Archive | July 2014

The Post About Toes

My toes lie dormant for most of the year, nestled in warm fuzzy socks and hidden from the cold by thick furry boots. Much like groundhogs, they hibernate until they feel the soft breeze of spring tickle them during a night when they were violently kicked out from under the covers. And that, that is when they wake up and start demanding what they feel is rightfully theirs: freedom.

From all of you out there freaking out because I’m implying that my toes have an independent thought pattern, calm your over-enthusiastic horses. I’m not saying that my toes suddenly start moving all by themselves and ask the brain if they can break up with my body just to pitter-patter away on their own adventures. I like to think that my toes love me far to much to ever act on the great threat of 2011 (don’t ask.), so don’t y’all go chopping off your toes in fear that they’ll decide to discover China without you. Seriously, don’t, you’ll look like a wounded ostrich when you walk around.

I, being the generous and fair goddess that y’all claim me to be, give them their freedom earlier than most. Roughly translated into human lingo, this means that by March I can be seen prancing around the streets of Paris in my favorite pair of flip flops, gathering stares of disdain from most, awe from some and admiration from the rare few. I mean I have nothing against normal shoes, I wear sneakers and flats like everyone else, but there’s nothing quite like that first day when you walk outside, wiggle your toes and feel the raw air on your feet.

Having feet free of the constraints of suffocating socks and shoes is a part of summer that I love and that I would have a hard time living without, which is part of the reason that I could never thrive in Siberia. That and I don’t speak Russian. Now I know that some people simply can’t take off their shoes and walk across a lawn or a beach barefoot. Ladies, gentlemen and aliens, you are missing out. There are few feelings more enjoyable than having sand filter through your toes or letting your feet sink into a shaggy carpet of juicy green grass.

So (I feel as if I’m in a commercial, advertizing some natural health enhancer thing), take off your shoes, let your toes breathe, and walk through the grass. Well, except if you live in the city, in which case don’t, because the grass is covered in a thick layer of dog piss. Side effects of walking barefoot through an urban park may include fungi, disgust and consequential barfing. You are forwarned. Peace out.

Live long and prosper \V/
Sincerely,
The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: Am I the only one who’s been having some trouble with WordPress lately? My notifications don’t always show up, my reader won’t load… It’s the weirdest thing.

An Open Letter to Summer

Dear Summer,

You’ve been here for twenty days already, and yet you still fail to make your presence known to us. Yes yes, I know that here in Normandy we’re not supposed to get high expectations about your three month visit, but we still have some hopes come the 21st of June. We can give you a couple weeks to settle in, but then you’re supposed to warm our hearts and souls (and, um, skin and hair, but those parts are slightly less romantic) and make us sing with joy at being able to run through the fields and lay in the grass laughing. Instead, you appear to be being bullied by the other seasons, thus depriving us of some much needed alone time with the giant apricot in the sky.

Today when I got up, I put on shorts and a t-shirt and trudged into the bathroom to brush my hair and do other stuff that you don’t need to know about. About 156 seconds later I emerged from the room looking like I had just come from the Arctic Circle and had only seen wolverines for the past fifteen days (you heard me: a wolverine. Not nearly as muscly as Hugh Jackman, more of a Ron Weasley type (because a wolverine is a weasel. Get it? Yeah I find myself smart). Gosh, I can’t remember what I was talking about… Oh right, I was cold). I dashed back into my room and changed into pants, a long sleeved shirt and a sweatshirt.¬† Summer, it’s the 11th of July. Even for our harsh climate, frostbite inducing weather is not normal.

In this spirit, please show the following advice (by which I mean orders) to Winter, Spring and Autumn:
Winter; you have no right to butt in right now. You know we love you and your snow and holidays, but this isn’t the time. How would you like it if at Christmas Summer didn’t let you make it snow anywhere in the Northern hemisphere by turning your snowflakes into rain? Not good huh? No. So leave June, July and September alone.
Spring; you bring hope and color with you when you come, but now we don’t want to just hope anymore. Don’t push your timeline on other people, it’s not nice.
Autumn; as much as I love you, it most certainly isn’t your turn yet. You have the least right to impose yourself on Summer because it’s your time to shine afterwards anyway. Stop being hyperactive and trying to steal Summer’s months of glory.

