this life is yours

The fabulous things I find on Stumble...



Soure: goodnightgoodmorning.com

top ten things i think about before i fall asleep

...that is, if I actually do fall asleep because I'm prone to insomnia.

• what i would say if I were on Lopez Tonight or Conan.
• the probability of my parents discovering i snuck out to grab a Slurpee at 7/11.
• the people on that eleven-thirty train.
• what plane rides are like.
• if we all see different colors and just don't know it.
• if i was a boy in a past life.
• how strange it will be when i'm old.
• conducting a social experiment and seeing if everybody really is six degrees or less separated from any given person they encounter on the street.
• who the famous people in my school will be, and if they'll remember me in twenty years.
• what i'd do if a natural disaster struck my sleepy little state.

Happy Tuesday, kidlings. Hang in there.

little miss sunshine

The three most important things in a teenager's life are...

• food.
• sleep.
• friends.

...But I'd gladly give up food and sleep for my friends. They are the people that understand me when I'm not making sense, the ones who forgive my faults and point out my talents. They make doing absolutely nothing fun and they don't care if I don't wear makeup and invite myself over too often.

I haven't exactly been Little Miss Sunshine lately, and I'm all too aware of it. Without my friends, without our stupid Rockband fests and homework parties and Britney Spears jam out sessions, without their hugs and bizarre facial expressions and compliments, God only know where I'd be.

Just a friendly little reminder that I love you guys, and just a friendly little reminder to everybody that you need to spend your life with people who care about you, not the people who pretend to. I'm lucky enough to have incredible, talented and selfless friends who honestly mean everything to me--and when you're blessed with friends like mine, you truly are blessed.

So although I'm not exactly all golden sun sparkles these days, with help from those crazy beautiful people I get to call friends, I'll be back to being Little Miss Sunshine shortly.

(Not like the Abigail Breslin movie. Although it is a quality film)

a beautiful mess



excuse my friend's misspelling of "parties." He's a good guy.



My motto recently as been "If I were a goldfish, I wouldn't have these problems."

Life for a goldfish is so damn easy. They swim around with plastic pebbles. They eat little food flakes and stare out at the world and they never have to stress or worry about anything. They also never have to pay attention, because they literally can't remember anything within a three second time span, but that's besides the point.

Goldfish don't have messy lives. We have messy lives.

Life isn't black and white. You can follow the directions and still fail. That's why we save twice and cross fingers and say prayers. We're all afraid of messing up, because that gray area is so massive and we're so small and there's no guarentees in this crazy life we're all currently sharing.

Life is messy because emotions are messy. Girls love boys that don't love them back. Boys hate boys for loving boys. Mothers yell at their children. Children let their mothers down. Friends tell secrets and lies.

And none of it's fair. It's painful. It hurts. You are little and you get lost.

But there's beauty in the pain. There is. You just have to look for it. You have to understand that we're all stuck in this life together, so we have to truly appreciate what and who we have, because true happiness doesn't come from wishes coming true or prayers being answered. It comes from loving your life exactly the way it is, flaws and all.

Listen Beautiful Mess by Jason Mraz. It's an absolutely gorgeous song.

top ten most annoying cliches

I detest cliches. There are so many fabulous words in the English language, why bother using the same ones over and over and over?

• dead as a doornail. I'm sorry, but what? Someone explain to me what a doornail is, and why somebody murdered it.
• pretty as a picture. You could be referring to a picture of a donkey. Or a troll. In which case it wouldn't be much of a compliment.
• deep as the ocean. just go home.
• if i had a nickel. I'm sorry, but you don't. So kindly shut up.
• raining cats and dogs. Honestly, who thought this up? Think about it. It literally makes no sense. If it rained cats and dogs, we would have a serious problem on our hands. On the bright side, maybe I'd actually get a dog.
• ants in his pants. It poses as clever because it rhymes. It's not clever, it's irritating.
• tickle your fancy. Fancy is not a body part. The idea of naming a body part "fancy" makes me uncomfortable.
• cold as ice. Come on. I know can do better. Besides, ice isn't even that cold. Frozen nitrogen, that's cold (Did I overstep the nerd boundary there?)
• he's on fire! No, he's not. He's just totally owning everyone else in the game. Just because you can swish a three-pointer doesn't mean that your skill magically evolve into flames.
• I'm jut pulling your leg. except that you weren't pulling my leg. If you had been, I would have done something about it.

a vicious cycle

Ironically, one of my biggest problems is how hard it is for me to acknowledge and deal with my problems. If Austin Powers were real, and not, you know, a movie character, he would tell me that it is "a vicious cycle" and I'd be inclined to agree.

