What's a Cherub Anyway?

It's natural to love this time of year.

Why is it that the darkest, coldest, most unwelcoming part of the year is when I feel most alive?  The crisp air slaps me in the face and reminds me to wake up as I walk to my morning classes, clad in my winter boots concealing my christmas socks underneath.  The best part about winter? Hot. Beverages.  Holding a steaming cup of a hot chocolate up to my face and breathing deeply wakes me up and makes me feel like I am back at home, sitting by the fire in my plaid christmas pajamas wrapping presents with my mom, fighting about how to perfectly fold the corners of the cheesy santa wrapping paper she bought from the neighborhood kids selling Sally Foster.

I'm listening to my classical Christmas station on pandora right now, and the Nutcracker's "Dance of the Sugar Plums" just started playing.  Me and my two oldest friends, Madeline and Allison, were in a production of The Nutcracker when we just 4 years old.  Allison could do a cartwheel, so she got to be a mouse.  Madeline and I were less fortunate ( and less coordinated) so we got stuck being cherubs. WHAT A DRAG! Our main job was to run around the stage for about 30 seconds holding a white cloth above our heads, while Allison got to be a mouse gymnast and flip all over the place and wear a cute tail.  But whatever, I'm over it now.  I owned that stage for that 30 seconds.  I remember going to rehearsal downtown with my leotard and ballet shoes in hand, walking into the seemingly endless dance studio with the bars on the wall and huge mirrors.  Our dance teacher was a male ballet dancer, whose name was probably Glen.  Or Pierre. What little I remember of rehearsals was that he was very serious about the art of dance....and I wasn't.  Looking back, this is probably why I didn't get very much stage time.  I remember Madeline and I being more excited about the fact that we got to wear lipstick for the play then actually being in it.  I guess that's always been our style, from the very beginning.  Easily amused and too cool for school.

Collard Greens Are Gross and That Baby Has A Gun.

It's natural to give thanks.

You know what's better than one thanksgiving meal?
Two thanksgiving meals.

My family hosted lunch at our house, then we headed to my grandmother's house for dinner.

This is a list of food I ate yesterday in no particular order:

Macaroni and cheese
Sweet potato casserole
Turkey
White rice
Brown rice (I'm not racist)
Gravy
rolls
deviled eggs
stuffing
more gravy
broccoli
Ham
collard greens (They were gross...my mom made me try them)
Pumpkin pie
Gravy
Pecan Pie
A couple of M&Ms (they were in a bowl on my grandmothers coffee table)

I realize that's an embarrassingly long list....but I skipped breakfast, so it's okay.

My mother's side of the family came over for thanksgiving lunch.  In the middle of eating, I look up to see my baby cousin Eva standing on the stairs holding my brothers rifle.  It's a good thing it's broken, because she is very feisty and it would not have ended well.  My uncles and brother argued about football and something about Joe Montana and the civil war.  My aunt and I stole my cousin's phone and changed her background to a picture of my tongue and recorded farting sounds and set it as her ringtone.
My big brother and I pinned down our little brother to the ground and force fed him broccoli.  We watched Little Rascals and Love Actually as our food digested.


I love thanksgiving for many reasons, but if I had to pick one,
it would probably be because there is a chance that I will see a 3 year old with a gun on my staircase.


I love my family.

I'm Feeling a Bit Sentimental

It's natural to change.


There is a beautiful tree near my dorm. 
It was nothing really special when I first got here.
 It was just a normal tree. 
Brown. Green. Bark. Squirrels. 
Then autumn showed up and changed the tree.
It is now sheltered by the most magnificently yellow leaves.  The ground below it, once dead grass, is now covered with a lovely yellow dusting.  You can't even see past the brilliance of the leaves to the dead ground.  I suppose this splendor was in the tree all along, but it took time to reveal the truth of it's nature.


Before you look away, look again. 

Time reveals the unexpected. 

Words and Pie

It's natural to not know what the heck you are doing.


If you are a college student, you could probably pay off your student loans if you had a nickel for every time someone asked you the infamous question,


"What's your major?"


My major is currently English.  I definitely get mixed reactions when I tell people that.  Some say things like "Good, good. That's great! I love literature." or "Oh, cool! So could you write my next paper for me?" What do people expect me to say to that? Yes, of course I will, I've been waiting for you to ask?


Others ask me, quite snidely,  "English, huh? What are you going to do with that?"


Don't think I don't see past your thinly veiled insult, you practical ninny.


What I really want to say is, "Um, I don't know, what are YOU going to do with your political science degree? Become the president? Do you know the percentage of people that actually BECOME president? Like, less than a tenth of a percent, kay?"

