Here is an essay that I worked on as a supplement for a college application. I was rejected from the college on Friday but I’m very proud of this essay and wanted to use it for something. The prompt was: Describe your arch nemesis. 

The War on Gym Class: 2009-2012


Athleticism is a coat that never seemed to fit me right. Sometimes it was too big, sometimes too small, and sometimes I just didn’t want to risk breaking a bone by putting it on. I tried every sport I could think of with only the naivety and optimism of someone who has seen far too many Disney movies about scrawny kids overcoming the odds and winning the gold. With each sport I tried I had a new reason why this one would be the ONE that would work. It dawns on me only now that I searched for a sport with the same vigor some women search for husbands. I figured I’d be great at basketball because I was tall. Excellent at horseback riding because my mother was. Outstanding at ice-skating solely because of the movie Ice Princess. I’m pretty sure at one point I almost even tried fencing. Still, nothing stuck. By age thirteen or fourteen I began to accept that I would never win the big game or be on a cereal box. However, I did not consider the tri weekly encounter I would have to endure with my former infatuation: gym class. And so the combination of my fairly scorched pride and fresh ultimate rejection with my complete lack of coordination and skill lead to my arch nemesis being none other than physical education class itself.

            Before high school I had brushes with the bad times of gym class. It hurt me for the first time in first grade when the teacher asked someone to demonstrate a “roll over.” Finally, little first grade me thought, something I can do. I volunteered because I thought a  “roll over” simply meant rolling over. Turns out it didn’t. Instead it meant doing a “tuck and roll” or a “summersault” which involved kicking your legs over your head and flipping your body. This was something I couldn’t do. As the teacher tried to cajole me into tucking and rolling with reckless abandon, I began to cry with reckless abandon. Strike one, gym class.

            In fourth grade I thought that gym class and I might make up when I finally did not have the lowest push up score of anyone in the class. I beat out one girl and thought that maybe things were turning around. Maybe, I could be a gym class hero after all. But nope because then that girl got to redo her test probably because the gym teachers were so shocked that anyone had scored lower than me. Must have been a fluke, they figured. And apparently they were right because the girl smoked my score the second time around, leaving me as the chagrined loser. And then in seventh grade I got my period for the first time right before gym class and the nurse made me go to class anyways. As the gym teacher yelled at me to run faster and faster around the track and my hormones raged harder and harder and my cramps became more and more uncomfortable I decided that this was strike three.

By the time I entered high school with my sports dreams dashed and my hatred of gym class only heightened, my arch nemesis never seemed more loathsome. Freshman year we survived as enemies like two candidates running for office: civility on the surface and dirty looks when no one was watching. However, by sophomore year with no election to determine a winner or a loser it was clear: we were going to war.

            The gym had size on its side in this battle. With fluorescent lights, beaten down and bruised sports equipment, and gym teachers (and an uncanny amount of gym student teachers) with clipboards as shields and whistles as army calls, this would be no easy defeat. My armor, a crumpled t-shirt and athletic shorts that bunched up around my thighs no matter what size I bought them in, seemed silly and weak in comparison. Still, I was not going to back down easy. I didn’t desire to take down my arch nemesis but only to find peace with it.

I won’t bore you with the details of this battle but rather inform you of only the outcome; after all history is written by the victors, and whether gym class likes it or not, I’ve declared myself as such. But let me inform you of this: it was not a change of situation but rather a change of mind that conquered my enemy. In other words, I simply let it go. I realized I was never going to be good at gym class and that was okay. I realized that I had lots of other talents and that if one of them wasn’t kicking a ball in the right direction, well the earth will keep right on spinning. I realized that I was not the only who hated gym class or who gym class humiliated. I realized that no one cared. I realized that even the varsity athletes resented and were bad at sports that weren’t their own. I realized that at my ten, twenty, or thirty year reunion I wouldn’t be remembered as the girl who sucked so badly at gym class that the teacher once told her a plastic cone would be more of a help to her team than she was. And most of all I realized that even if I was remembered for that I wouldn’t care because the only thing sadder than someone who still shares her gym class horror stories beyond high school is someone who remembers them beyond high school. 


