a celebration of scars

Scar [skahr]: noun & verb. a mark left by a healed wound.

[photo found on this tumblr]

I have scars. We all have scars.

The most notable of mine, I suppose, is an inch-long pink gash on the right side of my stomach--it is both a physical flaw and a stamp of emotional stress.

This past September, I had to have skin surgery to remove a possibly cancerous freckle from my stomach. It was not the first time I'd undergone such a procedure and it's extremely probable that it won't be the last, but it is most visible and was the most painful. I could not laugh freely, or the stitches might have ripped. I couldn't exercise or stretch and dance was simply out of the question.

Also, the possibility of skin cancer had me properly terrified.

Thankfully, the test results came back negative and the scar has slowly lessened in severity, although it remains pink and a little lumpy and a healthy reminder--now whenever I'm stressed or scared, I run my thumb over the mark and realize that whatever I'm worried about isn't as terrible as I think it is. I lived through that scar, I can live through social troubles/homework/family issues and anything else life decides to throw at me.

Life wouldn't be interesting if we weren't scarred--we wouldn't be wise, because there wouldn't be any reminders of mistakes. We wouldn't be tough, because we wouldn't have endured the pain necessary to acquire a permeant scar. We wouldn't be helpful, because we wouldn't have had any past experiences to guide us in giving advice to friends (example: thanks to a little white line on one of my fingertips, I now know it is never a good idea to rip a pen out of someone's hand). We wouldn't understand that mistakes should be accepted, not agonized over. Scars help us comprehend that no one is perfect and that you are not perfect.

So don't hide your scars. Don't hate them. Embrace them. Celebrate them. As Robert H. Schuller said...

"Turn your scars into stars."

[Inspiration credit: this post from Hopeful Romantic]

adorable on etsy

A few days ago I was terribly bored, so I sauntered on over to Etsy to browse through various crafty and cutesy jewelery. Here are my findings...

Zombie Pin

Okay, so not technically called a zombie pin. Whatever. It's still pretty in a slightly morbid way and I'd love to pin this to a scarf or a vest (if I actually start wearing vests...)

Dorothy Locket

So cute :) I only own one locket and the hinge on it is broken, so I have to Scotch-tape it shut, thus defeating the purpose. Plus, I have this affinity with classic movies, and if Wizard of Oz doesn't count as a classic, I don't know what does...

Winnie-the-Pooh necklace

Ain't it pretty? I was literally raised on Winnie-the-Pooh cartoons and Instant Breakfast drink. This necklace takes me back to my preschool pretend days.

Love Song in a Bottle

I died when I saw this. My absolute favorite. "Yellow" by Coldplay is one of the best songs on my iPod and this bottle necklace is actually in my top ten list of Cutest Things I've Ever Seen (don't worry--that list will, in all likelihood, be posted soon, much to the chagrin of my friends)...I would buy it, but I'd feel a tad awkward buying a love song necklace for myself...it doesn't seem like the type of treat you buy yourself, but maybe I'm overthinking it.

Damn, I wish I were crafty. It'd be awesome to just create something as delicate and adorable as these...

where it's at (day 11)

Put your iPod on shuffle and write the first ten songs that pop up.

Easy enough. Lovelovelove my music, although since I'm into artists and bands few people have heard of, you probably don't love it as much. Give it a chance, though. Little-heard music is where it's at :)

1. Maybe by Ingrid Michaelson--it's crazy catchy and soothing, shown to me by a fellow music nerd with slightly different taste.
2. American Honey by Lady Antebellum...same deep soul country music that made them famous with "Need You Now". Literally sounds like musical honey.
3. Must Have Done Something Right by Relient K...that song you dance around your room to.
4. Capri by Colbie Caillat...one of my favorite lullabies.
5. Dragons by The Workday Release...silky voices and pretty lyrics. Gosh I love them
6. Over My Head (Cable Car) by The Fray...it's on the oldish side (relatively speaking) but I just love the chorus.
7. My First Kiss by 3OH!3 ft. Ke$ha...it's sososo catchy, albeit overplayed and generic.
8. I Just Can't Wait To Be King from The Lion King. Don't tell me you don't love this song.
9. Look After You by The Fray...one of my favorite love songs. Heartbreaking and soothing at the same time.
10. Should've Said No by T-Swift...the preamble to "Better Than Revenge".

Aaaannd scene. I'm off to finish shoveling. We're running out of places to put the damn snow.

heritage

My nana gave me my Claddagh ring when I was in the sixth grade. It is small and gold and remarkably like the one pictured above, only the features are much blurrier, due to the fact that I've worn my ring pretty much every single day since then. It's one of my most treasured possessions, and I literally go crazy whenever I lose it (which, compared to everything else I own, isn't actually all that often.) because my grandmother had it for years and years--it's far older than I am--and I would feel terrible if I was that one person who accidentally let a family ring get sucked down the kitchen sink or something.

