Ideally

When I grow up I'd like to live somewhere else. Indulge in a bohemian lifestyle (and I don't mean I want to grow up and become a hippy or live a "rent"like lifestyle. blech).

I wanna improve my very limited knowledge of the French language. I'd like to move to France and spend my time writing, taking pictures, listening to records, smoking weed and cigarettes. Using the very little money I get from the very few works that I've gotten published to buy my weed and my cigarettes and a variety of organic food from a local farmer that I would have made friends with. I would flit around my rundown apartment with the interior brick walls in skimpy night dresses. I'd have a tattoo and my nails would always be painted some dark, muted color.

I'd want to meet cultured people who I would share similar interests with. I'd want a lover who's smarter than me. I'd want to wear my hair wild and long and curly. I'd wear lipstick and powder and blush and line my eyes with dark kohl. I'd use the very little money I'd have left to become a patron of the arts and support my favorite musicians. I'd share my home with other aspiring artists.

Instead I am sitting here now, my eyes red and heavy and hurting from the pathetically minimal amounts of sleep I've been able to get. I've just gotten home from school -high school to be exact, with all its dreary cliches.

At least I've been doing things that have been out of the ordinary this past week and not quite so typical. Last Friday I got to meet one of my idols, Bethany Cosentino. Saturday I went thrifting. Monday I smoked half a cigar and got to meet the outrageously sexy band, School of Seven Bells after having watched them perform a killer show. Tuesday I went around town, stood on the medians of ridiculously busy roads and took pictures of traffic cameras. Did it on I-380, too. Wednesday I saw the Pomegranates, who were such sweethearts and crazy talented. Definitely buying their album.

I've been smoking so much recently, and right now I'm craving a cigarette so badly. I've got one Djarum Black left, and I don't know when I'm going to be able to get a new box or who'll be able to get one for me.

I'll be able to provide them for myself in 3 weeks time.

KHS HC '10 < 3

You know you're in high school when there really is a such thing as homecoming drama.

I'm walking through the halls today right after homeroom, in which we voted for the top 20 for homecoming court. I'm on my way to French, when I get stopped repeatedly in the halls to be told that I've been voted for. Whatthefuck. It was nice and all, but still, I highly doubt I'm going to make homecoming court.

At this rate, I doubt I'm even going to homecoming. I've got this amazing thrift shop dress that I want to wear that makes me look hella fine, but nobody that I want to go with has asked me yet. There was one boy, who was nice and cute who asked. At the time, I assumed that I had another date lined up, so I told him so. So of course, he asks somebody else, who says yes. I get asked by a douchey drug dealer, who I say no to, who also doesn't take rejection well. I ask a college kid, who says no. So now I'm left dateless and I've got an arrogant ass to deal with.

My plan of action is to somehow sift through the tons of generic, bro-y Kennedy boys and find a date who won't mind getting baked as fuck beforehand, maybe a shot or two, and just spend all of homecoming in a nice, weed induced haze. Now, that sounds pleasant.

Hello Old Friend

It's been a while since I've posted anything legitimate on this blog. I've recently opened up a tumblr. I've been using that much more frequently. I suppose this could be more of a non private online diary, while I consider my tumblr my outlet for small blurbs and media posts.

I'm sitting here in my photoshop class, listening to the Cloud Nothings and Weed Diamond on last.fm. Not doing anything to improve my photoshop skills, whatsoever. We've got a substitute teacher in class today, and that generally contributes to the overall feeling of laziness in a classroom, which is exactly what it's doing here.

Small Black remix just came on and that makes me happy.

Bell's rung.

Religious Views

I'm a muslim kid growing up in a very non muslim country.

I'm constantly surrounded by temptation. Images, videos, music, even food and drink that seem to pull me in a direction opposite from the one I should be heading in.

And it's harder than most people think. My parents grew up in a country where being faithful was easy enough. You were surrounded by muslims, you were taught religion in school, the call to prayer to everyone in the country.

Islam is not merely a religion, it's a way of life, they tell me. It's hard. It controls every aspect of your life. Music is a sin. Pork is sinful. Alcohol is sinful. Immodesty is sinful. Backtalk is sinful. Gossip is sinful.

It tells me the clothing I can and can't wear. There are so many things I can't do. So many limitations I must abide by, or else I'll go to hell.

Don't get me wrong, though, I like my religion.

Once you get passed all the superficial, surface stuff, it's a religion that corresponds with science and it's a religion that makes sense. One thing I really appreciate and admire is the fact that it holds you accountable for all your sins, and does not give the power of redemption to anybody but yourself and to God.

People always ask if we look to Jesus as our savior. We believe in Jesus, and acknowledge that he was a prophet and a messenger sent by God, but we don't see him as divine or any less human than you or I. They then proceed to ask if we believe in Mohamed (PBUH) as our divine savior. I then have to explain that Mohamed is nothing more than a prophet and a messenger who received the word from God and spread the message of Islam.

That message says that you must believe in and worship God. That you are not held accountable for anybody's sins except for your own.

We don't believe that all people are born sinners. We believe that everyone is born completely pure at heart, and every sin that is committed counts against you. But you can ask for forgiveness easily enough. All that you need for redemption is honest remorse and a genuine attitude. We don't believe that any Priest, pope, imam, or rabbi can relieve you of your sins or grant you entrance to heaven or save you from hell.

It's all up to you.

That's what I like. The fact that you are completely and 100% in control of your life.

I believe in God. I believe that there's an afterlife, I just don't believe that it can be simply divided into black and white. Heaven or hell. Life's not like that. Between every aspect of good and bad there are thousands of shades of gray that must be taken into account.

I can't comprehend how you can fall under one of two categories. That you can either be good and righteous or evil and damned.

I feel like one's afterlife should be some sort of rehab. One's personal guide and plan to becoming the most perfect person that they can be, and then everything after that should be some sort of meditation.

These are just my personal ideas about religion. I respect anyone who does whatever they can to be a good person.

Today I Bought a Dress and Wrote a Poem

Today I bought a new dress. I bought a new dress today. A new dress I bought today.

Was it a lovely dress? A lovely dress it was. A lovely dress was it? It was a lovely dress.

I bought a new dress today, and it was quite pretty.

It's got flowers and colors, and it doesn't look at all icky.

It's beautiful, it's bright.

I'm planning on wearing it Friday night.

Friday night is concert night,

and I'm telling you I will be a sight.

The girls they will be jealous

and the boys they will tell us

That the girls in the lovely dresses,

Why, yes, they are indeed the bestest.

I love it quite a lot,

It was no dress that I sought,

When I walked in the Target store,

My eyes not paying attention to the floor.

I browsed, I glanced, I took a look,

But not of the clothing seemed to go by my book

I decided to try the clearance rack

In search of something, cheap and yet not at all whack.

And what do I happen to find

In this seemingly hopeless search, of the fifty-percent-off-rack, of mine?

Why a gorgeous, flowing, timeless dress,

So much better, and clearly a cut across the rest.

Only Ten dollars and forty eight cents

A bargain to anybody with common sense.

I picked it up and tried it on

And, oh how I shone,

In that lovely, gorgeous dress of mine,

Why, I knew I would shine!

Today I tried to write a peom.

I tried to make it flow make it wind,

Make the words rhyme

I feel

that, perhaps,

it could have been a little silly,

clearly nothing more than an attempt

But I hope that people see it as something more

Something that came through with meaning and sound

Something that would clearly resound in whoever'd

be reading it at the time.

A work of genius, of beauty, of contemporary contempt

A work of silence and sound, of vintage and modernity.

I feel that it had gotten the best of me.

For I worked, and I tolled.

Why, this keyboards drips in my metaphorical sweat.

The sweat of a mind at labor.

The sweat of a brain, a hand, a pen, and a paper.

