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.