The Carly Minutes

I have been very blessed, of recently.

Back in the day (by which I mean when I was still at BMA) the girls dorm had a clothesline put on the bulletin board. Girls could write a note to a friend, a word of encouragement or what have you, and clip it to the line, where their friend would see it, and read it, and be cheered.

Well, Lita and I abused that line like it was nobody's business. During my shift at work, I would write her a note with stick figure illustrations, and during her work shift, she would write one back. I don't think there was a time when you could look at that board without seeing a note for Carlita or Steevo. A lot of times, there would be a million of them, and when I would read hers, I would laugh and laugh.

It was one of so many things between us, though. Now that we are talking so frequently (by which I mean I call her like a million times a day) I keep thinking of other things. for example, today I was eating raisin bran for dinner, and I had this exact thought : "Carly, my raisin bran gets mushy when it's wet. We should throw some." I have never thought to a person before, and looking back, it's kind of weird. But it was immediately followed by another thought. Back at BMA, we had this sort of symbiotic relationship - she hated raisins, which I loved, and so she would give me all the raisins from her granola/raisin bran. And I had this thought, like, 'How will I get her raisins when I go to Boston?' And then, I drew this:

graveyard

Today after work, my Bible study was canceled, so I walked to this church by my house - it looks really cool from a little down the hill. I got caught up in the graveyard, though - some of the tombstones are really, really old, and they are beautiful, sort of captivating.

Chad and I usually go sledding on the hill next to this graveyard. Cemetaries don't really scare me, when I lived with my birth mom there was one in our backyard, and I have lived with one on the corner ever since then. I think there is a peaceful beauty there, if I am allowed to say that. It's a little weird to think that there are rotting bodies beneath your feet when you walk, but once you get over that, it's interesting.

Last year, in April or something, Chad and I went for a walk and just sort of relaxed on the hill next to the graveyard. This kid lives in the house across the street, and he came over to talk to us. We stayed there for a half an hour or so, he smoked a cigarrette while we talked, and then we left. It was a cool moment - he and I have lived a couple hundred yards away from eachother our entire lives, and yet we had never met before.

Well, today while I was taking pictures of all the flowers that had been blown from the graves to a nearby ditch (they were laying there with broken bottles and beer cans. It was sort of poetic.) The same kid called me over, and we started talking. When he asked me for my phone number, I gave it. I mean, I totally intended to make up the last four digits, but I am apparantly incapable of lying, because my real digits sort of blurted out. He wanted to hang out tonight, but I told him I couldn't and now he wants to call me tommorrow. I didn't think he would call...is that weird? I can't tell you how many people have asked for my number or programed mine into their phone, and we never talk. Ever. So I am hoping he forgets, or gets busy, or was really as messed up as I think he was, and won't recognize my name tommorrow.

I know it was dangerous, and stupid. I don't know what I was thinking, but I changed my voicemail so that it just reads the number, and I am hoping that if I ignore him enough, he will stop calling, or think I faked him out. I feel bad about this, especially since I will probably see him again. But what else can I do? I can't think of anywhere I would be comfortable hanging out with him, and I wouldn't want to go anywhere he invited me - I know his friends, and they aren't the type I'd feel safe around. In a perfect world, we would be able to hang out without me feeling endangered, but I can't think of anything that would work. So.

The Lost Song of Nimrod

Currently, this is my favorite exceprt from the re-vamped 'The Lost Song of Nimrod'. It has drinking in it, which I normally don't condone, but it was a part of the story before I felt that way, so I have retain it for nostalgia's sake.


He handed me a cup and we headed outside. Walking, I tripped over the doorframe and lauched forward, spilling a bit of whatever it was before regaining balance.
"Easy, skipper." Tre slipped an arm around my waist, steadying me. I felt silly and giddy, like anything could happen. Cool air was rushing around my head and the stars were so bright, so bright.
"Tonight is so weird," I told him, taking a sip - rum and Coke. "All these things we never thought would happen - you, the band, the possible record deal - all tonight. I'm afraid it's not real, like any minute I'll wake up and it will be gone, just a dream that will never be...never be..." The words escaped me as he leaned against the brick, those brilliant blue eyes so intent, focused.
"Never be?" He prodded. I paused. I was pretty far gone.
"Never be as intense, as vivid. As it is, you know, right now."


That's all you get. Spirits have improved tonight...hopefully I will feel better tommorrow.

the post that explains what has been wrong with me over the past year.