The tears of a frustrated young girl.

Frustration! At the inability to put together heartwarming words.

All about the complexity and the deep story of a new dress.

A brand new dress! What could possibly be less of a topic than this?!

It's all right, she says, just breathe, she says.

Well, she breathes, she calms, and she waits.

Waits for that instance of brilliance, that sweep of confidence.

That tremble of a hand, working hard at the literature in its presence.

That's what I did.

I sat.

I thought.

I wrote.

I conquered.

Well...I don't know if conquered's the word I'd use. Kinda.

Summer, Please Last Forever

Whoever invented senioritis also needs to come up with a word to describe the feeling that those left behind by their senior friends after they've all gone to college are suffering from.

Which is what I'll be suffering from come August.



This year, I went through big changed when it came to my friends. I lost some a group of people who I'd been friends with for many years. It was hard. Change always is, but I got through it with the help of some of my other friends.



I'd also been gradually becoming closer to some girls in my AP Psychology class. Both of whom were seniors. One actually ended up moving to Montana, which was depressing, but the other is right here and still with me. And along with her I have made 5 new senior friends, friends who I've grown extremely close to. I can hang out with each one of them one on one with the conversation flowing and flowing, no lulls. And when there are, they're comfortable, as if we're taking a moment to enjoy each other's company.



They're a virtuous group of people. Not virtuous in a conservative sort of way, but more in the way that they've got a good set of morals. I have never engaged in a gossip session with any of them. None of them have ever said anything bad about the other. It's comforting, to know that your doting, loving friends will always be your doting, loving friends regardless of whether or not you're around. They're also the most relaxed group of girls I have ever hung out with. They're almost like guys when it comes to the "drama" factor. If things happen, such as going to a best friend's hosue for a birthday bonfire, only to have your best friend leave the bonfire for another person's house and everyone go their separate ways. "We all just rolled our eyes and got over it."



I'm also going to miss all the casual hang outs we've had. Where we'll just go to somebody's house and just sit and talk and talk. When we'll rent really stupid, cheesy chick flicks and laugh at them the whole time and make predictions on what's about to happen next. When we'll go to wal mart and buy tons of delicious snacks.

I'll also really miss all the parties we've had, dinner parties, parties where I have no idea who anybody there is, but I get to meet new people, so it's all good kinda parties. All the times we've put on our nice things, and gone to nice restaurants. All the times where we've gone to my friend's boyfriend's friends' house, who were former Kennedy graduates on a late Saturday night and played cards and laughed and just had an all around good time.

I'll miss my chaffeur friend too. One of my senior friends gives me rides to school every single morning, and occasionally in the afternoons as well. I'll miss that daily debriefing we had. We got so close in that small Honda Civic of hers. It was basically the batmobile. Where most cars have "D" for drive on their gear shift, hers had a batsymbol. And the little "H" on the back of her car (the Honda symbol) was flaming.

I'll miss dissing on eachother's taste in music. I'll miss her trying to find new bands for me to listen to, and I'll miss trying to persuade her to give my music a chance, a feat she'd never be able to accomplish.

There are a lot of things I'm going to miss about my friends. Their little quirks that I won't ever be able to find in any other person. Their unique traits that make them who they are and that make me love them. I love them and I'm going to miss them.

Oh, Jeez. I'm tearing up now, so this is going to stop now.

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

Shopping:

Can I just explain how good it makes me feel when I'm out looking for clothes, and I try on something that accentuates my best features and hides my blemishes. Something that fits my style perfectly without being too conservative or too revealing. Something that makes me feel good about myself. Reading: I read a whole lot. I used to much more than I do now, though, which is really a shame. I remember summers where I'd volunteer at the library. I'd volunteer once or twice a week, and each time I'd come home with a purse full of books, 6, 7, 8 sometimes up to 10 chapter books from each section of the library. Biography, adult fiction, science fiction, nonfiction, young adults. Every section. I'd then return them all the next week I'd come to do my service, and so the process would repeat. I'm also quite a speedy reader, it's one of the very few talents that I seem to posses. I can read a full length, adult chapter book in a day, easily. The 7th book of Harry Potter, against my own wishes, I finished in a matter of hours. Give me a book and let me devour it and I'll give it back deliciously finished up in a time shorter than you'd expect.

Friends:

I can't even begin to describe how much I love my friends. This year, I'd lost a group of people that I'd been friends with for years, and that was hard for me to deal with. Luckily I had the support of my old friends to comfort and support me all the way through. Then I made a whole other group of friends. While they may not be going to Kennedy next year, it's reassuring to know that they'll only be a half hour drive away. And there's really nothing more I love than sitting with my very best friends and doing the silly things any group of girls would do. I love the spontaneity of it all, the last minute phone call telling me to drop whatever I'm doing, get myself lookin' good and ready for a good, fun, long night out. And I love the fact that whenever I'm down I can call my best friend up and rant and rave and let it all spill out of me, with her nodding empathetically on the other end of the line.

Family:

As much as I complain about my parents, as any teenager does, I cannot help but absolutely adore them. Their overprotectiveness, from an outsider's point of view, may seem charming and cute, but when you're the direct recipient of such worried paranoia, it can get old quickly. I admire my father and his intelligence, and my mother and her tolerance and for taking on the traditional, home cooking, home making, role of a mom. I know that I can always, always count on my sister. She's sweet, naive, and has such a soft personality. She's the middle child, so she's always pretty chill and relaxed. My little brother; however, is one of the most hyper child that you may ever meet. His temper tantrums, and impatience can get pretty annoying, but he's absolutely adorable and sometimes just says the darndest things.
I love my extended family, as well. I love my grandmother, my aunt, my cousins, and all my uncles. It's like that game of trust, you know? The one where you have to close your eyes and let yourself fall, hoping that somebody'll be there to catch you. When I picture my family, I picture them, arms outstretched, ready to catch whatever stumble I may take. All 10 of my uncles, my aunt, my cousins, my grandparents, my siblings, and my parents. There's such a strong sense of family.

Time Travel

As I wrote my essay about Puritans for my APUS history exam (which was not a pleasant time for me. I am not a big fan of taking tests.) I just remember that I kept thinking, I really wish I had a time machine...

I'd buy myself a pilgrim-y looking dress make myself look awesome, and go back in time and bring my camera along with me and take a bunch of pictures of Puritan society. The making myself look awesome part of this fantasy of mine serves the purpose of looking like a societal elite. So that they might take me more seriously than if they thought I was some lower class impoverished scum. I'm actually not too sure if social classes were established in the very first Puritan colonies, which just goes to show on how much I don't know about US history.

Another thing I'd do is go back to the 60's and shake hands and take pictures with the Beatles. I'd go back to their low scale, pub playing days where their sound was a lot like popular American, Elvis inspired bands. Before they were signed. When Brian Epstein (the man with the perfect voice) was still their manager.

Then after having accomplished this, I'd go back to the days where Christianity and Islam had yet to exist and take a picture with Jesus. Then I'd probably try selling it on ebay.

After doing this, I'd take a picture with Julius Caesar. I actually don't know how plausible this is. Keep in mind, he was an emperor. He was royal from birth, so I feel like my execution may very well happen if I try to get near him. Should I tell him that his death was imminent and that his very companions were the ones who were going to cause this? Should I tell him to listen to the man who told him to beware the ides of March? Should I tell him that his last words would be "et tu Brute?" Nahhh, I'd just history take its course.

To do all this I feel like I'd also have to speak the language. And Latin, I've heard, is a quite challenging language to master. I figure taking along one of those English to (insert language here) books wouldn't do. They'd call my bluff.

I'd also try to talk to William Shakespeare. And see if my modern English could possibly be understood by his intellect.

