So...

How do you know if your in love?

Random story idea...

Preface:

I never understood why stories from the point of view of kids, are written by adults. Adults don’t understand what kids go through. Sure, they can assume things based on what their children, nieces or nephews tell them but we kids don’t tell jack squat to adults. Unless you’re lucky and you have a great relationship with whoever you’re adult “outlet” is. Notice I didn’t say parent.

I’m sorry; I think I forgot to explain my theory. You must be so confused. I think that every kid has, what I call, an adult outlet. It doesn’t really matter who it is, it could be your grandma or your older sister. As long as it’s someone older then that you turn to when things get tough. And sometimes your adult outlet isn’t even a person you turn to, but rather, a guardian that you look up to; or is merely your friend. For a while, I was convinced my adult outlet was my ol’ dog Beans. Even when my parent where around, it’s not like we were close. Unlike Mr. Bean who was always there for me.

Like me, some kids have really bad relationships with their parents. Or they don’t have parents. There’s some good to having your adult outlet not being your parent. That way, your outlet can’t hold things agents you like a parent would. No grounding or extra chores for telling them about that secret relationship you’re in, or confessing to breaking mom’s favorite china bowl. But there’s also a downside. You won’t see your outlet as often. You won’t be able to let off steam, or get advice every step of the way. This downside, is the part I hate the most.

I wish I could say I miss my parents, but you can’t really miss something you never had.
I remember it was never like my parents were ever really there. It was as if, on the surface, they were by my side, raising me, but inside, their minds were in complete different places. I always assumed this was due to how old they were. When mom had me, she and dad were both in high school. My mom was a junior and my dad a senior. Yikes, I know. I actually used to be disgusted by their age. But mom and Dad were always casual about it so I never gave them too much grief on the “sixteen and Prego” factor. However, (Since it’s obvious I was a mistake) I’ve always had this secret suspicion that they wished I’d never happened. I always bid the suspicion away because I know our relationship wasn’t that dramatic. They never loathed me. They just seemed… oblivious to my existence.

Normally, you’d think since my mom was so young, she would’ve been really cool. She’d be more like a hip older sister then a mom. We’d get our nails done, shop, put goo on our faces and cucumbers on our eyes like in the movies. We’d have little outings and eat at fancy restraunts and make microwave popcorn and watch sappy movies like titanic—crying on each other yet still managing to mouth the lines when Jack slips into the icy water. She’d be my best friend and my mom. She’d be the world’s best adult outlet.

Unforatintly, I was never lucky enough to see that side of my mom. She was always perky and fun and young around her friends, whereas around me, she acted like I where a pet she no longer wanted. As if I had stolen her youth. As if everything where my fault. Of course, she never confirmed my doubts out loud, but the silent truth was obvious. Or maybe I was just paranoid. Still, her coming home with a manicure or shopping bags didn’t help my paranoia.

My Dad was sort of the same way. Only he seemed much older than his years…mostly due to his hobbies. Every morning I’d get up and he’d be reading the paper, a cup of steaming Joe next to him. I never bothered talking to him because it was impossible to communicate when he was in the “Dad zone.” During the evenings, he’d come home just in time to gobble dinner up, relocated to the couch to watch sports. It awed me how sports seemed to always be on 24/7. He wouldn’t move from the couch till I was long after in bed. Sometimes he’d watch jeopardy, which definitely docked points from his youth. Dad was so mellow and uninvolved with my life. He hardly noticed me. He didn’t realize I was in drama club till it was practically opening night of the play. Which he never went and saw. The thing about dad is he just doesn’t care. Can I go to a party dad? Mhmm. Can I ride on my friend’s dirt bike? Sure thing, kiddo. Can I spend the night at my friend’s house? Yep. I bet if I had asked him if I could have his car, he’d mindlessly hand me the keys without looking up from his paper. Call it wane of old age, or simply the inability to love.

