Archive | September 2013

Parents Dialogue #2: Disco

[Discussing the fine art of Disco Music] Dad: Really, if you want to make a disco beat just say ‘chunk ‘o chicken’ over and over again in a cool whispery voice. Chunk ‘o chicken Chunk ‘o chicken Chunk ‘o chicken Chunk ‘o chicken… See?

CT: *stares blankly at him before trying it* Chunk ‘o chicken Chunk ‘o chicken Chunk ‘o chicken Chunk ‘o chicken.

Dad: No no no! You’re doing it all wrong! Frankly, it’s like pearls before swine here.

Mom: Oink.

 

Later I went to listen to a disco song and to my astonishment  recognized the Chunk ‘o chicken right away. Who’d have guessed? Not this girl, that’s for sure…

 

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

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Never Forget

9-11-flagThank you. Thank you to the people, thank you to the firemen, thank you to the doctors, thank you to to ambulances drivers, thank you to the police, thank you to the radio operators, thank you to the rescue personnel, thank you to the brave Betty Ong, thank you to the coast guards, thank you to the ironworkers, thank you to the structural engineers, thank you to the carpenters, thank you to the electricians, thank you to the machinists, thank you to the plumbers, thank you to the pipefitters, thank you to the riggers, thank you to the Red Cross, thank you to the rescue dogs, thank you to the volunteers, thank you to the unsung heroes stuck inside, thank you to Americans everywhere, thank you to the world. Thank you to so, so many more. Thank you.

I was only a little girl when the attacks took place, but that frightened little four year old saw her parents hysterically crying and hugging each other. Now 4 times the age that she was then, this teenager still automatically reverts to a scared child when she sees footage or hears stories. Even though back then I didn’t know what was going on I knew it was something big and horrible that I couldn’t even begin to imagine; I knew nothing of hate, the place of the United States in the world, politics or terrorists. Today I’ve seen original footage, films, interviews, read stories, seen Mike Piazza’s home run that gave life back to New York, heard the phone calls that were made from the Towers, seen the people jump to their deaths. 

Today I know that my Aunt got lucky. See, she worked in a building directly adjacent to the World Trade Center. If you walk out of her office you are at Ground Zero. On September 11th 2001 my Aunt got a headache when she woke up. After long debating whether or not to go to work, she decided that she’d better stay home and call in sick. That one decision saved her life. Later that morning her building was totalled under the falling of debris and eventual collapse of the Twin Towers. It makes me wonder, how can something as trivial as her decision was change, just… everything?

I’m sometimes asked what kind of movie scares me the most; gory, mysterious etc. But the real answer, the one I don’t often give is “the real kind”. The 9/11 videos that make me cry uncontrollably. It’s a different kind of scary, and for me, it’s much, much worse.

RIP to all those that lost their lives in this horrible tragedy. We will never forget you.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: I know that this isn’t my usual light happy fluffy unicorn style of writing, but in previous years all I’ve known to do is wear black on 9/11. This year I have somewhere where I can finally pay tribute, somehow, to the fallen and the heroes of September 2001. Never forget.

Parents Dialogue #1

Mom: So I had this weird dream last night…

Dad, keeping eyes focused on book: Hmm…

Mom: I was walking down the street and where there’s normally that big pothole there was a giant sparkling emerald lake with icy silver polar bears diving into it.

Dad, perks up and glances at her: Were there by any chance purple flamingos present as well?

Mom, surprised: Yes, yes there were!

Dad: I love you..

Mom: I love you too.

CT: ?!

 

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

A Festival of Sobbing

I’m a very emotional person. <– that sentence is very hard for me to utter, because it’s like admitting that I’m not totally in control of my feelings, and as you might have gathered, I tend to be a control freak. The fact that I even have feelings may come as a shock to some people, because from the outside I sometimes look like an emotionally unavailable zebra (is that an insult to zebras? If you are a zebra and are offended, please accept my sincere apologies.).

The fact that I retreat to my inner protectivd shell as soon as anything bad happens can be taken badly. Last year my uncle was in a horrendous accident and for a week we hoped and prayed that he would stay alive. My mother and my brother both cried when they heard; I stayed silent, seemingly unperturbed. I got a couple concerned looks from my dad as I continued to act as if everything was normal. But inside, inside I was on fire, hurting in every sense of the term. However I did recognize that I needed to open up somewhat and promised myself that when I started my new school in September, I would be more liberal with my feelings. Thinking back now, the only time I really lost it when I was little was each year at Christmas when we watched Frosty the Snowman. Even though he comes back, it’s still heartbreaking to see him melt. To this day I have trouble with snowmen.

When my grandfather passed away in the spring, I realized that I was evolving. I was crying, and it felt bloody good. Of course I only allowed myself to show my grief when the rest of my family wasn’t around for fear of increasing theirs, but I was mourning in my own way. Now I’ve let myself take a lot more freedom with my emotions, letting my tears bubble over and sobbing hysterically when I watch the end of Star Wars Episode XI (can you believe they’re making another one? Geez.), alone in my room, surrounded by tissues.

I also, like most people, can cry of happiness. That kind of crying is very much easier for me to do in front of other people for one reason or another. For example on my birthday this year my awesomesauce friends, the best in the whole Universe (sorry if you thought yours were, cause they’re not, mine are :)) threw me a surprise birthday party. They made me one of the best cakes that I have ever tasted and a giant cone of cookies with caramel drizzled on them. Heaven. Seeing this blatant display of affection I immediately started to blubber like a walnut and felt like an idiot when half an hour later, when all the pictures and videos had been taken, I realized that my makeup had run (run awaaaaay! Right, sorry) and that I looked like a half ass raccoon.