I'm incredibly proud of my Irish heritage, and also proud to wear my grandmother's ring. She is an insanely tough woman, yet never fails to be generous and loving for more than three seconds. Her life has been littered with traumatic events but every time I see her she has a story and a smile and usually, a hot cup of tea (everybody says the Irish love their booze. Personally, I find the attraction to tea much stronger among my relatives).  I cherish my ring because it reminds me so much of her, and I want to keep it always to have as a souvenir when she's gone, because my nana is a person worth remembering.

I've made the recent decision to "retire" my beautiful little Claddagh on my sixteenth birthday, because if I keep wearing it, the features will be in jeopardy and the heart, hands and crown are the most important part, representing love, friendship and loyalty respectively. Oh, I'll get a new one, of course, and it'll become meaningful, just not quite as much. Hopefully, I'll be able to keep my nana's ring until I can pass it on. I've accepted the fact that my nana is going to die eventually, but for some reason, I cannot imagine her ring ceasing to exist.

PS. Don't make fun of the fact I call my grandmother "nana".

[photo from wikipedia]

lalalalipstick--a photo session

So you may remember from my 30 interesting facts post that I write on my mirrors with red lipstick. Today I picked new phrases to scrawl onto my mirrors with L'Oreal True Red, and felt inclined to test out Ari's that-would-be-cute-to-photograph theory. So I grabbed my mother's generic Nikon digital camera and the lipstick...

and my trusty old iPod...

and had a little photo sesh. I should have been doing homework, but procrastination got the best of me, as usual...hence, pictures of flashes and lalalalipstick :)

Line from Dollhouse by Priscilla Renea...great dance song

(raaandom)

this one's my favorite. Lyric from the song by Florence + The Machine. 

I took like twenty pictures, but these three are the best. Pitiful, I know, since the quality's terrible and they're just not good, period, but just something I thought I'd try out on a lazy Sunday night and take a break from the sometimes-stuffy and tad pompous posts that I've been writing lately.

Oh, right. New term starts tomorrow...it would probably be a good idea to look up my schedule now, wouldn't it? 

project 17

This is the first recreational reading I've done in awhile, thanks to the demands of accelerated English. My brother checked it out of the library and left it lying on the kitchen counter, so I picked it up out of boredom, paroused the description and brought it up to my room for some bedtime reading.

Worst idea of my life.

This book is absolutely t e r r i f y i n g.

Basically, it's six teenagers who all break into an abandoned mental asylum and film their experiences because one of them is trying to win a film contest to get out of having to spend his adult life slaving away at his parent's diner. I didn't particularly like the writing--I've grown tired of adults writing as teenagers, it's annoying and false and usually inaccurate--but it's just plain creepy.

I've never read anything that's scared me so much. It's a horror movie condensed onto paper, complete with messed up dolls and a dead girl's diary and a mysterious and reoccurring reference to--you guessed it--the number 17.

The ending is very anticlimactic and disappointing, and the beginning is slow...basically, the only decent part is when the characters are physically in the asylum.

I kid you not, I found myself holding my breath during the most intense moments. Perfect book to read aloud at a Halloween sleepover, worst book to read at one AM (I learned the hard way).

[photo from the author's website]

real & mine (day 10)

Discuss your first love and first kiss.

I'm really starting to hate my 30-day challenge, and I'm only day 10. Bad sign.

Ahem. Bear with me.

My first kiss was on a Tuesday last May in my cluttered basement. I was wearing a gray and purple shirt from one of my dance competitions and he was wearing a UMass flatbrim (weird, the things you remember, huh?) and I distinctly remember my hands shaking.

My first love happened this summer, with aforementioned UMass flatbrim boy. I've already discussed this--we stayed up until four am talking on the phone, he bought me lunch, he found my ring when I lost it at the beach and went ballistic, he texted me every singe day for six months, he called me beautiful and told me secrets and held my hand and yeah, I loved him.

And then there was the whole shenanigans (digression: lovelovelove the word shenanigans) of starting high school and having no classes together and the girl who lives half an hour away, resulting in the end of our relationship and a three-month long silent treatment from both parties.

However, I'm proud to say we're getting better at being friendly and social and such. Last night my friends and I had a little jam sesh by a backyard bonfire and then played Taboo ('nother digression: Taboo is the BEST game. Ever.) and he and I were both perfectly fine being around each other--we talked about music and the board game and I even hugged him when I left. As a person, I still care about him.

So, that's my first love. I'm doing my best not to harp on the whole ordeal...it's over, it happened, it's done, and like I've said, I do not regret loving him--it was worth it.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes the story of my first love. I know it's not every exciting or fairytale-esque, but it was real and it was mine.

literature & life

English class: a subject high school students are required to take all four years. It focuses on reading and writing skills.

