Tag Archive | High school

Don’t cry for me, high school

graduationThere are two days left until graduation. Two days of the same classes that we’ve been subject to all year, with the same teachers who have drowned on about Kant and Keynes for hours that have seemed like days. This week is different though, tinged with a sort of pre-nostalgia. When we put on those hats that make it look like one has a table on one’s head and the robes one gets at the hairdresser’s, we’ll be closing the door on one stage of our lives and saying hello to college all-nighters and disgusting frat parties.

Now before y’all get teary-eyed on me (yes, I’m flattering my writing, deal with it), you should know that French graduation, at least at my school, is a complete sham. It’s so early in the year only so that the International Baccalaureat kids (who are now on summer break, bastards) can go on vacation. Which means that while they waltz off to their expensive tropical destinations and sip those diabetes-inducing cocktails with little pink umbrellas in them, us normal students get to go back to class so that the teachers who have only taught a quarter of what they’re supposed to on the year can jam 3/4 of the program into a week and then have the nerve to tell us that we’re “not going to fail final exams”.

Every kid I’ve ever wanted to punch here, every adult who made me wish arrest for money laundering on them, every failed test that I quietly and unceremoniously set fire to (after having examined and learned from my mistakes of course, geez mom) is soon gonna eat my dust as I jet off to the land of capitalism and bacon.

Still, I’m getting graduation goggles. Why? Because for every five assholes at this school, there’s been someone to squeeze your hand and say “just keep swimming” when you’re staring at that despairingly low grade and wondering if it’s time to just give up and flush your dreams down the toilet already. Because for every five teachers who made you come in at 8am on a Saturday to take a four hour test, there’s that one who squealed and hugged you ’til you needed CPR (preferably administered by a hot shirtless dude, obviously) when they learned that you got accepted to your first-choice university.
The way your face lights up when you spot a friend in the hallway that you feel like you haven’t seen in weeks even though you saw her yesterday, the contests to see who can eat their slice of pizza the fastest, the lazy afternoons after class spent lying on the grass staring up at the Eiffel Tower eating way too much ice cream… These are the things I am going to so desperately miss. Because as cheesy as it sounds, they are the reasons that I painfully convinced myself to not smash the 7am alarm clock all these years.

Ladies and gentledudes, Classes of 2015 around the world, we did it. Props to our brains for not going through with the idea that they would much rather be potatoes.

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

Parents Dialogue #3: Running

[Discussing my dad’s high school marathon team] Dad: They went running every morning. At like 5 am they would get up and go for a 10K. I tried to go with them once…

Mom bursts out laughing, continues to do so for 5 minutes while we stare at her: I’ve known your high school self as a smoker and a drinker, but never a runner.

Dad: Well now you’re just being insulting. The one time I went with them I ran 4K, but it was so painful that I couldn’t even eat breakfast afterwards.

Mom tears up

CT: Why that’s the distance Mom ran today, and she’s 29 [age has been changed to compliment my mom]

Dad: I ran it a lot faster than Mom does, believe me.

Mom: Oh come now, I run 1K in less than 8 minutes! I don’t believe you could do it in less.

Dad winks at her: Depends who’s chasing me.

 

Ladies and oranges, having been privy to a good deal of my parents’ stories about their lives, I am a firm believer that sometimes the past would do good to remain buried.

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

PS: So many things to say, it’s been too long and I have missed TMCT. But first and foremost, RIP Leonard Nimoy.

It’s Just That Time of Year

Unfortunately I’m not talking about the holiday season (although the pumpkin spice latte is back at Starbucks!! It costs a third of my weekly allowance but it tastes so good. Oh dear I just went fangirly over a drink. I really need a boyfriend). I’m talking about the beginning of October, when the days are getting shorter, the weather getting rainier and the teachers getting crankier. This, associated with football season and the start of the MLB postseason results in students experiencing what I call the kangaroo syndrome. To explain briefly, the kangaroo syndrome chooses it’s victims by degree of addiction to movies and TV shows: once you have been chosen you will experience periods of nothingness (quite literally) before going into full blown hyperactive mode. It’s a familiar feeling, occuring every year since we realized that we actually had to study for tests (boy, what a shock that was huh?).

So today my morning consisted of an hour and a half math test immediately followed by an hour and a half french test. SO MUCH FUN RIGHT? No. My guess is that teachers, having been on a no grading hiatus for two months, are extremely thirsty to inflict pain on their students (penpal xx). So because of this grueling schedule I haven’t had much/hardly any/any time for myself and thus for the Mostly Confused Teenager to stop being confused about 4th degree functions and start being confused about other important things such as why her cookies are disappearing at such an alarming rate.

But do not fear, adoring fans of whom I have none, I am not forgetting about you guys! You people are my sunshine, my life, my soul… Oh dear I went rather too far with that didn’t I? Isn’t “moist” a weird word?

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.

