my roommate has a very contagious laugh

I have positioned the lamp on the right side of my desk to bounce light off the walls so it gently lights the petals of my birthday flowers. It is not lighting anything on my desk - the exact opposite of what it is designed to do. Instead, it is creating patterns and folds between light and dark against the white wall that stands before me. The city is busy, but with sounds of sports cars and sirens instead of the weekend puking and screeches of the puker's girlfriends.

For my english class we had to write an artist autobiography. I received an email today from my professor asking for a digital copy of my piece for future class examples because it "made (her) laugh" and she thought I was a very "advanced and talented writer." Since this blog is all about me, I thought I would promote myself shamelessly with this award winning autobiography about my journey to becoming an artist. (I will warn you that if you are an avid reader of Verbaledudette you will notice a few pieces and parts from previous "coming of age" posts. I did not cheat, I just took my best and put it with some new bests. Get over it.) Also, I promised my Parents that I would send it to them - this is the easiest way to do that (And this way Grandmother can get it too. . . love you Granny!)

The Chronicles of the Sketchily Challenged

            My first image-taking device was a plastic red and yellow, two handled, Playschool, 35mm film camera, received in 1996. Before I could put one foot in front of the other, my nimble fingers knew how to control the shutter release button. The first roll of film developed were artistic blurred landscapes, over exposed close ups of my Mother’s smile, and abstract designs of my Father’s ears.

            I grew up in a home where creativity was just as important as eating your vegetables. In the morning I was awaken by Macy Gray’s classics on the stereo system and put to sleep with Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” vinyl album rotating slowly on the turntable. The hours in between were marked with cardboard finger-painted cars, beaded ankle bracelets, and avenues filled with sidewalk-chalked rainbows. Christmas gifts were macaroni noodle headbands. Valentines had lopsided cut out hearts pasted with glue, glitter, and Goldfish cracker crumbs fallen from my focused mouth. And my family always looked forward to my annual birthday portraits that resembled more of Van Gough without an ear than my Mother with a flower.

            Uintah Elementary School was the only educational experience that promoted fantasy over actuality, through its school colors of neon purple and the unicorn mascot leaping for the clouds on the cover of our shiny planners. Naturally, I was eager to show my school spirit in the state wide art competition. I won first place in fifth grade for Photoshopping my little sister’s face on my old english mastiff’s head. The piece was titled: “My Favorite Things.”

             It was in sixth grade I found love. I spent the entire year with that cute silver point and shoot Canon. We were always together. He never left my hand, practically glued to my palms (except when I was doing the monkey bars at recess.) He captured the awkward moments of our ruling over the students in grades one through five. We documented life as a twelve year old trying to understand the difference between boy cooties and worms, the science behind the kindergarteners having their own playground, and why Mrs. Fraughten’s last name changed every summer before returning for the new year. All these collections, memories, and friends were put into a film for the end of the year talent show. After raving reviews, the thirty-minute movie was played at graduation while parents cried, my classmates giggled, and Canon and I watched our love story unfold publicly.

            After feeling like a star in elementary school, I figured that Clayton Middle School would accept my artistic talents with open and appreciative arms. That was not the case. In eighth grade, Ms. Owen took my final project in her hands. The piece was an oil pastel mountainous landscape with rivers of violets, sky blues, and grassy greens, running through purple tipped cliffs, and beige cumulus clouds. She ripped the piece, slightly off centered, in half. The tattered valley falling to the linoleum as her chapped charcoal lips muttered, “It was a mistake allowing you into advanced art.” As I bent down, my shaking hands grasping the pieces, I decided to go back to photography.

            East High was nothing but locker room make outs, Arizona Ice Tea’s, and Zac Efron enthusiasts asking for a tour of the famous “High School Musical” school. Moral of the story, my dark room developments were not greatly appreciated compared to the latest Justin Beiber break up. Not being able to really relate to the subjects discussed at lunch, I turned to the internet to try and find the perfect school for me once I graduated. In order to find that ideal match I, naturally, Googled my two favorite things: Italia and photography. There, in my search results, listed a school called Firenze Arti Visive. Call it physic powers or an seventh sense, but I knew this my school. I emailed the head of the photography department, with my childhood “hippychics93” email address, and told him that I was interested. Maybe it was the fact that I spelled “chic(k)s” wrong that made him question my talents, but his week late response was a bit reluctant and had a lot of phrases that summed up to: “you have to be over eighteen,” “you have to be recommended by a college professor,” “you have to be a graduate student,” and “I am sorry.” I read these words a few times, let them sink in, ate a few Skittles, and took this rejection as a challenge.

