*Yes that is a reference to Pirates of the Caribbean. No I am not sorry.*
Those closest to me know that I was fairly recently diagnosed with clinical depression and General Anxiety Disorder. Now those of you not closest to me know too. I mean, that's if it wasn't obvious to you, and I know it sort of has been.
I'm not really here to talk about the self-hatred or the lack of interest or the feeling of drowning in a thick blackness of every horrible thing you've ever done or the way getting out of bed is impossible because it's like you're dragging a huge boulder with you wherever you go. And I'm not particularly interested in discussing the pros and cons of therapy and medication, either. The symptoms and the treatment are things you can learn about elsewhere from people with degrees who have more knowledge and better words.
Basically, I'm ranting, because this is my blog and I'm allowed to do whatever I want, thank-you-very-much.
When I had sunk so low that I was solely using Spark Notes for English class, voluntarily watching ABC Family dramas, and wearing the same clothes four days in row (and I'm not saying there aren't still times when I do all those things-- I have nowhere near recovered), I had essentially lost all hope. I felt like nothing would ever be okay again.
The problem with depression is, it isn't logical. You may be in a terrible situation, when depression is somehow "justified" (ew ew ew), or you may be surrounded by a loving family in a nice upper-middle class house with a steady income and regular access to pizza. Either way, the feelings of hopelessness, of drowning, are so incredibly oppressive that at times you can barely move. And since my depression felt so incredibly illogical, I spent half my time hating myself for feeling "unjustly depressed" and half my time trying to think up a reason as to why I was feeling this way, thinking if I could just get rid of it, maybe it would magically disappear.
Except there was no reason. And I tried talking to friends about it, but that just made things worse.
There are two phrases I am positively ill with hearing.
The first is "It's just your age. Everyone feels like that when they're a teenager. You'll grow out of it." I will vomit all over the next person to say that to me. Do you. Have any. Actual idea. How. Much. Worse. That. Makes. Me. Feel.
Given how popular this attitude is, and the fact that my parents haven't helped me find a "grown-up doctor" yet now that I'm eighteen, I'm surprised anyone diagnosed me and took me seriously at all. It makes me so frustrated when people say that somehow, my age is responsible for my depression.
Depression isn't some sort of sick rite of passage that every teenager goes through like puberty and prom night. It is a chemical imbalance in the brain. It's serious. And treating it like it's not just because a kid is experiencing it shows how much ageism has taken over our society. How can look at a fellow human being who is literally drowning in their own anguish, and because of they are younger just shake your head and mutter "Kids today"? If I was having a depressive episode at thirty, or fifty, would I be melodramatic then?
The second phrase I will absolutely die if I ever have to hear again is this:
"You have no reason to be sad."
I have heard this from a caring nurse, two close relatives, several good friends, and a complete stranger on the Internet.
To anyone who plans on saying this to me in the future:
I KNOW. I AM COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY AWARE THAT I HAVE NO REASON TO BE SAD. I AM CLOTHED AND OVER-FED AND WHITE AND HAVE A JOB THAT PAYS REASONABLY WELL AND MY PARENTS ARE STILL MARRIED AND I HAVE CENTRAL HEAT AND FREE WIFI AND LAUNDRY SERVICES AND A BOYFRIEND AND LOTS OF PEOPLE WHO LOVE ME AND EVEN THOUGH I'M BEHIND IN A COUPLE CLASSES I AM STILL MANAGING A'S AND B'S. I HAVE NO REASON TO BE SAD. I GET IT.
SO WHY AM I STILL SAD??????????????
*panting*
Unless you have a degree in Feelings, or are God, or Dumbledore or something, don't try to explain my feelings to me. If I can't understand them, what makes you think you can? Worry about your own feelings. Give me hugs, not an analysis. U feel me?
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Sunday, September 22, 2013
On Driving
I recently passed the ever-fearsome Driver's Test. It was a lot like slaying a dragon, except that instead of a sword I had car keys, and instead of a cool wizard mentor I had a test administrator that spoke in a monotone, and there was no dragon and I kind of wished there was because then I wouldn't have had to take the test. While I was thinking in run-on sentence metaphors, I managed to pass by one Very Important Point. So woo-hoo.
If you've known me for any significant length of time, then you probably know that I have an extreme (and pathological) fear of driving. This phobia took root after my first driving class, which consisted of a multiple-choice packet that went over traffic laws and a lot of YouTube videos of very, very bad car crashes.
It's been about a week-ish since I passed the test, so I think I can be considered something of a driving expert now. And I discovered a lot of lies that my driving instructors told me in that class.
For example, parallel parking. This is one that I'm pretty sure everyone's aware of. Parallel parking reminds me of parabolas. Both of them are things that you are required to know about, but you will encounter them pretty rarely in your life unless you are in very specific situations. In the case of parabolas, those situations involve Angry Birds and/or being a super smart mathematical genius. With parallel parking, it involves the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity you will have in your mid-thirties to take your 2.5 children to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and stand too far away to actually see anything, freezing your butt off in New York's autumnal chill. Suffice it to say that I know people who have been alive since television was in black and white who have never used parallel parking once in their entire careers on the road.
Another thing I was told was that essentially every time I passed an entrance to a gas station or a grocery store, people were going to zoom out in front of me and cut me off. That has not happened. I know that it can happen. I'm very, very aware of the insane people on the road in Oklahoma. But for the most part, everyone on the road has been very polite and waited for me to go by. I'll admit that I'm still pleasantly surprised every time I go through an intersection or a four-way stop and discover that no one has suddenly made the decision to ram into my car for no reason.
Also, signaling. Nobody signals except for me and that one old lady who left her signal on for twelve blocks and drove eight miles an hour under the speed limit in front of me on the way to school last Thursday. What is up with that? I mean, come on. Those fancy buttons are part of the reason you paid so much money for that car. What was the point of that if you don't use them?
