Fruit Loops. I think I left the house once. Maybe.

Alright. I can’t write anymore. The Lortab is kicking in and I’m too high. I have to go call someone, probably Franny. Stay tuned in for Dem Wisdom Teef: Part II.

UPDATE: Shortly after this was posted, I cut off a chunk of my own hair. I think it was an accident.

I'm sick of having all of these drafts.

....So I posted them. I've actually written quite a few things on here, yet haven't had the nerve to publish them/have been too lazy to finish my thoughts/forgot about them.

If you can find them (some are from quite a while ago, and since Blogger organizes them by date---which I like---they're scattered across the last 8 posts or so.) you can have a gold star.

All the Single Ladies, All the Single Ladies

To update my readers (*cough* Guys? ....Hello? Anybody here?):

1. I'm growing out my bangs.
2. I decided that I love school because I have the coolest friends in the world.
3. I'm still single.

Inexcusably, horrifyingly single. Heck, it seems like we all are! What's with this world?

Because I'm feeling strangely analytical today, and perhaps I need some stability in my life, I'd like to take some time to offer a few equations:

T α 1/D

T= Time left in junior year

D= Desperation

T α Rf

T= Amount of MicroFoaming Toothpaste used

Rf= Rabies Factor: How much you look like you have rabies

M α H

(This one's only for a select few. H ≠ Hannah, or Hollberg. Never fear.)

Oh the irony (this one goes out to Françoise) that I'm making mathematical equations here. Seeing as in math today... Yeah. My hands are still shaking.

I may still be single, but at least I have guy friends. Phew! And I'm lucky enough to get to go to Junior Prom with the coolest one on Saturday -- thanks, Evan! I'm super excited.

Sometimes, I'm kind of a tool.

Honestly, I'm not exactly sure of the true definition of a "tool," but it's been used lavishly around me recently and my mind is pretty hooked on it. Best to get it out.

I have this brain-mouth thing that doesn't always work. Honestly, it hardly works. I have doubts. You just have to realize that sometimes I'm going to say something that I don't mean, or makes me look like a fool, etc. I don't try to, I swear. It just happens. I am so, so very sorry.

On a similar note, after I get my wisdom teeth out here in a few weeks, I'm going to lock myself in my room for the following 3 days. Having seen the after effects on someone else, I don't wish to burden society like that. I'm sure that I'll be even more high and crazy and destructive. This is what I'm going to print out and put on my door:

HANNAH.

YOU ARE HIGH.

YOU ARE MEAN.

DO NOT LEAVE THIS ROOM.

DO NOT TOUCH YOUR PHONE.

YOUR FACEBOOK PASSWORD HAS BEEN CHANGED.

SINCERELY,

NORMAL HANNAH.

But really, to those of you I have said something insensitive to, been sarcastic to, made fun of, etc. I am truly sorry. My thought process is broken. My brain has been hiding from me. I didn't mean it. I'm not thinking of a specific instance here, but I have to say that it's been a reoccuring instance. Please, ignore me.

What do I need?

If you're bored, and possibly procrastinating (hey, I guessed right!) you may want to try this. Go to Google and type in your name + needs.

Example: "Hannah needs "

Well Google, what do I need? Here are my top 15 favorites, not in any particular order.

1. Hannah needs to freely explore her world.
2. Hannah needs a farm visit.
3. Hannah needs a Foster home.
4. Hannah needs a good break.
5. Hannah needs Roomies! (Actual inflection)
6. Hannah needs a photo of a Marine Corps dress, blue buttons. (Oddly specific)
7. Hannah needs food, walks, and a steady supply of tail-scratches.
8. Hannah needs a hug.
9. Hannah needs some alone time.
10. Hannah needs $3 million.
11. Hannah needs your money.
12. Hannah needs some sensitivity training.
13. Hannah needs to die off or something.
14. Hannah needs to tan.
15. Hannah needs to be loved.

Isn't that pathetically revealing? I thought so. Apparently I need to open up to the world (perhaps through a farm visit), be more sensitive. Then and then I can be tan, loved, and rich! If that doesn't work, I just need to die off or something.

This is almost as funny as the controversial Google Suggest. I suggest that you try it. I've even set another one up for you about the human race! Just click on *Update*.

Through this experience I have not only learned that a surprising number of Hannahs are Jewish, but that if people actually took Google's advice, we would be a very bewildered, uncertain people with few/no philosophical values.

