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)
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
