i miss 308/310.
where if i were mad at grace, i could talk to madee.
and if i were mad at madee, i could talk to ashlyn.
and if i were mad at ashlyn, i could talk to grace.
and if grace were mad at me, she could talk to ashlyn.
and if ashlyn were mad at me, she could talk to madee.
and if madee were mad at me, she could talk to grace.
i mean.
we all talked to each other.
and we never really hated each other.
at least i didn't hate anyone.

i miss that room.
i miss that bed.
and the pictures above the bed that ashlyn would make me.
the pictures that i still have in a shoe box that daniel gave me.

i also miss the shower.
at one point, we had a pizza pan, mugs, and 3D glasses in the shower.
along with our supermarket sized shampoo collection.

ten more miles.
that’s thirty for the week.

what would it be like if all the raindrops were candy bars and milkshakes?
(love)

i have miles to go before i sleep.
and we’ve come to the point in the night where the random food cravings are kicking in.
my car is just across the lot. an empty (hungry) vessel.
checkers, anyone?

miles to go before i sleep.
hours to go before i eat.

i ate breakfast today. oatmeal.
i think people forget how to love oatmeal.
like mary.

i've reached the point in the night where i can say
'it is possible for me to finish this in the morning and not be rushed/stressed/suchas. shut your eyes, child.'
and so i will, okay?

i've started talking to my thoughts as i drift off as of late.
especially in between the initial alarm clock and snooze button alarm.
'this is YOUR time. Your OWN.PERSONAL. Time. Stop worrying about today and ENJOY your ten more minutes of sleep.'
And so I do.

I think the biggest lesson I need to learn is that the internet isn't going anywhere.
if i sleep NOW, i'll have TWICE as much in the morning.

My bed smells like sweat.
(sorry for that)
I rode my bed for ten miles.
Bed?
BIKE.
I rode my BIKE for ten miles. And also yesterday.
I will wash it tomorrow.

Wednesdays are good.
This is a blog post.
What?
Hey, everyone. I'm Blair.
How are you?

you got what you wanted

It's a weird thing. Visiting an old home. Stomping grounds. Play yards. I used to own the place. The lingering scent of pride. A distant melody. Sixteen part harmony. Sixteen part disarray. A family. A friend. A memory.


---


Fancy cheese. Hors d'oeuvres. Classical piano compositions. French films. Swoon.

MARTYR

Justin: Blair Bingham im asking you nicely to please quit commenting on my statuses. i don't recall asking for critiques. thank you

Blair Bingham: It's for your own good.

And for the record: I'm not im.

#thatisall
about an hour ago ·

Justin: thanks haha
about an hour ago

Brittany Bunny: Gosh, wannabe literary, huh?
about an hour ago

Justin: haha. lol. i mean. pisses me off, buy im acting mature about the situation. ya know!
about an hour ago

Brittany Bunny: I feel you my nig...could've swore fb was a social networking site, not dr lebow's class. You handled it in a very mature way. If she decides to take offense in it, that's her problem. Kudos to you.
about an hour ago

Justin: lol. i deleted her.
about an hour ago

Brittany Bunny: Lol double kudos! Delete. Delete!
about an hour ago

Justin: HAHA.
about an hour ago

Erin: You deleted Blair?!?!
51 minutes ago

Justin: yea. cause she was being janky and trying to be my english teacher.
50 minutes ago

Erin: Aw, I love Blair. She didn't mean it, i'm sure.
49 minutes ago

Justin: yes she did. i private chatted with her on skype and she basically told me that it was unprofessional.
48 minutes ago

Justin: im like wtf. am on a freakin job interview or something. i just strongly dislike stuff like that.
47 minutes ago

Erin: Well, I read an article on MSN how future job employers are now using facebook as a way to get to know who they hire before they hire them, so maybe that is what she was getting at. I'm not trying to make you angry, but I don't think Blair meant to make you so mad that she had to be deleted off your facebook. You know her better than I do probably, she was in your class. It just doesn't seem like she would be spiteful over improper grammar.
43 minutes ago