Pronounced "JIN-juh"

The common redhead, or flavus humana rubra, has hair natually varying from a deep burgundy to bright copper. Approximately 1% to 2% of the human population is affected by this rare anomoaly, which appears in people with two copies of a recessive gene which causes a mutation in the MC1R protein. Gingerism is associated with fair skin color, lighter eye colors (gray, blue, green, and hazel), freckels, and senstivity to ultraviolet light. Cultural reactions have varied from ridicule to admiration, with many existing stereotypes regarding redheads.

Commonly known as coppertops, fantapants, gingarians, ginga ninjas, ginge-tinges, carrot tops, rust heads, and copper knobs, these fiery fellows have been walking the earth for about 50,000 years. Throughout history, their presence has left a mark upon society that can be found through literature and art. During the midieval ages, red hair was thought to be the mark of beastly sexual desire and moral degeneration. Montague Summers, in his translation of the Malleus Maleficarum, notes that red hair and green eyes were thought to be the sign of a witch, a werewolf or a vampire.

(A fresco of a red-haired THracian nonble woman in the Otrusha Mound in central Bulgaria, 4th century BC.)

There are two kinds of redheads existing in our world today, the first of which being the ginger, or sapien flavus rubra. This creature is typically shy, self-concious, intelligent, and socially awkward. Gingers have a certain inclination to wear shades of purple or pink that clash magnificently with their frizzy mane of fury. They enjoy spending their time meticulously practicing the piano, knitting socks, and singing to themselves. Clingling to familiar habitats, gingers can be found in various dark places such as their mother's basement or a cassette rental store. Once fully grown and matured (a feat requiring at least 30 years), gingers usually end up owning either:

a) A large, successful company,
b) A steady supply of prostitutes,
c) A creepy shack full of cats.

The common ginger is not to be mistaken wit the Cohors hominis spectantia flavus rouge, or gang-dwelling ginga, which is a whole seperate species of redhead. Gingas have an extreme terperament which matches the flaming color of their foreign hair. They are stubborn, demanding, critical, easy to upset, clever, competitive, violent, loud, sarcastic, and hot-headed. A ginga never forgets, and a ginga never forgives.

Gingas are identified as cap-busting, kitten saving, well rounded people. "Do not mess with gingas; they are thugs who don't show if from their skin or hair, but are likely to carry a Glock without you ever expecting it. They ain't afraid to kick your [booty]." (Anonymous classmate)

Gingas are oft found relaxing at classy piano clubs, arguing with brunettes, or fighting Gingerism hate crimes with piercing intellect and strenght as a minority group in the American community. They enjoy good music and creativity, and are not afraid to get sassy on anyone--white freckly-kid style.

Redheads may be commonly mistaken for hall passes, road construction signs, basketballs, carrots, pumpkins, and road cones. No matter how hard it seems, you must never confuse redheads with these items.

Here in America, film and television programs often portray school bullies as having red hair; for example, Scot Farkus from A Christmas Story, the O'Doyle family in the movie Billy Madison, or the bully character Caruso in Everybody Hates Chris. However, children with red hair are often themselves targeted by bullies; "Somebody wit hginger hair will stand out from the croud," says anti-bullying expert Louise Burfitt-Dons.

Although they may be different from the rest of the world, gingers are people too. They enjoy long walks on the beach and evenings with their ginger-haired sweetheart and a glass of wine, just like any other person. Redheads even feel pain--recent studies have shown that gingers need twenty percent more anesthetics to loose their pain reflexes than the average brunette or blonde. So next time you pass a ginger--or ginga--by on the street, stop for a moment to appreciate the rare genetic mutation. They add a little more diversity to our lives. And they're pretty dang funny to watch.

Feeling Self-Concious

After reading my last post, one might be confused as to the state of this blog. Have I completely abandoned it in the past five months? Talk about a complete reversal... The filthy hypocrite!

Maybe it's because school started. Whenever I get into a very... involving... english class, I have to be writing so often that my brain does a complete flop and I can no longer write outside of boring essays arguing controversies that no one has heard of. Gosh, listen to me now. I'm not even coherent, and I've stuttered over five months to be able to build up to this.

Yes. I have written about a dozen or so posts. They are currently residing in the lovely place where saved drafts live on the blogosphere. But everytime I open one of them up to edit/publish it, I feel like a total idiot for writing it in the first place and I feel like it doesn't represent me at all because it's too silly or too depressing. So pretty much, I'm a bipolar freak who has trouble staying in one emotion over time when writing. You know. Ha. I'll probably hate this tomorrow.

