My Seven Years at Hogwarts

                     It was nearly seven years ago when first starting reading the Harry Potter series. Best decision ever. My mother had the first four books, and I devoured them as ravenously as any eleven-almost-twelve-year-old could. I spent literally every waking moment with my nose stuck in those books, waking up and going to sleep at ungodly hours just to read a few more chapters. It got to the point where the adults in my household were actually sick of me reading so much. They would get angry and I actually got in trouble. Sure, I brought the book to the table. And the bed. And the bathroom. And every single place we went. But c'mon, I was reading. Reading is highly applauded in my family, and I'm quite all right with that, but I guess my mother thought I was going a little overboard.
                     Regardless, I borrowed the rest of the series from various people, and now I have all the books except the Order of the Phoenix sitting proudly on my shelf (I really gotta complete my collection sometime. Ah well, that one is my least favorite of the series anyways). Since then, I've regarded myself as a Potterhead (though at eleven, I didn't know members of the fandom were called that). Of course I began watching the movies, and when I was thirteen, I got a boxed set of the first five movies for Christmas. Merlin knows where they all are now, since I've (regrettably) let my younger brother watch them as he pleases.
                     Well, Deathly Hallows part II came out a good two years ago, and I had so wanted to see it in theatres, as it was released soon after my birthday, but to no avail (too bad aswell, as I've never seen any of the HP movies in theatres). And just last week I reached the final chapter, and finally watched the eighth movie. It really seems to have come full-circle now. I was eleven when I first- to put it magiphorically- found the portkey to the wizarding world. The same age as Harry was in the first book. And though I finished reading the whole series I estimate by the age of thirteen, the movies held a good part of my fanmanship (That's not a real term, and I don't think it even works in that context, forgive me). So now, at the age of seventeen, I feel almost as if my time with Hogwarts has, along with Harry, also come to an end. Everything really fell into place well. I can't help but marvel at this seemingly trivial twist of fate. Oh come on, you may think, it's just a book series. But as a true Potterhead, I can tell you: No. It's not.
-K

P.S. I started writing this blog post probably about a month ago, and just hadn't finished that last paragraph, so when I say "last week" it wasn't actually a week before the date this post was published. Not that it matters.

Ender's Game Excitement and More Boring Stuff

                    Let me start off by saying that Orson Scott Card is a genius. I'm reading Ender's Game and I'm completely enraptured. After I finish, all I need to do is get my hands on every single book he has ever written. I'm excited for the movie, but I know there's no way it can fully live up to my lofty expectations. First and foremost, the boy who is to play Ender (Asa Butterfield), who in the book is six years old, is sixteen. Geez. I guess he was younger during filming though. But I hear Card is co-producing. My faith has been restored just a little bit. He'll make sure it's not a complete bomb, right? Right?
                   Moving on to the more mundane things (A.K.A. my life), my family is getting a new dog tomorrow. A male German Shepherd. My mother wants him to be a family dog, yet a protection dog. She has these fantasies that we she will one day soon live in the Alaskan wilderness, hunting, skinning, and living in a cabin (or a tent, who knows), and off the land, with her trusty dog by her side. I ask her who she thinks will go there with her, and she cheerfully replies that all of us (my siblings and I) will, to which I scoff and tell her to have fun and that I'll be joining the military.
                   Bleh, I'm tired. I thought this would be a longer post, but I guess this is where I stop. Not like anyone will read this anyways, ha. : )

To Type or Not to Type... What, is the Question. (Oh the Agony!)

                     I'm not even going to kid myself; I just leaned against my own bathroom door and gave myself a minor heart conflargction* before realizing it was squeaking. I'm pathetic, I know.
                     *Not a real word, but if it was this would be the dictionary entry

                       conflargction [cun - flarg - ction]
                       verb
                       1. (pertaining to the heart) To beat rapidly, quickly, and thumpily. Like when Rihanna felt her heart beating. She could feel it through her chest. Or that mini heart-attack you get when you think you miss the step on a staircase, but it turns out you were just on the lowest step and now you're a scared breathless doofus standing an the bottom of a flight of stairs.
                         Origin:
                         2012; Me
                         Synonyms:
                         1. See palpitation


