Tag Archive | weird

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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*awkward singing* You’ve Got a Friend in Me

My friends are an extremely important part of my life. I haven’t always had them, and I guess that that makes me all the more grateful for the ones I do have. They’re always there for me, whether it’s to listen to me rant, help me with a difficult math problem (UGH) or buy me a pack of cookies and slip it to me in class when I miss lunch. I have the best friends in the Universe, and I love them all to bits.

From 1st to 3rd grade I went to a tiny country school¬† in Normandy with about 30 kids in total, ranging from 2 year old’s just starting to get weaned off their mothers to 12 year old’s getting ready to graduate to middle school. We were separated into 3 different classrooms and all shared a small recess court with a sandbox in the corner. Being a small number of students, we were all friends. We had our fair share of trivial yelling matches and feuds, but all in all, we were a tight knit community. That was before anyone had Facebook or anything, and the school was shut down by the government soon after I left, so I never found out what happened to a lot of my old friends.

I left in the middle of the year because my teacher suicided. No one knows why, but they found his burning car on the edge of a cliff. The school being so small, it affected a lot of people, and my parents decided that it wouldn’t be a good thing for me to stay. I moved to a larger school in the closest ‘big city’ about 30 minutes away. Although at first the kids there were all over me, they heard my story and left me alone. I spent most of the second half of 3rd grade pretending that I was a horse and galloping around the recess court. On second thought, maybe people didn’t interact with me because I was weird. Who knows?

In 4th grade I met 3 of my best friends and from then to 6th grade, I experienced my first sleepover, the singing and dancing around the living room, the long hours spent discussing important subjects such as why our 30 year old teacher wasn’t married yet (Was something wrong with her? Why did no one want to marry her? Ah, innocent minds. Of course, she did end up getting married and we felt very pleased with ourselves, as if we’d somehow engineered the whole deal). I love those girls with all my might and I’m glad to be able to call them my friends.

Then, at the start of 7th grade, I moved to Paris. What a shocker that was. I did not want to go. But I made new friends there too, and we spent our time walking around outside in circles until people cataloged us as the crazy girls who had a problem with standing still. We would talk on the phone until 11 pm (were my parents ever mad when they saw the bill) about cute boys that we had spotted during the day, or the sore throat that the principle had that made him sound like Darth Vader. I developed a lot with them, both mentally and um… *blushes* physically.

Last year, I had to leave them too to go to my first bilingual school, the EABJM, where I am now. And once again, I’ve met the most awesomesauce people. I love being able to mix English and French in a way that doesn’t work at all, spending math class listening to my friend make boat noises, and trying to get our fingers to go through the table in Physics because our teacher told us that there was an itsy bitsy possibility that that could happen. Hint: don’t waste your time. We spent hours trying, it doesn’t work.

Friends are fun. Friends are loving. Friends tell you your hair looks fine even though you have concrete proof that it looks like a bird got caught in it and wrestled its way out. Friends comfort you when you’re feeling down. Friends are crazy. Friends are like stars, even though sometimes you can’t see them, you know they’re there. You can make fun of your friends and they won’t care (most of the time ^^). Friends don’t care (and are grateful) that you’re not Sheldon Cooper. Friends will never give up on you, despite your weird obsession with cookies and sports. Friends are awesome.

Friends are people who you meet on your blog and feel instantly connected to. In a totally non creepy way. I’ll leave you with a quote from a certain philosophical little kangaroo in Winnie the Pooh: “Friends can be new, Friends can be old; all of them are as precious as Gold.”

Live long and prosper \V/

Yours sincerely,

The Mostly Confused Teenager.

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.