Bloggy Blog Blog Blog.

Just for the record, I'm blogging and it isn't two am. CULTURE SHOCK I KNOW. I was actually in the middle of a nice hi-I'm-a-high-schooler-and-the-only-thing-that-gets-me-through-the-day-is-the-promise-of-a-nap nap, and a certain someone (cough Nick cough) texted me and told me that my last blog was too educational, boring, and not entertaining in the least. Then he demanded a new blog post.

So here I am. Screw naps, after all. I mean, it's not like we high schoolers nap more than the average three-year-old, relying on the promise of a nap to get us up in the morning. Oh wait...we do. Although in my defense, what else is there to do when I'm suffering through math in the back of a room of very clueless students, some - including myself - who don't remember anything they've ever learned, except tolerate the excitement of the teacher and dream about going home to sleep?

Yikes. That sounds really depressing. I promise it isn't; I just love to sleep and dislike hate want to assassinate math. (At what point is someone so important that they are "assassinated" instead of just "murdered?" I really don't think math is cool enough to be assassinated...)

Well, lots has happened since I last blogged. That's partially because I was a bad AP Comp student and missed the last (two?) posts we were supposed to do. Teehee...sorry, Cardona! But one of those not-posted posts is warranted; I don't plan on killing my blog. I don't need to take an ax/machete/bulldog/pissed off teenage sister to it; I want to keep writing :) Anyway...here's what's changed:

1. AP Comp is done. And I literally cried. I left AP Comp, went to MoPro, found Shreya, and stated that I was "already having withdrawal," motioning to Cardona's room. She immediately  took pity on me and tried to console me (denks Marbs)... Does the end of AP Comp mean I don't go in there anymore? Uhhhhh hellnahhhh. I was in there at least six times today. That just happens to be more than I would be in there on any given day when I actually had the class...
2. I'm officially an adult. This was very convenient: the first day of the new semester happened to fall on that one day where I came screaming and crying into this far-too-brightly-lit world...which makes for a good truth in "two truths and one lie" that occurred in Spanish at 7:30am. (Or in English, but we won't tell Profe that, will we?) I managed to put together hoy es mi cumpleaños to suffice for creativity in a class that a) occurs at 7:30am, b) demands that I am actually coherent and I'm not doing my bounce-around-the-AP Comp-room-after-having-caffeine thing - more commonly referred to as "The Julia Show," by Cardona - as to be able to function, c) function enough to speak well, and d) oh yeah, speak in a different language. And all after a long break from the language. You could say it's gonna be a long semestre. (Dear computer, I was trying to be clever by saying "semester." Autocorrecting that just frustrates me. Love, this annoyed Spanish student.)
3. I have a concussion. It's a long story involving Mr. Wayzata - which already has enough drama surrounding it - my head, and consequently, the floor. Needless to say, I have a nice excuse to miss dance for the next two weeks (at least)...bad dancer, I know. But concussions aren't too great to dance with (even though I'll have to for the Mr. Wayzata Pageant). Thank you, partner. My head also thanks you.
4. College shat. I have a potential music scholarship from Luther - the nice lady who heard me audition has "recommended that [I] receive a music scholarship" - and I have callbacks for a dance scholarship at St. Olaf. Yeyyyy college! Give me college (college men...uhhhwhat? I didn't say anything!). But I still have scholarship essays to do...so that's just delightful. I may or may not have one due tomorrow that I need to start ASAP. I'll just use my rhetorical skills and persuade them to agree with my argument ;) Side note: the cheesy AP Comp jokes CANNOT die. That would be a waste of eye-rolling.

Well, there ya go. Welcome to my current life! I need to do struggle through some math (thank God for best friends that conveniently have math during the same block but one room over), write myself a nice little essay on why I'm pursuing a career in journalism (which is kind of awkward, because apparently I'm pursuing a career in journalism now?), email my favorite photographer ever (insert the world's largest SarcMark here), and eventually sleep. Oh wait...I'm in high school. I don't sleep. Well, I guess I'll just use it as my motivation for the night! READYSETGO. I think I'll start with dinner first...

P.S. This is obviously not closure. I might do a super-delayed post about closure, but it'll probably happen on the last day of school...

P.P.S. Cardona told me to never use P.P.S. but she also told us to not include unicorns, and I did that on my last project and survived, right? I'll try to remember to blog more often. Even if that means I have to sacrifice my extremely-important-and-absolutely-beautiful nap time because Nick is bored and has nothing else to do but read my oh-so-interesting blog. Whatever....I need to blog more :)

Half the Sky

Happy 1am blogging (I may or may not have totally and completely forgotten about doing this blog post until I was about to get in the shower).

My group chose Half the Sky by Nicholas D. Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn as our BLA assignment. Because we have awesome planning skills and because the world happened to love us on the day that we chose this book, there is a PBS documentary - with two parts - that is the legitimate Half the Sky documentary. Winning...thank you world.

This book was an interesting experience for us all. Every time we had a BLA meeting, we would arrive more intrigued, more horrified, more inspired, and more aware of the world. Has that every happened with a school reading before? Hahaha...no. We became aware of problems that we didn't even know existed - genital mutilation - and read success story after success story that inspired us to open our eyes even more.

The authors approached this book through personal testimony. As they traveled from country to country, Nick and Sheryl did interviews and participated in the lives of the women they ended up writing about. Chapter after chapter is filled with stories of overcoming abusive relationships and the restrictions on life as a woman in countries - basically those other than the United States - that don't feel women are as important as men. When reading the book, we got used to this approach. I mean, heck, every single chapter had story after story. Sure, they were all different and unique and important and inspiring in their own way, but the documentary was more successful at showing the individuals. A picture is worth a thousand words (cliche number two - at least - of tonight), but a documentary that literally follows ex-prostitutes into the brothel on a raid is worth more than two hours of my Saturday night.

