Parents

You can't live with them, and you certainly can't live without them. My parents are good people, and I love them a great deal. They're incredibly important to me--not only do they take good care of me, they're also really close to me in ways not all parents and children are. My mother and father do their best to support me, and are proud of me, and love me, and will help and advise me throughout my life. But it's at fourteen that I don't really want their advice. I'd prefer to follow my own instincts, take a few risks, and either enjoy myself or suffer the consequences--all on my own terms. 
     Having caring parents sometimes means that the child doesn't have much room to grow. I wouldn't say that that's necessarily true in my case--they try to give me space, they try to give me freedom, but in the end, it's their way or the highway (though I don't think they'd ever actually kick me out for really any reason, unless I did something truly awful. I don't know what they'd do then.) Still, I don't have much say in much of anything. I'm reduced to a tiny, dependent, inconsequential voice, left out of big decisions that I'm nevertheless forced to accept, given responsibilities but also overpowering regulation, a teenager who'd like a normal--or at least almost-normal--adolescent experience.
     I hope that the frequency of our arguments isn't unusual, or indicative of any underlying incompatibility, or deep-set differences. I hope that it doesn't mean that we'll grow apart, that we won't confide and believe in each other. I hope that my parents trust me, even when I make a few mistakes, and I hope, above all, to make them proud, to impress and astonish and honor them, because I crave beyond anything their pride and approval. 
      I also crave an iPod, texting, and a little more freedom. Finding middle ground, drawing up a compromise--that's hard, especially with parents like mine; one who reasons and one who acts impulsively (they balance each other out, not always to my advantage.) I will admit that I've lost the last two iPods I've owned (well, my shuffle is here somewhere, and my other iPod was broken anyway), but thinking about keeping me from buying another (with my own money!) seems way too strict. Forbidding texting, because apparently it's unnecessary (um, no. I'll be riding the Metro a lot next year and texting is important because calling is impolite on a crowded train car, and sometimes impossible in the middle of a large city) is almost stupid. And dependence prevents much freedom. 
     I hoped with the advent of high school (a little over a month away) that I would be afforded a bit more trust. Okay, I'm not always that honest with my parents, but I've never lied about anything important--that is, life-threatening, hurtful, illegal, or in any other way potentially dangerous--and I feel I should be afforded some credit for this. Even though I'll be commuting via Metro (Metro!) every day to school I'll be constantly monitored. Even though I'll be going to school in the city, my every action after school will be passed by them first, met with approval or not, and accordingly sanctioned or forbidden. Even though I'll be fifteen next year, even though I'm fourteen now (a pretty impressive age in itself) I'm treated as though I'm ten and have little to no understanding of anything. 
     Which, needless to say, pisses me off. To no end. 
     I'm a lucky person. My parents can provide for me. I've studied in good schools. My walls are lined with books, my bunny and guinea pig snuffle in their cages across my room, and I'm typing, at this moment, from a Macbook computer. I'm fortunate to have lived such a comfortable life as my own, but even now, the fact that I don't know discomfort--or rather, that I am not allowed to take risks--bothers me. 
     When will I be allowed to grow up? 

Adventures on the subway

As you may know, from my other posts, I get to school, or rather summer bridge, by taking the subway system--Metro, MARTA, BART, whatever you call it in your city. It's a huge adjustment--after years of riding buses to my suburban schools, taking the Metro to my inner-city school is a wholly different experience. Especially when the people who ride the Metro with you are eccentric. Especially when you ride with a close friend. Especially when you yourself see the weirdest things in other people. 
     I ride the Metro with my friend Isabel. She's a quiet person, generally--she was shy when we first met, when we were about three years old (and deathly allergic to at least seven different kinds of foods), and she was shy when we met again, ten years later. She's rather opened up in the last couple of weeks. In fact, I just got back from an extended bike ride with Isabel, her brother, Kennedy, and a Spanish girl named Adriana who's staying with them. Yesterday, we went to the thrift store together. The day before that, we went museum hopping (it's wonderful living in a town where the museums are free.) Monday, we hung out at her house.
     We generally take the Metro together in the mornings and in the afternoons. We meet at our Metro station at about 8:00, transfer about eight stations later, and finally emerge at our school's stop, about forty-five minutes later. Yesterday was no different, logistically. It was during the commute that the interesting things happened. 
     Have you ever seen someone you could have sworn was a celebrity? Someone who at least bears a passing (if not almost identical) resemblance to some famous actor or singer? I have, plenty of times. I notice things about people's face shapes, eyebrows, hair-color, bone-structure...anyway. Yesterday, I happened to notice a man-wearing "John Lennon" glasses who just so happened to look like Zach-Galifianakis-from-the-future. I will not bore you with an extensive description--let it suffice to say that he looked like Zach Galifianakis, with grey in his beard (and with John Lennon glasses) and that, when I pointed this out to Isabel (who only knew him from "It's Kind of A Funny Story", a movie I only kind-of sort-of like) she agreed. 

"Move, bitch, get out the way"

     After we transferred trains (barely making it on the train before "Step back, doors closing") I gave up my seat to a middle-aged African-American man who looked like he probably worked in an upper-level government job. Isabel was standing, anyway. We were standing in the middle of the aisle, right behind him, holding on to the metal pole and to the handhold on the back of his chair. 