One thing I wished I'd been warned about is how easy it is to get lost when you first start out driving. Maybe it's just me, but I've already had to call my parents to bail me out of wrong turns and streets-too-far at least four times. And before anyone tells me to use my GPS, I'll have you know that I got lost because of mine, and yes I put the address in correctly, I think I am perfectly capable of holding up the human end of the bargain when it comes to a GPS, so you can put that in your pipe and smoke it Boy Scouts of America.
Well, I haven't died yet. So there's that.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
The Hiatus
In the interlude between the last time I posted anything on this blog or my beautiful baby bird of a YouTube channel and now, my cast has been removed, I'm 3/4 of the way through a summer Biology course at OSU-OKC (please don't stalk me), my sister's room has been repainted, homosexual people finally getting some rights, a murderer received a verdict of not guilty, my broken foot was replaced by the worst sunburn in the history of History, I still don't have my driver's license, Egypt is having a revolution, and John Green had another kid.
Well, jeez, guys, I turned around for two seconds, let's tone this party down before the neighbors file a complaint with the police. Also, use coasters, that is mahogany.
And guess what? I am a mind reader. I know exactly what you're thinking. Part of you is concentrating on not spilling any of whatever snack you're eating while you're reading this on the gadget of your choice, another part of you is squinting and going "Nah, she can't read my mind... wait, can she? I think she's doing it right now. Oh crap. What if she knows about that one time..." (yes, I do, and yes, that was very bad). And there is also a part of you going "What could Sarah have possibly been doing for two and a half months that was so important she forgot all about us?"
Well, to answer your question, I did not forget all about you. In fact for a while there I felt incredibly guilty, as my hiatus went from two weeks to two months. That really was not the plan.
The thing is, Mommy's been taking a break, but that doesn't mean she loves you any less.
My thought process was something along these lines: I just... didn't feel the need to post every second of my life for a while. And I haven't really had too much to say. On the one hand, yeah, I probably could have done some witty Doctor Who-related post or criticized the latest horrible decision made by the U.S. government, but I just didn't. And who honestly cares about my biology professor and his long tangents about how back when he was a kid there was no television and the job he had when he was fifteen, and how by the end of the year I'll probably know the names of his three daughters and his two step-children? I could rant about it, and probably do it in an eloquent and funny way, but so what?
Basically, I experienced a bit of creative nihilism. But I'm better now.
I've stolen a lot of advice from a lot of creatives who are both smarter and better at what they do than me, but I think the best advice I've gotten came from this video by Ze Frank.
If you watched it, you're probably in shock because of the awesomeness of what he said. If you didn't, I'm annoyed with you, but whatever, I'll just point out the part that I need to point out so we can all just move on with our lives.
Basically, toward the end of the video, Ze Frank said something that still kind of blows my mind a tiny bit: "It's okay to take breaks, but make it your choice. Don't do it because you're scared or lazy or think there's some other path to it. If you want to write, write." That statement, I think, identifies my mistake, because I feel like a bit of my creative nihilism-- okay, maybe more than just a bit-- was rooted in being scared.
Originally, I did choose to take a break from writing for a couple weeks to focus on studying for the ACT (which helped me earn an overall score of 27, put that in your pipe and smoke it), and I feel like it was a good decision. The problem was getting started back up again.
I'm fairly certain that, as different as writers and their styles can be, the one thing that unites us as a group is that we absolutely hate rereading our old work. It falls under cruel and unusual punishment. Water boarding is more humane than making me reread a file I have saved from 2009. Heck, rereading something I wrote last month can even be painful. And I'm pretty sure that's a contributing factor to why 3/4 of writing is re-writing.
But I feel like that other 25% doesn't just involve writing. It involves all the different voices in your head that don't necessarily come from you, pointing out your mistakes and telling you that your work sucks and no one will like it, and the different ways people have of drowning out those voices. Drowning out the voices is half the battle, because they can keep you from creating anything at all, and they can make the editing process more complicated than it needs to be.
So I've got these voices, and they're telling me "Who cares about your dumb biology class and the horrible sunburn you got on vacation or the story that you're writing about those kids who do that thing or the videos you were planning to make about what you do when you're home alone and the huge library of embarrassing and funny stories from your childhood and the things that annoy you?"
I'm just sort of irked that it took me a two-month Internet hiatus tantamount to "finding myself in Tibet" to realize that I'm actually the one that cares, and that's good enough.
Well, jeez, guys, I turned around for two seconds, let's tone this party down before the neighbors file a complaint with the police. Also, use coasters, that is mahogany.
And guess what? I am a mind reader. I know exactly what you're thinking. Part of you is concentrating on not spilling any of whatever snack you're eating while you're reading this on the gadget of your choice, another part of you is squinting and going "Nah, she can't read my mind... wait, can she? I think she's doing it right now. Oh crap. What if she knows about that one time..." (yes, I do, and yes, that was very bad). And there is also a part of you going "What could Sarah have possibly been doing for two and a half months that was so important she forgot all about us?"
Well, to answer your question, I did not forget all about you. In fact for a while there I felt incredibly guilty, as my hiatus went from two weeks to two months. That really was not the plan.
The thing is, Mommy's been taking a break, but that doesn't mean she loves you any less.
My thought process was something along these lines: I just... didn't feel the need to post every second of my life for a while. And I haven't really had too much to say. On the one hand, yeah, I probably could have done some witty Doctor Who-related post or criticized the latest horrible decision made by the U.S. government, but I just didn't. And who honestly cares about my biology professor and his long tangents about how back when he was a kid there was no television and the job he had when he was fifteen, and how by the end of the year I'll probably know the names of his three daughters and his two step-children? I could rant about it, and probably do it in an eloquent and funny way, but so what?
Basically, I experienced a bit of creative nihilism. But I'm better now.