I don't actually say that though, because that is a tad cheeky and that percentage makes no sense.  I smile and tell them that I aspire to be a writer.  If I could get paid to write about funny and occasionally serious things and also bake pies, that would be ideal.  Practical? No. Awesome? Yes. An artist of words and pastries, if you will. People like Mark Twain and J.K. Rowling did okay for themselves, but they are apart of a very small club. And I'm sure J.K. Rowling bakes a mean English muffin.


There are many things I wish to do with my life, but if I had to condense it down to two main things, I would have to say I want to:


1) Have kids
2) change the world


First I need to find a husband (not anytime soon of course), which shouldn't be so hard, right? Like Tom Hanks says in You've Got Mail, "Oh right, yeah, a snap to find the one single person in the world who fills your heart with joy."
After that it's just science.


As far as changing the world goes, I'm still brainstorming on that one. 
 But hopefully it will involve words and pie.
Stay tuned.

Cry Me A River

It's natural to cry.


Everyone cries sometimes.  Everyone except Fergie, according to her hit "Big Girls Don't Cry."  But what does Fergie know anyway?  The only thing she ever did right was marry Josh Duhamel, on account of his ridiculous good looks.  Also Fergalicious.  That song was pretty catchy.


So I am a college student now.  That's still weird to type, and I've been here nearly three months.  One interesting and slightly inconvenient thing about being in college is that there is nowhere to hide.  I don't mean hide from the cops or stash the hash or anything like that, I simply mean there is no hiding who you truly are to the people you live with.  My fantastic roommate Joy has seen me on my best days and on my darkest days.  She took care of me when I was sick, and she makes sure I don't waste my life away watching youtube and wikipedia-ing famous people (and succeeds 86% of the time.) As a result of the close proximity of our living situation, several 3rd floor Belk-ers (Belk is the building I live in) have see me cry.  Perhaps it is just me, but I feel your relationship with someone slightly changes once you see them cry.  Tears are tangible emotions that drips down your face and make you all wet and vulnerable.  My closest friends know that I hold to a strict "no one cries alone policy," just like Dolly Parton in Steel Magnolias.  Seeing the people I care about the most in pain makes my face start to leak, I simply can't help it.  And the excuse "I'm not crying, it's just raining on my face" never works....just speaking from personal experience.


I am a self admitted crier, but lets get one thing straight, I'm no sissy.  Believe me, I grew up a tomboy.  I don't carry a monogrammed handkerchief around or anything, but I am known to get teary eyed from 
time to time.


Here are some examples.

Times I've cried and it's kind of embarrassing; The part of the blog where I write about times that I have cried, and it was kind of embarrassing.

I cried when I got my college shots.  I am 18 years old.  The buzz lightyear bandaids really helped me cope with it.


I cried when Jim proposed to Pam from The Office.  Yes, I realize Jim and Pam are fictional characters.  Technically, anyway. In my world they are very much alive.


I cried when my oldest friend Allison graduated.  I got made fun of for days, but I was just so proud of her I didn't care.  Even now, writing this, I am tearing up just thinking about how much she means to me.  Is that slightly pathetic? Maybe. But Allison would understand.

There is a line from the movie Garden State that Natalie Portman says that has always stuck with me.

 "What do you do? You laugh. I'm not saying I don't cry but in between I laugh and I realize how silly it is to take anything too seriously. Plus, I look forward to a good cry. It feels pretty good."

Natalie Portman was right.


Plus she's got a great name. 

Martin Luther is a Boss.

It's natural to make lists.

Today in British Literature, my professor was teaching on the sixteen century.  We started discussing Martin Luther and his 95 theses, when I suddenly realized something.

Martin Luther is a champion.

He knew what he needed to do and he did it.  He wrote down all these complaints and issues he had against the church, and instead of just pegging them on a cork board in his office, he went down and NAILED the thing to the door of the church.  That got me thinking about things I want to do with my life, so for the next hour of lecturing, I wrote my bucket list. I like to think Martin Luther had one too. This is what I've got thus far, in no particular order:

