Stair-Crossed Lovers

    I had my first love when I was 15. There was a glitch in my budding romance, we lived in separate towns. Whenever we would go to my beloved's town I would always stare out the window hoping to catch just one glimpse. I knew that if we were ever truly together it would be forever, and we could live happily ever after. Sitting in the backseat of my parent's car I would beg them to take me around the block so I could have the chance to see my love and say what I felt, but it can hard to tell a house how you feel.

Turret=Love

    This was no ordinary house, oh no, this house was an old Victorian. It had this gorgeous dusty orange brick on the outside and the coolest turret on the front. My love struck eyes ignored the overgrown weeds and the obvious state of dilapidation the house was in. Each time I saw the house my love for it grew and my heart broke to think of it sitting there all empty and neglected. I would love it and care for it so it would never be abandoned again. The beauty of love and imagination is that money is never an object. In my fantasies I magically acquired the deed to the house, the means to fix it up, and original Victorian furniture to fill it with. I was so obsessed with getting this home that I would have actual dreams that involved me buying it and fixing it. I'm sure by now you've noticed there are a few things wrong with this picture, first and foremost what is mentally wrong with this kid? Second of all, what 15 year-old falls in love with a house? And thirdly what 15 year-old thinks she can fix it up by herself with just an after school minimum wage job to support her? Being the realist that I was I knew my chances of ever even seeing the inside of the home were slim, but that all changed one October day.

Sarcasm=Blindfold

   We had a day off from school, and I was thrilled beyond belief. For some reason I hated being forced to go to an establishment between the hours of 8:30 and 3:15 for five days a week to learn, go figure. I was voicing the joy I had of sleeping in to my parents, when they told me I would not be sleeping in. "Why not?", I asked them very indignantly. "It's a surprise.", they answered. This really piqued my interest and I kept peppering them with questions, none of which were answered. Finally, they got fed up with me and told me to go to bed. The next morning arrived and they told me to get dressed and ready to go. As we walked toward the car I asked them sarcastically if they were going to put a blind-fold on me...they did. Now my curiosity was off the charts and I had no idea what was going on. My dad drove the car all around the country side and had me thoroughly confused. I felt the car lurch to a stop and my parents told me to take off my blind fold. Removing the dark fabric from my eyes I blinked up at the most beautiful sight I had ever seen, it was My House.
    My parents explained that even though there was no way they'd be able to buy it for me(it was a freaking house after all), they had been able to arrange a tour. The realtor led us up to the front door and carefully opened it. There was so much adrenaline running through my veins it felt like I was floating. Stepping into that house was the most amazing experience. She led us around the tattered home describing the history of the house, even tracing it back to the original owners. I lovingly ran my hand along the railing as we made our way upstairs, hardly believing this was happening. We got the whole tour, from the attic to the basement and I was so in love I was at a loss for words. I was barely able to stammer out a thank you to the realtor when we found our way back onto the front step. Instead of my love diminishing at the sight of disrepair, my 15 year-old heart began to swell with even more tenderness for My House.

Hanging Lamp=Fantastic

   About two years after I met my love, it was bought by someone else. My heart was torn in two as I realized I would not be the one to lovingly fix and beautify every inch of My House. When we would drive by I could see the scaffolding shoved up against the gorgeous dusty orange brick. I was glad someone else loved My House and was taking care of it, but I couldn't help but wish I'd had the means to take care of it myself. One day when the repairs were all finished my dad said we should stop by and see if they would let us look in. My House had been turned into business offices and who better to go to a business office than people(that's what I told myself anyway to make it less awkward). The owner was in and she gave us the tour. Every corner of My House had been brought back to life, and it was beautiful. A large Tiffany-esqu lamp hung from the inside of the turret making a place that would be perfect for reading. A bittersweet smiled came to my lips as I looked at all the love that had been poured into fixing My House.
    Not all love stories have a happy ending, but at least this one is happier than Romeo and Juliet...I'm almost positive no one died. While My House was never able to be my one true love, at least it got the care it needed from someone who loved it just as much. Each time My House and I cross paths I am able to look up at it and smile, knowing that someday another dilapidated Victorian will capture my heart. But I know that even when that house comes along it will never take the place of My House, my first real love.

