Tag Archive | Acceptance

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.

Plastic Surgery and Me

My nose has always been a problem for me. Ever since I was a little girl I’ve had this complex that dictates that my nose is simply not up to snuff [bad pun intended]. Then I heard about plastic surgery which could give me the nose I wanted, and hope rose from the dust. Unfortunately for me I did a little research on the subject and decided that I hated the idea of plastic surgery with all my might.

I came to realize that the idea of changing one’s self for no good reason is perfectly appalling. Now I do understand why you would get plastic surgery if you had a birth defect or had been in a horrific accident, as long as it significantly changes your quality of life and the reason is sufficiently valid to trump the extraordinary amount of money that must be dumped into the procedure. For example if you’re being bullied I would consider it a logical course of action, even if my personal beliefs don’t agree with the fact that you’re bowing down to the pressure of society.

HOWEVER, I was watching a television program yesterday on the life of plastic surgeons in Beverly Hills and was shocked and horrified by what I saw. Please explain to me what the point of a boob job is? It was sickening, but for some reason I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen or change the channel (it’s the same thing when I come upon Toddlers and Tiaras or Here Comes Honey Boo Boo). I guess that I would say that I judge having a procedure such as a liposuction, body contouring or a thigh lift (I know right?) as taking the easy way out.

Things like a facelift make no sense to me whatsoever. People get old, deal with it! Just because you have a couple wrinkles doesn’t mean that you’re not beautiful. In fact in some cases getting rid of all those laugh lines can make things look very much worse than they were before. Think about Cher, she looks just awful, and she’s had practically every kind of plastic surgery available! She hardly looks human anymore!

Ugh?

Ugh?

A lot of celebrities seem to have bought into the whole plastic surgery thing, like Megan Fox. But why? She’s a natural beauty, that was proven when she was voted into the 100 sexiest women several times by several different magazines. So why the transformation? What did she physically need that she didn’t have? (oh my that does sound wrong doesn’t it?) I just don’t understand, and it makes me both sad and amazed that someone would do something like this to themselves. It’s kind of as if she is the original Transformer (get it? get it? get it? no? *shakes head in resignation*)

I’ll just end by saying that since I have found out all this sh*t about plastic surgery, I am much more appreciative of my nose, which I now realize is not so bad after all.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: I sincerely apologize if I have offended anyone with today’s rant, however this if my opinion and I will stick by it. So in short I’m actually not sorry at all.

EDIT: After having written this I galloped (yes, you read right) off to ask my mom if she would ever consider having plastic surgery. I was shocked that she answered yes, and when she added that she might someday get a facelift I swooned and over-dramatically pretended to faint. She laughed at me and said that when I had wrinkles on my forehead I would understand too. Humpf, I think not!

The Importance of Appearance

Good people of the Internet, I know you not so I don’t feel bad about admitting this: I am a what could be considered as a slob. Not in the sense that I live in a dumpster filled with old cookie wrappers and Mets stat sheets (although that has happened on occasion) but in my appearance. What I mean is that if I don’t really try, I don’t look presentable to society. And although I pretend that I don’t really care, I hate to admit it, but I do.

Let me paint you a picture. With my words, because let’s face it; I pretty much suck at actual painting. I’m the quintessential ‘looks OK albeit a bit weird at school and acts like a relatively normal person but as soon as she gets home slips into her cosy bathrobe and padded slippers to curl up and watch the highlights of the game with a chocolate bar.’ When I’m home, I don’t care about how I look anymore, there’s no one to judge me, except for my parents, my brother, the dog and the cat. Actually you’d be surprised how judgemental my cat can be.

I interact everyday with people who look perfect, without a hair out of place (well, take my dad out of the mix, he looks like Einstein) and my hair looks like a rat’s nest. Even though I have a hairbrush at the ready permanently in my bag, my problem is far from solved. I cut it to just over my shoulders in an attempt to restrain it… and it laughed in my face. Like, not literally, because I would freak out (where the hell would the mouth be?) but you understand. It didn’t work.

I started putting makeup on in 9th grade because I hoped that it would distract the eye from how red and flustered I got when my crush spoke to me. At first it worked, although only because I put waaay too much on and I looked like a Barbie doll. I toned it down and realized that it actually really helped my overall appearance.  In a year, I haven’t learned much; I still stick my mascara in my eye every morning and have abandoned the idea of ever wearing eyeliner because it makes me look like a demented raccoon, but I have learned that a little blush, lipgloss and mascara can do wonders for your self-esteem.

No matter how much I wish I didn’t care, I still find it important to look, well, acceptable in front of other people. Even though the saying says don’t judge a book by its cover, people do. In the street, people judge you with their eyes. At school, people judge you by your voice. It’s tough, but it’s life. And as someone who looks naturally like a… um… Plain Jane, I find reality hard to swallow.

But all in all, I am who I am, and even if I don’t look like the perfect poster girl, I’m alright. Acceptance is important to me, and although I will always tweek my hair and mess with my concealer (have you ever tried making drawings with it during class? Try it, it’s fun! Or, you know, funner than strictly decreasing functions) if people can’t accept me, then I can’t accept them, and frankly, they’re not worth it.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: sorry for the depressed teen rant tonight, tomorrow will be something a little lighter 😉