My English class: a group of twenty-five freshmen who somehow manage to learn a lot about both books and life at the same time, thanks to the teacher.

Last class, we were supposed to be discussing the awkward and painful "tween" stage that is the main theme of our current class read, Member of the Wedding (it's terribly dated and a little dull, but I like it anyways because the main character is so easy to relate to. Not so much for guys, apparently, because a male classmate of mine poetically claimed, "it feels like my eyeballs are being stabbed every time I look at it.") and totally abandoned any pretense of dissecting symbolism and instead started to talk about the phases of life. I take extreme joy in the fact that I'm not kidding.

According to my English teacher, an amazingly intelligent if slightly rude woman in her sixties, the last stage of life is the acceptance of death--when you have realized you're going to die and made peace with it. She warned us many of our grandparents, depending on their ages, had or would reach this stage soon and attempt to give away precious material possessions. She proceeded to instruct us to graciously accept whatever our elders offered us, because they wanted to know that the people they cared about would protect and keep the things they cared about after they were gone.

Also, she stated the fact that teenagers don't know that they're going to die, prompting an outcry from the kids who like to think themselves extraordinarily mature. Of course we know we're doing to die, they protested. We weren't naive enough to believe in any magic spell of Fountain of Youth that would make us live forever.

She just shook her head and said, "Do you know, do you believe with all you have in you, that you're going to die? If you think that, then why do you all jaywalk across streets and walk along railroad tracks and involve yourself in high risk behavior?"

Here's one of the things I love about being fifteen--you don't think about death and you aren't really physically afraid of anything. I've legitly jaywalked across a highway and jumped off a cliff into a lake and walked down the yellow line in the center of the road. I've climbed onto my roof in the middle of the night just to look at the stars. And I've never actually been afraid.

On the other hand, we're scared stiff about anything emotional, because we feel so much and feel so deeply. Every fight and break-up is the end of the world. We'd rather eat our own shoes than confess any romantic feelings. And adults are just the opposite--they use crosswalks, they don't jump down the stairs or turn cartwheels, and they certainly don't climb onto the roof just to look at the sky, but they aren't nearly as emotional as us (and tend to laugh at our end-of-the-world mentality).

It's sad to think I'll reach the stage where I won't skip down the street, just because, and my teacher is totally right--I cannot imagine my last stage of life, when I'm ready to die.

I am so going to miss my English class next year--not only are we learning about literature, we're learning about life.

cliche, corny and true (day 8)

How you hope your future will be like.

This one bothers me because a) I'm fairly certain it's improper grammar...shouldn't it be what you hope your future will be like? (apologies, the inner English geek cannot be tamed) and b) I've already answered this question on Day 2.

But alright, I'll go on and answer it anyways, just to appease the neat freak in me (I would have an OCD attack if I skipped a day, even though I resent this question...).

• I hope to have a cute car with random bumper stickers--not peace signs or political slogans, but some random, witty phrase that'll make the driver behind me smile.
• I hope to be rebellious enough to dye a streak of my hair blue at some point in my life.
• I hope to be that girl with the extensive and eclectic music taste and really cool keychains and band tees.
• I hope to be an English teacher, because I've come to terms with the fact that my internal editor isn't going away, and I might as well get paid to read books and correct grammar.
• I hope to live near the ocean at some point in my life.
• I hope to have three children (two boys, one girl).
• I hope to be very close to my friends as an adult...be in their weddings, be the godmother, the whole shebang.
• I hope that I die before the whole world turns totally digital--I do not want to live without paper books, without newspapers and handwritten letters (ironic, I know, seeing how this is a blog).
• I hope to get my hands on a decent camera sometime soon so I can start messing around with photography (starting Photo I next week...everyone says it's awesome, so I'm excited).
• I hope to work at a bookstore at some point, if only for the employee discount.
• I hope that I'll start liking coffee sometime before junior year (I feel terribly unsophisticated drinking hot chocolate...and all those coffee kids seem way more awake than I ever am...)
• I hope to paint my room a pretty color (right now it's beige. Yeah. Not working).
• basically, I just want my future to be happy.

Cliche? Corny? Oh yeah. True? Every word.

s.t.r.e.s.s.

The past two days have been the most stressful of my high school career thus far, and I don't have a clue why.

Maybe it's because of the intense college discussion I got into yesterday with my best friend, about extracurriculars and scholarships and AP classes and SATS and PSATS and all sorts of other exciting academic acronyms.

Maybe its because that collegiate theme, when I tried to forget about it, extended itself into my last long block study with a guidance seminar which told me to plan out what classes I should take senior year.

Maybe it's because I have this physco idea in my head that I can get an Irish dance scholarship to Notre Dame (yes, they have them...I checked. How pitiful is that?) when I should just accept the fact I'm going to go to UMass because children taking Algebra I, like yours truly, do not go to schools like Notre Dame.