Fish-haps (Fish and Mishaps)

Look closely at the top left...I promise they are there

   Bleary eyed I rolled out of bed and stumbled toward my computer. The clock said 9am, far too early for me on a Saturday morning. I sat down in my chair and popped open my laptop, and I decided to look over at my fish tank. Rubbing my eyes I yawned and greeted Captain and Tennille, and then I saw speck darting quickly around the tank. Blinking my eyes in disbelief I looked closely and saw a very tiny pair of eyes hovering above the neon rocks at the bottom of the tank. Upon further investigation I found four more pairs of tiny eyes, they were baby guppies. This put me in a moral dilemma, I knew that these babies were as good as dead if I left them in their tank, but I also didn't want to take the time to try and catch these minuscule fish. In the end the good angel won out and I began scooping around the tank, rescuing one stupid baby guppy at a time.
    When I was little I used to have goldfish all the time, it was the only indoor pet we were allowed to have. I had the coolest tank, it was blue with a filter and everything. At any given time I had at least two goldfish, if not three. The goldfish I remember the most was One-Eyed Jack, who was named by my sister. In case you didn't catch this, One-Eyed Jack had a disability, he was missing one eye. Where his little beady fish eye should have been, there was an empty socket. Sadly, there are no eye patches for fish so he had to swim around with his eye socket all bare and exposed. I won't lie, it kind of creeped me out, but as time went on I grew to love him. He was a great fish I guess, and he lived to be 2 years old so he was a tough cookie.

Looks exactly like him

   Eventually, I grew sick of having fish, and cleaning their tank became absolutely disgusting. So after a while when my fish died I stop buying new ones, which was a good thing because I've been known to have a few mishaps with fish. The first one wasn't my fault, it just scarred me for life. I was cleaning out my sister's fishbowl for her (cause I'm a good person like that), and one of her guppies had been missing for a few days. How can a fish go missing? I had no idea, but I found out quickly. I discovered it had died inside one of the seashells in the tank. This was brought to my attention as I was rinsing out the shell and a dead fish fell into my hand, and it was one of the grossest things I have ever had happen to me. The next incident was my fault and I still feel bad for the poor guy. I was cleaning out my fish tank so I had to put my fish in a little cup while I cleaned. As I was scooping up one fish, I ended up dropping him and he fell down the sink. No more was he to swim happily around my tank, he was dead and I was a fish murderer.

I'm getting a bad reputation

    Alas, that was not the last fish murder I committed. Last year when I was a bright eyed and eager freshman, I decided to buy some goldfish from Wal-Mart. Happily I picked out four goldfish to live in the little plastic tank I had purchased, complete with a neon cave and neon rocks. I brought them back to my dorm room, got the tank ready, and left the plastic bag in the tank water to allow them time to adjust to the new temperature. Eventually I let them out of the bag and they began to swim around. The next morning I woke up to greet them, and all of them were dead. Four dead fish bodies were staring up at me, declaring me a murderer. I invited a few close friends over to stand watch as I placed the lifeless fish into the toilet. We all said a few words and I softly whistled "Taps" as I flushed them to the great beyond. But this did not stop me from wanting to buy new fish, oh no it did not. The very next day I went to the pet store and decided to buy a beta. I had heard that betas were good, sturdy fish and probably wouldn't die on me. So I brought John-Boy home and gave him plenty of time to adjust to his new tank. He lasted two weeks, and then another funeral procession was held.

Ebb in all his glory

   I was worried that no fish could live in my presence, maybe I had committed some sort of sin against fish and all fish that I owned were automatically doomed to die. With my last ray of hope I went back to the pet store and bought two guppies. I carefully placed them in the tank, willing them to live. Hoping it would help I decided to give them very strong names: Ebb and Flo. Ebb was a bright orange color with a white belly and Flo was a rather translucent white. They appeared to be very happy in their home and frolicked all around the tank in their own fish way. Nervously I kept an eye on them, and soon I had owned them for over a month. They were going to make it! Then one evening as I came back from dinner I looked into their tank, and 5 black specks were at the top. Confused, I looked closely and I discovered that my fish had not only lived, they had reproduced! In a fit of joy I let out a shriek and quickly moved the babies into their own separate tank, because I knew from my online research that guppies had a tendency to eat their babies. Yeah, guppies are messed up.
    My roommate and I decided to name the babies the 5 Davids after our acting professor. Two of the Davids went on a treacherous journey with me to Omaha. They were placed in a coolwhip container and I buckled them into the passenger seat. To my great joy they lived and made it to the daycare center my sister worked at, they were renamed Milo and Otis. Another one of the Davids went to live with a friend of mine who named him Finn. The last two Davids stayed with me and were rechristened Laverne and Shirley. Not long after the birth of her children, Flo passed away. It was a difficult time for Ebb, but with the help of his ridiculously short memory he forgot she had ever been there. When I would go home for long vacations my fish traveled with me, and it was a trying time for all of us. The babies would fit very nicely in the cupholder because I kept them in a small plastic container, but Ebb was another story. I had to empty his tank of most of the water and carefully place him on the floor of my car, making sure the neon cave was secure enough not to fall over and squish him. Somehow we all made it through these trips without anyone falling out of their tank.