     He took out his iPad and proceeded to turn it on. Isabel pointed out that it was upside-down (the button was, in fact, at the top...? Did he flip it after turning it on? What happened there?) He was reading a book using some e-reader app. I glanced over his shoulder. The first words I read were "strip poker." I doublechecked--sure enough: "Fine then. I dare you to a game of strip poker. Losers buy winners a drink," Alison said playfully. 

     I dismissed it easily. A lot of books include "sexy" scenes--and a game of strip poker did not necessarily entail anything, well, inappropriate. I didn't think that a respectable man like him, a man to whom I'd forfeited my seat, would whip out his iPad and read a book obviously meant for fappers. If you don't know what that means, look it up on urbandictionary.com. You may or may not be surprised. 

     But I was wrong. A couple of pages later, I glanced back over his shoulder, curious to see if the book did, in fact, take a turn for the sexy. It did. Just skimming the page, I saw the word dildo used five times, fuck another seven, and lesbian at least twice (not that lesbian is synonymous with sex-driven females.) I scrunched up my face in disgust. How could this man, obviously a professional and obviously a family man, read a pornographic novel, in large print, on a crowded Metro car? I poked Isabel, to see if she noticed, and she let out a little giggle. Thankfully, the man didn't turn around to frown at us, or at all. Jesus, that was frightening. 

     In the end, it was a weird morning for Metro. We ended up having a good laugh about Zach Galifianakis and Porno Man. Sorry for the slightly-explicit content. It had to be said--I couldn't get the thought of that upside-down iPad out of my mind. 

A few books I've been reading...

Earlier this summer, sometime in June, (it's actually probably still on the homepage of this blog, I just haven't been updating as frequently as I used to) I made a reading list for myself. I've read a few of the books on that list, but others have been inaccessible to me. In the meantime, I've been reading quite a few other books, and I thought I might as well share a few of them with you, and my thoughts on them, seeing as I'd promised to review some of the books on my reading list anyway. 
     Currently, I'm reading Songs for the Missing by Stewart O'Nan, and Suite Francaise, by Irene Nemirovsky. I just finished reading Angels and Demons and The Lost Symbol by Dan Brown, the two companion books to his famous The Da Vinci Code. There's also Commencement, by J. Courtney Sullivan. These are the books I've read in the past week. I've had a lot of time on my hands, some of which could have been spent on homework (I haven't even started, isn't that funny? Oh well, I'm a known procrastinator.) 
     To start off--on the bus ride down to Tennessee (I'm visiting my grandparents, or "Oma" and "Opa," as I call them, in reference to my grandmother's German background)--I ripped through Angels and Demons. It was a spectacular book, fueled with sharp dialogue, fascinating symboligic knowledge, and terrifying intrigue and mystery--better, even, I think, than The Da Vinci Code. The Lost Symbol, the last book of the trilogy, was, in my mind, a disappointment. Though it took place in Washington, D.C., little of the city's actual essence and atmosphere came across in the novel, while in Brown's other books, Rome and Paris (Paris was the setting of The Da Vinci Code, right?) I actually felt like I was there. That may be because I've spent so much time in D.C., and know it very well, whereas I've only (haha, only) been to Rome once and Paris never. 
     Almost immediately after I arrived in Tennessee, I started Commencement. I expected, well, a "beach read." It's about four girls from different parts of the country who become best friends while attending Smith College (an actual college, by the way, and sister to my beloved Bryn Mawr.) It's a very good book, in my opinion, and while the font was slightly distracting (I may have mentioned that I judge a book not by its cover but by its font.) The plot took a surprisingly serious turn about two thirds of the way through. I highly recommend it to those of you who want to wind down with a good book--though again, I want to emphasize that it's not simple at all.) 
     Actually, Songs for the Missing and Suite Francaise have been my favorite books so far, though I've finished neither. Suite Francaise, written by a Frenchwoman at the start of World War II, is the beautifully written story of the French exodus of 1940, the German invasion, and the ensuing occupation and chaos. Songs for the Missing follows the story of a family reeling from the disappearance of Kim, the oldest, college-bound daughter, covering their private despairs, public appeals for help and support, and the police's seemingly ineffective attempts to uncover the truth, and Kim, whether dead or alive. It's a wonderful book, though at times I skip over a few unimportant pages (sometimes O'Nan drags on a bit.) 
     So that's this week's reading overview! Next week, you can expect a few reviews of The Twelve Little Cakes and Let the Great World Spin. Also, I'm going to start putting up some more gardening information and a few favorite recipes of mine, just to diversify this blog's publications. 

My shit week in review.

     This past week has been nothing if not a whirlwind of activity. If you've ready any of my posts, you might have guessed that I'm super freaked out about high school, and meeting new people, and making friends, and that last week I was introduced to a bunch of my teachers and classmates. I was really nervous, but I honestly expected to make a few friends on the first day, and a few more on the next. I was actually fairly confident (even if that didn't come through on my posts) that the number of people I knew and liked would grow exponentially after that first day. I was excited, and yes, a bit afraid. But in the end, I expected nothing less than a decent-sized group of friends by Friday afternoon.

