Giving my life to The Only One who makes the moon reflect the sun.

I'd have already payed my way through school had I received a dime each time a guy said to me "You deserve better." As long as you live, don't ever tell me that. "You deserve better." is most certainly what accompanies me to dinner on Friday nights as the servers gaze at me with sympathetic eyes. "You deserve better." shares a blanket with me on the beach. "You deserve better." danced with me at Prom.

As of yesterday, I officially signed my paperwork for health care and feel pretty accomplished. Granted--I've a few extra deductions being extracted from my check--but I now have medical, dental, and vision coverage with Blue Cross and Blue Shield of Florida. Additionally, I'll be a full-on teacher next year (as opposed to an ASSISTANT teacher) with my own classroom (again), and an assistant of my own. I'll still be teaching Pre-K until I receive my Bachelor's. Once I graduate, I'll look into moving forward and possibly taking a break to go into Ministry and/or work with a missionary team. I'm living for Christ, and taking things as they come while remaining optimistic about my future.

head-tilt

see more Engrish

. . . brown-eyed babe.

Mini shoot with my lovely niece--Diamond Love.

accomplishments, yes.

So, I'll soon be buying a bikini to wear to the beach and not feel self-conscious in. Or really, I'm at least going to try and let the negative thoughts and feelings about my self-image slip into the Atlantic. Proud of myself for losing twenty pounds. :)

Dear diary,

I hate when my stomach gets all non-menstrual crampy and all I want to do is go potty but can't. This morning I woke up at the opposite end of the bed in last night's clothes with terrible stomach pains. I need to use the bathroom. I need to bathe. It's gross, I know. Oh, well.
p.s. At least my pits are never wild and don't smell. I'm not that gross. Oh! And I've got this thing about good dental hygiene and clean ears.
p.s. squared My mom just left and that means I get to try and go in her bathroom. Later.

Jogging and speed-walking have officially become alternate forms of therapy, and the free-flowing endorphins keep me going. Never dreamed I'd be regularly working out six times a week.

obligations

I know I'm set to get my degree and such--which I will--but I've never been the best student. I'd skip, get easily distracted, and lose interest. I don't need a Bachelor's degree to remind me that I'm good at what I do, but am ultimately obligated to earn one. One of my prayers is that I finish swiftly and speedily. I'm needing to move forward, and can only do so upon finishing this task.

Thoughts pre-workout

Boys:
Males look better with healthy, sexy, meat on their bones. Muscles don't particularly enthrall me, and gym buff meat-heads are yuck. Healthy-looking frames, good hair, pretty teeth, pinch-worthy cheeks, and small fat rolls are downright hot. Let me pinch some fat. Mmm. Watches worn on the right wrist make my left eye twitch. Semi self-conscious behavior would probably turn me on if I weren't so Angelic and Godly, and actually got turned-on.

Marriage:
I was once engaged and unhappy. My ex didn't want me to work, offered me the world, and tried to stifle my independence. It was both awful and hilarious. I'd probably not want a diamond ring upon engagement and opt for something significantly more subtle. I'd probably want to tie the knot in a courthouse in jeans in the middle of some random week. I'd probably spank my future husband for rude behavior and chase him around with a foam sword if I chose to marry, and weren't soon to become a nun.

Love:
Love probably exists. In fact, it does.
As long as God remains, love will too.

Lots of great things happening for me at work (surprise, surprise). My students are amazing, and I'd adopt all of them if I could--though, I may be looking to adopt [one] in five or so years. I wanna go all Angelina Jolie on somebody's third world country . . . or perhaps my very own ridiculously rich one. Anyway; I've been harassed by Justin Corvasce long enough, and am giving anyone leeway to look him up and send kind words. Here's a peek at our last exchange of thoughts (once he learned of my OkCupid):

Justin to me: Oh my gosh, no! (sarcasm) Like I said.. you are a joke. You act like you are still a teen. If you didnt care so much you shouldnt reply. And, what you said is so ridiculous..it's distgusting. You are a shitty person.