I've stolen a lot of advice from a lot of creatives who are both smarter and better at what they do than me, but I think the best advice I've gotten came from this video by Ze Frank.
If you watched it, you're probably in shock because of the awesomeness of what he said. If you didn't, I'm annoyed with you, but whatever, I'll just point out the part that I need to point out so we can all just move on with our lives.
Basically, toward the end of the video, Ze Frank said something that still kind of blows my mind a tiny bit: "It's okay to take breaks, but make it your choice. Don't do it because you're scared or lazy or think there's some other path to it. If you want to write, write." That statement, I think, identifies my mistake, because I feel like a bit of my creative nihilism-- okay, maybe more than just a bit-- was rooted in being scared.
Originally, I did choose to take a break from writing for a couple weeks to focus on studying for the ACT (which helped me earn an overall score of 27, put that in your pipe and smoke it), and I feel like it was a good decision. The problem was getting started back up again.
I'm fairly certain that, as different as writers and their styles can be, the one thing that unites us as a group is that we absolutely hate rereading our old work. It falls under cruel and unusual punishment. Water boarding is more humane than making me reread a file I have saved from 2009. Heck, rereading something I wrote last month can even be painful. And I'm pretty sure that's a contributing factor to why 3/4 of writing is re-writing.
But I feel like that other 25% doesn't just involve writing. It involves all the different voices in your head that don't necessarily come from you, pointing out your mistakes and telling you that your work sucks and no one will like it, and the different ways people have of drowning out those voices. Drowning out the voices is half the battle, because they can keep you from creating anything at all, and they can make the editing process more complicated than it needs to be.
So I've got these voices, and they're telling me "Who cares about your dumb biology class and the horrible sunburn you got on vacation or the story that you're writing about those kids who do that thing or the videos you were planning to make about what you do when you're home alone and the huge library of embarrassing and funny stories from your childhood and the things that annoy you?"
I'm just sort of irked that it took me a two-month Internet hiatus tantamount to "finding myself in Tibet" to realize that I'm actually the one that cares, and that's good enough.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
An Open Letter to Facebook
Dear Facebook,
In the beginning, I thought we were friends. I turned thirteen in 2009, when you were slowly but surely out-cooling MySpace. Honestly, I enjoyed the first year. I spent hours in front of the computer liking pages, reading posts, arranging Pieces of Flair to express my enthusiasm for various television shows, and taking all of your ridiculous quizzes.
Here's the thing-- now, I kinda hate you.
I don't know at least a third of the people on my friend's list. Another third of my friend's list consists of people that I do not like anymore. And of the third that are people that I both know and marginally tolerate, most of those people are related to me. I could easily unfriend all the people I find undesirable, or make a new profile, but here's the thing: I have neither the time, nor the patience to do this. I do not want to sit in front of my computer for hours unfriending people that I do not like, and I certainly don't want to deal with all the unpleasant (to say the least) feelings that would go along with the process. I don't want to make a new profile because, here's a shocker, I DO NOT ENJOY YOUR WEBSITE, so why on Earth would I decide to further support it by creating an entirely new profile that shows exactly the same information as my current one?
Think of it this way. This is sort of like when you go into a public restroom, and you go into a stall, and you see that someone hasn't flushed the toilet. Unless you really, really need to pee, you're just gonna leave and use a different stall. The reason is because there's so much crap already in the toilet that it'd be easier and less gross to go to a different stall. Or maybe hold it in and wait until you get home, because public restrooms are disgusting. I've gotten to the point, Facebook, where all the crap on my page seems like it belongs to a completely different person, and the path of least resistance right now is to just let it alone.
I don't like dealing with the so-called "political activists" on your website, either. I've discovered that most of them don't actually know what they're talking about, and the few that do are shot down for being Liberals. Of course, over time I realized that nothing good comes out of showing these ridiculous people that they actually know nothing about politics beyond their capacity to come up with not-so-witty and offensive slogans to plaster all over their walls. However, I look at these people like the awful school photo of me that my grandmother insists on keeping up in her living room: It might've been all right to start with, but there comes a point when you just don't want to look at that anymore.
I don't like the way you post memes eons after they stopped being cool. I'm really tired of seeing photos of various female celebrities being criticized for the way they dress. (Taylor Swift wore sweatpants today. Like wow. I wear sweatpants all the time. God forbid we have to start treating celebrities like humans.) And by the way, the Rotten E-card edits? They're not witty anymore. Now they're just bitter.
I don't like the constant Christian posts I'm barraged with on your website. As a Christian myself, I find the idea that God would send me to hell for not commenting on a picture of clouds with a Bible verse overlayed on it in Comic Sans ludicrous at best and offensive at worst. Theologically, liking and commenting on pictures of Jesus with a herd of sheep is about as likely to get me into heaven as reading the Harry Potter books is to make me a witch. Oh wait... that was probably a bad example for you guys.
I hate people my age on your website who feel it's necessary to post vague things in order to get attention. In the past two hours alone, I have seen at least six different girls post things along the lines of, "Well that was awkward lol" and then failed to specify what, exactly, was awkward.
PLEASE OH PLEASE COULD YOU MAYBE POSSIBLY BE A BIT MORE VAGUE I THINK THERE ARE A COUPLE PEOPLE LIVING IN SUB-SAHARAN AFRICA THAT THIS DOESN'T APPLY TO.
And while we're on the subject, I would like to say how much I positively loath with every fiber of my being the girls who constantly share photos or type posts that read as follows:
In the beginning, I thought we were friends. I turned thirteen in 2009, when you were slowly but surely out-cooling MySpace. Honestly, I enjoyed the first year. I spent hours in front of the computer liking pages, reading posts, arranging Pieces of Flair to express my enthusiasm for various television shows, and taking all of your ridiculous quizzes.
Here's the thing-- now, I kinda hate you.