     Here's how I was wrong. 

     Let me start with the subway commute, one of many reasons I really happy with my new school (and its location). That first day, I rode with my dad and a preschool friend (yes, I know. Preschool friends are generally insignificant by the time you turn five, much less a month after you turned fourteen--but Isabel's cool) and that preschool friend's mom. I was flipping out, to say the least, fidgeting and bouncing up and down on my seat. Isabel, who is much calmer than I am, was not so worried (she was equally excited though). 

     After my dad disappeared, off to work, and Isabel's mom had left, too, Isabel and I found some seats at the back of the school's cafeteria. I was enthralled by the noisy people around me, most of whom had gone to the same middle school and elementary school and had, as such, known each other for going-on nine years. I didn't know anybody, except for Isabel and her friend Claire (Danyel wasn't there that day, and Kennedy would be attending the next summer bridge session) and nobody was making a conscious effort, at all, to talk to anybody except for those people that they already knew. 

     This is the moment that I start to actually worry if I'll be shut out of most social high school goings-on and wonder if I'll have any friends at all. There's Isabel, who's a genuinely nice person, but she already has a few people she knows. She doesn't need to stick with me--why would she? She hardly knows me and there's nothing exactly exciting about me. Sure, I'm kind of noisy, but that's not a reason to be my friend.

     I'm going to fastforward through most everything, so as not to bore you. My first impression of my classmates was essentially correct. Kids who'd gone to the same middle school stuck with each other, with the exception of myself and Isabel--who, mercifully, did not grow weary of my presence and is shaping up to be a really great and close friend--and, with a few rare exceptions, deigned not to talk to anyone else. I was stranded, with Isabel, the only person I'd really talked to, and a boy named Jack who I think is mildly autistic and gets laughed at, and this irritatingly smart and organized girl named Nina (who's a twin.) Jack and Nina aren't people I'd be friends with, usually, not that they aren't perfectly nice people.

     More shit things that happened: I proceeded to waste a lot of money on subway cards, and my camera was stolen. Also, next to nobody spoke to me or Isabel. There was Sophie and Becca and a few other people, but I don't think I've made any lasting friends, except for Isabel, who I think is super awesome.

     So that's my week in review. It wasn't that awesome, but I highlighted for you a few key shit moments that you should know about if you want to keep up with what's going on in my life (which you probably don't, because if it's like this all of the time then it'll be downright depressing.) On a lighter note, I just ate peach pie with ice cream and I'm going to camp in two weeks. Oh, the excitement! At least there I know I'll make friends, and reunite with some old ones.

P.S. I'm thinking about actually writing some serious and/or meaningful posts in the future. This "vlog" thing is fun, but there are other things worth talking about. That are more important. And, even though that may not be evident, I'm actually fairly politically and current-events-ly savvy. So if you see a surprisingly thoughtful post, you have been forewarned. 

     

Tomorrow's the day!

     There are honestly no words to describe my excitement at this moment. I've picked out an outfit, shaved my legs (although that was completely unnecessary--I'm wearing pants), packed my bag, packed my lunch, ate a celebratory piece of cake coupled with a glass of milk, and brushed my teeth for five minutes. 
     Okay, fine. There is a word for my excitement, and that word is eep! Oh my fucking god! I'm going to fucking high school tomorrow, and there'll be no tests, just new people--teachers and kids and principals and shit--and a crapload of information I'm excited to learn and digest! 
     I'm going to wake up tomorrow morning, brush my teeth for at least two minutes. I will not forget my deodorant (new and beautiful, purchased today and designed to prevent that nasty 85 degree weather from getting to my armpits and messing everything up) and I'll use my equally new facial moisturizer (Aveeno, people--that's 15 bucks, right there!) to freshen up my face, whatever that means. I'll probably brush my teeth again--sweet-smelling breath  is of the utmost importance. I'll go and munch on my breakfast, but in all honesty I'll probably be too excited to want to eat. I'll brush my teeth again, for good measure. 
     Then, I'll slip on my clothes--cuffed pants, white t-shirt, and beautiful, newly-bought-but-not-new vintage red polkadot shortsleeved button-up shirt, and a pair of shoes as of yet to be determined. My hair will be tamed and styled appropriately, my brush slipped into my new and beautiful navy-blue Jansport backpack for use, later, along with my camera and wallet. 
     I'll kiss my mommy goodbye and walk with my dad to the nearest train station, just a couple of blocks away. Along the way I'll pop a breath-freshening spearmint gum stick into my mouth. Like I said, sweet-smelling breath is vital (first impressions/first smells are important.) Then we'll ride with my friend Isabel and her mother to the school, where they'll leave us to our fates.
     OHMYGOD I'M SO EXCITED. There are no words to describe my anticipation and my anxious apprehension. It'll go well tomorrow. It has to go well. I won't make a fool of myself. I'll look gorgeous, maybe, and I'll impress my teachers. I'll make friends and I'll eat my lovely salad and it'll be a special, wonderful day. 
     I will update you afterward, when I'm clearheaded enough to think and write properly. Cross you fingers for me--it's a make-it-or-break-it day!

Starting a writing project!