June 12 was the one year anniversary. Of my sister abandoning us.

The last day I saw her was the Thursday before she left. She and my family went to Knobles for free, like we do every year - the adoption agency provides it. I couldn't go because I had to work full time that day. She came to pick me up, and she was mad because Anna's car had a flat tire, so they had to take my mom's van and Lisa's car, but my mom made my dad drive Lisa's car with the kids in it, since she said Lisa wasn't a safe driver. When Lise picked me up, she was all mad about that. My dad was testing her brakes, and he kept hitting them suddenly. It really pissed Lisa off.

She had to stop for gas, and I remember it so clearly : my feet were on the dashboard my toes were still the sparkly orange I bought during Class Trip. It felt like the first day of summer, the first day you really feel free and happy, like everything in the world is right. We drove home, and had dinner. She went to bed early, and I played sims until late.

She had work early, so in the morning I left a Sarah Dessen book on her pillow. It was a big one - "This Lullaby"? Maybe "The Truth About Forever"? I don't completely remember, I just know that it was a good one. My mom took me to work, and picked me up. We went downtown, and it came time for Lisa to call, telling my mom she got home safe. She didn't call though. We called the house, and her cellphone, and no one was picking up. So we started freaking out.

What if she got in a car accident? What if she was smashed against a tree somewhere? We raced home, checking all the trees, all the buildings for that beat-up Ford Focus, trying to see if she was anywhere. But she wasn't. She wasn't home, either, and then we realized that her toothbrush was gone, and her laundry. Half of her wardrobe was missing. She must have been packing slowly for weeks, and I suddenly remembered seeing her a week earlier with a duffle bag. "Running away?" I'd asked, and we'd laughed. Laughed.

We still couldn't get a hold of her. We called my nana and pop, and when my dad came home, we told him. Around six 'o clock, she answered him. She told him that she was in the area, she was safe - and she wasn't coming home. She 'just had to get away' and she couldn't take it anymore.

Everything sucked for the next couple weeks. Everything sucked for a long, long time. My parents alternated between angry and distraught, and I just sort of found distraught and stayed there. I had to put up with all of their guesses, all of their angry words, everything. They said she was jealous of me, that she'd never really been happy, all sorts of awful things. It sucked. Nobody wants to be the cause for someone's misery.

The thing is, I missed her more than anything. Lisa nad I have always been kind of jealous of eachother. She's pretty, I'm smart. I make friends more easily, but everyone wants to date her. We're such different people, but together, we were a team. I helped her figure things out, she helped me take things a little lighter. I never even realized how big of a part of me she was until she was gone, and then it was just like someone had ripped out my heart and stomped on it with cleats. I wrote dozens of angry, hurt poems, poems about sadness and guilt and the dark, dark abyss she'd left me in, where suddenly I was expected to soothe all the wounds she'd left- soothe my parents', and mine, and my whole damn family's . I was like the Lisa spokeperson, explaining everything so that it hurt them less.

I was really depressed for the first few months. I totally fucked up some friendships because I was too upset, too down, to alone feeling to connect with anyone. I just didn't want to deal with them. There were times when I wanted to cut, or go back to Bulimiaville, and times I just wanted to end it all. It is not that dark any longer, but some days are still terrible.

Like today. Today I was driving down the road and I saw a Ford Focus. It just brought everything up and I started crying, bawling in my car as I drove home. I miss my sister, and she is not the same person, even when she calls, even when she tries to connect. I miss the person she was, and the relationship we had. It feels like she's dead, and I don't know what I can do or how we can make it the way it was, or even if it can ever be what it was. So many things can never be taken back. She will never be a part of our family like she was before, she will never be as close to me as she was before. I hate it and it totally sucks, and there are these terrible days like today, where I wonder if I will ever be happy again.

It is consuming me tonight. It is this awful ache in me that never goes away, and I wonder if it was partly my fault, and I think of all the times I told my mom that she wasn't alright, but didn't push the subject because I was afraid my mom would be hurt or offended, and it was all so stupid. All the nights she watched the Hills in the livingroom and I sat in the green room playing Sims, all the nights I could have reached out, but didn't.

I am sad, and I miss my sister. I hope one day, this will all heal, and we will be a real family again.

no, I don't want to have sex with you!

