Ray's Fabulous Blog

TIME

2005-04-10T02:19:00.000-07:00

TIME is a concept... a great man once told me, but-I never really understood what he meant and still don't really-but I'm sure I will one day. So if I can't share what he thinks about Time, I'll share what I think about it...
Wow
It's been a while since I've last written on this thing. I can't even believe how the time has flown by. I only have 2 more months of high school left...I can't even believe it. It seems like it was just yesterday that I was taking those dreadful first steps into Champlin Park's 04-05 school year, and now it will be all to soon before I'm taking those all awaited steps onto Northrup Auditorium's stage to get my diploma. 13 years of school...DONE. That's pretty sweet.
Kindergarten feels like a lifetime ago (well I guess it almost is...) but at the same time these past years seem to have just whizzed right by. So many memories, so many people, and so much change. It amazes me how time changes people. It changes who your friends are, your experience, your knowledge...it changes everything.
I found some old pictures today taken during Freshman year. They were of a surprise party I threw for one of my best friends, Sally. She was turning Sweet 16 (she was a year older than us), and I wanted her bday to be really something she'd never forget. Dang-she was so surprised that I think she almost peed her pants! It was such a fun time. But as I looked at the pictures I saw some things that weren't so strange at the time, but looking back-it's just weird. The people that were at that party-all hanging out together-it was just really strange.
4 years later... wow...I wonder how fast the next 4 years are going to come and go. I wonder what's going to happen, how we'll all change. We'll change for better hopefully, but undubidubly, some will change for worse. (Hmmm...I just realized this kinda sounds like a grad speech...sorry for whoever may be reading this-I know it's probably really boring, but the truth is -I don't really give a shit what you think! This is my blog!) Sorry -that came out of nowhere.
Anyway -I'm just sayin that Time goes by so fast, but good memories seem to slow it down for a brief moment. Ya ever notice that? It's like-most of the time, time is just flyin by and you don't even notice it goin, but then you remember a good memory and everything slows down for those few moments. It's a nice feeling.
So I guess what I'm really trying to say is-Make a lot of good memories and time won't slip by so fast-you'll have more to hold on to, more to remember.

MATT BORCHARDT

2005-01-16T20:14:00.000-08:00

***Will you go to SNOWDAZE with me??***

Prettiness

2004-12-22T07:04:00.000-08:00

I like getting pretty. Is that so bad? Some people are so bitter when it comes to those things-some think it's so superficial. But I just feel better when i look pretty. Looking good means feeling good sometimes. Whenever I feel poopy and crappy I take a shower and do my hair and makeup, pick out a cute outfit and I end up feeling much better. It uplifts my spirit when I feel I look my best. Because there's nothing worse than feeling like crap AND looking like crap. Cuz that's just pathetic. It's different if you're physically ill to your stomach, but if you're just feeling icky-getting dressed and done up really helps. I think it was Estee Lauder who started the feelo good-look good thing with their selling makeupfor cancer research funding. They used the fact that when you look good you feel better for mardeting, then used the profits to support cancer research. That's brilliant. I love looking pretty, not for superficial reasons, but for the reason that it makes me feel special.

Music

2004-12-21T06:45:00.000-08:00

I love music. It's so great. It can make you feel so much if you let it. Like, it can uplift you, make you feel happy or sad, loved or mad-whatever. There's a song for everyone and every situation. I wish I was talented enough to write songs or sing because I have so much appreciation for it. I wish I could share it with others and touch others and affect them with it the way it does me. I listen to Delilah at nights sometimes and it's amazing to hear all the stories and how a song can soothe and bring about such a calm. On the flipside, my friend Kristen and I are often found ROCKIN' OUT in the car to some awesome tuens. We're so carefree at those times, completely happy and laughing and having a great time. My point is this: Music is one of the best outlets for emotion, whether it's writing, playing, singing, or just listening. It's great.

A few of my favorit songs

2004-12-19T20:06:00.000-08:00

I'll Be -Edwin McCain
Unchained Melody-Righteous Brothers
When a Man Loves a Woman
Sandstorm-Darude
Just a girl-No Doubt
Don't speak-No Doubt
Sweetness-Jimmy Eat World
Always be my baby-Mariah Carey
Pachabel's Canon in D
California here we come-Phantom Planet
You can't always get what you want-Rolling Stones
The way you look tonight-Eric Clapton
Free Bird-Lynyrd Skynyrd
Baby Got Back-Sir-mix-a-lot
Dreamin of you-Selena
Diamonds are a girls best friend-Marilyn Monroe
That love mix thing from Moulin Rouge
I will always love you-Whitney Houston
Material Girl, Ray of Light, -anything by Madonna
Butterfly Kisses
Tiny Dancer
Pour Some Sugar on Me-Van Halen
Running
Drive my car, Lucy in the sky with Diamonds, Help, Yesterday, Eleanor Rigby-ANYTHING by the Beatles
Somethin like that-Tim McGraw

Oh My GOSH-I could go on for days-there are too many to list-I'm sure I'm forgetting some big huge-time favorites....

Feel free to add to my list!!

A list of places I want to go

2004-12-18T20:01:00.000-08:00

Washington DC to see the white house
Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument
Eiffel tower
Big Ben in London
A double decker bus
The Grand Canyon
Mardi Gras in New Orleans
Graceland in Tennessee
the 4 corners thingy between Utah, Colorado, New Mexico and....what is it? Arizona?
Hawaii
The Great Wall of China
Tokya, Japan
Alaska (during the summer)
Mount Rushmore
Old Faithful in Yellowstone Park
Barcelona, Spain
Venice, Italy
Las Vegas, baby!
The Caribbean
The Amazon Rainforest
Ireland and Scotland
Norway and Sweden-to see my family's homeland
Germany
The Taj Mahal
Cairo, Egypt- to see all the pyramids and the sphynx

CANDY

2004-12-17T19:44:00.000-08:00

A person's choice of candy can say a lot about them. There are so many different kinds to chose from. Right now I'm sitting in my sister's bed and on her bedstand are gummi bears and sour patch kids. Both are extremely colorful and sweet and gummi. Just like her-well except for the gummi part. And it's interesting because in the case of sour patch kids you have to get past the sour to get to the sweet part. Kinda like her. My favorite candy would have to be dark chocolate. Which says alot about me. It's simple and laid back, it doesn't hit you with some wild flavor, yet its taste isn't as sweet as most chocolate. Just sweet enough to get by. Many people don't prefer the taste of dark chocolate, some may say that it's even bitter. Not to say I'm bitter, I'm just not as sugary sweet as say...white chocolate. Which is a favorite of one of my former friends. And it's just like her. White, pure and so sweet she'll give you a toothache. She's one of those people that you can only take so much of before you can't stand her anymore, just like white chocolate.
And isn't it funny how it seems that all grammas have hard toffee or mints or those strawberry things in their purses? My gramma did anyway. Those candies were long lasting and if you bit them they'd get stuck in your teeth so to be with you for a long time. Like grandparents. I love candy-it's yummy.