     It seemed as though middle school sapped me of all of my powers of imagination and creative writing. Suddenly, what had once flowed easily was no longer accessible to me. I've struggled for the past three years to come up with something, anything--a story I could honestly see myself pursuing to the finish line. The two years I spent in a humanities program didn't help. While I learned how to write a mean research paper, my scholastic experiences with creative writing have been, to say the least, limited. For a long time, I've been judging my work before I've even written it down. That perfectionist tendency of mine has not been helpful when I'm trying to brainstorm and write first drafts.
     But I think I've got it. Not only have I come up with a potentially plausible and interesting plotline, I think I can follow through. And if I can't, in the end, I've got a couple more ideas lined up that seem promising. My creative juices are flowing! The dam has been breached! Sentences are being formed, words carefully evaluated for accuracy and dialogues edited and re-edited!
     If you can't already tell, I'm really super duper excited. While this is great news for me and my embryo-of-a-project, this isn't so wonderful for my blog. Instead of updating every day, like I've been trying to do (I think I only missed one day, yesterday, since I've started, and that was because of a sleepover) I'll probably be limited to bi-weekly or weekly posts. But since I feel like I'm kind of over-posting anyway, to an audience that isn't there, I don't think I'll be seriously missed.
     I wish you luck on all your endeavors, be they writing projects or not. Wish me luch on mine!

My growing obsession with clothes.

     For the record, I have absolutely no interesting clothes. Well, maybe a couple of pieces that I've picked up here and there, and some of them are too big for me and require boobs and stuff like that. This does not, however, mean that I am not totally and completely in love with the vintage fashion world. I would spend all day (literally twenty-four hours. I am addicted) browsing blissfully through sites like modcloth.com and shopruche.com if it weren't for my mother and her anti-Internet ways. 

     If you haven't already discovered vintage-clothing-inspired sites like those, I suggest you check them out. They're absolutely brilliant and, while many actual vintage stores in my area have hair-raisingly high prices, modcloth and shopruche lead the charge in acceptable prices. My mom bought me a delightfully long, black skirt and a beautiful floral print dress for Christmas. Disappointingly, the skirt made me look shrunken and the neckline on was too wide (yes, wide, not low!) and made my head look tiny. Irritatingly, the dress fit my friend perfectly (I'm ashamed to admit that I'm jealous of that fact.) 

     Here's the problem: my body. I am not about to go on a body-bashing rant, because I've long since discovered that hating my body, or at least actively hating my body, will not change anything--so no worries. But it's true. I'm kind of small, with boyish hips and a pretty flat chest. This is not good if you're into vintage, one-of-a-kind clothes and online stores (whose wares you obviously cannot try on.) It's a big guessing game, for me especially, and it annoys me that my body cannot be the slightest bit more accommodating. 

     I have not yet given up hope, though. While I'm forced to dismiss some pieces of clothing because they just won't suit my body, I've picked out a few dresses and cardigans that can't help but look nice. For example, I'm absolutely pining after modcloth's Bloom Moon Dress (look it up on their site and you'll see what I mean.) And you can't go wrong with gojane.com's Button-Up Denim Top. Instead of picking out clothing for the body that I wish I had, I'm choosing beautiful pieces that'll slide over the parts of myself that I least like and accentuating my best features, like my shoulders and collarbone (I know, weird), and my waist. I've done my best to find items like these. There's modcloth's Jenny Jump-Up Dress, their Instant Wishes Dress (I haven't yet chosen between red and navy) and their Classic Remix and Charter School Cardigans. Gojane.com, while not totally vintage-oriented, produces some pieces worthy of consideration, like the afore-mentioned Button-Up Denim Top. I especially like gojane for its shoes. 

     Speaking of shoes...I recently discovered that the "girl-loves-shoes" stereotype is totally applicable to me. While I may favor more conservative and lower-heeled options instead of sky-high Louboutins, I'm still a shoe girl. Gojane's Lace-Up Bootie in taupe is absolutely adorable, while modcloth's scholastic Soft-Serve Heel is one of the best things I've ever seen, ever. Next summer, I'm planning on purchasing modcloth's Go About Your Afternoon Heel (in chestnut), which is more of a sandal than a heel (it is raised only 1.75 inches off of the ground.) I love love love shoes...thank god there's pretty much no body-type requirement for shoes (except for size, of course.) Beautiful shoes look beautiful on anyone. 

     Same goes for accessories, most of the time. To highlight one of my best and cheapest finds (I actually had no idea what I'd stumbled upon) I bought a vintage Vera scarf for approximately five bucks. It's green, with sharp white zigzags. It's an early Vera, too, according to this article, because it includes the ladybug logo. Apparently, Vera scarves are the best-loved vintage scarves around, excepting, perhaps, Hermes. Modcloth's Bow To Stern scarves are almost my Vera scarf's equal. As soon as I choose one of those gorgeous color combinations, I'm buying it. 

     And then there's the unavoidable question of money. If you're into vintage clothing, it's good to have some source of money. I've long since given up on a monthly, parentally-issued allowance, but I've got a job walking a dog four times a week and I babysit a young boy named Thomas twice a week. They're both steady sources of income, and while I won't go into the details, I've carefully plotted out my next steps and calculated and calculated until my arm felt like it was about to drop off. 