1. Get a drink and/or sandwich named after me.
2. Try out vegetarianism for a month, then eat a huge steak
3. Get published
4. Run to and kiss the boy I love in an airport
5. Learn how to drive stick shift
6. Successfully complete an entire Harry Potter marathon
7. Buy a pet owl
8. Speak in front of the church
9. Knit a sweater and wear it in public
10. Go to Greece
11. Read War and Peace
12. Go on a road trip across America
13. Drive to Charleston just to see the sun rise
14. Meet John Krasinski
15. Have a conversation with Rob Dyrdek
16. Send an incredibly creepy family christmas photo to everyone I know
17. Write a movie script
18. Study in London
19. Write for NBC
20. Swim with dolphins
21. Rollar blade around campus for a whole day
22. Go bridge jumping
23. Get a meaningful tattoo
24. Convince someone giraffes aren't real
25. Punch someone in the face (for good reason)
26. Quit a job, then say "You don't know how high I can fly." Michael Scott style
27. Got to Lake Lure, NC, the place where Dirty dancing was filmed, and swim in the lake and walk on the log that Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey danced across.
28. Go to the 500 Days of Summer bench, and draw on someones arm
29. Go on a "dinner, dancing, drinks" date
30. Own season tickets for a college basketball team
31. Learn how to fence
32. Sing "I Will Always Love You" by Dolly Parton in a karaoke bar like Lorelai Gilmore
33. Write a song and play it on the guitar
34. Buy a record player and listen to records while smoking a pipe
35. Solve a rubik's cube
36. Do mission work in Africa
37. Learn how to play the piano
38. Be a troubadour for a day
39. Go to a film festival
40. Fly first class
41. Watch someone perform Beat Poetry
42. Go to and participate in a drum circle
43. Spy on someone with Jabez Waters, and NOT get caught
44. Dedicate a book to my father
45. Somehow show my mother how much I appreciate her
46. Go a Justin Bieber concert
47. Eat more donuts than Connor Morvay in one sitting
48. Go to the opera
49. Take Katie Waters to New York
50. Love. Period.


Those are all the ones I'm willing to post on the internet.

What's on your bucket list?

Tick Tock, you're Not a Clock. You're a Time Bomb.

It's natural to feel sad.
You know that look that people give you when they know something really bad has happened to you?  People look at you like you this ticking time bomb, about to explode into tears and emotions and get it all over their new jeans.  But really, it's just the opposite.  You feel as though you are about to quietly disappear, as if the slightest wind could knock you over and that would be the end of it.  Like you are the last leaf left on a tree during fall, and the only thing holding you together is the promise of spring. The great thing about emotional turmoil is that you get excellent material for writing out of it (see above sentence, pretty good right?) I may just crank out a top 40 hit as well. Besides, the longer I live, the more I realize God knows exactly what he is doing. Ergo, no fear.

This one's for you, Beth.

It's natural to have irrational fears.

I am now a college student.  While reflecting on this new adventure in my life, I am reminded of why I get to go to college.

Her name is Beth.

"Who is Beth?"
 you may ask,  or "what does this mysterious Beth have anything to do with Natalie's ability to pursue higher education?"

Let me explain.

When I was in middle school, my youth group took a trip to Daytona Beach, Florida.

The day of the incident had the appearance of a normal day.  Foreboding clouds painted the sky.  Buzzards encircled the hotel.  I swear I saw what looked like a dementor outside my window.

Okay, so none of that actually happened....which is why we never saw it coming.

As the time for our worship meeting approached, me and five other girls walked down the hall to the elevator, pushed the button, and boarded what I would later referred to as "the death machine." The elevator started moving up, as one would expect, when suddenly it shook violently and abruptly stopped.

We all said the first thing that came to our mind;

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"WE'RE GOING TO PLUMMET OT THE BASEMENT!"

"WE'RE ON THE FIRST FLOOR YOU IDIOT!"

"I DON'T WANNNA DIIEEEEE!"

I'm paraphrasing, of course.

We frantically pushed more buttons as fear gripped our hearts.  Nothing worked.  We were in a standstill limbo of death in this evil transportation box.  I didn't want to die, I hadn't even been to high school yet!  I still had to walk in a LINE down the hallways at school; a fact that seemed too depressing to dwell on.

We were all in a panic, when suddenly we realized there was another person outside of our party in the elevator.  She was a short women, appeared to be in her forties, and looked as though she weighed about 90 pounds.  This is perhaps why we didn't notice her initially, seeing as though she was about the size of Dobby the house elf.

"It's going to be alright ladies, we will be out of here in no time," she said soothingly as she reached for the telephone built into the elevator (which of course none of us had noticed).  She talked calmly to the manager explaining our situation.  She told us her name was Beth. We watched in awe as this angelic woman singlehandedly plotted our escape from the perilous death box, and what seemed like hours later, the doors finally opened to freedom.

As we all piled out of the elevator, we swore to her that we would all somehow repay her for saving our lives. My first book will be dedicated to Beth.  And probably my first child, boy or girl. Or dog.