Maybe it's because I had three highly important things to do today after school-- finish a 300 point art project, make up a math test and begin a daunting historical fiction analysis project--and I literally had to do them all at the same time.

Maybe it's because I felt like I'd just eaten a brick when I saw a random couple holding hands in the hallway.

Maybe it's because I realized my friends--the people who actually make my day worth the effort--might have an expiration date, because the NHS Class of '14 will be spread out all around the country eventually.

Maybe it's because my mother just went on a five minute spiel about how selfish I am and how my sister is a better, more loving person and warned me I'd be grounded if I didn't write my sister an apology letter, asking for forgiveness because I'm so horrible and awful and unworthy of all her love and hugs and worship and whatever. I wish I were kidding.

Maybe it's because I really do hate being that negative, emotional girl who worries about college as a freshman, because I know it's slightly ridiculous.

Maybe it's because I know many upperclassmen--hell, many freshmen--would scoff at my idea of a stressful day.

Maybe it's because I had chicken nuggets for dinner and they didn't improve my mood and now I need to find another comfort food (scary thought).

Maybe it's because I really hate the fact I have to keep using the word maybe, because I honestly don't know why I'm so upset.

Friday cannot come soon enough.

an exceptionally good summer (day 8)

Name a time you were most satisfied with your life.

That's easy. This past summer.

Now I have to explain. Not so easy.

This summer I danced in a parking lot in the middle of the night, I went on spontaneous walks, I ran down my street in the rain, I set off fireworks at an abandoned beach, I stayed up all night playing cards, I laughed until I cried, I slept like the dead, I wore a bikini for the first time, I drew sidewalk masterpieces in chalk with little kids, I saw a shooting star, I made new friends and grew closer to the ones I already had. I said the words i love you in those two months more than I had in a whole year.

I woke up happy, and I usually went to bed happier, staying up far past midnight to have beautifully truthful and random conversations with my best friend and my boyfriend. Every night I went to bed with this fabulous feeling of being loved and of the potential to feel even more love. For the first time since perhaps preschool, everything was simply and wonderfully okay. I wasn't stressing out about grades, school, friends, dance or my family. I didn't have to deal with people I didn't like, didn't worry about what I ate or what I looked like or what people thought of me. I wasn't judgemental, wasn't mean, wasn't shy because there wasn't any reason to be.

I was random and fun and adventurous and loud. I was loving and generous and caring and thoughtful and so, so happy.

Never underestimate true happiness, my dears.

Of course, I am not as wholesomely and blissfully happy these days as I was then. Like I've mentioned, the boy and I are no longer together and I've become conscious of how I look, what I wear and eat again. Second term closes soon and I'm desperately trying to raise my history grade and I spent six hours working on a bio project (which also means I didn't eat properly today). Once again I must deal with unpleasant people. Once again I'm back living a mundane, Monday-through-Friday academic existence. Once again I must feel ugly emotions like anger, jealousy, hatred.

But you know what? I'm fine with it. We all have our good times and our bad times. I was blessed with an exceptionally good summer, and the consequence for that is a slightly frustrating and stressful winter. I know I will feel that way again someday, and until that day I will push through mountains of homework, through sleep deprivation and tears and the Patriot's divisional playoff loss. Because hey, this is life.

 And this past summer, I realized just how thrilling life can be.

rex ryan

I will be in some form of hibernation for the next few days, because the Patriots are not advancing to the AFC Championship.

I've been sitting in the dark for the past few minutes, leaving an explicit and detailed voicemail on my friend's phone and yelling at my mother to go smirk to herself upstairs, because she finds this all very amusing.

I swear to God, if the name Rex Ryan is ever mentioned in my presence again...

GHIOAHY4830-YT[IRHGIOTY382046Y748[IGDHGIOS;FHGF;JHBJZNV JF ;GHGURYT895798YPTGUFHUIGHIUt^&$r%&^fgyUGFEO

 ^ This will happen. I don't even know what that'll look like, but I'm fairly certain it won't be pretty.

God only knows what I'll do if they make it to the SuperBowl...

don't forget to have fun (day 7)

So, I'm choosing to ignore all of this nonsense about the astrological signs changing and whatnot because I have been a Virgo for fifteen years and I rather enjoy my sign. Plus, I'm too used to looking for the Virgo section on the horoscope page of Seventeen.

According to astrology-online.com, Virgos are...

• modest/shy
• meticulous/reliable
• practical/diligent
• intelligent/analytical
• fussy/worrisome
• overcritical/harsh
• perfectionist/conservative

I mostly fit the bill with my zodiac sign (at least, it describes me better than Leo, my supposed "new" sign). Ironically, one cannot really admit to being modest without coming off as somewhat egotistical, but if it counts for anything, I'm perfectly terrified of coming off as self-obsessed and I feel extremely awkward when people compliment me. I don't enjoy talking about my talents, but I wouldn't call myself shy--I'm far to willing to embarrass myself in public. I also like to think I'm reliable--I stick to my commitments and triple-check details to ensure I'm not missing anything.