     Long story short, I love vintage clothing and wish I had more of them. If you're also obsessed with vintage clothes, comment, please! We can compare notes and prices and stuff  like that. 

     

Maddie's summer reading list

     It's summer and it's raining outside, which kind of sucks because I had a whole host of gardening plans and I kind of hate sticking my hands in soggy, cold earth. But I can entertain myself in other ways--for example, I can look something up for my Internet-challanged mother, or I can watch episode 6 of season 4 of Grey's Anatomy, or I can read my new book, Beautiful Ruins, by Jess Walter. That last option got me thinking about other bookish things--like what's my book to-do list this summer?
     So, here it is. I think you'll find a healthy mix of novels and biographies, self-help books (yes, I love them...not because I have spectacularly low self-esteem, but because they're really fun to read and ignore) and memoirs, deliciously surreal science fiction and the occasional nonfiction piece. And, at the end of the summer (if I remember) I can tell you what I thought of them.
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- Beautiful Ruins. So far, it's a really great book. I highly recommend it. Here's an excerpt from the inside flap..."The story begins in 1962. On a rocky patch of the sun-drenched Italian coastline, a young innkeeper, chest-deep in daydreams, looks out over the...Ligurian Sea and spies an apparation: a tall, thin woman, a vision in white, approaching him on a boat. She is an actress, he soon learns, an American starlet, and she is dying. And the story begins again today, half a world away, when an elderly Italian man shows up on a movie studio's back lot--searching for the mysterious woman he last saw at his hotel decades earlier. What unfolds is a dazzling, yet deeply human, roller coaster of a novel..." While I'm only about halfway through the book, I'm starting to think that this may be one of my all-time favorites. (Edit, 6/18/2012: Beautiful Ruins was a lovely book. I highly recommend it to all. It's the best kind of love story.)
- The Lifeboat, by Charlotte Rogan. It looks like a great read, and it's in a good font. (Yes, I'm weird about fonts--if the book's font is too ugly (which is, by the way, one of the first things I check for when picking out a book) I usually don't read it.) From what I gather, it's about a newlywed woman who is separated from her husband after the ocean liner on which she is traveling to America "suffers a mysterious explosion" and the overfilled, slowly sinking lifeboat that carries her to safety.
- Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? by Mindy Kaling. Okay, the main reason I picked up this book is because I love The Office, and Kelly Kapoor, and, by default, Mindy Kaling. I sat down and read a chapter of her book at the bookstore. It's great--funny and superbly honest. Truthfully, though, my favorite part is the back cover, which features this picture. 
- The Good Women of China, by Xue Xinran. The author, Xinran, was a radio journalist in the late 1980s. She hosted a radio show and listened to the stories of Chinese women, some of which are collected in The Good Women of China. I'm also looking forward to reading Message from an Unknown Chinese Mother, also written by Ms. Xinran, which I believe is a follow up to The Good Women. You can find her English blog here. 
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     A few other books I'm excited to read are Me Talk Pretty One Day (David Sedaris), The Gospel According to Coco Chanel (Karen Karbo), Very Classy (Derek Blasberg), Istanbul Passage (Joseph Kanon), Seating Arrangements (Maggie Shipstead), The Long Earth (Terry Pratchett, Steven Baxter), Never Let Me Go (Kazuo Ishiguro), Swamplandia! & St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised by Wolves (Karen Russell), and Into the Garden With Charles (Clyde Philip Wachsberger.) 
     If you're interested in reading these books too, comment below and we can have a nice, friendly, and super intellectual discussion about our (in my case newly-acquired) braniac statuses and the books we're reading. If you've got any suggestions, by all means offer them up. For right now, though, I'm going to go read.
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(Edit, 6/19/2012: I was just at the library and unfortunately forgot all of the names of these books. I did pick up a few more, though, including Empress, House Rules, Cotton, and Driftless. Obviously, I'm adding these to my list :3) 

Sneakiness, strawberries, and guinea pigs in baskets.

