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A New Hope

2013MERRY CHRISTMAS! Oh wait, that’s past isn’t it. Hum… well, what comes after Christmas? The New Year, right. Ohmygosh 2013 is over already? How time does fly *takes southern accent and shakes head slowly like an old and wise pomegranate peel*

I spent the last evening of 2013 playing Scrabble. This is unbelievably unbelievable for me as 1) I suck at it, and 2) I don’t like it. Upon second reflection my dislike of the game may have something to do with my ability to play it. Anyway, I guess that it’s rather fitting, I’m seeing the year out the same as it’s been for the past 365 days: awful. Because of this I feel totally uninspired when it comes to talking about the past year, which is why I’m going to move right on to my hopes for the year to come. And that’s 2014, in case any of you have been stuck in a cave for a (very long) while.

Firstly, I hope that I’ll find it in me to write 2014 on my school papers. Every year it’s the same old deal: a student’s mind not having registered that a new year of scholastic failure is upon it, it tells the hand to write the year that came before. In my case I stopped registering the new year in 2010, so I still find myself having to angrily turn the 0 into some other number, so that it ends up looking like a potato that has felt the hard times and decided to suicide under the first backhoe that should come along.

Secondly, I would like to get my learner’s permit and be able to drive. My mom told me that on the day of her 16th birthday, the first thing she did was race (get it? no? let’s blame it on the New Year’s alcohol then.) down and register for driving lessons. On my 16th birthday I stuffed my face with cake and cookies until I was about to explode. I want to be able to go to my friends’ when I have homework to do, go shopping and spend all my money on things  I don’t need and finally be in a badass car chase that, while it will undoubtedly end with my licence getting taken away, will have been worth it. Hold your ridiculously cool sunglasses Blues Brothers, CT is coming to town.

2014 will see the start of my last year of high school, my SAT scores and my college applications. Dear Great Cookie in the sky, please make the scores stellar and the universities that I apply to accepting! (get it again? still no? damned alcohol I tell you) Otherwise I might be forced to disown you as my favorite deity. Now now, don’t be that way, you know that I could never actually do that. Still, 800s would be nice, and a get into Vassar and Tufts free card would be just peachy. Just… peachy.

Thirdly, I would awfully like my sports teams to be successful. For the Patriots, that starts right at the beginning of the year with the playoffs. I know that we’re not first seed and have an extremely small chance of winning it all, but let’s give ’em a run for their money anyway, whaddya say? Let’s knock Peyton Manning off his high horse. I’m now getting so worked up that I almost just took out my giant alligator named- uh, you don’t need to know. And also, let’s go Mets! 2014 is our year! Sort of, not really, hardly at all. Oh well, let’s go anyway *voice slowly descends ’til it reaches a barely audible whisper*

Finally, I have decided that 2014 would be a prime year to grow up. I need to become serious, lose the childish gullibleledniss (I just couldn’t end 2013 without making up one last word), the constant laughing. I’m going to walk around with a briefcase and be all business-like and no fun at all. If you fell for one word of that growing up nonsense, I highly suggest that you not allow yourself any cookies until next year. See what I did there? I feel so proud 🙂 No, I think I’ll continue being immature, making awful jokes, keeping a blog that is a great helper when it comes to procrastinating and enjoying every second I spend in the kind, funny world of the Internet (see Mom? nothing to worry about here) and making new friends in the most ridiculous ways possible.

Frankly, I don’t know who will read this. The holidays are a time when not many people find time to consecrate to their favorite pastimes, myself included. However to anyone out there who might be reading a silly 16 year old girl’s blog, I wish you all the best for the year to come, and I do so hope that you’ll keep checking in on old CT from time to time. If she doesn’t die from a chocolate overdose. She has been eating a lot of chocolate lately. In that case, checking in on her might be futile.

So HAPPY NEW YEAR, and for the last time in 2013:

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: And if you were looking for resolutions, I have decided that since I will without a doubt  abandon them in a dumpster where all the drunks end up tomorrow morning; it is not worth is to take the time to write them all down. Except for one really: eat cookies. The one New Year’s resolution I know I can achieve.

PPS: These are wishes, not resolutions. This basically means that when I look back at the end of 2014 I won’t feel so bad that I didn’t accomplish, um, well we’ll just have to see shan’t we? As a certain Doctor Who character would say… spoilers 😉

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The 5 Stages of Finals

impendingdoomAfter a certain amount of studying, you start to look decrepit, with dull eyes, terribly close to bursting into a fireball before ending up as a sad little pile of ashes. But once that last final is over, the last “TIME!” called by a bored, grumpy teacher, you rise from those ashes.