My Favorite Places

2004-12-13T18:33:00.000-08:00

my bed on a weekend
next to a warm, crackling fire place on the coldest night of the year
caribou coffee, chatting with my girlfriends
on the beach, tanning in the warm sunshine
on the roof of a hotel in Sevilla on a clear summer's night
The Alhambra
my aunt Jody's house on Christmas with a bowl of rommegrut.
in an airplane with my headphones on
wrapped in my down comforter, reading Gone With The Wind, drinking green tea
downtown Madrid, shopping
El Parque Retiro, in a rowboat on a sunny day
Chicago on a semi-windy day, on the crowded sidewalks
Valley Fair (what can I say? I love roller coasters!!)
At my Gramma Ginny's house baking and decorating Christmas cookies all day
Uptown
Chino Latino's with Namoy and Michael
El Charco, circa de las montanas en Espana con mi familia
Cali (of course!)
The Depot ice skating rink
The Old Spaghetti Factory, eating-what else?-Spaghetti
Benihanna's -YUM
any danceclub
dance practice
on a greyhound bus-alone-going across the country
pretty much anywhere with my friends or family, having a blast!

**"Brusha, Brusha, Brusha..."

2004-12-12T22:52:00.000-08:00

Have you ever noticed that you do things in a certain place, at a certain time? I do anyway. Like brushing your teeth. I always brush my teeth immediately after waking up and right before I go to bed. Always in the bathroom sink.
I'm staying at my sister's for the weekend and her bathroom sink is broken, so I'm forced to use the bathtub. This evokes an interesting sensation for me. I'm not sitting in the bathtub, or in the shower, I'm just kneeling next to it. Brushing my teeth. It's an unfamiliar situation, which is in its own way, exciting. Even if it is just brushing my teeth.
I would've never noticed that I had a specific routine, had it not been inturrupted. Even now, knowing the sink won't produce water when turned on, I go to it every morning and every night, expecting that it will. Then when it doesn't, I laugh and turn to the tub. It makes me chuckle just to think about it, me leaning over a big white tub, brushing my teeth. Not something you would expect. Try it sometime, it's kinda fun.

**In case you didn't know, my title is a line from the movie Grease, Jan says it. :)

People

2004-12-11T18:18:00.000-08:00

It amazes me how people are so different. Take my two older sisters for example. They were both raised by the same mom and they both lived in the same household growing up. And now that I've had the experience of living with both of them separately, I can truly say that they are extremely different from the one another. Andrea's house is chaotic, with 4 screaming kids running around and the tv constantly blaring. Yolanda's is tidy and calm, with one, well behaved kid. Where did the split occur? Why are they so totally different from each other, if they were raised completely similar?
I love that we're all so different. Each and every quirk teaches us things. I've learned to appreciate the eccentricities in others because it helps me to see who I am. And I can only hope that my characteristics can help others to find themselves.
I love uptown for this reason. There are so many different people gathered in such a small area of town. And the best part about it is that for the most part, they are all very accepting of one another. I find it wonderful that so many different people can sit in a tiny little coffee shop at midnight and sip cuppachino together. I love that each one is their own person; and while there are almost no similarities in anyone, no one feels the need to conform. They seem completely fine with not being the same, not being "in". Because in uptown, I get the fibe that you're "in" if you're out. Does that make sense? There isn't a "normal", being your own person is the norm. I love that.

Flowers

2004-12-09T23:41:00.000-08:00

Flowers make me happy. Just the sight of them gives me a cheery disposition. I love the bright colors of the string of lighted hibiscuses on Sally's wall, and the look of the dried, yellowed roses hanging upside down above her computer. Even the embroidered daisies on her pink lampshade bring a smile to my face. I don't know what about them is happy. Is it that they are so beautiful? Or that they smell devine? Some flowers are so brightly colored that it seems to enlighten an entire day. Take for example a dozen red roses delivered to someone. It makes them smile and have a great day, because they've received these gorgeous, sweet smelling plant. It's kind of sad in a way though. Because all good things must come to an end, eventually they die. Which is why I love to preserve flowers' beauty by drying them or pressing them and then displaying them in my everyday view. It's a constant reminder of nature's pure beauty, even when everything else is cold and dead. They make me think of Spring and happy times. I remember when my nephew, Ezekiel, was about 10 months old I took him out into my mom's garden to take some pictures. I plopped him down in the middle of a sea of white daisies and he went nuts. They seemed to give him energy. Daisies make me think of Hippies too. All their flower power and peace talk. It's uplifting. That's why I like flowers.

Forgive and Forget? I don't think so

2004-12-08T20:20:00.000-08:00

*WARNING*
I don't mean to offend any believers. I think it's great that you have something to believe in, but it's not for me. I'm not pushing anything of my beliefs on anyone-this is simply my view on one particular piece of the Bible.

Now I'm no Bible expert, but if I recall correctly, 2 of the 10 commandments says something about loving your parents and your neighbors(unconditionally I'm assuming).
HA-yeah right. How can it command every Christian to love their parents unconditionally? It's absurd. What if you were a victim of rape? I guess you would have to love your father in that situation, says the Bible. What if a parent was absolutely horrible and beat their kid? I guess the kid would have to go on loving them. People in this world hurt others every day. How can we love people that hurt us beyond repair? My sisters (and shrinks) have told me that in order to have healthy relationships in the future, I need to resolve conflict in the relationship I have with my father. I say poo-poo to that. I can see how it would help, and I'm sure it would be a great assistance to be on good terms with him, but how can a person simply forgive and forget for acts that are unforgivable? Personally, I can't see how I can say "Okay you're forgiven, let's start over and be friends." I can't, not now anyway. Where is the lesson learned in that? They screw us up and f*** us over and we are supposed to forgive them time and time again? What do they learn? They learn that you're a Welcome mat, that they have the ability to walk all over you, hurt you and still be forgiven. So ultimately, the Bible is commanding us to be pushovers. This one of the many reasons why I think the Bible is full of bologna. I will not be pushed over or walked upon, if someone wrongs me they lose my trust. When someone loses my trust there's a good chance they will never earn it back, that's just how I am. The Bible and I seem to clash, but I can't say I'm heartbroken about it.