I don't know at least a third of the people on my friend's list. Another third of my friend's list consists of people that I do not like anymore. And of the third that are people that I both know and marginally tolerate, most of those people are related to me. I could easily unfriend all the people I find undesirable, or make a new profile, but here's the thing: I have neither the time, nor the patience to do this. I do not want to sit in front of my computer for hours unfriending people that I do not like, and I certainly don't want to deal with all the unpleasant (to say the least) feelings that would go along with the process. I don't want to make a new profile because, here's a shocker, I DO NOT ENJOY YOUR WEBSITE, so why on Earth would I decide to further support it by creating an entirely new profile that shows exactly the same information as my current one?
Think of it this way. This is sort of like when you go into a public restroom, and you go into a stall, and you see that someone hasn't flushed the toilet. Unless you really, really need to pee, you're just gonna leave and use a different stall. The reason is because there's so much crap already in the toilet that it'd be easier and less gross to go to a different stall. Or maybe hold it in and wait until you get home, because public restrooms are disgusting. I've gotten to the point, Facebook, where all the crap on my page seems like it belongs to a completely different person, and the path of least resistance right now is to just let it alone.
I don't like dealing with the so-called "political activists" on your website, either. I've discovered that most of them don't actually know what they're talking about, and the few that do are shot down for being Liberals. Of course, over time I realized that nothing good comes out of showing these ridiculous people that they actually know nothing about politics beyond their capacity to come up with not-so-witty and offensive slogans to plaster all over their walls. However, I look at these people like the awful school photo of me that my grandmother insists on keeping up in her living room: It might've been all right to start with, but there comes a point when you just don't want to look at that anymore.
I don't like the way you post memes eons after they stopped being cool. I'm really tired of seeing photos of various female celebrities being criticized for the way they dress. (Taylor Swift wore sweatpants today. Like wow. I wear sweatpants all the time. God forbid we have to start treating celebrities like humans.) And by the way, the Rotten E-card edits? They're not witty anymore. Now they're just bitter.
I don't like the constant Christian posts I'm barraged with on your website. As a Christian myself, I find the idea that God would send me to hell for not commenting on a picture of clouds with a Bible verse overlayed on it in Comic Sans ludicrous at best and offensive at worst. Theologically, liking and commenting on pictures of Jesus with a herd of sheep is about as likely to get me into heaven as reading the Harry Potter books is to make me a witch. Oh wait... that was probably a bad example for you guys.
I hate people my age on your website who feel it's necessary to post vague things in order to get attention. In the past two hours alone, I have seen at least six different girls post things along the lines of, "Well that was awkward lol" and then failed to specify what, exactly, was awkward.
PLEASE OH PLEASE COULD YOU MAYBE POSSIBLY BE A BIT MORE VAGUE I THINK THERE ARE A COUPLE PEOPLE LIVING IN SUB-SAHARAN AFRICA THAT THIS DOESN'T APPLY TO.
And while we're on the subject, I would like to say how much I positively loath with every fiber of my being the girls who constantly share photos or type posts that read as follows:
DO YOU WANT AN AWARD OR SOMETHING?
I suppose I really could go on forever. Suffice it to say, Facebook, that if we were in a relationship, my status would go from "In a relationship" to "It's complicated". Hopefully in a few years I'll be able to kick you off my computer altogether.
Best Wishes,
Sarah xx
Best Wishes,
Sarah xx
Sunday, April 14, 2013
PROM!
Many people are aware that I went to prom this weekend. Thankfully, it was nothing like a Stephen King novel.
We could have t-shirts.
(I WILL MILK THE CARRIE REFERENCES FOR ALL THEY'RE WORTH AND NO ONE CAN STOP ME.)
Let me be clear: This was my first school dance since the eighth grade spring formal, when I wore sneakers and a hoodie with my dress, only danced to the Cha Cha Slide, and then bought a cookie and sat on the bleachers, and somehow managed to make the cookie last for TWO HOURS. That is how awkward I was in middle school.
For prom, however, it was my intention to go all out, because I really don't have any intentions of going next year, unless a boy magically appears and wants to go with me. And even then, maybe not, because this year was exhausting. Literally. Do not role your eyes. This stuff takes work.
So, I got all my schoolwork done in the morning on Friday, and then spent the afternoon getting ready. Honestly, I probably could have used the entire day, I just chose not to. Guys are lucky. You shower, you shave, you put on your tux, and possibly spray on some Ax or whatever, and then BAM. You're done.
(Speaking of Ax, I'm allergic to it, and I personally feel that there should be a serving size on the bottle so that you don't use the whole thing and then literally suffocate those around you with the smell. Even if you haven't showered, I don't think an entire bottle is required to mask the B.O. Anyway...)
Girls have more to do. I had to shower, and then repaint my nails so that they would match my dress, and there is always make-up (it usually takes me, like, ten minutes to do eyeliner because I always smear it or poke myself in the eye, which causes my eyes to water and smear my neatly applied eyeliner, etc.). Hair, though, that is always the most complicated issue for me.
I "borrowed" my sister's curling wand and watched five different tutorials that were supposed to explain how to use it. And then I just... tried.
It was something of a disaster. I burned myself multiple times.
I pondered shaving my head and washing my hands of the situation.
After five more video tutorials, plus and e-How article that had, like, twenty steps, I figured it out. And even when I did, it still took me an hour and a half to curl my hair. And my mom still had to help me with the back.
So, after six hours of hard labor, when it was finally time to leave, we went to Johnny Carino's with some friends for dinner. I will add that my friends and I sang the chorus of "Do You Hear the People Sing?" during a lull in restaurant conversation, and got a smattering of confused applause. I was all for jumping on the table and bursting into the solo, but my friends said no.
Keep in mind, the prom I went to was for homeschoolers. So, instead of arriving in a rented limo, we all piled into a fifteen passenger van. And when we arrived, we noticed that everyone else had used similar forms of transportation. Because that's just a homeschool thing.