I'm so analytical it should be freakin' illegal.

I am fussy (digression: the word "fussy" reminds me of cats...) because I have very specific likes and I'm accustomed to my own personal routines. I buy oranges in the lunch line just to peel them. I sort my Goldfish into smiling and non-smiling. I won't listen to the same song more than four times a day. I need to have a glass of water on my nightstand every night. Awkward, I just realized these all have to do with food...

I'm also overcritical--if I don't like something, I really don't like it and I can and will go on and on about how and why I dislike it so much. Examples: strawberries, Juicy Couture, my history teacher, the color pink, the word bologna, my emotionally scarring experiences with cheerleading in elementary school, New Yorkers and Brett Favre.

I am not, however, a perfectionist. I'm too lazy to be a perfectionist and my English teacher spends at least half of every class reminding us all it's a terribly unrealistic goal. I go with the flow. If I mess up, I live with it. I don't like it, but I manage just the same. Perfectionists always seemed stressed, to be honest, and I am awful at coping with stress--if I were a perfectionist, I would have dramatically and spontaneously combusted by now.

My horoscope for today reads that I need to let go of things I'm trying to hard to hold on to (like my phone, perhaps...) and don't forget to have fun. Since the Pats are playing later and I have Cape Cod potato chips, I'm fairly certain that won't be a problem. Cape Cod potato chips = life

i love ya, tomorrow

"Nothing can rain on my parade today."
"Lucky. I don't even freakin' have a parade today. I have a rainy, abandoned street."

Recently, I have been having a lot of bad days, and I feel it safe to say some of my friends have been experiencing the same--part of me thinks it has to do with seasonal depression, because it's winter, cold and bleak and no fun now that the holidays are over. Part of me thinks knows it's just me feeling sorry for myself, something I try not to do and end up doing anyway. And part of me is pondering over an insight a friend shared with me when I explained my chronic bad moods--maybe I put myself in bad moods because I like being comforted.

As much as I would like to deny that, it's probably true.

I have a bad mood standard operating procedure--it involves eating chicken nuggets, sleeping, surfing the internet for far too long, complaining about my life to my two ICE contact friends, retail therapy, and listening to a bad day playlist that really needs to be updated (suggestions welcome). Here's the go-to song at the top of the list....

I am only a little obsessed with this musical (no worries, I'm 110% aware I'm a nerd). It cheers me up without fail, because no matter how awful my day has been, Annie always reminds me that tomorrow has the potential to be better.

whip cream, shooting stars & red lipstick (day 6)

Today I'm supposed to write 30 interesting facts about myself, which should be a challenge because I don't find myself very interesting. But here goes.

1. My room has a ghost. His name is George.
2. I can recite the movie The Parent Trap word for word.
3. I name inanimate objects constantly--my phone is Stella, my laptop is Fiona and my iPod is Lexie.
4. I like whip cream more than ice cream.
5. I have one ring I always wear and the features are starting to rub off.
6. I adore photography, but I do not have a decent camera.
7. I have never been on a plane.
8. I am addicted to Dunkin' Donuts beverages.
9. I did not have a bedroom door for seven months.
10. I am an Irish dancer, and I love it.
11. I tried to run away when I was eight. It didn't work.
12. Two of my best friends are listed as ICE contacts in my phone, because I trust them that much.
13. I have seen two shooting stars in my life. One wish came true, the other probably won't.
14. I make wishes at 11:11, on stars, on baby dandelions, on birthday candles.
15. I like sitting on the floor.
16. Grammar mistakes are my pet peeve.
17. I like listening to trains and planes--it's soothing.
18. I went through a Titanic phase in the second grade, and it made me a walking dictionary on the ship (it was 882 feet, 9 inches long).
19. I memorized all the presidents at age eight because I saw some girl on Oprah do it.
20. Words cannot express how badly I want to drive.
21. Toy Story 3 made me cry.
22. I am the maternal friend--I yell at my friends to get off Facebook and study, I make them eat lunch and brush their teeth, etc.
23. I put salt on nearly everything I eat. It'll probably kill me eventually.
24. Despite not driving, I really like being a frosh. Frosh is fun to say :)
25. When I talk too fast or get angry, or when I'm saying prayers, I speak in an affected Boston accent.
26. I can only write in Mead 3-Subject spiral notebooks with blue pen.
27. I have a birthmark on my knee shaped like a turtle.
28. Fenway Park is one of my favorite places in the world.
29. I write on my mirror with red lipstick.
30. I procrastinate terribly.

Sheesh. That took a while.

the historical double snow day

There is nothing quite like getting the polite, recorded call from your school superintendant saying that school has been cancelled for yet another day due to "the aftermath of today's storm and safety concerns."