Hmmm...

2004-12-07T21:57:00.000-08:00

I have two dogs and they are both greyhounds. One is a normal greyhound and the other is an Italian greyhound (a mini). This fact has always boggled my mind. I know that they're a varied breed, but I still think it's crazy that one is almost three times smaller than the other. I just don't understand it. I'm sitting there on the couch (with both of the dogs) and I'm just staring at them. Barkley is so small, and Rebel is so big, how did they get that way? What would happen if they had babies? Actually they're both males so they can't really, but if one was a girl...? Anyway, just a thought to ponder. Maybe I'll post a picture of the two of them, and you all can wonder about it with me.

Schwan's chocolate sundae cups

2004-12-06T23:30:00.000-08:00

The only reason I tolerate the last name McKinney, is becuase my grandma Ginny had it too. She was the kind of grandma that any girl would want, and anyone could tell that my sister and I were her favorite grandchildren.
My parents are divorced so whenever we'd have to spend the weekend at Jeff's (my biological sperm donor) house, we'd go to gramma's. As soon as we entered her house the aroma of a home cooked dinner mixed with the faint smell of Misty slims would fill our noses. Gramma would come around the corner from the dining room into the kitchen with the biggest smile on her face, like she was just tickled to see us. After tight hugs and multiple kisses on the cheek, we'd sit down at the kitchen table and settle in for a few rounds of Skip-bo. Whenever we played Skip-bo I watched Gramma's hands. She had very feminine hands, pretty and delicate, though old and wrinkley. She always had on some drab, rosey-brown colored polish. I never liked it, but would beg her to paint mine too. We'd play for hours, until finally gramma would have to stop to finish dinner. So Tory (my little sister) and I would run off to the living room to watch "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" and play barbies until dinner time, often inturrupting gramma with a need for help with a barbie's clothing.
After dinner gramma would give us schwan's ice-cream cups. You know-the one's with the tiny stripes of chocolate up the sides, and they're no bigger than a cup? MMM...delicious. Gramma always gave us those ice-cream cups and when she sat them down in front of our faces she'd take a long glance at them and say, "Those cups don't have enough chocolate in them." She then proceeded to fill them to the brim with chocolate syrup. "Don't tell your father," she'd say while squeezing a bit on to her finger and licking it off with a smile on her face, loving the fact that we were being sneaky.
She and my grandpa would leave for Florida in the wintertime to escape the cold, and when I was in first grade they gave me a plane ticket to visit them. It was the first time I'd ever been on an airplane and the first time I'd ever had a real vacation. We went to Clearwater beach, were the sand was white and soft; we went to Seaworld and Disneyland. At Disneyland my favorite ride was the tea-cups, I have a picture somewhere of all of us in it, spinning round and round! It was so exciting!
When I was in eigth grade my gramma died on February 25, 2001, my 14th birthday. When my dad called I could tell he'd been crying. All I remember was him telling me she died of a heart attack in Florida while moving into a new condo. I cried for days, I couldn't believe she was gone. At her funeral my aunt Susan gave the eulogy. In it she mentioned the schwan's sundae cups and how Gramma always gave us extra chocolate and told us never to tell. I burst into tears at that point and couldn't stop. I can honestly say that it was the saddest day of my life.
I haven't had a chocolate sundae cup in 5 years, and I'd almost forgotten about them until yesterday. I opened up my freezer, and there, in a brown box, were schwan's chocolate sundae cups. I almost burst into tears of happiness right there. It's amazing how we connect objects with people and memories we love. I ate one a few minutes ago, with extra chocolate syrup on top of course. It was delicious. I'm so glad that I have all my memories of my gramma, even though she's not here with me now. She'll always live on in my heart forever, through sundae cups, spam sandwiches, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and Skip-bo and I love her for giving me those things.

More Colorado Anyone?

2004-12-03T23:52:00.000-08:00

Okay so there I was walking the streets of Denver, a completely foreign city with a guy I had only met the month earlier (June).
I suppose this would be a good time to introduce Scott. While I was in Spain I met him (as well as some other really awesome people from CA, Alaska, and Wayzata) and a couple of other guys from CO. All of us became instant buddies, always going places together. I remember in the hotel in Granada we had conjoining rooms and we would stay up late after curfew and hang out with them, good times (Shh...Profe!! -ha sorry-inside joke). Well, Scott and I seemed to really enjoy one another's company and when we split at the airport in Atlanta at the end of our trip we were both sad to see the other go. He told me I should go down to Colorado sometime and he'd show me Denver and the mountains and everything. I told him I would, and I'm not one of those people who are all talk and no action. I told him I would, so I did. It wasn't even really about going down there to see him, it was more about the whole experience. It was such an adventure!
Okay, I'm in Denver. It was the funnest time ever! All of his friends thought I was absolutely out of my mind for just hopping a bus and travelling 1000 miles without telling my mom. Personally, I thought it was pretty crazy too, but I wasn't dwelling on it too much. Scott and I spent the next 4 days just hanging out, doing normal everyday things. We went to the zoo and saw the giraffes (my fave aminal), he took me to dinner and a movie (The Manchurian Candidate-I still have the ticket stub :) ha), we went to a waterpark, and we went up to the mountains. We rented movies and went to one of his little sister's soccer games, we just hung out. I had so much fun. It was a perfect getaway from all the crappiness of Minnesota. I was sad when I had to return to the bus station, I hate saying goodbye.
The ride home was a pretty uneventful 22 hours. I sat next to a guy with a cowboy hat who was going to Alabama or Mississippi or something to become a SWAT guy, his name was...Neil? John? I can't remember, but he seemed like a pretty nice guy. I mostly listened to my discman the whole way home, and I can't say that I was especially relieved when I got back to Minnesota, but my butt was. When I got off the bus I called Kristen right away to come pick me up. Then the bomb: my mom knew. It turns out that she'd called Kristen's dad wondering when we'd be home from Lacrosse, but Kristen's dad told her that Kristen hadn't gone anywhere. OH SNAP. That's when the shit hit the fan. She called all of my friends and demanded that they'd tell her where I was. None of them told her, finally she got it out of Kristen and called the cops to file a run-away case. CRIPES. I was scared. Kristen told me that as a punishment my mom wasn't going to let me go to Champlin when school started, that I'd have to go to the high school in Zimmerman. I wouldn't be able to be on danceline, I wouldn't get a new car or a cell phone, ever be able to get in a car with anyone besides my mom, and I would never be left home alone again. OH MY GAWD. I was terrified to face her. What would I tell her?
When I got home, my mom wouldn't even look at me. She told me that she didn't want to talk about it until the next day, because the cop told her that some cool-down time was needed. I spent that night in my room, the tension was so thick between us that I couldn't even fall asleep. I was so incredibly sorry that I'd hurt her and worried her, but most of all that I'd disrespected her. I hadn't meant to, but I had. The next morning I felt sick to my stomach when I went to talk to her. She ranted and raved and all I could do was take it, and in the end I was grounded. It stayed that way for about 5 days. Obviously I didn't end up going to Zimmerman HS, I didn't get a new car (I got an old one), I still got a cell phone and still got to be on danceline; but I did learn my lesson. I realized how much of an affect my actions had on other people, and I vowed to never disrespect or worry my mother like that again. I am sorry that I did that, but I'm not sorry for doing the whole thing. If I could go back in time I'd probably do it all over again, but I'd probably clue my mom in. It was the coolest, most stress free time of my life. It's kinda funny whenever the subject comes up in conversation when my mom's present. I always say "Ya know ma-it's kinda funny", she shoots me a devil stare and says "Maybe in ten years it will be funny". I know that deep down she kinda shakes her head, smiles and thinks to herself-I've created a crazy, almost too free-spirited, independent monster. It's all gravy now, my mom and I are closer than ever and I have a superb story to tell to anyone who will listen. So, thanks for listening...er...reading.