                          Anyways...
                          If a guy you've been crushing on (yeah, that mega hot college guy) for over a year, pokes you on Facebook out-of-the-blue, what should you do?
                          a) Poke him back
                          b) a
                          c) b
                          Then he pokes you back. Poke him back guurrrl! Then he pokes you back again! Thus begins a Poke War; but this is different from normal Poke Wars, this isn't some mundane Poke War with your friendzoned Dude Friends, or those thirteen year old girls that have nothing better to do. This means something. This could lead to something more, ya know?
                           But wait, you're tired and it's one in the morning. You need to sleep so you can wake up at the timely fashion of twelve pm the next day. But how can you make this mean something? It's up to you now. What do you do? What do you DO?!
                            I've read enough issues of Seventeen magazine to know that this is the perfect opportunity to send him a message. A Facebook  message. Now do it gurl!
                            "But what do I say?"
                            Tell him you've had fun with the poke war, but you gotta hit the sack and you'll message him later.
                            After about twenty minutes and countless revisions of the previous sentence, I finally came up with something for you. It's genius, if I do say so myself. And I do. It's sweet; it doesn't convey that you're tired of him, just tired in general; it's slightly flirty; and it leaves the air of mystery, something I've heard guys dig. I'm proud of myself on this one. Now I'm  not gonna share exactly what I typed, for the sake of privacy, but trust me; it was good.
                            Now you have to send it.
                            "Would you click the button for me?"
                            It would be my pleasure. Mwah-ha-ha-haaa!
                            And all's well that ends well, when he replies back good-natured-ly with a smiley. You're over the Moon and almost too excited to actually get to sleep. But you do, because how else can wake up at noon if you don't sleep on the way there?

Who Actually Needs the Therapy Here?

                     It's weird to know, that while I'm here sitting on my ass, having given up, someone out there is doing the same thing but for a far more serious matter. I'm lazy. I don't try to hide it. And it's unfair that someone who probably works and tries a hundred times harder than I do, could be mirroring my current state of mind. How will I ever make it?
                      Lately, I've been going on blahtherapy.com as an anonymous listener. I've been trying to help people even when I'm too lazy and unmotivated to help myself. It's the least I can do while i sit around lost all day. The feeling you get after you've helped someone and made them feel better is the best feeling in the world. Their "thanks" make my entire day. I encourage anyone with some decency and I kind heart to take thirty minutes out of their day and be a listener. I also encourage anyone who needs someone to talk to when they have a problem to go on and vent. Either one can do you wonders. I've never vented, but listening and trying to help people is a good enough therapy on it's own for me.
                     I'm probably one of the rare high school seniors who is actually excited for school to start. But at the same time I keep thinking "Senior year- oh dear!" (I know it's lame, but it rhymes). I seriously can't wait. On the my personal school supply list: a Google Chromebook.
                     Sorry for such a weird, rambling post. I think I'll go for now.

Hundred and Thousands and Percy Jackson

                    I sit here at my desk after just finishing eating a piece of fairy bread and long for another one. My common sense tells me "No! Too many extra carbs!" but my heart (and stomach) tells me "Yes! It tastes yummy- to Hell with health!" My stomach will probably win. But first, I type.
                    Today my brother, sisters and I went to the movie theatre to see Percy Jackson: Sea of Monsters. I had to set it up as an outing for the service group I'm currently the leader of. Not everything went smoothly, as things rarely go. It was a pretty minor deal, but it totally dampened my mood. When texting everyone the details, I texted the wrong number of one of the girls (I must say that she changes her telephone number constantly, so I had two of them) and her mother was really upset. I know this because she said to our supervisor
                     "I am very upset." And then proceeded to slather blame on whoever stood still long enough.
                     Cryptic, I know, but I read between the lines.
                     Everything is all right, my supervisor assured me; it was an accident after all (they still arrived in time to see the movie), but I'm still kind of worried. That one mother kind of intimidates me, I'm sheepish to say.
                     About the movie: I read the Percy Jackson series when I was thirteen and was still at the Rick Riordan reading age (I'm a senior in high school now, and trust me, I've tried. Not so much now), and loved them (still do, actually). I love anything to do with Greek, Roman, Egyptian, etc. legend, and after hearing that Thor Freudenthal was directing the second movie (After Chris Columbus and Craig Titley caused outrage within the fans for the first one) I had high hopes for The Sea of Monsters (the Diary of a Wimpy Kid adaptions he directed are some of my favorites) but honestly, it didn't live up to my lofty expectations.
                    It was super kid-friendly (as in, almost lame), script-wise which was fine except not very believable considering in the film adaptions the main characters are like sixteen. The score was reminiscent of Pixar's The Incredibles. And of course, as a fan of the series, I was annoyed by every little change from the book. But I reasoned with myself that these changes in the beginning were necessary to tie up the loose ends from the mess Chris Columbus directed (mess with very high box office numbers, let me just say), but as it progressed I got more annoyed, and by the near end I wasn't a happy camper (haha, see what I did there?) at all. But then bam! strings got tied up and things made sense, causing my anger to sufficiently simmer down.
                   So all-in-all yes, go see it if you are a Percy Jackson fan, but be prepared to question where the writers and producers are taking the story the whole time. See it if you're not a Percy Jackson fan. The adults I was with laughed loudly at all the jokes and seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. And I guess it really won me over when the opening song turned out to be "My Songs KnowWhat You Did In the Dark (Light 'Em Up)" by Fall Out Boy, and Tyson. That is all.