Justin: Well I see it like this. I don't go on her page correcting her, and neither should she correct me. This is my facebook profile and i will write what i want, how i want, and when i want. if i needed her help i would ask, but i don't. if i don't get a job because of my grammar on facebook, then oh well. i don't need anybody to employ me that is worried about my grammar on FB, and not my skills. so. and im not made at you. you are just stating your opinion and i respect that. thank erin.
39 minutes ago

Ashlyn: When you post something on Facebook you are offering it up for judgment.

If you use Firefox it will correct spelling, at least. Just BTW.
13 minutes ago




Here's the way I see it. Justin wants to be a doctor. If I were dying, I would want him to save me without having to ask him. I, on the other hand, want to be a teacher. So I have taken it upon myself to save HIM without him asking.

every light in the house is off
and every thing is not perfect

i'd rather not move

Help.

I suppose if you audition for a movie, you should know what it's about right?

Awake at Stupid o'clock with no one to keep me company.

Future

LIFE PLAN: Open an ice cream shop. Call it The Yard. Specialize in milkshakes. (All the boys will come.)

Conversation from 2007 with Stranger

"Either your boyfriend, fiance, or your husband did something to really piss you off..."
-No. I'm just really tired.
"So you're just going to go home and go to bed?"
-Yeah..
"Well ok. What do you do for money?"
-I babysit.
"You babysit? Awesome. So are you still in school here?
-No. I'm in tenth grade.
"Are you serious? I thought you were 25."
-I'm fifteen.
"Oh gosh. I'm twice your age."
-And how does that make you feel?
"Pretty shitty, actually. Pretty, pretty shitty. I mean I saw you standing there. You're attractive. I mean you've got things going for you. And I'm thinking you are 23, 24, maybe 25... And here you are 15?"
-Yeah.I'm fifteen.



This is why I'm not going to Ole Miss.

want a strawberry?
-no thanks. i'm enjoying my coke and these things.
what things?
-you know... the things.
no mom. I don't know. what things are you talking about.
-the things that come with the coke.
mom. cokes dont come with anyting.
-yes they do! you know. THINGS. like fizziness. and happiness.
those are the things that come with cokes?
-yes. and i enjoy them.

i love my mother.

Hobo 1: "There isn't such a thing as ugly. You've been taught to believe what ugly is by television and the media, but it is ultimately a relation to how you see yourself. If you spend enough time on it, you realize that there really isn't such a thing..."

Hobo 2:"Or maybe you get drunk enough and have sex with a dead animal."


What an enchanting conversation. I love strangers.

Spending my birthday weekend at the lake.
But more importantly:
Spending my birthday weekend in the kitchen.

अ पूर्ली व्रित्तें ब्लॉग इन व्हिच इ कंप्लें फार तू मच फॉर माय ओवन गुड

(I will PAY anyone who can tell my why my blog titles are not in Enlglish.)


Run down of morning:
Wake up to 85 degree heat blowing on me. (Aside from having someone purposefully wake me up for no reason, waking up in a sweat is what pushes me into a fine frenzy.)I suppose roommate/temperature Nazi decided to stick it to me by upping the temperature a solid twenty degrees.

At the same time a loud voice comes on the intercom. "If yo phone don't have a label, please come see me to get a label fo yo phone. If yo phone don't have a label, please come see me to get a label fo yo phone." Not only is this woman waking me up for no reason, but she is also using poor grammar. (I would say I was fuming, but it's hard to fume hotter than 85 degrees.)

I venture downstairs to clock in and hand in my phone. Administration says my dress is too short. (I'm wearing shorts and leggings.If I wanted to be immodest, I'd just wear the dress.) Upon turning around, she calls me back.

"Either lengthen the shirt or lengthen the shorts."

