"you have chubby cheeks."

"What do ya got in thur? Walnuts?"
"Ohhhhhh!" cries a junkie. He's right. It was an offense. A great a offense. Strong enough to make me cry.
In fact, I distinctly remember fighting off the urge to cry.
Robert doesn't understand how bad his countrified accented words hit me. He, Bill and Terrance all brought me to the point of tears while they weren't looking. All because of a god damn Kit-Kat bar.
So, I didn't wanna share. What was the problem?
"Huy! I been nice to ya. Why wont you gimme a piece? I haven't called ya Chubby Cheeks in a while."
Bill snickers. Fuck him.
"That's true. But I don't wanna share."
And so he proceeds to insult me. Bill and Terrance kick in.
I sit there and do the same thing that I always do. "I hate you!" I say and bury my face in my arms only look up every once in a while, laughing a little. I'm trying to play along with their jokes like it's nothing. After all, that's what they've done all year. Just teased me.
And I've teased back. A little. Not too much, really. At least I don't think so.
It's just that I seem to talk to these boys easily when they're not being assholes. But when they turn on me and begin to tease...I never know what to do. I don't dare tease them any more. These guys are used to being around rough girls with backbones who will swing their insults away.
I have no backbone. I have no smart ass comments. Not for them anyway. They'd easily swing down anything I say and throw even worse stuff at me.
I'm not used to that. I hate to say that I'm really fucking sensitive...but I am. I really am. Especially about my face and my cheeks.
Yeah, I have big dimples and chubby cheeks, thanks for noticing. Why do you have to be such a dumb ass mother fucking asshole about it?
It hurts. It hurts a lot for someone to point out what you consider one of your WORST imperfections. Especially for someone barely transitioning from UBER SHY INSECURE teen to almost normal.
God, it hurts to be ridiculed and mocked. And feeling so pathetically defenseless when it happens. I think that hurts even worse.

i iz da aim stalkah. beware!

-ENTER AIM USER NAME HERE- has blocked you. She will not receive your message.
For a moment, I'm appalled. Why would Mady block me? Of course, I wouldn't exactly blame her because I am an obsessive AIMer who probably sends her 20 bajillion [its a word cause i said it is!] messages in two hours:

Myusernamehere: hey.
Myusernamehere: sup?
Myusernamehere: are you there or
on invisible?
Myusernamehere: gah. you talk to me more on facebook than on
here.
Myusernamehere: lol.
[5 minutes later]
Myusernamehere: mmmmmmmaaadddddyyyyyyyyyyy?
Myusernamehere: where you at? stop obsessing over
the freakin jonas brothers and talk to me!
Myusernamehere: D:
[35 minutes later]
Myusernamehere: hullo?
Myusernamehere:
imboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredimboredandijusttypedallthatwithoutlookingatthekeyboardorusingspaces
Myusernamehere: must i resort to talking to myself again?
Myusernamehere: gosh, you are always saying how you don't have a life, why won't you answerrrr?
[3 hours later]
Myusernamehere: OK, so you talk to me more on facebook than on here,
because? oh yes. i always want lengthy conversations about possible meaningful
stuff, but can't really have these kinds of convos with you when the
meaningfulness varies between your definition and mine. sigh. when will i learn to accept that our convos will always be "hey!" "hi!" "sup" "nm u?" "same." "ah. OK." "yep."

And that's when I got that message that might as well have said this:
She's blocked you. Go away.
And THEN, when I take a second look at her screen name in disbelief, I realize that the letters in the screen name are right---but the capitalization aren't.
Shit. I have been spamming a poor innocent stranger with all my crazy typing... Dammit!

In the end I just send the last message to Mady before exiting out of the AIM box in shame.

Oh, please, don't judge me too harshly.
Here's the thing: I need someone to talk to. Naturally I pick Mady because she's the closest friend I have. My best friend. UNFORTUNATELY, we're polar opposites. The most polar of the most. fucking. opposites. that you can get. So, when I try to converse with her and try to share problems I'm going through... they just seem to fly over her head. As well as her problems with me. The frustration level is extremely high and we tend to bud heads a lot. So why do I keep bugging her on aim?
Because.
Even though I seldom tell her what really bothers me, she's still my closest friend. And sometimes the company-----or even the feeling of company makes me feel better when I'm a little wired up.
This is why I don't care when she dismisses my attempts to get into a conversation about teenage girl problems. I mean, at least I have someone to ALLMMMOSSSTTT converse deeply with.
Sadly, that's good enough for me right now.
.
.
.
.
.
.
AND that's why I have this blog thing. To write about other internal conflict. And also why I love you. :]