Guys, it’s raining, I’m cold and about as tanned as a dying walrus. Will someone please send me on vacation to some exotic island already?

Live long and prosper \V/
Sincerely,
The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: Upon re-reading this post, it seems necessary to indicate that the giant apricot in the sky is the sun, since you aren’t all sociopaths who can read my mind. If you are, then you people have really great covers. Although… they do say ‘stranger danger’… I should stop writing now.

The Kardashian App: Kill Me Now

WARNING: THIS IS A RANT. ENTER WITH CAUTION, AT YOUR OWN RISK.

Have you ever wanted to ask Kim Kardashian for advice on relationships, beauty, health, fashion or style? Why yes Apple Store, it’s all I’ve ever wanted in my life, thanks for asking.
Watch as Kim strikes her signature poses or blows you a kiss — even locate your closest Sephora to find her new perfume! I assume Kimmy’s “signature pose” is lying on an examination table in her plastic surgeon’s office, talking on her phone and making bad choices. Oh please, let her do that on our screens! As for locating the closest Sephora, that probably implies that 1) the application is stalking you, and 2) that your ensuing conversation with the salesclerk at Sephora will go something like this:

You: Hi, so ohmygod, I was playing the Kim Kardashian: Hollywood app, and like Kim told me that you were near me and that you had her perfume, so um since I’m sort of addicted to the Kardashian’s makeup I was like ‘holy sh*t yes’ so I got in my convertible and I drove here like, really fast.
Salesclerk: [shocked silence. Symptoms may include open mouth, wide, unblinking eyes and a vacant stare]
You: No but seriously I like have the twenty dollar nail polish and the fake eyelashes and everything.
Salesclerk: [slowly regaining consciousness] I.. um.. yeah, one of your eyelashes is stuck to your cheek.
You: Oh gosh silly ole’ me, I’m not very good with the glue, I kinda get it all over myself. So the perfume?

I gotta say guys, applications like these are slowly making me lose faith in humanity. I love technology, I really do: I marvel at my phone telling me that it’ll be raining in Normandy for the next year and a half, or that the Mets finally won a game, or that I’m ten minutes from home in normal traffic conditions. Honestly, living in a world without apps on my phone seems mightely boring (although granted, that might just be because I’m an Internet obsessed teenager), but the apps have to at least be useful.

A Kim Kardashian app teaches its users (who I’m guessing are about 99% women and 1% men) that it’s better to live in a fake, superficial world than in the real one. Sure, the real one is filled with unpleasant things such as, to cite a few; the alarming disappearance of cookies, deadlines and/or alarm clocks but these daft everyday annoyances are part of who we are and what we have to deal with. As a player, your celebrity’s problems are horrible boyfriends and bad makeovers. Boo-freakin-hoo. I understand a little light hearted fun; I downloaded the app myself and giggled at its stupidness with a couple of my friends, but looking over the reviews and some articles on the Web, I realized the horrible extent of people’s addiction to this crap. It needs to stop; people need to focus on things that are more important rather than spending hours on end squinting at their phone’s screen and wondering if they have enough imaginary money to buy that leather jacket Kim’s been telling them to or if they need to invest real money to buy fake cash.

I wish I didn’t care. I wish I could be CT, aloof and uncaring, laughing off stuff like this. Yet I do, and apps like these really get to me. In between the Kardashian app and the Yo app, I don’t know in what direction this world is heading. I think I’ll go watch all my favorite characters get killed in Game of Thrones now, and try and forget about the people moaning because their pixel avatar’s hair isn’t growing fast enough.

Live long and prosper \V/
Sincerely,
The Mostly Confused Teenager.

Bibliography: some Polish nutcase
 

Graphic Drawings

cyanideandhappinessdrawing” – Oh look, you drew something!
– Yeah, do you like it?
– It’s wonderful! [more gushing ensues] But… um… What is it?
– What do you think it is?
– I, uh, a representation of death?
– No, it’s a forest.
– Oh of course, I totally see it now! Right, and here’s a person walking through it!
– That’s a tree trunk. Maybe I’ll start over again.
– I’m sorry, I really did try to be enthusiastic.”