I wonder what the future will in terms of letting my emotions show. Frankly, I’m ready to accept just about anything, as long as it doesn’t involve sobbing profusely on the street because I don’t have enough money to replenish my chocolate stash.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: The evolution towards emotional availability may also be caused, in part, by PMS. Who the hell knows.

Time Is Running Out

Well, not really. I mean time can’t actually run anywhere, nor can it suddenly die from a cookie overdose (sh*t happens), but you get the point. At the start of a new school year, I realized that I’m a junior, which means that at the current moment in time, I have less than two years before I go off to University and leave my home forever. And frankly, the thought of moving on with my life scares me a whole lot.

When I was a little girl, I had no concept of time. Some people, namely my mother, would argue that I still don’t, but it has come to my attention how much my appreciation of the timey-wimey wibbly-wobbly stuff has changed (DOCTOR WHO REFERENCE). At the age of six or seven I had no fixed timetable, no calendar to look at and remind myself that I had an orthodontist appointment the day before which I missed (Oops, oh well. *doesn’t care*). School was school, and it went on until my mom told me it was time for vacation and that I’d only come back in two weeks. I never knew that my last day of 1st grade was the last day, I only knew when I didn’t have to get up too early for my organism to handle the next day. Summer vacation was eternity, each day stretching out with limitless possibility, succeeding the last with equal importance. My mother’s birthday (the 22nd of August) which now seems abominably close to the end was just a random event in the long fabric of vacation. One day, it was time to go back to the world of books and number two pencils, and that transition was made without question. I was not in control.

As I got older, time started speeding up. I knew when school started and when it ended. When vacations came around I always looked forward to the first day of lying around in bed in a cocoon of warmth and coziness with glee, wishing the end would never arrive. During the summer I kept a conscious eye on the date at all times, measuring out the time I had left. Heck, I probably spend more time worrying about what things will be like when something ends than enjoying it while it happens.

Even though they have been filled with quite interminable math and latin classes, the last two years have flown by. On the first day of school you think; “Oh man this year is going to be soooo long, I don’t know how I’ll ever survive the boredom of lessons everyday. Better warn my unicorn to be ready each afternoon so that I can at least ride home in style”. And then, BAM, before you know it, you’re laughing and crying on the last day, swearing eternal friendship and wishing fervently that you were still the awkward new kid (although let’s face it, you still are and will always be, the awkward new kid).

This teenager has one terrifying question on her mind at the moment: if time has sped up so much in the past few years, where will things be at in, say, ten? Will a month then be equal to a day now? Does time keep speeding up until you’re whizzing around at the speed of a deranged giraffe? I’ll admit, I’m scared of what will happen. I guess that it’s important for me to remember that change can be good and that holding onto the past is not always the right path of action to take. Whatever metaphorical deer rush into my headlights, I’ll make sure that they’re all right in the end.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

SWAG

I have a problem with the word SWAG. In my biased teenagery opinion (I know it’s not a word, don’t patronize me for it) it is one of the most overused, silly words in the history of the past few years (I was going to go for the history of the Universe but then I thought about ‘whisternefet’ (meaning a sharp slap) and decided otherwise).

From a little research project on what my grandparents call “the Google” I found out that the term is an acronym for ‘Secretly We Are Gay’ that originated in the 1960s. The more common explanation to the word is that it’s a cooler way of saying ‘swagger’. Now personally I find that swagger is a very swag cool word in in of itself but there you go, today’s youth seems to think otherwise. Oh dear I sound like an elderly person bitching about the screwed up ways of the younger generations.

Most of the people that use SWAG (that I know of anyways) are deluded kids who think that they control their world and have an annoyingly arrogant demeanor and who don’t have any idea of the meaning.

Example 1:

“- YO DAWWWG, I ate Nutella by the spoon last week and now I’ve gained two pounds and my face has broken out.

– SWAAAAG”

Example 2:

“- I heard that they found horse meat in those ‘beef’ lasagnas that we get sometimes!

– Sh*t man, that is so SWAG.”

NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NOOOOOOOOOOOO.

And so, while I wallow in the desperation of hearing my little brother call his hat super SWAG, I’ll wait for someone to explain to me the utility of such a word. My Dad for example, claiming that the term is not cool enough for his liking, goes around saying it backwards. GAWS dudes, GAWS.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager

PS: I really don’t know if SWAG is meant to be written all in cap locks, so forgive me if it seems like I’m shouting!

Why so tired?

Great, now I have the Joker’s creepy face stuck in my head. The answer; ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, is quite simple: having done nothing for the past two months, the littlest thing that I do tires me out, and going around in a whirlwind of classes and birthday activities, I am thourougly exhausted. Yes, my laziness has doomed mes, and that’s why when it was ten of one last night, I felt as if it was four.

Going back to school or to work is like going through jetlag all over again. Of course if you’re smart you’ll go to sleep early even when you have nowhere to be the next morning, but that’s not my thing. Not the being smart part, the going to bed early. YOU UNDERSTAND! Sorry if I’m yelling and not making much sense, I’m incredibly tired. And so, without further ado, I will sayyyffdxxzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz (oops, fell asleep on the keyboard, sorry) have a good sleepy time –> I can’t say nighttime because it might be 11 am when you read this, in which case I apologize for any depression you may encounter after having read this post and thought about sleep.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: thanks to all of you who wished me a happy birthday, it means a lot!