Looking back, I think we were stuck in the elevator for 8 minutes. At tops.

But for now, I raise my water bottle to you Beth, for I am currently in the library attempting to study for my Spanish test tomorrow.

Muchos gracias Beth.

It may be a stretch...but you're a gymnast.

It's natural to put things into categories.

I consider myself an observant person.  For example, I observe that Barack Obama's hair is turning quite gray these days.  I observe that contrary to popular opinion, the Twilight movies are not quality films.  I also observe that no matter how bad Twilight movies are, I keep paying money to see them.

But this blog isn't about my contradictory lifestyle, it's about people, and how I grossly stereotype them.

Through my observations, experiences, encounters, and my own personal insight, I have come to the conclusion that the human population, in it's entirety, fit nicely into two categories;

"celebrity people" and "non-celebrity people."

Let me explain.

There are two types of people in this world; people who know the difference between Robert Pattinson and Robert Downey Jr., and people who do not.

People who can pick out Gerald Butler from a line of Spartans, and people who think they all look the same.

People who immediately recognize the voice of Tom Hanks, and people who just cannot.

People who know that Brad was better off with Jennifer, and people who have no idea what I'm talking about.

This my friends, is what fundamentally bonds us or divides us.  Our ability to pick out Reese Witherspoon from a row of blondes, or simply knowing that Rachel McAdams looks so much better brunette.  You know you are in a "different category" from someone if you start discussing how multi-talented you think Justin Timberlake is when suddenly they get this blank look on their face and say something akin to, "Isn't he the guy from the Backstreet Boys?"
Or perhaps when you say to them, "Have you seen Jersey Shore?" to which they retort, "Huh?" to which you explain, "You know, Snooki?" to which they reply, "Is that some kind of cookie?"

My advice to you in that situation is just walk away, because obviously you can never be.

Some might say that this is a highly superficial way of ranking people, and in the end, does celebrity knowledge even count as knowledge?  Is it right to know that much about pop culture?

To that I say, "If this is wrong, I don't want to be right."

Some say this may sound harsh, and that perhaps I am ranking "celebrity people" above "non-celebrity people."

To that I say, "Oh, that is exactly what I'm doing.  How observant of you!"

We'll Always Have Paris.

It's natural to fall for summer.

Summer is a cosmic tease.  It fools you, it seduces you, it whispers these sweet nothings in your ear and it convinces you that the days will always be long, that homework is a thing of the past, and that it will never drop below 85 degrees.  It makes you believe that you will always be a nice shade of brown, that it's acceptable to forget how to do simple math, and all of the people you love will always be in the same town.

Last night, I watched Casablanca for the first time.  If you haven't seen it....watch it.  They don't make movies, or movie stars the way they used to.  The woman are gorgeous, and grace the screen during close ups with a single tear rolling down their flawless cheeks.  The men are classy, slick, and could at any moment pull a gun from their trench coat pocket and shoot the shifty character checking out their lady from across the saloon.  Humphrey Bogart is no less than iconic.  The man can say everything he needs to say in about six or seven words, and it will probably be the coolest most perfect thing anyone has ever uttered.  Woman swoon over him and his rhetoric.

"Here's looking at you, kid."

Bogart plays Rick in the movie, who falls in love with the beautiful and lovely Ilsa while in Paris.  Reality soon catches up with the two, and Rick soon realizes that they can never be together like they once were.  As Ilsa tries desperately to convince Rick otherwise, he says...one of the most famous movie lines ever written...

"We'll always have Paris."

We'll always have summer, even if just for a moment.

I'll always remember this summer, for it has been truly historic in more ways than one.

And you can take that to the bank.

http://www.tcm.com/mediaroom/index.jsp?cid=1509

Hogarth.

It's natural to love the movie The Iron Giant.


I like to iron. Ah yes, I can hear the woman jokes from here, but it's true. I actualy like to iron. There is something calming about smoothing away the impurites from a favorite shirt. It's like this neat metaphor for life. Wouldn't it be nice if we could just plug in an iron, wait till it's hot, then procede to smooth out all of the wrinkles and bumps in our own lives? I wish I had iron-like advice, that once heard could change the look of things, make things appear smoother and less worn.   But alas, I am not a small appliance capable of solving problems, as much as I would like to be.


That reminds me, wasn't The Iron Giant such a great movie?


I mean, the main character's name is Hogarth.  It's obviously a winner.


*authors note
I am aware that The Iron Giant has nothing to do with ironing....just so we're clear.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JgjmFBX34zc

Would You Care to Rephrase That?

It's natural to romanticize things.

There is this thing at work called "curbside."