I ignore my emotions sometimes. I tell myself that they're not important, that they are stupid and selfish and I should just stop complaining and accept things the way they are. I refuse to accept that I have legitimate problems in my life, despite the fact that everyone else has at least one serious problem in theirs.

For some reason, I believe that my emotions and my issues are less valid than everyone else's. I believe it is selfish for me to ask for help when I live in a rich suburb with running water and electricity and a great public education and over half the people in the world aren't as lucky as I am.

Of course, this could stem from my father's constant refrain of "rich white suburban kids create their own problems", which tells me that I'm feeling too deeply and thinking too much.

I care more about my friend's feelings than I do about my own, but I can't fully explain why and I don't know if that's a really terrible thing or not. I know I can't fix it. I've trained myself into a mindset that allows me to forgive and listen to pretty much anybody except myself.

I ignore my emotions and problems. As a result, they get thorny and more aggravating to deal with. And so I put more energy into pretending they're not there.

It truly is a vicious cycle and I honestly have no idea how to end it, because sometimes music isn't enough. Sometimes eating chicken nuggets doesn't improve my mood as much as I hope it will. Sometime my friends are busy or asleep and sometimes they just don't know what to say.

Sometimes all you can do is pretend that whatever's bothering you isn't really there.

saint patrick's day :)

I haven't been to school on Saint Patrick's Day since the third grade. If I remember correctly, my teacher wore a green tie and all the boys wore Celtics shirts and there were shamrock cookies at lunch.

Instead, on Saint Patrick's Day, I get up, snag a curly redheaded wig onto my scalp, put on seven layers of makeup, run around collecting various items such as duct tape, safety pins, shoe polish, scissors, pencils, bobby pins and sock glue (sock glue: adhesive used to stick socks to skin). Then I go to my old elementary school, show off some old Irish artifacts that beloged to my grandparents, dance a little bit and try to convince third graders that I'm not a total freak for loving Irish dance.

I've been an Irish dancer for five years now. It's insane and demanding and addicting and strange. We glue socks to our shins and invent new ways to use duct tape and abuse our toes and feet something fierce. We have our own subculture. Irish dance is not stomping around and babbling about Lucky Charms. It is both a sport (yes, it is a sport and I will fight you on it) and a celebration of culture.

I certainly have a lot of Irish culture to celebrate. One of my great-grandfathers was a member of the original IRA and imprisoned for three years for fighting for the country and the cause he loved so much. One of my great-grandmothers came over on the boat via Ellis Island in 1916 and kept the tradition of Irish superstition alive by reading tea leaves, recording dreams and crossing herself whenever she saw a black bird. My grandfather's first language was Gaelic, as he grew up in a very rural village along the northern coast of Ireland. My other grandfather grew up in the projects of South Boston--a neighborhood known for its diehard Irish Catholics. 

I have always been taught that I should be extremely proud of my heritage, because there is nobody quite like the Irish. Saint Patrick's Day gives me a chance to appreciate that, and to share my quirky little talent with others (even if the nursing homes smell really bad). I really love Irish dance, and I love my relatives and I love Saint Patrick's Day.

I also love this song by John Mayer.

So yeah, I'm a redhead. And yup, I'm insanely pale. And yeah, the majority of my classmates think I'm a loser for loving Irish flute music and curly wigs and the whole subculture of Irish dance.

But I honestly wouldn't have it any other way, becaue I wouldn't love Saint Patrick's Day half as much as I do.

trying (day 17)

Highs and lows of the past year.

Highs: Getting the braces off, starting high school, a truly great summer, lots of personal firsts, playing matchmaker, giving my eighth grade grad speech (geek and proud), writing a novel, starting this lil blog here :)

Lows: Emotional issues, first break up, parental fights, major S T R E S S, worrying like crazy about my friends because I am the mom.

