Saturday, December 29, 2012
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Words.
"DUDE look at that fag over there. He's the biggest homo I know God, does he know how much people hate him? He's so gay."
"Man. That girl is so retarded."
"Did you see that fat guy? What, does he know how much fat there is in those McDonald's fries?"
"She is SUCH a slut! Who does she think she is?"
"Oh my god. She's so skinny, I bet she has an eating disorder. What's wrong with her?"
***
Do you ever think about what you say, when you say it, and why?
Do you ever think about how words can affect not only you, not only the person who you're talking about, but everyone around you?
Words hurt. You don't know that person's story or their life, where they come from. You don't know them. You have no right to judge. And that's the truth.
All I'm saying is that everyone needs to think before speaking. It's so simple, so elementary. Yet tons of people everyday just spew words out, without even realizing the impact of these words. I'm not trying to get all preachy, but it just frustrates me when people use such derogatory terms in everyday language.
You shouldn't care what other people look like, how they act, or who they like. If you don't have something nice to say, don't say it at all. That's straight forward enough. Bullying has such a domino effect on people. It starts from one bully and then it just spreads and spreads. Don't stoop down to that level. You're better than that. You would only be hurting yourself, really.
I know no one's perfect; I know sometimes words just slip out and you wish they could just slip right back in. It's okay to make a mistake. But that's the key word: a mistake. Mistakes are part of human nature; they are something that can be fixed by apologies or baking cookies
I want to make a promise to the world. I promise that I will never bully someone; I promise I will never make my self feel great by making someone else feel terrible. That's just plain wrong. And I want you to make that promise, too. Because we're never going to get anywhere by putting someone down. Karma will come eventually.
Stop using the words "retard", "homo", "fatty", "anorexic", and "fugly". They hurt. They really do. People are all kind and beautiful and lovely in their own special, wonderful ways. Think. Don't be so quick to judge.
"Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless."
--Mother Teresa
"Man. That girl is so retarded."
"Did you see that fat guy? What, does he know how much fat there is in those McDonald's fries?"
"She is SUCH a slut! Who does she think she is?"
"Oh my god. She's so skinny, I bet she has an eating disorder. What's wrong with her?"
***
Do you ever think about what you say, when you say it, and why?
Do you ever think about how words can affect not only you, not only the person who you're talking about, but everyone around you?
Words hurt. You don't know that person's story or their life, where they come from. You don't know them. You have no right to judge. And that's the truth.
All I'm saying is that everyone needs to think before speaking. It's so simple, so elementary. Yet tons of people everyday just spew words out, without even realizing the impact of these words. I'm not trying to get all preachy, but it just frustrates me when people use such derogatory terms in everyday language.
You shouldn't care what other people look like, how they act, or who they like. If you don't have something nice to say, don't say it at all. That's straight forward enough. Bullying has such a domino effect on people. It starts from one bully and then it just spreads and spreads. Don't stoop down to that level. You're better than that. You would only be hurting yourself, really.
I know no one's perfect; I know sometimes words just slip out and you wish they could just slip right back in. It's okay to make a mistake. But that's the key word: a mistake. Mistakes are part of human nature; they are something that can be fixed by apologies or baking cookies
I want to make a promise to the world. I promise that I will never bully someone; I promise I will never make my self feel great by making someone else feel terrible. That's just plain wrong. And I want you to make that promise, too. Because we're never going to get anywhere by putting someone down. Karma will come eventually.
Stop using the words "retard", "homo", "fatty", "anorexic", and "fugly". They hurt. They really do. People are all kind and beautiful and lovely in their own special, wonderful ways. Think. Don't be so quick to judge.
"Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless."
--Mother Teresa
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Blessed is the Theatre
Thursday. Wake up. Get dressed. Put in contacts. Eat breakfast. Make lunch. Brush teeth. Put on makeup. Do hair. Pack up backpack. Walk to school. Get to school. Go to locker. Off to Algebra 2 Trig. Now Basic Photography. Now Health. Now French. Finally lunch. After, go to Chem. Next off to English. Then AP Euro. School's over. Go to locker. Go to Forensics practice. Get home. Eat dinner. Fast. Get into car. Where are the car keys, Dad? Hurry, we're gonna be late.
And then we get to my favorite part of the day.
Theatre.
I love it.
My home away from home.
My second family.
T h e a t r e.
The Children's Theatre of Western Springs has been one of my favorite places on earth ever since 3rd grade. It's a place where you can go and not be judged for what you're wearing, what you like, your personality, anything. It's a place where you can make the best of friends in a short amount of time. It's a place where we get stuff done and have fun simultaneously. It's a place where you can be yourself.
I love it.
I'm apart of something called HSR-- High School Rep(ertory Company). It's just a bunch of crazy kids who like theatre. We put on plays every Fall and Spring. In fact, we just ended one, called the Borrowers, today. We go to classes every Thursday, and we have the occasional get together.
I love it.
And that makes me know for sure that everyone needs something to love in his/her life. I don't care if this is too cliché of a point to say, so I'm going to say it anyway: if we don't have something we love, then what are we living for?
It doesn't matter what/who you love; you can love more than one thing, too! You can love books, or popcorn, or coloring, or shopping at Walmart, or jumping in leaves. You can love whatever you want to. I don't care.
I love:
*Theatre
*My family
*My friends
*Food
*Speech team
*My dog
*Smiling
*Harry Potter
As my man Nicholas Sparks said in A Walk to Remember: "Love is like the wind, you can't see it, but you can feel it."
So pick something you love dearly, and hold onto it, and enjoy it as much as possible. I only have 2 more years after this one at the theatre, and whenever I think about leaving it, it makes me upset. Which I guess is good because it assures me that I'm doing the right thing in my life; I'm doing something that makes me happy. I'm apart of a group of kids who make me laugh all of the time. After all, "laughter is the best medicine".