A dear friend of mine has canceled Bible study today. Why? To protect our reputations.
Aparantly his mother and friend are not home, so there is no one to chill at his house, and he cannot have me over his house when no one is around - you know, because of undeniable sexual appeal, and all.

When I tried to explain to him that I would not be tempted to have sex with him, he explained that he used to feel that way too. We're close friends, we've known eachother forever....what harm could possibly come from us being together, alone? He spoke to his pastor, though, who explained that he cannot afford to be in a position where it looks like something naughty might have gone down, because then people will think he is a dirty sinner, and will not listen to what he says about God, becasue they will say 'How can you tell me about God, you dirty sinner?'

There are so many things wrong with that argument, though. So many things! So, I will list them:

1. We are all sinners, 'saved' or not (yes, I am going to use Baptist termenology, because he is a Baptist). So, if I am worried about people using my past as an excuse to not listen to me, I can pretty much count on never being able to spread the word. Because, seriously? I have a rough past. I don't know anyone who doesn't have a few black marks. God isn't about black marks - God is about forgiveness. Even when you have a relationship with God, you still need forgiveness, almost constantly, because you will continue to sin. So why the hell are we worried about people thinking something bad happened, when there are so many bad things that actually have happened, or will happen?

2. Didn't Jesus hang out with a prostitute? Practicing or not, I'm sure there was a lot of speculation there. Even if he always kept another man present, I'm sure there was still speculation - sex isn't always between two people, gross as that is. Obviously, reputation can't be that important - the people who are open to it are the ones who will believe, and the ones who will judge your message based on what you may or may not have done in your basement with me during a Bible study are the ones who would have found an excuse to not believe you anyway.

3. He used to be a druggie, and everyone knows that. I mean, a serious, serious druggie, like almost-died-druggie. Isn't that bad for his reputation, too?

So, yeah.

Wasting away....

I woke up at 10:30 today, and have been wasting my life ever since.

I could be doing a lot of things, like cleaning the house or watching my training videos for work. Instead, I talked to Lita for like an hour, wrote a bunch for 'Lost Song', and updated my sim stories. Yes, I write sim stories, and it is totally dorky of me. But....but I have an excuse, or sort of.

Basically, I write about anything I can get my hands on. Especially now, when my real-life stories just aren't coming out right, and are so difficult to write. If I write a fanfiction, or a sim story, I don't have to take it seriously. When I'm not worrying about writing it to publish it (which I inevitably do when I write real stories), it is just for me, and that is when it becomes something honest, something beautiful.

It all started in eighth grade with a Johnny Depp fansite. I started writing a fanfic about 'Pirates of the Carribbean'. While I was doing that, I started another story called [fiction], (yes, I have to put the brakets. They are a part of the story, and I love them). I was only fourteen and it was totally far-fetched, about a ninteen year old with a baby who falls in love with Johnny, and the chaos that ensued. I mean, it was really, truly silly. What gets me is that so many people on the site praised me for it, when it was really this awful pile of crap. Either way, I stayed on the site for another year, writing stories about a number of different JD movies, until the Green Day fic happened.

Cassie started it. She wrote this story about three girls who get to meet Green Day - Aeoryn, who she based on herself, Adia, who she based on me, and Sputnik, who she based on Holly. When she was only a little bit in, she asked me if I would like to write from Adia's perspective....and chaos ensued.

I hate to say that I hit my peak at fifteen. But that thing...it was 460 or so pages long, I mean, it was seriously ridiculous. I wrote it over an 8 month span, and it was so many things - it helped me deal with the boarding school transition, it helped me deal with Tom not being what I needed him to be.... but it was a very silly story - Adia meets Tre, they fall in love, they have a lot of drunken adventures, and then get pregnant. The ending is the only thing I really like - it ends on a rooftop, which is where so many of my adventures have begun.

So I am re-writing it, because the first 2 notebooks (350 pages) are gone, and I miss them. I might re-write the last notebook too, but it is precious to me, because it has all these little notes from the party right before I left for BMA, and the night before registration when I stayed up until 5 in the morning because I was too sad to sleep. I still don't know, I just know that I want to re-write the beginning, and make it a more respectable work.

Mariah Carey

When I was a kid, I loved music ...still do. But I loved a lot of strange music.