This past February break I went on my first ever cruise: the Carnival Fascination. My first cruise experience happened to be with two of my best friends (S & M) and M’s mom. It was a sort of senior trip type extravaganza. We were to fly to Jacksonville, Florida and there, board a ship that would take us to two ports: Key West and the Bahamas. 

Now keep in mind, I was going on a Carnival Cruise about two days after the Carnival Triumph passengers had disembarked. To jog your memory the Carnival Triumph was the the Carnival ship that broke down and basically turned into mashup of Lord of the Flies and a giant floating toilet. However, (thank you God) everything with my trip went quite smoothly. 

I thought about writing a blog post that detailed pretty much every part of the trip but let’s face it: you don’t want to read all that and I probably don’t want to do the kind of over share that can only happen when I’m writing and not talking. So, instead I would like to share with you:

The Top 8 Discoveries of My Senior Trip:

8. Some people actually like to travel

I have a theory– actually I have many but I’ll just share the one with you right now— that my family is cursed by the travel gods (or more likely we just have bad timing). I’m still insanely bitter about the time our family trip to London was cut in half by Hurricane Irene. And, on countless occasions, I’ve been at an airport when my flight has been canceled. On one special occasion, our flight was canceled after we were halfway there and at a connecting airport. This resulted in my dad buying a ticket for another flight with a different airline that took off in approximately 45 minutes and further resulted in us running like lunatics halfway across the DC-Philadelphia-Chicago-Atlanta (airports are all literally the same in my mind) airport which was also fun because it gave my dad a chance to see how slow I run (hint: very). But still, I don’t like traveling for that very reason. And then, you add in the fact that I’m in a plane and nowhere near the ground and I basically lose my shit. However, up until this trip I thought that not liking airports/airplanes/traveling was kind of  a common phenomenon just like how everyone loves Jennifer Lawerence and everyone hates Nickelback (seriously, I think they have an entire twitter account dedicated to hating them). But apparently, it’s not. My friend, S, loves to travel and loves airports and looked at me like I was a fucking nutcase the first time I grabbed her hand as we were taking off (by our fourth and last flight she had figured it out and offered her hand willingly). Still, it blew my mind that somebody enjoyed this craziness. 

7. Hi my name is Abby and I’m a magazine-aholic

Seriously, I think I spent close to 40 bucks on magazines alone. And to me, it was money worth spending. Who doesn’t love a good magazine, especially when you are dealing with all this crazy travel? In fact, me just being inside an airport is an excuse for me to go nuts and buy at least 4 magazines. In fact, if someone wants to tell me this blog is like a magazine I’ll love you forever. 

6. Saying “Roll Tide” is all it takes to be friends with Alabamians

Apparently people from the south really enjoy cruises. And there was a good majority of our cruise that was from Alabama. S, M, and I quickly learned that if we just shouted “Roll Tide” we would get lots of smiles, cheers, and even made some new friends. Roll Tide! 

5. Key West is the perfect setting for an Indie movie

The entire time I was in Key West I desperately wanted to don a long floral dress and ride an old but classic bike around ala Zoey Deschanel in 500 Days of Summer. Basically, I think that after undergrad I’ll spend a couple of months in Key West writing, wearing dresses, eating seafood, and (as I assume all people in Key West do) generally just being adorable.

4. Feeling insecure? Go to the Bahamas

Damn, was the Bahamas amazing. And there was no shortage of good looking men telling my friends and I how beautiful we are. I have no idea if they were being at all sincere but who cares because it was great either way. 

3. I have no willpower when it comes to food.

I think I ate everything. It really is a miracle that I’m not 300+ pounds. 

