not quite Holden Caulfield.

Finally, the last one.

Thank God.

I’d spent the rest of practice scheming to conserve myself -(mentally, at least), for the last repeat…really the only one that would matter.

Why are my teammates so damn stupid? Letting their bloated egos control every conscious decision. I obstinately refuse to let anybody coerce me to foolishly hammer every last damn repeat (which is quite a turnaround for someone who’s team nick-name used to be “Hammer McHammerstien” ha.) But, hey—live and learn, no?

Rather unfortunately, my mind unconsciously predicts the direction, purpose, and politically incorrect yet messily concealed motive operandi shared by the collective consciousness of a demographic of people.

Everyone is one big fraud. How do they live happily when they’re always putting on a show? 

Frustrated exhaustion interrupted my thoughts...

It dripped tingles down to my legs--rattling any blurred-misconception of vitality. A rather giggly verbalism shattered my train of thought. It came from a straw-haired, exuberant teammate with great big sapphire eyes. ‘She reminds me of an awkward-but-gorgeous albino deer’, I thought, watching her eagerly prance around in circles.

            She (like most people on this team) was infected with Sophomore Syndrome. *(Sophomore Syndrome is a term I made up for the mania infused into the once-freshmen class to train ridiculously hard during the summer so they can “dominate” the next year. This was stupid, however. The over exhilarated youngsters would end up coming back to school killing workouts --and then when it was time to race---they dropped like flies. (Either on account of nerves, injury, or overtraining.) )

Anyway, we just completed 5 of the 6 eight hundred meter repeats. This would be my umpteenth D1 college training program death-march (or ephinany--depending on the day/workout/mood/time of month.)

The new assistant girl’s coach was gonna run this last one with us. She seemed nice enough and would be forgiving in her judgment of me following that last pathetic excuse of a repeat. Whatever—I know what I’m doing.

            With a strange meek firmness, I toe the loose gravel-drawn line in a weak attempt to calm my overactive-pessimistic brain to stop tweaking about an already vulnerable reputation.

I need to hammer again. I need to satiate my ravenous desire to manifest my worth as a fighter—that stubbornness, that thirst to be fierce—to be something more then that weird but quiet smallish-girl, that beautiful disaster.

“Ready?” new coach said.

Umm, I was most certainly NOT ready…hell; I’m not even set.

GO.

Whoaaa..why is my mind so chill? My legs feel floaty. My heartbeat is strong and steady like an 808 beat in my headphones.

Hold up, there it is: that pain--that familiar knawing of quadriceps while incinerated muscle fascia crinkles into an infusion of lead –reminding me of my cumbersome corporealness. That numbing of my frontal lobe as my veins begin to swell in my hands and feet from freshly hyper blood.

Oh perfect, here comes Negative Nancy…

“It’s fine, Leila…just drop back a little more—finishing side by side with your teammates is nothing shameful. Look. You’re not even halfway through this repeat yet—you can’t hold this pace—you’re not even built to do this…in the end selfish hammering can only get you so far…in the end: You are pathetic. You can’t race. You choke on adversity—sputtering valiantly, but sputtering none the less.”

“NO.”

I can hold on for a little longer, I know I can. I’m not a sissy. Ugh. It hurts though!

HURTS….

“NO.” my stubborn-side said again. ( I suspect this bit of me is the only piece of my Viking ancestors I have left.)

“I don’t give up. FIGHT. BE TOUGH. Prove your worth. If you can’t push past this point---you might as well just quit.”

NO. I DON’T QUIT.

I push harder. Dodging rocks, weaving in and out-- eyes instinctually succumb to a feverish scanning of the ground.

Zach was in my direct line of sight (meaning: I’m approaching the “finish line.”) Momentum’s curveball comes back and I whack it.

Eyes.
So many eyes are on my hurdling body. I can feel them and suddenly I start to swell with a sense of self. Zach’s observance of this transformation is oh so sweet. (He thinks I'm not capable of anything.) Actually, no—those obnoxiously elitist and preppy teammates (some of which had already finished their “exclusively custom-made” workout), were the most satiating gazes to absorb. Yeah...

My corporeal image is translating one mantra right now: Don’t mess.

I’m unstoppable, yo.

(The funny thing is, I only realized I can do this …like just now.)

Passing the makeshift orange-cone thing that is the finish line, my coldly famished legs quiver as crumple to a stop. All whimpering breath flees my lungs, taking what’s left of that swirling pessimism with it. I need to stop kicking myself to the curb: Nothing was stopping me from doing this all along. NOTE TO SELF: you need to stop being your own worst enemy.

It's Raining Sideways and I'm Bored in Class.