Response: A "shitty" person to someone like you--an offensive, obsessive, stranger--yes. The problem stems from the fact that I did not cut ties with you from the beginning, and proceeded to add you on facebook. If there's one thing this ridiculous scenario has reiterated, it's simply that I cannot try to be some type of friend to everyone. Furthermore; just because your stupid opinion holds zero weight, doesn't mean I won't rise to my own defense in lieu of your string of painstakingly lame-ass insults. Get over yourself, and move on.

He originally called me a "joke" because I frankly spoke of no longer wanting to meet him. He remained sexually inappropriate, and made me uneasy--I'm not going to meet a sex-hungry freak. He also eventually became hostile and scary, and wouldn't stop messaging me. I've blocked this man on three different websites. I wish he didn't live nearby. Not far from involving family and cops. My fault for being too friendly and trusting.

p.s. Constant personal attacks display weakness and a seemingly general inability to methodically win an argument. Rise above, people, rise above.

I'm confused

These efftarded IM conversations are brought to you by OkCupid:

wow you are only 22?

[5:21:17 pm]greenmeister79:even 40 year old Women cannot sometimes lack the maturity that you seem to display at this young age

[5:27:58 pm]hiyosilveraway:Thanks, kind sir. (not that above sentence was worded correctly)

[5:28:22 pm]greenmeister79:jeesus..did you just "sir" me

[5:29:00 pm]hiyosilveraway:I do believe so.

[5:29:25 pm]greenmeister79:bad girl! am gonna spank you for that

[5:29:27 pm]greenmeister79::)

[5:31:21 pm]hiyosilveraway:Um, no thanks.



May I get your honest opinion on something? If not its ok

[6:13:15 pm]hiyosilveraway:Okay

[6:13:50 pm]bsktballer357:doe senis size matter?

[6:14:03 pm]hiyosilveraway:What's a senis?

[6:14:13 pm]bsktballer357:penis

Tabasco

I don't think a woman should be frowned upon for wanting to experiment with another woman.

censorship v2.0

I really need to stop cursing when heated, because Jesus probably didn't.

icky, icky, poo.

I've got what feels like an upper-respiratory infection, and am wishing I didn't have to wait until mid-September for health insurance (I mean, I'm still thrilled about it . . . but dang). My lungs are seemingly harboring nasty-tasting bouts of PHLEGM, and the hacking all but completely robs me of sleep--that and the stuffy nose, sore throat, chills, and fevers. I NEED AMOXICILLIN . . . even though it makes me run to the potty.

reboot

Work's been great, thus far, and there are lots of fresh faces. I've several new teachers to work with in the Pre-K department, and have enjoyed further getting them acquainted to New Frontier. I'm hopeful that we'll thrive as a team, and look forward to an exciting year. I do miss Chris Kelly, though. I mean, seriously, even I secretly considered him eye-candy. I'm typically not (as in, at all) into muscle-bound dudes of any kind, but the Denn John Pool trip caught me off guard. He should have kept his darn shirt on.

shiny, happy, fits of rage.

I see the confederate flag way too often for my liking around these parts. That and monster trucks. Muddy, backwoods, monster trucks.

"will sing for coins."

I really wouldn't mind finding someplace to sing regularly on weekends for extra money. A sista's gotta finish paying her way through school.

"When I jerk away from holding hands with you, I know these habits hurt important parts of you."

In the mechanical world of "online dating," I'm prime rib surrounded by voraciously-ravenous vultures. "Searching" for a mate personally feels unnatural, and I simply don't comfortably know how. In light of the realization that I may very well be alone for the rest of my allotted Earthly time, however; I went ahead and gave a couple free dating websites a whirl, and signed up under the moniker 'hiyosilveraway'. As a result of the former, I subjected myself to two inboxes full of incompetent poor grammar, opposing beliefs regarding how to get to Heaven, ignorance, and uninteresting bouts of information. PlentyOFF-ish was downright frightening, and OkStupid (though equipped with more frequent attractive faces) is nearly as discouraging. In the midst of the hard work and seemingly-endless "searching," I've become jaded and indifferent. Additionally--not a one supposed potential seems to accurately grasp my complete need for friendship before the possibility of anything more, and it's disheartening. I'm not going to positively respond if you're a complete stranger telling me how sexy you think I am, nor will I particularly care to be your friend. The majority of nearby "men" I've encountered also consider pre-marital sex a healthy requirement for romantic relationships, and I currently do not. Knowing it's right upon the onset of stopped time and going for it is one thing, but expecting it after a few months is another. Above any other personal opinion regarding sex, I think it indescribably sacred and emotional. I am aware that roughly ninety-five or so percent of twenty-somethings are doing it, but I am not roughly ninety-five or so percent of twenty-somethings. I am a girl--tightly-grasping onto remained remnants of a possibly-skewed notion of true love, and thoroughly hoping for a win--whatever acceptable way that happens.