     Hey all! Remember how I said I would actually do something, at some undetermined point? Well, yesterday night that point was officially determined. My friend Bridget and I headed downtown for a movie--more specifically, Snow White and the Huntsman. Except for one thing...we both really like comedies and we just weren't in the mood for Kristen Stewart. Sorry. Couldn't do it. So, like the bold teenagers we are, we bought tickets for Snow White and snuck into The Dictator, Sacha Baron Cohen's new movie. The only reason we snuck in is because of rating--R. Like the insatiable badasses we are, we not only snuck into the movie, we snuck in with Chipotle burritos--and ate them noisily, with chips and guacamole. 
     And that's not all. At the end of the movie, an alarming discovery--there were at least ten movie theater employees standing at the exit. I hurriedly made for the second exit--only to find that there was only one in this theater. Panicked and distressed, Bridget and I did the only thing we could--we latched on to a lone Asian man and hightailed it on out of there, doing our best to remain...well, inconspicuous. After successfully escaping (which entailed, terrifyingly, walking slowly past the aforementioned movie theater employees) we rushed to the lady's room where we panted and clutched our sides (though no physical strain had been put upon us.) The rush of adrenaline and the ensuing high led to an all-out oath. Before our four years as high schoolers are up, we'll sneak in to at least ten R-rated movies. We feel successfully rebellious. 
     And today, we woke up at around 11:00. Well, I did. Binta was already up--and watching Grey's Anatomy. Without me! I almost cried. When I got over that shock, we got up, made ourselves a homecooked breakfast microwaved lunch. And then we trekked downtown to buy some more strawberries. Last Sunday, I planted about twenty gazillion herbs and also a beautiful strawberry plant. Today, after seeing my first blossom, I was filled with a rush of motherly pride (though all I've really done is water my plants and pat fondly at the dirt in which they are planted) and was inspired to go buy more so that my strawberry harvest would not be limited to the perhaps measly output of that single plant.
     We took our guinea pigs with us, Bridget and I. Her guinea pigs are named Dasher and Caramel. They don't particularly like my guinea pig, Sebbie. He's too gregarious, too outgoing, too sociable for them. He also likes to sniff their butts, and tribbles (my word for guinea-pig-purrs) when he does, a practice they don't seem to appreciate all that much. He likes to snuggle up with them, and in response they readjust themselves or clack their teeth in irritation. I find this all rather mean and hurtful, seeing as Sebbie is such a friendly pig. But then again, who am I to interfere in guinea pig politics? Oh god, there's frantic yipping from their cage! And now, five seconds later, all is calm. 

G-Force discusses matters of 
international cavy
significance over alfa-alfa.

     Anyway, we brought our guinea pigs into town in a big round basket. After a few minutes of confusion and discomfort, they settled down into their soft, warm towel and proceeded to bask, merrily, in the warm afternoon sunshine as we walked along. As it turns out, bringing a trio of yippy, sometimes-feuding guinea pigs into town who collectively weigh somewhere between nine and twelve pounds (our guinea pigs are fat. Fat, plump, and cute) was not and continues to be a bad idea, especially if you're planning to haul back at least five plants (one weighing a pound or more) three pots (probably weighing about a pound and a half together, if not more, I'm really not the best estimator) and a ten+ pound sack of...wait for it...dirt. Especially if there are only two of you there to carry said items, and even more especially if you're both weak-limbed fourteen-year-old girls. 
     We hitched a ride with the dad of a girl on our soccer team (after staggering for about a block under the weight of these many items so foolishly purchased) and arrived soon after at home, where we planted our lovely new strawberry, thyme, and Italian parsley plants. They're looking beautiful and I can't wait to reap what I have sown, to stuff myself with the fruits of my labor, to...yeah. I can't think of any more sayings.
     I'll try and summarize in a way that makes (hopefully) an inch of sense. It's good to be rebellious when you're fourteen, even if it only means sneaking into an R-rated movie and feeling intensely guilty about it afterward, and it's also good to think ahead when you're fourteen and have never really needed to think ahead before.

Friday's the day for action

     What kind of action? Um...right now, I'm still watching Grey's Anatomy. It's been about six days, and I'm about halfway through season 3, episode 14: Wishin' and Hopin'. If you're addicted to the show like me, you might appreciate that Callie and George just got married, and that Meredith's mom is totally, completely lucid (while also totally, completely freaking out.) It's a great show. I feel kind of sluggish and unaccomplished after watching everybody (the attendings, the residents, and the interns) fix people with their scalpels, but  it's okay. It's summer break and I have no medical ambitions, so...yeah. I'm at the point where I can tell when blood and gore and unexpected nastiness is around the corner. Like when you hear a patient complaining but they're being ignored, and then they complain really loudly and suddenly it's CODE BLUE CODE BLUE OMG CODE BLUE. 
     This is kind of sad. I mean, I love Grey's Anatomy, but it is summertime. And while I'm not about to go gallivanting off into the woods with my friend the tiger like Calvin, I may as well get something done. I hate cleaning my room. Fair enough. How about making lists? I love making lists, if you didn't know. I make lists of lovely clothes I'd buy if I was rich, I make lists of things I need to purchase, I make lists of things I want to make (have you seen those earphones that've been Chinese Staircase'd? I mean, honestly--that's some cool shit.)
     So I'm off to make more lists. 
     I swear they're therapeutic.

Lazy Thursday--time for a summer bucket list!

Okay, I know I said that I had a schedule. I even set up an online calendar. Then I stayed up till four o'clock in the morning watching Grey's Anatomy, and when I finally fell asleep, I didn't wake up for another nine hours. Past noon! An all-time record for me, a girl who admittedly likes being lazy. I've actually only been up for about an hour and a half at this point--and it's 3:42. 3:42! 

     Since I've got nothing better to do--my gardening plans have been postponed till the weekend, I don't know if I mentioned that last post--I'm going to start a bucket list of everything I hope to do this summer. Bucket lists are fun, but I always wonder if I'll actually ever get to do all of this stuff. On a broader spectrum, "life" bucket lists--not just "summer" bucket lists--make me sad. I want to experience and see so much in my life. That's part of the reason why the movie Eat Pray Love makes me so sad. Her big travel experience is to three countries. I want to see the world! 