SURPRISE.I've changed my mind again. V-Blog shall henceforth be an annual blog. Why?Because Im feeling unexpressed these days. I need a "roasting" area. Considering my followers are officially gone and the fact that I'm usually ignored/considered rather silly and/or unimportant--I am granting myself the privilege of writing slanderously and uncomfortably honest.
Debatably Yours,
Luna Lovegood

The Social Network.

So it occurred to me last night in the shower (yes, the shower), that social media--America's latest obsessional vice-- (blogs, Facebook, twitter, etc..) are so appealing and practically viral because of the  post-modern shortage of recognition, love, and human-need of individual expression (unless you happen to be a celebrity.)
It's no wonder--as I look at the population in general--barreling to lunch or commuting to work--people don't even wanna look at you--much less hear about what you had for breakfast, who wrote on your Facebook wall last night, or you that you're against Obama's latest foreign policy.  These sites--these modes of expression--are no more than a desperate, and to some degree--even narcissistic method of giving us a false sense of being wanted, connected, popular and loved (hey, obviously I'm guilty of it too.)
 The funny thing is--is even though I know all this is true--I still can't help but like to think every time I put up a new blogpost--someone out there is avidly hanging on my every word ( practically drooling over a computer screen, waiting to hear about my life as if  I'm some sort of fictional misunderstood-hero of a best-selling novel ha.)  The truth of the matter is--no one actually cares--save a few. It's funny, because I realize my blog has really just become a therapeutic diary-of-sorts..something that I can look back on and say"oh, yeah...I remember when that happened and I felt that way.."

"The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool." 
— William Shakespeare (As You Like It)


I also realized that all I really wanted out of life was to love and be loved (as cheesy as it sounds). All the adventures along the way are just taking joy in experiencing the world and all it has to offer..but it doesn't mean anything unless I can share my wonder/experience/feelings with someone. And so ( from all this deep-soul-searching stuff...naturally I started googling ha.) What I found were a couple of chilling quotes from some pretty cool people...

"When a poor person dies of hunger, it has not happened because God did not take care of him or her.

It has happened because neither you nor I wanted to give that person what he or she needed. 

 Everybody today seems to be in such a terrible rush, anxious for greater developments and greater riches and so on, so that children have very little time for their parents. Parents have very little time for each other, and in the home begins the disruption of peace of the world.

If we really want to love we must learn how to forgive."

While I'm on my cheese-puff soap box...check out the YouTube clip featured below (if you haven't haven't already)--for some reason it's become an inspiration-of-sorts haha..plus the song is bomb. ("Got Nuffin"- by Spoon) 

NOTE: I'm not saying I have (or ever will/am supporting) ramming one's car into suburban homes unannounced...I just like the vibes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=roI-IkEUWhM

Sheeple and Maroons (Mah-RUNEs)

I am sick and tired of people who have so much sorrow for their own struggles (yet a total lack-of- empathy/sympathy) for anybody else. FOR EXAMPLE...

 EXHIBIT A: an email I received this morning.

"Hello blahblah,

While this is a nice cause and everything and I might normally be interested. This is not appropriate for the cuwomenstrack email chain. I don't mind getting all the cross country emails even when they don't pertain to me because they are track related, but I do mind getting spammed.

-  Sheeple McSheepster"

--> I am tired of attempting to be there for other people-- only to discover over and over again, that the carelessness of mind that led to their problems will affect me in the end as they exercise their carelessness with me. I am tired of being unperceivable ----yet having to navigate the endless projections of others concerning who I may be.

--> I am tired of being interpreted through my performance of self-- rather than being judged by my potential to be responsive to everything that effects me.

--> Most of all, I am tired of being used and worn down by obligations to the people I love. I am angry that I must constantly toil without peace, while surrounded by overwhelming social stupidity and protectionism.
--> I am perhaps most angry that I was not more confident about myself earlier in life and able to figure out a way to live alone, and have a decent life at the same time.

  At this point, I'm so angry that my own ethical disposition - only after finding out I'm better than being a capitalist stooge. Sometimes I feel frustrated by the sheer stupidity of the world (in general), and --am sad to say--- enjoy my own company more than anyone else's sometimes.
GREAT.
Now, I'm even angry at myself for the horrible things I wish upon stupid-people everywhere who insist on being either a sheeple or maroon--OR BOTH.

V-Blog ReVamped.

V-Blog will now be called "The UnVectorious". Due to the recent unrelenting-monolistic nature of V-Blog--the site will be under-going a bit of reconstruction for a couple of days. No worries. V-Blog will still have the same element--but, like water  being poured into a different-sized mug--it's filling it's new environment (which is still pretty unclear at this point)-- but, whatever.

The lives of the V-Bloggers are changing and diverging onto different directions...with unknown destinations. So, embracing change--and the hands holding us, V marches onward into unknown territory. 

So Why "UnVectorious?"

- A Vector is a straight line.

- Life is not a straight line.

- The new direction of the blog is quite branched-out and experimental (rather than promotional with a unifying theme.) 