Places I'd stay away from: The Spanish Inquisition. If they were already accusing people of fraternizing with the Devil, then I doubt my carrying around a mysterious boxy contraption that mysteriously flashed and then showed the photograph of the very person who'd stood in front of the flash would help my cause much.

Salem, Massachusetts circa 1692, same story, basically.

Classic.

I like old things.

Vintage clothing, retro trinkets, old fashioned styles.

That seems to be the direction in which current fashion is headed, and I can't say I'm complaining at all. I feel all that stuff is more classy and more high end than the current, simple, blue jean-tshirt wearing ways of society.

I personally wouldn't mind wearing a nice dress everyday. Or cute A-line skirts that does wonders for my body.

There's a certain charm that a classic car or an article of clothing from another era has. I don't know what does it, maybe it's the natural fading it seems to posses, but I find it really alluring.

I like old fashioned clothing, as well. I love lace and ruffles and feminine pinks and natural beiges, retro blacks, or crisp whites.

I would love to be able to travel back in time to be able to go shopping. Preferably the early 60's. Get my hair done at a salon, get my nails done, then get my make up done. Buy a camera and some film, and take old fashioned pictures. Make a film using a 60's video recorder. Buy a bunch of old records and a record player and transport them with me to the future.

Get my room some new, cute accessories. Perhaps a new bedspread, and a cute rug or two. Buy retro looking, space age furniture. Some silver platform boots.

Another era I wouldn't mind going back in time to would probably be the 40's or the 50's. I feel like those 20 years were just two decades of really well dressed people. 40's through the 60's were just a good time in American history, fashion-wise, anyways. Designers really should have just stopped progressing clothing since then, I feel that body shapes (up until the 60's anyway), were more realistic than they are nowadays. At least back in the 60's big boobs weren't a must. Women who were waif thin were also expected to have consistency throughout. How the hell are girls supposed to be size twos while still filling their tops up nicely?

Music was also awesome, we went from big band, to swing bands, to British bands.

What a time. Really. Can I just take a step back in a time machine? Best birthday gift ever: big, bad time machine, with room enough to bring back all sorts of goodies, big and small back to the future with me.

Anyway, as I said before, there's just something about that cute 50's era skirt and top with the ruffles and lace in that creamy, faded beige color that possesses some awesome charm.

"You can't laugh and be afraid at the same time."

Ah, political satire. Oh, Stephen Colbert.

I love you so much. The Colbert character as well as the actor behind the comedian. You both are genuine people who can easily get a point across in the most subtle of ways.

You're untouchable. When on the O'Reilly factor with Bill O'Reilly, the most he could play on you was the fact that you changed the pronunciation of your last name from a pronounced "T" to a silent "T". He repeatedly asks if you're French. As if that has anything to do with the fact that Bill O'Reilly is seriously getting owned at the moment. His studio and film crew are heard laughing in the background at some of the jokes that Colbert cracks. It's HILARIOUS.

How about that episode when Colbert recreated the moment when Bill O'Reilly lost his temper due to the fact that he didn't understand what "to play us out" meant? That episode, I about pissed my pants laughing.

And then you're on Youtube reading all the O'Reilly adoring comments posted about the video. It's a bit creepy, the level of adoration they have for this clearly insane political commentator, who seriously needs to get himself a round of anger management therapy.

But, hey, the topic of this blog post is not Bill O'Reilly, or his extreme conservativeness. I'm not going to get into any of that at all. The real topic of this blog post is the amazing irony that Stephen Colbert posses.

He makes people laugh, and whoever makes people laugh deserves some kind of a medal. A prize. At least a pat on the back. His extremely popular TV show does just that. Everyone adores this guy. I have yet to hear a practical, plausible critique of his show that isn't from some radical neoconservative.

I've watched interviews with Stephen Colbert where he's out of character and genuine about his show. The way he talks about his kids and his family, his values and beliefs really makes this guy seem genuine and knowledgeable. He collaborates with all his writers so that the words he says won't be some scripted thought that he's just reading out loud. They'll actually be some of his own words and thoughts.

Stephen Colbert, I love you. You make me laugh and I appreciate that.

Advanced.

Placement.

Exams.
Are eating away at my soul. These past weeks have been nothing but practice exams, urges to study from teachers, reminders on the announcements, people asking to get together in a group to study.

(Review, review, review. Study, study, study.)^3983958340543098 power.

And guess what? I'm already sick of it! I am ready for all this to be done! Fini! La fin!

It's May! The weather's warm. The sky's blue. Spring sports are coming to a close. Friends are making their way home from college. I just want nothing to stress about. I want stress and school to end.

School and stress...very rarely do you have one without the other.

It amazes me to see that people still write in their action planner this late in the year. It amazes me that people can still take their notebooks out and pay attention and take notes in class. I am amazed by the amount of effort put in by my peers. I've heard many a person talk about how they don't do anything anymore, how they're so disappointed with their work ethic. The very same people who do the above mentioned, and I chuckle, and pat them on the shoulder and explain gently that as long as they're turning in their homework, getting assignments done on time, and not falling asleep during class then they're far ahead of where I am.

I don't know how I'm going to pull my grades up this late in the term, and honestly, I'm pretty worried. My GPA has fallen to such great extremes I didn't even know I was capable of getting. School has always been my strong point, throughout my life. I was always pretty academically inclined. You know, Prime Time as an elementary school kid, PACT during middle and high school. Involved, participating, always going to class, won essay awards, raised my hand, was well behaved BLAH BLAH BLAH. But then I get to junior year and I'm like: Wow. Where has any ounce of self dignity I once had gone?

I could rant and rant about this particular subject, and I will because I can and because it'll make me feel better...for a short while, at the least.


I ran across this picture in my search, and thought, how could I not include this?

Les Cles Part 2

Things start getting weird.
The screen doesn't stay rectangular. It shifts and the its shape's completely different.
Things pop out. Characters are coming at me. I feel like I could reach out and touch them.
And I do.
We both do, my friend and I. Our hands are outstretched. Our fingers are slightly bent and ready to curl around anything tangible. Of course, the protruding images were just a result of the 3D show. As soon as they retracted back into the screen, my friend and I looked at each other and laughed.
And boy did we laugh.

Guffawed. Hooted. GIggled. Gaggled. Cried. Our chuckles filled our eyes with tears. We were hysterical.
We were two teenage girls, having an awesome night out, watching this already amusing movie, and we'd just done the most ridiculous thing you could possibly do at a 3D showing. Try to grab the 3D images.

We were so embarrassed!

The movie dragged on. Time passed so slowly. The concept of time really didn't even make sense to us at that moment. Time? We started theorizing hardcore on what time was. Talking about spatial time and the fourth dimension and time travel and a whole bunch of other time related concepts and ideas. Time couldn't be real, could it? This movie was 5 hours long. We weren't just 2 hours into it.
Our clocks must have been wrong.

My friend had a miniature bag of dill pickle cashews and Cadbury chocolate eggs. At the moment, food was not appealing to me at all. I hadn't eaten a lot that night or anything, but I held no interest in the favorite foods of mine she had resting on her lap. Strangely enough, she thought the same thing.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Finally, the movie ended. We were so happy to have seen it and the mood it left us in was wonderful. To this day I still have "flashbacks" to the movie. I remember the beautiful colors and the odd shapes, and its deeply profound meaning. I feel like I'm there, sometimes, back to that particular moment.

Wonderful.

Les Clés Part 1

You know those "usual night ins" that you have with a certain designated friend of yours if there doesn't happen to be any parties or events going on. We'll come to my house, rent a movie or Netflix it up, and pig out until 1 AM, when she has to leave. Oh, sometimes instead of just going to WalMart or Target for our snackies, we'll get some greasiness in our system via McD's.