            Four years later, as the thought of graduation was deeply engraved in my mind and senioritis made it difficult to attend classes, I sent another email to Mr. Charles Loverme. This time I did not ask questions, I simply told him the facts: “I am going to attend your school and you will benefit from having me in your program.” The next day my inbox held a little number one with a reply. All it said was:

Send me your portfolio.

- Charles

Immediately I assembled every photograph of flowers, dogs, my little sister, and my grandmother in standard jpeg form.

            I did not hear from the school of my dreams for two months. February 4, 2011 at sixteen hundred hours military time, I received an email of acceptation into Firenze Arti Visive in Firenze, Toscana, Italia for the fall semester of 2011.

            Before I moved to Italy I had never been on my own. I had not been to camp and I rarely had sleepovers, always making up excuses on why I could only stay late or calling my Mom in the middle of the night to pick me up. I graduated from high school and leaped into a surreal experience. I went from always holding my family’s hands, to flying my way to a foreign country where I did not know anyone, the language, where to go, or what to expect. I was pushed out of my comfort zone. I was scarred, but never did I ever regret doing it.

            Italy changed my life.

            Of course the culture and aspects of a foreign country were striking and eye opening, but suddenly I was forced to make decisions between good or bad, motivate myself to succeed at school, fix my own meals, and wash my own clothes. It sounds silly, but I was forced to grow up. Forced to experience. Forced to find out who I really was. In Italy I realized what mattered, what made who I was, what I wanted to be, and how lucky I was. I discovered, in a school with only two other students, that without art, I would not live a satisfied life. It was in Italy that the burning passion to pursue photography was fueled by hours of film development, one on one harsh critiques, and pools of tears large enough to flood the Arno River.

            When you are little you talk about what you want to do when you grow up. You draw pictures of your dream room in notebooks, you plan your prom dress, go from wanting to be a princess, to Hannah Montana, to a teacher. Then one day, you realize that you REALLY can become anything. I cannot tell you the exact day I figured out that I could be a photographer as a career, but I can tell you that once the seed was planted in my head, I could not stop feeding it nourishment. I kept telling myself the negatives: the lack of pay, the uncertainty, what will people think of you choosing art as a job? Will they think you took the easy way out? All of those are still in the soil of my ambition, but they are pushing me harder. Prove them wrong. Be happy every time you go to work. Put your best out there. Make someone notice. That small seed that once sat in the back of my mind is now a tangled vine, large and ever growing. Consuming.

            That vine has now stretched from smoggy Salt Lake City to foggy San Francisco, where I am 

studying editorial photography at the Academy of Art University. I sit in class today, a vanilla latte in 

my left hand, and remember that old red and yellow toy camera.  Since then my cameras have grown in 

size and complexity, explored cities, captured memories, endured fears, provoked and promoted 

happiness, and helped develop a profound passion. Photography, for me, is more than a hobby . . . it is 

an obsession filled with deep desire and ardor. I aim to use my photographs to please the eyes, intrigue 

the senses, and inspire reaction, while forcing the observer to question emotions. I am hoping to 

eventually work for Rolling Stone’s Magazine and shoot album covers for my favorite musicians.


Hopefully my English teacher was not the only one who enjoyed that as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you are a follower of my instagram (@audreyrotermund) or foresquare, you may have noticed that I have been quite the concert whore. Like seriously, I have been going to at least one show a week all thanks to the free tickets I have been winning. Most of the shows I have won have been decent, a good time, enjoyable. BUT the adventure I took Kayleigh to this last week was hands down the best yet. I am pleased to annouce that I walked away with not only a handful of images I snuck from the balcony (even though they said no photography.. hee hee) but also three new favorite bands. Ladies and Gents: please check out "Dream Tiger," "Astronautalis" and "Why?" I do not know where they have been all my life.

Have a wonderful evening. xo

west coast

I am never going to complain about having two roommates ever again. The girl who just rode the elevator with me lives upstairs in a room with seven other girls. SEVEN. There is nothing that is even slightly okay with that.