-  T. Roosevelt's "man in the arena"speech is epic. 

- It's my experience that winning isn't everything. Mistakes are more valuable.

- Sometimes a goodbye is a second chance in disguise.

...I'm not angry, I'm just sayin'--  even "The UnVectorious" are welcome.

Vocabulary Enrichment.

Our technology-wired population is constantly creating new dimensions to reality. Even armed with an iPhone-(an almost essential "portable-portal"- to the invisible (but omnipresent) force of the Internet), it's difficult to keep up with today's lingo. Here's a couple interesting ones I came across today....

“cherry-blossoming”

- Following Twitter feeds and liking Facebook pages for pay. Taking it’s name from the Japanese slang for professional fans--”sakura”, or cherry blossoms--the technique lets companies buy social clout.

“Proofers”

-People who demand that Osama bin Laden is dead. Like “birthers”, proofers insist on evidence-- yet find their conspiracies more believable than evidence.

“macaroon-technique”

- He used PowerPoint to impart what he calls the “macaroon technique,” referring to the sandwich-like French macaron pastry. This can be applied to most any product (including, presumably, a Xerox machine) and goes something like this: “Madam, this timepiece (or diamond or handbag) comes from our finest workshop and it has a value of $10,000. If you buy it, your children are sure to enjoy it for generations to come.”

“Seagan”

- As for food Kelli is what she likes to call a, “Seagen.” A vegan that eats seafood.

“Dittoism”

-There is a tendency in favour of what is called “dittoism,” i.e., everyone thinking the same thought without a healthy tendency to break the uniformity of thought.

“broccoli-journalism”

-Collective responsibility. Socialized journalism. This is the ultimate in broccoli journalism: You are not only forced to read what journalists say is good for you but you are now forced to pay for it through taxation.

Plus One me?

GOOGLE + GUIDE

In capitalism, no corporation can survive as a monopoly for long. Just like the Android market emerged to compete with Apple’s dominion over the smartphone industry, Google’s has introduced “Google plus”-- a new online social network initiative directly aiming to redefine how social sharing works. With new practical concepts like organized “Circles”, “Hangouts” and other innovative features, Google plus is definitely here to stay and not afraid to compete.

.....So You Want to Setup a Google Plus Profile?
Before you respond to a Google + invite...be informed!!!


- Google + only works if you own a Google account with an active “Google Profile”. So if you  wanna sign up for Google Plus...make sure you have a working profile!
- For all you appsters--be informed that only regular Gmail accounts are supported by Google  +, so you can’t use your Google apps account to setup a profile. (So if you asked your  buddy to send you a Google + invite and give them your Google Apps email address---you  won’t ever receive it in your inbox!)
- If you happen to have a Yahoo or Windows Live or Hotmail account, DON”T WORRY! All is  not lost--just use your existing address to sign up for a Gmail account (if haven’t done so  already.) Once you’ve signed up-- you’re good to go! ( But don’t forget to create a google  profile within your Gmail account and make sure it’s visible to the public.)
YAY! So you’ve got a Google + Invite! Now what?
Calm down. Just click on the invitation link delivered to your email address and you’ll be transported to the magical world of Google +. Now sign in with your Google account username and you’re official.

The Power of Vernacular: The First Official Publication.

Long-time-no-updates.sorry. I've been busy writing other stuff. Here's a glimpse at some of the stuff I've been doing. (Below is a posting I wrote for the company I'm interning for this summer:)

Unveiling the Gender Gap.

"Our wildly capable intern Leila reviewed “The Male Brain” and “The Female Brain” by Dr. Louann Brizendine. "

Have you ever wondered why women are more verbally fluent or how females seem to recall details of arguments that their male partners don’t seem to ever recall? These, (along with countless other gender-gaped conumdrums), have finally been answered!

Dr. Louann Brizendine’s literary masterpieces :“The Male Brain” and “The Female Brain”— work gently to unveil the once-elusive shrowd of illogical mystery behind female-wiring without compromising the basic-blueprinting behind a more jagged-edged jigsaw puzzle that is the male brain. In her “Male Brain” book, Dr. Louann effectively demonstrates through every phase of life, that the “male reality” is actually shockingly-different from the feminine one. Without forgetting to address even the latest psycho/nuerology breakthroughs— Brizendine uses her witty and refreshingly simplistic dialogue to reveal simple laws of nature—such as: a male-brain is mostly like a comprehensive problem-solving vat. For example, when men are confronted with a personal issue, they facilitate their analytical brain structures (rather than the more emotional ones of women), to devise a quick-effective solution. In addition, males also tend to feed off of competition—-males are, by nature, physically rough and instictually-consumed by personal rank and hierarchy. Also, (unsurprisingly) we learn that men’s cranial region devoted to sexual-pursuit is two and a half times larger than their female counterparts. (Also, due to the massive increase of testosterone in the male brain at puberty, men perceive others’ faces to be more aggressive.) Impeccably researched and at the cutting edge of scientific knowledge, this is a book that every man, and especially every woman bedeviled by a man, will need to own.