So we went inside, and the chaperons told us where to get our picture taken, and then we started dancing.
It was extremely awkward.
Painfully awkward.
My dress had pockets, and so I made good use of them for twenty minutes.
I was actually starting to wish someone would get pig blood dumped on them, when I discovered a way to survive. All I had to do was pretend this was Pride and Prejudice. So, I basically spent the whole night pretending I was Lizzie Bennet and my friends were various Bennets and Charlotte Lucas, and we were all at some dance and any minute now a Darcy was going to appear and say that I was "barely tolerable." And it was all good.
Also, they played some Mumford & Sons, and I kind of squee'd
I will also admit to shamelessly whipping my hair back and forth and singing very, very loudly to "What Makes You Beautiful." Because really, what else can you do to that song? I don't want to like it, but it makes me smile. Like, I'm trying not to smile, but I'm still smiling because stupid song why why are you making me feel these feels?!
So yeah.
Once I was pretending to be Lizzie, things went smoothly. I even did the conga line barefoot!
Which was a terrible idea. Do not join a conga line without wearing shoes, preferably sturdy, closed-toe-closed-heel, easy-to-run-in shoes. Because if you don't, it's very likely that the really nice-smelling guy in front of you will stomp on you foot and kill your big toe, and you will realize how smart you were to bring band-aids. Also, once you have applied your band-aids, do not get back in the conga line. Because you will sprain your ankle, and it will suck.
I did take a thirty minute break in a dark corner, because I was really tired and there were lots of people I just had to breathe for a second. I just sat there playing Temple Run, and when I regained feeling in my legs, I went back to the dance.Yes, even with a sprained ankle and a busted toe. Also, at the end, I found the chocolate fountain, and I was able to nip a macaroon before we left.
Also, I should mention the slow dances. They were the saddest things I've ever seen. Basically, homeschooled guys aren't all the smart, because they don't realize that the best place to get a girl friend is at prom during a slow dance. Every guy there was somebody's boyfriend, and so during the slow dances, all the couples would rush to the dance floor and get their sway on, and all the single girls were forced to retreat to the chairs and take their punch. The single girls corner was pretty full too, and while I was sitting amongst them, I was having a pretty hard time deciding whether I should laugh or cry, because we were the most pathetic little group of people I've ever seen.
Maybe we could start a club.
The She-Girls-Man-Haters Club.
We could have t-shirts.
Anyway, after three days, I'm still mildly sore from all the awkward dancing. Was it worth it? I don't know. I mean, even after going, I'm still having trouble grasping the point of prom. Like, it's supposed to be this rite of passage, this thing that everybody has to do before they graduate, and you're supposed to feel young and invincible, but when I'm on a dance floor, I don't feel young and invincible. I feel stupid and awkward, and nothing like Cinderella, whom I never particularly cared for anyway. I mean, it was cool being with my friends and stuff, but I get more out of just hanging out with them in my pajamas than I get out of swaying to music in a pretty dress with them like I know what I'm doing.
I dunno. Maybe I'm just weird.
But I doubt there will be more prom in my future, to be honest.
P.S. Click here to see my new vlog and subscribe to my YouTube channel and stuff and we can be best friends forever and ever and ever!
Monday, March 25, 2013
So I Have To Say Something
Okay. It looks like this blog is turning into a monthly thing. Can we all deal with that? Good.
So.
I have something I need to say, because it has recently become relevant in my life.
I am a seventeen-year-old girl. And I have never once been on a date or been in a romantic relationship. I didn't even pretend to get married on the playground in kindergarten.
I don't usually dwell on it. I mean, while I'm pretty much okay being single, it doesn't exactly do much for your self-esteem to spend any large amount of time sitting there going, "I've never had a boyfriend UGH." But I'm just saying, I've made it perfectly clear in previous posts, and IRL, that it is not my life's goal to get a boyfriend. It'd be nice, but it's not exactly my main focus.
That being said, relationships have come up in a lot of my conversations recently. Particularly conversations with adults. These are adults I love dearly. I know for a fact that they care about me. But I have some beefs with the so-called "advice" or "encouragement" they are always trying to offer. Because honestly, in that respect, I don't feel like I need anyone to hug me and tell me that the perfect guy will eventually show up. Maybe I did at one point. That point may even have been less than a year ago. But not anymore.
One thing I get very often, from people of all ages, is "You aren't missing out." Along with every variation of this statement known to the English language.
Most often, this statement pops up in conversations where the other person brought up the topic of relationships and specifically asked me if I had a boyfriend or was dating. And that is one huge reason why I find it so incredibly patronizing. And while I have never actually said this to anyone, I'm going to take the opportunity to say it now:
Do you remember when you were a little kid, and you'd go to the store and you couldn't see over the counter, and you were always begging your mom or dad to lift you up so you could see what was behind the counter? Or maybe when you first learned to read and saw doors in big office buildings that had signs reading, "Authorized Personnel Only"? Grown-ups were always telling us there wasn't anything interesting in those places. And somewhere in the back of our minds, we were thinking, "It's not interesting to you because you've seen it."
When you eventually grew tall enough to look over the counter or old enough to take a job and become the authorized personnel that could go behind the door, you learned that the grown-ups were right. There really isn't anything interesting in those places. But when you're a little kid, you never know. There could be anything back there! A pile of chocolate bars! A sheet of scratch-and-sniff stickers! Barney! A magical wish-granting unicorn!
The point being, you know in your head that the grown-ups are probably right, but that doesn't stifle your curiosity one bit.
And that's kind of how I feel when people tell me I'm not missing out by not dating.
The second thing I find marginally more annoying and patronizing. And it usually comes from adults that are already married: "Oh, I never dated much in high school either. There's nothing wrong with it."
I know these people mean well and all, but still.