Basically, you have to stand outside for an hour, and check in the kids that get dropped off on the curb.  No one ever wants to do it because there are the occasional 20 minute breaks between kids getting dropped off and it can get rather dull.  But I actually like it.  It's a great time to think or pray or figure out how I'm going to survive taking a bunch of 6 and 7 year olds bowling.

When it's that early, the morning is still cool and you feel like you are the first person feeling the breeze on your face.  The other day when I was assigned curbside, I sat there and watched this bird pick a worm out of the ground.  I thought about the phrase "the early bird gets the worm" and how gross that metaphor seems while actually watching it in progress.  It should be "the early bird gets to feel the first breeze of the day."  Or "the early bird gets to watch the sun get up to where it sits in the sky."  Or "the early bird gets to watch their husband or wife quietly sleep beside them."  Or maybe even "the early bird gets first dibs on the best cereal."

Maybe I'm just romanticizing waking up early, but I have to stay sane somehow, right?  

Camp Rock

 It's natural to start again.

Ahhhh.


It's good to be back.
I have no excuse for my long absence, other than the unplanned series of events in my life that have occupied my thoughts, rendering me unable to write anything but poetry. Bad poetry.

But fear not, I am back. Back in black, as they say.

I am back and I am employed. Surprised? You should be. After last summer's infamous "My dad threw me out of the house and refused to let me back in until I found a job" day, which ended with "Dad please let me back in the house on account of no one is hiring because we are in an economic recession and I think I'm going to have a heat stroke out here under the hot Carolina sun" hour; I decided to start earlier this year. You know, to avoid homelessness and having to pay for college on my own. Also to limit the risk of a heat stroke.

I work at a Summer Safari Program, which is a day camp for kids ages 5 to 11 at Crooked Creek Park.  It is also nothing at all like Camp Rock.

  Working at a camp I suppose makes me a camp counselor, which allows me to do two things;

1) Carry a walkie talkie around
2) Feel really old

I remember every camp counselor I ever had. There was Hope, with the long curly hair with a fellow camp-counselor-boyfriend with an even longer and curlier beard.
There was Reba, the crazy redhead who didn't shave her legs. There was Jessica, Weston, Julianne, and Spencer (who would constantly play/sing "Idiot Boyfriend" by Jimmy Fallon in the church vans). I say all this to say, its quite strange actually being one and not looking up to one.

Getting out of bed in the morning is incredibly difficult. Morning shift is like waking up for school, except no late Wednesdays. I punch in and I punch out. I wear a name tag. It's very "working girl" and sophisticated. I don't expect my younger readers to understand.

There are two parts of work I like.

The first part is called "The Kids."

Even though the days are long and hot and sticky and sometimes difficult, I can hardly help but smile when I see my kids. I work with 6 and 7 year old boys most of the time. Yesterday, to kill some down-time, I suggested we play telephone. I started the game with "I like my scrambled eggs with peanut butter" and at the end of the game it ended up being "Miss Natalie is hot." Never play telephone with 6 year old boys.

The second part I like is called "Pay check."

This one is pretty self explanatory.

A Walk in the Woods

It's natural to explore.

I live in a nice neighborhood, a nice house, with a nice yard.
To the left of my backyard, the lake, to the right, seemingly endless woods.

When I was a kid I spent endless hours exploring and pillaging those woods. I was a hopeless tom boy.

After my run tonight, I walked to the back yard to cool down, and looked into those woods where so many memories were made. I hadn't been in them for years.

So I started walking.

It was a little different but mostly the same. My old tree house is rotting, but it was glorious in its prime. I stepped on a nail back there, and had even built a bridge across a ditch once. Once I stumbled upon a group of teenagers smoking pot deep in the woods. I've never seen pot heads run that fast. And with damaged lungs too! Impressive.

I was walking down the newly made four-wheel trails, when I came upon a grave yard. I had discovered the grave yard when I was about nine, walking through the woods one day alone. I was completely freaked out that there were dead people buried in my back yard, ran back home, and then apparently blocked it out of my mind because I had forgotten about it.

As I walked towards it, a deer jumped out and scared me to death. I felt like the female lead in some zombie movie as I opened the rusty gate, and stepped inside the tiny cemetery.

It was a family cemetery, with the name Mcartha etched across every worn headstone. Most of them had died in the late 1700s-early 1800s, as young as 20 and as old as 94.

Across every stone, the phrase "Gone but not Forgotten" was carved.

There were a few roses scattered around. A tree had fallen across the gate.

I wondered if there were any surviving Mcarthas, and if they knew that their relatives were buried out here in the middle of nowhere, where boys drove four wheelers and teenagers smoked pot.