2. I think I’m going to really like having roommates.

I was more than a little apprehensive about spending 5 whole days (plus 2 days traveling) in such close quarters with two of my friends. However, I freaking loved sharing a room. Every night getting ready to go to dinner turned into an event and I loved practically doubling my wardrobe since we all shared clothes. It was odd once we returned home not to be able to tell them whatever I thought at any moment. I know my freshman college roommate may not want to spend that much time with me or share her stuff so willingly but once I get to move in with really good friends either during or post college we are going to have a hell of a good time.

1. Some parts of any senior trip story are meant to be kept secret because they are so amazing and also because if someone wasn’t there they probably wouldn’t understand.

For weeks before I left for this cruise whenever I told anyone over the age of 18 that I was going on a cruise with two of my best friends some people would just smile knowingly at me and say, “Oh yeah, I went on one of those (a senior trip). You’ll have a great time.” That smile was basically their way of saying you’re about to be endoctrinated into a special cult. And you know what? I so totally am part of the cult now. I’m very much looking forward to the day when I can scare younger generations of senior trip takers with my knowing smile. 


(from left) M, S, and I at the cruise formal night

(from left) M, S, and I at the cruise formal night

I once read an article that talked about how hard it is for mothers to find books they are comfortable reading; after all a lot of books deal with kidnap, school shootings, child abuse, children with diseases (at least Jodi Picoult has covered all these topics). Some mothers find it so hard because when reading about a child they, naturally, picture their own child and nobody really wants to picture their child involved in any of the harrowing situations listed above.

Being an eighteen year old I have no children (just realizing that being eighteen doesn’t automatically mean I have no children but to me it does so I’m going to leave the first part of this sentence the way it is) and although I cry often while reading, I’ve rarely found a book that felt too uncomfortable to read. Instead, I usually feel lucky to be invited into the character’s story. However, on my first ever cruise (blog post to follow) I read Admission by Jean Hanff Korelitz.

Admission chronicles the experiences of Portia (yes, Shakespeare was the influence), a Princeton admissions officer who finds herself entangled in a web of lies, love, and the Common App. While I ate up the realistic characters, sweet romance, well done flashbacks, and slightly dark humor every time Portia dove back into the world of college admissions I found myself cringing.

See the thing that nobody tells you (and okay maybe this doesn’t happen for everybody but it happened for me) is that, if you’re planning on going to college and you really care about it, your entire senior year is consumed by thoughts of where to apply, how best to apply, how to get in, and if I do get into to more than one school, where do I want to go? So, every time Portia divulged a secret to Princeton college admission (the author actually was an admissions officer at Princeton which made it all the more hard to ignore) I felt as if I was learning something I should have known before I pressed the submit button on my applications. It also startled me to see how well the admissions office understood how the students were feeling. It made me feel secure but also so nervous that someone might actually realize how much I care and that they get to be in charge of that feeling.

Still, there was line in particular that stood out to me. I don’t have the book in front of me (I’m writing this as the boys I nanny play video games in the other room) but it was when Portia was discussing the types of students that applied to Princeton: first the crazy smart kids who have thousands of accolades and achievements (those kids who publish books in high school otherwise known as the kids who make me insecure about my future career in the present, etc.), kids who have very little to no shot in hell of getting in but decide to apply because, well, anyone can, and then the majority which were (and I’m paraphrasing/quoting/making this up as I go along here) the kids who were smart enough to realize that they weren’t smart enough to get in. When I read that line, I felt as if I was getting slapped by the truth that my family and I had tried to avoid every since I applied to an ivy league (and only one ivy league– that supplement alone nearly made me pass out every time I looked at it). I know I’m smart (or at least smart in the way my public high school defines it). Teachers, test grades, honor roll in the newspaper, and a few awards had told me so. But, I also knew that for every 92.5 (never underestimate a good .5) I get there is a kid getting an 100 and being a master ballerina and the editor in chief of the yearbook and also liking math (seriously, you kids out there that like math, how do you do it?). The amount of times I’ve moaned to my friends that I should have taken up archery because what college doesn’t want an archer is actually a little insane (and the only reason that my friends put up with this is because they are waiting for me to be done so they can bitch about their college prospects).