 

 

 

 

Maths and Me

Maths and I have never exactly been best friends. How can I put this…  I am to math as Tim Tebow is to the position of QB (another example: I am to math like Taylor Swift is to relationships.)

Yeah, it’s that rough. I mean I’ve never had a problem with it in in of itself until the 8th grade. My parents always made me learn the notions in advance so that I wouldn’t then have any problems in class; it’s sort of as if they predicted my future math problems 😉 In 8th grade I missed several months of school and when I came back I realized that math no longer came easily to me and that I actually had to work, hard, to understand the notions. And of course, as a naturally lazy person, I didn’t like having to work to achieve my goals.

Last year I changed schools to come to the EABJM, where I am now. I quickly realized (through miserably failing my first test) that the level of my supposedly good school was nothing compared to what I was encountering here. In France we have 3 sections, S, ES and L and quite basically the people who have an average of 8/20 in math are not supposed to do the scientific program. Unfortunately it’s the only way to become a doctor so I’m forcing myself through it. I am the reason why there are too many people in my section and class. Am I making any sense at all? Ugh, I’m soooo tired.

So now I’m taking private lessons with a teacher from the school and while I silently curse my old junior high for screwing up my mathematics education I nod and repeat what she tells me. Then, on Tuesday, I saw math in a whole new light thanks to her. I’ve always seen it as a very concrete thing: the numbers on the board, the formulas to follow religiously. Suddenly it dawned on me: all of this was invented! In Ancient Whatever some dude sat down and said “I decree that 2+2=4. Also, because I’m too bored to think of anything else, 2×2 also equals 4. Bam, mathematicianed.” They say you don’t have a lot of imagination if you practice math as a living (do they? Really CT?) but that’s in reality excrements of an uncircumsized male cow! Suddenly the numbers were jumping off the board in front of my eyes, dancing in perfect unison. It was magical. Of course when I recounted this to my best friend she asked if I was high, at which point I responded that I couldn’t remember, which probably wasn’t the best thing to answer.

I’m still struggling past the domain of algorithms but I hope that now it’ll get a little bit easier. [My inner voice is telling me to prepare myself for disappointment]. But hey, if math is hard, so is life. I’ll just have to deal accordingly.

I can’t help but think of how ironic this whole situation is, seeing as how my dad is a mathematician who’s official title is “director of numerical algorithms”. Huh, didn’t see that one coming did you? You did? Oh, well then.

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: I haven’t posted in two days! Aaaaaaaaaah the daily blogging ritual is broken!

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.

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!

The Magic of an Accent

When I was singing Tubthumping/I Get Knocked down (weird name, weird lyrics but horribly catchy) earlier today I noticed that I was adapting my voice so that I sang with a British accent. Now I think it’s important to understand that I have a stereotypical American accent, without any twists. I’m not sure what part of the United States it comes from, although I’m guessing that it’s a mix of New York, Boston and San Francisco, transmitted to me via my obliging parents.

Yet even being an American teenager living in Paris I still find a foreign accent perfectly thrilling to listen to. It sounds exotic and exciting and because of the whole “the grass is greener on the other side” thing, I always tend to think that foreigners are, in general, better people than the ones I find here.

Here are a couple of the accents that I, in a rather clichéd fashion, adore the most.

#1 : French

I’m putting French first more in loyalty to my country than anything else, but it still means that I’ll be able to fire a quick retort at any snarky politician who accuses expats of not being patriotic enough. Not that that will ever happen per say, but you can never be too sure. French is known as the language of love, and for a visitor, a visibly distraught French citizen struggling to make you understand that the rind on a Saint Nectaire cheese can be eaten safely is extraordinarily sexy.

#2 : British

My friends and I have this ‘game’ where we walk around for a couple hours speaking only with British accents, holding our pinky fingers up and holding our heads so high that they are in danger of being permanently stuck that way; the position is so uncomfortable. And yet melting down the entire population of the UK into one accent and attitude is seriously fun, though I can’t figure out why for the life of me. Then there’s the guys. There is nothing hotter than a boy speaking with a sophisticated sounding British voice. Once again, why? Once again, no idea. All I know is that I have this preconceived idea that any British boy will be willing to sit and listen patiently to my whining while offering me tea and crumpets as opposed to an American boy who would probably (and rightly) tell me to f*ck the hell off. So British boy, come to CT. Ugh, that sounded weird.

#3 : Canadian

This one I’m pretty certain came more from How I Met Your Mother than anywhere else, so in reality I’m not sure how life-like it is, so to all my Canadian readers, I am sincerely sourry if I am putting forth a false portrayal of your wonderful accent. The Canadian accent is awesome because you can hear it in both languages: English and French. I have a friend who speaks (French) with a Canadian accent and in that Canadian way, not exactly wording things the way that we would or saying things that make sense to us. Nonetheless, whether it’s in French or in English, the Canadian accent is delightful because it’s familiar and yet very different at the same time.