Every year has good and bad in it. I tried to make the most of my 2010. I'm trying to make the most of my 2011, too. Trying being the operative word.

selfish people suck

Selfishness is a human flaw. We are all selfish to a certain extent simply because we are not perfect and we will never be perfect. We all care about ourselves and we all want. That's normal.

I am selfish. I know it and I own it. I use it as an apology, as an excuse, as an explanation. I complain and whine and vent like crazy. I abuse my friends' listening skills and make them stay up until ungodly hours talking to me. I ask my parents for money. I feel sorry for myself more often than I probably should, and self pity always equals selfishness.

That said, I'm going to be a hypocrite now and say that selfish people--reallyreally selfish people--make me want to scream. They make me sick.

I hate the people so wrapped up in their own lives that all they can do is talk about themselves. I hate the people whom expect everyone else to be as concerned about their lives as they are. I hate the people who never ask about your day. I hate the people who take themselves too seriously because they think they're crazy mature and talented and ultra fabulous. I hate the people who constantly fish for compliments. I hate the people who are incapable of laughing at themselves.

Honestly, learning to laugh at myself is one of the most important lessons I've learned thus far in my teenage life. If you can laugh at yourself, other people won't be laughing at you, but with you. Laughing at yourself means you realize that you're not perfect, that you are flawed and make mistakes--you spill and you cry and you whine and you bitch and you bleed and you fight and you get dirty and you shout and take and you fail and you fall.

Selfish people don't want to admit they are flawed. They don't want to admit that they have problems and emotional baggage and they embarrass themselves and sometimes even snort, just like the rest of the human race. Selfish people put others down so that they can feel better and more accomplished, superior to the average Joe. Selfish people like to think they have this special little bubble around them, making them prettier and smarter and stronger than the rest of us. Selfish people aren't concerned with anyone other than themselves because in their minds, they are just so much more important that your life couldn't possibly be interesting.

And that is why selfish people suck.

my awesome shirt and my awesome school

Yesterday was Make A Statement Day and quite frankly, it kicked ass.

Here's a picture of mine, courtesy of Ari (also, go check out the picture of her shirt. I am beyond impressed--it's mad artsy and she wrote out a three paragraph quote on the back)



Some of my favorites included...

"We have guided missiles and misguided men."

"Fear builds walls. Walls build fear."

"A laugh is a smile that bursts."

"Don't hate me 'cause I'm beautiful."

"Don't sweat the petty things and don't pet the sweaty things."

"We don't stop laughing because we grow old, we grow old because we stop laughing."

"Playing in the rain is worth catching a cold."

I also gave three thousand respect points to anyone with a quote from Albus Dumbledore, as well as all of the shirts that said "JGB Forever" in memory of Jake Borson.

Awesome words, awesome shirts, awesome people and an awesome school. So much love.

the absolute best therapy (day 16)

I'm going to finish this freaking blog challenge veryvery soon. I promise.

Your views on mainstream music.

In my humble opinion, modern music falls into three catagories, the first being disgusting, synthesized kind, a la Justin Bieber and that dreadful song "O.M.G." by Will.i.am. O.MG. makes my brain vomit whenever I hear it. It's sad, because it's really not music but it's eaten up like candy by the general public and those tween girls who faint over The Jonas Brothers and J-Biebs. These people honestly have no idea what real music is. Pity them. I do.

The second is pretty much the same techno-trashy stuff, except it's energetic and catchy and you find yourself liking it even if you don't really want to (think Ke$ha and Lady Gaga). It's too damn happy to hate.

The third is the really awesome music, when songs are written by the singers, played by the singers, felt by the singers. When actual instruments are involved in the production. When the title of artist actually means something--this person, or these people, truly are artists because they craft beautiful music out of notes and words and they feel the music and they love it and they don't care about record contracts or commercials, because all they need and all they love is the music.

Example:

Music, aside from coloring books and chicken nuggets, is the absolute best therapy, and I've had a stressful day, so I'm off to plug it in and turn it up. Looking forward to Make A Statement Day tomorrow! MWAH.

powerful pieces/peaces

Normally, I cannot stand school assemblies. Other than wasting class time, I don't see much point in them--either they're stressing the importance of academics or emphasizing just how destructive smoking, drinking and drugs are. Usually, it's a combination of the two. Sometime they try to mix it up and throw bullying into the mix, but pretty much every student in attendence knows that it's a load of bull and won't make a difference. The kids who smoke, smoke, the kids who drink, drink, the kids who do drugs, do drugs and the kids who fail, fail. It's been that way forever, long before anybody dreamed up these pointless assemblies, and no amount of pretty graphs or statistics is going to change that.