I’ve never been the most gifted person with colored pencils, pastels, paint, blood or any of those artistic devices used to create a masterpiece on paper, canvas, cupcakes, corpses or whatever. My family has always been artistic: grandparents, aunts, parents and even siblings have a certain magical talent to create these wonderful drawings that look like they could be in any art museum. They each have their specialty: still life, nature, surreal forms, architecture… And of course I have one too, one that requires great, well, nothing: stick figures.

You see, the drawing gene seems to have skipped me. Sure, when I was little I took great pride in being able to connect the dots to make a snowman appear or color in a certain amount of shapes without going over the lines, but my abilities seemed to stop there. My brother started showing promise early, concocting things like trains and dogs, while I was left drawing teepees (why you ask? Teepees are basically triangles. That much I can deal with.).

At this point you’re probably thinking to yourself “Nah, she can’t possibly be as bad as she’s making herself out to be..” First of all, if you really are thinking that, it means that my mind manipulation techniques are finally working and I can start putting my world domination plan into action. Secondly, shucks guys, you’re so nice! Thirdly, I forgot what I was counting for. I know that they say that practice makes perfect, and while I agree to a certain extent, I have to concede the fact that at a certain point, if it ain’t happening, it ain’t gonna happen. So instead of lamenting the fact that I have the drawing talents of Godzilla, I’ll keep¬† proudly drawing stick figures living in houses consisting of squares and triangles under a sun that lives permanently in the upper right corner of the page.

Why am I suddenly being so generous and forgiving myself for making a drawing of Mars look like a giant apricot? Because I can paint in a different way: with words. The Mostly Confused Teenager is my canvas, the keys on the keyboard my brushes, the posts my masterpieces (I have a weird notion of masterpiece I know) and you, fellow bloggers, are my critics.

So in conclusion, thank you for making me feel artsy. In return, I promise never to publish a collection of my drawings, for the good of the world.

Live long and prosper \V/

Sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

 

Still Alive *let the world rejoice*

msray2008.com

msray2008.com

It’s always hard to come back after a long absence. This much has been demonstrated by the string of ill-fated train-wrecks released by Psy since Gangnam Style rocked the world. I don’t know if I can keep writing with the gusto I did a year ago, and I’m quite worried that I’ll let you guys down. Heck, I don’t even know if anyone will read this, I have been told that if one stops blogging regularly, one loses a great deal of readership. People of the ultimate achievement of Spiderman (get it? the Web. oh dear, what am I saying), I don’t want to end up like Psy, which is why I intend to make my return to the world of blogging as triumphantly as possible. There’s only one problem: when I try to be triumphant, I usually end up doing something stupid and causing the severe embarrassment of everyone around me, while I stare at the results of my so-called triumph and wonder where the fudge I went wrong. So this time, instead of proudly prancing around before tripping and falling down the stairs (which, um, never happened *gag*), I’m going to triumph by slowly easing back into The Mostly Confused Teenager, hopefully as easily as Rory Williams comes back to life every time he dies.

For the past few months, I have been a nerdy, anti-social recluse. Now this has been caused partly by the great deal of exams I have had to take and partly by the power of procrastination, which lately has been taking the form of Game of Thrones episodes. I had finals in April, the SAT in June and the first part of my baccalaureate strangling me from behind until a few days ago. Over this period of time I became a pale, weak version of an apricot, who’s sad life consisted of getting up having slept an average of 5 hours, struggling through the morning, working at lunch, looking like a zombie in the afternoon and going straight to the library after classes until it closed. I thank the great cookie in the sky that I was too busy to blog, otherwise The Mostly Confused Teenager would have been replete with inspiring statements to be read in overly melodramatic voices such as:
“The wind and rain are howling and lashing inside my soul”
“My one comfort is knowing that the world will still have cookies once I’m gone” or even
“I will only be happy again once the Mets have won the World Series”
Depressing huh? It was a dark time for good old CT, and when I got to the point where I was relying on a completely hopeless team for happiness I realized that I needed to snap out of it.

So, ladies, gentlemen, both, neither and aliens, here I am; on vacation and back to my old if slightly more wrinkled self. And as I age with as much grace and wisdom as Yoda (shh. no comment. let me live out my dream); return to blogging I will.

Live long and prosper \V/
Sincerely,
The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: Happy 4th of July to all you ‘Muricans out there. May you overdrink, overeat and overspend in peace and freedom.