So now that I have successfully degraded three accents, I will go to bed and read aboot a lady who kills her psychoanalyst for the sole reason that he annoys her. Aaaaah, summer reading in high school…

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

How to Get Ready in a BIG hurry

For effing school.I don’t often oversleep, but when I do, it’s bad. This morning was the first time that I needed an alarm clock all summer and guess what moron slept right thru it and almost missed her train? My brother. Crap that doesn’t make any sense. OK OK it was me. During the school year I make sure to get up an hour before I have to leave, do nothing for 45 minutes and then dash around collecting myself in the last 15 minutes. Granted, I always end up arriving at school in a daze at the last possible second, but HEY! I MAKE IT.

Of course as the new school year is about to start I have made a whole lot of meaningless resolutions about not going on Facebook or checking the score of the game in the mornings, but I know full well that I’ll never keep them. It’s just fun to think that I might not have to run around like a madwoman tripping over dogs and getting attacked by cats because I look like one big glob of edible something or other darting about at the speed of light.

Here are my secrets to getting ready fast.

#1: Prepare your bag and outfit the day before

I’ve done this about… um… once, and it truly saves you a huge amount of time in the morning, if you’re willing to do it. Because I am a naturally lazy person, I am not. This refusal to comply with my mother’s constant reminders ends in the dismal fact that I always forget something important and that nothing fragile can ever survive in my bag. Although to be fair that might also have something to do with the fact that I have two heavy rocks at the bottom of it. Why? I picked them up on a beach in Cassis and my friend and I swore our friendship over them. Yes, we were two crazy teenagers who took the rocks into class and wrote our names on them. Deal with it. As for the outfit part of this suggestion, I generally spend way too long trying different things on (first world problems right?). The best day is when I have nothing left but a top, a pair of jeans and a hoodie in my closet, at which point my selection becomes so much easier. So basically, if I don’t do my laundry I save time. My mom would love this. [Sheldon Cooper sarcasm sign]

#2: Things don’t go well if you decide to start making pancakes 20 minutes before you have to leave.

Especially if you’re still in your pajamas, hair shooting in all directions and eyes barely open. This has happened to me, because who wouldn’t want some delicious, creamy, sweet pancakes piping hot off the griddle before school? No one. Unless of course you are a person who promotes healthy living and eats a breakfast of fruit and yogurt (oh look Mom, you’re in the post again!), in which case you are an exception –> quick interlude here, how DO you do it? It sounds so… so… I can’t even find the words. Now some of you might have been blessed with parents who put an assortment of breakfast foods out on the table the night before; I was not, my parents are the “figure your sh*t out by yourself” type. The best bet is to know beforehand what you are going to have for breakfast so that you won’t stand around making a mental selection in front of the fridge for 10 minutes.

#3: Drink

Alcoholic beverages are not recommended, but a strong cup of coffee or tea might just make you look and feel alive enough to drag yourself through the house collecting your stuff before lumbering off to school/work. I must warn though that this pointer is not for everyone. By this I mean that if I drink coffee in the morning, I turn into a hyperactive panda with wide eyes who can’t stand still, and although being a panda can be quite nice, it’s best not to be one just before a big math test.

#4: Makeup, in perspective, is not important

For all the girls out there going “Whaaat?!”, I feel just like you, but let’s lay it out. Would you rather have your teacher humiliate you in front of the whole class while you wish you were home, in bed with a cup of hot chocolate and a cookie; or go an hour looking naturally weird before you can make a run for the bathroom? Your choice. I choose spending first period looking like a Confused Teen all while wishing that I was at home, in bed with a cup of hot chocolate and a cookie. It’s the best of both worlds.

#5: Keep your wits about you

The worst thing you can do is panic like I do. As luck will often have it, the morning when you need to get ready the fatest also happens to be the morning when you look like a lethargic chimpanzee. Whatever you do though, make sure it doesn’t involve running around in circles effectively doing nothing. This rountinely causes extra stress which frizzles my hair; yes, when I’m really stressed out it appears as if a bird made it’s nest on my head, bad breath (to my dismay I found out that a mint does NOT replace toothpaste), hyperventilation, choking on the piece of toast you’re trying rather unsuccesfully to shove down your throat, dizziness and even death, if all of these things happen at the same time. Keep calm and eat a cookie! Well, you might not have time to eat a cookie, but stay composed anyway.

Upon further reflection of these five suggestions I find that me myself and I, author of this post, does not respect any of them. And since I am the very model of horrible organization, I can only conclude that if one were to follow these rules, that person might actually have a chance of getting out of life alive. Hold on now, that doesn’t make any sense. If one were to follow these rules, that person might actually have a chance of getting out of the house on time without looking like a puddle of melted jello. Better?

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: This post was inspired by one over at Parisianettes, check it out here: http://parisianettes.blogspot.fr/2013/08/getting-ready-fast-in-morning-for-school_25.html