Saturday, February 26, 2011

Let's get rich and buy our parents homes in the South of France

Or... let's get married.
I have mixed feelings about the whole "fall in love and get married" fairytale. This is probably because I am sixteen. Or maybe it's because I'm a teensy bit of a feminist and boys opening doors for me makes me squirm.
Tonight, I went to my darling friend Mika's wedding. Mika and I went to Vienna together (to read more about those adventures, check out She's one of the strongest people I've ever met, and I love her dearly. We went on our fair share of adventures together, including a weekend in Berlin. She married Francois, who seemed to be a lovely person. No gonna lie, I was a little jealous of his French accent.
At a certain point in the night, they called all the single ladies to the floor. I was a little bit worried we were going to have a Beyonce off. Which I would have dominated anyway, but still, I have some friends who can shake their hips.
Then they announced "she's going to toss her bouquet". If truth be told, this is the first bouquet throwing I've been to. And even though I have no intention of getting married in the next 10 years, I wanted that bouquet. Just to catch the damned thing.
So me and my 6 friends all went to the dance floor. Of the five of
us, one was already married (she and her husband are probably the cutest couple ever) 
another is engaged (she got engaged in Europe, we hate her) and the other two are simply gorgeous. We strutted onto the floor, some of us wanting the bouquet more loudly than others. But we all knew we wanted it. Matter of fact, we all knew we were going to get it.
We got to the floor and two other girls came on. One was one of them preteens. The ones that like Justin Bieber and haven't really figured out out to do their hair yet. The other was Angel, Mika's best friend. This was the first time I'd met Angel. She was tall, with legs up to my belly button.
I was psyching myself up to catch the bouquet when Angel turns around and says to us collectively, "I'm just gonna apologize now if I elbow any of you. I take this really seriously."
We all collectively took a step back. None of us want to get married that badly.
Mika turned around and threw the bouquet in a perfect arc. I jumped and had my left hand on it, but the girl next to me, the preteen, got the better of me. Apparently Angel got a hand on the bouquet too.
The next thing I knew, there was a loud thud and Angel had tacked the poor girl to the ground. She stood up triumphant with the bouquet.
 I think she should join eharmony.

Thursday, February 24, 2011


I am the one who will only eat chocolate out of the box if it has a diagram telling me which one is which. Crossing my fingers and biting into a chocolate makes me shutter.
I am the one who can not go to bed without taking my mascara off. I will lie in bed for hours before finally surrendering and getting out of bed to take it off.
I am the one who watched House on Monday nights, Modern Family on Wednesday, 30 Rock on Thursday, and Cougar Town, courtesy of Hulu on Friday.
And as much as I want to say I don't need structure, it's true. I am the teeniest bit compulsive. 

Sunday, February 20, 2011

The upper-middle working class

For the past 13 years of my life, between the first Tuesday after labor day and the last Thursday in June, Mondays through Fridays, with exceptions for holidays and breaks, I have woken up and put on my uniform. When I was younger, I wore the jumper; navy and green plaid with red stripes. The best thing about the jumper was St. Patrick's day, because you could pinch the hell out of boys (who wore gray pants and navy polos), but girl's had a sort of diplomatic immunity provided by the indisputable green on the jumpers.
In sixth grade, I graduated to the plaid skirt. Matter of fact, I still wear some of my skirts from sixth grade. It has yellow stripes. Which I hated at first, because they looked like Challenger's uniforms, and of course, Waterford was above Challenger. But those skirts have grown on me.
So the other day, I was at work. Work is a cashier earning a lovely $7.25/hour minimum wage salary. On this particular Thursday, I hadn't bothered to change. So I was wearing my uniform skirt and my black ever-classy work shirt. I was walking around the lobby, straightening magazines, picking up trash and the like when a customer noticed my skirt.
"So, you go to Waterford?"
"Are you on scholarship?"
Excuse me? Thanks for implying that I wouldn't possibly be working here if my parents could afford tuition. Lord knows kids whose parents could afford Waterford tuition wouldn't be working. They're all spoiled brats who have never earned anything in their life, much less minimum wage.
"No actually, I drive a Lexus"

