My Fan Club.

I have a fan club.

I have about six fans personally. My fan club consist of eight people, and one honorary member.

It started about a year and a half ago when my brother gave me a fan that he had gotten in Japan. Then I carried it around a lot and those who didn't know my name knew me as that girl with the fan. By the begining  of this summer I had six fans.

This summer I was dorm leader to 8 girls for a week. It was awesome! Towards the end of the week I gave each of the girls a fan. Everyone else at this training camp was extremely jealous. (Even many of the guys.)

Especially one guy in particular, so much so, that I decided to give him one of my personal fans. (The pink one in the above picture.) He was so excited about his fan, he carried it everywhere the rest of the week. Despite teasing from others, it was pretty much the most awesome thing ever!! He even wrote "Heather's fan club" on it...... Only...... My name isn't Heather... (Later in the week we found he scratched out Heather's name and put in mine.) Hee hee hee.......

At the end of the week at the Commissioning Service I was unable to get a picture with my complete fan club. Sad day. However, I did get a picture with my biggest fan club member, Jesly.

Reports from over the summer say that he took his fan almost everyday... If not EVERY day... Indeed, I have the best fan club in the world.

Are you Russian? Random encounters.

I am not a very social person. Yet I always happen to have the strangest encounters with people I don't even know. Especially in the past few years.

And most of them are at my college.

One time last semester I was hurriedly rushing from one class to another balancing two school bags and a large portfolio with zero minutes to get from one class to another. (You see, I had one class that ended at 1:30 and another class that started at 1:30.) Just as I was passing a bench with a ragged older man curiously seated and mumbling to himself I realized he wasn't mumbling to himself, but to me.

"Miss." I slowed to a stop and turned toward the unsettling stranger...
"Yes?"
"I said: Are you Russian?"
"No sir... I'm not..."
"Scandinavian??"
"Uh, no?"
"European??"
"No sir, just plain ol' American."
"Well, you're really beautiful, thought I'd let you know."
"Uh... Thank you." I turned and quickly hurried off to my spanish class. It was definitely a good dinner table story that night.

Another time a lady paid me to apply to a job for her. (It didn't work)

And once, in the library at a computer a guy struck up a conversation with me because I was watching anime. (Howl's moving Castle)

And earlier today a guy sat next to me, said hi, went silent, complimented me on my laptop, then just moved on.

I wish I could share all my random encounters, but alas I'm afraid I am not done experiencing them in the least. So perhaps another time I can share more.

You think I'm weird? Get over it.

You don't like me? Who cares. Get over it.

You don't like my acne? I can't change the fact that I have big pores, get over it.

You don't like how I get obnoxious and talk loud around a lot of people? So what, get over it.

You don't like how I can also get extremely shy around people I don't know? GET over it.

You think my clothes look dated or frumpy sometimes? Why does it even matter? Get OVER it.

I'm annoying because I use "baby words" like "bloody pumpernickel" instead of profanity? No. Get. Over. It.

I can be really awkward, and this annoys you. Too bad. It's who I am. Get over it.

I don't like to wear make-up every where I go, and you think I look plain. Seriously? Thanks. Get over it.

You can't stand my singing. Too bad. Don't play music I like out loud, OR get over it.

So I'm just a little larger than other people, and I'm not a rail. This bothers you. How shallow are you? Get over IT.

So I can quote every line from Star Wars and this embarrasses you? GET OVER IT.... And I disown you.

I don't wear bikinis, get over it.

You don't like how much mascara I wear? Seriously? For the last time, get over it.

The fact of the matter is, I am me. I might not be popular, pretty, outgoing and everything you want me to be.  But I cannot change who I am. And the things that I can change I will never change for YOU. I will only change them for God.

Romans 8:31 "What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?"

Nobody else matters. Nobody.

If you can look past all of my imperfections by the standard of the world and still be my friend that is awesome!

But if you are going to let shallow things get in the way of making a friend, then I will tell you now. Get lost.

Accept me the way God made me, or get over it.

No, I'm not sick. I just look like this.

I am a very VERY fair skinned person. I easily sunburn, and have had sunburn fever more than once. (Yes, it's a real thing, trust me.)

On top of that I bruise pretty easily.

That means whenever I go out wearing shorts I look like a vampire who was beaten. (If that even makes sense.... vampires don't get bruises, they don't have blood... duh.)