I walked slowly home, pondering life and death, and listened to the birds sing.

10 Things I like About You

It's natural to crush.

And when I say crush, I mean like someone. And when I say like someone, I mean you get all stupid around that one person who makes your heart go crazy.

Over spring break, me and three friends drove down to Charleston for a couple of days for a little sun. It was our first road trip in my crappy but lovable 97'Honda Accord, affectionately know as Ronda the Honda.



Late one night the four of us were laying in bed just talking, and the subject of boys came up.
This happens quite frequently, if you want the truth.

Our main topic of interest was "How do you know you like someone?"

You would think it would be easy to know if you like someone or not, but love is tricky. So Allison and all her brilliance came up with a pretty accurate list.

So guys...you're welcome.

10 things we do that mean we like you

1. We will try to be in the same place as you. (inconspicuously)

For example, we might suddenly acquire a sudden interest for paintball or soccer....

2. We will be protective/defensive of you. (sometimes you don't verbalize your defensiveness but you will certainly think it)


3. We will become friends with your family. Suddenly, they seem a lot less weird....


4. We will mention your name in conversation, or manipulate the conversation until someone else brings you up.

Can we have sandwiches for lunch? I just LOVE sandwiches! You know who else loves sandwiches? TONY! Tony just loves sandwiches! I swear it's like we are twins or something!

*Author's note* Name five people that don't like sandwiches.


5. We will begin to like the things you like, no matter how lame. (music, tv shows, ect)

Girl- I've always loved Survivor Man! Bear Grylls is the man!

Guy- That's Man vs. Wild.

6. We will find a reason to talk to you when there is absolutely none.

Jill- Hey Jack, do we have Spanish homework?

Jack-I take french.

*Note* This doesn't always end well. But hey, we tried!

7. We will think ahead about when we will see you next. We will then plan an outfit accordingly. And then we will spend at least 5 more minutes on our hair the days that we will see you.


8. We will hear a song and be reminded of you. Suddenly we know every love song was written for your relationship (that may or may not even happen).


9. We will take the bad things about you and justify them.

I'm less than certain he wears deodorant, but man are his eyes dreamy!


And the number one sign...

10. We will practice writing our name with your last name. It will happen, even if it is just once in the middle of calculus class on the very edge of your paper. You will then immediately erase it and look around to make sure no one saw.

Just a Volleyball

It's natural to feel alone.

Can you imagine being the only human left on earth? Just you, cockroaches, and the world? What would you do? How would you survive? And how would you live?

Even though I doubt that anything close to I Am Legend will ever happen, I hesitate to imagine being completely on my own. Even though the Earth's population is approximatley 6.8 billion, it is apparent that many people feel all alone. The ideas of family, friendship, and community are crucial to living a fullfilled life. I think about the movie Cast Away, and how it would have been incredably boring if anyone but Tom Hanks had starred in it.(Just another reason why I love Tom Hanks, which seems to be a reoccuring theme in this blog) In the movie, Tom is so desperate for a companion, he fashions a friend out of a Wilson Volleyball. He appropriately names him Wilson. During his escape attempt, he must choose between saving Wilson or his raft. He eventually lets Wilson go, but it is an incredably painful and heart-breaking choice. That scene makes you realize the inherit human need for companionship. We all crave the closeness of another person, someone we can identify with and talk to.

Even if it is just a volleyball.

Falling into Spring (See what I did there?)

It's natural to get spring fever.

It's been a long, cold winter. I feel very much like a plant, who has just felt sunshine for the first time after being shut up in a closet or some ridiculous green house for a while. The sun is an old friend who I haven't seen in a while, whom I have every intention of getting to know again.

It is inevitable that in a couple of weeks I will be cursing this hot carolina weather, but for now I'm enjoying contentment.

The flowers are blooming and girls skirts are getting shorter. This of course reveals the unavoidable paleness winter brings.

All around me people are falling back in love. It must be the weather, for there is no other reasonable explanation for it. Perhaps it's the pollen. Whatever the reason, it is sure to remain a mystery, as anything to do with love always does.

We're all in this Together.

It's natural be ready.

And when I say be ready, I mean be ready to get the heck out of high school.

I have been dreaming of my graduation day since my freshman year. This yearning was increased dramatically after I saw High School Musical 4, Senior Year. I have never felt more connected to Troy Bolton as I do at this moment.



Gone are the days that I felt cool about saying I was in high school. I am ready for bigger and better things. My class is ready to be thrust into the great uknown, and as the cast of HSM pointed out, "we're all in this together."

