Tag Archive | einstein

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 😉

 

 

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Parents and the realm of weirdness

Parents are weird. Fact. Parents do embarrassing things. Other fact. I love my parents. Other other fact.  (weeeell, most of the time anyway)

My parents are the very definition of opposites attract: my mom is 5 feet 4 inches, dainty, quiet, with blond hair that is never out of place, and has a sort of fear of voicing her opinion (although you can tell when she disapproves because her eyes get way darker). My dad on the other hand is a 6 foot dude with a loud voice, built like a teddy bear with graying hair that goes in all directions, and round glasses. Actually if you just look at his face there is a clear resemblance with Einstein. However my parents do have some things in common: they’re both adorably cheesy and they love each other very very much. And I love them too, it’s just that sometimes they do things that make me question their sanity.

When I was little I saw my dad drinking a glass of whiskey. Being the innocent girl that I was, I asked what was in the glass. “Oh, it’s apple juice, would you like a sip?” I haven’t regained the taste for whiskey to this day. He’s also dared me to eat a chilly pepper (which I did) and to drink a bottle of salad dressing (which I did. Um…not). He calls them ‘life experiences’. My mom told me he was an idiot. Ah, love..

After reading and severely annotating a paper I had written for school in his messy handwriting and seeing the look of dismay on my face he reassured me: “don’t worry if you can’t read my handwriting, I can’t either. And if you don’t understand something I wrote, don’t ask me, I don’t know what the hell I was drinking when that pen was in my hand”. Frickin’ fabulous.

My mom has this habit where she’ll break into song at any and every point of the day, no matter where we are or who’s company we’re in. Now, she has a lovely, clear voice that rings in your ears long after she’s stopped, but starting to sing “Jeremiah was a bullfrog, tadaaa, was a good friend of mine, tadaaa” (Joy to the World, Three Dog Night) in the middle of the food court does not seem like a good idea to me. She’s very quiet when she talks, but boy when she starts singing… things change.

A couple of weeks ago my dad came up to me and said these exact words “what if God were one of us, and everyday he took the bus, and Lucy (our cat) changed her name to Gus?” The beffudled expression on my face said everything. He grinned at me and walked away. Talk about randomness.

It would take me a whole book to describe all of the odd occurences I’ve lived through in my life, but I’ll wrap up here with this one. Last week we were in New York City visiting old friends and bla bla bla. Both my parents were born there and although it seems to have left no particular mark on my mom, my dad likes to think that’s he’s still a New Yorker (please, he moved to Vermont when he was 6) so he uses this ridiculous accent whenever we’re there. Anyway, when we had just arrived, we were in a cab and he started talking to the driver. My mom nearly went into hysterics laughing at him while I pretended to have ended up in the cab by accident. The driver just looked at us like we were aliens.

But hey, at least they don’t rip off their clothes anytime they see a pool. That’s my grandad’s thing. Did I mention that I have a weird family?

Mom, Dad, I love you.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.