Okay, that was an exaggeration. But I do try to avoid shorts... I wear jeans a lot.

Today in my Biology class my teacher used me as an example while talking about skin cancer.

"Hannah," She pointed to me, who was quietly hiding in the back row. "would be more susceptible to skin cancer because of her fair pigmented skin...." .... Or something like that.

I've gotten jokes too, but not mean ones. I laugh about it myself.

"Hannah's so pale, she gives the SUN cancer."

(That actually wasn't my joke, just applies well.)

Well, you guys get the point. I'm pale. I sunburn way easily. And when people see me walking down the street they have to wear sunglasses just to look at me.... etc. etc.... Kind of...

Let me just say, I prefer being myself pale, than fake orange, or even natural looking fake stuff...

It's me. It's who I am. Accept it, or get over it.

Dog sitting.

I dog sat this weekend.

That is, from 7:30 a.m. Friday morning, until 6:00 p.m. yesterday evening, baby sitting three great-stinkin'-GIANT-danes.

I arrived at the house shortly before 7:30 and watched helplessly as the owner of these dogs ran back and forth picking up last minute packing items and constantly informing me of how horrified she was that these "horses" kept jumping on me. I had actually received the worst of my wounds while their owner was still standing there.

As soon as she had left, the dogs died.

Not literally, but they did look quite like "zombies" walking around the house. Friday, the first day was long and boring. I fed the dogs, did some homework, looked around the house at all of the layers upon layers of dust... it was quite disgusting. I brought in all of my stuff from the car and closed it off in the bathroom so that the dogs could not drool all over it.

I luckily had time to escape to go get lunch and buy a can of lysol and bottle of disinfecting wipes. Though the dogs were not to be left alone for more than three hours, so when I got back I fed them again. and used at least half of the wipes on various surfaces around the living room that we would surly use over the weekend.

The rest of friday was mostly spent vacuming what I could, spraying the lysol, letting the dogs out, wiping the coffee table, throwing away six (now black) wipes used to wipe off the coffee table, letting the dogs back in, spraying more lysol, feeding the dogs, vacuming more....

And then, at last, my sister showed up! I would not go on this endeavor alone! We took several trips to the car. On the return of the last trip the door to the courtyard (Not nearly as cool as it sounds) wouldn't open, the door handle was broken, and my sister and I were locked outside of even the back yard.

I was brave, no one could dispute that. I walked around to the back, and scaled the fence that was at least SIX FEET TALL. I thoroughly impressed myself. I let my sister in and after that had a mostly boring and uneventful night.

The next day went about the same, we did school, sprayed lysol, wiped grime from the table again, only we made a trip home to eat dinner and shower. (We didn't really trust the showers at the house.)

Upon returning we found a despicable thing. The dogs, or at least one of them in particular, the youngest, had found a way into the bathroom where most of our belongings were hiding out. Luckily he didn't mess with too much, ripped up a roll of toilet paper... and then... I saw it.

My converse all-stars on the ground at my feet. Wet with dog slobber, a rip torn in the heel. Fixable.... but, no. You never mess with someone's converse. I was NOT happy with this dog and he knew it. for the next thirty minutes all it took was a stern look from me and a stomp of the foot and he would back away. . . . And then he forgot all about it and came and slobbered all over me again.

The next day went pretty much the same... A bit redundant. We did school, we sprayed more lysol. Wiped more dust and filth. We went home, had dinner took showers, only this time before we left we made sure that the dogs could not get into the bathroom. When we returned we were happy to see all of the pillows still on the couch. . . And then, a brown leather strap on the ground. Pretty much the only thing out of place. I knew exactly what it went to. My new fedora.

We went back into the bedroom and there it was, crumpled and wet on the floor. Then we looked at the bed, all of my blankets and pillows were thrown onto the floor. Yet my sister's, who had all of her stuff right next to mine, was untouched. This dog was specifically targeting my stuff!!! He knew I wasn't happy with him either, we put him outside for a while, and he knew I was mad at him.

The next day, the last day, went by rather uneventful. As soon as the lady returned home, we received our pay and got out of there as fast as we could. We told her that we would be willing to dogsit again if she needed us. But I can't say it's top on the list of things I'd do.

We were finally done. Away from that house. Away from the stench of dog. (Though not the stench left on ourselves from the venture) The first thing I sought out once I was home was a shower. To wash myself of that venture.