One night, a night that she was planning to sleep over, we decided to switch things up a bit. We weren't going to have the same old girl's night in. They were fun, and silly, and we'd always talk about the goofiest things, and they were relaxing, but hey. We were going to take a walk outside our comfort zone.

My good friend and I decided to go to one of those 3D movies. Yes, they were ridiculously expensive and between the both of us, the same $5 dollar night ended up costing us $40, but we decided it was worth it. The reviews we'd heard gave us mixed feelings. Some said this movie was the most amazing experience anybody could ever have, and others told us that the movie was overwhelming and mind boggling and just plain old too much, and sometimes would even make them throw up. We were a bit worried about this, but we figured we'd be just fine.

We bought our tickets well in advance, and just decided to wait around the theatre until our showing started. We waited and waited and waited. We got so tired of waiting that we almost became fed up with the whole thing and were going to leave. But finally, slowly, the doors opened and we were ushered inside. The movie began, fast it seemed, and we were hit with a melange of colors and noises and such strange sights! I'd never been to a 3D show before, and boy was it weird.

No shape held its form, it seemed. Everything was constantly moving and flowing and seemed to be made out of some sort of liquid. The dresser in the main character's room appeared to be bending and flowing as if it were a belly dancer. I shared this little absurd thought of mine with my friend and we burst out laughing. And boy did we laugh. The whole theater was laughing.

The energy inside that theater was great. The audience was into it, and we chose great seats. We were almost smack in the middle and the sounds were coming at us at an almost perfect pitch it seemed.

We were happy, everything was perfect, and life just couldn't get any better.

But then I noticed something...the people in front of us were eying us pretty rudely. I gave them a look, and then they burst out laughing. I figured it out...they thought my friend and I were lesbian! How judgmental of them! Were they dumb? Couldn't they see that we were just great friends who were having a girls' night out? It just got me so mad. Why does everybody have to judge and make assumptions when they have no idea what's going on? I told all this to my friend but she just shrugged her shoulders and "oh well'd" it. I was still fuming, but the nice feelings that this movie put in me helped to curb my unhappiness.

Ode to premature Senioritis

The weather’s warmer, Prom’s over, tennis has started and is coming to an end, AP exams are in a mere matter of days, the word “final” has been tossed around by many a teacher. AKA: the school year is winding down. Summer’s so near I oftentimes feel like I can feel that summer vibe. You know the vibe I’m talking about; the lazy, green calm of outside, broken only by the sound of an occasional lawn mower, flip flops, sweat, sunglasses, bed at 2 rise at noon, smell of sun tan lotion, and constant, never ending relaxation and fun.

Knowing that these will all be characteristics of my daily life in a couple of weeks makes it hard to bring myself to sit down and buckle down. I’ll peek out my window and the grass will look so lush and welcoming. My phone’s on my desk and I’ll text up my tennis partner and suggest a quick match of tennis. Homework? Pshhh, I’ll do it tomorrow. I’m sitting in my photography class, and we’re having an interesting conversation on the making of heroin, and whatever photography assignment I’ve got on my mind nags slightly: I’ll get it done sometime soon, no big deal. Paying attention in class, but it’s just too dull. I’d rather think about my plans for the weekend, and text everyone to make sure the bonfire’s still going down. Who gives a hoot about what electrons do and why they do it. I need to find out if I’m in charge of bringing hot dogs. I’ll just call up (insert name here) and get the notes later. No big deal.

Except tomorrow comes and my homework’s still not done. Project due dates slip by and yet my assignment grade remains a zero. Later comes, my phone’s in my hand, and I choose to get on Netflix instead.

I am on a one way track to failing my junior year. This is so unlike me. The girl who scores in the top percentile or two on standardized tests, the girl who was the head of countless committees in middle school, the girl who passed freshman year and most of sophomore year with a 4.276 GPA, the girl who was a hard worker, who could buckle down and GET STUFF DONE.

Well, good-bye, studious alter ego of mine, and make room for the new procrastinating, disorganized, mess of a pupil.

P to the R to the O-M...PROM.

So last Saturday I got the opportunity to go to prom. I didn't legitimately go. I was really on assignment for our school newspaper, while keeping the yearbook in mind. I was instructed pretty severely by my assigning editor: TAKE GOOD PICTURES OF PEOPLE DIRTY GRINDING, OKAY?

Oh boy! What a demanding task they were asking of me. I had doubts, I must admit. Could I do it? Well! I sure won't spoil it for ya. Find out for yehselvs.

I took pictures of Grand March, a parade of prom couples around the gym. That was fun, for a while. For the first 15-25 minutes or so I really enjoyed taking pictures of each couple, they all looked so happy and the dresses looked gorgeous. Seeing everybody all done up and excited for the night ahead was contagious. Soon, I found myself just as excited as any of the seniors there.

Many of my friends are seniors, so I actually had a group to go with. Seriously lucky for me. It gave me the opportunity to actually get pre-prom shots of girls doing last minute touch ups, mothers fixing their sons' tuxedos, dates adorning each other in their corsages and boutonnieres, and pictures that each prom group takes before the dance.

It also proved to be quite helpful at the actual dance. One of the most awkward moments of my life would probably be to try and sneakily take pictures of people dancing. No, not dancing. You can't even call what teenagers do at school dances dancing.

I'm going to give you a very graphic picture of what goes on. Girls bend over ever so slightly so that their butts are directly up against the boys' genitals and then the rubbing ensues. Boys and girls sway back and forth like that the whole night. It's quite commonly referred to as: "grinding". There was a point where I just stood there and laughed. The whole room just seemed to be moving back and forth. The whole humongous clump of high school students seemed to be pulsing.

And then the 2nd most awkward thing of my life, is when everyone else is dancing and I'm just awkwardly standing there trying to figure out what to do. I almost wish that I'd brought a date, so I'd at least have somebody to sway with, so I wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb.

Most of the night, when I wasn't doing anything, I'd go out and sit on the terrace, talking to my friends and their dates. It was cooler out there and a lot less awkward.

So all in all, I felt that prom was a lot of fun. The funnest part was actually dinner. We ended up getting the wine room at Biaggi's, allowing us to basically have a mini rave in that room, garters to be removed via teeth, and we didn't have to monitor our volume.

So prom. Worth it? Yes. A little over blown, but fun enough.

Children Having Children

We have a problem. A terrible issue plaguing society. It seems to be on the rise. You hear about a new case every so often.



It's not fatal, quite the opposite, really. I suppose you could say, that it's...natal.


Teen pregnancy. We all personally know a couple of young, unmarried, teens with bulging bellies, and uncertain futures.


Could you imagine? I'm 17, I'm young, and I have very little responsibility. I can hardly take care of myself, even, but a baby? No way, no how would I ever, in the near future, be able to care for another person aside from myself.


Don't get me wrong! I love babies! They're cute, even if their noses are constantly running, they're cuddly, and they're so easy to fall in love with.


I love babies, and I love holding them, cuddling them, and playing with them, and then I love giving them back to their mothers when I've had my fill.


I can't imagine having to worry about exams, school work, projects, extracurricular activities, jobs, clubs, volunteer work, my social life and then, on top of that, have to worry about this other small human being who's completely dependent on me.


I can't imagine what my parents would say, either. Growing up in a muslim household, I was constantly reminded that marriage came first, sex later. There was no hanky panky before the couple had committed themselves to eachother for eternity. And to them, having a child out of wedlock was the most shame you could put on yourself and on your family. So imagine if one day I came home and announced to my parents that I had gotten knocked up. Well, I'm just going to assume that a whole ton of shit'd go flying.


