Tag Archive | hot

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.

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It’s Still Summer

Dear Autumn, back the hell off. I’ve known people like you who might be nice in some aspects of their personality but who are just too pushy. I will remind you that summer is until the 21st of September, so until then I will agree with none of this cold windy rainy nonsense that you’re imposing on the good people of EVERYWHERE.

I was walking on the street today and a leaf fell on my nose. How about no? First of all, I don’t like things falling on my nose, it makes me sneeze, and I happen to know that when I sneeze I sound like a dying zebra. Secondly, it’s still summer!!

Now I know there’s a certain rivalry in between summer and you and I also know that you feel slighted because people prefer the former to you, BUT MAYBE IF YOU STOPPED BEING SO DAMNED IN OUR FACES WE WOULD LIKE YOU MORE! Personally I love the sharp wind and the start of the holiday season, but for Cookie’s sake, it’s still a month and a half until Halloween! Please, I’m begging you, let us enjoy the last moments of our dying summertime hopes as they are swallowed by school and work *shakes head sadly*.

And Heat-Miser, Snow-Miser; if you keep fighting over who controls France, I’m going to go over your heads and go straight to your Mother. You wouldn’t like that would you? [childhood Christmas reference :’)]

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager

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.

What would life be like if we had fur?

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I have two animals in my house; Cooper, a five year old golden retriever, whose full name is Cooperstown Hope, because we hoped he would be an amazing baseball player (turns out he’d rather lay on the ground and cuddle with the ball) and Lucy, a nine year old tabby (pictured) who was named after the character in Narnia. I was 6. Don’t judge me. Anyway, as I stare at Lucy stretched out on my bed and Cooper flopped on the ground like a mop, I can’t help but wonder, what would life be like if we had fur? Not like the thing coat of hairs we have now, but actual fur.

Unfortunately, I think first of the panting that possesses Cooper on hot days. Why can’t my mind be a little romantic once in a while? Our dog seems to perpetually be drooling and panting. Oh, I’m not painting a very nice picture am I. He’s a sweetheart and the most adorable dog ever. But if we humans went around drooling on everything because we couldn’t sweat out our pores? Ugh, no thank you.

Keeping clean would also be an issue. For one thing, we’d have to wash more often. For another, it would take a heck of a lot of time longer. And as a naturally lazy person, I object. Maybe we could lick ourselves. Like cats. No, no, that wouldn’t be good for kissing afterwards.

The upside would be that on cold days we wouldn’t get cold. No extra cloths equals no extra weight. Then again, humid fur…  not nice. Can you imagine being humid all day? Why, you’d have to carry a hair dryer around with you! And hair dryer equals extra weight. So once again, ugh.

After laying forth these points, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d rather not have fur at all. Oooh, but it would be so soft!

If you have an opinion on the matter or if I missed something, drop me a comment below 🙂

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: I got the bedspread when I was little. I haven’t gotten another one. *bright smile*