Now New York Time’s Best Sellers, Dr. Louann’s books offer two new comprehensive looks at the biochemical roller coaster that rules men’s and women’s lives down to the cellular level. They prove again and again to be user’s (and non-users) guides to new insight on the research about female vs. male brains and the neurobehavioral systems that make us unique. Even though the books are referenced like works of research, Brizedine’s down-to-earth writing style is fully comprehensible. While Brizendine provides fascinating looks at specifics—like the complex life-cycle of a woman’s brain from birth to birthing (“Motherhood changes you because it literally alters a woman’s brain-structurally, functionally, and in many ways, irreversibly”) to menopause (when “the female brain is nowhere near ready to retire”) and beyond; it’s refreshing to know that at the same time, Brizedine proves she is not above covering the basics.

Although Brizendine establishes that males and females are starkly different on a cellular level— we still prove quite capable of possessing both male and female qualities. For example, I’m willing to bet that you have no shortage of personal examples of women you know who would start world wars over coffee or would have no quams over slitting a few throats in a boardroom. And believe it or not, there are also plenty of examples of men who are gentle and nurturing and care more about the environment and poverty for the earth and its inhabitants.

Interestingly, for the first time in history, more women occupy the working world than their male counterparts. Currently, females make up fifty-three percent of the professional /managerial positions. So what’s causing the shift? Recent studies prove that if women’s values were more widely accepted, the world would be a far kinder place. We would understand our profound interdependence, and know that the good of one is inextricably bound to the good of all others. It’s completely understandable considering humanity’s sick of an ego-based environment that always leads to testosterone-spurred warfare leaking with old money and dirty politics. For years the majority of the female population is aware of the fact that these manly-values have inevitably driven our society into the dirt (eventually making life unlivable for future generations.)

For example, did you know that over ninety-percent of incarcerations are male? As Bezentine proves, males are programmed to act on behalf of their aggressive nature. The male hormones, androgen and testosterone combined with physical strength and toxic male-cultural mandates such as the societal conditioning of men to avoid tender feelings creates an evolution of an economic system that rewards competition rather than co-operation. These factors, along with others, have fused in such a way that muted aggressors translated from a patriarchal society has ultimately atrophied humanity’s skills of relations, spirituality, and emotional perspective that would facilitate actualisations of productive communication and problem-solving practices.

So what would the world look like if the world was run by women? Well, for one thing, world leaders might open conferences with peaceful questions instead of antagonizing accusations. For example, we might hope to mimic the peaceful Masai tribes of Africa and greet each other with one of their simple greetings—“How are the children?” Interestingly, most of these Musai leaders are mothers, so their ambitions were centered around the well-being of their “children”—rather than personal gain and political “ladder-climbing”. If a Musai leader could not answer with the expected response: “The children are well,” she would start formulating a plan during the conference in which the world where her “children” lived would be suitable for their needs.

While it remains to be said that the world still needs both male and female energy (both yin and yang) to remain a whole personality. We need the male courage, power, protection and frankness to balance out the female nurturing, listening, feeling, taking in and holding. With that being said, the world still has been extremely overwhelmed with aggressive energy for too long. What is happening now in the global power shift—is more of a strive for balance. Either way, Dr. Brizentine’s books are inspiring and more than informative (while still incorporating cutting-edge scientific knowledge) making these books a beachside read that every man, (and every woman bedeviled by a man), needs to read!

Violator of the Poetic Arts.

So I got back some "work" back from my professor the other day...I've discovered I'm very bad at poetry...

THE FOLLOWING IS ACTUAL REAL-LIFE FEEDBACK (UNFILTERED) FROM PROFESSORS CONCERNING MY "POETRY". VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED:

"L-
This isn't quite the level I'd like to see you performing at. The sentiment I won't quarrel with, but its presentation really isn't artful. It's much more like a greeting card than a work of utterance. I know you have it in you to do strong, complex work. I'll need to see your "Block, Pillar, Slab, and Beam" assignment very soon please. I really don't want anymore of the abstract expression or deep emotional feeling stuff for awhile--you need to work long and hard to learn how to handle that. It's not like the material is forbidden in all cases. It's more like we need to practice making a sandwich before we attempt a souffle."


"L-
I want you to try a poem that is primarily descriptive, all of the rhetoric and wisdom and praise business you have going on herte is still a bit beyond your reach. Build towards it. You need to work in description, images, concrete stuff. Look at Marianne Moore's work, I want another poem at the same level of artfullness as your "Me"/running poem."