(I am terribly tempted to tell her to lengthen the rules in the handbook, but I refrain. See, my dress was longer than arms length, but she wouldn't take it.)

So I run up the stairs. Change into jeans. And arrive late to class.
I'm not a happy camper.

However. I DID finish my paper. As in I finished it for good. Done. Over. No more.
I can rest easy.

I saw you from across the room in a very expected place
Talking to my parents as if they were your own.
I suppose it's because I view you as a brother.
And for so many months of my life, you were.

(But we were only actors)

I was surprised, really
To see you in a place where you once belonged
I followed you here only to find that you had moved off
Leaving me in this brave new world

(The last thing I heard was that you were a stripper in some gay bar)

You haven't changed at all
Granted, you're taller
And you have more memories now
But I'd say our relationship still the same

(and that's saying something)

I'm not trying to be vulgar, but the "lasagna" that was served for dinner looked like something that would exit the lower end of my body. I am famished. ::grumble/grumble::

I met Mr. Forward tonight. He was wearing sparkles.



me: how was the show tonight?

mr. forward: eh. better than last night. the audience was totally dead though.

me: well the audience is always dead the first night.

mr. forward: yeah. so you wanna make out?

me: ...

"I didn't know the Bible was the best..most..uhh..TOP selling book in the world. That just goes to show how great God is. Amen....(babble babble babble)"


PUH-LEASE!

Jesus belongs in my heart. NOT SHOVED DOWN MY THROAT.

किंग James

I'm watching someone give a powerpoint.
I'm just going to be blunt here.
It sucks.

I give her credit for trying.
But I take the credit back for trying too hard.

I think she has broken every rule possible.


That is all.

तेच-नो

Blog titles are in a foreign language again.
This should be called "Tech-NO"


The only lasting relationship I have ever been able to maintain happily is the relationship I have with my computer. This isn't necessarily a deep relationship: I don't know his past,and I certainly don't care to know about his internal problems. I live in harmony with my computer. He gives back on the exact level that I put in. We are perfect for each other. We've traveled the world together. He's introduced me to a countless number of people. He's the last thing I see before I go to bed.

Everything was great until the unthinkable happened. Last Monday, my lovely boyfriend developed a heart condition. And when his heart is broken, MY heart is broken. I don't know how to function without my Internet. (everyone knows the Internet is the heart of a computer.) One thing led to another led to another and a brain tumor was detected. I didn't even know my lovely boy was in the hospital. I found out by accident when I opened the doors and he was nowhere.

This morning, I went to the hospital to visit my poor baby, but before I could even see him, I was sternly greeted by his father, who happens to be his doctor as well. Father informed me that my lovely computer was in a coma, and he couldn't be saved. But because my boyfriend loves me and genuinely wants to look out for me, he held on long enough to have an organ transplant.

So I carry his insides in an ice chest (USB drive) around my neck. Outside appearances never mattered in our relationship, so I will search diligently until I find a new body. And once I do, I will arrange his organs in the exact location as his old home. Things will be normal again.

____________________________________________

Good gracious. Excuse that. Here's a summary: I had been working for months on a term parer. It was saved to one computer. The Internet on this computer broke. Then the hard drive crashed. Tech guy came in and took the computer on Friday, but ran out of time to do anything about it. He would have swiped its memory, but like I said, he ran out of time. Luckily, I found him this morning and we managed to save my files. He sighed a lot and grunted far too often for my liking, but it doesn't matter as long as I have my paper. And I do.

Hearing Voices

I'm sitting up in bed. Only 12:19 am. Stumbling through the world of blogs, (secretly, we all just want to be loved by a stranger) and I realize something slightly unsettling. I've communicated with so many people via this here Internet. I've read your blogs. I've seen your pictures. I know your child's name, and i know what you serve your husband for dinner.

But I've never heard any of these people's voice.
It's almost as though they are fiction.



I can't sleep. My ceiling fan is shaking the entire room, and every time I close my eyes, I relive the exact same scene.
I have an hour drive to make starting in six hours.

