My life is beginning to look like a relatively bad independent film.

All events in this movie were based on real life.

Cinematography: exceptional.

Soundtrack will consist of (but is not limited to): "Red Rabbits" by The Shins, "A Thing for Me" by Metronomy, several Nevershoutnever pieces, and probably something by Frank Sinatra.

Femme Fatal (me): bookish, writerly, oh-so-single. Never been in love. Outspoken. Rather intelligent. Enjoys clothing and good music. Not completely unfortunate looking. Likes boys who are tall, skinny, well-dressed, and cultured - the "you're totally going to fall in love with someone who fits all your criteria and then find out he's gay and be totally heartbroken" joke has been made more than once.

Leading Man (unnamed male whom I occasionally associate with*): tall, well-dressed, musical. Obviously ultra-attractive. Skinny. Listens to good music. Orders good food.

Femme Fatal meets Leading Man through friend of a friend of a friend. Femme Fatal falls for Leading Man. Leading Man and Femme Fatal talk and become friends. Leading Man and Femme Fatal flirt (or so Femme Fatal thinks).

Twist in plot: a script moment:

Femme Fatal: (says something about kissing in passing)

Leading Man: I don't really kiss girls?

Femme Fatal: Have you ever kissed anyone?

Leading Man: Listen, this can't get around. Okay?

Femme Fatal: Okay.

Leading Man: I definitely have a boyfriend who I've had for a year.

Femme Fatal: (stuggles not to correct his usage of "who" to "whom" before realizing what this actually means)

Fade to black. Credits roll.

No moshing.

All my love,

Addy.

*Disclaimer: This is not Cache, nor is it Jed. Worry not.

Thievery and thrift stores.

Despite what the title may seem to imply, I did not steal anything from a thrift store. "Thievery" is one entity and "thrift stores" is another.

Thievery: I think I'm very funny. The passenger head rest from Emily's car is now sitting on my bed.

Thrift stores: A few weeks ago, the church girls asked me what they would have to do to get me to come to our activities. Since there's only four of us in my age group, it's lonely, apparently, when I don't show up. My answer: "We would have to do fun things. Like go thrift shopping." It was meant as a bit of a joke, but yesterday night, that's exactly what we did. And it was enjoyable. The best part, though?

Jed (yes, Avery, that Jed) showed up. He walked in the door of that store. While we were there. Unplanned and beautiful as ever. And I died. My heart stopped and I died.

Therefore, I am writing this very blog post from heaven itself. Tell Jed he looked exceptional last night.(And that if I am risen from the dead, tell Jed I'm single.)

"If I wasn't so happy I wouldn't be so scared of dying."

All my love,

Addy.

P.S. Check out a little blog by my dear friend. He writes thought-provoking modern poetry.

Oscar Wilde.

Oscar Wilde was gay. Someone straighten him out (and make him un-dead), please, because I am convinced I am supposed to marry him.

That's all; I have writer's block. Still. Maybe I'll write about spring or something. Is that cliche?

Ten points from Hufflepuff.

All my love,

Addy.

P.S. Arctic Monkeys are coming on May 31. Anyone want to be my date?

Fact versus fiction.

Fact: Third term is officially over tomorrow.

Fiction: My grades are perfect.

Fact: Avery's birthday is today.

Fiction: She has a drivers license and is very legally allowed to drive us places, because she is 17.

Fact: I wore a dress and rain boots today.

Fiction: No one made fun.

Fact: I got a good grade in math.

Fiction: It was an A.

Fact: I read Harry Potter.

Fiction: I don't reread the entire series about once every three months.

Fiction: I don't compare most things in life to Harry/Luna/Hogwarts/Dumbledore/Voldemort.

Fact: Love exists.

Fiction: My love live is in full swing.

Fact: Matt Pokrus, Morgan Nelson, Emily Luse, Katie Thueson, Mallory Ash, Hannah Shill and Madison Russon all owe me notes.

Fiction: They're going to give them to me soon.

Yes, yes. We are magicians.

All my love,

Addy.

Graduation.

How much of my high school years I feel should be left: one quarter.

How much of my high school years are left in real life: two years and one quarter.

And I already have all the fine arts credits required for graduation. And then some. More than double, actually. (Did you guess that I am slightly right brained?)

Just allow me to graduate this June, could you?

Nothing rhymes with the word "orange" and no one looks good in parachute pants.*

All my love,

Addy.

*see Avery's blog

Happens all the time.