However, the only way I finished this book was that I realized something: for every freak out, panic attack, and crying session I have about college I also know this: wherever I go, I will be happy. And if I’m not happy then I can always transfer. Or take up archery.

On a semi-related note Admission is being made into a movie starring Tina Fey (also just read her book–so great!) and Paul Rudd so watch the trailer here:

Follow me on twitter for a more day to day look at my life and my college freak outs @abbyrosej

I’ve wanted to write something inspiring or interesting about the New Year and how 2013 is going to be a great year (and I’m already listing all the things I’m looking forward to– my graduation, my brother’s graduation among others) but I couldn’t really think of anything I had to say that would be different or that would change the minds of New Year’s cynics (of which camp I often fall into– I hate New Year’s resolutions although I was recently reading through old texts with a friends in which I told her that during the New Year I would start studying harder in physics and running and therefore was resolving to do all the things I hate). Then I read this article which I thought was just fantastic: For one thing, it was totally true and for another thing it’s like making a New Year’s resolution for other people which always seems more fun then making a New Year’s resolution for yourself. 

So I decided to add a couple more of my own “Things We Need To Stop Talking About in 2013” that weren’t mentioned in the previous article: 

1. The fact that women are curvy and on television

I worship Lena Dunham and Mindy Kaling. They are so inspirational and entertaining for a variety of reasons. However, it drives me insane when I’m reading an article that’s a review of Mindy’s book (I’m sure it’ll be the same when Lena publishes her book this year) or a review of either of their television shows or just an interview with them and the writer comments on their size. Like guess what guys, they have lives and they are not a size two!? It’s freaking 2013, I think we can review things without commenting on the artist’s size. You never read a review of Jason Segel or Judd Apatow and read, it’s just so amazing that they were able to get this far in their careers without a six pack.

2. “Yolo”

I would like to go ahead and quote Jack Black who said, “I am fairly certain “YOLO” is Carpe Diem for stupid people.” Guys, I don’t say this a lot about Jack Black but, he’s totally right. If you’re basing your life decisions on a four letter acronym then, well….you shouldn’t be. Also, you’re pretty much discouraging any and all scientists from trying to invent a way for people to live more than one life. 

3. Complaining about the Kardashian’s fame

Listen, I get it. We all get it. The Kardashian’s do not seem to have a whole lot of talent and they probably shouldn’t have as much fame or money as they do. But they do and they will and it’s time we all accept it and move on with our lives.

4. The Definition of Rape

Rape is bad and it’s a crime and it’s never the victim’s fault and the victim doesn’t have any ways of “shutting a pregnancy down.” We clear?

If that doesn’t sum it up for you, try this:

5. Thinking reading is “uncool”

I didn’t think this was still a thing until I heard a someone around the age of 12 complaining to their parent about how stupid books and reading were at Barnes & Noble. Like, really? Books are awesome, kid and reading makes you smarter. Also, something else I’ve discovered by writing all my college supplements in said Barnes & Noble is that a lot of cute boys hang out there. So, another reason to read, if the obvious reasons don’t work for you. 

On that note I hope all my lovely readers had a great New Year and will have a lovely 2013. XO. 

Follow me on twitter: @abbyrosej

I first heard about the Sandy Hook School shootings in Newton, Connecticut on Twitter at school on Friday. At first I was confused because everyone was confused. What was going on? Who was hurt? How many dead? Are we safe? Once I read enough of the articles under my desk on my phone, I began to piece together information about what happened. I still couldn’t understand it, I still couldn’t fathom it and I don’t think there is a person today who can understand these extremely tragic events. After I was confused, I was angry. I sent out tweets (because that is how expression is formed now; in 140 characters or less) calling for gun control legislation. Today is the day, I thought. To me, those posts were somehow saying don’t let this tragedy be forgotten as all other tragedies seem to fade once the media has chewed them up and spit them out. Let us do something. 

