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Stephanie Victoria.
18. Studying Journalism and French.
Love gypsy music and pubs and knowing I'm busy without being able to pinpoint why.

So, I'm reading this great book now: The Anglophile by Laurie Gwen Shapiro. It's hilarious!

Of course I would be reading a book about an American girl who has a serious thing for British men and their accents. Of course.

So, I went with a few friends to see the preview night of Bare: The Pop Opera in its Arizona premiere. It was an amazing show. Obviously, being a theatre kid, in a group with other theatre kids, we spent the entire way home talking first about its most brilliant moments, and then about its faults. It's only natural. But we're all geared up to go again. Maybe being good friends with the producer/lead (playing Peter) will come in handy when staring at our empty wallets, though...

Also, it turns out that the writer of the musical was sitting right behind us. And the director of the show was sitting over to the right of us (he's the guy who's adapting the new version of Footloose to the screen!). It was kind of a quiet, star-filled night in Phoenix, I suppose.

The song that got to me most, though, was "Role of a Lifetime", because it's so relatable to anyone in any situation.

See?:

"So you fill your life with sound,
And if you dance like hell,
You hope you never touch the ground.
What happens when the music stops?
In the silence will he stay one day,
One day you'll realize that these feelings aren't going away
So we drive ourselves insane,
Spinning circles in our souls,
As we dance around and play pretend.
Then once again,
Reprise our roles."

But also, the bit towards the end of the song, "Auditions", where Peter, Jason, Nadia, and Ivy are all sort of singing to themselves is so, so beautiful.

Love.
S

So, I leave for Thespian Leadership camp tomorrow. It's going to be brilliant; I haven't seen so many of those theatre kids I practically live with during the school year in ages, and I'm pretty sure we're gonna rock Heber. I'm ready to get a little ridiculous ;)

Fellow Thespians, hear me roar.

Yep, and this one too. I miss them a tonnn.

This is my favorite picture ever. We kind of look like we're modeling :) :) :)

And my jeans look like someone's taken a bite out of them =P

It's funny how you can be so cruel to someone until something terrible happens.
It's funny how you'll be heartbroken only when you lose something you never really wanted when you had it.
It's funny how quickly things can go back to normal.
It's funny how what seems so important now won't matter in a year.
It's funny how scary forever seems.
It's funny how good we are at compartmentalizing and pushing things aside until they bite us in the ass.
It's funny how logic and sense are lost along with your heart, but gained back along with your pain.

And funniest of all, is how none of this is funny.

I could use another cigarette...But don't worry Daddy, I'm not addicted, yet.

- Sara Bareilles, "Come Round Soon"

Something I've realized more and more lately is that there's a certain romance to being self-destructive. To living for what will make you happy for just that moment, even if it means a harsher pain later on. I suppose it's to be expected. The only people left around to tell about their problems are usually those who've overcome them and can't help but leave an optimistic footprint on the stories.

A good example would be my best friend. He broke up with the person he was in love with because that person just wasn't getting how he should have been treated for the year they were dating, and less than 24 hours later, he's on the phone, upset as all fuck, trying to explain his way out of every time he was ever upset by blaming logic. Logically, he should have been upset all those times, so he became upset.

And in the end? He came to the conclusion that he'd rather be stupid, naive, and happy, then stay away and just be content.

It made me think about myself. What am I stupid enough to ignore in the short term, though it's screwing me up in the long term?

Food. It's funny, because sometimes it feels like I'm looking down at everything that's going on. I see every little averted gaze and lip twitch that everyone in my vicinity makes; I seem to know things about people before they know them about themselves, and because of that, people seem to trust me and fill in whatever blanks I needed filled in for a crystal clear picture of my life and the company I keep. We joke about it, always saying how, if I were ever mad enough at someone, I could ruin them with a keyboard and a few minutes on Facebook, but it gets to me sometimes. It's a lot of baggage to carry around. Mine, along with every person who's ever opened up to me about some really serious stuff. Suicides, drugs of all kinds, burning, cutting, rapes, alcohol abuse, physical abuse...it goes on and on and it's all cloaked under the beautiful facade that is this town.

Experiencing all of that, sometimes I feel like I'm invincible, I guess. I'm not proud to say that there are moments when I think that I really am better than everyone else around me. Then, I'm fucking untouchable.

But most of the time, I'm not. Here's where the food comes in. I guess that's my vice. I'm so attached to the momentary contentment that I feel when I'm eating, that just for a little bit, I forget that I probably shouldn't be. I guess that's why people smoke, drink, fuck. It's so worth it at that very moment. And the next? It's the worst feeling in the world: a tawdry mix of regret and guilt that dampens your smiles and stutters your conversations.

And for what? From this point on, there are two types of people. Those who can convince themselves to stick a finger or a toothbrush down their throats and those, like me, who cannot, but deprecatingly think about how they wish they could. Maybe it's better that I can't. Maybe my problem will be less dire in the long run because of it.

But fuck that. Because it was not thinking about the long run that got me into this mess in the first place.

So, here we are. Rockstars recount their tales left and right. Child celebrities grace the pages of tabloids with issue after issue. Everyone's a fucking martyr these days. "It was terrible...the most difficult point of my life, but I'm okay now! Life is great!" And it starts to seem like everyone gets through it in the end. But I guess everyone forgets that for every born-again alcoholic, every previously suicidal person, every former drug addict, there are thousands that were miserable and in pain until they died.

The least we could do is stop acting like the spoiled rich kids we are in this town and put a rest to the weekly suicide threats "because we're just so miserable". I feel like it's gotten to the point where people don't just get upset anymore. It's constantly misconstrued as being life-threatening. Content to suicidal, zero to sixty in two seconds.

From life experience, those who've committed suicides have been the least likely candidates. They haven't found the life of a tortured soul romantic and henceforth haven't thought to publicize it. I guess that's why everyone's always shocked. The child being buried isn't the one who cried wolf time after time; it's the one who befriended a wolf that shouldn't have been trusted and succumbed to its hunger in a moment of weakness.

I've found myself, lately, craving more and more those things I got my hands on so easily in France. After all, there's something so romantic about kissing a girl in a pretty dress, loosened all over by some vodka and a few cigarettes, isn't there?

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