The OC

2004-12-02T21:35:00.000-08:00

My favorite television show is The OC. I'm in love with it. There's just something so appealing about rich-pretty-people-drama. My friend Nick introduced me to the show. He was completely obsessed with it and would never shut up, so one day I gave it a chance. The storyline moved along quickly, which was a change from the usual slow melodramas that I'd seen before, but I liked how the characters talked fast. It kept me on my toes. I instantly loved Seth. He's the quirky dork turned popular emo hottie. He has such a strong passion for anything he does or likes. Take Summer for example, he's never talked to the girl and yet he's madly in love with her. Enough to name his sailboat after her: "Summer's Breeze", which he's also extremely passionate about. His dream is to sail to Fiji one day and at the end of season one he sets off to do it. What's great about Seth is that he's got an off-beat humor, he's totally self-conscious which makes for great comedy.
Anyway-I love the show all together. It's got a great mix of characters, who have great chemistry together. It's set on the picturesque shores of southern California (Hint: OC-Orange County) with beautiful beach sunsets and all. The characters are obsenely wealthy and are constantly being found at wonderfully ornate soirees. Here we see all the gorgeous gowns and cocktail dresses, Armani suits and best of all...DRAMA. It's interesting to watch drama unfold on tv. Because it's so not what real life is. It's so different from normal, I don't know why people like watching it so much. I guess because it's interesting...of course! That's why I watch it. I don't know how to describe it. It's like 90210 meets the Miss America Pageant meets more drama! It's a good show-I suggest you give it a look-see! (Thursday nights at 7pm, FOX ch. 9)

Colorado 2

2004-12-01T23:57:00.000-08:00

As I stepped onto that bus I was overcome with a feeling of freedom. I was free from the restraints of my mother, free from the bordem of Champlin, free from the stress of moving, FREE. I found a seat quickly and got settled in for a long trip. As I was fiddling with the discman that Shannon lent me, a woman with straggly brown hair and a southern accent asked me if I was going to Texas. I told her that I wasn't and she continued to tell me her life story. Wow-after a while I got pretty bored and put my headphones on and went to sleep. I was awakened by flashing lights and the bus driver over the intercom, "Wake up sleepy-heads, we're about 5 minutes outside of Des Moines, Iowa. This is where you will be transferring..." It was 1:45 am and very dark outside. When we arrived at the bus station I got off and went inside. MMMM....that was a yummy bus station, let me tell you. The floors probably hadn't been washed in who knows how long, the bathrooms smelled like poop, and the hard plastic chairs were slimy. I had an hour until I boarded my next bus, so I got a muffin and sat in the cleanest looking chair I could find.
After a good 50 minutes I went and asked the woman at the information desk which door I should go to when my bus arrived, door 4 she told me. After standing in a line, too close to all the other people for comfort, I was told by a driver to get in line 2. I followed directions, and after a lot of confusion between 2 buses (both going to Denver), I boarded. Oh my gosh! There were two seats open, one in the very front, and one next to an exceptionally large black man who invited me, very loudly, to come sit next to him. I chose the seat in front.
I spent the second half of my journey coloring picures in a Care Bears coloring book for Scott and his family. We stopped at a couple diners for breakfast and lunch. One of them was in Ogalallah, Nebraska. It was just like one of those diners you'd see in a movie. With a little bar set up for truckers and bus passengers and such. I drank coffee (it just seemed fitting) and it wasn't even that bad! I was beginning to get really excited to see Scott and be in Denver for my first time. It was 11:00, I was due in at 2. Only 3 more hours!
We got back on the bus and I asked the driver how long until we got to Denver, he said we'd be there at around 4:40. WHAT? It turns out I got on the wrong bus back in Des Moines, so it would take longer. Poopy, but oh well. I did crosswords and word finds while listening to a mix cd for the next 5 hours, and then I saw the mountains. I've never seen the Rockies before, they were so majestic! We passed the Denver city sign and I started to get really ansy. I got butterflies in my stomach and shifted around in my seat. I made sure my makeup looked okay and packed up my stuff, I'd just finished when we pulled into the Denver Greyhound Station. I was like a bolt of lightening off that bus, it felt so good to walk after 20 hours of riding a bus in a cramped little seat! I walked toward a glass door and slowly pushed it forward, I looked left, then right, scanning the crowd. And there he was with a smile on his face waiting for me. Our eyes locked and as we walked toward each other it felt like we were the only two people in the entire station. I'd never been so happy to see a familiar face. He hugged me and gave a quick kiss, and we were off to start a new adventure in a new city!