I’m a nanny five days a week after school for two boys; ages 9 and 11. Minutes after I left school I received a text from their mom asking me to try to keep the news off so they won’t hear about the shootings. She instructed me to tell them that she would talk to them about it later if they’ve already heard about it in school. The 9 year old, when he came home, seemed fine and it was only about 20 minutes later when he called to me because when he had pulled up Internet Explorer the CNN home page had popped up and he had seen what most have been even more of a paradoxical situation for him then it was for us: guns and violence in an elementary school. He asked me about it and I told him that something bad had happened and his mom would tell him about it when she got home. He nodded. I looked at him and wondered how safe he would feel entering his elementary school Monday morning; and then I wondered how safe I’d feel entering my high school Monday morning. I looked at him and desperately wanted to explain to him something I couldn’t even explain to myself. 

That night and yesterday night and throughout today I read the news and I cried over and over again. There are no words to explain the horrible tragedy that Newtown Connecticut is experiencing and I won’t attempt to find any.

I make no secrets about my political opinions. When the Second Amendment (otherwise known as the NRA’s absolute defense code) was written I wouldn’t have been able to vote or own land because of my gender and our president was not considered a citizen because of the color of his skin. I think that people should be able to obtain guns in America but I see no problem with it being difficult for them to do so. If Canada has a system where two people most vouch for anyone wanting to buy a gun, why shouldn’t we? If country after country with lower death by gun violence rates imposes stricter gun control laws, why shouldn’t we? If it would save one child or one family from having to experience what the entire town of Newtown is going through yesterday, today, and for many many tomorrows, then who would say no? One of the quotes that has stuck with me while my thoughts have been racing this weekend is this: “I love guns. I have several, but I would gladly get rid of them if it would help prevent anything like this from happening again.” I can’t imagine one parent saying that they wouldn’t give up their guns if it means that their child would come home to them everyday after school. 

And I wanted to share all these opinions with the whole world screaming, “Do Something!” But then I saw something abhorrent occur: a social media war between so- called “friends” belittling and attacking one another based on their opinions. As people insulted Obama, or each other I thought, do you even remember why you are doing this? As people called one another stupid or worse for whether or not a law should be stricter I thought, seriously? As people, alumni from my school, viciously insulted one another with no respect I thought, stop! And I’ve come to the conclusion that in the coming weeks we (politicians and citizens alike) should have an honest, frank discussion about gun control because it is necessary. But not today. Today is about remembering the victims and thinking about their families. So let me end by saying this: if today your insults and unkindness towards anyone’s beliefs are louder than your prayers or thoughts for Newtown Connecticut then please stop. Stop and be grateful that everyone you love came home safely this Friday. 

I WANTED TO SEE SILVER LININGS PLAYBOOK. The entire time I was sitting in the theater with a friend to my right and a collection of people who qualified for the senior citizen discount to my left I was thinking: oh my god there is so much nudity on the screen and I just wanted to fucking see Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawerence (sp?) learn to dance together in a quirky montage but nowhere in the Rochester area was showing it. And so with the desire to see a movie that Thanksgiving weekend, I texted above mentioned friend: any interest in seeing The Sessions? 

Said friend loves movies and wants to be a director so she is usually game for weird movies or movies at all. She agreed to go. 

Now for those of you who haven’t seen the trailer for The Sessions it’s about Mark O’ Brien (played by the remarkable John Hawkes), a poet who was struck with polio at age six and is paralyzed from the neck down. Oh, he also needs to spend the majority of his time inside an iron lung to stay alive. So, you know, the good feel holiday stuff. Mr. O’ Brien, although paralyzed in body, still stays more active in his mind than a lot of people at my high school. Anyways, after a brief heartbreak, when an aid who he admits his love to, rejects him, Mark decides it’s time to lose his virginity at what I think is age 38 but my friend and I discovered the age timeline had a couple errors so don’t quote me on that. Mark is a practicing and very faithful Catholic so he decides to consult his priest, played by William Macy, about whether or not God will be pissed if he has sex before marriage. Macy says something to the effect of “I think God will give you a pass on this one.” By far, that line/ that moment was one of my favorite of the movie. I feel as if that really embodied what I think religion should be about: doing the best you can and being the best person you can be with your circumstances while believing that there is a higher power and/or god(s) watching over you and having a community who believes in same higher power/god/gods support you. In fact, all the scenes involving Macy and Hawkes were pure gold: funny, a little edgy but keeping the relatable factor that seems harder and harder to find in movies. Those scenes almost make you forget the good thirty minutes of watching Helen Hunt mount John Hawkes while he pretty much screams out in pain. Almost. 

