That I blog exclusively on myspace now...in case anyone ever feels the need to get all up in my biz.

In just under 72 hours, I will be 21 years old. I have been pining for this day since my friends, one after another, turned 21and entered a newer, better world. 

This sounds really stupid...you're probably thinking "Oh my gosh! Does Emily really like drinking THAT much? Jesus! Rehab!!!!" But that's not the reason at all...or not a big reason anyway. I have had a lot of time to think about this because I had the same reaction to myself at first and I got pretty worried...Was I really SO excited about being able to buy alcohol and go to bars? That would be pretty messed up. No, I realized that what I'm excited about is true-adulthood; Being conisdered (by the public at large) to be able to conduct myself and function in society as an adult.

I know that legally, a person is an adult when he or she turns 18, but I feel that that has become obsolete. Yeah, great, you can vote and die for this fucking country when you turn 18. The thing is, I have found that legal definitions and popular definitions are a world apart.

The truth is, we all were still SUPER irresponsible when we were 18. Sure we had the power of the ballot, but we had zero life-experience. I'm going to be a stick-in-the-mud here and say that I'm actually glad that 18-years olds aren't allowed to buy their own alcohol and hang out at bars. That would be disastrous. I was SO naive at 18 and I'm not claiming to be some wisened old woman now, but a few years in college where the stakes are high, and in the real-world where stakes are even higher have definitely changed me...I think for the better.

So I guess what I'm saying is, that in three days, I will join the true adult-world. I will finally be viewed as an adult by my peers which, sadly enough, are the most important critics.

The novelty of being able to buy alcohol will wear off quickly I'm sure. It will be like a Christmas gift when you're six: I'll take advantage of it for about a month and then I'll go back to my normal day-to-day. What will remain is my shiny, new, I'm-not-a-baby-anymore, paint-job. 

Cool, huh?:)

Last night, I took Stella for a walk. It wasn't as horribly hot as usual because the bottom fell out two nights ago and all that rain cooled everything down...so why is this fly so intent on being indoors and annoying the crap out of me? Sorry--off subject. I laid the smack-down on his ass with my magazine though!

Where was I?

Okay, so we were about a mile away from home and I was listening to some good old Coldplay when I saw a shooting star. I know--PERFECT music, right? I bet if you look really closely at a Coldplay CD case, it says somewhere, in fine-print "It is advisable to listen to this CD at night when you are looking at the sky.". I made my little wish...maybe too late because there was about a 30-second time delay between me seeing the star and then realizing what I had just seen. I guess it just goes to show that I don't see them that often, however, it is the second one I have seen this year...and surprisingly, the second one I have seen in my life.

Even as a little kid, I never saw shooting stars. My parents used to let me stay up late to watch the meteor showers, but I would always end up passing out in my mom's lap before I saw anything. My mom's lap is more effective in inducing sleep than an entire bottle of Tylenol PM. I think she even gave long car rides a run for their money way back when. 

Now I need to look up what causes shooting stars. I knew that at one point, but it is a parcel of information that was either shaken loose during one of my head-banging sessions (I should never have downloaded Bohemian Rhapsody to my shuffle), or it got filed away in one of the nether regions of my brain between "Saved By the Bell" trivia and Celine Dion lyrics.

I think we should all share stories about wishes that have come true...none of mine ever have, but it would be cool to hear about other people's...awaken a little hope in this tired soul?
:o)

 Jesus. If I have ONE more middle-aged man hit on me, I'm going to snap. (fm). Turns out that dude the other day who was interested in my "catering business" was actually interested in me. (vomit).

We had our first official monsoon storm here in Phoenix the other night and it was pretty much the most marvelous thing that has happened here in a long time. It was a sneaky storm though and only actually began to produce rain when I had my back turned. I had finished feeding the animals (I'm house-sitting for my parents while they enjoy an Alaskan cruise) and was getting ready to feed myself when I remembered that I needed to move my laundry from the washer to the dryer. I walked into the laundry and was smacked in the face by the smell of rain.

"What?" I said to myself. "I was just outside a minute ago and nothing was happening yet!"

Sure enough, I stopped to listen intently, and I heard rain drops on the sky-light. I think the exact thought that ran through my mind at that moment was "FUCK MY LAUNDRY!" and I ran outside to stand in the down pour. 
The dogs barked at me from the porch. I'm sure they thought I had lost it. I ran screaming through the rain avoiding the huge, dinosaur-piles of crap that my dog manages to produce. I don't know what it is about rain, but a switch flips inside me and I can't stay out of it. My skin starts to tingle and my body feels electric. Monsoons are sexy. That's the bottom line.