That, and I feel completely scrutinized for my work. It's as if there is some hawk-of-an-AP-Lang teacher staring over my shoulder, diving too deep into concepts, being too opinionated, and absolutely shutting my warrants down. Like some mean, destroying machine. Killer of children and small, furry animals.

I can't even THINK for myself anymore! Any deeper, philosophical thought that I might have relates to some discussion that we've had in class, and I suddenly feel self-concious like I have something to say and I want to say it, but I can't unless I am 100% sure it's impressive. I feel like I could argue over anything. I feel like I can't talk about anything. It's like I'm stuck in some monkey-hell limbo. That was a Mighty Boosh reference.

I may have to do a post on that show.

So.... You may or may not be able to imagine how I've forced myself to trudge through the past weeks, ignoring that tantalizing picture of blueberry-cake-whatever-it-was-after-all (which, as a matter of fact, was not too successful at persuading me to post as soon as I should have).

You know what, grammar? You suck. Nobody likes you. You have no friends.

*Smacks forehead*

I don't know how to write _ _ _ _ anymore. I cannot. It's as if somebody threw a rice bag over my head and threw me into a lake.

Haha, that would actually be fun.

No, dangit. It wouldn't!

*Smacks forehead*

It's so strange to think that it was JULY last time I posted on here. Now, it's mid-November, we're preparing for Christmas in dance, and there's snow on the ground. Eff.

[Untitled]

It's crazy to think that last time I posted on here, it was summer.

I've been having some conflicting feelings, as of late. Mainly, it's all about balance: When to do this, when to do that. If a joke is appropriate. If it's over the top. If it's underrated. This is a completely fine assessment, I know, for a teenager to be going through. It's just... I don't know. Not harder, per se, but more interesting than I thought.

Yesterday, a rather self-absorbed girl leaned over to me during French III. "Oh-mi-gosh," she said. "I just LOVE pop. It's my favorite genre." I honestly had nothing to say to her, having no visible way of either agreeing pitifully or shooting her down truthfully. I just managed to raise my eyebrows at her for a moment and returned to the lecture. But honestly, is this what we've come to? Thinking that A: POP is a genre and B: You are then inclined to just like what everyone else is liking? That's what pop is--what's popular. It's pretty disappointing...

The whole image of reputation and popularity is such a fickle concept. Honestly, it's so immature. Will we ever grow out of it? I still find myself frowning when I see adults who are so self-conscious and oriented around others. I kinda feel badly for them, really. It's not a fun position at all. But it's not a big deal to just walk away from that whole conception and be able to see the greater perspective of, I don't know, being friends with everyone. It must have been hard for them in high school.

I used to be one of them. I was so unhappy, though. I remember it still: there was always so much drama, and even if you were in the popular group, there were many divisions within. Bad feelings, back stabbing, gossipping... all of it was there. I don't hate these people--no not at all. I just know that they are so much better than that.

Can't we all just... be more classy? More sportsmanlike? Those kind of people are so much more attractive; I mean this in the literal meaning of the word.

Whatever, I have the best friends in the world.

Sometimes I feel sarcastic. Deal.

After many weeks of intense pain, misery, and a pinch of gut-twisting agony, I have decided that I no longer feel the need to always have reason to post on my blog.

So, like, scratch that last post.

I mean temporarily. C'mon, you don't expect me to be regular at anything, right?

As a first note of business, I would like to inform you that our intelligent German Shepard Maggie has been sneaking onto my mom's computer for the past few months. Luckily, we learned that she has only managed to create a Facebook account, and give my email address to some really spunky spammers who insist that I'm the "SOPHIE" they're looking for.

Her main page... I'd recommend clicking on these pictures to see them full size.

Her interests and such.

Although we've managed to restrain her from the computer for the time being, (a process involving a harness, choke chain, fence post in the middle of our backyard, and a set of new passwords on any electronic device we own, and one trip to the hospital) Maggie wishes that I inform you all that she is willing to be friends with anyone who sends her an invite.

Second, I'm debating as to what my next created t-shirt made shall be. Here are my options:

1. A llama with a wicked unicorn horn. No words included. It's a fantastic beast anyway.

2. Big bright, tag words that say GINGA FO LIFE

3. A high-contrast Spock holding his hands up doing the Vulcan greeting thing with some sick headphones on. Maybe a tape player.

My third bullet point of the day is... goodbye iPod. We shared some cosmic days together, but now it's time to separate. Apple deserves a cruel Achilles-tendon clipping for the pain that they have caused you and I by not covering water/liquid damage in the warranty. You were the first iPod that I bought myself, and the last. I'm afraid that I am now broke and lack the ability to save money. I have finally been able to admit this to myself.