So wherever you are in your life, stressed to the max with school and sports and homework and eating and whatnot, stop and take a minute to figure out what you really love to do. Don't do something just because. Invest yourself into something worthwhile.
And for me, theatre is worthwhile.
This is a prayer we all say before every performance, and it's something I'll never forget. Ever.
"Blessed is the theatre,
for the theatre is magic.
And blessed are those who create that magic.
That's us."
So put yourself in something you love, make a wish, and kiss it up to the sky.
Above all, break a leg.
And then we get to my favorite part of the day.
Theatre.
I love it.
My home away from home.
My second family.
T h e a t r e.
The Children's Theatre of Western Springs has been one of my favorite places on earth ever since 3rd grade. It's a place where you can go and not be judged for what you're wearing, what you like, your personality, anything. It's a place where you can make the best of friends in a short amount of time. It's a place where we get stuff done and have fun simultaneously. It's a place where you can be yourself.
I love it.
I'm apart of something called HSR-- High School Rep(ertory Company). It's just a bunch of crazy kids who like theatre. We put on plays every Fall and Spring. In fact, we just ended one, called the Borrowers, today. We go to classes every Thursday, and we have the occasional get together.
I love it.
And that makes me know for sure that everyone needs something to love in his/her life. I don't care if this is too cliché of a point to say, so I'm going to say it anyway: if we don't have something we love, then what are we living for?
It doesn't matter what/who you love; you can love more than one thing, too! You can love books, or popcorn, or coloring, or shopping at Walmart, or jumping in leaves. You can love whatever you want to. I don't care.
I love:
*Theatre
*My family
*My friends
*Food
*Speech team
*My dog
*Smiling
*Harry Potter
As my man Nicholas Sparks said in A Walk to Remember: "Love is like the wind, you can't see it, but you can feel it."
So pick something you love dearly, and hold onto it, and enjoy it as much as possible. I only have 2 more years after this one at the theatre, and whenever I think about leaving it, it makes me upset. Which I guess is good because it assures me that I'm doing the right thing in my life; I'm doing something that makes me happy. I'm apart of a group of kids who make me laugh all of the time. After all, "laughter is the best medicine".
So wherever you are in your life, stressed to the max with school and sports and homework and eating and whatnot, stop and take a minute to figure out what you really love to do. Don't do something just because. Invest yourself into something worthwhile.
And for me, theatre is worthwhile.
This is a prayer we all say before every performance, and it's something I'll never forget. Ever.
"Blessed is the theatre,
for the theatre is magic.
And blessed are those who create that magic.
That's us."
So put yourself in something you love, make a wish, and kiss it up to the sky.
Above all, break a leg.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Falling Down
Swish.
Crunch.
Whistle.
Crackle.
Dig.
Roast.
Ah.
Deep breath. Can you feel it? Can you hear it? Can you see it?
The leaves are dying to fall off the trees. They fall to the ground and they swish. You step on them and they crunch. The wind whistles in the background; it's talking. It's getting cold out here. Can we turn the heat up? How about a fire in the fireplace? I like the sound it makes when the wood crackles. Can we rake the leaves into piles and then dig tunnels in the piles we make? That seems like so much fun. Can we get pumpkins and roast the seeds? Let's put some salt on them, maybe some garlic, or maybe some cinnamon; not both. They'll probably taste delicious.
Can I be a kid again? Can I shop in August for my Halloween costume? Can I go to the pumpkin farm and play in the corn maze and watch pig races? Can I make the special edition Funfetti Cupcakes and decorate them with canned orange icing? Can it just be so simple?
Not particularly. An important lesson I've learned is that life can't be that simple once you get older. It's time to face that fact, sweetheart. Mommy won't be there all of the time to hug you or wipe your tears, although she is nice to have sometimes-- okay, mostly a lot of the times.
When we fall, we have to pick ourselves back up. You don't have to worry, it'll be all right. My mom tells me to choose faith over worry, so I'm going to tell you that. It's some pretty good advice, but you don't have to take it if you don't want. My feelings won't be hurt, pinky swear.
But as we get all caught up in our lives, we have to stop for a minute, take a breath, and remember what makes us happy-- like being a little kid. Jump in that pile of leaves. You know you want to. Who cares if people stare? I don't. When I jump into the leaves, I get right back up and jump again, waiting for the next obstacle, the next adventure in the saga called life.
Crunch.
Whistle.
Crackle.
Dig.
Roast.
Ah.
Deep breath. Can you feel it? Can you hear it? Can you see it?
The leaves are dying to fall off the trees. They fall to the ground and they swish. You step on them and they crunch. The wind whistles in the background; it's talking. It's getting cold out here. Can we turn the heat up? How about a fire in the fireplace? I like the sound it makes when the wood crackles. Can we rake the leaves into piles and then dig tunnels in the piles we make? That seems like so much fun. Can we get pumpkins and roast the seeds? Let's put some salt on them, maybe some garlic, or maybe some cinnamon; not both. They'll probably taste delicious.
Can I be a kid again? Can I shop in August for my Halloween costume? Can I go to the pumpkin farm and play in the corn maze and watch pig races? Can I make the special edition Funfetti Cupcakes and decorate them with canned orange icing? Can it just be so simple?
Not particularly. An important lesson I've learned is that life can't be that simple once you get older. It's time to face that fact, sweetheart. Mommy won't be there all of the time to hug you or wipe your tears, although she is nice to have sometimes-- okay, mostly a lot of the times.
When we fall, we have to pick ourselves back up. You don't have to worry, it'll be all right. My mom tells me to choose faith over worry, so I'm going to tell you that. It's some pretty good advice, but you don't have to take it if you don't want. My feelings won't be hurt, pinky swear.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
A Different Kind of "It Girl"
She struts down the city streets with a travel mug full of tea in her hands and heels click-clacking away on the pavement. She has a huge purse on her shoulder and a phone wedged between that shoulder and her ear, which has gorgeous dangly earrings on it. She's wearing clothes that are fashionable, but not too fashionable. Inside her big purse, she has files for work, notepads, her phone, makeup, a stray apple, and her wallet. Inside that wallet are her credit cards, money, and pictures of her family. She has a husband. She has three daughters and one son. She has two dogs.