Now that I think of it, Dad was actually relatively attractive. His hair was black with just a touch of gray, he was tall and thin despite the thick steaks and midnight snacks he was always chowing on. He had big, geeky, thick rimmed glasses--but I liked them. That’s why I got mine. Although he hardly noticed. He used to play football in high school so I can imagine he was quite the lady’s man. However he no longer was buff and his face was creased with worry lines. I suppose I had “stolen his youth” too.
My mom was a different story when it came to looks. She had a bleach blonde bob—though she was constantly in a battle with her brown roots. She wore a LOT of makeup, and short tight dresses. So many low cut shirts that exposed her *fake* boobs. In a lot of ways she was prettier than me… however she was also really scary looking. All the skinny orange flesh against tight clothes sometimes caused me to go into shock, and I had to look away from her for a moment to gather myself, remind myself that she was my mom and not a crazy Barbie-doll teenager. It seemed like any guy within a one mile radius was attracted to her, with the exception of my Dad. He was never wooed by her skimpy red dresses, and held much more interest in his good old Joe then Mom. Which was fine by me. I didn’t want to watch a bunch of kissing anyways.

And then there was me. I was the most normal of the family, I think. I’ve always been pretty typical when it comes to looks, which constantly bothered me. I wish I could have pale silky hair and twinkling blue eyes…like Annasophia Robb. She’d my idol. I can name every movie she’s in. Bridge to Terabithia, Race to witch mountain, Win Dixie, Sleep walking, Charlie and the chocolate factory… those are the ones off the top of my head. To be her, even for just a day, would be the best thing in the world. Better than winning the lottery or eating chocolate chip cookie dough ice-cream in Hawaii while swimming with dolphins (which would be the second best thing.)

The good thing about being typical is that there is nothing necessarily wrong with you apart from the occasional zit. Straight brown hair, typical. Wide brown eyes, typical. Glasses, typical. Your not really a target for bullies unless you do something that makes you untypical. Which unfortunately, I’m a victim of an un-typical personality. Or as my teachers call it “Spunk.” It’s just their way of calling me a freak without someone complaining to the school board. Not that anyone would complain.
I guess the point of me writing this, is so that I won’t forget. I won’t forget what it was like, nor what my parents were like, because I’m desperately trying to remember, wrack my brain, for any moment in the past year that they’d expressed any sort of love for me. That way, I can go to sleep at night, without feeling empty. Alone. Because despite them neglecting me, I've never felt more neglected then I do now. Now that their gone.

I should be a Ninja.

Guess what? I'm in science class! Which means I'm double sneeky! Espically since the science teacher is sitting right behind me! Oh goodness, I'm afraid I have to go. Any way heres a quick update of my day--
Did MSP testing (easy!)
Ate a really good bannana!
Gave levi a piggy back!
Got to go....

This is me. Bored. Enjoy!

I was gone.

Sorry I have not posted in this for a while, I've been going through a really tough emotional time. My lovely Grandmother passed, god bless her soul. Before she died, she made sure we would never have a funeral for her, rather, a wonderful party. So during this party, I sang “On the sunny side of the street,” which was her favorite song. It’s a beautiful song. If you’ve never heard of it, you should definitely look it up. Anyways, I’ve decided to fill this post with a poem I wrote.

Prived of my safe harbor

Neglected of a home

My lighthouse has dimmed

The kindles grown cold

Too murky to see

Too numb to feel

It's the fear of the unknown

That has compelled me to kneel

I bow my head

My shame and my pride

What little warmth that lingers

Is as dead as my stride

Before winter's grasp

Becomes to strong to bare

I kiss you goodbye

Though I'm merely kissing air.

Thanks for reading.

P.S If anyone knows how to upload videos… message me!

Pray (My grandma) Eat (Easter candy) Love (Who ever is reading this!)

First things first, happy Easter! I hope the Easter bunny was good to all of you! I remember as a kid, the Easter bunny was the one holiday myth I didn't really believe in; and I was a hardcore holiday believer. I believed in Santa till fifth grade, tooth fairy till forth (technically that’s not a holiday, but it’s a celebration!) Leprechauns on St. Patrick’s Day till second, and any other sort of mythical creature till about a year ago… Okay. Not unicorns. It’s impossible to stop believing in those. Anyways, the Easter bunny is so unrealistic! Seriously, a big bunny that delivers eggs? Bunnies don’t even lay eggs! Plus, how would he get from house to house? At least Santa had a sleigh.