My Personal Posting Process (how quaint!)

Probably the main source of persuasion for me for semi-regular blog posting is the fact that I've set my blog as my homepage. It adds this nice, guilt-inducing, pain-in-the-neck type feel to my Internet surfing experience. When I do post, I usually like to embed a picture somewhere within my text so that each day as I click that little 'e' icon, I can see that same picture over and over, until I'm driven to tears and eventually dread and avoid this stupid DELL, being compulsed to perform my maniacal, time wasting activities elsewhere.

So, with my marbles lost and my brain batty, I unconsciously begin to brainstorm. Usually I have small thoughts or portions on my mind that don't have enough fluff to make a long enough post (see my many accounts of "bullet-pointed, conjoined posts") or ideas that when I actually WAKE UP 7 or 8 hours later I realize they are boggles.

What's up with my vocabulary today? Maybe it's because there's no food in this house and I'm surviving off a multitude of blueberry muffin-cake that my mom made two evenings ago for my sister-in-law's arrival from Seattle. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner, baby!

I think I'm going to vomit.

Anywho, after several weeks, I stop dreading the Internet--specifically my homepage--and face this fiery dart head on. I finally make a post that will let my panging guilt romp free.

I write about how OH, WOE-BE-GONE me has SO MUCH TO DO, which I certainly don't deny but you've got to be getting as sick of it as I am... It's without a doubt easier to hint or allude to recent quote-unquote DRAMAS (how dramatic.) going on in my WOE-BE-GONE life than actually fessing up. Hey, it's the world wide web. I getta do whatever I want!

Then for some reason, I can never figure it out, but after I write that one post, I feel the need to change or edit it a ba-gillion times for virtually no effect. And THEN I have TONS of ideas that seem to flood in to every pore of my consciousness and harass my very existence. My one point of verdict is the fact that I don't like it when you publish two posts in one day and the date gets taken off of the second one because it's unnecessary.

Finally, once I quench my many yearnings to publish countless posts in a single mad minute, I see that pretty much, I don't know, NO ONE feels the need to comment on one until 2 weeks later out of pity. This is particularly despicable because people find it acceptable to TELL ME they read my blog in PERSON but "don't know how to comment" my EYE--and yes, Maria, I'm pointing at you. Look, if I WANTED to talk to you in person I WOULD but OBVIOUSLY I'm posting on my BLOG instead. Suck on that.

As you may have already found, I started this blog when I was a measily, knee-knobbing seventh grader. I apparently felt the need to use as many exclamation points as possible--a need that I believe has transferred into the insane amount of commas I post with--along with being extraordinarily schizophrenic. I can see why nobody read this baby. Wow. Pretty much, I just posted a picture on and screamed about it or demanded that people vote on some who knows what poll. How miserable. Gosh, I was an obbessive child.

Then, I believe (I don't actually have the stomach right now to go back and clarify this) I turned into some emotional, sarcastic, meat-loving, not as crazy poster--as in one that posts. Thank goodness you can see that I've matured and actually SEEN MORE OF THE WORLD. Let me say that TWILIGHT IS A DISGRACE TO THIS BLOG and I CANNOT BELIEVE I SAID THAT I LOVED ALL POP SONGS TO THE EXTENT OF KNOWING EVERY WORD. I was more shallow than I can ever believe, even in eighth grade which was my best year. I really am going to puke.

Anyway, I hope now I've seen the light. Maybe one day I'll look back on this and feel the need to defenestrate my past, but c'est la vie for now. There's nothing more I can do here.




DANG IT ALL. I just thought of the best post.

Let me introduce myself.

Because we all know that the first time wasn't up to par.

Pretty much throughout my life, I’ve been known as Caroline’s sister; usually it’s because we’re only a year apart in school. See, we’re 22 months and one day apart by birth but are side by side grade-wise, she being very old for her grade, and I young. As a result of this happy coincidence she is usually the one who blazes the trail for both of our educational experiences.

I’d gladly accept a chance to introduce myself before the literal school year begins so we can just skip those painful pauses in class where the teacher will either (A) Call me Caroline by mistake and force me to correct them in front of everyone or (B) Silently stare at me for a time while trying to decipher exactly who I am. Occasionally, I get the rare (C) where teachers who shall remain anonymous will actually start a conversation with me whilst under the impression that I am, indeed, my sister (“Wait… no, yeah you’re the other one, right?”). It’s not like I hold a grudge against them or anything because they have a couple hundred names to memorize each year, but after 12 years of this cycle you can’t blame me for feeling a little worn and withered.