And on that phone she's talking to one of her many employees. She's on her way to her business's headquarters. She has a meeting to get to. She has to walk fast, or else she'll be late, and that'll look bad, because she is the boss after all. But she's got it under control.
She works from Mondays-Fridays. 8 AM- 3 PM. She likes her schedule. On Fridays, she and her husband go out to dinner. Her husband works too, but they both manage to spend time with their kids everyday. She has a nice house, well, two actually. One in the suburbs of the big city, and one up by the lake. She takes her family skiing every winter. Her oldest child is her son, then came a daughter, then the twins. The kids all do exceptionally well in school. Well, they have to because their mother and father were the same way.
She remembers the days when she wrote on the school newspaper, dreaming of becoming a journalist someday. Her work has payed off. She's the boss. With her free time, she attends PTO meetings, yoga classes, helps the kids with homework, thinks of something new to write for the magazine, and cooks dinner and runs with her dogs.
She loves her job, her family, her house, her life. She's happy and successful. She's the "It Girl" in her mind. But she isn't self-centered. No. She's just content.
Pause. Rewind about 25 years.
Keep going.
Okay, press play now.
She walks down the hallways at school with a water bottle in her hands and Sperry Topsiders padding on the tile. She has a huge backpack on her back and a textbook wedged between her arm and her chest. She wears clothes that are fashionable sometimes, and other times not. Inside her big backpack, she has all her books for school, lotion, cough drops, her lunch, and her phone. Inside that phone are pictures of her friends and family. She has a mom. She has a dad. She has a sister and a dog.
And on that phone she's texting one of her friends, trying to figure out what to do next Friday and planning her AP Euro project at the same time. She needs to walk fast, or else she'll be late, and being late to class is not good. But she's got it under control.
She goes to school from Mondays-Fridays. 8 AM- 3 PM. She likes school. Fridays are they days she spends with friends. Both her parents work, but they manage to spend time with their two daughters everyday. She has a nice house. A house in the suburbs of a big city. She and her family go on vacations sometimes, but not all the time. She and her older sister do exceptionally well in school. Well, they have to, because they want a good future.
She dreams of becoming a journalist because she loves writing so much. She's on the school newspaper. She isn't the boss, but someday she hopes to be. With her free time, she's a member of the speech team, goes to theatre classes, dances, does homework, writes on her blog, and cooks dinner and takes pictures of her dog.
She loves her activities, her family, her house, her life. She's happy and successful. She's the "It Girl" in her mind. But she isn't self-centered. No. She's just content.
Who might this person be? Hmm. Is it Becky or Katie or Samantha or Jane? Is it me or her? One may just never know.
And on that phone she's talking to one of her many employees. She's on her way to her business's headquarters. She has a meeting to get to. She has to walk fast, or else she'll be late, and that'll look bad, because she is the boss after all. But she's got it under control.
She works from Mondays-Fridays. 8 AM- 3 PM. She likes her schedule. On Fridays, she and her husband go out to dinner. Her husband works too, but they both manage to spend time with their kids everyday. She has a nice house, well, two actually. One in the suburbs of the big city, and one up by the lake. She takes her family skiing every winter. Her oldest child is her son, then came a daughter, then the twins. The kids all do exceptionally well in school. Well, they have to because their mother and father were the same way.
She remembers the days when she wrote on the school newspaper, dreaming of becoming a journalist someday. Her work has payed off. She's the boss. With her free time, she attends PTO meetings, yoga classes, helps the kids with homework, thinks of something new to write for the magazine, and cooks dinner and runs with her dogs.
She loves her job, her family, her house, her life. She's happy and successful. She's the "It Girl" in her mind. But she isn't self-centered. No. She's just content.
Pause. Rewind about 25 years.
Keep going.
Okay, press play now.
She walks down the hallways at school with a water bottle in her hands and Sperry Topsiders padding on the tile. She has a huge backpack on her back and a textbook wedged between her arm and her chest. She wears clothes that are fashionable sometimes, and other times not. Inside her big backpack, she has all her books for school, lotion, cough drops, her lunch, and her phone. Inside that phone are pictures of her friends and family. She has a mom. She has a dad. She has a sister and a dog.
And on that phone she's texting one of her friends, trying to figure out what to do next Friday and planning her AP Euro project at the same time. She needs to walk fast, or else she'll be late, and being late to class is not good. But she's got it under control.
She goes to school from Mondays-Fridays. 8 AM- 3 PM. She likes school. Fridays are they days she spends with friends. Both her parents work, but they manage to spend time with their two daughters everyday. She has a nice house. A house in the suburbs of a big city. She and her family go on vacations sometimes, but not all the time. She and her older sister do exceptionally well in school. Well, they have to, because they want a good future.
She dreams of becoming a journalist because she loves writing so much. She's on the school newspaper. She isn't the boss, but someday she hopes to be. With her free time, she's a member of the speech team, goes to theatre classes, dances, does homework, writes on her blog, and cooks dinner and takes pictures of her dog.
She loves her activities, her family, her house, her life. She's happy and successful. She's the "It Girl" in her mind. But she isn't self-centered. No. She's just content.
Who might this person be? Hmm. Is it Becky or Katie or Samantha or Jane? Is it me or her? One may just never know.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Mes Amies, Elles Sont Incroyables
Well hey there. Long time, no see!
I haven't been able to write this week for a variety of reasons: 1) school 2) school and 3) school. So, you could for sure say that school consumes my life. And I. Don't. Want. It. To. Do. That. Can you just go away, school? Pretty please? Pretty please with sugar on top?
Yeah no. That's not gonna happen. If school went away, that would be illegal. And I don't like being illegal.