I'm glad we read the book before seeing the documentary. It's like watching the Harry Potter movies but never reading the books - don't hate me - because you don't understand the movie/documentary as much as you possibly could. Going into the documentary with all the background knowledge that the book provided was key to getting as much out of the visual piece as possible.

While the book was fantastic at providing statistics, tons of stories, and background knowledge that was of great importance, the documentary was beneficial in its own ways. Actually seeing the lives of these women was phenomenal. Watching the celebrity - yeah, I had the same response - bike the seventeen-mile bike ride the girl takes every single day to go to school was more effective than describing the scary fields where anyone could be waiting to grab her. The ideas of the book were truly solidified in my mind when watching the documentary.

One of the things that really stood out about the documentary was how effectively it showed the hope these women have. Part of the way through the film, we were introduced to Somaly Mam. I vaguely recognized the name as one that could have been mentioned in the book, but her story truly impressed us. As an ex-prostitute that escaped the brothel, Somaly rescues other girls. She has an organization made up entirely of girls rescued from brothels. They then educated men - yes, they educate MEN - about the importance of condoms. They go to brothels and take the girls to medical checkups. They speak to these girls and share their stories of success, but they also share their stories of fear, abuse, and the hardships they faced inside and out of the brothel. Somaly identifies herself with these girls - she continuously says, "Their life is mine," and, "We are the same" - and has no limits as to what she will do to give them better lives. She ran a brothel raid with the local anti-trafficking agents (the police are absolutely no help when it comes to prostitution) in which they stormed the brothel. The brothel just happened to be teeming with AK-57s. No big deal. She knew this and insisted on doing the raid.

Seeing the little kids really hit home. In all of the safe houses, there were young children. Seeing the children run around laughing and playing was fantastic - proof that these organizations are doing good work and that the lives of these girls are changed forever - but there were also the children that didn't talk to or trust anyone. A three year old girl was left at a brothel because she had been raped and her family didn't want her. A. Three. Year. Old. Girl. This is a child that doesn't even know the letters of the alphabet or her colors or words beyond "Mama" and "Daddy," yet she has been raped and left for whoever wants her. Seeing these children - actually seeing them and not just reading about them - was heart wrenching.

The strength of the women was also phenomenal. Here are girls who work multiple jobs, are at odds with their parents because their parents don't want them getting an education, travel insane distances on foot or by bike every day, and are fighting to make their lives better. If I were any of them, I quite literally would have cried myself to death. Didn't sell all your lottery tickets today? Okay, I'm going to beat you. Looking for a job? I'm going to conveniently sell you to a brothel without your knowledge. Oh, you thought I was getting you a job?  Yeah, your parents sold you to me because they're seriously hungry. Biking that 17-mile trip to school? Darn, watch out for the creepy rapists. I. Would. Have. Given. Up. On. Life. Yet here are girls who face this every single day of their lives, and they haven't keeled over and given up. They're fighting for themselves and for others like them to increase their quality of life. They're fighting to get an education. They're fighting for equal rights. They're fighting to get out of the brothels and to get their sisters and friends out of the brothels. They. Are. Fighting.

That was definitely my favorite part of the documentary. Sure, the book was inspirational, but there's something about literally seeing these girls and women - and the fighters that they are - that inspires me beyond words. To see how they have healed from the injustices done to them in the past is stunning. Actually seeing these girls work to change the world left me feeling - pissed because we didn't have time to watch the next two hours of the documentary - happy. That sounds a little weird; we just watched a documentary on rape, abuse, lack of rights, lack of education, genital mutilation, and the general suckiness of life as a woman, and I felt happy? Yes, I did. Because as shitty as the world can seem sometimes, there's always something more. Watching the documentary put my life into perspective, and left me feeling grateful sad happy intrigued moved inspired. Changed.

Humor

There's lots of funny things in the world: people, clothes, smells, foods, animals, what have you. I tend to like parodies, but only if I actually understand them. Here's a couple:

Nothing like Old Spice, eh?

Sesame Street, always promising.

Good old Carol Burnett! Spoof on "Born Free."

Twitch, Twitch.

This blog post is about pet peeves, and I can literally feel my pulse racing. Just thinking about the things that annoy me is making me jumpy and irritated. Isn't that promising? Let's see if I can stay sane while venting (I can dream, can't I?).

These are in no apparent order because I'm too aggravated to bother ordering them.

1. People who think they are the shit. I'm exposed to this far too often through dance, theater, and choir, and boy does it make me want to punch a baby. It's always the people that think they are amazing when they really aren't. They think they deserve roles, solos, the spot at the front, recognition, a pat on the back, and a posse to follow them around and cheer whenever they accomplish something, which obviously happens every two seconds because they are amazing. And of course we all aspire to be like them. Barf. I want to scream and swear and cry and punch someone - usually them - and push them off of their high horse, because that horse is ridiculously high. I think what gets to me the most is that fact that they feel entitled to certain things. Even more so, they seem to think that they are somehow better than the rest of us. What makes you better than anyone else? NOTHING. It also bothers me when I know how I compare to them; I get annoyed with the little kid running around and showing off and being annoying as (fill in the blank with a colorful word of your choice) when I know I am just as good, if not better. The ironic part? That I'm bitching about people thinking they're better than others when I just admitted to feeling the same way. Hahaha...life.