Anyways, I am back in San Francisco. The weather is simply lovely – a little rain in the morning, sunshine in the afternoon, sweaters and fog all day. Perfecto! It is almost like I have never left. I have finished my first week of classes, all of which I am incredibly excited for. Let me lay them out for you.

My first class had a few familiar faces and seemed like a calm environment – the perfect place to focus on the fundamentals of Photoshop. Then, like a jack in the box, a Canadian with a mint addiction came leaping in the room and did not stop smiling and making dry humor jokes. This man is my teacher. At first, I was a little hesitant. Bouncing guys with overly wintergreened breath are not usually something I would like to hang out with for more than three hours, but since my sister is Canadian, I will give him a chance.

Composition for the artist is taught by a young blonde girl who read way more novels than cosmopolitan magazines. She is sweet as can be, but a little on the plain side for an art school. (Do not think I am judging – if you do not look like an artist here, you are not one. Which would make complete sense with her because she in fact is not an artist, but rather a writer about art. Hmm.) This class is going to be a breeze. I may not spell anything correctly, but writing is so easy for me. And the assignments will be beneficial: artist statements, written work explanations of my pieces, and so on. My class is filled with many students from not only different majors, but also different countries. It is refreshing to have some “non camera” friends. Different points of view and different accents are lovely.

Tim (my favorite teacher from last semester) teaches Visualization. I have a feeling this class is going to be my favorite. It is all about what makes you want to look at an image. The heart, the eyes, and the brain of a photograph. We get to print our work, critique in a circle, and have a concept journal that we are encouraged to scrapbook in along with writing our ideas down. Any teacher that tells me coloring and stickers are recommended easily wins points. This is my most creative class and for that, I am incredibly excited. Our first assignment is to produce one image that shows “fear.” I would love to tell you my idea, but I have this “fear” of people stealing my ideas. It all stems back to Lauren in preschool. I told her my Halloween costume was a Barbie fairy, and guess who showed up in a Barbie Fairy costume on Halloween? ME and Lauren.. This train of doing the same thing as me and thinking it is their idea has happened multiple times. I just can’t take a chance. Always tell them you are going to be a light bulb or M&M, never tell them about the Barbie Fairy.)

My final class is Quality of Light. First of all, it is in a warehouse like building thirty minutes from my dorm. There is no elevator, but rather ramps that stack up to each floor. In the main lobby there are multiple shiny cars used for flaunting the money of the Academy and of course car design student’s inspiration. I walked into the classroom, it is actually a giant studio (aka photographer’s heaven) and every one is acting like they are in trouble. No one says anything, they look down, and they look scared. The teacher is sitting in front with a weird smile on his face eating a sandwich that looks a few days old. He introduces the class by saying there is three things we must know:

1.     He’s a dick.

2.     He doesn’t give a shit about our opinions.

3.     This class is going to be hard and we will cry.

I seemed liked the only person excited about this challenge. Any teacher that is that honest is going to challenge me. He is going to yell. He is going to ask questions that I wont know the answer to just to see my reaction and scared expression. And he is going to teach me more information in fifteen weeks than any other fifteen weeks in my life. He is going to change my life, I just know it. The set up of his class is interesting, frightening, and forced-learning. Every day we will bring in our assignments and critique them. Same old, same old. Then, he will choose a photographer, who will choose an assistant, who will choose a model. Instead of him teaching the class and techniques, the chosen students will do the demonstration as he guides you through it. HOW AMAZING IS THAT?

xo 

oh hump day.

I am going to start off with the Verbaledudette Gift Guide item Day Three: Turtle Shell Wireless Boombox

I am all about helping the locals, supporting the underdog - you know.. the hipster shit. These guys are just trying to get their product off the ground. You can buy it through kickstarter: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/krissman/outdoor-techs-turtle-shell-rugged-wireless-boombox

Depending on how much you are willing to spend, depends on what you get for your gift. It is unique and fun and something any one of any age would enjoy! : )



Last night I read an article that warned all of San Francisco to prepare for flooding because a monsoon was heading our way. It rained really hard until ten o clock in the morning, then is was dry. No rain, no monsoon. Do you want to know where that left me? In pure disapointment. See, I got this super cool, chic, totally amazing, bubble umbrella (thanks papa) and I have not been able to use it to it's full potential because the rainfall has been meager. The forecaster guy on the news got my hopes up and then washed them away in a matter of minutes! (ULTIMATE SAD FACE.)