In the morning, the clouds were still hanging around. It was humid but the temperature was decent so I went for a run which I haven't been able to do since the beginning of May. I LOVE running outside but it is too damn hot to do it this time of year. I was probably about three miles into my route and my high was just beginning when I passed a house with one of those steel coyote silhouettes in front of it. I tend to do my best thinking when I am high on endorphins. I also tend to find everything funny. I began to fixate on the yard decorations people have. Why a coyote silhouette? What is the effect that that person is trying to achieve? Does he/she really want us to think that his/her front yard is a sanctuary for coyotes or is that a statement about his/her personality (a la "I'm a mysterious lone-scavenger")?

Then I got to thinking about yard gnomes: "I want to give the impression that my yard is inhabited by tiny people and that if you trespass, they will bite your achilles tendon."

Also, don't forget about the classic pink flamingoes.Three possibilities exist here:"I enjoy tacky filth."
"I wish I were living in Florida."
"I have really horrible friends and I got 'flamingoed'."

Finally, vehicles: "I'm an incurable redneck and I believe that my front yard is an extension of my garage."

The thoughts that manage to take-hold in my mind are amazing.

Other than that, I'm mourning the price of gas, but I'm simultaneously grateful for it because it makes me be more responsible about my driving and my finances. I have had to learn to prioritize my trips and plan them out. I cannot afford to make frivolous trips across town multiple times per week. I can only really afford to fill up every two weeks on my current budget, and now that I'm staying at my parents' house until they get back from Alaska I have to drive all the way downtown for school and work everyday! I will probably have to fill up every week this month...shoot. At least I don't have to buy too much in the way of groceries...my parents are pack-rats.

I'm pretty sad I didn't see Kate when she was in town last night, but Tempe for an hour or two and then back...hmmm...Maybe my trip to Florida in October is restricting my finances too much. Oh well, I think it will be worth it--No--I know it will.
 Well got to go--just got my first customer for my catering:)

The other day I was thinking about Beverly Cleary books. I really have no idea why she popped into my head, but I started thinking about how many of her books I read when I was in grade-school. She and Judy Blume had a joint monopoly (I know that's an oxy-moron, but I can't think of a better way to describe it--domination?) on adolescent literature. I think one of my favorite books was Dear Mr. Henshaw . It was about a really lonely boy who used to write letters to his favorite author about what was going on in his life. Now that I'm older, when I think about that book, I realize that the boy was essentially harrassing Mr. Henshaw via letter, but when I was younger, I loved how the format of the book was all in letters and how everytime I turned the page, I held on to this tiny glimmer of hope that Mr. Henshaw had finally written the boy back. I think at the end of the book, Mr. Henshaw does write the boy back, but it's a really generic letter that his publicist wrote up and sends en masse to all of the author's little fans. I can't remember if I felt cheated at the end of that book or not...did my 10-year-old brain understand Cleary's deeper point? I can see it two ways: She was either trying to let all her fans know that it's impossible for her to write back to each and every kid and it's a problem that all writers face, or she was trying to make the point that the kid may not have gotten a response, but he became a better writer and got to work out his emotions on paper. If the lesson was the first one, I think Cleary should go screw herself. She could not possibly have gotten that many letters. I mean, her fan-base was mostly under the age of 10 and had more important things to do than write letters. At that age, boys are discovering what makes them different from girls and girls are spending most of their time trying to figure out how to become homecoming queen by the time they hit highschool (we start early!). Kids are busy at that age.

i think the second lesson was too profound for kids. What a sham. I guess I really wouldn't know unless I went back and read it, but since I'm not training to be an elementary school teacher, I don't think I'll waste my time. Like so many things, I'll push it to the back of my mind where it will linger for a few more days and then die. Things that currently matter and I CAN't push to the back of my mind: Season 3 of Weeds.

"And now it's time to say goodbye to all our company...
K-i-t (t-minus four weeks before I see ya again!)
c-h-e (e-mail when ya get a chance!)
n-b-a-s-i....(c)"
That was my sad and corny attempt to turn the Mickey Mouse Club song into one that applies to Kitchen Basics.

Today was our last day of cooking with our groups. Next week will be the major stress-test where we separate the men from the boys..er..women from the girls? 

I have a sanitation and a computer apps final on Monday, a Culinary Theory final on Tuesday, nothing Wednesday, and my Kitchen Basics final on Thursday. Then I'm done-zo for my first quarter. It's a little sad in a way...I really looked forward to Wednesday and Thursday morning shenanigans with Tawny and Brandizzle, but I'm also looking forward to American Regional and Intro to Pastry. I also have some management and purchasing class, and something else next quarter. I'm really "in-the-know" about my education if you haven't already picked up on this (haha-joke). I have actually found that life is just so much easier when you just sit back and chiiiillll. I wish I would have known this a long time ago. It would have made my relationship with my parents a lot less "trying" when I was a moody teenager. I used to be just a crazy, type-A, drama-queen mess. It is amazing that you can turn your life around in about 3 months and become someone totally new.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I still have a few neurotic qualities (like how the gym is my bff, how I can't sleep in a messy room, and how I can't do my laundry unless I have April-Fresh dryer sheets), but on the whole, (Preparation H feels good haha--couldn't resist) my outlook on life has changed. Example?