     Okay, that was definitely an unrelated tangent. Getting back to my main point--I think it's time for me to set some summer goals. I just don't know exactly where to start. These won't be in order--bear with me, and perhaps garner some inspiration for your own Summer 2012 bucket list (if you can be inspired by the goals of a 14-year-old girl.)
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- Bike a lot.  Not a very specific goal, but the part of my body I most despise are my legs--biking will be good for me, especially because I hate running. Biking is fun--you can go further and faster, and there are opportunities to coast. It's an easier ride, but because I love biking so much, I think I'll get as much out of it as if I had decided to train for a marathon.
- Edit, publish, and distribute my novella. This past semester in school, my media teacher (if you remember from my introductory post, I was enrolled in an intensive humanities program at my middle school) assigned a three-month-long project, entirely open-ended (do whatever you want, using any media you like.) I, like many of my classmates, chose to write a book. I, unlike many of my classmates (and I'm aware that I'm about to sound like a total asshole) got full marks for my project. Because of its personal relevance to my family, my mom wants me to edit it and distribute it to my friends and family, a project I'm glad to tackle this summer. 
- Redo my room. My room has been arranged the same way for a decade, with pretty much the same furniture and things in it. It's time for some change. I've drawn up a rough blueprint of how I want things to change (no measurements yet, so this is purely speculation and guesswork.) I'm making lists and investigating cheaper furniture options, as well as homes for some the many stupid books that I own (I don't mean that all books are stupid--I'm just saying that I don't exactly want to keep my Pretty Little Liars bookset on my new shelves.) I've started, and I don't want to turn back now.
- Go to a concert. If you needed any clarification, I did not mean a classical music concert (already sat through one in May...nice, but I was very sleepy at the end.) I mean a Beatles-type concert, if they were still alive. If I liked All Time Low, that would be the type of concert I mean. If The Shins were in my hometown or anyplace near it, that would be the concert of my dreams. Let me revise this, though--purchasing or saving money to purchase concert tickets is enough to fulfill this bullet of my bucket list. 
- Tackle my gardening projects head-on. I know I've talked pretty much endlessly about my gardening projects, but they're super exciting for me...and I'd like to actually complete them. That means keeping my herb garden alive and well, planting the flower box out front with impatiens, convincing my parents to buy one of my bedroom windows a flower box, maintaining that one, too, setting up some pots on the patio with pretty flowers, doing something with our mess of a front yard, and more, if possible. If all of the stuff I mentioned a second ago is possible, I'll thank my lucky stars or whatever.
- Learn how to knit. And sew. And stuff like that. Yes, I am one of those girls who learned how to kind-of-sort-of knit when she was 5 and then eventually (almost immediately, actually) totally forgot about it. And now I want to make myself a scarf! So dammit, I will!
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That's it for right now. Rest assured, I'll be adding quite a few more bullet points to this list as I go along. I'll keep you updated on the progress or lack of it on each of these projects. For right now, though, time to clean my room for my weekend-long sleepover with my best friend! Byebye!

High school drama...before high school starts.

     So, I know my last post was all about the virtues of summer vacation and how I’m so fucking lucky that kids in the nineteenth century needed to farm from May to September, but I can’t get the thought of high school out of my mind. Most of my classmates will be going to schools where they know somebody, have friends, won’t be totally alone. Me? I’m starting high school in a different district, in a different state, if you will. So, no. None of my best friends, or friends, even, will be following me into ninth grade. A few friendly acquaintances are all I’ve got—Isabel, Kennedy, Daniel, and Claire. I went to preschool with Isabel and Daniel, and Kennedy and Claire are their good friends from school who are coming to the same high school. I’m scared and pissed off and very, very excited for whatever high school has in store. It just sucks, just a little bit, that I won’t get to experience it with my best friends.
     It’s okay, though. This gives me a chance to start fresh, if you know what I mean. I don’t mean reinvent myself, my personality, get plastic surgery, and prance around in shoplifted Prada and Miu Miu—this means a good, old-fashioned, 1990s-chick-flick makeover. This means new clothes (if not Prada and Miu Miu), a renewed stab at banishing all traces of acne from my face, and a valiant attempt at perhaps using a little bit of makeup. I’m also going to buy an iPod, a new cellphone, get unlimited texting and data, and empty my laptop of all embarrassing, possibly incriminating stuff (by which I mean silly, stupid fan fiction I wrote two years ago while in the throws of Harry Potter obsession.) A new email address, a more consolidated online presence, and, of course, greater focus on academics. This is a total overhaul, but one that, nevertheless, preserves my own personality. I need to gauge what my new school will me like. And honestly, I liked the image I had at my last school—a small, friendly, intelligent girl. Come high school, I’ll just be adding a little of punch to that image. 
     I know that first impressions are important, so I’ll be planning a first-day-of-school outfit, as well as a first-day-of-summer-bridge-program outfit, one in which I won’t sweat that much. I know that being shy the first day pays off (bubbly girls can go two ways: popularity or total exclusion) and I know that friendships matter. I’ve been stuck, in the past, with boring friends with whom I share next to no interests, just because I’m a pushover and they seemed nice (which they were. It’s just that we had nothing in common…) I need to find friends that I can relate to, and if they aren’t popular, I don’t give a fuck. I know, too, that I shouldn’t piss off people that I don’t have to piss off simply for the sake of pissing them off (an obvious statement and a structurally jumbled one, too.) I know that in high school, music taste is important. I plan on cultivating a stronger personal taste this summer—that’ll go along with my new iPod.
     There is, of course, the all-important question of money. Where will it be coming from? How can I spend as little as necessary while getting as much return? How can I save for other things while adequately preparing myself for high school? To that, I say: babysitting. Huzzah! (And, of course, my four-days-a-week dog-walking job, which pays well.) All I need is a good marketing plan and I’m good to go. I’ll put that listserv of my neighborhood’s to good use. And I’ll rake in the cash, enough to sponsor these changes, these developments I’m preparing for high school.