Colorado

2004-11-30T20:50:00.000-08:00

Late July: I got plain fed up with my life in Minnesota. I was sick of the stupid garage sale that my family was having, I was sick of packing every one of my prized possessions into drab, brown cardboard boxes. I was bored of stupid Champlin and the fact that there was nothing exciting and fun to do that was even comparable to the constant goings on of Madrid, or other busy cities. So I decided to shake things up a little bit.
July 29: It was a beautifully sunny day when I picked up my friend Sally and told her I was leaving. We drove around all of Anoka looking for the Greyhound station, but it was nowhere to be found. We stopped at a gas station for directions and it turn out that the bus stop was actually this little hardware store called Peterson & Pinney. When I walked in the smell of motor oil and metal hit me. The floor was dirty and the man behind the desk matched it. He was old and wrinkley and he probably hadn't showered in a few days, but that didn't matter to me. I was there for one reason: to get away! I bought my bus ticket and decided that I'd leave July 31 and return August 5, but there was NO WAY I could tell my mom. She'd kill me if she found out. She was going up to Brainerd the weekend that I left, so I was in the clear for leaving. I couldn't have been more stoked about having that ticket in my hand, I was really doing it. I was going to Colorado and no one could stop me. None of my friends were surprised at my rash decision, and they were as excited as I was. Naturally this feeling was mixed with a little nervousness, I was going across the country all alone on a Greyhound bus after all. But I had everything planned out. I had my bus schedule with all the stops and transfers, I contacted Scott and made sure it was okay that I stayed with him and his family, and I had the note to my mom saying that I would be in Lacrosse with Kristen and her mom.
July 31: I awoke with a start that morning and thought to myself Today's the day! I jumped out of bed, packed my bags and called Kristen. My bus left at 7:10, so I figured I should leave at about 6, just to make sure I'd have some extra time. Kristen was going to drive me to the station in Minneapolis, and we called Shannon to come too. So there we were, sitting in my porch, talking about how crazy I was. Six o'clock couldn't come fast enough, but when it did, we were off! I got to the bus station, found my bus and waited to board. The bus station was grimey and full of all sorts of different people. I wondered where they were all going. Just then a voice came over the loudspeaker "Bus 107 now boarding to Des Moines, Omaha, Denver....". Denver-that was me. I hugged my friends goodbye and they wished me luck and told me to call them when I got there. I gave the driver my ticket and boarded the bus...
(Tune in tomorrow!)

CHAOS

2004-11-29T20:25:00.000-08:00

The world in which I live:
4 kids under the age of 10 running around screaming at eachother
the parents that yell at them
Not knowing how I'll get to school tomorrow-or if I'll have enough gas
the constant whirring of my mom's sewing machine and the clanging of the huge scissors as they hit the table
not having enough hours in the day
the fact that my to-do list is about a mile long
the extreme clutter of random papers scattered EVERYWHERE
the blazing christmas lights hanging at every window, so bold they hurt my eyes
the blinking statue of santa that hovers in my periphal vision as I type this
my sister's kids bothering me to move so they can get super glue
the fact that I had to type this stupid thing twice because my computer is stupid
there isn't a single working pen in this entire house
living almost an hour away from my life
the tv in the next room blaring spongebob squarepants
filling out college scholarships
interruptions every 10 seconds
The world in which I live, with only my discman blaring Gavin DeGraw at full volume to drown it out...but it's not even loud enough.
Blah Blah Blah...I hate this journal entry

Sense: Touch

2004-11-26T17:06:00.000-08:00

Summer is my favorite time of year. I love the sun and the beach and the happy feeling that it gives me. One of the funnest times I had last summer was on this beach on the coast of Spain, in the Mediterranean Sea. I remember walking across that hot, grainy sand, trying to find a place to put our stuff. We passed through the cool shade that many umbrellas created, which gave our burning feet a break. We finally found a good spot and I laid down to take a little siesta. I put my sunglasses over my eyes and could feel the cool plastic, it was as refreshing as two wet slices of cucumbers to my eyes. My towel felt like an itchy sheet of steel wool compared to the soft sand that tickled my tanned skin. Though it was hot, the sand was as soft as powder, not like the rough, abrasive kind you would find along a Minnesota shore. As I laid there my body was flushed with the sun's warmth and I began to feel sticky with sweat. I got up and walked across the scorching sand to the shore. As the crisp waves rushed across my feet, I felt a chill go up my spine. I inched my way into the icy water and felt my body shudder with the sudden change in temperature. I waded in until I was knee deep in the chilly water, I turned my back for a moment and in a split second an arctic cold wave crashed right on top of me. The coldness was as sharp as a thousand knives biting into my burning flesh. After the wave passed, I just stood there in complete shock as the ocean breeze blew past and chilled me to the bone. There was nothing left but to dive in and surrender to the refreshingly cool waves of the sea.
I spotted a huge rock that people were climbing and jumping off of. It loomed about twenty feet above water (my best guess) at the highest point. I was determined to conquer it. I swam out to it and waited for a wave to give me a boost. Here it comes-I felt the rush of the water push me up onto the rock and I grabbed frantically to get a good grip, but the rock defeated me. I felt its jagged stab into my palm, and then the sting of the salt water enter the open slice in my skin. But it didn't phase me at all, I had to climb that rock. After many failed attempts like this one, I finally acheived my goal. I sat on top of it for a few moments and felt the crashing waves' spray against me. I was soaked, my hair was a tangled clump that clung to my head and whipped across my face when the wind blew. As I sat triumphantly on the smooth rocks at the top I could feel the sun's warm rays drying me, I felt a drip of water run down the center of my back and another down my arm. All of the sudden a rush of adrenaline came over me and I ran down the slope of the rock and lept off. As I fell through the air I felt like I was flying, like I was as free as a bird. And when I hit the water it took over my body, and wrapped itself around me like a blanket. When I reached the shore I sprawled out on the sand, worn out and proud of what I'd just done. Lying there on the white powder, water droplets rolling off my body, knowing that I had not a care in the world, I felt free. The greatest feeling of free that I'd ever felt.

Sense: Sight

2004-11-25T20:58:00.000-08:00

Granada, Spain. The home of the great Alhambra. It's enough visual beauty to overstimulate one's brain. We entered the great muslim building. The architecture was beautiful, (and sturdy, standing since the 14th century) with it's meticulous carvings covering every wall. Many rooms were tiled with repetitive designs, gleaming with reflective light. One room's walls were covered entirely with Arabic writing, carved into its surface. Look out the window, the view as you look past the garden, is of the entire city of Granada. About a million little white stucco houses with red, curved tile roofing. All close enough to each other to jump from rooftop to rooftop. And we haven't even entered the gardens. Generalife, it has been translated to mean 'garden of paradise'. As we approached it's green, perfectly trimmed garden I could sense the oppulence. There were all of these arched, emerald trees, creating a shaded path leading to a fountain. The path was dusty and brown, dull and rocky. By looking at this, you would never think that it would lead to a beautiful, refreshingly blue fountain. The fountain itself was grey stone, but I hardly noticed. The water that flowed was blue and clear, and it rushed into a glisteningly smooth pool. Beneath its glassy surface lived radiantly orange coi. The way they would swim was nothing short of majestic, smoothly gliding through the clear water, fading from view underneath the lily pads and reappearing on the other side. It had a calming effect. Glancing up from the pool, I noticed that I was surrounded by a lush, emerald colored wall of leaves. They guide me to walk on, up the stone stairway to the upper gardens, through an arched doorway into an open courtyard of perfect symmetry. A long aqua pool centers the picture, with pairs of shooting streams of water running along its sides. At both ends of the pool are tiny two-tiered fountains. On both sides of the pool are perfectly lanscaped flowers and trees, giving the room a fresh, green look. It was beautiful. As we walked down the dusty stairs on our way out, we were accompanied by a trickling stream. It followed our path until finally dropping off in a cascading waterfall, down into a dark pool of azure with only the slightest bit of the sun's reflection on its surface. We exited the Alhambra as the orange sun sank beneath the horizon, painting the sky with a mixture of red, pink, orange and blue. The perfect ending to a beautiful day.