But, I digress. You may have noticed the title of this post. It's in French. I like French. The whole world should like French because it's pretty. But what does it mean? Hmmm?
It means "my friends, they are incredible." And they are. I love love love my friends. And because of school, I haven't been able to really hang out with them in forever. But actually. It's making me upset. I need some girl time. I am in dire need of a gossip session. Yeah yeah yeah, gossip shmossip, but it's apart of being a teenage girl.
The fact that I haven't hung out with all my friends since before school started is a depressing statistic. Earlier tonight, I video chatted two of my friends. Oh my. I missed these girls so much. Yes, I see them at school in the hallways, but at school, I'm in school mode. Not friend mode. And I really miss being in friend mode. I miss laying on the couch, eating Italian ice, and watching the Olympics, too.
In eighth grade, my friends and I went to get our pictures professionally taken. I am SO glad we did that. First of all, mostly everyone has braces and it's really fun to look back at our baby eighth-grade-selves. There's one candid picture were we're all on piggy-backs and in the middle of laughing at some forgotten joke. I absolutely adore that picture. It makes me realize really how much I do love my friends.
You know what? I want to go back to eighth grade. Eighth (you have no idea how many times I had to type "eighth" to finally get it right) grade was such an easy year. And I saw my friends all the time. Literally. We were all in the same Language Arts class. We all had the same lunch. We had our specific spots at the table. I still remember where mine was. We could always hang out every Friday. But now we can't, because everyone has AP Euro study sessions, or sports, or they want to catch up on TV. Back then it was so easy. Why can't it be easy now?
We can do anything together, and it would be fun. I remember one time we were at one of my friend's houses and we had nothing to do. Naturally, we decided to have a grape war. You see, her island in her kitchen was lopsided, so you could put anything on it and it would roll to the other side. So we took some grapes and we had races to see whose grape would win. In eighth grade we played Scrabble on picnic blankets while drinking tea in someone's kitchen. We have our little mutual obsessions such as One Direction and Bones. We have Christmas parties in the winter time. I love my friends, I love my friends, I love my friends.
I've done so much with them. The memories are endless. I had one of my first stomach aches that led to my diagnosis of Celiac disease while at a campout in a friend's backyard. We traveled to DC and Disney World together. Obviously, we go to school together. We shop together, eat together, laugh together. My friends are an essential part to my well-being.
Keeping friendships is tough, especially with our favorite person, also known as school, trying to get in our way. But we manage.
Yes, there's drama sometimes. But we get over it. And I'm really glad. Because my friends are incredible. They are. I wouldn't be who I am without them. Elles sont incroyables. Plain and simple.
I haven't been able to write this week for a variety of reasons: 1) school 2) school and 3) school. So, you could for sure say that school consumes my life. And I. Don't. Want. It. To. Do. That. Can you just go away, school? Pretty please? Pretty please with sugar on top?
Yeah no. That's not gonna happen. If school went away, that would be illegal. And I don't like being illegal.
But, I digress. You may have noticed the title of this post. It's in French. I like French. The whole world should like French because it's pretty. But what does it mean? Hmmm?
It means "my friends, they are incredible." And they are. I love love love my friends. And because of school, I haven't been able to really hang out with them in forever. But actually. It's making me upset. I need some girl time. I am in dire need of a gossip session. Yeah yeah yeah, gossip shmossip, but it's apart of being a teenage girl.
The fact that I haven't hung out with all my friends since before school started is a depressing statistic. Earlier tonight, I video chatted two of my friends. Oh my. I missed these girls so much. Yes, I see them at school in the hallways, but at school, I'm in school mode. Not friend mode. And I really miss being in friend mode. I miss laying on the couch, eating Italian ice, and watching the Olympics, too.
In eighth grade, my friends and I went to get our pictures professionally taken. I am SO glad we did that. First of all, mostly everyone has braces and it's really fun to look back at our baby eighth-grade-selves. There's one candid picture were we're all on piggy-backs and in the middle of laughing at some forgotten joke. I absolutely adore that picture. It makes me realize really how much I do love my friends.
You know what? I want to go back to eighth grade. Eighth (you have no idea how many times I had to type "eighth" to finally get it right) grade was such an easy year. And I saw my friends all the time. Literally. We were all in the same Language Arts class. We all had the same lunch. We had our specific spots at the table. I still remember where mine was. We could always hang out every Friday. But now we can't, because everyone has AP Euro study sessions, or sports, or they want to catch up on TV. Back then it was so easy. Why can't it be easy now?
We can do anything together, and it would be fun. I remember one time we were at one of my friend's houses and we had nothing to do. Naturally, we decided to have a grape war. You see, her island in her kitchen was lopsided, so you could put anything on it and it would roll to the other side. So we took some grapes and we had races to see whose grape would win. In eighth grade we played Scrabble on picnic blankets while drinking tea in someone's kitchen. We have our little mutual obsessions such as One Direction and Bones. We have Christmas parties in the winter time. I love my friends, I love my friends, I love my friends.
I've done so much with them. The memories are endless. I had one of my first stomach aches that led to my diagnosis of Celiac disease while at a campout in a friend's backyard. We traveled to DC and Disney World together. Obviously, we go to school together. We shop together, eat together, laugh together. My friends are an essential part to my well-being.
Keeping friendships is tough, especially with our favorite person, also known as school, trying to get in our way. But we manage.
Yes, there's drama sometimes. But we get over it. And I'm really glad. Because my friends are incredible. They are. I wouldn't be who I am without them. Elles sont incroyables. Plain and simple.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
These Are a Few of My Favorite Things
I don't know about you, but I just sang that title in my head. Obviously, it's from the Sound of Music. Don't know what the Sound of Music is? Why don't you crawl out from under your rock and watch it. Best. Movie. Ever. Hands. Down. I don't care what other people say. It will always be my favorite.
So since Maria has her list of favorite things, I thought I should give you a list of some ofmine! Caution: some items may be odd... Read at your own risk, readers.