I also know I need to enjoy these last few months of my senior year, because once gone they are gone forever.

Spring break is coming up, and after that we are headed to Disney World for our senior trip. I'm not really sure why the teachers pick Disney World, but I'm pretty sure their thought process is something along the lines of "After this trip you have to grow up and quit acting like immature whiny babies! Enjoy your last weekend of childhood in the place where dreams come true!" I picked up on their little subtle metaphor.

After that we have prom, then GRADUATION! I'm talking cap, gown, pointless rope around your neck thingies, the sappy singing of As we go on, we remember blah blah blah, the whole shebang.

High school is as cliche as it sounds.

I'm trying to think of something awesome and original to do as I walk across the stage, but I can't think of anything, so I'll probably just focus on not tripping.

Suggestions would be much appreciated.

13th grade.

It's natural to get excited.

After months of consideration, hundreds of pro-con lists (Rory Gilmore style), several sleepless nights, one too many awkward open houses, 4 free t-shirts, and many prayers, I have finally made a college decision.

I will be attending Presbyterian College in the fall, and couldn't be more happy about it.

If you had asked me a couple of weeks ago where I was going to college, I probably would have said something, nay, yelled something akin to "I'M JUST NOT GONNA GO, OKAY?!!" or "YOUR MOM GOES TO COLLEGE!"

After receiving an unexpected amount of money from PC, everything seemed to fall into place, and I feel, for the first time, completely content and at peace about my decision.

So, in review, I will be a Blue Hose next fall (or a Blue Hoe, as my boyfriend so kindly pointed out) and will be majoring in English and minoring in journalism.

Also, I might have a job.

More on that later.

I've Never Been on a Plane.

It's natural to love Tom Hanks.

I've never been on a plane.

I know what planes do, what they look like, and why we need them. I learn a lot from movies, and this is what Hollywood has taught me about planes.

A) If you are fancy, you ride first class.

B) Red Eye taught me that if the person sitting next to you on the plane tells you he has been stalking you and is holding your father hostage, it is best to stab him in the neck with a pen upon arrival at airport.

C) If you are traveling with your best friend who is hotter than you, you will inevitably end up sitting squished between two old ladies who talk loudly and smell like...well...old lady, while your friend will probably sit beside a very cute older guy and will probably get his number at the end of the flight.

C) Samuel L. Jackson taught me that snakes on a plane is bad news. He also taught me that movies can be truly awful. Thanks Samuel.

D) The most ideal place and time to tell your ex-lover you actually do love them and wish them to stay with you forever is in the airport terminal, seconds before your soul mate boards the plane.
*Bonus points if you run full speed through said terminal, or if the other people in line clap and cheer after your heart-felt speech.

E) The Terminal taught me that a Eastern European man can get stuck in an american airport terminal because after he left his country, war broke out, suddenly making him a man without a country. This movie made me see that airports are truly magical places, because he fell in love with an attractive flight attendant and eventually was allowed in America.

This movie also taught me that Tom Hanks is great, but who doesn't already know that?

Friends don't let Friends listen to Toby Keith.

It's natural to reminisce.

I am taking a teacher cadet course through my high school. Basically, that means that for a semester I "learned" a bunch of theories and psycho babble about why kids don't like math and pick their noses. But much to my delight, this semester we are out of that classroom and into another.

For me, it is Mrs. Holton's kindergarten class at Lake Murray Elementary.

What is strange about this experience is that I actually had Mrs. Holton in the fourth grade, so being her assistant is pretty bizarre. Mainly because I'm not quite exactly sure how I acted in her class. I wasn't a bad student, but I certainly wasn't as cool as I am now.

What I remember from her fourth grade class is she would always have a country station playing on the radio in the mornings. She would let us play monster truck computer games before class while she sang us tasteful Toby Keith songs like "Wanna Talk About Me" and "Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue."
I remember I really liked her, especially when she gave Sam Bolos recess detention for taping the poem Corey Rhoad (my fourth grade boyfriend) wrote for me on the board. It was an acrostic poem, that spelled out Natalie, with an adjective for each letter. And it even had clip art.

I knew I shouldn't have left it in my cubbie.

My first day as a "cadet" was pretty great.
I love the kids, and Mrs. Holton is even cooler than I remembered (which helps me forgive her about the whole Toby thing).

The first thing the kids do first thing every day is morning meeting, so they can talk about their weekends and whatever else they want to share.

When asked about what he did over the weekend, this little boy Lee responded:

I saw Jesus walking to work.

Me: Okay....well, where does he work Lee?

Lee: He is very colorful.

