I confuse myself so much it confuses me. I guess that’s part of the deal of being young. Adults begin stories with “when I was your age”. They say “what I wouldn’t give to be your age again”. Minus the hormonal mood swings. Minus the pimples. Minus the confusion. The teenage years, the prime of one’s life. And already, I feel too old, weighted down with years. Sixteen years, and each one a heavier brick on my back. Sometimes, being a camp counselor, I feel as if I’m becoming a fifth grader again. And it makes me happy. I don’t want to be with my friends, people my own age. I want to be in the fifth grade again. This time, remember to enjoy it while it lasts, try not to grow up so quickly. Adults say “youth is wasted on the young”. It’s wasted on the fifth graders, it’s wasted on me.
Summer Days of Late
I find myself craving the Old Days. Bring me back those summer days of late. I looked back on notes we passed in class, old e-mails – “lets sneak in to superbad” … “GREY GOOSE. come over tonight”. I remember us tanning poolside after she kicked my ass in tennis. The country clubs, that extravagance. I remember mini golfing, wishing on each hole. Movies, and quarreling over who gets to sit in the middle. Subtly claiming the guys we found cutest. It didn’t really matter one way or another, because I never attempted to take the boys she chose and she never attempted to take mine – although it was inevitable that all boys gave her first preference. I was perfectly fine with being the rebound. Downright jolly. Those things were the extent of my worries. It never seemed so ironic back then that we’d mellow out with Jack Daniels and then watch the Suite Life of Zack and Cody or 10 Things I Hate About You. Were we too young? Legally, yes. Maturely, yes. Undeniably yes. Do I regret it? Not at all. My only regret is not seeing It coming. Not forseeing her traipsing off with the popular crowd, leaving me behind with my Jack Daniels while she moved on to bigger, better things.
Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places
We’re all fools looking for love in all the wrong places. I’m so, so tired of hearing those love songs on the radio moaning about that same old, cliche love that everyone seems to be after. I’m tired of romantic comedies and their witty, playful little love scenes that are so scripted, so far from anything remotely plausible. They think I’m a hopeless cynic because I don’t believe in the love that the mass media has fooled us into believing truly exists. Maybe. Maybe I’m a cynic. Maybe I’m a realist. Or maybe I’m and idealist. A true visionary, revolutionary dreamer. No, I’m not immune. Not inhuman. Not heartless. I believe in a different kind of love. A love that is less tangible, less palpable. The kind of love where there’s no prejudices. No self-righteous, selfish, terribly human humans. Not that lusty, dumb high school kind of “love” between those that brag about sex and how they’ll never get over that “certain one”. Not just between males and females. Just the whole world together exuding love, exuding exuberant, hopefully glimmering love, love, love.
Unkind Times
there was a woman aged about late 50s at marshalls, make-up a shade or two too dark. she’d used a cheap home dye to dye her hair a tacky red shade and she tied it up in a bin with a bow and two gaudy looking hair clips. sunglasses: jones new york. handbag: guess. and she looked as if she’d been through some unkind times.
the marshalls is right by the movie theater my mom and i used to go to when i was little. now, that movie theater is close to bankrupt. they bring pizza to your seat for an extra $2. figures. i remember when my mom and i went to see stuart little 2. we went at noon. sold out. so we went out for lunch. came back for the 3 o’ clock showing. sold out. so we went shopping. came back for the 5 o’ clock showing. i thought it was the greatest movie i’d ever seen. but back then, i thought every movie i saw was the greatest movie i’d ever seen. i thought it was just another happy day in my elementary school life. didn’t value it more than i valued any other day in my life. stuart little 2 was on FX or TBS or something like that about a month ago. i fell asleep watching it.
Screaming at the Top of My Lungs
Sometimes, I just want to scream at the top of my lungs. Not in an angry way, not in frustration. Just to make sure I’m alive and physically living life. But, with all the other people in the world, you don’t get those kind of screaming opportunities.
I saw a sublime tribute band in concert last night with Lizzie. I told her, “Let’s just listen to some good music for once. I don’t want any hookups. I just want to listen to some good music”. Lizzie said, “See, that’s the kind of attitude that will get you hookups”. Completely contradicting the whole purpose. The music, though was amazing. I just wanted to close my eyes, breathe in the vibrations of the drums, the sound of the guitar changing chords, sway with the breeze of the lyrics. The crowd was feeling it, the good humor was infectious. I laughed with people I’ve never seen in my life, smiled at people who I have no intention of ever seeing again, made conversation with people who’s names I’ve forgotten or never knew in the first place. I threw my hands in the air, screamed at the top of my lungs. And it wasn’t till this morning that I realized I’d been screaming so loud. Because everyone with me last night had been screaming too.