Sense: Smell

2004-11-24T16:16:00.000-08:00

I am reminded of an Old Spice commercial when I think about the sense of smell. It says that smell is the strongest sense of memory. This is so true. In the commercial there are two girls sitting in a poorly lit room with their boyfriends in the room over, watching a game of some sort on tv. The girls look especially annoyed at their loud cheers, but when one of the boys gives his girl a hug she gets a whiff of his scent and is reminded of all the good times they'd had together. He rushes away, leaving her smiling to herself. Interesting and so true. A good memory can always be recalled with an aroma. What do you think of when you walk into a house filled with the smell of a turkey roasting in the oven? And the pumpkin pie's spicy steam filling the air while it cools on the rack? I think of all the family Thanksgivings from past years. What about the smell of a wool scarf wrapped around your face, and a pine purfume filling the cold air? Christmas. Do you ever walk outside on a warm day in March or April and think to yourself, it smells like spring. I do. Each season has it's own specific fragrance. It's like you can smell the snow melting away and the grass and leaves coming to life again. It's fresh, leafy, and green. It's a very flowery, sweet aroma. In fall you can almost sense the leaves turning colors with it's smell. Not exactly musty, but earthy and brown. The winter is piney and cinnamon scented, spicy and clean at the same time. As I take in the scent of each season I'm reminded of the past year at that time. What I did, who I met. Smells connect me with memories, I know that every time I smell a certain motor oil-exhast mixed with a musky, pungent cologne, I'm reminded of sitting in Tim Johnson's garage while he worked on his snowmobile. And every time I smell firewood burning I think of a few winters ago, when I curled up by the fire in my down comforter with Gone With The Wind and read all day with a mug of hot green tea on the table beside me. With each sip of that tea, its steam would rise up and fill my nose with it's sweet, earthy aroma. It made it taste so much better. All of my fondest memories seem to be conneted with a scent, always to be remembered with even the slightest whiff.

Life Long To Do List

2004-11-22T21:18:00.000-08:00

1. Graduate College with Honors
2. Live in LA
3. Be successful
4. Fall hopelessly in love
5. Learn patience
6. Get married and stay married
7. Have a kid....MAYBE two
8. Donate to a charity
9. Live in Spain and speak fluent Spanish
10. See the Eiffle Tower
11. Eat pizza and spaghetti in Italy
12. Gamble in Vegas
13. Snorkel/Scuba dive
14. Sky dive
15. See all the Godfather movies
16. Stop to smell the flowers
17. Make a difference in someone's life
18. See the Louvre and "Starry Night"
19. Pass something special down to my grandchildren
20. Find a free lunch (you know "There's no such thing as a free lunch")
21. Visit every state in the US
22. Ski in the mountains
23. Learn how to cook a really great meal (dessert included!)
24. Drink a glass of Dom Perignon
25. Drop a penny off of the Empire State Building
-okay that last one was kind of a joke, but still a goal!

I wish...

2004-11-21T20:43:00.000-08:00

*I wish upon a falling star
*I wish for world peace
*I wish I would stop getting opposite answers on my economics h.w.
*I wish to receive an acceptance letter from Cal State LA
*I wish I wouldn't have been unfairly denied a spot on the danceline
*I wish I didn't live in stupid Zimmerman
*I wish my house would get finished soon, so I wouldn't have to live with my sister, her husband and their 4 kids
*I wish I had a million dollars, "If I had a million dollars..." -Barenaked Ladies
*I wish Champlin had won last Friday
*I wish all of Champlin's teams could be State Champions
*I wish my cat, Sox, hadn't run away last August
*I wish I had a Mercedes Benz CLK320 Cabriolet in sparkly silver
*I wish everyone in the world could be healthy, well fed, and had a place to stay with enough money to survive
*I wish we could all understand each other and not fight, or be prejudice in any way
*I wish there was no such thing as war and that no one would ever have to suffer through it
*I wish I was fluent in Spanish so my Spanish family wouldn't tease me so much and say "!Raquel no habla!"
*I wish a bright and successful future for everyone I know (and everyone else for that matter)
*I wish I had lots of pretty, sparkly diamonds
*I wish Minnesota wasn't so cold
*I wish the sun would shine all the time
*I wish being tan wasn't bad for your skin
*I wish President Bush didn't come across as such a dumb a**
*I wish terroism didn't exsist
*I wish ice-cream and other junk food weren't bad for you
*I wish everyone would smile and laugh more

It had to be raining

2004-11-20T15:36:00.000-08:00

We were so pumped on the way to the game. It didn't matter that the blue paint on our stomachs was dry and crackling, it didn't matter that I was going to have to face all of my old friends, it didn't matter that it was slightly drizzling, and it didn't matter that the rain was ruining my perfectly done hair. All that mattered was that we were at the dome and at State. We got perfect seats, front row at the fifty yard line, it was awesome. I stood next to Toni and Amanda, I was the R in " *REBELS*FOOTBALL* ". The game started and the crowd was going nuts, everyone was excited and screaming and cheering. I think the decline started when the kickoff was returned and we got scored upon. The screams were coming from the other side now. I cried, because at that moment it all felt lost and I couldn't do anything but scream and cheer, in hopes that it would make a difference. Half time was terrible of course. Having to sit and watch not only my team dance without me was bad enough, but then having to watch all of the girls that I'd learned how to dance with (most of the girls on Minnetonka's dance team went to my studio), it was hard. The last half of the game wasn't any better than the first, with every touchdown against us I could feel the tears filling up in my eyes, I've never cried in front of that many people before. Disappointment was shown across my face, as well as on everyone else's on the Rebels side of the dome. The last thing I saw was the last touchdown, that was the point that I stopped cheering and sat down. I covered my face with my hands to hide my sadness. Minnetoka had won again. They beat us. They beat me. It was such a strong feeling of defeat, they get everything, and I get nothing. Once again, Minnetonka is better than me. All I wanted was to prove to them that they weren't the greatest, and that they couldn't have everything they wanted. When we left I didn't want to look at anyone, but I could feel their eyes on me. Everything was just a blur. We walked out into the cold night and started for our car. We got lost. So we're wandering around and I find myself falling behind the rest of my group. The night has gotten the best of me. We're passing all of these successful retail stores; Marshall Fields, Neiman Marcus, Saks Fifth Avenue only to end up in a parking lot. Symbolic of my defeat, I felt like Minnetonka was taking everything away from me, like they would take my future success away. (I know it's insane to think that just because our football team lost my future would be ruined, but it's how I felt at the time.)I would've rather lost to anyone than Minnetonka, ANYONE. And it had to be raining, that was just the icing on the cake as far as my night went. The rain felt ice cold as it fell onto my burning skin, but the truth is I hardly noticed it. I didn't even notice the three welts on each of my palms from my nails digging into my skin as I clenched my fists. It was a terrible night.

