Archive | September 2013

Friendship is Magic

At the beginning of the year I volunteered to help the new kids get acquainted with the school. Now I have to stress that I didn’t do this as a totally selfless act, being a naturally lazy person I often don’t see the point of doing something if it doesn’t benefit ME in some way, so I did it for my college application. ANYWAY, ignoring the fact that I am a egocentric selfish person, I actually learned a lot and loved helping people.

I, as a peer leader (I know, bad name right?), was assigned the new high school sophomores in the morning and I got to see what I resembled a year before at that same point in time. Well, not me exactly, because I wasn’t invited to the ‘new kid assembly’ *mean* but you get my point. The students were painfully awkward and sat quietly on their chairs, staring at each other while I babbled on like an idiot, telling them how badly they were going to suffer/die in the year to come. As I moved on to the meaning of life or some shit like that, I noticed that they weren’t listening to me. Duh. So I tried to imagine what was going on in their heads:

“Holy crap I’m sitting with the people who I’m going to spend my whole year with. Will any of these bozos be my friends? Ooooh, he/she’s cute!”

I’ve seen a few of them around since then, and it made me really pleased each time to see that they had made friends and were still breathing.

 

In the afternoon we got assigned to a different age group: the littler kids. The EABJM starts in 1st grade, so none of the 6 years olds knew each other. They toddled over, hanging onto their parents, clinging desperately to the last thread of the first part of their childhood. Some of them were so shy that they couldn’t even tell me their name, and could only point their tiny trembling fingers at their nametags. We had a couple of crying cases and outright refusals to go play duck duck goose, but after a little coaxing and bribing by the parents, most of them eventually stumbled reluctantly into the ‘games circle’. And then, magic happened. After about five minutes of knocking each other out and being silly geese, the kids were all best friends. The girls were already sitting around talking about, um, ponies and hair ties (sorry, I’ve forgotten what 6 year olds talk about) and the boys were kicking a soccer ball around. HOW? HOW I ASK YOU? 5 minutes. That’s all it took and they were friends for life! Or, like, as long as they’re at the school.

Anyway, it got me thinking about how we, today, as people having passed the stage of early childhood, make friends. It’s not like we can just walk up to a random stranger on the street and ask “Heyyyyyy [elongated word to show just how cool you are. not.] Wanna be my friiiiend? *smile that is meant to be warm but is in reality just creepy*. The person who you asked would probably call the police.

But for all my odd musings, I do know one thing for sure: (well more than one thing but… um… anyways) that I have found the most amazing people through this blog, some of whom have become very awesome friends 🙂 So I just wanted to say thank you to every single one of you 204 people who have subscribed to The Mostly Confused Teenager during the past two months, it really does mean the world to me. I love you guys! [In a totally platonic way, and not in a weird stalkery (not a word recognized by spell check, dammit!) way. I should probably stop talking, I’m just embarassing myself.)

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: Sorry for the quality of today’s writing, this post was written in a boring History class. I can say this because my parents have promised never to mention my blog or anything on it. Yay!

PPS: Pipi. Hihihi. *blushes and dives under covers* I know I haven’t been on the reader or addressed my wonderful awards yet, but I will, I promise! It’ll be easier when my teachers decide that they don’t want us to die after all.

 

 

 

 

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DANGER WILL ROBINSON *faints in horror*

panicMy parents have discovered that I have a blog [shudders uncontrollably]. What will happen to the world? What will happen to the Mostly Confused Teenager? What am I to do? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

And so I sit here, at my computer, desperately wringing my hands, wondering how in Holy Hell they found out. Did someone tell them? Did I leave the page open without meaning too? Why, o lordly cookie, why? I saw that they knew when I was standing next to my Dad’s computer looking at pictures of Mets’ rookies in dresses (please, don’t ask) when my eyes inadvertently widened and a wave of ice washed over me as the pink background of my own special hiding place appeared in his most visited sites. I stared in horror as I realized that this was practically the end of the world for me. Well, not really, but nearly.

I held out a month and a half without them knowing. That’s not very good is it? I’d like to point out that there are some things on The Mostly Confused Teenager that are inappropriate enough that I would never say them in front of my parents.  I mean as far as I know, no parent would want to read a piece their daughter wrote about erectile dysfunction. And might I also mention that I swear, say weird things and swoon over boys on here. This blog contains my secrets, it’s a place where I can say whatever the f*ck I want without repercussions. Well, within reason (I’m sure that if I wrote that koalas are sweeter than pandas some of you would come forward and yell at me). Now, just writing the word “f*ck”, even though I’m hiding a letter, makes me feel all guilty, knowing that my parents are going to read it.