dear shower,

Oh Shower, you and I go way back. I remember when I was seven and had my first real encounter with you. I felt like a big girl leaving behind the baths and replacing them with showers. I was so happy.
But it seems like we haven't spoken in a while. It seems like we need to get together sometime soon. I'm dreadfully sorry for going three days without even glancing at you. I know, I know. I make you sick. But that's the thing. I'm sick as well. Unable to breathe through my nose, sneazing up a storm every five minutes and trying not to hurt my throat anymore than it already is. And seeing as we've been out of school, well....I just haven't found the strength to get out of bed long enough to spend time with you.
But now I'm feeling better, I promise.
I need to see you soon. I need you to help me forget the annoying situation at hand. I want your warm waters to sooth the stress of going to prom with someone I really, really, really don't want to go to prom with. Even if we are just friends. No matter how much we have in common, I don't want to go to prom with J because I feel like I'd be going with my brother.
Thanks Bonnie. Thanks.
And then there's another problem we need to sort out Shower. My friend Georgia and her feeling of depression and leading on Phil and making me feel horrible for backing her up and still trying to spare Phil's feelings. We never should have decided to give him that note so quickly. She lots interest in a snap simply because there was no chase, passion or romance to actually getting Phil. He was just there. He already liked her and was just...there. Poor Phil.
And then Jesi and her loser boyfriend. Don't really understand why she's not dating her best guy friend. So he lives four hours away....Sooo? It'd be cute.
Shower, I need you now so badly. I need you to massage my muscles that are strained by the weight of the lives I'm not living.
God, I need a life of my own.
Love, Me.

sit down. shut up. read. it's time for a history lesson.

Yesterday: Bonnie's house after her birthday dinner.
Out of the corner of my eye I see Bonnie all over Henry. Right next to me on the couch. RIGHT. NEXT. TO. ME. Or at least, I think I do.
It's pretty much safe to say that I'm freaked out because I never would have imagined such a thing; he's practically her slightly younger brother. So I turn to take a proper look.
They're not doing anything like I thought they were.
In reality, Bonnie is trying to force his arm around me and he's giving her a good fight for control of his own arm.
"What the fuck?" I laugh semi-nervously. I laugh because I'm hoping Bonnie won't try to hook me up with Henry like she's done with Carly and Nicole. Nicole, luckily, dodged that bullet at the last minute.
I kind of feel sorry for Henry, seeing as Bonnie has put it up to herself to find him girlfriends, but I feel even more sorry for me.
I love hanging out with these guys. I have a tiny story with almost everyone in the room. Most of the guys are up playing Wii, and I'm sitting back, relaxed on the couch wondering why it took me so long to realize what being a teenager is really like.
With Henry, well... He stood up for me [out of pity, I'm sure] when Tony made fun of me on my birthday. He was really nice and made Tony call me afterwards and apologize. How sweet.
Tony---was an ass at first. But he turned out to be the sweetest, seemingly-ten-but-really-fourteen-year-old kid that I know. Despite making me almost cry on my birthday, I have decided that I like him. I'm weird like that. I sit next to him sharing time with Bonnie's new puppy. Both of us want to take him home with us.
Tony's older brother Mike is such a player. He's the one I'm most wary of. He will hit on anything with a two legs and vagina. Not kidding. And to this, there is no exception. On my birthday I seemed to be his main target. The new girl. Yaaaayyy. Uh, no. He's the one I hear most stories about, like hitting on a twelve-year-old and trying to get a ten-year-old's number. He just seems really....horny. With anger issues. He tries several times to get my attention. To at least look at him. Mostly because his locker is next to mine and all year I have avoided him like the plague. Yeah, that's right. I haven't said one word to him all year.
Then we have Eddie. A graduate of Player Academy. He's new. He's barely started----but making good progress. Eddie went to the Model UN conference with me and Bonnie. Although he wasn't in our group, we did kind of dance with him at the dance. Well. Bonnie did.
Strange thing about dancing. Whenever I see a guy alone on the dance floor, I instantly feel sorry for him. Ideally I'd go an dance with them but seeing as I lack major security in that area, I usually pull one of my girls and push them to him. So. I pushed Bonnie to Eddie. Now, he turns around making the weirdest face every times he wins on Wii because he knows it cracks the shit out of me.
Then...let's see. I scan over the room and see Olly. Olly is actually Hispanic, but appears Filipino. He's also Bonnie's boyfriend. He's super nice...when he wants to be. The friendliest of the bunch, I have to say. But Bonnie spends a lot of time yelling at him. He's whipped. Right now, he's wrestling Mike and I know I'm not the only one uncomfortable watching this.
And then the only black guy and possibly my best friend in the room: J. He's hyper, funny, strange...and a black skate border. I love him. Just, you know, not in that way.
Scan, scan, scan. I'm forgetting someone, I know...
Oh yes. Three girls I've never talked to.
In truth, I'm perfectly relaxed here. The only thing I really worry about---the only thing I EVER worry about is the questions....There's a point when the energy drinks wear off and everyone can't wrestle, or compete on Wii and everyone just crashes on the couches....That's when the conversations start. And the questions.
My most dreaded reaction is a conversation that will eventually lead to this being thrown at my face:
"You've never had a boyfriend? Or made out? Or ANYTHING?"
Nope. I look like I have, right? I also convinced people I was a pot head without meaning to, when in reality I'm a good girl.
Thankfully I make an excuse to leave when the first signs of dying energy appear. I'm disappointed that I left at nine, but also pretty content with how my night was. It was...tight.

i hate to like them.