To those who got the Harry Potter reference to Fawkes, my supreme geekness commends you (yup, we’re back to making up words), although I’m not saying that I look like a half-plucked turkey or… um… whatever. I realize that I’m just digging a hole for myself but once you start it’s awfully hard to stop *sigh of resignation*

Having spent the last month on an TV, movie and blog hiatus; I am fully aware of the apocalyptic consequences that too much work can bring upon a person. In fact, now that I have a New Perspective (Panic! At the Disco reference! My, two references already, what is happening?) I can safely conclude that finals, or indeed any big test or series of tests resemble quite astonishingly the 5 stages of grief. I hereby elaborate.

STAGE #1: DENIAL AND ISOLATION

Finals? What finals? Oh those test things that we have soon? Those are still two weeks away though.. I have loads of time! Anyway they aren’t that important right? I mean who cares! Gosh, I do wish everyone would stop talking about them, it’s getting to be overbearing and stressful. I say implement the ‘zen-attitude’: [takes voice of a stoner] Life man… that’s what’s important… not some numbers on the top of a page that has been marked with the red blood of a teacher thirsty for revenge on innocent students because he/she failed to get their dream job of mixing cocktails in Tahiti. Chill dude, chill. Everything will be fine.

STAGE #2: ANGER

You know what? F*ck them. They have no right to come in like the monsters that they are and ruin our lives, especially around Christmas! We’re teenagers for crap’s sake, we should be out enjoying life, not studying in a crammed little space for hours on end only to end up with a shit*y grade anyway. And who on this planet wants to spend 4 non-stop hours trying to force yourself through math finals in a room underground with no artificial light and a heat so hot (please ignore the sentence structure, anger doesn’t bring out grammar skills) that you’re in a comatose state and come out looking like you’ve just served your 3rd tour in a war ridden country? You know what we should do? We should boycott finals. You heard me! If no one is there to take them then nothing will happen! They can’t fail us all, the school’s reputation is too important. Who’s with me? COME ON PEOPLE, RISE UP AGAINST THE ENEMY! No? No one? Oh fine. Chickens.

STAGE #3: BARGAINING

I’ve been at this for too long, my eyes are watering and my muscles are about to atrophy from lack of movement. I’ll just take a five minute break OK? Only five minutes… please, I’m on my knees here! *five minutes later* Oh dear apricot, what have I done? I needed those five minutes didn’t I. And now that I’ve wasted them doing completely irrelevant things like hydrating and breathing fresh air, I’m going to fail. Well, time to pray. O Great Cookie, please help me ace this final! You see it’s indispensable for my future and junk like that. If you can’t help me ace it, can you at least make sure that I don’t fail? I’ll give you anything if you do! That sounded so wrong. Let’s say, I’ll give you one of my most prized possessions: my signed David Wright baseball. AAAAH nope sorry can’t do it.

STAGE #4: DEPRESSION

What’s the point, I’m going to fail anyway. From there it’s just a simple chain reaction: once I’ve failed finals, that will inhibit my graduation and I’ll end up flunking out of high school. Goodbye sweet college dreams, goodbye nice house and comfortable salary. Hello winter, hello alcoholism and bridge that is my new home. I might as well just hunker down under my covers and watch the Patriots get beat by the frickin’ Dolphins. So close to #1 seed… The pain, oh the pain…

STAGE #5: ACCEPTANCE

I guess that at a certain point, whatever happens will happen. It is best, when presented with such a series of events, to go about things with an approach close to the philosophy of stoicism. Just purge yourself from all emotions and become a robot for a month. Nothing must affect you, you are a rock. Nope, not even the video of the cute kitten playing hide-and-seek. No, not the guy getting hit in the nuts by a little kid playing baseball. Oh man that is classic. NO, CT. ROBOT.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to The Mostly Confused Teenager.

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

Sea Pancakes and Toilets: Imaginary Friends

Yes, I had several. Now to all of you who are silently saying “Imaginary friends? Is she nuts?” I answer: 1) Yes, I am crazy. And quite proud. And 2) Come on, you know you had at least one too. From what I’ve gathered, having an imaginary friend is sort of a right of passage when you’re a kid. Some people may think that having friends who don’t physically exist is pathetic, and to them I say “BOY HAVE YOU EVER MISSED OUT ON SOMETHING GREAT”.

It’s not that I’m a social recluse and never had any friends. So sometimes I prefer staying home on a Friday night with a good book and a hot chocolate; that doesn’t mean that the only reason that I had imaginary friends was because I felt lonely (and let’s not even talk about Monday nights, when I am unreachable due to the amazing sport of football).

I got my first imaginary friend when I was pretty little, no more than 8 years old. I was reading Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials (you know, The Golden Compass and all that) and was fascinated by the concept of a dæmon, a creature that was essentially part of the person and from whom they could not separate from without great pain. So I decided that if Lyra and Will had dæmons and were the best heroes ever, logically if I had a dæmon I would be an amazing person as well. HA. I named my dæmon Manta. Why? Well… Because at the time I had an obsession with manta rays, or as I called them; sea pancakes. The fact that mint ice cream is my favourite flavor of ice cream also contributed to the name. I was young and innocent, don’t judge. At least, don’t judge harshly. Manta was there when I needed to babble to someone and I didn’t have The Mostly Confused Teenager to ramble on, when I was waiting all by myself for my always-late mom in the rain after school, when I wanted to make fun of my brother but no one was around. Plus, if someone asked me why I was talking to myself, I could always answer that I was actually talking to my imaginary friend, before staring at them with a mixture of befuddlement and disdain.