First of all, bear in mind that I. Have. Not. Dated. At all. Ever. In my entire life. Never even come close.
You, kind sir or madam, however well-meaning you are in your advice, have had a small number of high school relationships. Admittedly, relationships that clearly you are not the worse for ending. But still. Even if you only dated one person for half a week in high school, you've dated more than me.
I have mentioned repeatedly that I have no problem being single, but if you're telling me you haven't dated much when I'm telling you I never have, I feel less understood and more like you're ignoring me and shelling out words of wisdom that you've been hanging on to ever since you saw the teen pregnancy rate for the past several years.
On to the second half of that statement: I KNOW there is nothing wrong with not dating much. I know there isn't anything wrong with not having dated at all. I am fully aware. Thank you for agreeing with me. Over. And. Over.
So, in conclusion:
1. Please, please stop giving me this "advice".
2. Next time the topic of relationships comes up, don't assume that I have a low self-esteem because I've never had a boyfriend. I mean, if it is low, that's not the reason. It has more to do with other events in my life unrelated to relationship problems, which I've never had, because I've never had a boyfriend.
3. Don't assume I'm lying when I say I'm okay with never having dated. I don't need you to be my savior and show me the true beauty of my personality or whatever. What's the point of telling girls that they're fine without a boyfriend if you turn around and tell the girls who really are fine with it that they're lying?
Okay. Rant over.
So.
I have something I need to say, because it has recently become relevant in my life.
I am a seventeen-year-old girl. And I have never once been on a date or been in a romantic relationship. I didn't even pretend to get married on the playground in kindergarten.
I don't usually dwell on it. I mean, while I'm pretty much okay being single, it doesn't exactly do much for your self-esteem to spend any large amount of time sitting there going, "I've never had a boyfriend UGH." But I'm just saying, I've made it perfectly clear in previous posts, and IRL, that it is not my life's goal to get a boyfriend. It'd be nice, but it's not exactly my main focus.
That being said, relationships have come up in a lot of my conversations recently. Particularly conversations with adults. These are adults I love dearly. I know for a fact that they care about me. But I have some beefs with the so-called "advice" or "encouragement" they are always trying to offer. Because honestly, in that respect, I don't feel like I need anyone to hug me and tell me that the perfect guy will eventually show up. Maybe I did at one point. That point may even have been less than a year ago. But not anymore.
One thing I get very often, from people of all ages, is "You aren't missing out." Along with every variation of this statement known to the English language.
Most often, this statement pops up in conversations where the other person brought up the topic of relationships and specifically asked me if I had a boyfriend or was dating. And that is one huge reason why I find it so incredibly patronizing. And while I have never actually said this to anyone, I'm going to take the opportunity to say it now:
Do you remember when you were a little kid, and you'd go to the store and you couldn't see over the counter, and you were always begging your mom or dad to lift you up so you could see what was behind the counter? Or maybe when you first learned to read and saw doors in big office buildings that had signs reading, "Authorized Personnel Only"? Grown-ups were always telling us there wasn't anything interesting in those places. And somewhere in the back of our minds, we were thinking, "It's not interesting to you because you've seen it."
When you eventually grew tall enough to look over the counter or old enough to take a job and become the authorized personnel that could go behind the door, you learned that the grown-ups were right. There really isn't anything interesting in those places. But when you're a little kid, you never know. There could be anything back there! A pile of chocolate bars! A sheet of scratch-and-sniff stickers! Barney! A magical wish-granting unicorn!
The point being, you know in your head that the grown-ups are probably right, but that doesn't stifle your curiosity one bit.
And that's kind of how I feel when people tell me I'm not missing out by not dating.
The second thing I find marginally more annoying and patronizing. And it usually comes from adults that are already married: "Oh, I never dated much in high school either. There's nothing wrong with it."
I know these people mean well and all, but still.
First of all, bear in mind that I. Have. Not. Dated. At all. Ever. In my entire life. Never even come close.
You, kind sir or madam, however well-meaning you are in your advice, have had a small number of high school relationships. Admittedly, relationships that clearly you are not the worse for ending. But still. Even if you only dated one person for half a week in high school, you've dated more than me.
I have mentioned repeatedly that I have no problem being single, but if you're telling me you haven't dated much when I'm telling you I never have, I feel less understood and more like you're ignoring me and shelling out words of wisdom that you've been hanging on to ever since you saw the teen pregnancy rate for the past several years.
On to the second half of that statement: I KNOW there is nothing wrong with not dating much. I know there isn't anything wrong with not having dated at all. I am fully aware. Thank you for agreeing with me. Over. And. Over.
So, in conclusion:
1. Please, please stop giving me this "advice".
2. Next time the topic of relationships comes up, don't assume that I have a low self-esteem because I've never had a boyfriend. I mean, if it is low, that's not the reason. It has more to do with other events in my life unrelated to relationship problems, which I've never had, because I've never had a boyfriend.
3. Don't assume I'm lying when I say I'm okay with never having dated. I don't need you to be my savior and show me the true beauty of my personality or whatever. What's the point of telling girls that they're fine without a boyfriend if you turn around and tell the girls who really are fine with it that they're lying?
Okay. Rant over.
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Vlogging Is Hard To Do
So I took some time off from the ol' blog. Sue me. :P
Okay, just kidding, I really did miss blogging. Still, we need to talk.
I've found someone... *ahem* something else: vlogging.
I know I promised ages ago that I'd set up a YouTube channel for your viewing pleasure. Well, I actually did it. For real. And it's fun and all, but it's also really, really hard. I have developed a whole new level of respect for YouTubers now that I've actually gone through the process of filming and editing a video. It takes hours- for some projects, days, or even weeks.
For one thing, there's the part where you actually sit down and film your video. I mean, you'd think you could just come up with a topic, sit yourself down in front of your little video camera, and just go. But it's really not that simple.
