Meh, break.

I'm kind of over break right now. I enjoy the Christmas parties, but my parents are stressing me out. I just can't wait until my online traffic school is over. Then I'll have less to worry about, hopefully. And then I won't feel obligated to my parents. I'm glad I can finally pay them back now.
I just wrote an entire long post and then my internet was dead so it was deleted. Don't you hate it when things like that happen? I feel like my time was wasted away. But it wasn't really wasted, I guess it was good personal reflection. Plus, I think I'm still a little buzzed, so I was just rambling about visiting Leslie in Berkeley (super fun! she bought me a hookah for my birthday! we smoked it! I slept over and interesting things happened with her cute guy friend, hooray) and about my parents being retarded and rude to me.
I swear, my family is quite dysfunctional. Why won't my parents get divorced? I feel like they both would be a lot happier.
I just think they're afraid of change and growth. Well, my mother has just settled for disappointment, while my father is afraid of change. This is the bond that holds them together. Plus money. My mother would be very financially unstable without the financial security my father brings.
Sigh.
I hope to never become trapped in a loveless marriage, bickering and name-calling my partner, resenting their presence, and treating them as more of an enemy rather than a loving ally. Please, please, please. This is why I fear marriage. And commitment, to an extent.

Recipes for Successful Nutrition and Delicious-osity (Part One)

I love making up recipes with ingredients that just seem to kind of go together naturally. Sometimes they don't even seem like they'll jive together but they totally do. It's all a part of getting really bored with certain repetitive foods, trying to dress up foods that I always have lying around, and trying to be healthy by avoiding dry and packaged foods...

I think I may start posting a couple of my recipes on here, just so I can remind myself what they are so I can try them again if I ever want to repeat them. Odds are, they're delicious! At least, to me. Yes, they may have already been made somewhere online or in someone's cookbook... but I've never had the pleasure of discovering them myself. So it feels like I did.

I made a delicious quesadilla today, but it had only one typical ingredient of a quesadilla.. the tortilla.
I normally HATE quesadillas (think they're TERRIBLE!) because of all the icky, fake, goopy, sticky, messy cheese in the center of it. It makes me want to hurl. But last week I was forced to eat a quesadilla with some nicer quality cheese and chicken at a party... and I got to thinking that they weren't really all that bad.

Melissa's quesadilla for those who hate quesadillas:
One tortilla
A handful of feta cheese (mine comes in little crumbly chunks)
A handful of sliced tomatoes (about a half of a tomato)
Lettuce (preferably shredded)
*optional* Chicken or other meat (I didn't put any in myself, but I imagine it would be pretty tasty)
Shred lettuce and chop up tomatoes anyway you like.
Stick feta cheese and tomatoes in the tortilla. Fold tortilla over the ingredients.
Roast the tortilla with feta cheese and tomatoes (and meat, if desired) over the stove quesadilla style. When the feta cheese has melted a lot but not to a sticky, goopy mess take it off the stove, open it up, stick the lettuce in, and enjoy!
I find it is a panini-like quesadilla that's not actually a panini. And isn't as spicy. It's actually pretty nice and sweet, especially if the tomatoes are ripe. Mmmm. And I don't even like tomatoes normally either! So this meal was a win-win.

Healthy tip: Eating more tomatoes boosts the Lycopene in your body. Lycopene is good for you because it reduces inflammation, fights zits, and creates healthier, clearer skin. You can also rub raw tomatoes on your face to clear pores, allegedly. Perhaps the phrase "tomato-face" could become a good thing in the future!

I am a book.

You rifle through my pages, soft like silk, desperate to discover and curious to uncover.

Quite a few have casually flipped through, adding a slightly worn crease to my edges, and a curvaceous bend to my spine. I do not mind these casual readers, for they have turned my pages all the same, but the memory of their vaguely interested touch fades quickly. But their coffee stains do not fade as fast, leaving little dark brown residues that blot out the corners of words, misconstruing my witty dialogue.

Therefore I do not like to be considered light reading. This is not to say that you do not want to read me for fun, for my text is chock full of wondrous and amusing situations and ideas. You just might have a bit of trouble getting through the dramatic sections, or you might be afraid of committing to so much reading, regardless of the pace you choose. Perhaps you might hear about me from a friend, check me out, set me on your nightstand for a couple months, and nothing ever happens besides a few short, sleepy encounters because you never find the time and effort to read me. So if you decide to pick me up for a short while, you may find yourself returning me to the shelf if the endeavor is too much to handle.