"L-
The poem is very haunting, the scene, the mood, even the rhyme all conspire to make a dreamlike encounter. I love the passion and energy of your writing but be careful not to let your langauge lapse into a yester lexicon."

On that note V-readers: the following "poem" is a half-hearted attempt to meet the very unclear and vaguely verbose demands of a college professor...

OCEAN-EYED THOUGHTS.

My grey matter’s hyper-wanderings have distinct personalities; exactly the same twice the same about the flecked river;

they are born, they live,and then die as a sunset is always a different flavor-bursting and pulsing in a cadence of heartbeats.

Morphing every hemisphere: spunk-infused quirk.

With tilted-head the Universe of bitten-cuticles assembles a double helix: code manifested puzzle-creating an erotically breathing mural.

Shuffling profiles in a modified familiarity:

I mine for the model of a moment.

Yet for such a stare- I could not recall a hue!

Immense ocular complexities whisper so much truth that everything becomes a lie:

Sunsets, like virginity, can never be sold twice.

So I thirst for stability in a reality pot-marked with rage;

but the only thing of certainty is unrelenting change.

Morphology: an untamable beast I insist to adorn

with cage and a titanium leash.

Flitting beneath an amorphous veil of intangibility;

held by a gaze that’s everywhere in a nowhere-

but I share a hunger that’s well-kempt for squelchy traits so foreign and fair.

A melting visualization in primordial stone (without the neccesary heat)

--Is like feathers made of scales flying with limbs that consistantly fail.

Bobbing in and out,

to tend to those ceaselessly-consumed sandcastles oozing salty drool;

I float with a current

permeable as leather skin.

That passive grit of sand--

bejeweled by waves of opals

(that crashy splash, with crashy splash)

It banishes me with scaley-feathers to wander idly

through tidal waves of irises

--absorbing only the nocturnal depth of a cornea.

VOMITROCIOUS.

The mere idea is stomach-churning: creating food from human feces.
We can thank your friendly Japanese researchers for this new-found "Brave New World-esc" bio-friendly/economical diet option. They have synthesized meat from proteins found in people's CRAP, (according to news reports.)
While the concept of chowing down on steak derived from poop may not exactly be appetizing...there's a more pressing question: is this meat safe?
In theory, yes, experts say. (* But the meat must be cooked, which will kill any noxious pathogens before you eat it.)
"In the food safety world we say, 'don't eat poop,'" said Douglas Powell, a professor of food safety at Kansas State University. "But if you're going to, make sure it's cooked."
The Japanese researchers isolated proteins from bacteria in sewage. The poop-meat concoction is prepared by extracting the basic elements of food — protein, carbohydrates and fats — and recombining them.
The meat is made from 63 percent proteins, 25 percent carbohydrates, 3 percent lipids and 9 percent minerals, according to Digital Trends. Soy protein is added to the mix to increase the flavor, and food coloring is used to make the product appear red.
The researchers came up with the idea after Tokyo Sewage asked them to figure out a use for the abundance of sewage in mud, Digital Trends says.
Powell is not familiar with the researchers' method, but said he guesses that they are first heat-treating the sewage before they reap its resources.
Powell said the idea is not all that different from eating plants that have been fertilized with manure or other excrement, because the nutrients in the poop become part of the plants.
"Theoretically, there's nothing wrong with this," Powell said. "It could be quite safe to eat, but I'm sure there's a yuck factor there," he said.
However, Powell said there is the potential for cross contamination in the laboratory where the poop meat is made. That's why it's a good thing the meat will eventually be cooked.
But what if the final product was not going to be cooked?
"I wouldn’t touch it, " Powell said.
Pass it on: Meat made from poop is safe, but you should cook it before you eat it.

Very-Much Needed Reality Checker: Articles that Challenge Our Sense of What is Real.

"...fashion being an equation, poetry is geekier math. "

- We are actually discussing a semi-worth-my-time poem in my analysis class..really made me think a bit. enjoy.

A DISH OF PEACHES IN RUSSIA

With my whole body I taste these peaches,

I touch them and smell them. Who speaks?

I absorb them as the Angevine

Absorbs Anjou. I see them as a lover sees,

As a young lover sees the first buds of spring

And as the black Spaniard plays his guitar.

Who speaks? But it must be that I,

That animal, that Russian, that exile, for whom

The bells of the chapel pullulate sounds at

Heart. The peaches are large and round,

Ah! and red; and they have peach fuzz, ah!

They are full of juice and the skin is soft.

They are full of the colors of my village

And of fair weather, summer, dew, peace.

The room is quiet where they are.

The windows are open. The sunlight fills

The curtains. Even the drifting of the curtains,

Slight as it is, disturbs me. I did not know

That such ferocities could tear

One self from another, as these peaches do.