First, you have to set up the camera, and if you don't have a tripod (as I didn't until last week when my sister loaned me hers) it takes a while. If you're going to be talking for any length of time, you can't just hold the camera. Your arm would get tired eventually. So, you have to find a substitute for a tripod. In my case, the most convenient option was a large stack of books. It's not particularly steady, but it's better than nothing.
You also want to have some sort of spot where you film in your room. That's part of the set up. Before I found a tripod, my spot was my bed, because it was easy to balance a stack of books on it and I didn't have to have my room too neat and tidy before filming. All I had to do was make my bed. That will change now that I have a tripod that needs to be on a flat surface- like, you know, the floor.
Once you have all that stuff out of the way, you have to actually say stuff.
This part is really hard, because, as everyone knows, it's virtually impossible to act natural in front of a video camera. Even if it was a good idea to sit down and start rambling, it would be really hard for you to do, because the whole time you're thinking:
1) I wonder if people are actually going to watch this.
2) Will they like it? Or hate it?
3) I bet they'll hate it.
4) Ugh, nobody likes me.
5) I have nothing interesting to say.
6) What's for lunch?
This makes it very difficult to concentrate, even if it turns out what you have to say is actually interesting and people do respond to it. Regardless, you will experience some kind of stage fright if you're anything like me: that's an introverted, almost reclusive writer type who prefers books to real human interaction. Because real humans are kind of mean.
Then comes the editing. This part is hard for everybody, but I personally enjoy it, although I'm painfully aware that my Flip video camera and Windows editing software aren't exactly the shiniest toys in the store. Still, it's probably the most fun part for me, although since I talk a lot it's kind of hard for me to condense things to a not-ridiculous length. But I'm getting better, I think.
After that, you have to upload the video, and this is the part that takes a ridiculously long time. Once it's loading, you type in your description, tag it, and select which little icon you want people to see when they click on your video- the one with you looking up at the ceiling, the one with a face that looks like you're sneezing, or that other one where you're scratching your nose. I'm crocheting a scarf during these twenty to thirty minute waiting periods. So far, I'm about a quarter of the way through it, and I've only got eight videos up. That should give you some idea of how much time you have while these things load.
Once it's up, you share it. And hope.
Most people tell their viewers or readers or audience to "Like, comment, and subscribe!" and I didn't do that. I still don't. But maybe I should, because I've only got six subscribers, and they're all people I know IRL except for one.
*sigh*
Ah, well. Rome wasn't built in a day.
Okay, just kidding, I really did miss blogging. Still, we need to talk.
I've found someone... *ahem* something else: vlogging.
I know I promised ages ago that I'd set up a YouTube channel for your viewing pleasure. Well, I actually did it. For real. And it's fun and all, but it's also really, really hard. I have developed a whole new level of respect for YouTubers now that I've actually gone through the process of filming and editing a video. It takes hours- for some projects, days, or even weeks.
For one thing, there's the part where you actually sit down and film your video. I mean, you'd think you could just come up with a topic, sit yourself down in front of your little video camera, and just go. But it's really not that simple.
First, you have to set up the camera, and if you don't have a tripod (as I didn't until last week when my sister loaned me hers) it takes a while. If you're going to be talking for any length of time, you can't just hold the camera. Your arm would get tired eventually. So, you have to find a substitute for a tripod. In my case, the most convenient option was a large stack of books. It's not particularly steady, but it's better than nothing.
You also want to have some sort of spot where you film in your room. That's part of the set up. Before I found a tripod, my spot was my bed, because it was easy to balance a stack of books on it and I didn't have to have my room too neat and tidy before filming. All I had to do was make my bed. That will change now that I have a tripod that needs to be on a flat surface- like, you know, the floor.
Once you have all that stuff out of the way, you have to actually say stuff.
This part is really hard, because, as everyone knows, it's virtually impossible to act natural in front of a video camera. Even if it was a good idea to sit down and start rambling, it would be really hard for you to do, because the whole time you're thinking:
1) I wonder if people are actually going to watch this.
2) Will they like it? Or hate it?
3) I bet they'll hate it.
4) Ugh, nobody likes me.
5) I have nothing interesting to say.
6) What's for lunch?
This makes it very difficult to concentrate, even if it turns out what you have to say is actually interesting and people do respond to it. Regardless, you will experience some kind of stage fright if you're anything like me: that's an introverted, almost reclusive writer type who prefers books to real human interaction. Because real humans are kind of mean.
Then comes the editing. This part is hard for everybody, but I personally enjoy it, although I'm painfully aware that my Flip video camera and Windows editing software aren't exactly the shiniest toys in the store. Still, it's probably the most fun part for me, although since I talk a lot it's kind of hard for me to condense things to a not-ridiculous length. But I'm getting better, I think.
After that, you have to upload the video, and this is the part that takes a ridiculously long time. Once it's loading, you type in your description, tag it, and select which little icon you want people to see when they click on your video- the one with you looking up at the ceiling, the one with a face that looks like you're sneezing, or that other one where you're scratching your nose. I'm crocheting a scarf during these twenty to thirty minute waiting periods. So far, I'm about a quarter of the way through it, and I've only got eight videos up. That should give you some idea of how much time you have while these things load.
Once it's up, you share it. And hope.
Most people tell their viewers or readers or audience to "Like, comment, and subscribe!" and I didn't do that. I still don't. But maybe I should, because I've only got six subscribers, and they're all people I know IRL except for one.
*sigh*
Ah, well. Rome wasn't built in a day.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Excuses, Excuses
My little sister is thirteen years old. She's always been way more concerned about her appearance than I have with mine. When I was thirteen, I holed up in my room with a book and wore whatever clothes I could find that were inexpensive and would last a while. Make-up was foreign. My sister, on the other hand, has more make-up than any girl I know, and spends quite a lot of time picking her outfits and doing her hair in the mornings. For Christmas, I got a phone and bookshelves; she got a new straightener and curling wand.