#1 Fan

2004-11-18T23:48:00.000-08:00

Although not mentioned in my profile or any of my other writings, I am THE #1 fan of the Rebels football team. I know you probably feel honored to know me, but I am just an ordinary person like you. KIDDING!
But seriously now, I love football. Only Champlin Park football though, not pro or college or anything like that. I just love going to the games on cool autumn nights. The ambience of the atmosphere at the games is enough to make anyone a fan. And since tommorow is a HUGE game, I'm feeling especially spirited. So I'm going to tell you my version of Friday Night Lights.
I walk rapidly into the stadium against the wind and rush up the stairs only to see that the bleachers are so packed that it's standing room only. So I squeeze in next to screaming fans and some crazy guy with a scottish accent yelling chants from ontop of a garbage can. All of the comotion might cause any other person to be annoyed or overwhelmed, but this is the kind of thing that I feed off of. The goings on in the bleachers fills me with energy and I can't help but to get all riled up. Everyone is so close to one another and for a night, it seems like all of the lines that define the cliques of everyday high school fade. We're all just there, sitting on the ice cold bleachers together, supporting our undefeated football boys. And we score! The stands erupt with cheers and applause and the scottish man's horn goes off in my ear, but I don't even hear it because I'm so overcome with excitement! I can feel the pride throughout every part of my body, all the way down to my baby toes. It feels like energy is shooting out of every possible exit from my body, I have to get on my feet and dance around. Then the band strikes up the school song "Rebel pride and victory, unity as one!" I know the entire song and I sing it as loud as possible at every chance I get. It's a release of the energy that is surging through my veins at a frighteningly fast pace. Then it's half-time and it's time for the emotional roller-coaster. "Performing for you now...The Champlin Park TROUPE!!" That's a killer. Dance has been my life since I was three years old. I was one of the original six freshman on the team at Champlin. And to sit in the stands and watch my team perform without me kills me inside. It's this heartwrenching crush that feels like a thousand fists punching me at the same time from all directions. But it's hidden well by my constant cheering for my best friends who are on the team. Okay back to the game, it's the second half and we're stomping them. All of the feelings of hurt and sadness are quickly pushed out of mind when my boys run onto the field again. Then the madness begins and we totally kill 'em in an amazing shut-out. Everyone then reports to the after-party, where all the football parents have prepared a meal for their sons. (I'm so jealous of those moms...they look like they have so much fun. If I ever have a son I'm gunna make him play football just so I can be a football mom!)
So that's my Friday night. But tomorrow will be completely different. Tomorrow we play the Minnetonka Skippers. Did I ever tell you the nickname Sanders gave me my freshman year? SKIPPY. Ya wanna know why? Because I was born and raised in-you guessed it-Minnetonka. I remember HATING to go to the football games, because it was such an EMBARRASSMENT. We NEVER won a game, not a single one, not even our own Homecoming. It was pathetic. Even after I moved to Champlin, nothing changed. People never went to the games because the Skippers NEVER won. And now that I was a Rebel I could rub this fact in their faces and laugh, because we were awesome! But oh has it come to bite me in the butt. My Senior year, we're going to State and we're gunna take it all. The perfect way to end my high school football days. Unfortunately, Minnetonka got some sort of MIRACLE and all the sudden they're good this year. Isn't that just peachy! Kind of ironic.
Tomorrow's game is more than just football for me. It's almost like my old life and my new life coming face to face, no more like charging at each other with a impassioned rage. Those Minnetonka snobs that I used to call my friends have thought they were better than me since the day I moved to Champlin. Always saying "Champlin what? What is that? Oh, I've never heard of that place before". And I know it sounds childish, but I want to prove that just because they're stuck up rich snobs, DOES NOT mean they're good at football, and I want to teach them that they CAN'T have everything that they want. I want to show them that "Champlin who?" is "Champlin Park, State football Champions". Beneath the surface of this, what I really want to show them is that I succeeded, and that I'm just as good as they are even if I don't live in rich-ville. I want to show them that they didn't keep me down. I just really want to beat them. I know it's not the Championships yet, but if we win tomorrow I know at least one person who is going to walk out of that dome feeling like #1. It's kind of silly to put that much into a high school football game, but like I said, I'm the #1 fan. If I had the chance to be out on that field, I'd take it in a second. It's going to be an awesome game, Go Rebels!