How would you be able to raise a child under such conditions? A 17 year old mother can't, alone, provide the kind of life a child needs, or even wants. And even if the father was a figure in their life, a minimum wage job with two pay checks are only going to bring in a meger 2,000, at the most. Considering most babies take up about $1,000 worth of supplies per month, that's not at all enough to sustain a decent, nourishing life for the parents and the child. And that's figuring if the father has anything at all to do with the child, which, sadly enough, in most cases don't.

If you'll notice, it seems that only a certain groups in every high school seem to get pregnant. My teacher explained that to us. It's not that these groups have sex more, or get pregnant more, it's just the way that they choose to deal with it differs. Athletes in school probably realize that they have too much to lose in having the baby. So...an abortion seems to be their only option. And it seems reasonable to say that those whose mother had a child out of wedlock would be more open to that idea than let's say, me, with the parents who can think of nothing else more shameful.

While the amont of teenagers having sex is on the rise, the amount of people getting pregnant is going down, probably due to safe sex vs. abstinence talks the nurse gives us. But are shows like 16 and Pregnant or Teen Mom putting teen pregnancy in a more positive light? Are they making it less unappealing? I really don't know the answer to that, considering I've never actually watched either of those shows. But it's something interesting to think about.

Cashiering

I stand and I scan and scan and scan.

And the lady in front of me with the Louis Vuitton wallet in her Dolce and Gabbana purse smirks at the lady in the comfortable tennis shoes with a baby balanced on her hip as she runs to the bathroom. She raises her perfectly plucked brow and glances at her daughter, and her daughter smirks back.

The store is unusually quiet for a Friday night. The fluorescent lights wash everything out and make the store look dull and depressing.

Everything is so monotonous. I was looking forward to getting off. Every minute counted. We turn our lights off 5 minutes before we're scheduled to clock out in order to give our designated lane a quick clean up.

I am set to leave at 7:15. It's 7:09 and I pray no customer comes to my lane.

The two lanes beside me are open, so I figure I'm safe.

Until said D&G lady comes through with her cart and a half order. I curse violently in my head. To her, however; I conjure up the brightest smile I can and proceed to bag her things.

The order takes me forever, and the lady with the overly tanned scrunched face stands there with a look of distaste coloring her expression, and a 13 year old girl, who I assume to be her daughter, with a blackberry, perfectly coiffed and colored hair, an unnatural tan, and manicured fingers at her side.

Five minutes later, her receipt prints along with some coupons. The receipt she takes. The coupons she immediately hands back to me stating she has no need for them.

K,btch.

Work is especially dull and life draining today.

"To find out a girl's faults, praise her to her girlfriends."

-Benjamin Franklin

I usually get this particular feeling in the morning. After I've given up trying to make the flyaways on the top of my head lay flat or get the kinks out of my hair. After I had to redo my make up because I completely smudged it while trying to get the "itchy" out of my eye. When I'm standing in front of my closet, mountains of clothes before me, and I'm struggling to pick an outfit out for the day. When everything I try on makes me look fat, or makes my complexion look dull. When I'm stressing out because of a "she-said, he-said" sort of situation that these thoughts arrive.

Sometimes, it absolutely sucks to be a girl. All those crazy emotions. All that time spent on things that really don't matter, or rather, things that shouldn't matter. Money, time, effort, all spent (or wasted, depending on who you're talking to) on grooming ourselves to get a positive opinion from our peers and boys and even, just to please ourselves.

Because that's just how ambitious we are. We're happy with ourselves when we look good.

How could you not be proud?

Anyways, I think of a guy's morning routine. Or what I've heard of most guys's morning routines. How they wake up half an hour before school starts. Hop in the shower for ten minutes (they don't have to worry about shaving or the expensive five minute leave in conditioner). Pick something simple out to wear. And be done.

From who I've talked to, they don't worry about what to eat for breakfast in fear of overconsumption of calories. They don't worry about their make up being too much or not covering up enough, or whether skinny or flared jeans would go with their outfit the best. They're also not as caught up in silly high school problems. They're much more relaxed and able to just shrug things off rather than take everything to heart.

I don't mean to be stereotypical. I realize there are exceptions to every generalization or norm. But the vibe I get from guys as a whole seems to be a pretty appealing one.

Don't get me wrong, I love being a girl, for the most part. Enthusiasm and indulgence seems to be more acceptable in women. We're allowed to be vulnerable and emotionally expressive. We get to hug a lot more, and I feel like girls, in general, are more insightful and less oblivious than guys.

She's already up while he'll probably be sleeping in for a long while longer

The mark of AP-ness

256 dollars to take three exams. Three exams that aren't going to do much for me, honestly. The places that I'm looking to go to college doesn't even take the credits a 4 or a 5 would give me.

And that's just me, I know plenty of kids who are taking 6 or 7 or even 8 exams.

And the principal's on the announcements reminding us daily to register for the exam. She goes into a lengthy explanation on why taking the exams will escalate your career as a student. But most of her reasons aren't really reasons at all.

A) They'll get you college credit.

Uhh, yeah, at a select number of schools. A very small amount will give you the credits for the class that you took the exam and got a 5 on. Most schools will only accept 5's, and even less will accept 4's. None will accept 3's. So a 3's a passing grade, but it does nothing for you

B) Colleges will nod approvingly when they see that you took, wow ten exams when you were in high school.

Will it make your resume look better? Perhaps.

Will it be the difference between acceptance and rejection? I highly doubt it.

C) Good practice.

86 dollars to improve your test-taking skills guys! What a deal!

D) Broaden Your Intellectual Horizons

Need I say anything?

And if you opt out of taking the exams, well, then, sorry, but you're a screw up. Go fudge up some other school's statistics cuz we sure don't want your lousy numbers here! Go on, GO.

Me, personally, well I gotta say, I'm pretty gosh darn essited to be taking these tests. I mean, yeah I know, my parents and teachers will be harping on me to study. Yes, I know I'll probably look around at the papers and booklets and study guides that are strewn across my room, and I'll probably have a stress-induced mental breakdown, but I know that it'll be worth it in the end.

After all, three hours of test taking will surely leave its positive mark.

Growing up, I was always the kid who hadn't watched last night's episode of Lizzie McGuire. I wasn't usually able to contribute to all the conversations people had about television. That's because I never particularly overly enjoyed watching TV, while Even Stevens was playing, I'd be immersing myself in the Bailey School Kids series. I find that, up until recently, I still could never get all that engaged into a TV show.

And thennnnnnnnnnnn we got Netflix. If you've never heard of Netflix I'll be brief in explaining it to you. An online movie rental service is basically what it is.

However, now it's improved. You don't even have to leave your computer to watch what you want. They've got instant online movie streaming. Legal, of course. You pay one fee a month, and unlimited movies back and forth and unlimited online watching time.

Definitely a bargain.

Netflix offers a variety of amazing, top quality shows. The Office, Skins, Dexter, Weeds, The L Word, Lost, CSI, Heroes, and the list continues.

My favorite shows among that list would definitely have to be Dexter, Skins, and Weeds. I've immersed myself in these television shows, and really, it's kind of a problem. But they're awesome, so it's all right.

Since I've already expressed my love for Dexter, I'll have to dedicate a post to Skins.



I have to. It's mandatory. I've got to profess my love for such a wonderfully raw and powerful show.

Anyways, the show takes place in Britain and centers around a group of pretty wild, fun loving teenagers. Problematic teenagers. I always try to pick my favorite character, but I never can. With each episode I watch and with each character that's introduced, my affection deepens.

The first season was a series of episodes dedicated to helping you get to know each character. They're all so dynamic and they each have little qualities that you can easily find in yourself. They're average teenagers with pretty shitty lives, if I do say so myself.

The second season, my personal favorite, starts to develop more of a concrete story line. The show loses a bit of its humor (not all, definitely still a dramatic comedy), but the dark drama definitely intensifies. Situations arise in which I couldn't imagine ever dealing with.