Although this did put a bit of a downer on my day, my day was still pretty good.

I did a presentation on Diane Arbus in my history of photography class, and well.. i do not think she really liked it because she did not ask to keep my slideshow and save it on her desktop like she did to the girl ahead of me. BUT give me some credit, I was trying to present something that we watched a twenty minute movie on right before. Everything I said had been previously presented with an older man with glasses and a British accent. I could not compare.

Savannah's Mother sent us a christmas tree to put up in our room to go along with the lights. (photos to come.)

Gabrielle sent me a letter that made my night! It had a mustache in it! And a penny!

To finnish off the evening I skyped with my loveliest of friends Sarah for four ours. This is what we did:

 what did you do with your wednesday night? : )


xoxo

right as rain

I write a lot when it’s raining.

It is just something I do – along with writing in coffee shops, about the coffee shops, while it’s raining.

No, this post is not being written at coffee shop, but it is raining.

So yes, it kind of fits in the theme.

I am sitting in my bed.

For those of you who have just caught on to this sensation, or for those of you who forgot, my bed is located underneath some else (it’s a bunk bed. I’m not literally sleeping underneath someone’s bed) and that bed also occupies a room with three other beds. I am the only one awake, which is a surprise because usually computer screens light up the small corners of the room way passed this hour.

It’s raining outside, rather hard actually. I can tell by the blur of the orange light on the building across the road and can hear the deep sloshing of fast paced vehicles on the busy streets. I wish I could throw all the windows open and write this while sitting in the middle of the room with the only light being the criss cross stripes of light from the windows on the walls.

My roommates do not believe in fresh air.

They also do not believe in opened blinds passed five o clock.

I think I write when it’s raining because the rain makes me nostalgic. It doesn’t make me sad.

 It makes me remember.

Remember the good times, the rough patches, the moments I wouldn’t change anything, the times I wish would have gone differently. This nostalgic feeling makes me feel like I need to share something. I don’t really want to share those memories though. So I come here, to this public domain, and describe in detail the objects around me. (We all remember the coffee garden posts where I pick apart the tastes, the smells, and the sites. Or how about me sitting at the dining room table talking about the lights and how bright they are against my parent’s studious faces.)

Posts like these are not really for you.

They are not informative about my life or the latest tunes those cool kids are listening to these days.

Posts like these are really for me.

They are something that the minute I start to write, usually introducing it with a poorly executed introduction, I cannot stop. My fingers constantly clicking keys, pressing onward quickly, not thinking about what I am going to write next, just writing down the thoughts as they present themselves no matter what shape or form.

My spelling is even more atrocious in these posts than usual. The page of text, first written in Word Document, is lined with red and green squiggles under misspelled words and unorganized thoughts. As my spelling gets worse, my vocabulary heightens and I randomly through in words like “executed” and “atrocious,” These thesauruses like words are often used wrong, kind of like my speech when I am nervous or not thinking before speaking.

It takes longer to spell check the document than to actually write it.

There is no music playing, no headphones on, no bar’s stereo turned up to loudly, but yet a song is tuning through my ears. It’s not a particular artist, chorus or key, but a combination of the rain, the street side laughter, and the quick click of the keys.

I hope my music isn’t disturbing my roommates.

I think this post that was originally brought on by the rain, which brought on the nostalgia, was also brought on by the idea that I will not be home for thanksgiving.

In Italy, I didn’t really notice that I missed it.

Yes, I took in the fact that my entire family was joining together to eat and laugh and unbutton their pants secretly at the table. But I was in a country who didn’t know what the holiday was and the time difference made the at home celebration seem like something that happened while I was sleeping and I just missed it.

That I just didn’t wake up in time.  

Not here. Here I see everything. Plans about where everyone is going and whom they are spending it with. I understand the reasons for me not going home – I don’t have a break from school and it isn’t worth it. But I still feel a bit homesick. I miss the company and warmth my family contributes. Even Skype sometimes can radiate their heat just by seeing their smiles.

Rain is my favorite weather. It is cleansing, simple, illuminating, and crisp. It is new. It is familiar.

I like to write when it’s raining. To me, it is inspiring.

Goodnight/Good Morning.

Have a wonderful Sunday.

I miss you.