I picked up the phone, held my breath and started dancing throughout the house. I danced up to my parent's room, informed them and yelled at my father a little bit for dashing my hopes and dreams earlier that day when I'd expressed the longing wish to have a double snow day and he bluntly told me there was no way that was happening.

Also, I am fairly certain this has never happened in the history of my town's public schools. I've been a student for 10 years now. We have nevereverever had a double snow day.

So here's to two days of pajamas, cupcakes, late-night TV, and sleeping in, a healthy little mini-break in the middle of the week.

love it always (day 5)

Day 5: Name a time when you thought about ending your own life.

Oi. This should be fun.

Let's try to summarize this as quickly and painlessly as possible: yes, I have gone through two periods of my life when I could have been classified as suicidal.

The first was in the fourth grade, when I went through what I like to call my Regression phase. During the better part of that year, I had terrible seperation aniexty--I couldn't be left home alone and I caused many family feuds by insisting to sleep in my mother's room and had a gigantic fear of becoming sick. I also felt very disliked--none of my friends were in my class and I got stuck with up-and-coming-prom-queens as classmates, the girls who were already wearing designer jeans at age ten and doing everything within their might to lower my self-esteem. Plainly, I was severely unhappy and I was convinced plenty of people would be better off without me around. No, I never cut my wrists or constructed nooses out of bedsheets or anything of the sort-but my thoughts constantly returned to, "hey, I bet my family and my school would be a lot better off if I were dead." Morbid, but true.

The second was during the beginning of the eighth grade. Frankly, it sucked. I felt really ugly, because all of my friends were (and still are, but I've accepted it) waaaayyy prettier, and very stupid, thanks to my skittish new math teacher who awarded me F's. Plus, I realized that I only had one year of middle school left and that freaked me out, big time. There were times when my math homework would literally make me cry. I would be sitting at the kitchen table, bent over the freakin' textbook, thinking about how ugly and stupid I was, and thought along the lines of, "F*ck my life. I'm ugly and retarded, why do I even bother living?" Quite dramatic, no?

Before you all go calling the suicide hotline on me, please rest assured I am nothing like that anymore. Everyone goes through rough times in their lives--that's the way it works. You have to suffer in order to truly enjoy the good that happens. I am a stronger person because of these times, and I am much happier these days--not the happiest I've ever been, granted, but I do know my life is a blessing and I am not intending to screw myself by taking away a blessing. Life is far too crazy, messy, interesting, beautiful and fun to give up, and though I really hate it sometimes, I love it always.

t-swift jam sesh

During a very intense English essay study sesh over apples and peanut butter, my friend and I got into a deep discussion about Taylor Swift and how her songs have the annoying tendency to get stuck in your head slash describe your life perfectly. As she put it, "who do you sing this too? There's always someone in your head you sing to."

Hence, a post full of Taylor Swift songs and the people I sing them too.

~Long Live~

I sing this to brother numero uno, who played harcore pretend with me and our plentiful stuffed animals all through the '90s.

~Last Kiss~

I cried the first time I heard this. Taylor Swift REALLY needs to stop living in my head. If you know me, you know who I sing this too, and even if you don't, I'm sure you can guess.

~Better Than Revenge~

T-Swift goes hardcore. I won't even bother saying who I sing this to...

~I Heart Question Mark~

Another song directed at the recipent of Last Kiss, but more upbeat and fun. Cheers me up :)

~I'd Lie~


To a family friend I used to like and know too well...

~Fifteen~

Is it bad I sing this to myself? 

~I'm Only Me When I'm With You~

This one's for my best friend, the girl I know so well sometimes we don't even have to talk to each other. love you girlie :)

Aaaaand that concludes my little Taylor Swift jam sesh. Enjoy the snow, lovelies. MWAH.

a parental rant

Every once in a while, my parents go on an over-protective surge and start limiting and micro-managing my technology use, claiming I abuse it. They kidnap my phone past 9 PM and tell me I can't go on Facebook during the week, basically cutting off my social connections.

This is going to make me sound insanely spoiled, but sometimes usually having my technology taken away from me gives me an aniexty attack. I use Facebook and my cell phone to talk to my friends. If I do not talk to my friends, I turn into a vicious and angry bear-like creature. If you think I'm kidding, ask my siblings. When I don't talk to my friends--and if my phone gets taken away, I can't, period, because realistically, high schoolers can't afford to talk freely until at least 10 PM--I honestly go crazy. I cannot handle life without my friends, which, sadly, has evolved into I cannot handle life without technology.

Trust me, I feel awful for saying such a thing when those poor babies in Haiti don't have clean clothes and thousands of people in Africa die from AIDS every day. Honest, I do. I am fully aware I can survive without Facebook and such...I'm just not sure I can thrive, because my friends are such a vital part of my mental health.