There was, of course, the mandatory '90s stuff- my sister fought over boy bands, she was a Backstreet Boys fan, I dug N'Sync. We shared everything, so we had Britney Spears and Christina Aguelira (sp?). Other good stuff, too - my mom would play Boyz II Men, Whitney Houston and Toni Braxton in the car, and we would 'borrow' my brothers' Ace of Base, Green Day, and I think a few other bands...but there was one cassett tape that was my absolute favorite. It was pretty much mine, too, since my mom and the boys didn't like it too much - Mariah Carey.

My sister and I would blast it on our little tape deck, sing and dance along, play it after we'd dressed up so that we were all hoochie, wiggling around in mini skirts with socks in our shirts. I didn't understand what the lyrics said, or what they meant, and I really didn't care how awful I sounded. When I was listening to my Mariah Carey tape, I was the sexiest, most amazing singer EVER, and no one could stop me. It was amazing.

I miss that. I miss singing and not caring how it sounded....whenever I sing now, it's really quiet so no one can hear me, or when I have the house to myself. I miss being super confident, and thinking that whatever I did was amazing. I know writers are supposed to doubt themselves, but I hate the way I never feel like I'm doing things well enough. My writing isn't good enough, my body isn't small enough, my conversations aren't intelligent enough...everything I do, I tear apart. How do you stop that? How do you make that awful little voice just shut up, for once?

I am re-writing The Lost Song of Nimrod, and having fun doing it...I just wish I could really love the words that come out. I wish I could be that little girl, listening to her Mariah Carey tapes, and singing along, loving herself and everything she does.

10 things.....

The other day, a friend was telling me about another friend's offensive facebook post. [This, dear people, is why I choose to stay relatively unconnected. Blogging is my first step into that realm, and I think I will stay here, where the water is shallow, and no one can find me. ] She told me that said facebook-er had a '10 Things I wish I could say to 10 people right now' list, and she was guessing which slightly offensive comments were directed at her.

You see what I mean, about delightfully unconnected? My biggest fear is that if I were to create a facebook/myspace, comments would be taken out of context, my BMA friends would mix with my home friends, and said home friends would be upset when people left comments directed to 'dani' or 'steevo' when to them, I am 'della', or 'dee' (no joke, people have gotten upset about it before.) I've told them that I am the girl with a thousand names, that I am something different to each person I connect with, that they don't necessarily see me the same way others do, but it is to no avail. They claim to hear me, but nothing changes- go figure. If that didn't happen, people who I don't necessarily want to know what is going on in my life would find out (I know there are privacy options, but people talk) and soon the whole world would be in my business. I have a very private family life, and I can't afford for people to be up in my business...not if I don't want to hear about it forever.

But, as far as Miss Offensive's list went - it seems like a pretty good idea. So, without further ado.....

1. Your boyfriend is an asshole- we all think so.
2. I'm sorry I never appreciated all the love you gave, I was such a bitch.
3. Your child's behavior is above my paygrade.
4. I am not that girl - I never was.
5. I liked you better before you became a Christian.
6. I am terrified that one day you will realize that not all of my damage can be fixed.
7. I am sick of trying to resecitate our friendship - would you mind trying, for once?
8. She left us because we were assholes. Maybe if we stopped being assholes, she would feel inclined to visit.
9. You don't have to take every piece of child-rearing advice your mother gives you - she didn't do that great of a job with you.
10. You are not a failure, you are one of the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.



Some of these are pretty bitchy, and number 4 is directed to a group of people, but I think this could prove a better means of journal-keeping than my terrible method of trying to remember to write every 2 weeks.

I will maybe probably possibly write later tonight, because tommorrow I don't have work 'til 3!....

late night ponderings

My estranged sister called today.

It was weird. Like...really weird. I was telling her about my disasterous Bible study w/ Matt and Pj, and how all the other strays in our church have returned...all but her. I hated not being able to tell her that I was home alone, and I think she might have suspected something, because I was very weird when she asked what I was up to. I can't help it, though. She's my sister, and my first response is to be honest with her...competely honest.

Other things....I know I should be going to bed soon, especially if I want to get up at 11 tommorrow (sad that I find that ambitious). I find it hard to sleep, though, probably due to mass amounts of tea and coffee consumed today. But, I made several deliscious items. These are not really recipes, but here is how I made them:


Mini Pizzas:

These I made on hotdog and hamburger buns. I found, in the end, that I like the hotdog buns better. *shrug* Your oven should be on 300 degrees. Pre-heat, pop the buns (seperated) on an ungreased cookie sheet. When the oven is heated, pop them in for 5 minutes or so to get them nice and toasty.