Shirley

    As the months went by Laverne and Shirley grew, and Ebb stayed exactly the same. Then, one fateful July day Ebb went on to join Flo. With my head hung low I led the funeral procession to the bathroom. My eulogy for him was heartfelt and passionate. He had been my fish, and we had truly bonded when he lived behind my laptop. He would always follow my finger as I moved it around the outside of his tank. It took all the strength I had to lift my arm and flush him away. Later that summer Shirley went on to join her parents in the great fishbowl in the sky. It was just me and Laverne.

Captain and Tennille

    Went I got back to college in the Fall I decided it would be a good idea to get a friend for Laverne, so I went to the pet store and picked out a very pretty half black guppy. His name was Squiggy, and he got along pretty well with Laverne. In my mind I planned out their happy lives, filled with lots of baby guppies and maybe even move them to a bigger tank. But this was not to be, as Laverne soon passed away. In case you've lost track, at this point I have killed 9 fish in  little over a year. If I wasn't careful I would soon be into the double digits...I wasn't careful. My euphoria for Christmas break was so great, that as I was shopping I forgot the Squiggy was still in my car in the back seat. I happily spent two hours finding amazing deals at the Albertville outlet mall. When I got to my sister's house I found Squiggy dead in the cold backseat. As I walked into the house my three year old niece shouted out her greetings, and I decided she was old enough to learn about death. Together we took Squiggy into the bathroom and I let her have the honors of flushing him down the toilet. It seemed as though my fish days were over.

Sturdy and no mess!

    You might think that the death of 10 fish would  dissuade me from buying anymore, you should know by know that I'm not that smart. A few weeks ago I went into the pet store and I picked out Captain and Tennille. They looked like sturdy fish, in fact, they resembled Ebb and Flo. We are about a month into it and I'm happy to say that they are still going strong, and they are the proud parents of: Anni-Frid, Benny, Bjorn, and Agnetha (in case you don't know those are the singers of ABBA). I like to think that the birth of these guppies makes up for the death of my other fish, and that someday I can own a fish for over a year. Or maybe I should just give up on fish and get a sturdier pet...like a rock.

The Arrival of Alfred

    The day had dawned bright and sunny. My task was set before me, granted it was a task I had set for myself, but nonetheless(how cool is it that this is one word) I had a task. For two whole days I had been searching the website petfinder.com in order to find my family the perfect dog. I would be going back to college in a few short weeks and I knew my parents would need a new pet to take my place. Yes I realize I am comparing myself to an animal, but truthfully there isn't that much difference between having me around and having a dog around. I will have bouts of sporadic activity, coupled with naps that last all afternoon. And yeah, occasionally I will bark all night at apparently nothing. My family needed a dog, and fast.

Erma

   We had to get a new dog because our totally awesome dog Erma Lavonne had just been put to sleep. We had gotten her right before my seventh birthday, and she became my best friend. Erma and I played together all the time, and when it rained we would sit in her dog house together. This was not a big doghouse, but it was before I hit my fat stage and she was still a puppy, so we both could fit inside comfortably. For twelve years she was constantly at my side, ready for whatever crazy adventure we would be going on. I don't want to go into detail because it's super depressing, but her body started to wear out and she just wasn't herself and so we had to say goodbye. When we had to put her to sleep it was one of the worst days of my life, and I hugged her closely when they came in to inject her. Going home to an empty front yard was not something I looked forward too, so even though the pain was still fresh I knew we had to find another dog.

Francis still needs a home!