Call me to keep me company; heaven knows I can't make conversation with real people.

Tomorrow I will be playing live music on live television.
I am very nervous.

Church is not a cocktail party.

Wealth of Nations

I'm starting a major film project today.
Wish me luck.

उफ़

Someone PLEASE tell me why my titles are not in English!


Here I am. Sitting in class. Not necessarily working. But I'm minding my business.
When out of nowhere. Principal. Picks up 1284 page hardback literature book and SLAMS it on the floor. Two people were sleeping. Two people still ARE sleeping. Slamming books does nothing but give me a heart attack. Don't ask why Principal is in the room. She just appeared. (Is this room being monitored? Are there cameras in HERE too?) She makes the two girls move to a table in the back of the room (as if THAT would fix the sleeping problem?) and now one is sitting upright. Chin tucked against chest. Asleep. Peacefully. Once again.


(I swear. If another book gets thrown, I will pick it up. And throw it back. Not necessarily at the ground. Although your face DOES seem to get walked on quite a bit.)


When in the third grade, mother was trying to teach me how to spell "principal." I always thought it to be P R I N C I P L E. She kept reminding that the principal is you PAL. I now have reason to disagree.

Have you seen the movie MATILDA?

दरें स्लीप

I don't know how my language was changed. Ohzwell.

In between two exploding alarms this morning, my mind managed to do something pretty amazing. Now a dream really doesn't sound too spectacular, but I'm pretty proud.

See, we're in my house as it is being robbed. It's terrifying. Three large men are banging on windows. Kicking in doors. My mother and I are laying flat on the living room floor in an attempt not to be seen. As the dream rolls along, the men make it into the house, find our family, and yell "We need a glass of water! Our friend ate wasabi peas! His mouth is on fire!"

They weren't trying to rob us. They just needed help.

The reason I'm so pleased with myself is because I am absolutely in awe of my little, broken brain. This was the first complete dream I've ever had. There was terror, there was a sentimental moment between me and my mother, and there was a comedic, happy ending resolution.

Make the best of your situations.
Turn your nightmares into comedy.

I love talk time.

CLICK

Please.
Take some time to click my cornify button.

As many times as you'd like.


(ohmygosh)

September 3

"I'm going to knit a blanket next week.
I'm going to apply for colleges (at least one) next week.
I'm going to bring my trig grade up to a B next week.
I'm going to get caught up in my online classes next week.
I'm going to mail a Christmas present next week.
I'm going to get all of this done next week."


Looking back, I never knitted a blanket, I didn't apply to college until about January, Trig maintained a C (much to my dismay,) Online classes took ages to finish, and I STILL haven't mailed that Christmas present.

This shouldn't really surprise me, but it definitely bothers me. I make too many empty promises.

There was a book drive throughout the month of March for the Mississippi Delta. I had so much motivation. I had so many people who were going to donate. But the last weekend rolled around, and I went to prom, lost my phone, and fell asleep. I keep seeing pictures of people who donated hundreds, no, THOUSANDS of books, and I can't help but feeling like a failure. I wanted to help. I was GOING to help. I have stacks and stacks and stacks and stacks of books in my room that I got out JUST for this book drive.

But the end came, I didn't have the money to ship hundreds of books, and I didn't have the time or energy to pick them up.

We all know this is a lie though. If I really cared (which REALLY, I do,) I would have put my tired prom body in my car, and I would have picked up the books, dug into my VidCon fund, and sent the books up to the Delta. If I could have, I would have hand delivered them a week later, but that wasn't allowed.

I tried. I really meant to do well.
But you know how I am.

Inspiration?

This is the first image on a website of inspiring images. (The website is more of a cluttered desk drawer full of images that every teenaged girl writes in her diary, but secretly, I really like some of them.)