Haha, I found this amusing: http://www.okstupid.net/

I know what love is not.

Don't ever let a guy pressure and guilt you into being felt up to the point that your natural curiosity seals the deal. That is not love, and you are worth so much more.

guilt

So, today, mom sent me and Bianca to Twisty Cone to get her and Roger some frozen goodies. Upon handing me their written order, she suggested I get something for all the hard work I've been doing. Now I usually turn ice cream down anyway (in lieu of the intolerance), but not this time. I ordered creamy vanilla ice cream wedged between two medium-sized chocolate chip cookies, and ate about half of it. Now my stomach is gassy, and all I can think about is jumping on the treadmill. I'm ashamed of having consumed such a delectable treat, and want to burn it off. I now know that the key to weight loss and maintenance is to burn more calories (or just as much) as I consume, but remain leery of unhealthy foods. I no longer see fattening treats as a viable option to fill voids, and don't want to ever retreat to old emotional-eating ways. Snacking was the coping mechanism I knew I needed to change, but now I'm looking for a happy medium. Some of the best advice I've ever received is that it's alright to splurge, every now-and-then.

classic

free-associative thoughts, and such

More than ready to delve into the phantasmagoric world of novice photography, and totally itching to take a couple classes. I know nothing about photography, and want a Nikon D3000. Can't wait! Work starts back up on the 16th, and I am pretty eager to get back into the swing of things. I'm hoping to stay with mom or grandma (preferably mom, as I HATE living in Kissimmee, Orlando, and St. Cloud) and putting thought into doubling my car payments to be done in half the time. My car is great, but currently hinders my ability to seek out and rent an apartment on my own. I could do it with a roommate, but I've yet to encounter a decent potential. There's great difficulty in finding a responsible adult (whom I can trust) ready to move on in with me. I'll be re-enrolling for a class or two come January, and won't be stopping until I receive my bachelor's. I've decided to finally major in Elementary Ed. (and will later gain certification in the Secondary sector [preferably English]). While in school, my place of employment--New Frontier Academy--will give me the experience and student teaching I'll need in order to venture out and find a public school to work for. I honestly never thought I'd be making such dashing money (with benefits) at such a young age, and am more than thankful to God for that. He's answering my prayers with time, and is allowing me to gain complete independence. I must have things together in order to function as I eventually want to, and can no longer postpone my progress. Once school and my time at New Frontier Academy are over, I'll probably be looking to move to the Midwest. God willing, I'll find a good public school to work for (I've already some in mind) a suitable apartment [and, later,] home (OVER THE MOON about potentiality to HOUSE HUNT in a cityyyyyyyy). Sometime after that, I'd like to go into ministry and travel certain parts of the world to do some missionary work and teach whatever else. Grad school is also a goal, but it's all about the baby steps.

p.s. losing ten pounds has been one of the greatest things I've done for myself in a while, and I feel FABOSH! It's always good to be lean and healthy, and I'm doing it to better suit my frame. Thank. You. Jesus.

So, I've realized

That 'Stayin' Alive' by The Bee Gees is thoroughly my lifelong theme song. I've others, of course, but this particular song follows me everywhere. The beat matches my stride, accentuates my swag, and immediately forces others nearby to feverishly dance a perfectly-choreographed dance routine with me.

girls do fart.

sometimes all day, actually. they also poop, and I have to at this time.

"When I get that feelin' . . ."

