Winning.

Next door, there are college boys.
These college boys are quite funny. These silly college boys like to party.
I want to party. They are kind of lame though. And one of them has large shoulders, and long hair and looks like some kind of weird giant cowboy hippy man.

I would really like to take everything my mother says and publish it. Perhaps a future blog will be all mother quotes. Mhm. Here's a few:

• "Mom, can I have some of your Dorito's?" "Why you got the munchies? You smoking dope?"
• "Mom, can I stay after for chorus?" " Sure, You're not gonna smoke dope are you?" " Mrs. Redmond wouldn't let us smoke, Mom. "" You'd be surprised. It's pretty fun."
• " Mom, where are the keys?" [In a delirious half-asleep voice.] "in the key bag," " Where?" " On the key stick" "Where?" " In a big ball of Jell-o made out of green fairies"

Winning.

The Post I'm Sure Will Make Someone Mad at me for Something.

I have been doing this whole Moulin Rouge esc jealousy thing. It's totally unintentional. Everyone else has a life... and what do you know, I want one. Certain people get every guy she wants, what do you know, I'm ridiculously clichely teenag-ish and jealous.

Regardless of whether you believe me, I kind of had it going on at my old school. Now though, everything feels like it's another step down in my constant downward spiral.

I keep coming up with new, more creative ways of being super pessimistic. Like for instance, most people are like, " Darn it. My hair is messed up." My head likes to do this. " Damn it all to hell. My stupid hair is messed up. Not that it matters, I'm obviously unattractive anyway. And even if I was, apparently I'm a super annoying bitchy psychopath. So, Ya. I'll just mess it up more... There."

Don't bother disagreeing with me. Whether or not those specific comments are true is beside the point. I know I am a little bit of eveything I seem to find myself thinking. I don't hate myself. Don't say I do. I just get frustrated with my lack of understanding. My lack of normality. My lack of I don't know... Preppiness. Now before you get all pissy about my label remember that I didn't say anything negative about anyone. Chill. It's not that I want to be different. I just wish I was the best at something. Everyone has their trademark thing. All of them. Kenzy is beautiful, and silly. Rachel is talented and smart, and witty. Bridget. Need I say her voice?
Kaycey is the most amazing friend. And everyone is a little of everything.


And here I am. So far I'm either the Crazy one. Or the comforting one. Great. Thanks. That's going to get me so far in life. Maybe I can be like Charlie Sheen. I can just run around saying random witty controversial crap and get rich because everyone finds me entertaining. Yay.

I don't even know.

<3 My head hurts. My throat hurts. Damn it, Kenzy! Way to kiss me with your plague.
<3 New line. I'm gonna' be happy on this line. Do you like my weird hearts? Aren't they Kenzy-ish?
<3 I should stop talking about Kenzy so much...
<3 Sorry for the randomness I'm out of whack this week?....month?.... Year. There we go


<3 I'm just going to start a new post once I have my thoughts organized. Thanks. Bye then.

Headache-based Hate.

1. I hate headaches. I hate stomachaches. I hate physical pain. I hate emotional pain more.
2. I hate that the plural form of platypus isn't platypusses. I hate fixing grammatical errors. I hate exerting effort when it doesn't really change anything.
3. I hate that I hate so much. I hate that headaches affect my thinking ability. I hate that I have a headache.
4. I hate that headaches hurt in more than one area of your head at once. I hate that my jaw hurts.
5. I hate that people apologize when your head hurts. I hate that you feel obligated to say, " not your fault." I hate when people say that to me, OBVIOUSLY!

Top 10 Moments of cynicalness in no particular order.

1.)I hate teenagers. I hate being a teenager. I hate people. I hate being a person. (I wish I was monkey. I wish lived on an island somewhere. )
2.) I hate that cynicalness isn't a word. I hate that I don't care.
3.) I hate yelling. I hate the headache that follows. I hate that I only yell at myself. I hate that I'm so angry. I hate that I don't talk about it. I hate that I don't want to.
4.) I hate that it's all in my head. I hate that I'm considered an idealist. I hate that I'm practical where it doesn't count. I hate when he is practical to a fault. I hate close-minded-ness.
5.) I hate that I have so many amazing, beautiful, talented, NEEDY, friends. I hate that I'm not needy, even when I should be. I hate that the least emotional person I know told me not to bottle up my feelings. I hate that I'm a hypocrite.
6.) I hate that I don't understand the concept of beauty within. I hate that I'm not zen. I hate that you can't be part of every religion. I hate fear-based faith. I hate that I don't hate religion.
7.) I hate that you are finding this entertaining. I hate that this is what my emotions add up to. I hate that I'm interesting, for all the wrong reasons.
8.) I hate that this probably makes you feel bad for me. I hate that I don't feel bad for myself. I hate that you think I need help, or comfort. I hate that I don't want it.
9.) I hate that I only have illogical fears. I hate that I don't fear scary things. I hate that I'm scared of the dark, and the light.
10.) I hate that you cared enough to read this, and I've only left you more confused and afraid.