2. Offensive and/or controversial comments. I looooooooove when people throw out biting comments that should never be said (insert SarcMark here). It's like, are you trying to piss off the world? Because you're definitely succeeding. This usually happens in MoPro, adding to my extreme love for the class. And it's usually the kid sitting in front of me, and the one sitting behind me. Ugh. This bothers me because it seems intentional; why else would you say things that are going to make everyone enraged?

3. Extremely loud people. This is practically hilarious because I'm friends with theater kids, most of which are not capable of talking UNLESS IT'S LIKE THIS BECAUSE THEY NEED TO BE HEARD BECAUSE WE CAN'T HEAR THEIR ALREADY LOUD VOICES. Yikes. There are a couple in particular where it just gets out of hand, partially because it's always the loudest people trying to talk over one another. Why is this annoying? Because it hurts my ears. Because it's unnecessary. Because not everyone in the world cares about what you did this morning so you don't have to broadcast it to the world. But it's mostly the unnecessary part that makes me walk away.

4. Tapping. To you tappers of the world: I hate you. Do you realize how hard it is to think and/or take a test when your pencil can't resist gravity enough to stop bouncing up and down on the desk? Or your boot hitting the desk leg? Or anything that makes an incessant sound while I'm trying to think? This bothers me like no other; if it continues (usually it doesn't because I have a fantastic stink eye), I honestly end up on the brink of tears. Stress + annoying noise that I'm certain you can stop but you are too inconsiderate of the rest of us to stop it = I want to cry (and sometimes I do).

5. Fakes. Do I really need to explain that? These are the people that fake emotion to win an audience (cough, running for officer of choir, cough). You can talk to them for a certain amount of time, but you always wonder what they're saying as you walk away. It bothers me because they are not being genuine; how am I supposed to trust you or have any respect for you when you smile at my face and do God-knows-what behind my back? Be real, people, be real.

6. People who make everything into a competition. Newsflash: I know you're just asking how I did because you want to see how you compare. But when two people are bitching about how late they stayed up and are trying to out-lack of sleep each other, I just want to punch them. Everything. Is. Not. A. Competition. We all have our own hurdles to trip jump over, so stop acting like everything you do needs to be more important, better, harder, cooler, smarter, greater, whateverer than what the rest of us do.

7. My sister using up all the hot water/showering right before I come home. We dance on different nights of the week, yet somehow she ends up showering right as I get home or right before I get home (as in, she climbs out of the shower ten minutes after I get home). Why is this annoying? Well, because she uses up all the hot water, and now I have to wait a half an hour - at least - before I can have any hot water to shower. And because she chooses to shower when it is my first chance to shower - usually 11pm - and she's had all night to do it. Nice planning, sis.

8. Stopping in the middle of the hall to socialize/not being able to walk down the hall like a normal person. This literally needs no explanation. If you're really desperate for an example, try walking across any floor in the high school, most specifically the freshmen floor. It's ridiculous. Why the bother? Because it's people being inconsiderate of others, which should be a pet peeve by itself.

9. Hypocrites. Hahaha. The most common form of this: giving advice when they are the last people in the entire universe that should be giving advice. They need the advice. Best example: teenage girl who likes to sleep around and was literally just being inappropriate with a boy tells the other teenage girl that she shouldn't be flirting with the boy because he has a girlfriend. That's where you laugh and think, Shut the front door. You have no authority and you are the LAST person who should ever give me advice.

10. The people who hum their vocal part while the other sections are learning their parts. We know you know your part. You're not helping the other people by singing your part while they are trying to learn theirs. Just stop. Being inconsiderate?

11. People who will not shut up while you try to write/think. My brother is literally doing this right now. It's the reason I do my homework in the basement everyday; silence is golden. Once again, being inconsiderate.

12. Not getting _______ when you know you're good enough. Why is this a pet peeve? Because this is life, and that's how life works: you can't always get what you want. It's aggravating when you know you are just as qualified for something, yet you don't get the part/in the group/invited/whatever. It makes you second-guess yourself and question your worth.

13. Boys. Dear Lord, boys. Love 'em and hate 'em. Being led on? Hate. When they talk about their ex-girlfriend a ton? Hate. When they don't have the balls to ask you out yet they flirt with you all the time? Hate. When you know you would be amazing together but they get involved with other girls that are icky because they don't want to put in the time and work to be with you? Hate. There's so much to love about them...when they man-up and be assertive and cute and awesome and you aren't left pining for them. Just saying.

14. Causing drama to get attention. Congrats, you've successfully pissed everyone off. This is one of the pet peeves where I can't really figure out why it bothers me so much. Probably because it's unnecessary? Because we have enough hullabaloo without you trying to make yourself more important than everyone else?

15. Personal space. As in, this is my bubble, and you need to stay out of it. I know it's different in other cultures - some don't have personal space at all - but I need my bubble. Walking down the hall in that huge mass of people causes me great anxiety and stress and I swear I'm claustrophobic. This also includes reading over the shoulder. Do I have a sign on me that says Please make me feel watched and agitated and like everything I do is public; I love feeling violated? Sorry, nope...not last time I checked.

16. Being out of tune. Sorry not sorry - it comes from being trained by Mr. Dahl and Ms. Wyffels to be correct and on-key. You should try it some time. Why does this bother me so much? Because I've spent the past four years working on this, yet you feel like you can stroll in here and mess everybody else up because you can't tell that you're not staying on a D when the other parts come in. I think it's lack of self-awareness that annoys me.

17. Stupidity. Ignorance is bliss? Ahaha...no. Sometimes. But when you are too dumb to figure out that we got the answer as 82 because 100-18 is 82 (and we just talked about it for two full minutes, when it really doesn't need that much of an explanation), I get concerned. And pissed off. Maybe you should cut down on all that partying and texting in class if you're a senior and you think fish come up for air.