-Wallace Stevens

Poem of the Day: Turn and Cough

Limbs-locked,

coiled thick in tendriled-rope;

devoured by your lucid eyes --those hazel microscopes!

Stitches burst open,

weeping silky lies unbound.

Giggling irises seem bright

--(till you hear them speak) cuz light travels faster than sound.

So page by page; we diligently dig

--releasing quite a gale.

my bottomless pit digest’s it’s sin;

and with vodka’s help; those whispers are served pale.

It can’t be stitched-up; murmuring it will wallow--

till you breathe in that place,

nestling deeply in those raw-hollows

beneath that willowy armor yet consoled by melodies of pot-marked truth,

For faith includes believing beyond any power: reason,rhyme or proof.

And so I remain crippled,dazed yet contently aloof...

...listlessly hammering (paralyzed and bruised).

Under the general-anesthesia...

.....my heart forever musters of you.

Vidgey-Vacations and Vegete Ventures

FRIDAY.Friday. Gotta get down on Friday. (HA.Yeah, right.) <-----(click on the comment in parenthesis)

AHHHHH..Nothin' like riding the subway home from work after yet another "rowdy" (negative connotation) week with nothing to look forward to but a lonely 48 hours; overflowing with the prospect of laundry and solitary writing. I enviously eyed the general buzz wafting through my subway car; absorbing the electric chatter of home-bound school children and Wall-street twenty-somethings. Heck, even the corporate-zombies' with pre-maturely-creased eyes were dribbling positive vibes!ugh.

"110th street. Next stop is 116th: Columbia University."

Awkwardly stumbling out the car, I walked into the blinding sunlight pouring down the bruised subway staircase. Having absolutely no plans, I slugged through groups of boisterous frolic; finally lulling to a stop at 113th street. 'Change light. CHANGE.'

Just then a robotic-voiced lady screeching from the depths of purse announced, "Message from: VIDG-STER."

(I'm still a little creeped out that my free piece-o- shit phone from Verizon actually speaks words.)

Anyway, long story short... Vidgester randomly invited me over to her house for the weekend. SCORE.

The next morning I woke up and had a much better subway trip to Penn Station. Once I figured out my train info, I waited in the NJ Transit waiting area.

So, this image I encountered stepping of the Jersey Transit will NEVER escape my memory.EVER. A shades-on Laura Vigilante, blasting "Born This Way" from the driver-seat of a yellow convertible bug.

After spending an adventurous weekend with Vidgster and the family, I was actively paying for a weekend of frivolity in the computer lab. Purfusely sweating, having just sprinted from the subway from work and already ten minutes late for class, I was trying to print my homework for class in Lerner computer lab...when naturally, I noticed this cute guy sitting next to me. However, due to my lateness, I quickly forgot about his presence.

"Damn- ittttt!" I exasperatedly hissed.

The freakin' printers would conveintly decide to not work now...ughhhh

Banging on computer keys while listening to Eminem under my noise-canceling headphones, I hardly noticed the cute guy leave.

FINALLY. My papers were printing. There is a god.

Frantic with hyteric adreneline and caffiene, I shoved my various belongings into my tattered bag. Suddenly the computer lab door opened again, and the cute came right at me...he dropped a piece of folded noteboook paper on top of my books and swiftly left. Startled and slightly puzzled, I froze just looking at the crumpled piece of paper that I hastily smushed in my pocket. Later, during my 4 hour poetry class (we discussing a poem about a debatably symbolic trout...for 2 hours. NOTE: sometimes a fish poem is just a fish poem, people!) I un-crinkled the luke-warm paper wad. It read:

"Hey.

I didn't know how to start a convo. with a stranger in the comp. lab (you looked mad ha).My name's Green-Eyed God (whoa, chill out people...obviously this is just a self-contrived nickname for GEG's privacy concerns.)I think you're ridiculously cute. I'm here for class on Mondays and Thursdays. Shoot me a call or text if you would ever wanna grab lunch or dinner!(phone number here)

-Green-eyed God

WOW.Moneyinthebankkkkkkk!

I sent him a text and we met for dinner the next night(which was awesome.) Since then we've had a series of (in my opinion) hilarious adventures!Hopefully I'll get to share them with ya'll before summer's over...work's been overwhelmingly(but enjoyably) demanding (don't forget the head-bang-against-the-wall poetry analysis classes ha). On another note, I"M BACK ON THE RUNNING TRAIN (aka I'm in a more positive mood than usual haha.)

Anyway...PEACE OUT.

-L

Vacancy: Heart for Rent.

Remember the day you realized that santa wasn't real?

That you couldn't, in fact, be 'Batman' when you grew up?

Remember the day it hit you that your parents are just regular people laden with mortal flaws and vulnerabilities (no different than the other twenty-five billion people of the world?)