My second imaginary friend is one that is slightly/waaaay weirder than Manta ever was. His name is Fish, and he’s been my friend for so long that I can’t even remember when I started talking to him. This is awfully embarrassing to write, so I’m glad that not many people that I know read CT’s long winded blog posts. Still I hope that they don’t stop interacting with me because I’m such an absolute weirdosomething. See, I can only talk to Fish when.. um.. a toilet paper roll is finished. A roll with no more paper on it is the telephone that I use to contact him, at which point our conversations go something like this: “Hey Fish! How are you doing? I’m fine Fish, yeah. Ok so seeya Fish.” Now that I think about it these conversations are actually monologues. *sigh*

Still, my imaginary friends never socially hurt me (until now, I hope that this confession doesn’t The MCT’s death warrant). In fact they were a formative part of my childhood and made me into the person I am today. Whether that is a good thing or not I can’t tell 😉 Nonetheless they fostered a singular creative ability and view of the world for which I am eternally grateful. I’ve grown up a lot since the times when I heatedly debated with Manta on my brother’s level of silliness, but I haven’t forgotten the friends who helped me through some odd as sh*t days.

So parents, stop worrying because your kid has an imaginary friend, and kids, be proud! You’ll understand how a thought and/or dream can seem so real that it turns into something that you’ll cherish for the rest of your lives. Ladies and gentlemen, that is all. Peace out.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

Music and Me

musicThe setting… CT’s horribly long and difficult math test:
“The distance in between two points in a plane is V(X2-X1)+(Y2-PRINCE ALI, MIGHTY IS HE-Y1). Crap, what’s the question again?”
The result of my best friend putting Prince Ali in my head right before a math exam… An F.
Ok so maybe I would have still gotten an F without having a extraordinarily repetitive song playing over and over again, turning  my cognitive functions (aaaaah, functions! They’re following me everywhere!) to mush, but the idea is there! Thanks Washington, love you tons. And no, I’m not criticizing the government (although I risked not getting my passport on time to go do a college tour in the States on Wednesday because you couldn’t get your shit together about Obamacare), I call my best friend Washington. Deal with it.

I started listening to music when I was a little girl and my parents would put on CDs of classical music during dinner. Yes, CDs! I feel so old. On special days we would get to listen to a jazz record, at which point my brother and I always got super excited and would run around the house as if we were on drugs. The unfortunate corollary of this jazz disk was the fact that we couldn’t actually sit still while we ate; we were obliged to dance around in our chairs, shouting the words to Ella Fitzgerald’s “Let’s do it” (um..) at the top of our lungs.

For a long time, jazz and classical were the only kinds of music that I knew. The only other novelty came from the numerous musicals that we watched after dinners on weekends (I know Annie’s Tomorrow by heart. HA. You don’t feel bad that I do and you don’t? Oh, well, I stand corrected). Then came the era of the boom box. When we got it for Christmas one year, it was like a gift from a higher power. It could play CDs, tapes and the radio. We were over the moon. and that’s how I got my introduction to pop music. Actually, the first song that we ever heard on the radio was a Lady Gaga song. Harmless, say you? Think again. It was one of her more… um… ribald pieces. I’ll let you imagine my mom’s face when we ran up to her, two little kids, and yelled “I WANNA TAKE A RIDE ON YOUR DISCO STICK”. Yeah, it was that bad. From then to basically today I have avoided talking about music with my parents.

Since that awkward time, I’ve branched out into other types of music. For a while I listened to only music from the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s because I had to supply it for my mom to sing to in the car. I have over three hours of Queen, the Rolling Stones and the Beatles (among others) on my phone, and I still listen to them fairly regularly. I’ve discovered the genius of Tom Lehrer, the awesomeness of Imagine Dragons and the Artic Monkeys, the catchiness (made up word alert!) of Coldplay and Green Day… And I can only hope that my horizons will keep expanding. Isn’t that a weird turn of phrase?

Music is something that lets me escape, transfer my thoughts to the song and/or melody instead of concentrating on the depressing details of my teenage life. This being said, I oftentimes find that a song is directly applicable to something that I’m going through. Ah yes, the “I am the centre of the Universe and everything is about me” syndrome. But nonetheless, if I’m feeling sad I may be unable to listen to a happy song and vice versa, it really all depends on my mood.
I sense that I’m hitting a writer’s wall here so I’ll stop while whatever shred of dignity I have left is still intact.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

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.

 

 

 

 

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.