1. Peanut butter-- So basically, I would die without my love. Which, if you didn't guess is peanut butter. PB and I go wayy back. Ever since elementary school, we've been pretty tight. I could honestly have peanut butter for every single meal. I NEVER get tired of it. Ever. I get tired of pasta and popcorn and steak. But never peanut butter. I just couldn't. I don't know what it is about it. It just tastes so delicious and wonderful. I don't really think I could go a day without it. Praise the Lord that I'm not allergic to nuts. I just searched "I love peanut butter" on Google. Be thankful I didn't put any of the pictures that came up on here. You would all hang your head in shame about how much I truly do adore le beurre de cacahuète. Oh and I lied. There's one picture. I couldn't help myself.
2. Sweatshirts-- As we speak, I am sporting my new quater zip I got at the football game last night. Oooh. It's so fuzzy and warm; it makes me feel happy inside. That's why I love fall/winter-- sweatshirts are acceptable fashion.
 |
| Dobby the coolest elf ever |
3. Harry Potter-- Ok. Honestly. Harry Potter is my life. The end. I don't care if books have become obsolete by the time I have kids; my children will read Harry Potter and they will enjoy them. You see, Harry Potter has been my boy from a young age. We also go way back. My sister and I listened to the books on tape every single night before going to bed. I cried so hard (and I still get a little teary thinking about it) while I was at the midnight premier of the last movie, because it's the end of new HP stuff (please excuse me while I go cry). Anywho, my life literally would be so strange and weird and different and depressing with out Harry Potter. If you have never read Harry Potter, then I suggest that you go to that. Right now. Honestly, how can you say no to that beautiful face of that house elf up there. Oh, and I'm a member of SPEW, btw. If you don't know what that is, read the books. And don't call yourself a Potterhead if you've only seen the movies. It doesn't count. You. Have. To. Read. The. Books. End of story. Got it? Okay.
4. One Direction-- My other obsession. Agh. Both of my main obsessions are British. Can I just be British, please? Okay, so I don't care if you hate One Direction, if you think they can't sing, if you think they're only popular because they look good, or you think they're annoying. I LOVE THEM SO I COULD CARE LESS. They're my favorite band. Ever. I just. I don't even know. Ilovethemilovethemilovethem. I don't know what else to say. They are amazayn, fabulouis, extraordinharry, phenomeniall, and brilliam. They make me feel beautiful and special and loved. And they can sing. So boo to whoever says they can't. AND THEIR NEW SINGLE IS COMING OUT SOON AND I CAN'T WAIT BECAUSE IT'S GOING TO BE REALLY FANTASTIC. Okay. Sorry. Got a little carried away there guys. I promise it won't happen again. Actually I probably shouldn't promise because I love them too much and sometimes it's really hard to restrain myself. Oh. Please watch this video. It will make me smile because they're really cute. Niall is my fave, if you were wondering.
5. AP Euro-- Hah. What a joke. Just kidding I actually love AP Euro.
 |
| Buddy the Elf |
7. My room-- Ahhh I love my room. We redid it over the summer, and now it's a lovely shade of seafoam green, my new favorite color. Before the facelift, my room looked like a 6th grader threw up all over it-- hot pink walls, old dance trophies on shelves, pillowcases from sleepover parties pinned up on the wall, and an ugly comforter. The only thing that I liked in my room was my One Direction poster. Which is still up, if you must know. But I added stuff like a huge cork board and that crayon-melty thing all over Pinterest. And I finally got a lamp for my desk. I'm still waiting on a new comforter, so now I just have plain cream. I could not go another day with that repulsive stripped quilt cover. Oh, and I'm still waiting for my dad to help me put up Christmas lights around the walls.... (I actually do really love Christmas, see?)
8. French-- My favorite. Oh boy how I love French. I want to live in Paris. I want to eat croissants from Maison Kayser and macrons from Ladurée all day (even though I can't... shhh). I want to walk by the Seine each morning while drinking tea and gaze at la Tour Eiffel at night. I want to walk down le Champs-Elysées with my designer shopping bags and Louboutins. To do that, I must learn French. I talk in French all the time. My friends know that. I want to be fluent. I want to study in France. I want to visit Mont Saint Michel and the Normandy beaches and Côte d'Azur and Monaco and Province. We watched Midnight in Paris last night, which made me long for these things even more. J'aime le français! I wish I could just speak it all the time. Even though my name sounds horrible in a French accent (think Leee-beee)... but that's okay. I'll get over it.That's all for now folks.
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Gluten WHAT?
Hi my name's Libby and I have a disease.
What?
You're probably thinking "Wait, but she looks totally normal and doesn't seem sick at all!" Well. That's true. But I still have a disease.
Celiac disease to be exact.
What's that?? It's where you can't eat gluten. Not a big deal, right? It's JUST gluten.
Wrong.
Definition of celiac disease in my book: it's this thing where when you eat gluten, your intestines start to destroy themselves and then you can't absorb nutrients so you lose a lot of weight (unintentionally) and look emaciated and your stomach hurts so bad everyday sometimes you can't even stand up and sometimes you throw up and you're tired all the time and if it goes untreated it can lead to possible infertility and maybe even cancer. And you become really pale.
Yeah so I'm diseased. I can't eat gluten or dairy or soy. And NO it's not a choice! Believe me, I would never ever ever choose to be on this diet if I could. It's hard. It's really really hard.
But what's gluten? Well, to be literal, it's my arch nemesis. Dictionary definition of gluten: "a tenacious elastic protein substance especially of wheat flour that gives cohesiveness to dough"-- Merriam- Webster. Well, thanks Merriam, but I don't really think you got that definition right. But nice word choice! My definition of gluten: evil substance found in wheat, rye, oats, barley, spelt, farro, etc. that makes my tummy hurt. Me and gluten? Yeah, we don't get along too well.