Xo 

i am afraid to merge

Where do I start? I am sitting in Sugar Café, two doors down from my apartment, next to a fireplace that some how is lit and flaming over little pebbles that are over glossed in whites and blues. I feel disconnected, which is probably the worst time to write in a public blog, but I can’t help it.

School has been going great. The semester is currently approaching midterms and I can hardly believe how fast two months have gone by. Cliché, but it seems like just yesterday I left my empty room in Salt Lake. Digital photography is pretty basic, but I think I am finally getting a grasp on shutter speeds and aperture. This concept is hard and opposite and is not just common sense like I have been told for the passed few years. It’s amazing that I called myself a photographer before when I didn’t even know how to use manual setting. I was stuck on settings with pictures and I strayed from letters. Boy, have I come far.

Fundamentals of photography is my favorite class, hands down, no arguments. I think it is my favorite because we actually get to create, print, and critique. Some people are afraid of critiques, worry about how to present their art, nervous about what people say, and argue any sort of criticism. Not me, I thrive off of it. I love the thrill received when you lie out those fresh prints, stand in the back as twenty new pairs of eyes glaze and analyze. I actually stand there hoping they say something negative, hoping they have some way to push me, something for me to re think and try again. I like a challenge in my art, but more importantly I like redemption. Our class is working of a “Day in the Life” project. Paired up with someone in our class, our task is to document their life in an interesting way. You know, make breakfast seem as exciting as firefighters washing trucks shirtless. I am working with Jordan, a red haired volleyball playing beauty from Santa Cruz. So far, so good. I had an in progress critique today, which helped generate some ideas to make my collection of five photographs even stronger.

History of Photography is like every history class possible. You pretend that you do not like it, that you dread going, but the entire time you are attentive and listening because it is incredibly interesting to see where your absolute passion stemmed from. Film History is my second favorite class; mostly because I love the enthusiasm my teacher carries with each step. He loves what he does. He is not there for the money (though that may help) but rather he is there to share his favorites films with us and make us connect the themes in the films to our own lives.

I have neglected a little bit of extreme thank you’s. First off, thank you to Aunt Michael for the Wicked t shirt and the New York skyline paper cut out sent all the way from NYC. I wear the shirt all the time, can you say softest shirt ever? Oh, how I am jealous that you got to experience it. I need to give a big thank you to my Grandmother for the little slipper shoe things. I have been desperately looking for a pair of these just to roam around in the dorm with. They are perfect. Thank you to my sister for the constant Halloween goodies and surprises. Thank you to my Mother for the Halloween decorations. Some parents send food, some send money – mine sends bat stickers and paper foldouts. I am so grateful. Thank you all so much for all the fun surprises. I cannot tell you how good it feels to get a package in this lonely city with just the touch of home.

On Friday I have a meeting with some girl named Monica to schedule and register for next semester. I cannot believe it is that time already. It stresses me out. Everything is starting to feel permanent. When I went to Italy, I knew I would come home in four months and never be back (well hopefully one day I will go back, but you get my point,) the University of Utah was the same way – I would be done in a few months. My summer job, I knew it would end. I have not had anything permanent in my life for a while. Everything is changing. I am scared to commit. I won’t lie. I do not know how to explain it. The best way to describe it is I am “afraid to merge” (Less Than Zero, Brett Easton Ellis.) What an incredible opportunity I have to live here, but why doesn’t it feel like home.

I think I am going to stop before it gets dramatic and I start rambling. Have a good night.

xoxo  

time is such a hungry beast

title: "waltz for pony" by boy

I write to you frustrated with the current situation my fellow students have present in a college setting. This last week we received an assignment in my Fundamentals of Photography class.

The assignment was simple: photograph a subject (that cannot move or be moved) in different ways, do not edit, change all to black and white, print a contact sheet with twenty of your best images, print one of those images, bring to next class to critique. There were no hidden rules, confusion in the details, or misleading statements. It was crystal clear. Elementary my dear. It was even printed word for word in full paragraphs on a hand out and in our syllabus received on the first day. No surprises.

Today in class, I was one out of five people in a classroom of twenty who did the assignment.

Out of those five people, I was the only one who followed the directions.

I sat there astonished as the excuses poured out of mouths around me.

“I did not understand it”

“I was busy.”

“I could not get my hands on the paper.”