Don't get me wrong, I love her. But this is all leading up to something.
She wore a hat to church tonight. Heck, so did I. It's been rainy, and wearing a hat is always less of a hassle than remembering an umbrella. While I was in the high school worship service, my sister hung out with the other seventh graders in the cafe to text, flirt, and drink coffee. Apparently, while she was with her friends, a boy stole her hat multiple times and called her names. Mean names.
To hear her tell it, the adults didn't do much to stop him. My mother, who was there, said she didn't really see anything, and even if she had, since the boy wasn't doing anything that was technically against the rules, there wasn't much she could do.
To her, she said, it looked like he and my sister were goofing off.
(I love my mom too, but this issue is really important to me. And my mom has said she will try to track down the boy, in case anyone is concerned on that score.)
This happens more and more in our society, I've noticed. This assumption that girls are more responsible than boys is not only ridiculous, it is potentially threatening. Any child, boy or girl, is as responsible as their parents and other authority figures teach them to be, and perhaps as their culture teaches them to be.
Guys, if they so choose, are perfectly allowed to stay out as late as they want. They can choose to hang out with friends or go somewhere alone. They wear whatever they want, and nobody calls them names for it.
Girls are advised not to go out at night. Girls must travel anywhere in groups; travelling alone is discouraged. If it's hot outside, and a girl wears a tank top and shorts, she's ridiculed.
In other words, we're taught responsibility. For us, it's a survival skill. By necessity we stay in passed ten, go everywhere (even the bathroom) in packs, and sweat through August in jeans because the alternative is receiving catcalls, wolf-whistles, and other forms of harassment.
My little sister has told me that she won't be wearing hats for a long time.
She's a thirteen-year-old kid. Hats are one of the few items that aren't on the List of Things Girls Aren't Allowed to Wear. But shouldn't she be allowed to wear whatever she wants in the first place?
Does any of the above seem fair to you? Because I'm not particularly happy with this situation.
We live in a society where girl clothes are made tight-fitting, showing skin is stylish, and even my little sister has a hard time finding shorts that are a suitable length for summer, because my mom refuses to buy the "short-shorts" that are stocked in most stores. Adults say girls should be modest and cautious, and clothing stores make it difficult to do so.
What would happen if we stopped telling girls what they're doing to make boys tease them and started telling boys not to tease girls in the first place?
Think about it: a boy pull a girl's hair in preschool, and the adults will give each other the Look and say, "Boys will be boys." Maybe he doesn't get reprimanded, or if he does it's nothing serious. And then this boy grows up, and he's in middle school, and he calls a girl names and takes her hat, and nobody does anything about it because they think, "Oh, it's just kids goofing around, testing the waters and all." So then he gets to be a grown man, and he's at a party, and he sees a girl, and she says, "No."
This boy's gone through his whole life thinking it's okay to mess with girls. How likely do you think it is that he'll listen to her?
Don't get me wrong, I love her. But this is all leading up to something.
She wore a hat to church tonight. Heck, so did I. It's been rainy, and wearing a hat is always less of a hassle than remembering an umbrella. While I was in the high school worship service, my sister hung out with the other seventh graders in the cafe to text, flirt, and drink coffee. Apparently, while she was with her friends, a boy stole her hat multiple times and called her names. Mean names.
To hear her tell it, the adults didn't do much to stop him. My mother, who was there, said she didn't really see anything, and even if she had, since the boy wasn't doing anything that was technically against the rules, there wasn't much she could do.
To her, she said, it looked like he and my sister were goofing off.
(I love my mom too, but this issue is really important to me. And my mom has said she will try to track down the boy, in case anyone is concerned on that score.)
This happens more and more in our society, I've noticed. This assumption that girls are more responsible than boys is not only ridiculous, it is potentially threatening. Any child, boy or girl, is as responsible as their parents and other authority figures teach them to be, and perhaps as their culture teaches them to be.
Guys, if they so choose, are perfectly allowed to stay out as late as they want. They can choose to hang out with friends or go somewhere alone. They wear whatever they want, and nobody calls them names for it.
Girls are advised not to go out at night. Girls must travel anywhere in groups; travelling alone is discouraged. If it's hot outside, and a girl wears a tank top and shorts, she's ridiculed.
In other words, we're taught responsibility. For us, it's a survival skill. By necessity we stay in passed ten, go everywhere (even the bathroom) in packs, and sweat through August in jeans because the alternative is receiving catcalls, wolf-whistles, and other forms of harassment.
My little sister has told me that she won't be wearing hats for a long time.
She's a thirteen-year-old kid. Hats are one of the few items that aren't on the List of Things Girls Aren't Allowed to Wear. But shouldn't she be allowed to wear whatever she wants in the first place?
Does any of the above seem fair to you? Because I'm not particularly happy with this situation.
We live in a society where girl clothes are made tight-fitting, showing skin is stylish, and even my little sister has a hard time finding shorts that are a suitable length for summer, because my mom refuses to buy the "short-shorts" that are stocked in most stores. Adults say girls should be modest and cautious, and clothing stores make it difficult to do so.
What would happen if we stopped telling girls what they're doing to make boys tease them and started telling boys not to tease girls in the first place?
Think about it: a boy pull a girl's hair in preschool, and the adults will give each other the Look and say, "Boys will be boys." Maybe he doesn't get reprimanded, or if he does it's nothing serious. And then this boy grows up, and he's in middle school, and he calls a girl names and takes her hat, and nobody does anything about it because they think, "Oh, it's just kids goofing around, testing the waters and all." So then he gets to be a grown man, and he's at a party, and he sees a girl, and she says, "No."
This boy's gone through his whole life thinking it's okay to mess with girls. How likely do you think it is that he'll listen to her?
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