Tag Archive | Television

Mini CT’s Dream Jobs

Copyright: The Sticky Note Addict

Copyright: The Sticky Note Addict

Cookie dough taster.
Television watcher.
Bed tester.
Book reader.
Swimming pool tester.
Pizza taster.
Trampoline jumper.
Stuffed animal trainer.
Pepperoni eater.
Unicorn rider.
Chocolate taster.

These are the jobs that young CT wrote in her diary about. Agreed, she was wacky, but she was also a dreamer.
And as she wrote in her loopy childish handwriting, all of these must be exercized in a purely “preffeshenol” manner.

And you know what? Someday, older CT is gonna accomplish every one of these dreams. Yes, even the unicorn one, doubters.

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

 

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.

Those Crazy American Commercials

There’s something that makes American TV commercials somewhat different from ads in other countries, or at least ads in France. Yeah, you know that I’m talking about those erectile dysfunction ads that come on every two seconds *involuntary shudder* I mean the purpose of one in three TV ads is, it seems, to council men on how to get boners.

Whenever I go on holiday to the US I always get excited about watching TV. Reason 1) I finally get to watch my shows on the big screen without having literally every male character sound like a 12 year old girl because it’s been dubbed, and reason 2) because I know that I’m garanteed a fit of hysterical giggles when it’s time for ads. And man, it’s always time for ads. In France you’re not allowed, by government law, to advertise any prescibed medication on TV, in magazines or in the papers, which in some way makes sense but in another makes French ads sooo much more boring. L’Oréal, because I don’t care. Get the idea? Pratically nothing ever happens, and when it does it’s most often an American ad that has been dubbed into French.

But in the United States of America, with it’s freedom of speech and wonderful liberty, there are no such rules, and the results are both glorious and disquieting:

“Are you having trouble living up to your ‘woman’s’ needs? Do you need a treatment that will last over 36 hours? [wait woah… 36 hours? Now I may not now much about the birds and bees junk but 36 hours seems quite a long time to be prepared for] Try our new SuperBonerCrap and go, go be free! Have sex in the middle of the street, in the park, in front of your grandkids! With SuperBonerCrap, it doesn’t matter when, where or how inappropriate the circumstances are, if you’re feeling it, take action. Warning, an erection lasting more than 5 hours may cause serious nerve damage. [God TMI people, kids watch Top Chef too you know] Side affects may include extreme exhaustion, nose bleeding, digestive issues, liver failure, prostate cancer, respiratory difficulties, brain damage and death. [Um excuse me, whaaat?] And as usual, stay safe! SuperBonerCrap, making you wish that you were single and surrounded by cats.”

So maybe I exaggerated a little bit, but not that much. And I know that erectile dysfunction is a real thing that affects a lot some people, but the number of ads compared to the percentage of the population that might need the product is disproportionate. Then again, it’s America, why am I suprised?

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.