    Looking for a new pet to adopt is a lot of fun, but it's also really difficult. What if the dog doesn't like you? What if you don't like the dog? Suppose you take the dog home and let it become a part of the family but then it uses its knowledge of your darkest secrets against you...what then?!?!? I had finally narrowed it down to a couple of choices, two dogs that looked really trustworthy and like they wouldn't use your secrets against you. Maggie was a black lab that looked almost exactly like Erma, she had sweet disposition written all over her. And Francis was a coonhound that looked really gangly, and I could just see her gangling around our yard. So I called the Veterinary clinic that had Maggie, and I found out she had been looked at and was probably getting adopted. I was happy for her finding a home, but secretly I cursed the people who got to her before me. Now I was going to end up with some psycho dog and we'd have to name him Norman Bates. I called the pet rescue that had Francis and set up an appointment to meet with her. The rescue center wasn't too excited that we lived on a farm and planned to let the dog run free outside all the time(people will often steal dogs when they run free...how gross is that), but they thought a farm might be an okay place for her.
   As I excitedly told my dad that we were going to meet Francis in a few days, the phone rang. I figured it was the pet rescue to tell us that Francis turned out to be a CIA dog who could shoot a gun(which would have been AWESOME!)but it was the Veterinary clinic. They told us about a different black lab who had wandered up to the farm of an old couple a few miles away from Walnut Grove. She gave us their phone number and told us to give it a shot. You should know I have pretty good phone etiquette, I'm not sure how I picked that up but it's probably genetic. Even though I have good etiquette I really hate calling up people I don't know, nonetheless(love this word!) I called and a sweet old lady answered. I'm telling you, she could have been a salesperson. She listed all the best qualities of this dog, how he could stay inside and really behave himself, he left the cats alone, and he was really good at fetch. I felt like she was selling me a car, but she was so good at it that I couldn't wait to take him for a test drive. We set up a time to go meet the dog, but my dad knew they wouldn't let us leave without taking him with us. Sadly I thought of never getting to meet the gangly Francis.

Good doggie!

    Walnut Grove is a good hour and a half away from where I live, and my parents thought it might be fun to take along their friends on this long journey. So we all crammed into my dad's pickup, my mom, my dad, Gary the mountain man, Arlene the Garden Queen, and myself. The dog would go in the back of the pickup inside a very nice kennel. Soon we arrived at the address and were welcomed inside to meet the dog. A huge pile of black fur was sitting on the floor looking up at my with very serious eyes. This dog was the biggest black lab I had ever seen. I knelt down on the floor to get to know him a little better, and he rolled over for me to rub his tummy, just like Erma used to do. I patted him on the head and told my dad we had to take him home with us.

The most interesting car ride ever.

     The ride home was the most hectic car ride I have ever been on. We couldn't put him in the kennel in the back because it was pouring down rain. So he got to sit in the back seat with my mom and I as three grown adults squeezed into the front seat of the pick-up. The dog kept sticking his nose up front and licking Arlene's ears and neck, sniffing Gary's face, and sticking his head on my dad's shoulder. Then he would pace back and forth between my mom and I, which was no small feat as this dog was about the same size as the back seat. The whole ride home was spent in a hectic frenzy, which was mostly the dog sniffing and licking Arlene. Everyone was laughing so hard, that it kept getting him excited and he would start all over again. After two hours of his pacing and affectionate licking, we got him home.

Making trouble..as usual

       It took awhile but we finally decided to name our new dog Alfred, or Alfie for short. He is psychotic, but his heart is in the right place. Alfie loves to go for car rides, something Erma never liked to do. Sometimes he makes me so mad I just want to lock him up in his kennel forever, but then he looks at me with his big sad eyes and I know he is sorry. Often times I have to remind myself that he is not Erma, and I can't expect him to be like her. As tough as it is to lose your best friend, it can be even tougher to let someone take their place. The last time I was home I spent some time outside shoveling the sidewalk, and Alfie stood in the snow watching me. Taking a huge scoop of snow I threw it on top of  him, and he was so excited he pranced around catching the snow in his mouth. With a big smile on my face I took another scoop and dumped it all on top of him....the crazy idiot.

   

There are some things money can't buy...like athletic ability.

     From a young age I always knew I was destined to not play sports. We lived too far out in the country for me to be a part of any after school sports shenanigans, and gym class was stupid. I was a fat kid and there is no way anyone can tell me otherwise, I have proof that I was a fat kid. My fourth grade picture is a miracle of nature, somehow the photographer got my whole face into that photo. If I ever see that photographer I want to shake their hand. What I am saying here, is that I was not a very athletically inclined child. I usually failed at kickball, abhorred the mile, and while playing tag one day I ran my fat little face into the jungle gym and chipped my front tooth. Because of this I do not know what it is like to have those great sports moments, but here are a few things I've experienced that I feel come close(and are way better).