Silently I answered them all in my head.

What did you not understand? If you were confused, you could have either called one of the numbers of the students in the class we exchanged on the first day, or you could have emailed our professor who stressed the importance of not being afraid to use his email and ask questions.

What exactly were you busy with for a whole week that you could not find the time to shoot at least twenty photographs of any object of your choice? I find this hard to believe because as beginners we are all in the same classes. I have the same workload as you. I had time to spare, even after doing homework for our other three classes, and spend a whole day walking from one bridge to the other. Did I mention I also had time to go to the movies?

I will agree, finding the paper was hard, but with an entire week, a cell phone, and Google, you could have found the paper is six different locations just on Main Street alone. If that wasn’t possible or maybe right now you cannot afford it, you could have dug up that contact sheet previously mentioned and asked a classmate where they got their paper or if you could borrow a few sheets. I know I would have said yes. Maybe you were too busy, that’s what happened wasn’t it?

Seriously, ladies?

We are in college. Not only are we in college, we are all adults. Legal adults. Adults who can take care of themselves, who know we have to pull our own weight, adults who can solve a problem when it comes up, an adult who knows what is expected of them and does what is expected.

Every time you show up to class unprepared you are not only throwing more than two hundred dollars out into the crisp wind, but you are wasting your time. Have you ever thought about how your lack of preparation affects my learning? Have you ever thought about how it makes Tim, your educator, feel that you do not take his class seriously or have the respect to follow through on little things he asks? Do you realize these projects and lectures and classes and textbook readings are not punishment or busy work, but actually have meaning that will help you in what is supposed to be your career choice?

I actually feel bad for you.

After brushing fifteen unprepared students to the side, I focused my attention on those who were prepared. They did the assignment; they deserved feedback, respect – just like I expected to receive in return. Critiques are the best way to learn and to grow. I learn from you, you learn from me. That is why I go to onsite classes and do not just sit home online in my pajamas and a bucket of ice cream.

The first to present set up her work. Her prints were in color. Her subject placed in different places around the yard. Her subject was in different positions. The only part that followed the instructions was that she printed out her work. The class responded to the colors of her work in excitement. They were drawn to it. As my teacher said “let’s pretend that it is in black and white and focus on the image and what she could do better” the next comment to follow was “I really like the colors of the garden and how it brings out her subject.” Did you really not just hear the words that came out of his mouth? He is done with the color. He wants to know about composition, about lighting, about anything other than the color that is not supposed to be there in the first place.

Let’s just say, we never got off the color wheel.

I presented mine next. I was eager to hear feedback. I wanted to know what I could do better, what did they notice that I didn’t, how did they feel, what parts they didn’t like. I put my simple contact sheet up next to my one black and white photo. The response was neither good nor bad. Nor was it helpful. No one said anything without exaggerated prompting from my professor. They commented on my model (good, she deserves to be complimented, she is beautiful.) They mentioned my good use of shadow, but did not know what parts were shadowed or why it was good. It wasn’t like they didn’t like it or they did – they were just dead in the eyes, not involved, not wanting to be there. I took down my photographs with no helpful hints except more variation, which was also a positive reaction to my work.

I did a full circle.

Although no one had anything to say about mine, I was still eager to see other people’s work and learn from their experience.

The pieces to follow were in color, some were moved subjects, some were edited on Photoshop to boost the contrast. None of them followed the instructions like we were asked.

I felt bad as my teacher causally said “did I not say to put them in black and white” or “it’s the first time so I can see why you would make that mistake.”

When confronted about their pieces mistakes, lies fled like rivers. “Is this natural lighting?” “Yeah, it’s outside. I did use a reflector, but that’s it.” I do not know much about using my camera to it’s full possibility yet, but I know that you cannot get flawless skin and backdrops with perfect white/black contrast in natural light in the middle of Union Square with a plastic reflector.

Tim knew this too, but he didn’t say a thing. How could he?

His class had played him.

They took his assignment, his tips, his time, and threw it in the bottom of their though pile.

I would hate to have been him, because I hated being in the class.

I know this is my chance to shine. Be the one who does it right, blah blah blah. That doesn’t matter if no one else can put any effort in.