My arguments go something like this...

No Technology =
~miserable me
~emotionally unstable me
~stressed me

Technology =
~slightly tired me
~happy me
~calm me
~mentally healthy me

But see, the great part about being a teenager is that your parents do. not. understand. Apparently, as long as I'm sleeping before 10 PM, it really doesn't matter how miserable I am. It would be different if I were a terrible student, or if my constant texting or Facebooking or Skyping were costing them tons of money. But I have all A's and B's, we have unlimited texting and Facebook and Skype are free.

Hence, my frustration. My parents limit my social connections and my mother hates technology because she understands so little about it. Facebook isn't evil, and I'm not going to hell because I'm a constant texter. I think it's much more likely I'll go to hell for commiting some hideous crime becaue I went crazy because I coudn't vent, laugh or plain talk to my friends. I realize this is admirable rationalization of spoiled, suburban bad behavior, but I don't really care so much right now.

 I'm fifteen, I'm supposed to be selfish, aren't I?

in my own words (day 4)

Religion is a really tricky topic, especially in my family. My mother is a hardcore Catholic and expects me to be the same--ultimately, I think I disappoint her because she expects me to believe in God the way she does and I don't. Personally, I think the Catholic church has too many rules--women can't be priests, priests cannot marry, being gay is a crime against God, etc. The church tends to contradict itself--I mean, if God loves everyone equally, why are we leaving gay people out in the cold, and why can't women take holy orders? Half of the stuff in the Bible doesn't make a ton of sense.

That being said, I am not an atheist...I believe in God, just not the same God my mother and her wicked Catholic upbringing believes in. I believe that everything happens for a reason and that life is far too intricate to have all happened by chance. I believe in karma and redemption and second chances, and I believe God is the power behind these things. I believe something must happen to you after you die, because death can't be the only reward for living a full life.

I'd like to add that by no means do I judge or think little of people who are atheists--everyone is entitled to their own thoughts and beliefs, especially about something as personal as religion, and it is not my place to attempt to force them into faith, as my mother tends to do to me. Even though I am skeptical of the Catholic church, I don't have the strength to explain this to my family--in all honesty, it would cause a feud, and I haven't found a religion yet that I'd convert to.

 So I guess for the mean time, I'll stay a superstitious, quasi-agnostic and continue to pray, not using the ancient "our father who art in heaven" but instead, in my own words.

to my brothers

I am blessed with four brothers--two courtesy of my parents, and two I was fortunate enough to find during this past year. Brothers are amazingly chill, constantly funny and easy to talk to and they make me smile with their secrets, pep talks and overacted macho behavior.

My first brother is blood-related and I cannot remember life without him. He was my first friend and my first enemy, stealing cookies from the fridge and blaming me later, ripping off my Barbie dolls' heads but drawing me a preschool picture within the next hour. I wear his XXL sweatshirts on my lazy days, tell him which Christmas present he should get our mother and vent to him for hours when I'm angry at our parents. Of course, at times I want to decapitate him, but you can't know somebody for your whole life and love them every single second. He always takes my side in family arguments, offers to do the dishes because he knows it's my least favorite chore and brings me soda cans during intense homework sessions. He is never too busy or too cool to talk to me.

My second brother is also blood-related and still in elementary school, so he and I are not exactly equals. He spends far too much time on Xbox and can be a downright brat, but he's also charming and funny and talkative--he goes on rants at family dinners about farm animals and soccer balls and whatever else is going on in the weird little brain of his, making us all laugh even when we're stressed or tired. I think he's going to grow up to be a comedian, because the little goof just makes you smile, especially when you don't want to.

I found my third brother in the eighth grade--we'd been middle school peers since sixth grade math, when we had a horrible teacher and learned nothing but fractions and which color shirts were in the J.J. Crew catalog, but while slash after he and my friend dated during the winter, we started talking. I discovered he had an eclectic taste in music. He discovered I was a sports freak. And by July, we were best friends. Don't ask me how it happened, but we've actually lost the capibility of being awkward. I can talk to him about anything--for example, we once had a great conversation about God at twelve-thirty on a Wednesday night, and he's helped me through pretty much all of my relationship problems. He's ethnically confused, musically talented, strongly opinionated and 100% brother.

I only got to know my fourth brother this year, right before he started dating my best friend. In one word, he's adorable--the type of kid who says Bruno Mars-type compliments without even realizing it how sweet they are, the kid who tells his older sister about the girl he likes and his first kisses. He's definitely a self-esteem booster, as well as a swimmer and an Oreo enthusiast. He's the one I call to vent about what an awful day I've had and somehow improves my mood by telling me about his drawing of robotic frog. Plus, he treats his my best friend like a freakin' queen, and she deserves that.