When I see this picture, all I really think about is the Sephora on 5th Ave. that is one block down from SAKS. That place is crawling with young girls who want to smell like a pop star. Crawling with workers who don't necessarily know anything about makeup.

Who needs eight tubes of lipgloss? It all looks the same. It all tastes the same.
My Advice to Girls: Whatever boy you are crushing on does not want to kiss your lips when they feel like honey.

This is What You Get.

A - Age: Seventeen

B - Bed size: Twin, at school and at home

C - Chore you hate: cleaning rooms

D - Dog's name: Chance

E - Essential "Start Your Day": Checking Twitter

F - Favorite color(s): Greens

G - Gold or Silver: Gold

H - Height: 5'7"

I - Instrument you play: guitarish

J - Job titles: Queen Bee

K - Kids: I love them

L - Liquor, Beer or Wine: Wine if I have to choose.

M - Mom's name: Super Woman

N – Nicknames: Bee

O - Outie or Innie: Innie

P - Pet Peeve: Passive Aggressive people

Q - Quote from a movie: "I'm the K I N G of the world."

R - Right or left handed: Righty

S - Sibling(s): A sister. And a whole lot of friends.

T- Time to get up: 7:50

U - Underwear: None if I have a say in it.

V - Vegetable you dislike: None.

W - What makes you run late: The Internet.

X - X-rays you've had: Arm. Brain. Lungs.

Y - Yummy food you make: I make it all.

Z - Zoo animal favorite: Can the Elephant slide count?

Margo.

Soon.

An inbox full of URGENTs, ASAPs, NOWs, ME FIRSTs, RESPONSE REQUIRED emails.

A telephone full of "WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO SEE MEs...WE HAVE THINGS WE NEED TO GET DONE"

Classes full of GET THIS TO ME NOWs.

And a me full of PLEASE GO AWAY.

(in other news, my mom just called to ask what my phone number was.)

______

This was a first.

When you crowd twelve sopranos in a concrete room the size of a walk-in closet and ask them to sing high C's, it's only natural that the sound-waves would move at a high frequency.

We peeled paint off the ceiling with our voices.

Back and Forth

It's amazing how different a place can look in the daylight. I swear the swings were on the other side of the park...

It's really nice to have a friend who can just sit.

Retained.

Retainer in mouth.

I am guilty.

You staring up at me with Iris colored eyes.

Neglect.

New year.

New start.

Retainer in mouth.

I am hurting.

Oh, The Irony

It's been my goal to give as much blood as possible as often as possible.

Be Positive.

I'd like to save a life.

After convincing my mother to donate with me, we hop in the car and race to the front doors.

Mississippi Blood Services close at 2:30.

We pull on the doors. Frown. And as we turn away, a little nurse angel opens the door and invites us in.

They never give you fun Band-Aids when you grow up.

Pricked finger. Curled toes. Wince. SQUEEEEEEEEZE.

"Your iron is too low, sweetie."

-what does that mean?

"It means your iron is too low."

-what does that mean?

"It means you should eat more"

-ha.

She tries again. SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZE.

"Now it's even lower."

Hands me pamphlet. ("Why You Can't Donate Blood" blah blah blah)

"Would you like me to prick your other finger?"

-maybe next time.

January One

After coming home to find an immaculate room, I immediately do some searching. (If everything is off the floor, I won't know where to find it.) Upon my investigating, I found some 4x6 prints of pictures I took in New York when I was 14. It's amazing how many memories flooded my mind. On the bottom of the stack was a photograph of a girl playing the washboard in Washington Square Park. I had no idea who she was, but man. I can still hear her voice to this day.

There comes certain times where I get an itch. This itch wants to find something. This itch wants Washboard Girl.

Google Search: Washington Square Park washboard player darn handy

You'd be surprised at how many empty results come up.

After a good half hour of searching, I see a thumbnail of Washboard Girl on some random person's Myspace. I honestly can't believe my eyes. Jessy Carolina. On my computer screen.

New Years Day Success.