Ugh well guys, sorry, today was one of those days.Bare with me, and prepare for a rant. Everyone has a dark side. Even

the people you love (especially the people you love.) Wanna learn a helpful trick? If you ever find yourself confused on whether you really love someone, or wanna find out if someone really loves you... ask yourself: "Does this person KNOW my flaws? If they do, then do they accept them and love you just as you are: even your idiosyncrasies and annoying tendencies? Try it. It works.

Unfortunately, I already tried it and quickly got the answers to my questions…some were kinda obvious, some were quite eye-opening and I didn't want to hear it hah...but I'm glad I understand now.

However, one concept that completely baffles me, (for the most part..there's a few exceptions), I really tend to love and accept everyone just as they are. I mean it just makes sense! How could I not? Even my own mortal face is grotesquely riddled with sin and deformity! Who am I to decide that a person doesn't deserve my love and acceptance?I'm no better then he/she is.

I don't know if it's just a northern thing or what, but these days, I've noticed that most people categorize an act of kindness or generosity as a sign of weakness or manipulation(aka being a "doormat" or doing something cuz it's "a means to an end".) To wear an open heart nowadays is a very brave/dangerous/debatably-stupid thing to do. It's a double-edged sword. Although your compassion for the ones you love is an everlasting power; deeply and irrevocably woven into your essence … so is the gut-wrenching pain of knowing your offered heart is listlessy-tossed aside, it's thirst never quenched; forever doomed to wander through hollow spaces left by empty promises that are now only haunted by the distant echos of a fond memory.....

Forever light and love,

-L

Very Funny

Hey. Obviously, I have way too much time on my hands today; but I thought this needed posting. So I'll Fill you in first. Today JumpThru launched our official website. I'm featured on the "Get To Know Us!" page (joy.) My wildly capable boss wrote my bio (it's actually really funny.)Check it OUT:

Leila Annette Norman

is a hugely inspired intern who has endless enthusiasm and lots of random and incredibly useful information.

A woman who:

*loves running and is a Division1 Varsity Athlete at Columbia University in their nationally ranked Cross Country and Track Team.

*was a political science major but decided she preferred Creative Writing and Philosophy. We think she has an obsession with psychology, social technology and women's rights.

*spent the summer of 2010 in the hills of Oregon as a coach for Nike's youth camp.

*spent previous summers as jury assistant in the Supreme Court in Cobb County in Georgia learning what it means to have a "jury of one's peers".

*won the "Raider Pride Award" not once but twice for "consistent displays of courage, kindness and honesty."

*she is an avid Sci-Fi buff and an expert about Star Trek, Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter. We call her well- rounded.

Some facts:

> Senior at Columbia University, majoring in Creative Writing with a double concentration in philosophy and poetry.

> Born and raised in Marietta, Georgia.

> Potential captain( and last senior standing) of Columbia’s Division-1 Varsity Cross-Country and Long Distance Track team.

> Founder and writer of a widely popular campus blog.

(P.S. She used my golions freshman pic...can't get better than that hahah)

Poem of the Day: Just ME.

Sup, NLsynergy fans.

Sooo...

I swear I'm not a narcissist; but the Poem of the Day is obviously about me, deal with it, sorry ha.

Love/hate/enjoy/or be annoyed.

but remember....

"It's Friday,Friday, gotta get down on Fridayyyy!"

-L

ME.

I don't care what they think.

I'm sittin' in da back,

( its my favorite seat.)

I run real fast because..

it's just, thrilling.

Ughhh.. WHY does my water keep spilling..

Well, my music is extremely LOUD.

I loathe backstabbers.

I'm terrified of clowns.

I only kiss with passion,

(beneath a webbing of trees.)

I laugh so hard.. I forget to breathe.

My soulmate's eyes are burning , crisp,and tart.

Heck, "Lord of the Rings" movies?!

Bro, I know them by heart!

I often walk and talk aimlessly,

(with no actual place to go.)

And I drive in the summer,

with rolled-down windows.

An unwilling wanderer,

...where is my home?

Yet somehow I've found,

I'm never truly alone.

Try just lying in silence

with someone you love.

Oh, have you noticed the wingbeats of moths

whisper sorta like speckled-doves?

"You day-dream too much,"

people often complain.

But I relish every moment!

My motto?

"Seize the day!"

And even though this is poem is absurdly cliche:

I'm gonna be ME,

and that's... OKAY!

Poem of the Day: "EXPOSED"

Twisted in mournful veins,

molded from bloody pizza-dough;

fondly-thought fingers,

knead a frazzled-heart in bows.

Insisting to beat, hoping to fly,

lost in opaque echos.

See how my lonely ocean-eyes

speak only faded-grays?

My swirling mists formed dripping clouds,

the day you flew away.

My adrenal-summer sun,

married winter's moonlit glow.

Joined for two, revolving-dances:

sloshing smiles, sand, and footprint-riddled snows.

But, my Darling!