But the assembly on Monday morning was nothing like that.

This week at Needham High, we're having an event entitled "Own Your Peace/Piece Week." The clever name ties in with the theme of being at peace with yourself and contributing a piece to your community. It's corny, but this is school, so no shockers there. It's run by some obscure student-run suicide prevention support group that I honestly had no idea existed.

They kicked off the Monday morning assembly with peace/piece puns and explanations and a bunch of other information that most of us were incapable of absorbing at eight AM. The first portion of student speakers were volunteers from Samariteens, a program that offers a 24/7 hotline for depressed/suicidal/lonely teenagers. It was interesting, but not captivating enough to draw me away from the lines I was drawing on the back of my hand (I am not a good audience member, and I'm the first the admit it).

But then came the second portion.

First speaker: The sarcastic, wild, rugby-playing guy. Cracks a lot of jokes and says a lot of swears. He stood up in front of five hundred plus kids and talked about battling with an eating disorder his sophmore year, trying to make weight for wrestling. All of us five hundred plus students in the stands sat dead quiet. Some of us teared up. It was obvious that it wasn't easy for him to talk about it, let alone in front of two whole grades, but he did it anyways. And then an hour and a half later, he stood up and retold it. His bravery really made an impact, as did his story, and for that I am truly thankful.

Second speaker: Pretty fashionista who wears nice clothes and says nice things and hugs her little sister every time they met in the halls. She got up and talked about dealing with depression and family issues since she was eleven years old. No script, no lecture, no sob story. Just her story, her life, her triumphs and her sorrows. She was honest and open and sincere and she meant every single word she said.

Third speaker: A boy who blatently said, in the first sentence of his speech, "When I was in the eighth grade, I started becoming sexually attracted to guys." He talked about coming out to his parents and his peers (which was actually by accident, in English class) and he was so casual and collected when he spoke it was admirable. I especially loved the applause he received when he finished talking. I can hardly imagine what it must feel like to tell five hundred high school students, "I'm gay."

Fourth speaker: A girl who talked about her experiences with cutting. She was so incredibly brave, opening up about something considered taboo. So much braver than I ever could have been.

Fifth speaker: A girl who was frank and downright hilarious about being gay. She came out to her mother in the middle of a shopping mall. Her attitude is, "I don't see any reason to keep it a secret. If you're bothered by my sexuality, then I don't want you in my life anyways." She seemed like she really had it figured out, and she really doesn't care what other people think about her--and that is truly amazing. I cannot tell you how impressed I was by her speech.

If I sound annoyingly repetitive with my adjectives, I apologize. There are only so many ways I can describe that assembly. It was raw, it was real, it was relateable. It was emotional and honest and really quite beautiful and every single person said their piece with poise and purpose.

And powerful. Oh God, was it powerful.

top ten things i say too much and MASD

I have my phrases. I overuse them. Im trying to change.

• You're so cool.
• Can I be you?
• Mmkayy.
• I'm going to shoot you.
• SHUT UP.
• ...but I love you!
• MEHHRR MEEHHRR MEHHRR (this is me imitating a T-Rex.)
• I don't want to go home.
• Can I get a ride?
• I hate everything.

I promise I'm not as annoying as I sound. Or at least, I like to believe I'm not.

Also, tomorrow I'm making my T-shirt for Make A Statement Day!

MASD is a wicked cool event my school has every year. All students and faculty that want to decorate a free T-shirt with a quote and/or statement and then everybody wears the shirt and we marvel at each other's genius. This is my first year at the high school, MASD is on Friday and I'm looking foward to it...BUT...

I can't decide on a quote. That's where you come in. Today's your lucky day, because you get to help me chose! I'm caught between three...

"Turn your scars into stars" ~robert h. schuller

"It's the friends you can call up at four AM that matter." ~marlene dietrich

"Unless your name is Google, don't act like you know everything

Help me prettypretty please with cherries on top :)

revolution

I finished Jennifer Donnelly's Revolution just before settling onto the couch for three hours of cookie-eating and Oscar-watching last Sunday. It was recommended to me by my cousin (okay, so I was over her house, stole it and read the first chapter before she stole it back and locked me out of her room) who, if such a thing is possible, is an even bigger bookworm than I am.