Yesterday I ran into my admissions officer at school:
Christina: Hey! I never  see you! How's it going? How's life?
Me: I know! I've been really busy! Life is AWESOME!

Want to know something horrible? I have NEVER said "life is awesome" to anyone before. Kind of sad, huh? Well I finally did...and it felt awesome to say.

Going to school doesn't make me cringe. When the weekend is over, I just look forward to what I'm going to learn in the days to come, and despite not being in the throes of Academia, I feel more intune with current events, politics, and society than I ever have. It's awesome. There's that word again.

Oh yeah--also, I'm going to be 21 in 55 days and counting. SO that is--well--AWESOME. No more missing out while my friends go to Vegas or the bars on the weekends. No more having to bum wine off my parents or friends that are "of age" so that I have something to poach my fish in, make my Marinaras with, and the like...Holy-freaking-shit wine is in EVERYTHING! We have JUGS of it at school. It's heavily salted so you definitely don't want to sip on a glass while you're cooking, but I  was not aware of how prevalent it is in every mother-flippin' pan sauce, pasta sauce, soup, or marinade. You can tell that the French LOVE their wine, but who can blame them? It's awesome;)

I told someone today that I don't post here that much anymore--and then it just made me want to see if Kate and Brodizzo (holla!) had posted anything recently and I see you guys have (woo! looove reading the brodizzo entries as usual) and I thought I should add something too...p.s. the ants left--yay! I think they are movin' on up--to the Eastside lol...

I find that reality is one of those things I run away from because it can be painful. It has been brought to my attention on multiple occassions lately that it's difficult to have a serious conversation with me--I mean, you know it's bad when you can't connect with your father beyond the funny things that happen at school. Neither of my parents know me, I mean geez--even the people that I consider to be my best friends don't really know me. The last person who really knew me was my first boyfriend who I really fucked over. I think that's when people stopped knowing me--when I stopped knowing myself.
I have grown up in the last month. I live by myself. I have set goals for my life. I know what I want. But I still wear masks. I still set up false pretenses just so I have a safety. I guess I do it because every time I let my guard down even the slightest bit, I get fucked over. Karma I guess.
Okay, what I'm getting at here is that I watched a life-changing (for me anyway) movie. I'm sure some people might watch it and not take anything away from it, but then, I know some people LOVED Harold and Kumar go to White Castle (mostly who smoke a lot of weed) and I didn't get it, so go figure. Lars and the Real Girl was phenomenal. There. It touched me, not because I'm delusional and walk around with a mannekin claiming it's my boyfriend or anything like that, but because other people loved him (Lars) enough, to go along with him. 
So I'll explain a little further because otherwise, it sounds like I support weird fetishes (when in reality it depends on the fetish--haha just kidding).
Movie Premise:
Lars is a young man who has become a social hermit after growing up with a father who became a hernit after his wife died (Lars' mother--during Lars' birth). Lars' only example growing up was this man who kept to himself, thus causing Lars to become a hermit as well. He's a sweet guy and everyone in the town loves him, but he has no idea what to do with women whatsoever--yet it's obvious (and biologically natural) that he is lonely, so he purchases a life-size sex doll after his perverted co-worker shows him the webpage on the internet. Lars, being extremely religious (and completely delusional--don't forget) manufactures a backstory for his doll, Bianca, and then asks if she can sleep at his brother and siser-in-law's house since it wouldn't be religiously moral for her to stay in his guesthouse in their backyard. After consulting with a physician who believes that it is best for them to  play along with the situation until Lars works it out himself, his brother and sister-in-law agree AND have the added burden of getting the whole town to play along as well...and the amazing thing is that they do. The entire town, including a woman who has a crush on Lars, plays along and embraces "Bianca."
There are really two themes that should be explored in this movie now that I think about it. One is the whole "if you love someone you'll do anything to help them" and the orher is really that essential question: "what is real?"
Is reality what we all agree upon, or can it be different for everyone? I see an event different from how you see it, so what really happened? What is the reality of the situation?
In Lars' world, Bianca was real, but to everyone else, she was just a creepy-ass doll. People would argue that everyone else was right--that Lars was the one with the problem, but hasn't anyone ever heard the saying "what is popular is not always right, and what is right is not always popular"? Ummm--I have...wait--we all took DARE, right? We've all heard that. So--I ask again...what is real?
I guess, at this point, I think what an individual perceives to be real, is. Simple as that. That doesn't mean that everything I say is real because I don't say everything I perceive. Neither do you. What I'm saying is that we each have our own reality and we can pick and choose with whom we share our reality. So now I have come to the end of my manifesto here and I'm saying that I really want to share my reality with someone...finally. You know what? I think I'm just at that point where I see no point in portraying false identities for protection. I'm a real girl.