Some of my favorite characters would definitely have to include

Cassie, the troubled teen, who seems a bit out of touch with reality, dealing with an eating disorder,

Sid, Cassie's significant other, who has a dysfunctional family and is awkward as hell, but cute still,

and Chris, this absolutely adorable, fun loving kid who's a sweetheart, and is quite known for his "fuck it" sort of attitude. Nothing seems to get to him.

Oh, and I definitely can't forget Maxxie, a ridiculously beautiful boy who's homosexual and proud. I love Maxxie.

Saying that those characters are my favorite almost makes me feel bad, as if I'm being disloyal to the others or something. That's how much I love each and every one of them.

What makes the show even better is the fact that they're all so very British! They've all got these adorable accents that differs among characters. It makes me smile when they say "fanks" instead of "thanks"!

One thing that might worry adults watching the show, but only adds to its amazingness, is the amount of partying these kids do. It's ridiculous really. They all drink, smoke, shoot up, pop pills, have ridiculous amounts of sex. No character ends the show having slept with only one person, let's just say that. The episodes can bring from me a variety of reactions. I laugh often, I cry often, I get excited along with the characters, and all the realistic surprises (I can't stand shows that have bizarre turns in storyline. Somehow each unexpected event always fits in nicely with the story line), make me gasp.

One thing that's even more refreshing is it's not like the other shows, where people are groomed and perfect and they all look like they're from hollywood. The kids in this show are all real. None of the people who play each character had any acting experience before the show, with the exception of Tony's character. It's amazing how believable and real they prove to be. And look where it got Dev Patel (Slumdog, anyone?).

In summary, this show's about as amazing as it gets.

Life On Broadway

Third period.

I'm sitting at the very front of the room in the first seat of the first row.

This teacher has been my teacher for years, and although she personally can't see past the studious, poised young woman "vibes" I give off, she's had me as a student for almost two years, so she's learned from experience that sometimes I can be a bit raucous. I also sometimes do silly things that a small amount of thinking would have prevented me from doing (Cough cough, throwing a paper airplane that accidentally hits the teacher instead of the student it's aimed at. Cough).

We've all had our fun in that class. I remember last year we all loved 3rd period and all the stupid little high school jokes we'd pull. Every day was an off topic day. Every day somebody would say something hilarious that we'd be quoting for weeks.

That class was awesome.

Now, however, it's about as dry as the Sahara. No fun. No laughs. Just the buzzing of the air conditioner and the pitiful attempts at enthusiasm by our teacher. Dry.

It's not even thought provoking. The subject we are taught could be fun and exciting, but instead makes us feel as though we never graduated grade school.

Depressing, to say the least. People with books and phones under their desks. Homework from other classes. Writing notes and letters to their friends in English. Doing everything but paying attention.

And this teacher sees it all. Nobody's exactly discreet about it. We've all learned over the years that you need a small amount of backbone to bust a kid for breaking the rules, so we're good to go.

Anyways, this class is about as fun sucking as it gets, so you can't help but encourage your mind to wander to happier places.

And so I'm sitting there, my cheek turning red from being propped up by my hand. My hair in my face. My thumbs twiddling. My foot tapping. My headphones on.

And I look around.

And I get up.

And I pop out of my seat and belt out everything that I've been holding back. And I'm singing and I'm dancing and I'm twirling and hopping and skipping all across the room. And I'm grabbing papers off desks and I'm throwing 'em all around so that the class is white with falling stationery. And everybody's looking up at me bewildered. Until finally my friend from across the room gets up and we're harmonizing and we're dancing in sync. And one by one the rest of the class follows en suite. And my teacher's standing at the front of the room watching this whole spectacle unfold in front of her. And in the blink of an eye we change out of our boring school clothes, and the girls have got on classy black evening gowns with white elbow length gloves, and the boys have got on crisp, white tuxedos, with black bow ties. And the desks have magically cleared. So have the walls, in fact, and behind them unfolds an auditorium with blue and green spotlights, props, and an audience.

An audience, clapping and cheering and they are on their feet with joy and laughter and awe at our remarkable talent.

And the spotlight's on me for a moment, until it expands to fit every kid in that class. And we're on the finale and we're in perfect sync and we're harmonizing perfectly. And finally two boys prop me up and I'm on their shoulders and my hands are in the air and we're smiling and we've forgotten all our cares and woes because when it's show biz, everything has a happy ending.

We are in a musical.

Folks, my life is a musical.

My daydream ends as soon it begins, and I'm back at the front of the room in the first seat of the front row and I'm missing out on the notes. I wipe the slobber off my chin, I stretch, I close my eyes, and I take myself to another theater far enough from this hell hole till I won't be able to smell the stench of draining brain power.

Whoever said money can't buy happiness simply didn't know where to go shopping.

-Bo Derek

I'm severely annoyed with my parents. My eyes are rolling so hard that they're threatening to roll right out of their sockets. My hand is gripping my purse so hard my knuckles are turning white. Finally, they let me go, I turn on my heels and leave them as quickly as I can, fuming all the way. I'm in a terrible mood, but suddenly...

There it is, my little piece of heaven. My sweet, sugarless indulgence: paradise. FOREVER 21 all caps, I'm all smiles. Everything is white, the windows are twinkling, the walls seem to sparkle. I walk inside and the mannequins, adorned in their lovely tresses, seem to smile and welcome me. The store gleams and glows and I ahh and ooh, and immediately my irritation melts away and an intoxicating calm satisfaction takes its place.

Information overload. This is what this is. I'm running my hands through all sorts of colors and fabrics. Blacks and whites and blues and pinks. Velvet, leather, denim, silk. Shoes, shirts, dresses, pants, jackets, underwear, jewelry. Ruffles, flowers, lace, pins.

It's all beautiful and it's all beckoning to me.

I could almost say I'm feeling giddy. I start loading up with clothing to try on. All sorts. My arms grow heavier as I make my way through the store.

I finally make it to the dressing room, and I take a moment to look at the small mountain that I'm straining to hold up.

I try on everything and all the clothing makes me feel pretty and poised and sophisticated and I just want it alllll.

I blow through 130 dollars ten times faster than it took me to make 130 dollars.

Shit.

Step One: Admit You Have A Problem

At the beginning of the year, I found that there was barely any time to do anything. I'd go home, spend some time relaxing by browsing the internet, fit some homework in, and it felt like that was all. I wasn't in any extra curricular activities at that time, so I figured time shouldn't be an issue. What was I doing between 3:10 and 10:00 that took up so much time?


Well, as soon as the problem went away, I figured out what it was. Facebook. Hours can be passed doing, literally, nothing at all on Facebook.

And only until I was without a Facebook did I realize how much we incorporate it into our daily lives on and off the computer.

Examples of bits of information:

"So I checked their Facebook page and it said that she wasn't in a relationship...omg, did they break up?"

"Yeah, I saw their pictures on Facebook. They didn't even invite me."

"She's Catholic, it says so on her Facebook."

"He changed his orientation to bisexual on Facebook."

"I love that song. I had it as my Facebook status a couple weeks ago."

"So last night I was Facebook creepin'..."

"He doesn't have good taste in music...did you see his Facebook page?"

"Tag me!"

Etc, etc, etc.



Now, not only do I have a lot of extra time on my hands, but I also feel completely out of the loop a lot of the time. I don't know what everyone's up to on the weekends because I can't see anybody's Facebook pictures. All the big news people hear about via Facebook, well, I'm always the last to know.

When I first had to close my account I was devastated. I was so sure that life without a Facebook was hardly a life at all. I moped, I pouted, I fumed, and still my parents did not relent.

No Facebook, they said. And that's that.

Well, my world was basically crumbling and windows were breaking and my feet couldn't feel the floor, and a hollow ringing filled my ears. Not to mention my knees went completely knumb.