Me:.......okay. Who else wants to share?

The whole time he was talking he was looking off in the distance and had this glazed look on his face like he was reliving every moment of this mystical event.

Well folks, there you have it!
Jesus is colorful.

Also, he walks to work.

Who put that there?

It's natural to run into things.

Its amazing how much of my life has been marked by me running into stationary objects.

When I was two I ran into a wall at church and knocked out my front teeth.

When I was five, my parents took the family to Disney World. I was running around in the Little Mermaid water park and ran straight into the Ariel statue and busted my lip open.

Disney World is not only the place where dreams come true, it is also the place where little girls get punched in the mouth by mermaids made of stone.

When I was eight, we went to a neighbors house for new years eve to celebrate the new millennium. I was running towards the fireworks (not a good idea I suppose, perhaps this was divine intervention) and ran straight into a pole.

And I hadn't even been drinking.

Mainly because I was eight.

First of all, who put a POLE in the middle of a backyard?! Nothing says "welcome to 2000!" like a black eye.

When I was fifteen, I took the driving test for the first time. I didn't even get out of the parking lot, due to the fact that I hit a parked car while backing out.
So I guess technically I didn't even get out of the parking space.

But before all of you Christ-like drivers judge me, just know I passed with flying colors the second time, and haven't gotten in any wrecks or gotten a ticket!
Well almost, but I pretended to cry, so I got off with a warning.
That policeman was like putty in my hands!
It was an Oscar worthy performance if I do say so myself.

I live in sweet, sweet ignorance of the immobile.

Being Legal

It's natural to get older.

In fact, I'd be worried if you didn't.

I remember when I was a kid how fabulous and perfect being grown up seemed to be. I used to dream about the day I would finally be able to drive myself to the mall, watch pg-13 movies, go on dates with boys, and do whatever I pleased and stay out as late as I wanted.

I'm finding that adulthood is not exactly a walk in the park.

With age, freedom comes but duties follow.

I know what your thinking.

"You've been an "adult" for like, what, two days?"

I guess what I'm trying to say is that life is not always what you expected it to be.
I didn't feel any different the day I turned 18, but somehow I am.

Eighteen seems much more than a number.

Legally, I can now buy cigarettes and vote and whatnot.

That is what 18 means legally, but somehow it means much more. I'm not a kid any more. I'm obviously not exactly the poster child for maturity, but I'm not a little girl any more. I feel like I need to do something really responsible, like recycle. Or 401k, whatever that is.

I feel like I should grown up, but I'm not sure how.


whew...that was deep.

The Contra

It's natural to enjoy participating in choreographed events.


Every once in a while, someone will introduce you to something that will change your life forever.

For me, it was contra dancing.

What is contra dancing?

you may be wondering.

Well, the reliable people over at wikipedia define it as
Contra dance (also contradance, contra-dance and other variant spellings) refers to several partnered folk dance styles in which couples dance in two facing lines of indefinite length. Sometimes described as New England folk dance, contra dances can be found around the world, though they are especially popular in North America.

I define it as awesome.

I was in Clemson with Jenna this weekend visiting her brother Jad who was excited to take us for our first Contra experience. I was a little wary of this because

A) I had never heard of it and it kinda sounds made up.

B) I thought it sounded like the kind of dancing old hispanics take part in.

C) It took 30 minutes to get there on mountain roads and for a while I thought they were taking us out in the middle of no-where to kill us.

The place ended up being a big barn, with a dance floor decorated with twinkle lights and an old-time band at the front (fiddles and whatnot).

Basically, you have a partner, and you get in a group with two other people, and everyone forms long lines and does the same choreography all down the line.

The weird thing is, there is a lot of spinning involved, so you have to stare directly into your partners eyes so you don't get all dizzy and puke all over the dance floor. I wasn't exactly excited about staring intensely into the eyes of a complete strangers, but I had just eaten Japanese food and didn't want it to end up on the floor so I did it anyway. It's very strange at first and you feel like you are trying to shamelessly seduce said partner but you get used to it and end up with a few creepy-guy stories at the end of the night.

Fashion is not really an issue at a contra dance. You could wear a splatter paint tutu and blend in just fine. I saw a guy wearing a skirt and a girl who looked like she had borrowed Dorthy's dress from the wizard of oz. I envy that girl's confidence.


There were lots of college students there and mountain folk that came down from their lofty abodes to show us how its done. It was certainly a memorable experience.


If you have ever wished that life was a musical, and that everyone would break out into song and dance simultaneously, then contra dancing is for you. Minus the singing. Plus some mountain folk.

And who doesn't love mountain folk?