After Mark obtains permission from his priest to do the deed he hires a sex surrogate, Cheryl (played by Helen Hunt, whose middle aged body puts mine to shame). Disclaimer about Cheryl: she is one of those lovely women who only exist in a male screenwriter’s imagination. Cheryl inexplicably is from Salem, Massachusetts but only has an accent when she says Mark (“Maaaaahk” is how she pronounces it), wears really long, flowy outfits that hide her “banging bod” (as one of the commenters on the youtube video of the trailer described it), is married to what she calls a philosopher and then describes as a bum (who is played by a man who looks strikingly similar to my English teacher), is the mother to a twelve year old son (a good five minutes of my movie watching experience was devoted to me thinking: oh my god what if my mother was a sex surrogate and then me thinking: thank you god that my mother is not a sex surrogate), and is converting to Judaism because she was previously Catholic but then left that religion because they didn’t appreciate her willingness to take her clothes off or some bullshit like that but now her husband wants her to be Jewish because apparently he doesn’t mind her having sex with other men as long as she is wearing a freaking Star of David when she does it. However, despite all this I think the thing that bothered me about Cheryl’s character the most is when she was explaining the difference between a prostitute and a sex surrogate her reason was something along the lines of prostitutes want your return business and I don’t because I want to pretty much be a catalyst to you having sex with people you’re not paying and I thought– that’s it?!? For goodness sake’s if that was the ONLY difference between her and a prostitute, I’d much rather be the prostitute because that way you can at least count on a steady income. Cheryl then explains to Mark that there is a limit of six sex sessions (ha, try saying that ten times fast) that they can have. And the rest of the movie is about those six sessions (spoiler alert: they only have four of them). Of course, Mark develops feelings for her because otherwise this movie would have little to no point. And I have to admit the ending was sweet and surprising and made me tear up a bit. 

I feel as I’ve been a little down on this movie as a whole and that may be simply because as a 17 year old girl I can’t altogether grasp the very mature concepts this movie revolves around. I see no problem, in fact I see a large amount of merit, in movies showing that not so pleasant and more nitty gritty parts of life such as how physically disabled people (or really any people) might experience sex for the first time. I can handle awkward, hell I’m a seventeen year old girl, so I pretty much thrive in awkward. But call it a fault of my high school’s overly zealous sexual education program but throughout all the sex scenes all I could think was, is he wearing a condom? Is she on the pill? Is there any sort of birth control going on here? Has she been tested for STD’s? WHY HAS NO ONE MENTIONED ANY SORT OF BIRTH CONTROL OR PROTECTION? So, I guess my major problem with this movie in all was that it chose only bits and pieces of life to be harshly awkward and realistic with, letting the rest of the movie fall into the Wonderland that is Hollywood cinema. 

However, before I leave this blog post, let me compliment John Hawkes on his astounding performance as someone who I sympathized, loved, and cheered for when all he could do was move his upper head. If that doesn’t deserve at least an Oscar nomination (since the Academy will probably be unwilling to nominate the boy from the Life of Pi for looking good shirtless next to a tiger) then I don’t know what does.

For more information about The Sessions check this out:

If you’ve seen The Sessions and would like to share your opinion, please do! I love other people’s opinions because they are usually different from mine:)

As always follow me on twitter for a more up close and personal look into my life (meaning thoughts about my mother and college) at @abbyrosej


Oy, I have not blog posted in what seems like FOREVER. In fact, the more I put it off the more apprehensive I felt about coming back to my trusty textingatredlights readers:). However, today I’m lucky enough to not have a ton of homework (and it is well deserved…I had a psych and latin test today!) and thought that it would be a perfect time to catch up with you all. 