Balance game...I dominate

    Yesterday, I was playing the Wii fit balance game where you have to get all the pretty colored balls into the right slot. I usually dominate at this game, but as I have been neglecting my Wii Fitness lately I was failing pretty badly. It got down to the last two seconds on the clock and I had one more ball to go, risking everything I placed my weight on my left foot and just as the time ran out the ball slipped through the hole. When I looked at my time I found out I had made it with 1 second to spare. The next few minutes were spent running around my room fist pumping as the little Mii's clapped their hands. I felt like a champion, and I hadn't even had breakfast that day! Maybe this could be compared to volleyball when you make a spike at the last second (yeah that's right, I know volleyball terms).

This chick can sing some fine Italian

   Another incident that I believe could be compared to some form of athletic thing, was the final of my Italian Diction class. Oh man how I hated that class. My professor was one of those very special people, who says very special things, that make you feel a very special way about them. I anxiously walked into the classroom with my accompanist in toe. Wanting to waste the least amount of my accompanist's time I offered to go first, and bombed. I could just see the proff over in the corner with his special grin on his special face, making special comments on my terrible Italian singing. With the final off to a grand start I spent the rest of the period playing for other students' songs. It wasn't my finest hour, but in my defense I barely had an hour to practice most of their songs. You see, they gave me the songs right before class and we didn't have a chance to practice together, which is a rather large handicap if you want to accompany someone(I think I just used a golf term...probably). The last girl gets up and says, "Okay so I totally didn't know we needed an accompanist.Oops!" The professor looks at me and asks me very specially if I would play. The girl hands me her song and I glance over it, sick to death of stupid Italian and ready to go burn some song copies. I sit down at the piano and the professor says in a very special voice to me, "Oh, it's THIS song. Maybe I should play for her." I was about ready to smack him right in his special face but instead I replied very sweetly, "No that's alright, I'll give it a shot." And I proceeded to sit down and play the shit out of that song, sightreading and everything. As soon as I was done I looked over the top of the piano and smiled a special smile at my professor's dumbfounded face. This can be compared to an event in sports(perhaps basketball) when the other team is booing you and you end up kicking them in their special faces.

Not the organ I actually play.

    I believe my next victory can be compared to a marathon. You see I have to begin training way ahead of time, somewhere around three to four months. I have to work with it at least two times a week, but preferably more. My trainer gives me tips and constructive criticism, and in the end I have to show him everything I can do. Sure my crowd consists of two people, but it's one of the less attended marathons. The marathon I am speaking of? My organ jury, but most especially the organ jury I had in December. About two weeks before the jury date my professor hands me a new song and tells me to work on it and play it next week. I was fairly certain I was going to play this ridiculously long song with a lot of pedal solos, so I didn't give the new song much thought. When I went to the lesson and played the new song my professor changed the game plan on me (look at me go using words like game plan), I was going to play the new song for my jury. Like any marathoner would, I practiced more and more as the day of the race got closer. Jury day arrived, and I was raring and ready to go. Just like a marathoner I had special shoes I put on and I ascended the steps to the balcony. Unlike a marathoner I got to sit down and then move my feet. I took a deep breath and started pumping those foot pedals like mad. I put my everything into that song and as I reached the final lap I gave one last push. And suddenly I had crossed the finish line and my coach and one bystander were giving me dignified head nods.

In order to save the people,I will take down tvs.

    Looking over these events I'm glad I got to experience them instead of actual sports, because I get the same feeling athletes get, but without all the sweat from other players dripping on me.Also, I hate practicing for sports and going to actual sporting events, so that could have been a problem. Oh, and I don't run the risk of serious injury..most likely. Not only have I avoided injuring myself, I have also avoided injuring others. I still cringe to think of that one tragic day in 8th grade when we had phy-ed. Someone thought it would be a good idea to give me a basketball,make me throw it, and try to make a basket. Well I kind of missed the basket, but I did end up hitting my teacher in the head making her fall to the ground. Depending how you look at that situation maybe I should play sports...or maybe I should pretend to throw baskets and just run the risk of hitting my television. At least I wouldn't have take it to the hospital to check for concussions.
   