Clouds on the Ground

2004-11-17T23:04:00.000-08:00

Fog. When I think of fog one word pops into my head, mysterious. Whenever I'm driving in it I always feel a little anxiety about what lies ahead. Like in those old movies, whenever something scary was about to happen, there was always fog. It's almost as if there's something dark, lurking just out of sight, and it's creepy because "just out of sight" is a lot closer when there is fog and you can barely see three feet in front of your face. So there you are, this opaque wall of air all around you, and you get this spine tingling chill, but it's not because you're cold. It's because you sense that this creature is awaiting your arrival and is preparing to pounce on you when you get close enough. That's what fog reminds me of. But the only reason for that is Hollywood. Realistically, fog is just clouds on the ground, nothing more, nothing less. I call upon my memory of the summer of 2003. My (now ex-) boyfriend was driving me home at around ten o'clock, well okay it was probably more like two o'clock, but that's beside the point. The moon was a tiny sliver of orange in a starless sky and it seemed that we were the only people alive at the time, or at least we were the only ones on the road. It was moist and a little bit chilly for a mid-summer's night. I remember feeling the cool air rushing across my face through the open sunroof of the bright yellow Pontiac Fiero, which was probably the brightest thing the night had seen...all night. The breeze caused me to shudder and look up into the night sky, it was then that I noticed it. The fog. It was the most beautiful fog I'd ever seen before. It wasn't so dense that you couldn't see through it, but more patchy. We would pass through a small patch and onto the other side and feel a sense of renewal almost. It was exciting, yet extremely relaxing at the same time. The fog "patches" weren't just on the ground either, they were sporadically scattered at heights varying from eye level on up. I have this picture frozen in my head of that night. In the picture we are stopped at the four-way at Winnetka and 109th and I'm gazing up at the lightpost. There's this haze surrounding its glow and it's awe inspiring. Almost like someone dipped their paintbrush in a watery-white paint and swooshed it around. It didn't look at all like fog, more like an abstract ring around the light. We drove around for the good part of an hour, even though we were just seconds from my house, just looking at the abstract painting that was the surrounding night. In retrospect, I am reminded of Salvador Dali's Persistence of Memory. The way that the clocks had that melty look to them, it bares quite the similarity to that foggy summer night. Surreal. That's the word to describe it. Like Dali's method of painting, that's how the fog looked to me. Like surreal clouds on the ground.

Ray Ray the WRITER

2004-11-16T21:09:00.000-08:00

Hello, my name is Ray and I'm a writer.
Okay...a little strange because I've never thought myself to be a writer before, but we'll give it a shot.
Although not regularly, I write. I write whenever I feel the need to get something off of my chest and onto paper. Writing is so therapeutic for me, I write as sort of a therapy for the stressors of everyday life. I've kept a journal since I was ten years old, and I've probably written, on average, two to three times a week in it. I call it my shrink away from my shrink, does that make sense? Mostly I write about crazy-fun daily happenings or what I feel like. I wrote everyday of my adventure to Colorado. I took a Greyhound bus without telling my mom and it was ever so exciting!! I knew I had to capture exactly how I was feeling in that specific moment so I could remember it later, so I wrote a lot about it. I write to ask myself questions too. When I'm confused about something I write about it until I come to some sort of understanding or answer, and then I feel better. This has been significant to me because it gets me through difficult times, and also helps me to recall good memories and reminds me of how I felt at a certain moment in time. I remember right after I moved to Champlin from Minnetonka. I'd been living with my "father" (Blood test still to be taken...and proven) and was feeling a bit overwhelmed with um...what's the word? Hatred, betrayal. They're intense strong words, but it's how I remember feeling. I don't remember exactly what I wrote, but I felt better after writing it. I felt calm and in control, even though my world was spinning at an incredible rate, dizzying me and distorting my perception of everyone around me. It was then that I began writing real and deeply in my journals. So that's my leisure writing. This writing wasn't a learned experience however. I am the only one (to my knowledge) in my family that writes. The only reason I ever started writing is because Bethany Cline gave me my first blue, irridescent journal for my tenth birthday. Blue was my favorite color, and my first entry was about the presents everyone gave me for my birthday. I still have that journal too. I don't know why I kept going with it, I just did for some reason. I don't even think my family knows I have a journal..Hm, I never thought about that.
Writing for school is a different story. The only time I actually enjoyed writing for school is when I like the subject I'm writing about, when I have a particular stance on something and feel very passionately about it. I like to prove things and make people see things my way. One way of doing this is pursuasive papers. I'm not saying I've always had an exceptional talent for them, but I do enjoy that particular type of paper. I've never been fond of writing for school though. The topics are never interesting enough for me to really get into. So that's one thing I don't like about writing.
My strengths in writing are...well, once I get started and on a roll I can write for hours. I remember this one assignment in seventh grade. We all had to write a fictional story that was one and a half to two pages. Oh my gosh, that was SO much! No one in the class thought they could do it, myself included, but once I got home and typing nothing could stop me. It was like "word vomit" (Thank you 'Mean Girls'), I just kept writing and writing. In the end I had a seventeen page story, it was very dramatic.
My weakness is getting started. I never know what to write about when I know other people will be reading it. When I'm writing in my journal I just spew things out, it doesn't matter if it makes sense or not, because it's just me seeing it. But if I know that other people are going to read it, or even that there's a slight chance that someone would see it, I get writer's block. I can never think of something to write about. That's my biggest set-back.
So there you have it. I'm RayRay the writer, nice to meet you.

From Sight To Insight

2004-11-16T20:21:00.000-08:00

Reading the intro from From Sight To Insight was interesting because I've never really noticed a pattern in which my writing process follows. However, after reading this, I've come to realize that I go along the same steps as the book says. My version of these steps obviously varies though. It's more like a brief tip toe, scampering along the steps, just barely enough to qualify as a step. Does that make sense? What Rackham describes is a lot more in depth than what I do.
When exploring the subject I can't say that in the past I've spent hours researching my topic. I tend to get a background knowledge and go from there. While writing if I need more information on something I'll go back and look specifically for that particular thing. It's not really prep work, it's more like I start writing and fill in the blanks when I need to.
When writing I write for the audience only when it actually matters. Like when writing a paper for school I'll focus on certain things that a teacher might look at and write according to that. On the other hand, when I'm just free writing I tend to not care about what kind of audience I may or may not be reaching out to. I'm pretty selfish in this, it's all about me, I don't care what others think about it because it's mine. But I can turn it all around if I'm being critiqued.
I also tend to veer away from structure. I'm more of a fly by the seat of my pants and say what comes to me in the moment. When writing an essay for a class I have a topic in mind and the general jist of what I want to say and then I just go. If it happens to make sense then great! But outlines have never been my cup of tea.
When it comes to drafting I don't consider the fact that I'll be revising and editing later. I try to get the most perfect paper done in one shot. I'm a perfectionist, so whenever I'm writing it's a necessity for me to word my thoughts exactly how I want them to sound. In doing this I tend to spend at least an hour per paragraph I've discovered.
I do a minimal amount of revising, for the most part because I've already said what I wanted to say. If I do any revising after I've printed off my first draft, it's because an authority figure (aka grader) has told me that it would be a good idea to. I kind of do all my revising while I'm writing the original, I read and reread everything to make sure it sounds perfect to my ears, so when it's printed I don't really see anything wrong with it.
Editing is another thing I sort of incorporate into my drafting process. Spell check is helpful with this, and if spell check doesn't catch it...neither do I. It's a terrible habbit I'm sure.
So there is my process, I get a background knowledge and go to work until I think that it's the best paper I can write, editing and revising as I go, no organization whatsoever. Taking a step back and realizing the steps that I should be taking, I don't know how I do it. I must be magical.