My favorite comment from people that I get when I first tell them I have celiac is: "Oh, well that's so easy nowadays! There's so much stuff out there now!" And this is what I have to say to them: "Ok. You try being gluten free for a day."
Do you know what that means? No PopTarts in the morning for breakfast. No panini from the lunch line. No Kit Kat bars. No cookies that your friends bring to parties. No Friday night pizza. No Chinese food. No pretzels or tortilla chips or pasta or muffins or birthday cake.
And the best thing about it is that you can't cheat. You can't just take a bite of that muffin or not eat the pizza crust or sneak a PopTart out of the house without your mom seeing. You just can't.
So after reading all of this, you probably think I'm depressed or something. But actually, I'm not. I feel the best I've ever felt in my life ever since cutting gluten out of my life last summer (when I was diagnosed). I eat healthier, therefore I am healthier. I welcome gluten as a challenge in life, not a constant road block I have to swerve around. Yeah, I'm always the awkward person who has to bring my Vera Bradley lunch box with my dinner in it to parties, pack my own snack for after school on Friday, and I can't really eat lunch at many restaurants. But it's ok. I don't miss it. Gluten actually disgusts me because I know what will happen if I eat it. Sometimes it makes me gag.
Some things never to say to someone who has celiac:
1. "Is gluten in fruit?"-- agh. Self-explanitory
2. "What do you eat????"-- the answer is simple: gluten free stuff
3. "So THAT'S why you're so tiny!!"-- grrrr.
4. "Can't you just cheat just this once? No one will have to know!"-- yeah no.
5. "So, since you have have celiac, we'll just refer to you as 'the Celiac'"-- I would rather not be referred to as a disease please
6. "Oh, well we can't go there because SHE can't eat anything there."-- well sorry guys. Can't really change my intestines' mind about how they feel about gluten.
7. "So what happens when you eat gluten?"-- look it up. It's too unpleasant to bring up.
8. "Ohmygosh your life must be SO hard. If I were you, I would die."-- what a nice thing to say!
9. "Is this a new fad diet??"-- WHY WOULD ANYONE CHOOSE THIS?
10. "Oh, well this pizza is whole wheat so that should be fine, right?"-- look up what gluten is again please
11. "I can take the croutons off this salad and that should be fine, right!?"-- do you know what a crouton is!?!?!?!?
The only thing about this video is that it refers to people as 'Celiacs' which is one of my pet peeves. But other than that, it's a masterpiece. I've probably heard all of these multiple times in the year that I've had celiac.
So, since it's a disease, is there a cure? Nope. Nada. Non. Gluten free is the way I'll be for the rest of my life. And that's ok. You probably still have questions about how we figured out I had celiac, but that is a story to be told later (it involves a large tube, an anesthesiologist, and many many many many many visits to the phlebotomist). But the whole reason I wanted to post this is because today is National Celiac Awareness day! So I wanted inform you of this disease. And now you are aware. So my job is done here, ladies and gents.
Oh, and tomorrow, if you see a person with celiac, give them a big hug. Why? Because I said so.
Over and out.
What?
You're probably thinking "Wait, but she looks totally normal and doesn't seem sick at all!" Well. That's true. But I still have a disease.
Celiac disease to be exact.
What's that?? It's where you can't eat gluten. Not a big deal, right? It's JUST gluten.
Wrong.
Definition of celiac disease in my book: it's this thing where when you eat gluten, your intestines start to destroy themselves and then you can't absorb nutrients so you lose a lot of weight (unintentionally) and look emaciated and your stomach hurts so bad everyday sometimes you can't even stand up and sometimes you throw up and you're tired all the time and if it goes untreated it can lead to possible infertility and maybe even cancer. And you become really pale.
Yeah so I'm diseased. I can't eat gluten or dairy or soy. And NO it's not a choice! Believe me, I would never ever ever choose to be on this diet if I could. It's hard. It's really really hard.
But what's gluten? Well, to be literal, it's my arch nemesis. Dictionary definition of gluten: "a tenacious elastic protein substance especially of wheat flour that gives cohesiveness to dough"-- Merriam- Webster. Well, thanks Merriam, but I don't really think you got that definition right. But nice word choice! My definition of gluten: evil substance found in wheat, rye, oats, barley, spelt, farro, etc. that makes my tummy hurt. Me and gluten? Yeah, we don't get along too well.
My favorite comment from people that I get when I first tell them I have celiac is: "Oh, well that's so easy nowadays! There's so much stuff out there now!" And this is what I have to say to them: "Ok. You try being gluten free for a day."
Do you know what that means? No PopTarts in the morning for breakfast. No panini from the lunch line. No Kit Kat bars. No cookies that your friends bring to parties. No Friday night pizza. No Chinese food. No pretzels or tortilla chips or pasta or muffins or birthday cake.
And the best thing about it is that you can't cheat. You can't just take a bite of that muffin or not eat the pizza crust or sneak a PopTart out of the house without your mom seeing. You just can't.
So after reading all of this, you probably think I'm depressed or something. But actually, I'm not. I feel the best I've ever felt in my life ever since cutting gluten out of my life last summer (when I was diagnosed). I eat healthier, therefore I am healthier. I welcome gluten as a challenge in life, not a constant road block I have to swerve around. Yeah, I'm always the awkward person who has to bring my Vera Bradley lunch box with my dinner in it to parties, pack my own snack for after school on Friday, and I can't really eat lunch at many restaurants. But it's ok. I don't miss it. Gluten actually disgusts me because I know what will happen if I eat it. Sometimes it makes me gag.
Some things never to say to someone who has celiac:
1. "Is gluten in fruit?"-- agh. Self-explanitory
2. "What do you eat????"-- the answer is simple: gluten free stuff
3. "So THAT'S why you're so tiny!!"-- grrrr.
4. "Can't you just cheat just this once? No one will have to know!"-- yeah no.