I used Prego spaghetti sauce, but any other sauce is workable. Spread this on your buns when they are done toasting. I added pepper and oregano, but I like my pizza herby. You may omit this, if you so choose. Top with a mixture of Sargento cheddar and Sargento Mozzerrella & Parmesean. Pop that in the over for say, ten minutes? I set it for about 15, because I wanted my cheese crispy. It never got there.

This was a wonderful, herb-ish pizza, and I really, really enjoyed it. My dad makes hot dog bun / english muffin pizzas all the time, though I never saw the appeal...until now.



Next is a weird soup-y thing I call stew. You will need:

1 large pot of water
2 carrots
2 potatos
1/2 an onion
Wondra, or flour. Wondra is better, if you can get your hands on it.
1 can frichik (vegetarian canned meat)
McKay's beef (not actually beef, but fake beef) seasoning
Celery salt
oregano
pepper
bay leaves
sage

Chop up your onion first while you set the water to boil. Throw two or three bay leaves in, and then the onion. Chop your veggies and frichik into inch cubes, and throw your carrots and potatos in. Save the meat for last- it really doesn't need to cook long. Season to taste, and them go watch TV or something.

Come back in half an hour, and throw the meat in. Take a ladle full of broth and dump it into a bowl, then mix that with Wondra or flour. Make sure there are no lumps. When it is smooth and thick, dump that back into your pot, stir, and repeat until your soup is as thick as you would like. Then walk away, and check in ten minutes or so. Try a potato - when it melts in your mouth, you're done.

I know it is totally not specific, but if it helps, it took me like an hour to make today, and when it was done it was totally delicious. The carrots melted in my mouth. The carrots!

I want to make some sort of italian cheese bread to go with it, but I am scared of making bread. Hopefully tommorrow, I will make it outside to get bread and make it. I also think I might make egg noodles to go with it, because I love egg noodles and want to see if this dish goes well with noodles.

I am going to see if I can watch a Roseanne/Daisy of Love mixture until I fall asleep. I want to get close to 8 hours of sleep tonight, as I work full-time Monday, and pretty much every day this week.

Massachusetts, international adoption.....

So I woke up this morning thinking about something that had really bothered me yesterday:

As I was leaving work, two parents were chatting outside the building. Each of them had adopted a child - one mother from China, the other from Guatemala (sp?). They were talking about the adoptiongs, and Guatemala mom kept saying things like, "Yeah, we were expecting her a year ago, but she just go here three months ago..."

And China mom was responding with things like "Really? We got ours from China when she was 11 months old..."

The whole conversation...it could have been about anything, from the sound of it. Cars, or books...I half expected Guatemala mom to say that her kid had been on back order, or layaway....it was so repulsive. I know people adopt kids from other countries, and in a way, I think it's very noble of them. I don't like how it's becoming a status symbol, though. It costs thousands of dollars to adopt a child from another country. There's all sorts of red tape, and the process can take years. Years! Which is most of the argument I've heard against foster adoption. 'It takes too long, and there are no guarantees.' Same thing about adopting from teen mothers - what if the mom decides not to give you the baby when she finally has her? International adoption has no guarantees either, though. It's a heap of unnecessary bother, especially when there are so many kids in our country who need homes. I'm all for reaching out, but why reach out to China when there are children in Wilkes-Barre who need homes?

Which brings me back to status. When you adopt a child from China, everyone knows you have tons and tons of money. You also get a beautiful, exotic child, and, as a bonus, everyone will know what a great person you are! But what about the kid? My sister is Vietnamese, I am very, very muchRussian, and my family is a bunch of Polish-Austrian-Italian blends. We don't look like them. I could pull it off - with brown eyes, I can sort of pretend to be Italian. Sort of. But my sister? No way. and everyone knew, and it made her miserable. She is beautiful, and so thin, and absolutely glorious, but that one factor bothered her so, so much. I can only imagine how international adoption kids feel. It sucks when everyone knows...as a kid, I always hated having it right there in all my records, on all my papers, telling the whole world. I'm not sure it's fair to the kids. Obviously it's waaay better than sitting in an orphanage, but it still has to totally suck.