18. Driving. My favorite thing ever (insert SarcMark here). Why, you ask? Do I really need to explain why? How about the fact that you're driving a machine that has the ability to kill lots of people and you're distracted with your phone? That kind of annoys me. I especially love the hi-I'm-sitting-in-the-right-turn-lane-at-a-red-light-but-I'm-actually-not-turning-so-now-you-have-to-wait thing. And the people that drive 15 miles under the speed limit when you're late. And the people that cut you off, particularly when they decide to speed around you, cut you off, and then drive slow. Nice, guys, nice. Slow drivers in the fast lane? Yup, them too. The people who speed to the front of the line when you have to merge, then expect you to let them in because they weren't willing to wait like the rest of us? Dream on, pal. If you're driving an you're distracted, incompetent, unaware, egotistical, or in any way annoying, stay away from me.

Pet peeves up the wazoo - and that's probably not all of them - but this is a freakishly long post and I've come to a conclusion: I hate people. Kind of kidding, kind of not :) The real conclusion: my pet peeves exist mostly because I can't stand people that lack self-awareness, are inconsiderate of others or are offensive, and find themselves better than the rest of us in any way (mostly if they think they're the shit). Yay for being annoyed with the world (insert SarcMark here). Haha have a nice night :)

Epiphany! (Exclamation point guilt)

I established long ago the fact that my timing for blogging is always off. It's usually between the times of two and four in the morning that I hit my oh my gosh I can write really easily period, and boy is that unfortunate. Well, tonight it's slightly different: I'm in the middle of my draft for the revision essay. Tehee...

But this is important, I swear. I had an epiphany. An epiphany, I tell you! (Let's be clear: every time I use an exclamation point, I feel guilty. Then I smile to myself and move on. #APCompProblems) I was writing and then I got distracted, as per usual. I don't even remember what I got distracted by. It could be just about anything: my oddly frozen fruit smoothie that appears to have permanently scared my back left tooth into pain, my constantly buzzing iPhone, the pull that Snapchat seems to have on my subconscious, the loud siblings stampeding - quite literally stampeding (#basementroom) - after the dog, or a countless amount of other distractions that are at my disposal.

The important part isn't the distraction; it's the realization. My epiphany! (Exclamation point guilt.) I want to write. Okay, now everyone reading this is like, Awwww, cute little AP Comp student wants to write. That's probably a good thing, considering that she's in a composition class. But that's not what I mean. I want to write. When this class is over - I'm still pretending it isn't going to end - I will be bored out of my mind. Writing provides a creative release. I mean, heck, I like writing essays. Yup. I did it. I admitted that I like writing essays. For the first time in the history of that painful thing they call school, I like writing essays. Mind you, that's only for this class; MoPro is an entirely different topic/idea/no. I love writing for this class. And I want to keep writing like this.

I don't know if that means that I pursue it in college, or if I just do it on the side. I was always the kid that wanted to keep a day-to-day journal, but I'd get so distracted with the details that I'd get behind and give up. That even happened in Europe this summer, and that was only 16 days worth of writing. Oops. So knowing me, I can basically say that if I do not actively pursue writing, I will not find time to do it. That being said, I need to pursue writing. I need to take composition classes in college, I need to find a way to keep writing, I need to write, write, write. This is the closest I've ever come to discovering what I want to do with my life job-wise, and I'm not about to let it go. I will write, someday, somehow. I will write.

And now, I will write that revision essay. Hopefully this helped to get my brain juice flowing (nasty thought/mental image), but hey, it's okay: shitty first drafts, people, shitty first drafts. Nerdiest blog post ever? Done. Revision essay? Sooooo not done. Time to change that.

Flu Girl Talk at 4am

Happy almost-4am (yikes).

Do I have issues with priorities? Yes. But in my defense, I have the flu right now, and I slept all day. Supposedly, because I am sick and my immune system is crap, sleeping all day shouldn't have affected my internal clock. Hahaha yeah...try again.

So here I am. It's almost 4am, and I'm blogging. This blogging-at-weird-hours-of-the-night (day) thing is turning into a bad habit, but hey, at least I'm not out drinking at these weird hours (or ever). Bloggy blog blog blog...

Random thoughts I've had/collected over break:

1. Family is awesome. I was lucky enough to do some phenomenal bonding with my great grandma (and my family in general) over the days leading up to - and following - Christmas. Love. That. Family. And my littlest sister literally stalked me for a couple hours today. Why? Because, "Mom told me not to leave your side until she comes home." Works for me. Company + a little minion to fetch Tylenol/Motrin/crackers/peach tea for the sick kid = a somewhat happier sick kid.
2. Doctors must get sick. I had a really nice doctor today after driving a half an hour away to find an urgent care that didn't have 40+ people waiting like the one that is two minutes away from my house did. Yeesh. Happy flu/sick people season! I was the oldest kid by at least fifteen years in the waiting room, but that's what I get for going to South Lake Pediatrics; the key word is pediatrics. I couldn't help but think that doctors must get sick; after all, they deal with all of us when we are sick. How do they stay healthy?
3. Books are amazing. I just finished a series - the Hush, Hush series by Becca Fitzpatrick - and I'm extremely sad it's over. Now I have to go reread all of the books again :) The final book ended beautifully, even though it was 3:15am. My bad. It's a series created for teenage girls and that's obvious: the mysterious, sexy boy who just happens to be a fallen angel kicked out of heaven? That right there should scream TEENAGE GIRL CRAZE. Judge me as you will...the books were delicious.
4. Winter break should be longer. Coming from the kid who will probably be sick through New Year's everything and has barely thought about school but is now realizing that it starts back up in T-minus too few days, break needs to be longer. Ugh.
5. Holiday food and treats. So, so good, but so, so bad. Sorry about the excessive commas there...anyway, staffers, I will be dropping off a decent amount of candy/chocolate/cookies come that-wretched-day-when-we-go-back-to-school. Get ready for sugar highs.
6. Technology is beautiful. I recently joined the iPhone craze - it was my big Christmas present/incentive to finish (start) my college apps - and I'm loving it. Maybe a little too much, but whatever...my snapchat is Hu-lia because JBay and JBayBay and Juju and JujuB and Julz and Jules and Hulia and JuliaGulia and JoJo and pretty much anything that is a variation of my name is taken. Sigh...