Attitude Adjustment

My attitude sucks. It kind of always has, but right now... my attitude really really just sucks. It's not that I am angry at anyone, or anything specifically. No one did me wrong. I am just so tightly wound in my own pathetic struggling that it makes me disgusted with myself. Everytime I rediscover my insufficiencies it makes me even more frustrated and confused. It's like my mind is a constantly-spinning rollercoaster at a cheap amusement park. Everything is a blur. My well-meaning friends pressured me to get on this ride with promises of fun and memories. They had no idea. Everytime I gain some form of recognition, or understanding of my surroundings I realize the situation which thrusts me back into mass hysteria. So lately my cure has been numbness- trying hard not to notice anyone or anything.

P.S.

I may be good at some things, but I'm not amazing at anything. I'm like Bella Swan, except I don't attract hot immortal boys. In fact, I don't even attract semi-hot mortal boys.

At least I tried.

I was certain I had lost it. I sat on my bed, playing the guitar my father found in a dumpster 9 years ago. I was hoping he wouldn't come up to my room and take it so he could bother the rest of my family by disrupting their television experience.( and me by making my feeble attempt at playing his mangled guitar look even worse with his mastery of it's deformed features.) I looked up at the ceiling for a moment and listened to the rodents scurrying in the crawl spaces of my 200 year-old house. I had been spending an insurmountable amount of mental energy thinking about all the ways I liked him, and all the ways he didn't like me. That's when I thought I was over it. I thought, I can do this. I can move on. Then I got a text message. My heart beat like a drum, a drum I was sure would break at any moment. My skin was suddenly covered with a layer of cool shivery anticipation. My stomach was contorting and twisting as if I was pregnant with the tallest roller coaster at Disney World. Then I thought, Oh God. (or whomever) What the hell? I'm going to be sick. Not sick. Dead. Not dead worse,  -notice, I'm about to be extremely cliche'-  I think they call this falling, like in love. I walked across the creaky floor into the blinding artificial light of the flashing florescent bulbs against the dirty tiled wall in my half furnished bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror... What the hell are you doing?! Stupid, Stupid, girl! You're above this! at least you were. Oh god. You're becoming that cliche' nightmare in your head. That falling teenage girl. But you'll never have that perfect little ray of sunshine love affair. So move right along, and pretend you don't care. I tried. I tried so very very hard. It gave me a headache, the tension did. The opposite forces were have a legitimate tangible battle in my head. It was as if I could hear the gunshots (or maybe that was just my ears ringing) and feel them hitting the side of my head ( or that could have been the headache). I tried deep breaths. I tried splashing cool water on my feverish skin. I stared at my self in the mirror, Just stop it, Jewlz. Turn around and stop the madness. You always could before. DO IT AGAIN. DON'T ASK QUESTIONS. 


It Didn't Work.

Useless Wishing

     I just ate crunchy peanut butter with a spoon. I am listening to Panic! at the Disco. My best friend is asleep next to me. I am content with life at this moment. I am not cynical about the stereotypical teenage scene. I wish I could cut out this moment, and put it in some kind of scrapbook. I wish I could take all these feelings of contentment, and bliss, and attach them to this picture with a paper clip. Then, when I'm middle-aged and even more cynical, I can look back through this scrapbook of my youth, flip to this page, and remember this moment. Then, I can take a deep breath, and softly mumble, "Ah. To be young."
     I wish I could delete images too. I could erase them from my scrapbook like answers on a quiz. I would erase all the wasted childhood moments wishing I was an adult. Then, when I look back and wish to be young, I won't feel too hypocritical.

I've noticed that....I was going to write.
I really was.
But now I'm just going to do this...
__8+++___________________________
__88+++_________________________
__88+++_______________________ ++
__88+++______________________8 ++
__88+++_____________________88 ++
__88+++____________________88+ +
__88+++___888+++_________888++
__88+++__888++++88++___888+++
__888+++888++++88++++_888+++
__888++888++++888++++888+++
__888+888++++888++++888+++
__888888++++++++++++++++++
___8888888+++++++++++++++++
____8888888++++++++++++++++
_____8888888+++++++++++++++
______8888888+++++++++++++8
_______8888888+++++++++++88
________8888888+++++++++888
_________8888888+++++++888
_______<###################>
_______<###O##O####O##O####>
_______<###################>
_______<###O##O####O##O####>
_______<###################>
_______<###O##O####O##O####>
_______<###################>
_________888888++++++++++
_________888888++++++++++
_________888888++++++++++
_________888888++++++++++
_________888888++++++++++
_________888888++++++++++
_________888888++++++++++
_________888888++++++++++
_________888888++++++++++
_________888888++++++++++
_________888888++++++++++
_________8888888888888888

Him.