So what am I supposed to do? Suggestions are greatly appreciated, because here I’m at a loss here. Should I ask them to respect my privacy? I don’t think they’d go for that, since apparently they can already be qualified as snoops. Or hey, here’s a wild idea! Mama, Daddy, since you now know the secret identity of a certain CT, why don’t you say something?

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Very Panicked Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: this is a very celebratory 50th post isn’t it?

It’s Still Summer

Dear Autumn, back the hell off. I’ve known people like you who might be nice in some aspects of their personality but who are just too pushy. I will remind you that summer is until the 21st of September, so until then I will agree with none of this cold windy rainy nonsense that you’re imposing on the good people of EVERYWHERE.

I was walking on the street today and a leaf fell on my nose. How about no? First of all, I don’t like things falling on my nose, it makes me sneeze, and I happen to know that when I sneeze I sound like a dying zebra. Secondly, it’s still summer!!

Now I know there’s a certain rivalry in between summer and you and I also know that you feel slighted because people prefer the former to you, BUT MAYBE IF YOU STOPPED BEING SO DAMNED IN OUR FACES WE WOULD LIKE YOU MORE! Personally I love the sharp wind and the start of the holiday season, but for Cookie’s sake, it’s still a month and a half until Halloween! Please, I’m begging you, let us enjoy the last moments of our dying summertime hopes as they are swallowed by school and work *shakes head sadly*.

And Heat-Miser, Snow-Miser; if you keep fighting over who controls France, I’m going to go over your heads and go straight to your Mother. You wouldn’t like that would you? [childhood Christmas reference :’)]

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager

What do I do with my body parts?

Now before you go all “ew” and “gross” on me, give me a chance to explain. I went to a concert on Saturday night and realized that while everybody else seemed to have no problem moving groovily (isn’t that a fun word? groooovily. Ahem.) to the beat I looked like a hamster having a heart attack.

If you’re only here to see CT make a fool of herself, please skip to the word COOKIE. Otherwise, please enjoy the foreplay. *clears throat*

See, a friend of mine is in this rock band and they don’t often have gigs so I try to go when they’re playing. What you have to understand is that I am not a person who generally goes out and is social and dances and manages to look hot doing it (gaah, why does everything I say always sound so wrong?) . Anyway, even though the ‘orchestra of my colleagues’ as my friend’s dad called it, was playing on the other side of town, I went out of friendship and because I had nothing else to do. Well actually the other choice was getting drunk in a park while it was raining. Obvious choice no? For me at least.

The 20th arrondissement of Paris is not a great neighborhood, or at least the part that I was in wasn’t. My friend and I went together, which I’m grateful for because I never would have gone on my own. The club that Black Crown Falling was playing in (check them out on YouTube, they’re awesome!) was more a bar with an improvised stage than anything else. To tell you the truth, it was scary place. It smelled of alcohol and smoke and it was a dark and stormy night. Washington (my friend) and I stood outside in the pouring rain for an hour, too nervous to go inside because the screams that were emanating from the room made it sound like there were flamingos getting slaughtered (yeah you guessed it, the band before BCF was a heavy metal group).

We finally gathered our courage and went inside when BCF started playing, and I’ve gotta say that I was honestly really enjoying myself until I noticed that other people were nodding their heads and tapping their feet while I was standing there, stone still, looking like an awkward giraffe. I got worried that it might look as if I didn’t like the music so I started stomping my foot in rhythm. Bad idea; it just looked as if I needed to pee. Next I started moving my head and ended up portraying a person in epileptic shock.

COOKIE

We were standing in front of the stage and since the band played for 40 minutes I took it as a bad sign that I started getting pins and needles in my legs 5 minutes into the concert. Because of this every so often I would hop up and down a little, switching legs. And where was I supposed to look? Looking straight at the singer made it look like I was strangely fascinated with him (which believe me, I am not). I tried looking at the guitarist’s little brother, who was watching his idol with a proud look on his face, but that made me seem creepy. So I looked at the wall for most of their playing time, trying to seem like I’d mastered the vague mysterious attitude. I didn’t, and that was pretty obvious to EVERYONE.