Okay. I'm posting this so it is posted before 4am. The time stamp on here is messed up, but it's currently 3:58am so...I'm going to go alphabetize some yearbook rosters. Happy sleeping.

You five :)

It's 1:39am and you hang up the phone. The phone that you were so afraid of answering, the phone that you hate to talk on. Is it a metaphor for your life? Hating to talk on the phone isn't exactly normal, but neither is talking on it for four hours straight (with three interruptions).

So you hang up that phone you supposedly hated talking on, smile to yourself, and stare at it. You shake your head and laugh as you catch yourself smiling, proceeding to check the "recent calls" section just to verify that the past (2 hrs + 21 min + 17 min + 58 min) just happened.

With this kid that you thought you barely knew, who insisted on calling. Who calls anymore? Yet calling was way better than texting. My parents would die from culture shock if they realized I actually talked on the phone. You talked and laughed and talked, forced to repeat sentences as the mumbling interfered with the actual message of I like you and the silences grew longer and more comfortable. You discussed politics - literally - even though you hate it. You talked about mutual friends and colors and weird facts and habits and rooms and paint colors and foods and being cold. You talked about what actually happened and hinted at what is to come. You re-hashed the entire evening - the smiling and looking down that he is so fond of, the nudging one another, the gummy worms crinkling at the most inopportune times in the darkness of the theater, his bold move when he took your hand and your heart jumped, even though you weren't sure it would - down to every last second that could have made a difference. You laughed at one another and poked fun, stopping to clarify I'm kidding because you don't know each other just that well...yet.

You clarified on the technicalities of the potential -  I don't want it to be too soon. You guys broke up pretty recently - to make sure you aren't crossing any lines, stepping on any feet, pushing any boundaries (fill in the blank with any cliché you want), and to make sure you aren't just the rebound. 

By the end of the night/early morning/when your voices became more mumbled, the pauses grew longer than long, and the need for sleep was almost tangible, you were referring to the undefined "it" as we. We basically have their metaphorical blessing. I wish we had rehearsal together tomorrow. We we we we we. A small word, but it makes you smile as you say it again: we. You laugh because your phone has absolutely no battery left but it's still hanging on. You laugh because those gummy worms are still folded up in your purse, only five absent because you didn't breathe enough during the movie to actually eat them. You laugh because it was supposed to just be a movie with the theatre kids, but it turned into so much more. You laugh because you hate talking on the phone and you just did for four hours. You laugh because it's 2 am and you're laying on your bed in your purple poodle footie pajamas (you'll always be a child at heart) blogging because your best friend isn't awake and because nobody else really knows and you just want to skip and jump and scream and laugh and jump and frolic and hug and kiss everybody (but him especially) and because you are damn tired and there is just no way you are going to sleep yet.

It finished with many goodnights. A goodnight from him, a goodnight from you. A sweet dreams from him, a sweet dreams to you too from you. You three. You four. You five. Your personal joke - the constant barter of sweet dreams and good wishes that only comes from two people who don't want to say goodbye - that initially signified that "it" was real. That "it" really could turn into we. And that final text Goodnight (: that sealed the deal and sent you scurrying around, ripping off the jacket, throwing on the footies and taking out the contacts, feeling for the glasses, flipping the lights off and the laptop on, settling down to blog it all, because what better way for an AP Comp student to vent? And finding this:

I climbed the door
And opened the stairs
I said my pajamas
And put on my prayers
Then turned off my bed
And crawled into the light
All because you kissed me goodnight

Which technically hasn't happened yet, but who gives a poop. There's potential in the we that makes you smile at the poem, recognizing the bubbly heart-jumping, blushing, feeling that continues to spread throughout your body. Maybe it's those gummy worms that you really shouldn't be eating at 2:22 am because you have to get up and finish start college apps (oops) and clean your room and do laundry and take a shower and start some homework and go shopping and look over music and remember to breathe when he will inevitably text you Good morning (: but who really cares? You just spend God only knows how long venting onto the internet about talking on the phone for four hours and now you're eating gummy worms at this time in the morning? Nobody really cares about those worms. They're yours to smile at and reminisce on, but it's time for you to reminisce in your sleep.

Goodnight. Goodnight. Sweet dreams. Sweet dreams to you too. You three. You four. You five. Goodnight :) 

The Phenomenon Called "Lamentable Sunday Nights" and Why They Occur: A Blog Post by Julia.

Well, because I'm "that kid," I did the Analyze your writing! thing three times. Just for fun. (And to see if the website was actually consistent.) 

I write like Chuck Palahniuk. Sorry, sir, I'm not sure who you are.
I write like Edgar Allan Poe. Sir, I know who you are.
I write like Cory Doctorow. Sorry, sir, I'm not sure who you are either.

