Welcome home

Home doesn’t feel like home anymore.

Sure, the dogs greeted me and Weezie the cat made a few appearances, but it’s not my home.

My childhood bedroom with its lime green, sky blue, raspberry pink and orangey orange walls close me in after branching out too far.

I can’t relate to 13-year-old Emily anymore. She’s the one who picked those colors and the bedding. I’m still very colorful, but I shed experiences every time I walk through the doorway. I’m back to the beginning, making the glow-in-the-dark flowers on the ceiling into triangles of Mickey Mouse’s nose and ears. My drawers are full of abandoned poetry books, cellphones and hair accessories. My bedroom door took a beating during my “nobody understands me!”,¬†braces-clad phase.¬†Returning is a bit debilitating and a hit to my morale.

I’m so happy with where I am now.

It’s a new place I am making my own. I’m discovering the area’s quirks, little by little. Thirteen-year-old, metal-mouthed Emily used to gaze in wonder as her oldest brother, Jordan, showed the family around the Chautauqua Institution, an area unbeknownst to us. Now 19-year-old Emily is doing what Jordan did.

I run and check out the neighborhoods. I brought my bike back with me from home this past weekend and discovered a really neat park tonight where I plan to spend a lot of my summer. And you just can’t beat the main, bustling street full of family-owned shops and boutiques. I find something new every time I walk/run/bike down it.

I’m secure with being alone and doing things for me. Running for me. Biking for me. Finding new nooks and new swingsets to swing the evenings away on.

And then watching the sun set every night:

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Visiting the bro

For the past two summers, my eldest brother has been writing for The Chautauquan Daily newspaper that is distributed by little paper boys all across The Chautauqua Institution. Other than the snobby, old rich people, I actually would not mind living there.

Last summer we visited him at his job and went on a walk all around one side of the Institution. The sky started dropping raindrops (of course), but we kept going, letting our two dogs pull us along by their leashes. Despite the horrible weather, I found every aspect of the Institution absolutely gorgeous.

This year we visited again, walking along on the red brick and gazing in awe at some of the beautiful old homes. Again, it started raining while we were there. At first I braved the rain, letting the hood of my hoodie soak up the wetness, but then it became too much for me to handle. My dad gave me the umbrella he had been holding for me, and I put it up, instantly relieved by the dryness. Everywhere we looked, there were pretty houses and beautiful mansions. We passed a few houses that were erected this past winter of ’08; houses that didn’t even exist when we visited last year.

The snobby people that live there ignored us, so we ignored them. We walked and walked and walked, looking left and right at the architecture. We passed the Opera house and visited the Rain Garden outside of the theater building. We visited the Amphitheater again and listened to the Chautauqua Choir for a little while. I still find the Amphitheater amazing.

If I lived in the Institution, I would want to own a small cottage near the lake, overlooking the water. I would walk and ride my bike everywhere, and would go to the Amphitheater daily. Maybe I would try going to the Opera, but I would probably end up covering my ears and running out.

Our visits there have been pleasant – despite the heavy rainfall. Hopefully some Sunday we will go there WITHOUT rain following behind us.

Stinky Cheese

My boyfriend provided the title for this post, and now I finally came up with something to write underneath the mysterious title. No, this post is not about stinky cheese. Rather, this is about all of the annoyances in life. Is stinky cheese not an annoyance?

The first annoyance that I would like to address is one that I know everyone has endured countless times: getting soap in the ol’ eyes. This is just a matter of opening your eyes at the worst possible moment. In comes the soap, and here comes the pain. I know that I have never screamed out loud when this has happened to me, but it sure is painful enough to want to.

Everyday, my mother and I bitch and moan about everything you can ever imagine. One concept we just cannot seem to grasp is the following: how can people not know which side of the road to walk on? When she and I are out in our Buick Rendezvous (usually heading to the mall or some store with cheap books) we always see a few walkers, and they are more often than not on the wrong side of the road. When walking on the side of the road, walk against traffic, pweeze. Thank you very much. Now, ride your bike with traffic. It really isn’t all that difficult, folks.

Cellular phones are an annoyance in many ways. The most annoying way? My mother and I agree that it is when a person is talking on their cell phone aggravatingly loud in a store. Today, while in the paint aisle, she and I overheard (it’s impossible to eavesdrop when it is so loud) a woman’s conversation about how she does all these nice things for people, and they are never nice to her in return. Okay, lady, obviously the people that you are nice to think that you are annoying, just like you are annoying when you talk about how they don’t appreciate you, in public for all to hear.

Ever crave a big bowl of cereal? Did you then go to the refrigerator, grab the carton of milk, and then tip it over into the bowl whilst licking your lips? Ever have only a few drops come out? Yeah, that would be annoyance Numero Cuatro. My oldest brother always leaves a teeny bit of milk at the bottom, and then when I crave that nice, big bowl of cereal, I have to make two trips to the fridge instead of one. Sure, the extra walk is a little more exercise (though I do not think that I need it), but it is simply unnecessary and can easily be avoided. Next time he comes home, I am hiding the milk.

My mother provided an annoyance for me. She finds it annoying that nice guys almost always finish last. I guess that I will have to ask her to delve into this further so I can find out exactly what she means.

One day in my eighth grade year, my friend (let’s call her Marie) showed up to school in a black hoodie, and brown knee-length shorts. My other friend (let’s call her Jenny) went absolutely ballistic on Marie when she saw what she was wearing. Now, you must understand that Jenny is the “fashion police” and needs to address absolutely every “error” someone has made on their outfit. Marie and Jenny were in a huge fight that whole entire day just because Marie wore brown and black together, and supposedly they “just don’t go!” Please, Jenny, get a life and stop trying to control everyone else’s. And to all others out there who believe that brown and black do not go together: everything goes with black! Fashion police are an everyday annoyance.

I do a lot of the laundry in my house – and it does not include my brother’s. Maybe I should start including his with mine and my parents’ because he always takes my clothes out of the dryer when he needs it and just puts them on the counter without ever folding them. Then, I come by to pick up my warm and dry clothes to fold them, but they are in a wrinkled pile on the counter. In retaliation, I take his out of the dryer and throw them on the floor, putting mine back inside. This goes on and on, and he definitely needs to learn how to fold clothes – or how to be patient and wait for his turn with the dryer. Ahhh…boys…

Yes, it seems as though I am ranting on, but understand that I am addressing everyday annoyances. These are stories of my pain and suffering everyday of my life. (And yes, I know that I am being insanely dramatic.) It seems as though I cannot go a day without seeing the cast of High School Musical (and its damn sequel and sequel-to-be) smiling back at me from some corny poster or cheap little plastic backpack. Miley Cyrus (Hannah Montana grrr) also smiles back at me all the time, and I just wish I could punch her and wipe that stupid smile off her face. Disney Channel is a common annoyance.

To wrap this all up, my stinky cheeses also include getting slivers in my feet from our wooden deck, ch4t$p3@k, fingerprints and smudges on my glasses, and my dogs always whining to go outside when I am busy on the computer. My brothers come home from a baseball game that they just played in, and then tune the TV to channel 770 to watch even more baseball on the Yankee Entertainment Station. Haven’t we seen enough? Okay, almost done. BUT WAIT! Keep reading and you just might see my rant about infomercials and their annoying tactics and techniques. Keep reading my blog for the rest of your days and you will receive a thankful email via me. Everybody has stinky cheeses in their lives (swiss for me!) but I guess that we just have to roll with the punches. I have now reached over 1,000 words in this one “article.” Until I find out more things that irritate me greatly, this is it for now. Over and out.