Finally I didn’t know what do with my arms. I tried crossing them but that was too arrogant and “f*ck you”-like. I put them behind my back but that made it look like I was some stuck up teenager waiting for the torture to end. In the end I just swung them back and forth like a deranged robot, occasionally hitting people accidentally. Yes, that’s the option that I chose. If you had a better solution, I wish you could have been there to tell me.

So I was the awkward teenager, sopping wet, knocking people over with her disproportionately long arms, jumping up and then down again every few minutes, eyes shifting from place to place, head rolling around in perfect disharmony with the music. Luckily for me I realized that Washington was having trouble controlling her limbs as well, which made me feel less alone. But tell me, good people of Apricot Land, what was I supposed to do?

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager

PS: Today I’m apparently fixating on animals. Hum, tomorrow it might be kitchen tools, who knows?

Honest Confessions From a Real, Frustrated New York Mets Fan…

Eeek I’ve done my first guest blogging post! *swoons with pride*

Jockstrap Journal

Guest post from the ‘Strap’s newest author, CT, a mostly confused teenager who runs the blog themostlyconfusedteenager.wordpress.com. She gracefully details the struggles and beauties of being a Mets fan.

If you’re reading this article, you’re either a Mets fan who is out of excuses for them or someone who knows a Mets fan and is trying to save them from a fan life of desolation and pain. Somehow, we become fans. Throughout our entire lives we can, do, and will discover things that have reeled us in. Can the Mets really do that? I mean, sure, they’re a likable team, with people like David Wright and his heart of gold, but it’s hard to become a young fan of a team that is desperately floundering.

For me, the explanation is quite simple: legacy. My dad is a Mets fan and, for a reason that I cannot explain without wanting…

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Maths and Me

Maths and I have never exactly been best friends. How can I put this…  I am to math as Tim Tebow is to the position of QB (another example: I am to math like Taylor Swift is to relationships.)

Yeah, it’s that rough. I mean I’ve never had a problem with it in in of itself until the 8th grade. My parents always made me learn the notions in advance so that I wouldn’t then have any problems in class; it’s sort of as if they predicted my future math problems 😉 In 8th grade I missed several months of school and when I came back I realized that math no longer came easily to me and that I actually had to work, hard, to understand the notions. And of course, as a naturally lazy person, I didn’t like having to work to achieve my goals.

Last year I changed schools to come to the EABJM, where I am now. I quickly realized (through miserably failing my first test) that the level of my supposedly good school was nothing compared to what I was encountering here. In France we have 3 sections, S, ES and L and quite basically the people who have an average of 8/20 in math are not supposed to do the scientific program. Unfortunately it’s the only way to become a doctor so I’m forcing myself through it. I am the reason why there are too many people in my section and class. Am I making any sense at all? Ugh, I’m soooo tired.

So now I’m taking private lessons with a teacher from the school and while I silently curse my old junior high for screwing up my mathematics education I nod and repeat what she tells me. Then, on Tuesday, I saw math in a whole new light thanks to her. I’ve always seen it as a very concrete thing: the numbers on the board, the formulas to follow religiously. Suddenly it dawned on me: all of this was invented! In Ancient Whatever some dude sat down and said “I decree that 2+2=4. Also, because I’m too bored to think of anything else, 2×2 also equals 4. Bam, mathematicianed.” They say you don’t have a lot of imagination if you practice math as a living (do they? Really CT?) but that’s in reality excrements of an uncircumsized male cow! Suddenly the numbers were jumping off the board in front of my eyes, dancing in perfect unison. It was magical. Of course when I recounted this to my best friend she asked if I was high, at which point I responded that I couldn’t remember, which probably wasn’t the best thing to answer.

I’m still struggling past the domain of algorithms but I hope that now it’ll get a little bit easier. [My inner voice is telling me to prepare myself for disappointment]. But hey, if math is hard, so is life. I’ll just have to deal accordingly.

I can’t help but think of how ironic this whole situation is, seeing as how my dad is a mathematician who’s official title is “director of numerical algorithms”. Huh, didn’t see that one coming did you? You did? Oh, well then.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: I haven’t posted in two days! Aaaaaaaaaah the daily blogging ritual is broken!