5. "So, since you have have celiac, we'll just refer to you as 'the Celiac'"-- I would rather not be referred to as a disease please
6. "Oh, well we can't go there because SHE can't eat anything there."-- well sorry guys. Can't really change my intestines' mind about how they feel about gluten.
7. "So what happens when you eat gluten?"-- look it up. It's too unpleasant to bring up.
8. "Ohmygosh your life must be SO hard. If I were you, I would die."-- what a nice thing to say!
9. "Is this a new fad diet??"-- WHY WOULD ANYONE CHOOSE THIS?
10. "Oh, well this pizza is whole wheat so that should be fine, right?"-- look up what gluten is again please
11. "I can take the croutons off this salad and that should be fine, right!?"-- do you know what a crouton is!?!?!?!?
Oh, and tomorrow, if you see a person with celiac, give them a big hug. Why? Because I said so.
Over and out.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
In Remembrance Of...
Hi there readers!
Do you know what today is? I hope you do, because I really don't want to take the time to explain it.
Today is the 11th anniversary of 9/11. Whoa. 11 years? 11 YEARS? My parents always say "It seems like just yesterday when it happened..." It really does. Think of how much our nation has changed in these 11 years. I do hope it's been for the better, because I really don't want something like that to happen again. Our nation has evolved. We have strict airport security systems, which everyone groans and moans about, but they keep our America safe. And that's what the most important thing is; knowing that we are safe.
Scratch that. The most important thing about 9/11 is the memory of it. Remembrance. I guess I shouldn't really even be talking about this, because I don't remember it all-- I was a mere age of four. And I'm kinda sad that I don't remember it, in a weird way. People younger than I am remember it. My sister does. My parents obviously do. But I don't. And I want to.
September 11th, 2001 brought America together. There was no fighting over politics that day, there was no gossip going around school about who got arrested last weekend. And that's because everyone was afraid for our country. We came together to support the innocent civilians who died. We didn't care if one side of our head was brushed, and the other a complete rats' nest. We cared about America.
That's why remembering it is so important. That's why I want to remember it so badly. Everyone has personal stories about it, and everyone knows about it. Everyone. Even the kids who were born after 2001 know about it. Well, at least I really hope that they do.
It is a day in our country that will never be forgotten. These terrorists exposed a vulnerable side of America. And we didn't like that. We hated that, actually.
We don't remember 9/11 just so we "don't make that mistake again". Sure, we've learned from that experience, and now, it really, hopefully won't happen again. No, we remember it because it's a day where every single American citizen dropped what they were doing, and came together, no matter where they came from.
One of the most touching events I've experienced in my life was the day I was at the Newseum in DC with my 8th grade class. My friends and I decided to go into this room all about 9/11. There was a video. That video. I had never seen that footage of the plane before. Writing this makes me so sad to even think about it again. I had never seen the people, caked with dust and blood, literally running for dear life. I had never head the wails before. Even though those are horrific sights and sounds, it's something that I don't want to forget. I won't forget.
That video touched my heart. I couldn't stop crying for a good while after the video was over. None of us could. It really hit home what happened during this day. I can't get over the fact that innocent people had to die. Why? Why? I just don't get it.
Remembering today helps us think about what courage those people had in the plane headed for the White House. I don't want to go into what they did, because it makes me too upset. But they knew they were going to die. They still did what they did to save the rest of us. That can't be forgotten. It just can't.
It makes me happy to see that #NeverForget was being used all over Twitter. We can't forget. We won't be doing all those people who died justice. We have to remember. For them. For us.
Do you know what today is? I hope you do, because I really don't want to take the time to explain it.
Photographer: Thomas E. Franklin
Today is the 11th anniversary of 9/11. Whoa. 11 years? 11 YEARS? My parents always say "It seems like just yesterday when it happened..." It really does. Think of how much our nation has changed in these 11 years. I do hope it's been for the better, because I really don't want something like that to happen again. Our nation has evolved. We have strict airport security systems, which everyone groans and moans about, but they keep our America safe. And that's what the most important thing is; knowing that we are safe.
Scratch that. The most important thing about 9/11 is the memory of it. Remembrance. I guess I shouldn't really even be talking about this, because I don't remember it all-- I was a mere age of four. And I'm kinda sad that I don't remember it, in a weird way. People younger than I am remember it. My sister does. My parents obviously do. But I don't. And I want to.
September 11th, 2001 brought America together. There was no fighting over politics that day, there was no gossip going around school about who got arrested last weekend. And that's because everyone was afraid for our country. We came together to support the innocent civilians who died. We didn't care if one side of our head was brushed, and the other a complete rats' nest. We cared about America.
That's why remembering it is so important. That's why I want to remember it so badly. Everyone has personal stories about it, and everyone knows about it. Everyone. Even the kids who were born after 2001 know about it. Well, at least I really hope that they do.
It is a day in our country that will never be forgotten. These terrorists exposed a vulnerable side of America. And we didn't like that. We hated that, actually.
We don't remember 9/11 just so we "don't make that mistake again". Sure, we've learned from that experience, and now, it really, hopefully won't happen again. No, we remember it because it's a day where every single American citizen dropped what they were doing, and came together, no matter where they came from.
One of the most touching events I've experienced in my life was the day I was at the Newseum in DC with my 8th grade class. My friends and I decided to go into this room all about 9/11. There was a video. That video. I had never seen that footage of the plane before. Writing this makes me so sad to even think about it again. I had never seen the people, caked with dust and blood, literally running for dear life. I had never head the wails before. Even though those are horrific sights and sounds, it's something that I don't want to forget. I won't forget.
That video touched my heart. I couldn't stop crying for a good while after the video was over. None of us could. It really hit home what happened during this day. I can't get over the fact that innocent people had to die. Why? Why? I just don't get it.
Remembering today helps us think about what courage those people had in the plane headed for the White House. I don't want to go into what they did, because it makes me too upset. But they knew they were going to die. They still did what they did to save the rest of us. That can't be forgotten. It just can't.