A Naive, Ungrateful Little Brat
“I had this really bad feeling since the beginning of last year that my entire life would turn to shit near the middle of this year. And I’m afraid that that’s what has been happening. My life is slowly being ruined,” said Lizzie.
Let me first point out that this is a Typical Lizzie Statement. Lizzie’s life is by no means shit. Furthermore, if all goes the way it’s been going, Lizzie’s life will never be shit. She lives in a suburban, gated community with a nice little white picket fence. Her parents love her and are utterly devoted to doing anything for her. Not only do Lizzie’s parents love her, they love each other. Her mother works from home and picks her up right after school is finished every day. They eat dinner together every day. And every day, her father goes to sleep at 7:30 PM so that he can wake up at 5AM and go for a 5 mile jog. They are all very happy, healthy, and comfortable.
Her sole problem is that Nash, the “love of her life”, has a girlfriend.
“Has anything even changed for you this year?” I snapped “Besides the fact that Nash now has a girlfriend, I mean”
“No,” said Lizzie, “that was enough to ruin my life.”
That was enough to ruin her life. Enough to ruin her natural life. I just want to shake some sense into Lizzie. Take her by the shoulders and vigorously shake her until she realizes what a naive, ungrateful little brat she is. I would never wish anything bad on her, but I wish that she could at least know what it’s like to have a less than perfect life. A life where a guy not loving you isn’t the worst of your problems.
Wasting Time
I like to waste time in bed, cuddled in the covers watching movies on my laptop. It works best late at night when I can hear the sound of ran pit-pit-pattering on my window, knowing it’ll be sunny tomorrow cause it rained at night. I like wasting time imagining scenarios. I imagine scenario after scenario after scenario. There are too many scenarios to imagine, not enough time. Eight o’clock PM will always be the best time to watch TV. And Disney Channel will always be the best channel to watch at eight o’clock PM. When I eat dinner at seven, though, that 70s Show is always on ABC Family. The best part of playing the guitar is the smell of my fingers afterwards and the feeling of getting new mail is kind of indescribable. I love it when people throw fun facts into conversation and I love it when people get their phrases wrong. It’s a good day when I can go to chick fil a after tennis practice. I forgot where I was going with this. Guess I was just wasting time.
today
now i don’t mean to sound so cliche
but someday – someday, someday
i’ll find that secret place, that secret place
where everything is – new
the places we go, the people we see
everything’s moving – except me
let’s hop in the car, drive somewhere far
smoke – some weed
CHORUS
when’re we all, when’re we all
gonna stop worrying
about being the rich shits
our parents taught us to someday,
someday become.
don’t wanna be cool, wanna break some rules
want people to tell me that – i’m weird
now i don’t mean to seem so fucking – fucking
cliche, but
everyone’s worried about someday someday
and all i wanna do is live – today
when you least expect it
Leaving church kind of feels like leaving school on the last day before summer. Everyone books it down the stairs and compared to the hush of the church everyone’s upbeat, less … solemn. Leaving church today I saw two guys probably around my age. One was telling the other, “Man, you’ll get screwed when you least expect it. It always happens that way”. My mom, being the religious fanatic she is, gasped saying, “Right on the church steps, I hear cursing. Has everyone lost all respect? Or is ‘screwed’ just a word thrown around in casual conversation now?” I laughed it off, then. But it seems to me the advice of the guys on the church steps was worthier even than the sermon. When you least expect it, you’re screwed. Damn straight.
Excuse Me
Walking through the mall, I saw this cute guy and kind of checked him out. He was with two girls who were looking at some fingerless gloves. I heard him say, “Those are really neat”. I turned away and looked at some scarves. A couple minutes later, I heard someone say, “Excuse me,” in a very rude, disgusted way. When I looked up to so what jerk could possibly be hassling me it turned out to be the cute guy. Just my luck, not only did he appear to be an asshole of impressive proportions, his tone of voice also implied that he must be gay. I kept my head down and kept walking. When the moment had already passed me, it struck me that I should’ve said something snappy and assertive. I let myself get taken advantage of far too easily.
What makes me feel so useless is the fact that all my girl friends have “men” in their lives. Ugh, I can’t even imagine having a boy. I like to keep my options open. I like to think that when someone gets too close, I push myself away. The thing is, I never really even let anyone get within a five mile radius (figuratively of course). People think I get guys — but i don’t really all that much. It’s all part of the image I’ve created for myself. Besides it’s not even guys that really upset me. I’d take a wild party and alcohol over guys any day … actually that could be what upsets me. The fact that I care so little about something that’s so important to everyone else.
Well if you use the term very loosely, I do have a guy. Although he’s not very cute, he makes me grin like an idiot. And that’s something close to no one is capable of given the dire state of recently been in. He’s smart and interesting and even though we disagree about most things, I appreciate the fact that he can at least make a claim. He’s kind of a dork and he’s always really sweet to his mother. That’s a good sign, right?