Hopefully I will be able to repair my shoes.

Remind me to NEVER EVER have an inside dog.

Frustrating "Times"

FACT: I tend to get frustrated over silly things.

I'm usually pretty good at suppressing it, but after a while it gets to where the littlest thing sets me off.

It's the most annoying thing in the world. (You can ask.)

Well, a couple of days ago I got so frustrated with all kinds of random things about life in general that i just didn't really get it, I gave up. I went off alone and by myself. (Yes they are two different things) I pulled out my notebook and just started pounding out all of my random frustrations and thoughts into writing.

Well, when I had satisfied myself, and cooled down quite a bit, I took a look at what I wrote and thought "Hey! That could be a song!". I had a true Music and Lyrics moment. Upon further inspection, I realized that it pretty much already IS a song.

The song it resembled is a very good song, much better than anything I really could have written, though it nicely expressed how I felt at the time.

And so, in conclusion, here is the song that resembled my frustration....

I know I need You
I need to love You
I love to see You, but it's been so long
I long to feel You
I feel this need for You
And I need to hear You, is that so wrong? 

Now You pull me near You
When we're close, I fear You
Still I'm afraid to tell You, all that I've done
Are You done forgiving? 
Oh can You look past my pretending? 
Lord, I'm so tired of defending, what I've become
What have I become? 

I hear You say, 
"My love is over. It's underneath.
It's inside. It's in between.
The times you doubt Me, when you can't feel.
The times that you question, 'Is this for real? '
The times you're broken.
The times that you mend.
The times that you hate Me, and the times that you bend.
Well, My love is over, it's underneath.
It's inside, it's in between.
These times you're healing, and when your heart breaks.
The times that you feel like you're falling from grace.
The times you're hurting.
The times that you heal.
The times you go hungry, and are tempted to steal.
The times of confusion, in chaos and pain.
I'm there in your sorrow, under the weight of your shame.
I'm there through your heartache.
I'm there in the storm.
My love I will keep you, by My power alone.
I don't care where you fall, where you have been.
I'll never forsake you, My love never ends.
It never ends."


"Times", by Tenth Avenue North.

My Momma

I was sitting in my speech class earlier today. We were suppose to give an on the spot two-ish minute speech on our "Hero", and we had about ten minutes to prepare.

The first person who popped into my head was my Momma, though I pushed that idea aside knowing that many of the the other students would talk about their moms. (As if they had anything on my Momma) ... But that was what got me. Nobody else's mom had a single thing on my Momma, (No offense to momma's of the world) after all, she is MY Momma. She gave birth to me on a tuesday in April, as June Alison movies played on an old television in the hospital. She let me chew on her knees while she helped my brothers and sisters with their school. She'd hold me and sing to me (Her little pappoos) despite my embarrassment, and pleas for her to stop. She would laugh, but not remove me from her lap.

My Momma would let me come outside and help her on her latest furniture building projects. For when I was little, I wanted to grow up and become a carpenter on the TLC show "Trading Spaces" (That dream fell apart rather quickly...) My Momma taught me how to read, how to write, how to count... She taught me my manners, to respect others even when they push you down, to be kind... most of all, my Momma taught me the ability to learn. To not be arrogant and believe that nobody else could show me how to improve.

My Momma loves every last one of her eight children dearly, and has such great empathy for every one of us. She is always there for us and always, ALWAYS puts the needs of our family above her own. Something my Momma has always wanted, even though it might sound a tad silly, is a chicken coop. My Dad had been setting money aside and gave her the money for the coop. My Momma got excited and we started clearing some of our property where we would put this coop. Alas, our well pump broke, and we needed a new well dug. We aren't a poor family by any stretch of the imagination, but unforeseen happenstances such as this weren't exactly in our budget. My Momma, against the wishes of all of us, gave the money from her long wished for chicken coop and paid for the new well to be dug. And still, my Momma does not have a chicken coop. If there was one thing I was able to give to me Momma, it would be a lovely chicken coop, with several fat and happy hens to lay fresh eggs for her.

I decided to continue on with my Momma being my Hero, because she is. Though I was unable to fit all that my Momma is in two minutes (Or four... I might have gone over on time...) I hope that she one day will understand what she means to all of her children, and how she has impacted our lives for the better in every way possible.