Either my style of writing changes with every blog post (very possible) or that website isn't as consistent as I'd hoped (even more possible). But hey, it was interesting! Who cares if it is based on an algorithm or if it's produced by a literature/composition geek hanging out in his dark basement, surrounded by books, writing by candlelight, and only emerging from his shockingly small bedroom to make coffee or have dinner when his mama calls him. I'd take either answer :)

Now it's Sunday night. Ahh...Sunday night. My least favorite time of the week. It's the time when I (re)realize I put my homework off as long as possible. It's the time when I realize that if I don't do three loads of laundry before I go to bed, I'll be going to school naked for the next week. Yikes. It's the time when I really want to take a shower, read a book, watch TV, light my yummy-smelling Cookies for Santa candles from Target (everyone loves Target; don't deny it. I also have a HUGEEEEEEE obsession with these candles) and snuggle into my bed at a decent time...like anytime before 1am. High standards, I know.

What really happens on these notorious Sunday nights? I (re)realize that procrastination is a (fill in the blank with your favorite colorful word). Harumph. 

I can guarantee I will spend the next 8-10 hours cramming for the next week and telling myself It is only five days. Then you can sleep and catch up on life. During this time, I will be texting my best friend, who will also be doing the same thing: cramming like crazy. That's just how we work. Sure, she'll go to bed two hours before me because she does homework some Friday nights (yes, we are both aware that we do not have social lives, thank you for checking), but we both hate Sunday nights. Because we both procrastinate. 

Why do I do this to myself? Why do I leave all my homework/laundry/lunch-packing/cramming/reading/anything I would ever need to do for Sunday night? Why don't I just do it and not suffer through long nights at the beginning of the week?

The best answer I have is that I'm human. Honestly. That's all I have for you. And because YOLO. Sorry, it's this generational thing. We have weird catchphrases. But honestly...YOLO. We had a choir party last night, and did I think about my homework? Yes. At the beginning of the party, in the middle of it when I told Michael to shut up and stop talking about school, and at the end of it as I was driving home and thinking Oh, shit. I've screwed myself over for tomorrow. Then I shrugged and went on with my life. 

This is how far my concern extends: I got up at 1pm today (for the record, totally not intentional. My mother said she would get me up for church. Did that happen? Of course not. Did she assume I would get myself up eventually? Yes. Did my body decide not to wake up until it was bursting with sleep? Of course. So 1pm it was), frolicked around my house for a while (I honestly can't remember what I did. Oh...I ate popcorn. That's about it?), then made Christmas cookies with my siblings. And now it's 5pm and I'm kicking myself. But...

It's worth it. I spent last night with some of the most fantastic people in the world. I laughed my butt off and didn't stop smiling for hours. I have a bloody lip because a snowball fight was amazingly fun. I made cookies with my siblings because it's tradition and sometimes being with your family is more important than working on the not-yet-started MoPro part three or studying for a physics test. Especially considering the recent circumstances. Sometimes it's covering the dog in flour (sorry not sorry, Gabi!) and bickering over who made too many snowflakes and why there is flour on the dog and who left the cookies in there that long and wait they're not done put them back in and oh my gosh you have flour all over your face stop eating the cookie dough don't think I didn't see you Mom are these done yet when are we decorating the cookies wait make me one more letter oh and one more snowman and stop it we have enough stupid circles! Sometimes that's what makes life messy, fun, memorable, perfectly imperfect, meaningful. Sometimes it's sitting at your desk on a Sunday night, surrounded by dirty laundry and not-even-started homework, kicking yourself, that makes life memorable. Not because you're sitting in your room surrounded by homework and laundry, but why you're there. Because the flour fights, snowball fights, laughs, bloody lips, and dirty dogs are what you'll remember for the rest of your life, and the rest of it doesn't matter. Because family and fun and memories and living are more important than getting an A on that test or going to bed before 1am.

Propose it. Grow it. Reap it. Test it. Fail it. Repeat.

The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them. Ernest Hemingway

Narration

I'd always considered myself trustworthy, but it's safe to say I'm biased. I assumed trustworthy went with responsible, an idea attributed to me by my peers when nobody wanted to hold on to the class work for the next day. After all, if someone considers you responsible, they trust that you can manage to not lose that lab overnight. But it didn’t really hit me until that moment – the one where my phone vibrated, I grabbed it and found a hurt and angry text from my best friend – that trust doesn’t always mean being the responsible one. Sometimes it’s just about being the one they know they can go to. 

Description

They sit in silence, eyes meeting in the midnight darkness of the car. There’s something almost tangible between them, but it isn’t the usual lust of teenage sexuality. It’s something more, something subtle, yet important. He reaches across the console and comfortably places his hand on her knee, feeling the coarse fabric of her jeans under his fingertips. She intertwines their fingers, finding words unnecessary when being with him is this natural. It’s an understanding that brings peace, knowing that neither would try to hurt the other. He can see it in her eyes as she gazes out the window, smiling to herself.

Example

Trust fall: the age-old game where we determine that peers are indeed strong enough to catch our falling bodies, making them inevitably trustworthy. Does it actually function as a team-building game, inspiring future conversations of depth between classmates? Not last time I checked, but allowing yourself to hurdle to the ground at approximately 9.8 m/s does encourage the hope that your classmates care enough to pay attention. And hey, maybe preventing one another from cracking your skulls open on the cold concrete can build trust between people.

Comparison/Contrast

It’s one of those things you can’t see or feel. Unlike love, which is blatantly obvious – too much PDA in the hallway, the nasty really-we-can-separate-our-limbs-when-we-go-to-class approach to relationships – but can also be subtle – a slight touch on the back, they way they smile at each other as they leave – trust isn’t visible. Sure, you can play games where you torture one another into falling on someone else, but that doesn’t happen in everyday life. Trust is practically tangible, but it goes unnoticed; it’s the way people confide in one another, not in how they attack each other in the halls. Although it very well could be.