Wednesday, February 16, 2011


I remember when I had stories to tell. Every day was a new story. It made for good blogging. My life is so monotonous. There's got to be a few good stories hiding in there somewhere, right?
A few weekends ago, I went to Vegas for a debate tournament (I know... I'm a nerd). I found Vegas much less agreeable than Europe. You walk outside and feel dirty. Not because of the hooker ads, but because it's just not clean.
Anyway, the group of us students were in the coach's room getting the "make good choices" talk. Our coach said, "no drinking, no drugs, and no sex in the rooms". In my ever witty way, I responded with "but sex outside the rooms is okay, right?" I was expecting an eye roll and for her to move on. But oh no. She, being wittier than I, responded, "yes, but only if you get paid for it."
The next day she was terribly worried I was offended. Which I wasn't, because it was funny. Granted, it would have been funnier directed at someone else, but still, as the French say it was "le mot juste". So in order to apologize, she told me, "every 2 or 3 years I say something really awful to a student. For example, a few years back, I was talking to a student who had been accepted to Stanford and BYU. He was explaining he was going to go to BYU because "if I go to Stanford all the girls are just going to want to have sex with me" and I responded, and I have no idea where this came from, "so will the girls at BYU, they'll just cry about it after" Honestly though, you don't say things like that to students. I know better than that"
Needless to say, she's become one of my favorite teachers.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Poetry is way over my head

And that really sucks. Unfortunately, you can't really succeed in English without being able to understand the simplest of poems.
I can't decide which class is currently harder: American lit filled with poetry, or French lit trying to tackle a French novel.
In the mean time, this is probably the one poem I've ever loved:

As I Walked Out One Evening

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
"Love has no ending.

"I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

"I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

"The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world."

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
"O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

"In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

"In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

"Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

"O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.

"The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

"Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.

"O look, look in the mirror?
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

"O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart."

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.
W.H. Auden

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Meat and me

Over Christmas break, I read a few books. By far the best was Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer. I read it primarily because I love Jonathan Safran Foer. I mean, I even love his name. It sounds sacred. It all started with his other book, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. It's definitely in the top 3 books I've ever read (tied with East of Eden and The Razor's Edge). It's a book that's written beautifully, chock full of beautiful moments and phrases, and characters that nearly break your heart. My favorite quote from it is a little letter. A girl asks everyone she knows for a letter. Not about anything, just to write. Here is the one her dad writes her:
You asked me to write you a letter, so I am writing you a letter. I do not know why I am writing this letter, or what this letter is supposed to be about, but I am writing it nonetheless, because I love you very much and trust that you have some good purpose for having me write this letter. I hope one day you will have the experience of doing something you do not understand for someone you love.
Your father
Isn't that beautiful? Imagine 300 pages of that. So after reading that I wanted to get my hands on any book by him I could get my hands on. Which was, of course, Eating Animals.
So I read it. Not because I wanted to know more about the meat industry, or because I was looking for an excuse to become vegetarian, or even because I care about animals. I read it because I wanted to read word Jonathan Safran Foer had put together.
And what do you know, I stopped eating meat. Although it took me several weeks to use the word vegetarian, because it's a rather daunting adjective. Once you call yourself a vegetarian, you look like a coward or hypocrite if you ever eat meat again. I honestly didn't think I would last this long, but I'm a month and going strong. So here's my announcement:

I am a vegetarian.

Why? Well think about it. If I were to say to you "I've got a movie or a book about the meat industry." What would your (or anyone else's) response be? Probably something along the lines of "I don't want to see it. It'll gross me out." And as much as people want to pretend it's the killing or the blood that makes them feel sick, we know it's not. We don't want to have to face the disgusting reality that is dinner. Isn't that crazy? Americans are choosing to look away, to remain ignorant, because they know that when faced with reality, they'll have to change. People complain about Domino's pizza sauce not being made with real tomatoes, but not about their turkey's being genetically altered to the point they can't naturally reproduce.
So that's why I went vegetarian. I'm not opposed to killing animals. If you want to raise a turkey and slaughter it yourself, please invite me over for Thanksgiving. But I'm not interested in eating a mutant that grew to full size in 40 days in a cage so small their talons grew around the wiring. No sir, that's not for me. I'll stick to carrots and hummus thank you very much.