My mother has decided to move to Irvine my sophomore year at college. Lovely. There goes the plan that Mlle. Johnston and I have about moving into an apartment together sophomore year. I sure don't want to live with my mom. I'm super sure Mlle. Johnston doesn't as well. I mean, this is our time to live, but she keeps trying to interfere and not letting me live. She's had her chance at life. Let me have mine. Youth only happens once.
Speaking of youth, I've just finished a book. Rebbecca by Daphne du Maurier. It's an okay book with wonderful descriptions of a country estate called Manderley. It sounds so lovely to be so rich and living in such a decadent place, to have a drawing room and a morning room. I am especially in love with the scene where the unnamed heroine enters the morning room, the place where her husband's beautiful first wife Rebbecca always spends her morning writing letters and managing the estate. She describes the ornaments and decorations in the room, and then the descriptions of the writing desk comes up. Gosh, it seems like such a great desk, with labels such as "Unanswered Letters", "Invitations", "Parties", and "Misc.". And then the scene where the unnamed heroine stumbles upon the bedroom in the west wing (she stays in the east wing), and sees how the crazy housekeeper Mrs. Danvers has kept Rebbecca's room in a way that suggests that the owner is still alive. There is the ante-room which has a closet full of beautiful dresses in multitude of materials. I could have died and went to heaven right then.
And then there's Rebbecca.
My ideal beautiful woman is always one with black (blackest of black) tumbling past her shoulders. Always. Then, if her skin is dark, then she would have almond eyes (black or green, it doesn't matter). But if she has pale skin, then she has the kind that is almost white, but not quite. Her eyes, then, would be icy, icy blue. Rebbecca has the hair of the beautiful woman in my mind. She's tall and slim and beautiful, not to mention witty and clever and very, very charismatic and charming. She sails and rides and entertains while looking lovely beyond belief. And then we find out she's a nymphomaniac who has sex all the time and enjoys telling her husband, who hates her, about it to provoke him. She's manipulative and deceitful, mocking those around her for believing in her facade. When I was reading, I was very drawn toward her (not in a homosexual way, of course), but I always feel giddy when a beautiful girl or woman or house or room or dress or outfit or closet or scene that has some kind of a natural water source is described. It's weird. I just can't explain it. Oh, yeah, and floor plans! That stuff turns me on. Not in a weird way, of course. It just gets me really excited.
Mlle. Johnston wants to hangout during Spring Break, and, of course, I can't because my mother is incredibly anal. The topic of my prom dress came up and I told her that it would be $200 (it's actually $300. I always tell her that I spend less money that I really do), and she almost flipped out. She was like, "$200? Why are you so extravagant? Why don't you just borrow one of [my cousin's] dress?" Um...because, one, a long dress costs at least $200 and a good one costs at least $600. Mlle. Hatfield got one for $400 and it wasn't even that good looking. Mine's going to be so much better. I'd rather spend a wee bit more money on something I love than spending any at all on something I don't care about, but that's beside the point because I'm spending less than most people anyways. Two, because it's my own money? Three, because she and I don't wear the same size? Four, who borrows a dress for Prom? That's like borrowing a wedding dress. Who does that? Certainly not me. I would not get married if I couldn't wear my own wedding dress.
Actually, sophomore year, I decided that I wasn't going to marry, but then I thought about it and I really really really want to have my own wedding dress, so I decided to marry after all. Yeah, so...she's ridiculous! I'm paying for it with my own money! Why is she even complaining? Everyone else's parents are paying for theirs and they actually go shopping with their daughter.
Ugh. Talking about this makes me feel so suffocated and oppressed. I wish time flies faster.
Speaking of youth, I've just finished a book. Rebbecca by Daphne du Maurier. It's an okay book with wonderful descriptions of a country estate called Manderley. It sounds so lovely to be so rich and living in such a decadent place, to have a drawing room and a morning room. I am especially in love with the scene where the unnamed heroine enters the morning room, the place where her husband's beautiful first wife Rebbecca always spends her morning writing letters and managing the estate. She describes the ornaments and decorations in the room, and then the descriptions of the writing desk comes up. Gosh, it seems like such a great desk, with labels such as "Unanswered Letters", "Invitations", "Parties", and "Misc.". And then the scene where the unnamed heroine stumbles upon the bedroom in the west wing (she stays in the east wing), and sees how the crazy housekeeper Mrs. Danvers has kept Rebbecca's room in a way that suggests that the owner is still alive. There is the ante-room which has a closet full of beautiful dresses in multitude of materials. I could have died and went to heaven right then.
And then there's Rebbecca.
My ideal beautiful woman is always one with black (blackest of black) tumbling past her shoulders. Always. Then, if her skin is dark, then she would have almond eyes (black or green, it doesn't matter). But if she has pale skin, then she has the kind that is almost white, but not quite. Her eyes, then, would be icy, icy blue. Rebbecca has the hair of the beautiful woman in my mind. She's tall and slim and beautiful, not to mention witty and clever and very, very charismatic and charming. She sails and rides and entertains while looking lovely beyond belief. And then we find out she's a nymphomaniac who has sex all the time and enjoys telling her husband, who hates her, about it to provoke him. She's manipulative and deceitful, mocking those around her for believing in her facade. When I was reading, I was very drawn toward her (not in a homosexual way, of course), but I always feel giddy when a beautiful girl or woman or house or room or dress or outfit or closet or scene that has some kind of a natural water source is described. It's weird. I just can't explain it. Oh, yeah, and floor plans! That stuff turns me on. Not in a weird way, of course. It just gets me really excited.
Mlle. Johnston wants to hangout during Spring Break, and, of course, I can't because my mother is incredibly anal. The topic of my prom dress came up and I told her that it would be $200 (it's actually $300. I always tell her that I spend less money that I really do), and she almost flipped out. She was like, "$200? Why are you so extravagant? Why don't you just borrow one of [my cousin's] dress?" Um...because, one, a long dress costs at least $200 and a good one costs at least $600. Mlle. Hatfield got one for $400 and it wasn't even that good looking. Mine's going to be so much better. I'd rather spend a wee bit more money on something I love than spending any at all on something I don't care about, but that's beside the point because I'm spending less than most people anyways. Two, because it's my own money? Three, because she and I don't wear the same size? Four, who borrows a dress for Prom? That's like borrowing a wedding dress. Who does that? Certainly not me. I would not get married if I couldn't wear my own wedding dress.
Actually, sophomore year, I decided that I wasn't going to marry, but then I thought about it and I really really really want to have my own wedding dress, so I decided to marry after all. Yeah, so...she's ridiculous! I'm paying for it with my own money! Why is she even complaining? Everyone else's parents are paying for theirs and they actually go shopping with their daughter.
Ugh. Talking about this makes me feel so suffocated and oppressed. I wish time flies faster.
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