Okayyyy, maybe that's a little dramatic, my knees didn't actually go numb. But, that's besides the point. The point is this tragic event was extremely significant to such a sociable girl as myself.

As days past, the withdrawal symptoms reduced. Three weeks passed and I could actually listen people talk about Facebook without bursting into tears. It was a definite improvement my online management therapist would always remind me. I was headed in the right direction.

I caved. I'm ashamed to say. I reopened my account and I creeped and creeped until Facebook was all that I could think of. My mind was just a bottomless pond of Facebook droplets.

I'm clean now. After months of trying to overcome such a consuming addiction, I can now say that I am done. No Facebook for me, no thank you.

And in the end the struggle was worth it. I made a good choice, and I'm proud of myself. And maybe my strength and my story will be inspiration enough to help somebody else make the same choice.

"Harry was a great cop here in Miami. He taught me how to think like one; he taught me how to cover my tracks. I'm a very neat monster."

Lately, I've been holed up in my room even more so than usual. Doing nothing but watching Dexter.

12:30 AM, Sunday night, or rather, Monday morning, homework's undone, tests not studied for, room not cleaned, and I'm glued to my computer screen watching Dexter.

Dexter is a show that centers around a forensics blood spatter analysist who works for the Miami Police Department. He encounters all sorts of usual cases, and he's basically a genius. He comes off as this easy going, gentle guy who's a great boyfriend and an awesome brother.

It has the whole world fooled, it seems.

The twist: he's a serial killer, but the best part is, he doesn't kill just anyone. He focuses on those who deserves it. People who've killed in the past who are likely to kill again. He rids society of its worst. He's charming , though, as apathetic as he is, he's still charismatic and amiable. No one catches on, no one suspects his box of slides tucked away in his sunny apartment. Slides each containing a single drop of blood. Blood from each of his victims, which he collects as trophies. He hides them in his air conditioner; refrigerated, hidden, while still easily accessible.

He's also a sociopath. Antisocial personality disorder. He has no feelings towards others, he doesn't feel the difference between right and wrong. He knows what that difference is, he just doesn't have the intrinsic motivations most others have. When we're given his background through out the first season, we learn that he has strong, inexplicable urges to kill. He does the best he can and channels those drives towards those who would do the world a favor gone.

Basically, no conscience. Basically, no heart.

He has to live by a code his adoptive father, Harry, taught him. Rule #1, he's taught, don't get caught. Rule #2, make sure the victim deserves it. It's the foundation by which he lives his life. Laws and guidelines that were pounded into his head by Harry, who was also a policeman.

The shows unlike any I've seen before. You find yourself rooting for this bad guy, who's not quite all bad. Somehow, anybody who finds anything out, winds up, conveniently, missing or dead. However, the show manages to do this in such a way that their deaths make sense, they don't seem to be unrealistic or forced.

It's an amazing show. At least one of the best, if not the best show I've ever followed, and I'm terrible at following shows.

It's one that keeps you thinking the whole way through, but it's not terribly hard to follow.

I have yet to encounter anybody who's watched it and didn't love it.

"Can we talk?"

In today's society there are certain rules and guidelines that everybody must abide by. Norms, socially accepted behavior, conformity. If you don't follow them, you're a weirdo, an outcast, undesirable.

One thing that I've been dealing with more and more with lately is the lack of confrontation. Now, let me clarify, I don't particularly like confronting people about things because that means there's something negative you actually need to talk about. I don't like making a big deal of things, either, but I'm the kind of person where, if something's wrong, I can't help but try to fix things or smooth it out. I want to communicate, but I'm finding that, for most people, that's not necessarily the case.

One thing I can't stand, that completely just confuses and befuddles, and buddoozles me is why, when somebody's at odds with somebody else, they choose to talk about it to everyone else besides the person who it actually concerns.

It's just high school, people tell me, or, it's just life. And I'm finding that for the most part, it basically applies to everyone. Most people hate and completely avoid confrontation. I'm not talking about violent, intrusive, aggressive confrontation. I'm talking about the more mature kind, where people sit down and talk things through, compromise. But I face up to it. Communication's the key, everybody says, but to me it seems, that the older you get, the less words have meaning. There was an acting piece for speech team, and one bit of wisdom that stuck with me: Adult conversation: who can talk the most but say the least.

How tragically accurate.

If you notice, in movies, or on TV shows, they'll always show the characters brazenly approach each other about the most trivial things. They're blunt and forward and they make it seem so common and so easy, but really, it's not like that at all. It's not easy, and it's not common. I really don't know anybody who does this. I've never encountered somebody who'll face me first about a problem. I'll mention something and they'll admit to noticing it, but, and I guess I'm just making assumptions here, they ignore it, hoping that it'll somehow go away.

That's not how it ever works out. It just grows and grows until it's a big elephant in the room, and it seems to be taking up all the space so every conversation feels tight and forced.

But I've realized it's not a good thing to do. I've found that if both people are willing to talk about it, it works out, but if one person exerts no effort, it falls flat and becomes excruciatingly awkward.

And that's one unwritten, unnerving rule society unknowingly seems to adhere to.

“Humor helps us to think out of the box. The average child laughs about 400 times per day, the average adult laughs only 15 times per day...

...What happened to the other 385 laughs?"

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Such a cliche question, that it's almost been trademarked. I, personally, don't mind that question because I've known what I want to do since as far back as I can remember. Even in kindergarten, when I'd firmly tell the teacher that when I grew up I was going to be a clown, not one of those fake clowns, I'd tell her, but a real wholesome clown. I also had on my list that I was going to be a figure skater, a doctor, a gymnast, a lawyer, and a teacher.

Then my teacher, with a smile on her face, would ask me how I was going to operate on patients with a big red nose.

I quickly dropped those plans. The point is, my aspirations to be a lawyer have always been somewhere in the mix, and as those other occupations dropped away I was left with that.

That's what I want to do when I grow up. Who I want to be is something completely different.

We've all, every one of us, has had that teacher, sub, uncle, counselor or friend's parent whose coolness has completely touched us. Their ability to laugh off something that any other adult would freak over or give us some "knucks" when we told a really good joke caught our attention. Their chill factor is what makes them so amiable.

That's who I want to be. I want to be somebody who's at ease and relaxed. People who're a party. Uptight adults scare me. Well, they don't frighten me, per se, but they're just an absolute bore to be around.

Take for example, my mother. God knows I love that woman, but she can sometimes be a bit too strict when it comes to hygiene, cleanliness, and organization. I try to explain to her that part of being a teenager is having a messy room, but no matter what I say she still feels like I should abide by her standards of neatness.

One of my friends's parents is probably one of the coolest adults I know. Actually, probably THE coolest. They both share the same interests in music, they go to concerts and shows together, and she and her father both love Urban Outfitters, and will oftentimes go shopping together. Sometimes I'll call her up and ask her to go out some weekend, and she'll decline saying that she's hanging out with her folks.

I know many people who'd say that kind of lax parenting isn't good for a child. In fact, I'd say just the opposite. Her being my only example, doesn't exactly make this scientific, but she's one of those genuine good kids. Her reasoning for getting in trouble isn't that she's afraid she'll get caught, but it's that she knows something's wrong, or she knows that she'll really disappoint her parents.

That's what I want to be, not just when I grow up, but obviously in general. Somebody who's easy to relate to, knows how to have a good time, and is an all around liked person.

“Fashion fades, only style remains the same.”

-Coco Chanel

Why can't I live in the 60's? Or at least dress like I do. Every single aspect of that era attracts me. The music, the fashion, the lifestyle. In every part of the nation, in every year of the era. From the early 60's to the late 60's. From Boston to Haight Street. From Francoise Hardy to Simon & Garfunkel. Even the literature was good.