I cannot imagine thinking how the students in my classes act. If you do not want this, then please do not waste my time. If you are unprepared, do not show up. Your money is getting deposited weather you are there warming a seat or you are home being “busy.” Please, do not come unless your attitude toward the class is positive and you want to be there. The school could care less if you showed up. We are no longer in high school. We pay to be here. We go to colleges and university not because we have to, but because we want to. If you do not want to put a little effort in, get out. It’s week three and you have already proven you do not have the motivation to succeed in this program. Stop wasting your parents money, stop wasting your professors energy, stop wasting my time.

Grow up or get out.

Wow.

I feel better.

Goodnight. 

notes from the non business major in a business class

Just being released for a ten minute break, I watch as the older students of my Foundation of Business class pack up their bags and scurry out of the classroom. Our class does not end for another hour and a half, yet people skip out; leaving the ending result student count as a mere fifteen, compared to the large quantity of one hundred and nine. Ultimately it is there decision and the University pockets their money none the less, but I feel sad for my professor as he gazes out onto a now empty class. I hope he doesn't think they leave because of the content of his class, or his jokes and awkward sense of humor. I hope he doesn't take it personally. 

19.

Thursday, March 1st was Justin Beiber's 18th Birthday.
Thursday, March 1st was also Kesha's Birthday.
Friday, March 2nd was Dr. Suess's Birthday.
But most importantly.

Thursday, March 1st was my 19th birthday, and I have been celebrating ever since. I warn you, what you are about to read will make you incredibly jealous because my birthday weekend was amazing. Let's start with Thursday. I was awoken to fire, filling up my room. The heat was pounding against my drool stained face and the echoing sounds of my Mother and Sister singing Happy Birthday out of tune hummed the room. It was such a sweet surprise, literally. My family brought me a donut in bed, not just any donut, a donut with glazed and then chocolate and then sprinkles and the a candle. We are talking, the king of all donuts. I looked like this kid:

(Please note that this photograph was borrowed from burlingamebarley's photostream and I will return it when I am done. Don't call the occupy website clan or whatever they are called that will get me in trouble.) I received a glitter eye liner from my sister and new outfits from my parents. They are so thoughtful. The rest of the day I went to class, did things that normal people do, and then I was taken out to dinner at Vintos, one of my favorite restaurants, before class.

In film class I watched Moulin Rouge, it could not get any better. And well, it really didn't. See, when I was in class, Utah experienced the wettest snow storm they have had all year (do not quote me on that, I am not a weather professional and I do not have a white blazer to wear when it is snowing.) I came out to find my car looking like this:

Except there was no smiley face and the car was black, not green. Anyways, driving home was scary. My little buggy boop boop is not made for the slopes. Driving down an averagely steep hill, my car lost control. Slowly. But. Surely. I glided down the hill, my foot slamming on the breaks, my heart racing, and my mouth gaping with no sound. The emergency break was pulled, but nothing was stopping. I felt like I was going a hundred mile per hour, roller coaster speed (but in all actuality the boats in Its a Small World in Disneyland move faster then how I was.) I turned horizontal in the lane and stopped barley before bumping the silver four wheeled drive car in front of me. My head instantly hurt and I was shaking. The rest of the ride home was alright, but with a constant fear of loosing control again.

On Friday I had my friend's birthday party thing. It was Tangled theme, because I simply love that movie and like to pretend that I look like Repunzel. We ate, partied, danced, partied, and laughed incredibly hard. I had an amazing night.

Chatting with Saia and Bella. It was such a sweet surprise to see them:) 

A few of the party gang.

Just Dance and sisterly love

The Party Crashers who were such a joy to have around:) 

On Saturday, I had my family party, which was equally as enjoyable. On Sunday, my Father came home for ten hours, which was a nice treat. I really had a great weekend and am thankful for my wonderful family and friends.

Monday was my Father's birthday, Friday the 9th is my Mothers, and the 20th is Gabrielle's! Let the march madness begin!

xoxo

9 days left and christmas cheer

This post had the potential to be a good post, but then Word decided to take extra long on loading, a minute to be precise, so now I cannot say that I started writing at exactly 11:11. Even though I am not starting at 11:13, I will try and redeem some points with what I am about to show and tell.