The protagonist is an emotionally scarred and semi-suicidal seventeen-year-old musician named Andi, living in Brooklyn with her mother and the torturing ghost of her little brother. She's an outsider at her prep school, St. Anslem's, and hates her father, a Nobel Prize-winning scientist. Her Holocaust-surviving guitar teacher, Nathan, is the only reason she's not totally insane yet. After receiving a letter about Andi's failing grades, her father drags her to Paris over winter break, determined that she finish her thesis paper on a guitarist who lived during the French Revolution. While staying at a family friend's house, Andi discovers an antique guitar and a diary, written by a French girl named Alexandrine struggling to grow up during the Revolution and attempting to free the "lost prince" of France, Louis-Charles, from captivity. Andi is simultaneously researching her paper and obsessing over the diary when she meets Virgil, a gorgeous cab driver with a knack for rapping. Virgil leads her to a party in the catacombs, which eventually turns into an experience Andi will never forget.

This book is beautifully written. The words are fat and rich and fall off the tongue so nicely I just had to read some aloud. I highlighted and sticky noted the hell out of it and I'd share a picture, but for some reason my webcam keeps showing this creepily animated picture of a white kitten (I bet my life it has something to do with my sister.) Anyhow, here are some of my favorite passages...

"Beautiful people don't need coats. They've got their auras to keep them warm."

"I play until my fingertips are raw. Until I rip a nail and bleed on the strings. Until my hands hurt so bad I forget my heart does."

"I wish I could stop messing up but I don't know how. What is it that mends broken people? Jesus? Chocolate? New shoes? I wish someone would tell me."

"Stand on a stage and hold the hearts of men in your hands. Make them laugh with a gesture, cry with a word. Make them love you. And you will know what power is."

"He's always saying that he loves me. And that I love him. When the truth is, we've never even gone out. He's a lizard, I think. Bernie."

"I don't like hope very much. In fact, I hate it. It's the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard. It's bad news. The worst. It's sharp sticks and cherry bombs. When hope shows up, it's only a matter of time until someone gets hurt."

"I will rain down silver and gold for you. I will shatter the black night, break it open, and pour out a million stars. Turn away from the darkness, the madness, the pain. Open your eyes. And know that I am here. That I remember and hope. Open your eyes and look at the light."

I probably bored you. Apologies. Please go read it :) KaythanksbyeMWAH

soapbox (day 15)

Your favorite Tumblrs.

Allow me to step onto my soapbox for a moment.

 I hate Tumblrs. I'm sorry, but I do. I hate the fact that it is anonymous--while I certainly understand the appeal, it annoys me because people say things on Tumblr that I know for a fact they wouldn't say in real life. If you're not brave enough to own the things you say, then you shouldn't be publicly declaring them, period. People seem to forget that the Internet is just about as public as it gets, and just because your name isn't written at the bottom of every post doesn't mean you're protected from the consequences of your words.

Okay. I've stepped off the soapbox now.

My favorite tumblrs...

• Hopeful Romantic
• Icanread
• blinks.of.life

As you can see, two out of three aren't really blogs (God, I sound like snob, don't I?) but collections of quotes and pictures. AND DAMN THEY ARE CUTE. Check 'em out :)

storms and sunlight

Hey. No, I didn't forget about this here lil' old blog. I've just been very sluggish this past week, due to the fact that February vacation, although wonderful, was too damn short.

Over break, I slept in until noon, painted my friend's room "patriot" blue, ate way too much pizza, watched two scary movies, did a lot of hugging, got hooked on How I Met Your Mother and Stumbleupon and stayed home alone overnight for the first time. This all sounds quite eventful, but it certainly didn't feel that way. February has a way of making everything less fun, which is why I'm wicked glad it's now March.

March has spring and storms and sidewalks and sunlight and St. Patrick's Day and I have the feeling that these will cure my case of seasonal depression. I love the snow, but I'm sick of it. I want the spring. I want the summer. Summer is love.

Here are my two favorite summer songs. I know it's early, but I cannot wait :)

Happy Thursdaayyy.