Also, after reading this, my fourth brother complained that his paragraph was too short, so let's add--he cheers me up when I'm sad and constantly saves me from insanity, I never get tired of talking to him, he's liberal with hugs and his father offered to adopt me in exchange for the family dog, which on some level is slightly insulting because I feel I am worth more than a dog, but it's fine because his dad is awesome. I have tons of weird and funny memories, and no, kiddo, you don't hate me, because you're under contract to say I'm your best friend :)

So here's to my brothers. Thank you for arguing, for listening, for venting, for hugging, for everything. Love you.

don't be stupid (day 3)

My views on drugs and alcohol...

drugs: personally, the idea of dumping poisons into my body doesn't seem that appealing. Sorry.

alcohol: because being drunk is so completely sexy and attractive.

You're given your one body and your one life--don't be stupid enough to destroy it.

so i guess i wasn't wrong

I am a writer.

I've known this since the third grade, but it has recently become official because after a year and a half, two thick spiral notebooks, a much-edited playlist, twenty dead pens and too many hours of typing, I have completed my first novel.

That sounds a little snobbish, probably, but I did. I wrote a story that is 75,311 words and 162 pages long and it's full of errors, typos, unecessary scences, confusing and contradicting details and a messy plot. Frankly, it's pretty awful.

But the beautiful thing is, I don't really care.

Because it's a certified novel.

Which means I'm a novelist.

Which means I guess I wasn't wrong in the third grade--I really am a writer.

Am I bragging? Yeah, a little. And I'm sorry about it. But I'm just so excited I can't exactly help it. That's the other gorgeous thing--the excitement, the knowledge that I WROTE A DAMN NOVEL.

If I can do that, I can do freakin' anything...or at least, I can try. And believe me, I'm going to try.

maybe i will, maybe i won't (day 2)

In ten years, I'll be twenty-five.

That's pretty much the only thing I know for certain about 2021.

Of course, I want to have graduated a good college, have a nice, steady job and a supportive, adoring boyfriend and go down the suburban soccer mom route, with the three kids and the nice house and the minivan. I want to have an autumn wedding with blue bridesmaids' dresses and a great DJ and go on an exotic honeymoon to a tropical island or some cultured European country.

I want all of that, I really do.

Do I believe all of this is going to happen in the next ten years, exactly how and when I want it to?

Not at all. Life doesn't work like that.

Honestly, I don't really know where I want to be in ten years. I want to be loved. I want to be healthy. I want to be happy.

I'm sorry to disapoint anyone looking for, specificity, Eebs. Specificity (Arthur, from the brilliant and practically life-changing movie Inception) but I don't know where I want to be, because I want to be where life takes me--and I cannot predict that.

So, in ten years, it will be 2021. I will be twenty-five, and maybe I will be married with the three kids and the minivan, and maybe I won't. Who knows?

one random compliment

The day before break is such a joke. People wear pajamas and sweatpants, watch movies that just barely relate to the school curriculum and bring in food and candy like we're preparing for a siege.
In english, we played a game where we gave everyone a hypothetical gift--I doled out dates with celebrities for most of the guys. I received a soul.

In bio, we supposedly did a webquest, but actually jammed out to Ke$ha, threw pencils, stole gum and laughed uncomfortably when somebody asked our recently engaged teacher if he was going to "get it on" with his fiancee over break.

In Spanish, one girl brought in a legit pinata and the class spent five minutes trying to convince the teacher to let us hit it with a meterstick, or perhaps play pinata soccer, but she didn't buy it and we ended up having to shake the candy of the pinata, which was very lame, but I got free toffee.

In study--yes, I was lucky enough to have study last block--seven girls crowded around my copy of Seventeen Prom and we reviewed the fifty-odd pages of dresses, declaring most of them ugly and several other negative adjectives. We braided hair and talked about boyfriends and shared candy canes and finally, finally, we escaped school for nine beautiful days.

Now, break is over, and I am currently having an internal war with myself over all of that homework I should've done earlier. My Christmas was fabulous--the most noteable gift was a lap top, which technically belongs to the family but actually belongs to me, and I spent my New Year's Eve with a ton of junk food and friends, pulled an all-nighter and probably outstayed my welcome at my friend's house by not leaving for a full twenty-five and a half hours. I spent my last night of freedom sobbing as I watched Toy Story 3, Les Miserables and Titanic and stayed up far too late playing truth and reading Harlan Coben.

So, my 2010 is over--it was not my favorite year, but it was an important year for me, personally, and hey, not everyone was lucky enough to live through 2010 in its entirety.

My 2011 is just starting, and I can only hope it will be adventurous, inspiring, healthy and happy. I also hope to improve and brighten my family's, my friend's and my peer's lives by keeping my New Year's resolution, which is to...*drum roll*

give one random compliment each and every day

One little compliment probably won't change the world, but it can make somebody's day. So watch out 2011, here comes a bonafide day-maker.