I'm actually blogging a third time today. It's sort of addictive. I love moulin rouge. Anyway, I'm pretty sure he likes my best friend. We both like him, you know. And she has no problem telling me all about his probable romantic feelings. This is the first time I have ever witnessed unintentional torture on this level. Given my luck, he will probably fall head over heels for her. They will walk around school holding hands and kissing, and I will tell her how happy I am for her. I'll swear that I don't like him that much. To myself and to her. Then, when they break up, (because they will, and probably quickly- we are teenagers after all) she will be heart broken, and I will still be obligated to deny my feelings for him. YUP. It basically sucks. So, I'm just going to try with everything I have to get him to like me better first. That is the only right way to do this. God,(or whomever it is up there) I hope it works.

Hot Air Balloon

I don't want to remember him, I would love it if he disappeared. Not from the world, but from my head. Okay, not from my head but from the part of my head that likes him. Then I could still love him. His smiles could still bring me joy, insurmountable joy that I have no right to feel. However, I would be in control. I wouldn't be vulnerable. I wouldn't be frustated. And more than anything, I wouldn't be using ridiculous words like love to describe some one I hardly know. This isn't going to happen though. So, instead I will read his one word texts, and be content with the fact that I got a response. He will be my every thought. I won't think about fixing things, fixing myself, helping people, because I will to busy loving someone for no reason. I feel like a hot air balloon. With no balloon. I have all the energy and all the capability to love him. But we won't ever get off the ground unless he cetches my energy, wraps himself around it, and cherishes it. And god knows, that's just way to much to ask.

Happy PLace

Grr. I'm writing on sheer frustration. Why did I allow myself to be sucked into such a pointless and exhausting situation? I don't feel like myself. I feel like some kind of cliche' teenage shell. Haha. But it's okay. This is a much less formal post then most of my others. Hmmn. I think that maybe I'm not frustated anymore. This is why everyone should write more. You know how people just go to their happy place when they are upset?  I was always too indecisive, and too stressed to choose one. So the written word became my theoratical happy place. If I surround myself with constant stimulation at all times, and I am always writing, drawing, or singing my thoughts, then their is nothing but hot air and energy left in my head. It works quite nicely. Wow. I just totally rambled. And I don't care. I'm sick of being intelligent.

Waste of Time pt. 2

Now, after I have made a futile attempt at loving someone I hardly know with out their knowledge, I will come face to face with another truth. That I like to make rules. I make rules about wasting your life on " love," and on other people. I push my own anto-trust agenda on the people I love in an effort to save them from themselves. I give advice based on the knowledge that young relationships are - in most cases - a waste of time. However, in my romantic relationships these rules no longer apply. I am able to push away every girl that does me wrong, every backstabber. I can gladly kick them to the curb. However, when it comes to romance, I don't ever move on. I believe in, and on occasion trust in, people for no reason other than that I am fascinated by them. I somehow associate love with infatuation, and interesting with trustworthy. This doen't mean that my advice isn't valid. It just means that I view myself as above these rules. They do not apply to me because I see myself as better, wiser and deeper than these regulations. That's not exactly fair. I could say that I am apologetic for being such a hypocrite, but I would know that I'm genuinely not. Besides, It is only to my detriment. So there for, I disobey myself and punish myself in the same action.

Mirror Dance

               Did you ever notice that relationships, in every form, kind of revolve around a mirror dance? A charade of forced I love you's? When one says I love you too their friend, or boyfriend/girlfriend the other party is expected to immediately respond with some form of the same statement. It doesn't nessecarily mean that they love you, just that they like you enough to not want to hurt your feelings by not responding. It kind of takes away the whole meaning of " I love you."
              Remember when you were a little kid, and your parents told you not to say hate, because it is a strong powerful word and it really hurts people? I propose that I love is just as strong a word and has equal or greater power to hurt people. For, when the time comes, when everyone moves on, and the mirror dance ends, someone will stand there realizing that is all it was, a charade. And all the things that they had believed about forever, and happily ever after were not said, only assumed. Of course, they assumed wrong.