I hope that I will one day be as wonderful, caring, and loving a mother as my Momma is.

I love you Momma.

The fiddle is on the roof, and you are in the doghouse.

"WHAT???"

A friend of mine had just informed me that they had never seen The Fiddler on the Roof.

"I really don't know it, like I've heard if I were a rich man or something." 

At this point I truly hoped that they were just messing with me. Though, I could not tell for sure, so I did what anybody would do...

"SINNER!"

And it is true. It must be a sin of some sort to have NEVER seen The Fiddler on the Roof.

Well.... That might be a bit of an exaggeration. However, it is a wonderful example of a Classic. It shows a hard time in history, it is a drama. A comedy. And even a little action. There are timeless musical numbers that are still sung today. And every single time my Momma watches her favorite movie (The Fiddler on the Roof, of course.) she cries, at LEAST once.

*sigh*

 

I know that there are millions who have never seen this movie, among many other classics that everyone should see.. Such as, The sound of Music, The Man from the Snowy River, and Newsies. ;) 

It is very saddening... In fact, I was so disappointed, that I haven't talked to that friend since... Well, kinda.

The fact remains that I am truly disappointed with my friend, and it will be a while before they have redeemed themselves in their taste in the "Media Classics".  

*Tisk tisk tisk*....   

TBH...... Seriously??

Wow, that term really bothers me. TBH??? No. In fact, it makes me want to make something completely up... 

Ex. "Tbh, I'm so totally over Colin Firth."

Bahahahahahaha!! . .... That was funny. And completely NOT true. 

Okay. I'll be legitimate. . . ...

I was born, and have been raised in the hot and humid state of Florida. I have lived in the same modest house down the same bumpy dirt road; in the same small town, my entire life. However, unlike most, I have loved it very much. On top of living in a "backward red-neck village" (As many have so lovingly called it.) 

I graduated from High School having never attended a public, or a private school. That's right, I was home-schooled. Now before you go trying to stereotype me, be aware of the fact that I would not fit in any mold the world has made today. (Or any mold that might be invented in the near future... That is, unless I invent a time warping machine in the future, and bring an alternate mold to the year I was born...)

Yes, I was raised home-schooled, and it is true that I have attended church regularly my entire life. However, unlike most stereotyped "home-schooled country bumpkins" I have a great interest in many random things... Such as comic books (usually Marvel), movies, writing, art and many other things not usually associated with my kind. If you continue to read any posts I may . .. .. post, you will see that I am a well rounded individual with some seriously random quotes and references up my hooded green cloak's sleeve. (As in you most likely won't even recognize them...)

And in conclusion, I did not, repeat, did NOT just now dis Colin Firth in any way, shape, and/or form. 

And in further conclusion, while I love Matthew McFadden, Firth's Darcy was WAYY better. 

(Not that that has to do with absolutely anything here...)

Introducing Me

Hello, My name is Georgiana,

Here is a random list of my accomplishments and other random facts about myself.

1. I have won an award in an "Art show"
2. I love cooking.
3. My hair sheds a lot when the wether changes.
4. You don't want me to cook for you in the spring.
5. I live in Florida, but it is impossible for me to tan.
6. I don't get "sun-kissed" skin, I get "sun-raped" skin.
7. I'm addicted to all the normal things... Sugar, Coffee, Sugar, Sugar, Orange Fanta, Sugar... etc. etc.
8. I partake in normal pass-times: School, Arts/Crafts, Knitting, Sky sailing.
9. I can harmonize... With myself.
10. I once starred in a movie. . . I played a Scary witch. a.k.a. "Countess Blanca" (She was a complex character who ate cats, but did not swallow them)
11. I can hold my breath for ten seconds.
12. Some people like to call me a "Jedi-Knight", but I prefer "Jedi-Ninja".
13. When I turned sixteen I went to the DMV and came back with a license to kill.
14. George Washington was my great great great great great great uncle..... or something.
15. When it comes to insult sword fighting, I am unrivaled. (Insult arm-wrestling is a different story.)

*Note: MOST of the above are TRUE.
However, due to having received letters of complaint I can no longer claim to be Jack Sparrow's personal powder monkey. OR Legolas' personal hair stylist.

*Further Note: "Georgiana" is NOT my natural name. It's my SUPERNATURAL name.