     Does all of this sound superficial to you? Does planning for high school, my social life, the image I want to project, my connectedness, my friendships…does it sound superficial? I don’t think it is. I’m not a very superficial person. Sure, I like my laptop and my pretty clothes and I wish I had more, but I know that I could live without it, abandon it in a heartbeat for what I believe in, for the people that I love, for my family and friends and everything that’s good in the world. So, no. I don’t think that trying to figure out who I want to be in high school is superficial, and that planning and preparing and purchasing for that identity is superficial, at all. I think it’s straightforward and smart of me. Let me assure that my thoughts on this blog do not represent the full scope of my mind and my ideas--I don't just think about iPods and money. If that sounds pretentious, well, fuck it.

     And now, to sleep. Two blog posts in a day, with slightly conflicting points of view (nevertheless written by the same person) is a tiring experience to endure. I even induced it! Okay. Good night. Or, rather, to Grey’s Anatomy.

            

Summer begins with a bang and some gardening

     Now that that introduction, written a half-month ago, is out of the way, it’s time for a real honest-to-god post. On the triumph (of the human spirit) that is summer. I have been out of school all of one day and already I feel the swooping, irrepressible ecstasy that invariably accompanies summer break. Yesterday was graduation and the day before that, the eighth grade’s trip to King’s Dominion. And today—wonder of all wonders, glory of all glories—I did nothing, except earn eight dollars babysitting for 90 minutes and hang out with my guinea pig and bunny rabbit. Oh, and I did happen to watch at least eight episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, my new favorite show. Jesus, that bomb scare in season two floored me—what the hell was that? And Christina Ricci’s appearance as the terrified paramedic responsible for the life of the man in which the bomb-type-thing is lodged sent me clapping and dancing around my room like a demented seal. This—thxis lazy, almost wastefully empty vacation—is how I keep going in the school year.

     But worry not, sweet reader! I will not squander my precious days of freedom. Last Sunday I planted my mother’s potted herb garden. I went and bought some plants downtown with a couple of friends and spent the next couple of hours planting sage, thyme, dill, oregano, and lavender, adding on to what was left of last year’s rosemary and mint (the rosemary was mercilessly pruned into shape.) I also bought a tomato plant and a strawberry plant and potted them, too—not exactly herbs, but who gives a fuck? Not me. I’ll have tomatoes and strawberries and oh, yeah, basil (pesto! Heheheh) by summer’s end. I WILL BE RICH! Almost. Not really, though.

     In the coming days I’m tackling a few other gardening projects, to continue on with the spirit of The Green Thumb. That last thought doesn’t make any sense. I’m going to buy some pretty flowers, pot them, and set them up my patio. Like that. Bam bam bam. This will be my life in the months to come…I will plant like a fucking professional planter. With a trowel! And some dirt! Yeah!
     Well, that’s it for today. I’ll keep you posted on my gardening progress and a few other projects I’m thinking about. Good night, all. 

Introduction

     Let me start with a brief introduction. My name is Maddie. I'm a teenager, months from the beginning of high school, and my URL is actually the worst I've seen in a while. Bear with me; it's 11:42, I'm evading my mother's notice as best I can, and I'm really, really tired. But also really, really bored. And since falling asleep didn't seem to be much of an option and I had just seconds before been scrolling through a talented friend's blog, it seemed fitting to try to quench my boredom this way. By setting up a blog. That's what kids in my generation do when they're bored--they set up blogs and promptly forget to update them. Hopefully that won't happen in this case.

     I still haven't really explained who I am, though, so let me get back to that. I turned fourteen about...three weeks ago, was it? My best friend's birthday is tomorrow and tomorrow night I leave for South Carolina for Memorial Day Weekend. I go to middle school currently, as you probably deduced after reading the second sentence. I don't live in Rosemont but I love it there, and wish I was there. (For the sake of anonymity and because I'm rather cautious, I won't give out my location on this site--notice I didn't specify beyond "South Carolina" earlier.) So, in that sense, my URL isn't total idiocy. 

     I with my parents, my guinea pig, my bunny, and my cat in a small suburb of one of the United States's largest, most important cities. I go to school with a bunch of weirdos and also lots of cockroaches. Yes, public school--how did you guess? I'm part of my school's application-only humanities magnet program, and I love it, though I'll be leaving it soon. 

     I just realized how little sense these past three paragraphs have made. I really, sincerely hope that any posts I write and publish in the future are a little less jumbled and a little more straightforward. But now it's 11:50 and I really am tired and unfortunately (for now, at least), this blog is more boring than falling asleep. That's okay, though. I'm pretty sure I'll be back.