Process Analysis

Trust isn’t given from the start; humans are wary of one another – as they rightly should be – and trust must be earned. It often starts with a friendship, a scary circumstance, or a sentimental moment. From this point, one decides if the other is worth their time. If so, the individual proceeds with caution, testing the waters of trust as one trusts the cold lake in the summer. If the water proves warm enough, the individual proceeds, but if the water is too cold, the individual retreats to the safety of the beach. This process is repeated throughout the relationship.

Division of Analysis

Trust takes years to build up, but it can be torn down in seconds. Because of the fragile nature of this idea, one must look at the relationship between the trust-er and the trustee, the ways one has proved himself or herself worthy of trust, the content to which one is privy, and the amount of times the trust-er and trustee have had to re-initiate the trust between them.

Classification

When one thinks of trust, one often thinks of the trust required for life-altering secrets to be kept secret. If feeling spontaneous, one might take the playful approach and think of the dumb games required in classrooms to build the artificial hi-please-don’t-drop-me-okay-good-I-lived trust. Trust is deep, artificial, genuine, wary, and shallow, but it is always necessary in relationships.

Cause and Effect

Say there was no trust on the face of this earth. In short, all hell would break loose. It would be each man for himself, every individual believing that help from others was malevolent, designed to throw him/her off track for their own personal gain. Human relationships would go down the toilet (but watch out…perhaps the toilet has a plan of its own to take over the world). Humans would become wary, selfish beings, focused only on their own goals, blind to the needs of others.

Definition

Trust is what makes up our relationships. It is what defines us as human beings; friends are chosen based on trustworthiness, and information is shared based on who has what amount of trust. Trust can be the deep-seated secrets that are shared to unburden oneself, or it can be the casual “Don’t worry, you look great!” from a friend that keeps one together on a rough day. Almost tangible, it exists in our world without acknowledgement until it is gone. It takes years to form, but is fragile and can be broken within seconds.

Argumentative/Persuasive

We trust individuals for individual reasons. The best friend that always has your back, the sister that tells you your outfit is hideous, the teacher that encourages your learning in a positive manner – each person has a reason to be trusted that is different from another. While these are all prime examples, some argue that we cannot trust everyone. Why, sure you can! You can trust the spiteful girls to be catty, the intelligent students to have the right answers (most of the time), the babies to cry. We trust one another – for different reasons – without realizing it.

Epiphany at Eight

We're all taught from a very young age that if you have to be "sneaky," you probably shouldn't be doing whatever it is that is making you "sneaky." More specifically, sneaking around is bad. And so is stealing, for that matter. Stealing is a very bad offense. Stealing is one of those topics that is black and white. You either steal or you don't steal. You're either a bad person or a good person. But sometimes there's the grey in-between where everything gets blurry like my contacts as I write this. And sometimes it's these grey areas that make you question who you are as a person.

My mother has trained me to be a good child from the beginning of time. I left for the middle school bus at 7:38am every morning starting in fourth grade. What fourth grader wants to be up before the birds? No fourth graders that I know, but I sucked it up and rode the bus. That's the price I paid for an education at an arts school. 


It was on these cranky good-morning-just-kidding-I-hate-being-awake mornings that my mother instilled the belief into my brain and my book of morals that all people should be treated equal. I would flounce out of the house - as rough as those mornings were, they don't even begin to compare to high school, hence I had enough energy to flounce - and down the street with a kiss and a hug and an "I love you!" for my mother, a hasty "See ya!" for my siblings, and enough naïveté to believe that the world would end if I missed the bus. My mom would call after me as I trudged down the street five whole houses, "Be nice to everyone!" I always humored her, saying, "Yes, Mom. I will, Mom. Okay, Mom." It was one of those things where I just nodded, smiled, and waved, trying to avoid tripping over the wandering neighborhood cat.

Having this phrase ingrained in my head was convenient. I treated everyone with respect, including those I didn't like. Especially those who weren't nice to me; they got a special little smile, the kind where you know the person is just tolerating your behavior. But I was not discriminatory in the treatment of others.

I continued to be the rule-abiding, law-making overachiever that I was. Everything was black or white. Good or bad. Clean or dirty. My simple little ideas were not tried until the fatal trip to Sam's Club.

I had a best friend once upon a time. She was a wild child. Her sister was constantly in trouble with the school system, her oldest brother knocked up his girlfriend, her other brother was never around, and she was the baby. You could say she didn't really adhere to the rules that I worshipped. 

Regardless of our differences, I lived at her house. We spent hours together before dance doing homework, our hair, building forts, playing with our American Girl dolls, eating chocolate covered pretzels or ginger snaps, rearranging the toys in her living room. Her toys were my toys, her drama was my drama, and her mother was my mother. Where I was quiet, she was rambunctious, troublesome, dramatic, and busy. Where I was bent on rules, she was bent on breaking them. I didn't really see any of this to be a problem; after all, don't opposites attract? Out different personalities completed the friendship.

It was a fall day when we took the trip to Sam's Club. I never went there unless it was with her; her mom ran a daycare center out of their house and had to buy gallons of milk every week, whereas my family used up a gallon of milk in two weeks. We entered the store, grabbing the big carts and dumping them on our moms, deciding instead to run around and look at everything possible. 