Well, settling the bunny argument, I have a favor to ask you guys. I really need to pray for my grandmother, who’s really sick right now. And if you’re not religious, that’s fine just have hopes for my grandmother. We are so close. She is so entirely dear to me. I’ve been really sad lately because I’m afraid for her. I love her so much.

My friend amazing friend Kelty just started a blog! You guys should support and follow her. She’s an acting freak like me, so if you tolerate/like me, you’ll love her. She is so much more dedicated then me, I swear she is going to be on Broadway someday. AHHHH! I’m eating Easter chocolate as I write this, and I accidently some got in-between the keys! I tried licking it out but got really disgusted—who knows how many germs are on here!? Now I’m using this little cross made from palm that I got from church to scoop the chocolate out. Wow, I’ve mentioned religion a bit more than usual today. Hope you guys don’t mind. Unless you like that type of stuff. There’s the problem with my blog. It’s not really about anything, so no one is going to read it. In order to make it poplar, I either have to…

A)    Discuss an easy way to make money!

B)    Talk about a teenager obsession like Justin Bieber, Twilight, or Bruno Pluto… I mean Mars.

C)    Discuss in depth religion… meh.

D)    Suddenly become really funny, but since I don’t have the wit and attractiveness of someone like Haley G Hoover this really isn’t an option. Unless I get a knock, knock joke book and age a bit.

So those are my options. Or I could buy a time machine from eBay. Then everyone would adore me.

P.S If you have any other idea's for types of carrots to go onto my list, feel free to comment!

I'm quite sneaky...

I am currently in my science class, in the library “working” on a project I already finished. Don’t worry, I’m not lying, I just finished early and have spare time. Farther into the library, in the encyclopedia section, a bunch of little sixth graders are doing presentations. Guess what the first sixth grader’s presentation was on? Justin Bieber!  Apparently some big company is making a graphic novel about his life. What has this world come to? Since when is a teenage pop culture sex idol… educational?  If you like Justin, no harsh to you, he’s just not my piece of pie. I think it’s fantastic that he got famous off of YouTube, and that such a young kid could get so unfathomably famous, but seriously. Beiber Fever? I think it’s sort of scary how obsessed teenage girls can get. Oh well, that’s puberty for you.

Hahaha, I just watched a presentation about Thomas Jefferson, and throughout the entire PowerPoint, “Secret agent man” was the background music. Although it’s completely irrelevant, it’s none of the less adorable. Oh, Levi say’s hi. He’s sitting by me writing in his blog—he is about the most amazing gay friend a girl could ask for! Love you Levi!

I just looked over at my teacher, to give you a picture on what he’s like, and found myself glancing at him right as he was awkwardly attempting to pull down a wedgie… ah Mr. Hayes… you are one of a kind. Mr. Hayes is kind, a bit odd, and reminds me completely of a lumberjack. He has a brown bushy beard, glinting eyes, and constantly wears plaid. I have a lot of odd stories about past experiences with him. He’s my science teacher, and I feel bad for him. Everyday at lunch, he goes back to his room and (I’m guessing) eats alone. Maybe I’ll bring my lunch to his room today.

I think I should go; class is going to end soon. Love y’all! Whoever you guys are…

Hey, just got home, I thought I should just add to this post rather then just start an entire new post. My fav teacher, Mr. Mickleson, was picked for the regis and kelly show, "Ten top teachers." Please vote for him on their website! He's a truly amazing teacher. Also, if you look up on point prize on google, and click "names," you can vote for him there too. Please, please vote! It would be so awesome if he won!

And a little fun tidbit about today, in drama class, we had a sub! Which was awesome because she let me, (for no reason in genral) randomly go up on stage and sing my fav song from the musical rent, in front of everyone. It was amazing! And then, when singing the alphabet in gibberish, I  accidentally  said a VERY bad word, quite loudly that starts with F and ends with uck. Sadly, it wasn't firetruck. I'm not sure how it happened--I never cuss! It just slipped out...