Out of the Darkness/Into the Sun

Due to the fact that I feel hideous and have no life, I've read fifteen books in just under twenty-two summer days. That's a rate of 0.68181 b/d, which you can round off to 1 b/d and that -- that's a really big deal. I couldn't remember reading a book (besides rereading HP, HG, and HHG2G because I srsly cannot live without these) during the whole year of two-oh-ten. I don't know what sort of important shizz fifteen year-old me was doing to ignore reading almost entirely, but that's past and I'm back to cruising the vast YA ocean in my little speedboat. All I have to say is, WHY HAVE I ONLY DECIDED TO READ THE PRINCESS DIARIES TODAY? I might have to ask Madam Marchetta and Sir Green to scoot and give space for Meg Cabot in the CHARIOT OF THE MOTHEREFFIN' AWESOME. I don't care if they're feeling crammed in there, because oh my God, Meg Cabot, I will sell my soul to have you as my godmother.

You know how the story goes. Like all most heroines in the world of YA, Mia Thermopolis has bad hair, no boobs, and definitely no queue of hot boys wanting to sweep her off her feet. (I said most because there are girls like Zoey Redbird who are definitely not lacking in the looks and boys department, and girls like Katniss Everdeen who are just too badass to even care.) To add to the stress of having to deal with polynomials and the quintessential hot blond tormentor from the pom squad, her dad comes home one day and tells her that she's the princess of some small European country. Imagine how that's like.

The Disney movie with Anne Hathaway and that Kelly Clarkson song (the music video of which I watched just a few minutes ago, and I'm still recovering from the serious case of nostalgia it left me) was a little bit of a dealbreaker for me. Why would I want to read a book that was adapted into a slumber party movie? For so, so many years, Disney deceived me into thinking that The Princess Diaries was nothing more than that -- a feel-good ugly duckling story about a girl who's mostly just like us... butwait,there'smore!

...Only in life, I don't think a whole lot of girls get their faces plastered across the cover of the Post, unless they've won the lottery or had sex with the president or something. I didn't do anything except get born.

How can you not love her when she comes up with things like that? I found a little pink paperback copy in a second-hand store for roughly 1/5 of its original price (best bargain ever) and I swear, I think I just saw the light when I cracked it open. That was exactly how I felt like when I read Harry Potter, so that's a big fat sign that there's definitely something special in The Princess Diaries. I'm convinced my mission in life at the moment is to hunt for more Cabot books because argh, I cannot go on with a Mia-withdrawal.

It's Not Yet the 5th But...

HI :>

That aside, I'm crying right now. Because there's no food. When my parents came home half an hour ago, they claimed that there was plenty of food in the fridge. I don't know if they're seeing something I don't inside the fridge because there's really nothing. Zero. Nada. Zilch. Unless they expect me to eat the condiments, which I wasn't desperate enough to do.

It's days like today when I miss being in school. It takes only two flights of stairs and a walk across the cafeteria to get my fix of corn dogs, fish fillet, and a million other things made of egg. Oh, and I miss the people at Table E too. The people who would eat my food before I even touched it -- they're the siblings I never had. Now I only eat at the coffee table with no one to share my food with, save for a dog that's just waiting for scraps to fall to the floor. 

See, I was here all day on my own, and I wasn't allowed to open the stove and they locked me in because they don't trust me enough and they think the dogs would have a seizure or something if nobody's looking out for them. And on top of that, my mom's imposing all these post-midnight Cinderella duties on me because the housemaid's run off. 

It's not that I hate doing chores, because I genuinely enjoy doing them when I'm in the mood. I like floor-sweeping while listening to Miniature Tigers. It's therapeutic. But it's an entirely different story when I'm not in the mood (i.e. when I've got things to do, like reaching my reading quota or writing a chapter), and I'm forced to hold a broom.

Cleaning, for a completely disorganized and untidy person such as myself, is something people do when they haven't got anything to do. And why would I opt to clean anything when I can just read instead? I have heaps of things I want to do and books I want to read chapters and I want to write and I'd probably get to do all of them them, had they allowed me to enjoy the company of myself and not the company of dirty laundry.

But they didn't, and this is my angst making a blog post when I'm supposed to be scooping out my little dog's poop. I still hadn't eaten anything since that sausage I had lunch and I can't believe I'm being bothered by all of this when it's April.