There are a couple of things that have been on my mind lately so think of this blog post as a bunch of mini, somewhat sporadic posts. 

The first:

Listen, although I’m not Christian, I’m super down with Christmas. As a rule (and being an accepting human being) I respect and find value in all religious holidays. Also, being raised in America I am immersed in all things Santa and Rudolph. And, I also know that to the large majority of people, Christmas is a very important day for their religion. I don’t mind hearing “Frosty the Snowman” or “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” a million and one times on the radio, or being told about Christmas sales, or seeing tacky inflatable decorations or blinking lights, or being wished “Merry Christmas” when I drop a dollar in the Salvation Army bin when all I do December 25th is eat chinese and watch movies but I do mind these things happening November 10th. Listen, I give the entire world from Black Friday to January 2nd to be absolutely Christmas crazy. But c’mon. If you’re starting before Thanksgiving it’s too damn soon (and yes Wegmans, I’m looking at you with your two giant wreaths hanging on your store…)

So, I will be more than happy to discuss cookies, presents, and the Three Wise Men a week from this Friday. Before that, I recommend someone mentioning Pilgrims, indians, or turkeys when I’m around if you want to discuss holidays. 

Mini Blog  #2:

In between all the holiday mania something else was stirring…ELECTION MANIA. First, can I just say how happy I was that I was able to refrain from posting on Facebook or twitter the day of the election? I love to share my opinion but I never want someone to feel disrespected or offended by something I say (unless you’re on my blog, then it’s read at your own risk). I felt there was no good outcome in posting on election day. That being said, boy am I freaking happy about the outcome of the election. And honestly, everyone is saying how bad they feel for Mr. Romney and the whole time I’m thinking, “are you kidding me?” Sure, it’s got to suck to spend a lot of time and money on an election when you don’t win but Mr. Romney still did considerably well in the election. And now, he can go spend a lot of time with his wife and family who clearly think he is the moon and the stars. Also, in case anyone hasn’t heard, he’s fucking loaded. Mitt Romney, by all my accounts, will be okay. 

I’m really excited that Obama was elected to FOUR MORE YEARS because I love Obama and I really do see his plans as being best for my future as a student, woman, and general supporter of equal rights for all. I think that economically his plan will benefit the most people in the long term but I guess we will have to just wait and see. 

In addition, I’m loving the Democratic senate and I’m hoping that the House of Reps. will work with the Senate and the President so we can get some CHANGE going on.

One more thing: whether you’re a Republican, Democrat, Independent, or any other part I recommend trying to watch Obama’s victory speech and not cry. I was a mess (of course I also teared up at this week’s episode of How I Met Your Mother so I may not be the best judge). And it’s great

Mini Blog # 3:

Confession time: I’m a total TV fanatic but I’m not so big on movies. I don’t have the attention span to really love movies but I got to see a movie this weekend that I absolutely recommend (and not because it was basically a giant episode of Glee before Glee turned shitty): Pitch Perfect. 

The basic plot of Pitch Perfect is two dueling musical groups on a college campus (one all girls– the Bellas and one all boys– the Treblemakers). Enter Anna Kendrick, moody girl who of course is really pretty and fun at heart. She saves the Bellas and has an adorable romance along the way (pretty sure I “aw-ed” at some points) but the music really is incredible and super heart warming. AND the music is super great. I really, really recommend it. 

Alrighty lovelies, I have to go review my math packet for my test one more time tomorrow and then get  some much needed personal reading time in before I have an early night (sigh, nights with no homework, are beautiful).

Anyways, check back later this week so you can hear me tell you why NaNoWriMo is currently an EPIC fail. 

Follow me on twitter @abbyrosej and post some comments if it suits your fancy!