Geez I haven't posted to LJ in a long, flippin' time. In fact, I'm not sure if I have done it since I've actually started culinary school.

Well, Let's back track here...Do I like it? Yes.
Is it challenging? Yes.
Is it everything I thought it would be? No, but nothing in life ever is. Expectations are fantastical and unrealistic. I've learned that it's better not to have them at all.
Am I outrageously talented and doing wonderfully? No, but for the first time in my life, that fact makes me want it even more. I'm also at a point in my life where I cannot possibly take another failure, another unrealized dream, or another half-assed education. I think my head is in the right place...in MOST respects.

Now let's answer a few more questions for the 2 people that actually read my LJ (and I include myself in that number)
Do I like Phoenix? Not one tiny bit. 
Do I miss Tucson? Uh YEAH.
Does living alone suck a little bit? (That's called a loaded question my friends...) Yes and No (did you see how I turned that around--like a politician!) I'm not a fan of the lonely, quiet times, but I also get to have my shit how I WANT my shit...and if I leave the place in shambles because I'm in a hurry in the morning, I'm the only one who makes a frustrated sigh when I get home.
Do I miss my puppy-dizzle? Yes (sniffle) a lot.:( But she loves living with my parents and I get to see her cute face regularly.

Now that I'm out of the realm of the university and I have come to find out that my friends that live here basically suck, I need to find things to do. I need to get my ass to yoga because my crazy running addiction is killing my knees, and I need to get involved in some kind of volunteering ordeal in town. It was so easy to that stuff in Tucson. People approach you at the U asking for volunteers for different organizations all the time. When people needed help, they asked. The real word is all about being proactive...and I don't mean the acne medication. YOU have to ask people how YOU can help. 

It IS weird being back in my home town after three years of living elsewhere. Last night, I got this wild hair up my butt to go running at like 10 o'clock at night. I live near metro center where the number of methed-out homeless people could populate a small country and auto-theft and assault are rampant, so I didn't think it was an especially good idea for me to be out  at that time--by myself--so I drove back to my childhood neighborhood.

I took off and I ran. I ran and ran and ran until I didn't feel like I could run anymore, but I did. My legs went numb after awhile and I forgot that they were moving at all. I was somewhere else mentally. I was the music that I was listening to. I was the pools of light on the street. I was the faint smell of detergent wafting from the house of somebody that was doing laundry. I was the occassional feral cat that dashed across the street. I was the night.

I ran past Rachael's house as "Gigolo" was playing on my shuffle. I could hear her doing an opera-version of the song followed by a short speech, laden with gangsterisms and foul language, but delivered in her Alice-voice so you if you weren't listening to her words, you'd think she was talking about ponies. I ran past Estevan's house and remembered countless days in American Government in which he turned pretty much everything I said into a sexual inuendo while being extremely gay with Donnie--which happens to be especially hilarious NOW because Donnie came out soon after we graduated. I made my way to Eric's house and remembered zipping around with he and Katie in my ugly-ass hybrid car and our many trips to Charlotte Russe where he was pretty much on the verge of an orgasm everytime he passed the hooker boots (not because he likes hookers, but because he wanted to prance around in those boots). Then I passed Amanda's house and I could almost hear her scold Eric for flipping people off as they drove into the parking lot on any particular morning. Oh mommie.

Finally, I ran past Kate's house and I remembered how her dad used to call my car "the spaceship," being her little brother Jimmie's 5-year-old crush  for like two days, and loading up on organic beauty supplies from her amazing mom everytime I went over there. I remember our joint-crushes on the quiet, cynical outcasts, and our love-affair with artsy films. Mostly I just remember how she was always there...always willing to talk when I needed her...but that really hasn't changed too much I guess.

It was a good, cleansing run, but I worry that this move has stunted my ability to move forward with my life--it's too comfortable and familiar. It means I will have to try harder, but man, that can be--well--hard.

I thought people were supposed to learn new things every day, but I find that every day, I learn that I don't know all that much. It seems to me that answers are relative. Nothing is cut and dry. We really do make our own rules. Sometimes that's a good thing, but sometimes, well, it's not. Like dating. There should be a manual. I'm not the person to write it, but I would absolutely read it--no, I would DEVOUR it. Somebody with impeccable morals, who knows the ins and outs of the human psyche like the back of his/her hand, who is happily married with 2 kids, a dog, no mortgage, and a hybrid car--that person should write it. That's a person I would trust.