Right. So, Boston - I think I am going to AUC. It's still hanging in the balance, but I'm afraid not to, at this point. I'm afraid of never gaining true independence. I'm afraid of letting my duty to other people dictate what I do and how I live my life...and I'm afraid of letting certain women's decisions affect me too much. I'm afraid to leave them because she left them. I know it's not the same, but I've been holding things together this year, spewing out eternal optimism, explaining reasoning, like a go-between, even when she didn't realize it. What will happen if I go? Will their relationship just crumble? Will they start to hate her again? Will they take down every picture of her that has ever existed?

I can see myself in Massachusetts. In most of my mental pictures of myself in Mass., I am sitting on the from porch of some huge Victorian place, with spiderwebs and splintering banisters. There is usually a book involved, something prestigious, and it is autumn. I hear that the fall foliage is beetter up there than it is around here, and we have some pretty decent foliage, so it has to be gorgeous. The more I doubt myself, the more I feel like I need to go. But I don't want this to be me doing it because it sounds fun, or because I'm bored of the idea of Bloom. Bloom is a good school, right? I don't want to not go because it's scary, either. Ultimately, I'm going to go look at it this summer, and then I am going to have a year to decide if I really want to go.

Degrassi is on. Degrassi is awesome, and totally embarassing at the same time. The drama is ridiculous, and silly, but it has this warm spot in my heart, ever since Lita and I got sick, and spent four days watching an entire season, over and over. I had to sneak into her room, but it was totally worth it. We have had some good times, but I think my happiest year with her was that first one, when she was just a few steps away, and neither of us had been at BMA for long enough to be very ....involved. We played in the rain so much that first year.

Things haven't changed much, I suppose. It's more like we've changed, and our friendship has changed with us. No longer are we little girls playing in the rain, now we are grown up girls making deviled eggs and watching America's Next Top Model. I really want to go down and see her now, I wish I didn't have to go to work every day...

I have the third of July off. I could go then. I kind of wanted to hang around for the park fireworks, but it's Sabbath anyway, and everyone is so lame around here anyway.....

in a land of pull-ups and poop...

So.

Today, I had a new student in my daycare class. The kids from the two year old class who have turned three throughout the year are finally moving up, now that school is out. That would be less annoying, except the school is totally backed up - we won't allow the five year olds currently in the four year old classroom to move in with the school agers, because technically they aren't in school, so the four year olds who are in my three year old class are stuck with me. Which leaves me with this awful combination of four year olds and kids who are still potty training.

Do you hear that? Still. Potty. Training.

And not effectively, or so it would seem. One girl ...B., we'll call her, will sit on her potty, but does not go. At all. I have offered her stickers, I have made her sit there until all the other students were ready to go...today, I dragged all of my kids to the bathroom every half hour, but it is completely pointless. My boss thinks it's some stupid Fruedian thing, and I'm just frustrated...this is ridiculous. I have no problem with poop, but when I have eight three and four year olds, some of which have serious behavioral problems, I cannot be changing dirty diapers like that.

Z. was my new kid, today. He's adorable, kind of reminds me of a troublemaker who left earlier this year. Why do I always love the bad kids? He completely drains my energy, but he gets so excited about everything...it feeds my soul to see him all giggly. He recovers quickly, too. He could be crying like his heart was stomped on, and then he sees a truck and the world is right again. It's a beautiful thing. He pooped red today, and I didn't even think to question it...could it be blood in the stool? I'm all freaked out now, wishing I had left a note about it. It didn't seem like blood at all, but I've never seen poop and blood together, so I really wouldn't know.

Speaking of poop and blood, what is with all the freaking vampire shows, now? I know that 'Twilight' has revealed a need in America for cheesy vampire fiction, but really? We're going to produce a bunch of shows about vampires, and just hope that teenage girls around the world stop Myspacing in time to go watch? You would think they would pick a wider spectrum of people to appeal to...

I guess I don't have much room to speak, though. I have this sort of morbid fascination with trashy reality television, along with the Food Network, which Lita totally got me into. I watch Daisy of Love (rooting for Sinister), I watched last season of The Real World (and will watch the upcoming Cancun season) , and when it's late enough, I watch those awful, totally scripted dating shows on Mtv. I haven't been able to pinpoint exactly what it is about reality tv that I adore so much. Sure, it's unscripted, but just barely. And maybe the people are real, but how real can you be when you're doused in limelight? I love having someone to try and identify with, someone to root for. It's such a silly thing, but it makes me so happy. I guess that's what it comes down to : people, and my awful, stupid love for them.