Shooting Stardust and Shouting Rather Quietly

                    A star that may just have been alien debris in the atmosphere has been shot and wished upon, plans to camp on a wildly uncivilized balcony have been proposed, and the night ended with some heavy reprimanding towards me. Lovely.
                    Wishes on stars do come true. Believe me. But they're like wishes from a genie. Always tainted, always have some kind of twist to them. What the twist will be this time, I'm dreading to find out. Last time, I wasn't able to go to a concert that I won a pair of tickets to. And it was to see my absolute favorite artist (who is actually tied with Lana del Rey): Lady Gaga. I repeat: LADY GAGA. It may not seem like a big deal to you. "So what? You missed a weird concert. Big deal". It was a big deal to me! Lady Gaga, I tell you! I digress, tonight's wish was much more serious than that, so hopefully it remains pristine and unchanged on it's way to the wish-granting faeries.
                   Let's face it, Summer is almost over (that was almost painful to type). Days of blissfully slumping on the couch, under the ceiling fan, and only venturing outside when the temperature is below one-hundred degrees Fahrenheit, otherwise your insides threaten to boil, are almost over. Well actually, no. Here in Texas, that all will go on for a few more months, but that happening while my friends aren't at school is about to come to an abrupt end. So in celebration (hey, we gotta try to make the best of it) my sister, best friend and I are going camping. On the balcony. Well that's the plan. We still have to ask permission, but those are just trivialities. Next on the list: End-of-the-Summer Fling! (Totes taken from this here article, where the fling is actually first on the list. Hmmm, priorities)
                   As for me getting scolded, I'd rather not talk about it. Let's just say I need to start acting more adult. And by that I mean talk to everyone with that fake adult I-really-Don't-Like-You-But-I'm-an-Adult-and-it's-More-Socially-Acceptable-to-Pretend-to-Like-Everyone voice. I really don't like people. (that may be an exaggeration)
                   And so, the night ended with a bang. The bang of me being an attitude and hate-filled teenager as I slammed the door to my bedroom. Not gonna sugarcoat it: I'm a brat.

Blog attempt I

                    Ever since I first saw the television series Awkward, I wanted to blog. (Actually before that, but it really added fuel to the almost extinguished embers)
                    But my life is nothing like the main character's Jenna Hamilton. It doesn't have even close to the amount of boy, friend, or school drama. I don't even go to a public school, so what do I even type? Well Jenna uses hers like a journal, so...


                    She came back today. Sam and I have been dreading this day. She had been gone for a month, and now she's back.
                    It was like an awkward taco filled with eggshells.
                    We have to prove to her that we don't need her anymore, so mother can let her go, but it's kind of hard when she tries to wash dishes every meal (which is mine and Sam's job!) and then complains at us for not doing anything and being lazy. Okay, she didn't yell at us today, but it happens! Just not today.
                    Mother talked to her about going to work for that doctor she knows instead of here. I didn't exactly hear what was going on, but it didn't exactly sound reassuring. But it will happen. It has to happen.
                    I guess we'll just have to wait and see.