Me, Hannah Hollberg, who am I? I, to put it simply, am a high school student. We are hormonal… dramatic… and we do completely unnecessary things that are apparently “life essential”. We overreact, we whine, we protest. “Nobody understands us,” but that’s not true at all. The only misunderstanding going on is of ourselves. I’m not going to admit that I have everything figured out right now, or claim that I can see my future clearly now. No, the rain must be gone first—whether that be hormones, immaturity, or blatant stupidity. Probably the latter.

Now I hope you can better understand the tumbling mental turmoil that shakes my delicate teenage emotional balance: I want to be someone,—no, I want to be myself, but I have no idea who the crow that is right now. To an extent, at least.

At this current juncture, I am a passionate dancer, addicted to music, an amateur blogger, a compulsive reader, a competitive soul who is intrigued by physics, I’m a straightforward, sarcastic, yet hopeful spirit. I might be childlike and immature, but I am an active lover of arguments, a conservative who listens of NPR. My step-father describes me as precocious, but my mom dislikes the word because it sounds “snotty.” She prefers “bright.”

When I say that I’m a lover or arguments… well, that’s truer than most people will assume. I definitely do not let others shape my beliefs, but I develop them on my own from applicable and respectable resources. Call it pigheaded, and I’ll call it sophisticated. I believe an education, in virtually all matters, is essential to the survival of a nation because once you have a dull and gullible people, a dictator can use whatever means he or she wants to use to manipulate and destroy them. Yep, I’m a fiery red head.

I spend most of my time outside of school dancing: ballet and modern dance are my preferré because they are the yin and yang balance of my life. Modern is the raw, dynamic expression of the emotion inside me while ballet requires self discipline and rigid adherence to form; it’s the constant in my life that everyone needs in some form or another when things get difficult. Both are necessary and they help me look upon the small dramas of life with a more open and composed perspective.

I also enjoy spending some of my extra-curricular in theatre. Oh, I suck big time at it, trust me. But it’s so incredible! Take 5 is one of my favorite events of the year (cheese ahead) because you learn so much from each other and get so close to so many people. Sure, there are numerous times where you cringe and wonder who in the world decided that high school students could accommodate an acting program, but any of these thoughts are eradicated by the sheer joy of performing work (if not well, then communally) to an audience. It reminds me of dance, my ultimate passion, in this way.

To sum it all up, I am a lover of life. I love people, art, creation, activity in mental, physical, and spiritual matters. I appreciate the sciences and realities in existence, and when someone accomplishes the seemingly impossible. I may not have found out exactly who I am yet but in all honestly, I can’t help falling in love with life.

Me, Hannah Hollberg, who am I? I, to put it simply, am a high school student.

You may never know what results come of your action,
but if you do nothing there will be no result.
-Mahatma Ghandi

Virus.

I'm ill. Really, please lock me up.

Ha, no this post isn't going to be the same as the last few--ranting on about my social life--but moreover explaining myself, yeah? Try to keep up.

So... how do I start? How DID it start?

I think I was babysitting or something. I saw it on TV. It was sixth grade, so I think Nickelodeon was still cool back then. Not only that, but I think I might have heard some mojo about it in class. Avatar this, Avatar that. It kinda made me frustrated, like sometimes people do when they don't know what the big deal is about a new TV show and that everyone who is quote-unquote OBSESSED with it is lame...? Yeah. But then I saw it--hated to admit it, but I loved it! Dude: cheesy jokes, wicked ninja moves, and pretty good animation... That's my ballpark.

I'm just joking; really, it's great.

Anyway, I remember last year around this same time and I was at the midnight showing of Harry Potter 6 when I saw this pre-movie ad. I was just like.... no............ It can't be. Dude, that would be...... no.......... there is no way.........



This was the first teaser--the exact one that I saw.

Once it got to the part where he took his hood off and you could see the arrow, I unconciously stood up (almost knocking over a plethora of candy) and just about yelled, "NO WAY!" but for the intent of the rest of the theatre patrons, I was reined in my dear friend Franny with much yanking and some violence.

I had no idea they were making a movie. Man, that was overall a great night. I was and still am really skeptical about M. Night Shyamalan, but I hope against hope that it's going to be as great as the series was. But, if he DOES manage to botch it all up, I will personally ensure that his entrails shall become his extrails.