We had been in the store for a little over an hour when she motioned me over to the candy aisle. Sitting there, on the shelf, was an open box of gum balls. They were just sitting there, bag ripped open, waiting for someone to pick them up and walk off with them. And just who would do that? My best friend of course. She urged me to take the gum balls, but I refused; in my black and white world, taking something that isn't yours - unless it is a sibling's, in which case all bets are off - is bad. Dirty. Not right. Mean. It could get you in trouble. Did this stop her? Of course not. Did it stop me? Of course it did. There was no way I was taking those gum balls, whether they were an accidental free-for-all or not. 

My best friend was not to be swayed. She looked at me like I was nuts, questioning again and again, "Why not? Nobody will know." There was no way my perfect, overly-moral and overly-conscientious brain could handle the idea of stealing, nevertheless in a huge store, in public, with cameras everywhere. I couldn't handle it. I ended up leaving the aisle, walking back to the safety of my mother's side. My mother knew something was up; after we left the store and were driving home, my mom flat-out asked, "Did she steal something?" I blushed, ashamed, and coughed out a meager "Yes." Now, ten years later, I still remember that incident. While it didn't determine our friendship, it was added to a list of problems with our relationship, which eventually ended. Catty dance mom talk turned into harsh feelings toward one another, which was in turn fueled by failed play dates and new friends. The grey matter was the area of questioning behind our friendship. Should we really be friends? Is this a good relationship for us? At age eight we - meaning our parents - were contemplating the importance of this friendship. Were there issues regarding ethics? It turned out to be black and white soon enough: yes ma'am. Staying true to my own beliefs kept me grounded, and I wasn't about to give all my beliefs up for one friend. It looks like the subtle reminders of my childhood - do your best, only say nice words - and the not-so subtle reminders of my mother hollering down the street, "Be nice to everyone!" were enough to secure my ideas of what was important to me in life, and especially in friendships.
 

Happy Holidays (ahh-oo-oo)

Please excuse the interpretive "ahh-oo-oo" portion of my title. As it turns out, the lyrics provided online do not add in the background singers. Sorry, background singers. We still appreciate you.

The delightful holiday season is upon us, but for me it hasn't clicked quite yet. The only way it has made sense thus far:

1. It's freakishly cold out. Yes, I am aware we live in Minnesota. Yes, I know it is December. No, I am still not used to be this cold.
2. I have an internal need for snow. There's this weird craving in my body - I know that sounds disgusting/creepy/anything but normal - and I really want snow. Last year we didn't have a white Christmas. You could say I was upset. 
3. I'm planning out what homework I can put off until break. Not a good choice, bad planning, procrastination is bad...believe me, I'm aware. I'm creating to-do lists for break, and so far all I've really put down is a) sleep, b) change the setup of this blog so it's more me, and c) clean my room. A promising list.
4. Most importantly, our Christmas tree (and lights!) are up. It's sitting in the kitchen - yay for not-finished house renovations - and I make sure it's on every single time I walk by. 

So I'm decently aware that it's the holiday season. Sure, we haven't made cookies yet, gone shopping for Christmas presents, or decided to listen to Christmas music 24/7, but that will happen.

But I'm not sure we'll remember how grateful we should be.

I love seeing the Red Kettle ringers standing out in the cold. Not because they're standing out in the cold - which, as has been pointed out, I do not enjoy - but because they're sacrificing their time for something. They're standing out in the bitter wind, fingers and toes freezing off, nose running, trying to hunker down in their coats for the sake of those who are less fortunate. And that is more than any of us can say we do for the less fortunate.

Around this time, everyone starts thinking about what they want for Christmas (or whatever religious holiday you celebrate this time of year). Whether it's an iPhone, iPad, new pair of boots, vacation to somewhere warm, or whatever I-knot-it's-expensive-but-hey-it's-Christmas item(s) you want, I can guarantee there are others out there that want a meal over the newest iPhone.

I'm not slamming Christmas lists in any way; I have a pair of headphones and a new phone on my list, therefore it would be hypocritical to say that Christmas lists are bad. After all, we're only human (Thank you Jon McLaughlin). But at the same time, I always feel satisfied during the holiday season. That's not 100% true - every single girl wants an attractive boyfriend to snuggle up with by the fire - but for the most part, I don't want anything. 

I love seeing the kindness people display this time of year. There are always those people who stop thinking of themselves and what they want for Christmas and find some way to help others. We all nod and smile, commending them for their good deeds and saying, "What a good person." But we never get up and do anything besides smiling and nodding and commending them for their good deeds. Why? Because. Nice answer, right? That's because I honestly don't have an answer. Maybe because we're only human; we're more concerned with ourselves and our own happiness. I mean heck, we live in Wayzata. The student cars in the parking lot are nicer than the teacher cars. Lots of people have iPhones. We spend tons of money on TVs for the hallways. We are not aware of the rest of the world. We could barely cough up money last week for the Student Council fundraiser, yet when we were offered ice cream sandwiches, students parted with their money. Why? Because there was something in it for us. There has to be something it it for us, and God forbid should we give up our free time to help those people, especially because we don't know them. There are certain individuals who do, but there's always room for more people to help out in the world. 

We are given a rhetorical situation. We are called to action by the poverty, hungry stomachs, and the homelessness around us, even though we don't see it. Yet more often than not, we don't help out. It's the holiday season; it's a time of happiness, family, smiling faces, hot chocolate, and an abundance of love. But it isn't that way for everyone. My challenge for myself, and the world, is that we all sacrifice something this holiday season - be it our time, money, or bonding with our friends - and make the world a better place for one person this season. One person. If you're feeling generous, make it two...or more :)

Happy holidays (ahh-oo-oo). Make it a happy holiday season for someone else - not just yourself :)