I never went to bed, and that sucks, but at least I had my sister's flailing limbs and sleep-TALKING to keep me company. As I lay here, however, I have just finished listening to Marvin Gaye's 'Sexual Healing' and made a discovery. Towards the ending of the song--as it slowly fades out, he blurts "PLEASE don't procrastinate . . . I might have to masturbate." Seriously, Marvin? I mean, I totally get that you were a horn dog, but to express such perversion via song takes it a bit far--even in this sad, twisted era. ¡WEPA!

[baby] barf

I need more showers in my life, I really do. That is all.

Enough is literally enough.

1. I'm glad we've reconnected after not having seen each other since the seventh grade, but that doesn't mean I want to marry--or even date you. "I'd make you my wife if I could" is flattering, but quickly gets creepy the second time around (and once I've already awkwardly laughed the first one off). I'm really not trying to be a nasty wench, but will be straight up with you if I find myself romantically interested. Honesty is one of the sexiest qualities in the world, and I thoroughly admire those with enough backbone to tell me like it is, however, a far-too-forward casual friend makes me uncomfortable.

2. The Elementary days were even longer ago, and it's great to have encountered each other on facebook, but I really don't know when you can visit me. Perhaps the next time you're in Florida? Please don't take my friendly conversation for anything more. There are no underlying meanings within, and I am not trying to lead you on. You can visit, and we can be friends, and we can hang out.

3. "I bet you're really passionate in bed" unsettles me, and I am not intrigued by your overly-sexed tactics. To be completely honest, here, you're crossing a line solely allotted for my husband (if God so chooses to grant me one), and disrespecting me in the process. I will always and forever equate sex with sacred love. You're a dirty-minded buffoon.

For now, and to avoid unwanted conflict, I've left the responses to your messages here for you to take in. I don't think myself better than anyone, but am asking for common courtesy and respect.

If you don't give a flying fark about this blog, I can't say I didn't respond.

v2.0

Within the span of only a few days; I've already managed to lose six pounds. I feel fantastic. Go me.

"See these ice cubes? See these ice creams?"

I remember the day an ignorant white boy cursed me out and called me "nigger-looking" in the same breath. It hurt my feelings, because no one should regularly use the word "nigger" in everyday conversation.

Dear Eve; Thank you, kindly.

The arrival of Aunt Flo marked the end of a trying PMS-infused week, and the onset of two very horizontal days. To be partially bedridden is to writhe in pain until the Advil decides to come along and temporarily numb my contracting uterus.
I want a brownie AND Pizza Hut.

I thank them

for salvaging my sanity:

http://www.sunshoppecafe.com/

Princess Bella . . .

Miley Bear and Teddy's only pup:



Oh, and me being a wannabe hottie:

diaphragm

Sing a song from the depths of your insides.

"come on shake your body, baby, do that conga."

I love Gloria Estefan, mainly because "she was the only Hispanic crossover artist of back in the day," according to my mom and the interweb. As I sit here enjoying my 'Rich Chocolate Royal' Slim-Fast and eight ounces of Florida's Natural brand orange juice, I think of how badly I want a body like Michelle Rodriguez's. With the sound of Estefan's 'Conga' transitioning to Anita Ward's 'Ring My Bell'--and quickly back to 'Conga', again--I spot Snickers the gray poodle feverishly humping his brown blanket in the center of the family room floor (grotesque), and realize that the only way to get in better shape is to stop blogging, and throw on my Chuck Taylors. Wish me luck, blogger. Sayofreakingnara, for now.

"it's in my honey, it's in my milk."

'High Violet'--The National's youngest offspring--is delectably delicious, and I've recently learned to cope with my insatiable need for a daily listen or two, three, four, five, six, or seven. The National was a band I vaguely knew about until having fallen in love with a super-fan. "You just made yourself available," he dedicated, and upward soared my curiosity about painstakingly sad songs for painstakingly dirrty lovers (despite nearly having been unjustly labeled a whore). Thanks, The National, for finely-accentuating the sorrow within my life, and making it feel so damn good.
In case you've yet to notice; my name is Amanda, and this be my venting vault. I've packed away every other post save for what your prying eyes have now (possibly) successfully perused. Enjoy this publicly-private journal sans lock and key.