To read me chapter by chapter is to devote countless hours to an endlessly increasing novella, fresh pages stacking up by the day. You are never obligated to read me, for you will read for your own pleasure, but once I’m in your hands you will find you cannot put me down, especially in the dark hours of the night, reading me under the covers by the light of the moon.

I am constantly growing and changing, adopting new characters, scenarios, scandals, values, conflicts, ideas, and resolutions. You may find yourself addicted to the interactive adventure of reading me. And you don’t even have to read my story in sequence to enjoy its magnificence.

Those passionate for my material find my prose engaging and my plot thick with tremendous twists and turns. The main heroine of my story is decidedly real, analytical, curious, beautiful, and humorous, but quirky and unpredictable. Chances are you’ll find yourself identifying with her. And you’ll want to read her regardless because she’s so goddamn intriguing.

A quick word to the wise: Be careful you don’t turn a page too fast or in a haphazard manner, or you’ll get cut. At an awkward angle, my seemingly innocuous paper can make you bleed. You’ll wonder what you did to deserve such a wound. And I don’t want your blood on my pages. I’m not that vindictive. But I also don’t want to be treated with disrespect.

I just want you to read me if it brings you pleasure, great joy, and fulfillment. Perhaps my story will even help you figure out your own life and philosophies. Maybe a passage or two of my prose will resonate so strongly with you that you consider them quotes to guide yourself on the path of life. Maybe I won’t mean anything to you. But with the chance that I could give meaning to someone’s life through my own existence, I am here, an open book resting on the shelves of the world’s library.

This weekend has depressed me greatly, except for floatopia. Man.
Erika's been avoidant, and I really wanted to hang out with her for her birthday. Oh well.
I've been drunk and high, sure, but it's just kind of lame. I want excitement and fun. Please world.
Thank you.
Beach with Felicia tomorrow morning and then I'm going to watch the NORML (pot club) joint rolling contest with Natasha. Hopefully it all works out. :)
Then run with Nanor!
At least I have a running partner :P And some good friends. Just Erika's kind of bothering me. Bleh. Tonight was lame.
But Floatopia was fun with Kristin. It was great to see the ridiculousness of it all. It was a fuckin' spectacle. Titties poppin' out of teeny bikinis, floats filled with drunkards littering the beach and ocean, tiny girls carrying giant bottles of wine, beer cans littering the waves, men with hot abs and men in terribly tiny speedos, the alcohol-poisoned getting airlifted and wheeled out, hot guys carrying hookahs, rampant seduction and dry-humping in rafts on the beach... I saw it all..
My god.
What school am I at? Oh yeah, the University of Casual Sex and Beer. Today reminded me of that truth.
Also, there were SO MANY PEOPLE THERE! It was an insanely huge event.
I'm going to bed now, hopefully. Laters! <3

I don't use this anymore. But I should.

In an effort to release cooped up emotions and tension and all that bullshit, I may use this goddamned thing again. Even if it's just to write a sentence or even a phrase. Cause you know, sometimes I have little phrases and ditties that get stuck in my head that I really want to write down, but then I'd have five hundred little pieces of paper that begin to mean absolutely nothing to me when I find them again, 2 years later. Oh wait. I do.
Fuck.

I haven't written in this since the first night of college. My god. Maybe I got over it.
Maybe I was tired of being melodramatic. Maybe I didn't have time. Maybe I was tired of writing.
Pshh, filthy excuses.
I'll do it whenever I feel like. It's my life.
That's right.
It would be a good place to just put all that stuff swirling around in my head down again, instead of thinking of perfectly inappropriate/appropriate facebook statuses that have to be a little vague unless I want to offend someone or reveal WAY tooooo much personal information.
Usually, what I feel like revealing to the world, when I really shouldn't, is stuff about my own personal fetishes like dabbling in slight masochism, how I really feel about ex-boyfriends, detailed explanations of sexual emotions, all of my emotional ups-and downs...
I'm not normal, am I? It's okay, though... right, world? You can certainly take it, you've taken a lot worse.
College has fucking changed me, hasn't it? Also, the addition of three nights of little sleep and the rush of caffeine from a diet coke has added an interesting bite to my bark.

Good night, moon. I have much more outlining to do for my joke of a psychology class. It's okay. I plan to wing it anyway :)