Let's start off with what's fact:
I have an obsession with everything Disney, but have recently found myself stalking people stalking Disneyland characters, video taping the stalks and posting them on Youtube. Mhm.
And all the while I can't help thinking of how much I hate and detest the girls who do it.
They walk around all buddy-buddy with the characters playing along, laughing, making jokes...
How I'd like to ring their little heads off.
And yet...
DAMMIT, I like them. I mean as people, they seem like just the right amount of dork mixed with sanity for me to be awesome friends with them. 'They' [I quote because as of now I'm not sure how many there are...so far I can confirm only two.] visit Disneyland EVERY Sunday and stalk my favorite characters.
Especially Peter Pan.
Epic Peter Pan.
A specific guy plays him that catches the attention of many, many girls. And I'm one of them. I practically SWOON every time I see him in a video.
Creepy, right? Wait. There's more.
So out of pure determination to find a reason to hate these girls I search their deviant pages, livejournal, wordpress, whatnot...
They're me.
I can't hate them for their art. They're damn good. I can't hate them for their ability to visit the park every week. I live on the other side of the country, they live fifty miles from the park. I can't hate them for liking the same things I like or for playing along with the characters that I wish to meet or anything.
Because if I did, that would mean admitting that I have no life except cyber-stalking these girls I seriously want to be.
Even if it might be true.





UBERFREAKINSIGH.
This post will most likely be deleted. But I felt like ranting. So there you go.

why you should follow me.

I'm not just any blogger.
I'm THE blogger.
You know, the one that can't make up her mind about what race she looks like.
The neurotic teenager who gives dating advice to unsuspecting [or possibly too nice to mention] friends when she's never had a boyfriend.
The one who recently signed up for Youtube in attempt to find a new way to vent strange thoughts, but all too quickly realized it would take more time that she cared to share.
The art chick in that one documentary about the average American teen.
The one that writes stories, draws, paints, colors, sculpts and likes to pretend she's bad ass because she has an opinion when in reality she's really just a shy, chicken-shit introvert that spends way too much time watching and quoting Communitychannel.
Unique in her own way because she lives in such a small redneck town where she's starting to realize that she's not white and the reason everyone stares at her when she walks in is because they're all wondering if she can speak English.
Yeah. That's right. I'm THAT blogger.
The one you just realized has serious problems and are probably going to stay away from.
God, I suck.
And to my current six followers, if you're still following me that is, thank you!
:]

i'm gonna sound like a conceited bitch for a second...

I have always been afraid of a specific thought that I've always, always, always had. I've been afraid that if I said anything or even thought about it, it would never happen, for it is so fragile and delicate for me that I'm afraid I will jinx my luck and I will die without fulfilling this one great and over-powering desire of mine. Like the title says, I'm about to sound like a very conceited bitch for a second with my following statement:
I am going to be famous and adored some day.
And it's going to be for one of these reasons:

My writing,
My art,
My videos,
My acting,
or my massive movement
that brought tons of people together for a day of peace and faith in humanity
that no one will forget.

I know that these could be easily misinterpreted as things I wish I would be famous for one day. And they might as well be. But I can not deny myself the truth---- I wish to inspire many, many people. Of course it will be a long time before I can 'stumble' upon a huge JK Rowling effect and will have to settle with trying to motivate and inspire just one person at a time.
Now, I wonder.... I wonder if it's true. JK Rowling, Jamie Tworkowski, The Beatles, Stephanie Meyer and other people like Miley Cyrus, or the Jonas brother (just to name a few examples) etc., all have said that they never expected the fame that they have received.
I don't expect it. But I do wish for it.
My main focus has been writing, though. Ever since the third grade I remember writing. And I did it for the same reason that I began to draw---it made me popular.
Perhaps that's why I want to write. Looking for completion, looking for insight. Yes, yes I know I'm only 17 and I have much more to go before I can really see the big picture of life, but...
I like to think of myself as special. Different. Destined to be something great in society. Maybe I think this just to get myself through each day and the fakeness I endure. The circus that is life in high school.
I love the laughing. I love the picture taking. I love the partying, the texting, the social networks and the dating factor...but I search for something so deep and strange that I'm almost completely certain that I'm going to be great.
I mean, I just feel so lonely, like such an oddball----I must be like this for a reason. Well, the way my mind works anyway. On the outside I'm putting up a front like everyone else. Just trying to get by.
What will be of my life when I graduate? Ideally I'd be off to art school somewhere out of state. Fall in love. Be inspired. Write/draw. Become the next JK Rowling in the matter of success and maybe not so much in the way that she is amazing...
But I know, I can feel it.
It's... it's the yearning that I feel. It will not promise me an answer to this question, a filler to this hole, a line for the t, a dot for the i.... but my yearning will keep me going. And for now, that's all I need.