Even diamonds can be tarnished

at the touch of it's lover.

As such..you stripped me of my armor;

(my heart's protective cover.)

Two hazel vortexes,

your spiral eyes,

ember-yawning,

(and willowy with drunken-need,)

....gurgle in my blood.

Your love, muddled by your greed.

"Baby, come back!"

I lost you then.

I knew.

My heart's a gutsy racer,

...but it couldn't catch up to you.

Gasping breath flees my body;

it's anxious and congested,

pregnant with my fears,

its perfect-nature: molested.

Panting,

shadows sway,

haunting a lonely door.

His room of moist memories!

(those squirming lights on the floor!)

Silhouettes intertwine

magnetically dancing in a swoon.

They whisper tiny secrets

that glide shyly toward the moon.

We're soul-mates, you see?

( Far from"star-crossed" lovers!)

Our bond is undeniable,

but his cumbersome passions

are smothered.

Too soon,

the sun rises.

(and he fumbles with his clothes;)

concealing the emotions,

he accidentally...

EXPOSED.

Verified Violence.

Once again N lives up to her infamous "verbose" postage...haha some things never change. Anyway,while N has been grinding her nose on the running train, I'm still out of commission; leaving me extremely hyper due to a severe lack of an outlet for my underlying aggression. Yes, aggression. I was unaware, but apparently...I'm aggressive. I've been talking to this guy, (I'm gonna call him "Stitch" because he still thinks my name is "Lilo"...typical), anyway, I we were having a conversation about our likes/dislikes via text. Stitch happened to ask, "What's the craziest or meanest thing you've done?". Ummm, well first of all, I've done way too many crazy things to count..so I texted back, "Umm, define 'crazy' please?And as far as "mean" things I've done....I once told my little sister that the purple jalapenos on our friends' jalapeno plant were grape-flavored. She ate two. I got in huge trouble." Two minutes later, he replied:"Hahahaha whoaaa that's hilarious! Hmmm just tell me something you've done that's absurd or something idk ha." Putting my phone down, I thought about it as I began contemplatively chewing on a slice of orange. Not more than a minute later, my fingers began furiously typing a response, ( unconsciously snickering-silently under my breath (totally un-necessary: I was completely alone.)But anyways: SEND. I said: "Well, I guess the most recent thing happened the other night.." Buzz buzzzz BUUZZZZZZ. Immeaditely, I flipped open my phone, allowing my eyes to race along the screen. "Details please!" he said. Once again overcome with an unheard giggle-fit, the finger-whirring commenced. I said: " Well, every year it's tradition for the seniors on our team to go out "hard" the night of graduation. I had had a bad feeling about going, but my best friend from Texas convinced me to go. Long story short: I tried to beat-up every single male senior on my team and would've done serious damage too, if my friend hadn't intervened haha." SEND. It was a long time before my phone buzzed again. I kind of expected this ha. (I usually scare off guys pretty quickly due to my "intense personality quirks" ha) so I was beginning to think I had just scared him off or something. Fortunately, I didn't. Buzzz buzzz BUZZZZZZ. Open. "This confirms my suspicions." I stared out the window, slightly perplexed. I wrote: "What's that supposed to mean?"SEND.Buzzz buzzzz BUZZZZZZ. OPEN. "I knew you were secretly competitive, violent and aggressive hahaha" Scowling, I replied, "What?!" SEND. New thought. I commence sending another response saying: "I've never done anything even hinting at aggressive around you! What made you think that?!~" BUZZZZZ. "You're eyes are intimidating. Plus, it's always the quiet weird ones you have to watch out for haha." Great. So yeah, I unconsciously send people violent vibes.. ugh just what I need. I promise I'm not an intentionally violent person, though I won't deny I have a competitive streak (go figure).

So.... at this point, you're probably wondering: "What the hell was the point of that story?!" Well my friends, I really don't know...but I thought it was worth sharing in any case ha.

Any-who, I'm currently officially a work-a-holic. YAY. I'm at work all day everyday; and when I'm not, I'm writing and/or cross training and/or in CLASS. With that said, I'm completely and utterly alone pretty much all day, (which means I'm living in my head), so please excuse any ranty/confusing/whoa-she's-on-drugs posts. I'm starving for socialization. Stitch might be visiting this weekend, (but it's really unclear at this point.)

On that note, I'd like to introduce a new addition to "V-Blog": The Poem of the Day. I'm officially establishing this addition to the blog (on account of I'm-taking-an-absurd-amount-of-poetry classes this summer)... in which I'm expected and strongly encouraged to regurgitate multiple pieces of (debatably crappy) poetry a day. Sooo.... might as well share them, right? Haha keep in mind some of them are a little on the "darker side", but some are kinda funny(I guess)...but I'll let you be the judge of that, ha.

Much Love & Cheers.

- L