It makes me happy to see that #NeverForget was being used all over Twitter. We can't forget. We won't be doing all those people who died justice. We have to remember. For them. For us.
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Names Names Names
Elizabeth is too fancy. Liz is too short. Betsy is too old-fashioned. Beth is my aunt's name. Eliza reminds me of the character from the Wild Thornberry's. Libby is... right.
If you haven't guessed, Libby is my name. I love it. I love my name. It's uncommon, but it isn't something queer like Fuchsia Lilly or something like that. It's perfect. It's me. And although Elizabeth is my real name, I've never gone by it in my life. Ever. I refuse. It's not that I don't like it. Elizabeth is actually a really pretty name, in my opinion. But it isn't me. Whenever I hear the name Elizabeth, it makes me think of two old British ladies having tea and scones together. And there's nothing wrong with that. It's just not who I am.
I'm Libby. What do you think of when you read my name? Obviously, I'm a girl. It's a girl name. I would be utterly surprised if there was a boy named Libby. But readers, if you know a boy named Libby, that's cool too (If I even have any readers... ha). What else can you tell, just by hearing my name? Could you tell that I'm fifteen? That I'm a sophomore in high school? Well, you could probably guess that last one by reading my age, but... I digress. Could you tell that I kinda like school, even though I sometimes act like I don't, or that I'm on speech team? Or how about that I redid my room over the summer?
Names have connotations. They just do. If you don't like your name, well, tough noodles. Just kidding. Make it your own! My parents gave me this "nickname" (I hate that word. Libby isn't just some nickname that only cool people get to call me; it's my name) when I was a baby. But I wouldn't go by it if I didn't like it. Go for whatever floats your boat. Make it you. If your name is Agatha Jane Winifred Graham XXII, and you hate it, change it! There are so many possibilites out there. Aggie. Janie. Wini. Fred. Oh, and don't change your name just because other people don't like it. Do it for you.
Sorry. I didn't really mean to get all preachy there. But I guess there will be questions about why I named my blog what I did. It has its own connotation to it, doesn't it? Some will think "Oh this girl has a life full of secrets and this is her way of letting the world know about her...." Blah blah blah. I actually don't really know why I named my blog what it is. I just looked out of my bedroom window and saw a tree moving in the wind. And I thought of it. Like that.
I think it's perfect. It's like this exercise we did in English the other day. We were all given a poem, without a title. We had to read it, give it a title, and then find support in the poem to back up our titles. The poem was about something small that appears in the night, quiet and discreet. I thought it was about snow. Other people thought it was about how our society is pretty much damned. One kid thought it was about miners.
It turns out, the poem was Mushrooms by Sylvia Plath. Boy, we were all wrong. But I like that exercise because we got to name a poem something we though fit, something we thought went a long with the connotation of the poem.
I don't really know what fascinates me so much about names. People always say "Oh, you're definitely a Sarah," or "You totally seem like a Maddy!" Everyone is a good representation of their name. Rather, your name is a good representation of yourself.
Here's a link to Mushrooms by Sylvia Plath: http://www.poemhunter.com/best-poems/sylvia-plath/mushrooms
Love, Libby
If you haven't guessed, Libby is my name. I love it. I love my name. It's uncommon, but it isn't something queer like Fuchsia Lilly or something like that. It's perfect. It's me. And although Elizabeth is my real name, I've never gone by it in my life. Ever. I refuse. It's not that I don't like it. Elizabeth is actually a really pretty name, in my opinion. But it isn't me. Whenever I hear the name Elizabeth, it makes me think of two old British ladies having tea and scones together. And there's nothing wrong with that. It's just not who I am.
I'm Libby. What do you think of when you read my name? Obviously, I'm a girl. It's a girl name. I would be utterly surprised if there was a boy named Libby. But readers, if you know a boy named Libby, that's cool too (If I even have any readers... ha). What else can you tell, just by hearing my name? Could you tell that I'm fifteen? That I'm a sophomore in high school? Well, you could probably guess that last one by reading my age, but... I digress. Could you tell that I kinda like school, even though I sometimes act like I don't, or that I'm on speech team? Or how about that I redid my room over the summer?
Names have connotations. They just do. If you don't like your name, well, tough noodles. Just kidding. Make it your own! My parents gave me this "nickname" (I hate that word. Libby isn't just some nickname that only cool people get to call me; it's my name) when I was a baby. But I wouldn't go by it if I didn't like it. Go for whatever floats your boat. Make it you. If your name is Agatha Jane Winifred Graham XXII, and you hate it, change it! There are so many possibilites out there. Aggie. Janie. Wini. Fred. Oh, and don't change your name just because other people don't like it. Do it for you.
Sorry. I didn't really mean to get all preachy there. But I guess there will be questions about why I named my blog what I did. It has its own connotation to it, doesn't it? Some will think "Oh this girl has a life full of secrets and this is her way of letting the world know about her...." Blah blah blah. I actually don't really know why I named my blog what it is. I just looked out of my bedroom window and saw a tree moving in the wind. And I thought of it. Like that.
I think it's perfect. It's like this exercise we did in English the other day. We were all given a poem, without a title. We had to read it, give it a title, and then find support in the poem to back up our titles. The poem was about something small that appears in the night, quiet and discreet. I thought it was about snow. Other people thought it was about how our society is pretty much damned. One kid thought it was about miners.
It turns out, the poem was Mushrooms by Sylvia Plath. Boy, we were all wrong. But I like that exercise because we got to name a poem something we though fit, something we thought went a long with the connotation of the poem.
I don't really know what fascinates me so much about names. People always say "Oh, you're definitely a Sarah," or "You totally seem like a Maddy!" Everyone is a good representation of their name. Rather, your name is a good representation of yourself.
Here's a link to Mushrooms by Sylvia Plath: http://www.poemhunter.com/best-poems/sylvia-plath/mushrooms
Love, Libby
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