As you may, or may not, know, this is my final full week in Firenze, Italia. Bittersweet feelings have begun to wound up inside me. I am desperately excited to be home with my ever so sweet family, but I do not want to leave all this magic behind. The rest of my stay is pretty much already planned out. Here is my schedule:

Monday (tomorrow): In the morning, I need to skip my little buns over to the photograph printing palace to get my final prints printed. (I dare you to say that ten times fast.) I went on Friday, but for some reason my thumb drive would not work in their system, so I am going back for round two. After that, I have Italian Language class.

Tuesday: Bright and early at ten o clock I have my final Italian Art History class. This is where I will take the final exam (wish me luck) and say goodbye to the sweetest little teacher ever: Linda. I will miss her dearly. Then, I have my photography final critique, which is a piece of cake. Later that night, Felix and Isabella are coming over for dinner. It is so hard to say goodbye!

Wednesday: I will take my final for Italian Language. I am pretty sure it is going to be a hard one, but I will go in there and do my best. One thing I am positive about is that I will NOT miss Nicola’s teaching, but I will miss his character. What a funny man.

Thursday: If all goes to plan, I will not have a photography class today. It is the pack and clean the apartment day! Woot! I feel like it is going to be emotional. The three of us (Joanna, Rachel, and I) are going to go out to dinner for a little “last supper” kind of thing. It is weird to think I will never see these girls again.

Friday: I have my Cinema final, which should be easy peasy lemon squeezey. (KNOCK ON WOOD.) And then it’s the finishing touches before departure.

Saturday: Everyone leaves. I have to leave the apartment before 12:00 where I will then proceed slowly to my hotel across the river. Becca flies in later that night!!

Sunday: Show Becca my city.

Monday: Show Becca my city and get to bed early.

Tuesday: COME HOME!

What a week to come! Strap on your seatbelts folks. It is going to be a rollercoaster!

Now lets talk about Verbaledudette’s Gift Guide item number eleven: Candiware

This gift is for all the ladies who love food. I do not know about your friends/girlfriends, but if they are anything like me, they love a food experience. And why not celebrate this love of food by wearing it as a beautiful accessory! Did I mention they are scented!?

Where to find this: http://www.etsy.com/shop/CandiWareJewelry

Price: $12.00 and up

Speaking of Christmas! I took a little walk through the city tonight. Every street is lined with lights and decorations, take a look:

The city is breathtaking. It is like walking through a Disneyland Christmas! This has been a productive day for me and I am exhausted. So, now I bid you goodnight! Have a wonderful rest of your evening. I miss you and love you.

Xoxo

lying wide awake in the garden trying to get over your stardom

Have you tried going school shopping yet? It is absolutely impossible. Tonight I aerobic shopped throughout the entire Gateway mall and could not find one damn thing except for a purple water bottle. (I had to get a new one because I had this nice pink one that had stickers on it and was so perfect- but then i put it in the freezer and bottle exploded on me!) It was slightly very depressing to walk into a complete crowded store and walk out feeling like you are the only one who didn't see something to buy and are now officially empty handed except for a water bottle from Dicks (awful name.) And all i wanted to buy was one or two outfits for the first days of school and/or for the She and Him concert on thursday (I want to look extra cute for some reason) 

Next subject to discuss: I can not seem to fall asleep at all the past month. I lay in bed and think of everything and anything and everyone and their dog. It is awful. I tried counting sheep, i tried thinking of sleep- but nothing works. Once i fall asleep i am fine, but that does not happen until three am. 

Okay I am about to do a lame girly thing but i need to for the betterness of my own soul. (that sounded lame) I like this guy. Actually i never stopped liking him since i met him freshman year, but he is older and there is no way he would like me back right? Right- but i cant give up the dream of him liking me back. Anyway. I thought we kind of had something going- at least good friends. We would text constantly and he would say things that made me sure that he was falling madly in love with me, but i guess i misunderstood or was just blinded by his beauty and charm because I think he introduced me to his girlfriend the other night. Kind of really depressing huh? I cant stop thinking about him though.. like i just want him to text me or call me and tell me that the sunset looks beautiful like it used to. I guess i am just dreamer. 

On another sad topic, school starts on wednesday. Senior year. I know i should be excited but i am not. I am actually stressing this whole college thing. I don't know what to do, or how to write a personal statement or what that even is. I don't know how to sell myself (because clearly i cant get a guy to like me back since freshman year.) How do i know what to do? I want to grow up and go to college but i want someone to fill out the forms and get me to where i want to go. Pathetic eh? 

Well goodnight. : ) xoxo