Dream Big

   I don't know why I am so indecisive...I guess I just can't ever make up my mind as to what the real reason is. But it began at a young age, so it's probably something hereditary or maybe someone dropped me on my head (I'm on to you dad!). At any rate my indecisiveness has never been more prevalent than when I was trying to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. I did have some consistency in wanting to be a mom, so that probably explains a lot about why I became the soccer mom that I am today. This desire went away soon after I found out how much babysitting stinks, but if I ever have kids I'll have a babysitter and pass on the "joy" that is children. Its a vicious cycle but someone has to educate today's youth on the horrors of...well today's youth. But now we shall take a magically journey across my childhood and into the mind of a young girl with dreams of one day becoming, well, something.
   My first grade days were filled with longing, and it wasn't for a bigger box of crayons; oh no I had big plans in mind. My little 6 year old mind was filled with these visions and it brought a smile to my sweet little face every time I thought about it. I just knew that it was my purpose in life to be a grocery store clerk. I wanted more than anything to stand behind the counter and smile at everyone as I scanned their groceries. If they were sad I would tell them "Turn that frown upside-down!" and everything would be wonderful with the world. In all of God's green earth I cannot tell you why I picked grocery store clerk as my path in life, but when I was in first grade that was all I thought about. In my library class we had to draw a picture of what we wanted to be when we grew up, so I drew a picture of myself standing behind the cash register and I also drew a picture of me being a mom. I know, I know, little me was insistent upon dreaming big. At least I wouldn't have to worry about huge disappointments in life, so perhaps I was just a very tiny realist. Thankfully, this dream of working in the grocery store only lasted for two years.

I seriously was the cat whisperer

   In third grade I really wanted to become a veterinarian. There was no question about my love for animals, as I spent most of my free time in the barn with the kittens. I would even go so far as to say that I was the Cat Whisperer. As I look back upon my days in the barn I am amazed at how I was able to tame the wild kittens. I really loved cats and I named every single one of them. Freckles, Big Ed, Little Orange, Stub, Esmeralda, and Fluffy are some of the names my young mind brought forth. I wanted to dedicate my life to caring for cats, dogs, cows, horses, and the occasional bird. Caring for animals was something that was second nature to me, in fact, I would sometimes put my zip up hoodie on my dog Erma to ensure her protection from the cold. Another reason for putting my jacket on the dog was because she looked hilarious when you put the hood up and there was a dog's face underneath that pick fabric. Alas, my potential veterinary success was thrown to the wayside when I entered fourth grade.

The most awesome pen ever

   In fourth grade my mom bought be a gold gel pen, and it was the single coolest pen I have ever owned in my life. This pen was what brought me to my new life's dream, to become a wedding dress designer. I would sit in class constantly doodling pictures of girls in wedding dresses which I would decorate with my gold pen. These dresses looked to me like something out of a fairytale because of all their gold shimmeryness. That pen was my constant companion all throughout fourth grade, and probably into fifth but for some reason I have repressed memories of 5th grade, and 6th grade too for that matter. Upper elementary was not really that thrilling and it wasn't until 9th grade that I picked a new career choice.
      When I entered the hallowed halls of senior high I revived my dream of becoming a veterinarian, for about two minutes. This dream was quickly killed when I walked into my science class and read a poster on the wall that had a list of careers that included science, and that damn poster had to say Veterinarian on it. For the record I hate science and it hates me. Something about walking into a science classroom kills all the joy I have inside, and this joy can only be brought back to life through musicals. At any rate I had to acquire a new dream very quickly because we had to do an assignment about a career we wanted, I decided to go with interior designer because I like furniture and paint just as much as the next person. This was a false dream though and it was soon replaced.

Bet you can't guess which one is me!

   Eleventh grade was the big one, friends. Eleventh grade was when I was Dorothy in our high school's production of "The Wiz". It was then I decided my new dream was to go into music so I could preform in musical theaters. I finally had the chance to sing loudly, dance, and act, in front of an actual audience! I loved everything about working on the musical, and I knew I had found a new dream. Somewhere along the line I decided that I needed to be a music teacher, and that was quickly squashed when I tried being a music major. We don't need to go into the whole big drama, let's just say I happily found my way over to the theater department and the English department.

My future looks bright

    Now that I am in college and supposedly on the threshold of growing up, I have absolutely no idea of what I want to do. I have asked my adviser what I can do with a B.A. in English and she told me I could do basically anything. So I asked my theater adviser what I can to with a B.A. in Theater and he told me I could do basically anything I wanted. While it's nice to have my options open, I can't help but feel I could have used a more direct answer. Who knows, maybe I will end up achieving my dream and becoming a grocery store clerk.