From folk, to rock, to jazz, I have yet to hear some music from the 60's that I don't like. Well, actually, I take that back. I'm not all the fond of The Who. Their music's a little too pretentious for me, and I can never quite get into their songs.

I love The Supremes. A group of three female singers of the early 60's. Their sound's straight from Motown, and yet is classy in a way that I could easily imagine dancing to Stoned Love in any high end dance joint.

I also love the easy anthem songs, like San Fransisco by Scott Mckenzie and Twelve Thirty by the Mama's and the Papa's. And of course, who doesn't love the Beatles?

And how bout that fashion? Hm? The 60's took the best from the 40's and 50's and incorporated it into their every day wear. They had such a classy flair.

The 60's gave birth to skinny jeans. They were introduced by Audrey Hepburn in the pants that she wore for Funny Face (my personal favorite Hepburn movie). Now, although it's a fad that's begun fading, they've become a popular thing again. They also brought about the mini skirt. Throughout history skirts have always been acceptable below or at the knee, and then BANG. The mini skirt. There's never been a time since then where there hasn't been some sort of an acceptable mini.

Now, I don't know too much about fashion in general, but I do know that what I've seen I have from the 60's I've really liked. I almost wish fashion would have just stopped its progression since then.

"Dream like you'll live forever, live like you'll die tomorrow."

-James Dean

Teens are stereotyped. Everybody has some sort of conception, or depending on who you talk to, misconception about teens. Don't tell me you've never heard an adult sigh, and say "Oh, teenagers."

We're known for our parties, sex, and contraband. I don't know anybody my age who's never lied to their parents about one thing or another. It's inevitable, really.

But, really, I think teens really do deserve all the flack that's thrown at us. Ask yourself this, do you have enough fingers and toes to count all the people you know, under the age of 18, who've either drank or done drugs?

Personally, I can't.

It's pretty crazy, really. We can't accept good clean fun. We've gotta dirty it up.

But is that little bit of thrilling fun really worth the unavoidable consequences?

Many times in our life have we been constantly reminded of what will happen to our lungs, our brain, our appearances if we flood our system with these gross chemicals.

Athletes can't, or rather shouldn't, do it because they've got their lungs and breathing to think about. Singers can't afford to dry out their vocal chords. Brainy kids need to keep up their thinking abilities, which diminish from use of narcotics.

Schools bring in doctors and scientists to tell us all about these dangers. Counselors who've worked with screwed up kids will come in and share their stories. Sometimes, those kids themselves will be convinced to talk to us and try to sway us from following in their own tragically mislead footsteps.

Only, maybe not in so many words.

Really. After all they show us, I sit in my seat and think, how can some people be so stupid as to ignore all this evidence and go on with their recklessness? Why when you know you could damning yourself to emotional, physical, and mental problems would you go ahead with this?

When you smoke marijuana you're inhaling over 400 chemicals, many of which are carcinogenic, which means cancer causing. It's also found that pot smokers are more likely to become suicidal and have anxiety issues than people who don't use the drug. Schizophrenics should be especially careful, as the drug can increase psychotic symptoms.

Weed can also cause increased heart rate and paranoia among its users.

We've all seen pictures of blackened, burned-looking lungs. We've been shown pictures of livers that have been mutilated by over consumption of alcohol. We know that all this may very well be the consequences of a reckless lifestyle, and yet, we ignore these specialists, statistics, and testimonials and we dive right into it all.

We should do what they tell us, guys. We should follow the rules and guidelines they've set down for us. Is that little bit of fun worth cancer and all that other gross stuff? Hm?

The answer is no. We've gotta be smart kids and we've gotta be good kids. Let's join together and make this goal a reality!

This lady through her extensive abuse of cocaine, fucked herself up.

“I love acting but I don't like all of the other stuff associated with it. The interest in celebrities, the press, the Internet..."

-Nicole Kidman

Why is everybody so intrigued and fascinated by the lives of celebrities?

The other day, I was at work and my coworker, a woman who's probably 30...ish? Anyways, she's a talker. I'm a talker, so I know what that's like, but this lady blows me out of the water completely. She will not shut up. I really feel sorry for all those poor customers who go through her lane. All they want is to get their items checked out, instead they get a 15 minute summary of how "Those cookies you're buying...Ohhh my God, I love 'em. Can't get enough. Ate so many I almost threw up last week" (awkward laugh) "Yeah you know they say that the chocolate in them..." And that continues on and on and on until finally God relieves you of your suffering and your receipt prints.

Hallelujah, you're free to go.

Well, this lady, not only does she love to talk, but she loves her some celebrity gossip. Be it in the form of a trashy tabloid, late night Hollywood show, or email updates, she gets 'em somehow. And if I stumble upon the misfortune of being in the lane next to hers, I always get an update, too. Each time, I explain to her, that I really don't care if Kristen Stewart or Robert Pattinson are actually engaged, or if it's just a rumor. I don't care how many women Tiger Woods cheated on his wife with or how much the divorce settlement's going to be, or how Angelina Jolie's relationship with Brad Pitt's on the rocks.

I'm not really all that savvy when it comes to Hollywood and its going ons. I found out about Tiger Woods from my driver's ed teacher, and any follow ups I heard were from my peers at school. I've never subscribed to people magazine, either.

I just don't see the big deal in celebrity gossip. I honestly do not care about these people. They do me a service, yes, they entertain me, but I don't really want to know anything further than that. I don't really care to know if my dentist's wife is suspected of cheating on him, I don't care to know if waitress who serves me is planning on leaving her husband, really I don't. The same goes for the singers I listen to and the actors and actresses I watch.

I do, however, feel very sorry for them. What they do seems respectable enough (in most cases), they act, I suppose, because they want to act. Just like some of us want to become doctors and writers and astronauts, they follow their dreams of being entertainers, in the form of singing or acting or sports or whatever. The point I'm trying to make is that, I find it so stupid when people try to justify their nosy curiosity by saying, "Oh, well, if they didn't want all this publicity they shouldn't have become famous."

Okay, yep. Sorry, Jennifer Garner, but the only way that you're going to finally attain some privacy is by switching careers. Tiger Woods, you're just going to have to suck at golf for you private life to become obscured from the world.

I'm not saying that what they do is necessarily good, I mean, it's quite obvious that Tiger Woods' screwed up big time, if all they say is true, but that doesn't mean that he should be forced to hang his dirty laundry in public.

It just seems grossly unfair. Problems become so much harder to deal with once more people know about them. I can easily understand why no celebrity relationships last. How could they? Every move, every glance, and every quote is anaylzed until something out of that can satisfy the angle that the certain tabloid is going for.

Well, at least they have PR's.

Writer's Block...

..sucks.

Lately I have been suffering. Suffering badly. Writer's block, they call it. I am a writer. My writing ability has been blocked off. Therefore, I am suffering from writer's block. And I wasn't lying about it sucking. Because it does. Suck. A whole lot.

It's not that I can't come up with ideas to write about-I can-it's just that I can't seem to word those ideas. Even when given a topic by my teachers, even when I have to write an essay about Theodore Roosevelt and his progressivist reforms for my APUSH class, I can't seem to spit the words that I want to use out, or at least make it sound somewhat okay.

So I try, patiently, to make the story flow better, to use better vocab, and to mix up my word choice. I find that I'm unable to. And then I become frustrated. Once I become frustrated my fingers fly across the keyboard and I begin typing nonsense words.

And once the nonsense words start, well, I might as well just stop whatever I'm doing, but I know it's only going to go downhill from there. I've gotta save what I have, "x" out of the word document, or whatever it is I'm writing on, and come back later when I can think more clearly.

I figured a post about writer's block wouldn't hurt. I thought that maybe talking about it would be some sort of solution.

We'll see.