So, you have no idea how excited for Wednesdsay night I am when I'll be going to the midnight showing of The Last Airbender. I've shown pretty much my entire family the series, and they want to see the movie too when it comes out. Even my military soldier, macho-insiting brother-in-law Gerritt wants to come with my friends and I to the midnight showing. My sister Caroline (18), who I got involved in the series is super excited too. I'm not even joking--we love it! Seriously.

So if you're going, see you there when it previews around the world. I'll be the one yelling nonsense in the theatre.

If you have no idea what Avatar is, watch this:

The lady is a bit obnoxious but she covers it well. You'll get used to her.

Btw, this was the REAL AVATAR--> so no blue aliens involved. The movie originally was going to be called Avatar like the series but then Cameron came and messed things up so it's The Last Airbender now.

Reflections

I guess I should talk a bit about the end of the year and all.... because I sorta feel like I have a lot that I can't say or express.

So let's force it!

The end of the school year... wow. Completely different from any other yearbook day that I have ever experienced. I have felt regret like crazy! I don't really even know what it is... Okay that's a lie. I know what it is, exactly. Maybe I'm not going to go into details here, even though I may have let it on that I would, but I feel like I could have done so much MORE, you know? Like, I'm feeling kinda sick that over the summer I might lose the friendships that I made over the 2009-2010 school year, and I feel nauseous (I know, isn't that pathetic?) to think that things will be different next year.

I don't want to lose anybody else.

Sure, a select few people might know to a pinpoint what I am beating around here. You have to understand, though. I am happy for those few seconds on yearbook day--that was so much more than I could have ever asked for, really. Now I know though that I'm going to TAKE THE INITIATIVE this summer. I am NOT going to loose anything. I think I'm going to plan a movie day or scavenger hunt down at the City Library (those are SO fun) and invite just a ton of people. Seriously. This is going to happen! I'm going to flood my social life to and extent that I become sick--the good kind of sick though, not this regret eating me now.

You'll never believe what I found...

Yesterday, at my dance studio, I saw the most unbelievable thing. Absolutely couldn't comprehend my luck.

I was in the upstairs studio, taking a break for a second. I was looking out the open window at the leaves on the trees as they blew in the wind, the cars passing the Blue Plate Cafe.... etc. When I saw a little old Chinese man wearing a white apron holding something and walking out to the parking lot. I didn't really see what he was holding, but I assumed he was from the Chinese restaurant next to us. I hadn't acknowledged him conciously at all pretty much until he reached the dumpster. There I saw him fiddling around with something, trying to fit something else in---something cardboard. For some reason that I don't even want to think about, I was able to zero in on him from 60+ feet away, and what he was holding.

It was a cardboard cutout of someone.

And I was 90% sure I knew exactly who it was.

That's the part that slightly disgusts me.

Anyway, I called my sister.

"Caroline-- I'm pretty sure I just some short, old Chinese man holding a Taylor Lautner life-size cardboard cutout. He just put it in the dumpster."
"WHAT? You better get that or I'll kill you."
"Carrie, I thought you got over the whole Twilight fetish four years ago or something when people actually started to know what it was."
"I did. But can you not imagine the possibilities we would have with that thing?!"
"Fair point."
"Go get it."

I didn't want to look like a complete idiot by myself (dumpster diving around fried eggs and rice to get Taylor Lautner's torso) so when Caroline came to pick me up I had her help me out. We whistled extremely subtley and ran nonchalantly to the dumpster. Graciously, the cut-out was at the top.

So... now we have this thing in our house. It is actually REALLY FREAKY. You keep thinking it's really someone (he looks like a stalker!) Surprisingly, my mom has been approving of it--yeah she still screams when she sees at first, like we all do (FREAKY.) but today she actually suggested that we put it on the front lawn to welcome my sister, uncle, and step-dad home from church. It's been non-stop pranking for the past 24 hours. This morning Caroline went in to take a shower, but when she drew back the curtains, there HE was, glaring at us with his 'scorching, fierce eyes.'

I'm pretty sure I'm going to now:
(A) Ask someone to the dance with it.
(B) Put it in a friend's house with help from their family.
or (C) Continue to frighten my family with it.

So friends. Beware.

Family, it gets even scarier with time.

If you see a shadow looming over your bed.... Hey, that's actually a really good idea! Yes.... sleep with one eye open.

I'll get you a picture of it.

You know, the thing I'm STILL wondering is why did the wrinkled old man have it in the first place?!