Who gives a rat’s ass?

Mr Griffith: “I don’t know what your generation’s fascination is with documenting your every thought… but I can assure you, they’re not all diamonds. ‘Roman is having an OK day, and bought a Coke Zero at the gas station. Raise the roof.’ Who gives a rat’s ass?” ~Easy A

I used to think so too, Mr. Griffith.

I created my Twitter account when I was 16. I used it to inform my parents of my location on the way to Disney World with a friend and her family. After that, I only texted the “Twitter” contact on my phone when I was shopping on my own. People bugged me. I tweeted.

After my brother told me my tweets were annoying and negative, I went through and deleted almost all of them. For almost two years, I tweeted here and there, but did not make tweeting or checking my Twitter a priority.

I started tweeting more as a sort of new year’s resolution. Thirty days ago, I had 200-something tweets. Thirty days and 300+ thoughts later, I have more than doubled my tweet count.

So, though I don’t necessarily agree with expressing every thought, I feel it’s okay to tweet and let almost all of my family see it at once. It’s easier to text Twitter once with my race time than to text 6 people and receive a plethora of responses.

Not all of my thoughts are gems, but those I follow make up for that at times. Some of what’s tweeted provides me with something interesting to read or ponder. It’s thanks to Twitter that I even knew about Joe Paterno’s mistaken death, and then the real one that followed.

I feel inclined to learn more about social media, hence my involvement with Twitter.

So, who gives a rat’s ass? Everyone who follows me on Twitter is following me for some reason. I’d like to think I have good thoughts here and there.

Pop can in the shower

My bathroom is a calm brown with blue accents (towels, baskets, candle holders, etc.). Technically, I share it with my three older brothers, but since one of them doesn’t even live here anymore and the other two are usually off at college, I call it my own. I keep it clean and orderly…sometimes. There may be coffee rings on the white counter and hair ties everywhere, but at least it’s clean filth. It’s not yucky boy filth.

Ever since we received a rain shower head from Mom and Dad for Christmas, showers have been delightful. Instead of a spazzy spritz of water, a nice, warm downpour erupts from every pore of the the shower head and easily washes away every bit of dirt from the body. Showers are preferable for me. I like a nice bath every now and then, but I get bored with nothing to do.

So tonight, like any other night, I took a shower once night fell. I got the water running while I used the toilet, then stripped down (don’t worry – this isn’t going to get X-Rated) and climbed into the shower and was welcomed by a spray of water at perfect shower temperature. I started by wetting my hair completely and then applying a dollop of my shampoo. While I was rinsing it out, I happened to glance up to my left at the ledge where I usually see a yellow and green sponge. Next to the sponge, I saw a pop can. Instantly I knew which brother was the culprit.

My first thought was: I wonder if there’s anymore pop left? (I checked and it was empty.)

My second thought was: Ugh, I HATE it when the boys come home and trash the bathroom!

My third thought was: Now I’m going to have to add that can to the recyclables as if it’s my mess!

My fourth thought was: Wow, I’m actually kind of thirsty. It would be nice to have a grape pop right now.

My fifth thought was: Oh my gosh, what a genius idea!
I went from being totally disgusted to being totally amazed. If I had been Adam (whom I am sure was the culprit), I would have set my unfinished pop on the counter in the bathroom and then commenced my shower. But Adam – being Adam – couldn’t have that. He took his unfinished pop into the shower with him and simply set it on the top ledge, away from any excess water. Imagine how refreshing it must have been to take a swig of a nice cold cola (though I do not like cola) during a hot shower. Adam constantly catches me off guard with these really simple ideas that I would never even think to do.

Maybe next time I’ll take my unfinished can of pop in with me so I can enjoy it in the shower.

An artist out at sea

I just saw a commercial for some stupid new reality TV show. Here I am, trying to escape my little sliver of the universe by turning on the tube and devouring some humor from The Big Bang Theory (I love nerds), and I get interrupted from doing so when all of these stupid commercials come on that are advertising some new reality TV show. It was something about a neighborhood that had a wall up around it. I didn’t catch the name. I was instantly bombarded by thoughts concerning how stupid TV has gotten that I was too sidetracked to remember the damn name.

There are too many of these shows to name. VH1 and MTV are chock full of ’em. They come up with a new one each week starring someone who lost on a different reality TV show. (Ex: I Love New York, Megan Wants A Millionaire, Daisy of Love, That’s Amore etc.) They start as one tiny twig and then branch off into a million other shows. And what about those Laguna Beach shows? As if the world’s population wants to watch spoiled little rich kids running around in the California sunshine. Unfortunately, these shows have viewers. I can assure you that I am not among them.

Sure, it might be fun to forget about your life and get a peek into someone else’s who is more privileged than you are, but is it really that fun? Fun enough to watch the show religiously and worship the people on it? Do the viewers know that probably half of the stuff isn’t even reality? And that in real life NO ONE looks like those people? I guess not.

When I watch TV (which isn’t often), it’s to be entertained by something that isn’t real. Something that could never happen. (Ex: SpongeBob draws with a pencil an artist out at sea dropped and the doodle comes to life.) It’s that kind of thing. I’m too busy trying to live my life to pause everything and watch someone else live theirs.

Blue by U!

When I got that phone call I seriously wanted to slam the phone down and run to my room.

Thoughts running through my mind during the telephone call: HELP OUT WITH A YOUTH TRACK PROGRAM?!?!?!? Can she possibly be SERIOUS?!?!?  I stopped babysitting because I reached the realization that I DON’T like kids. Now that I’ve agreed to help out I have to spend every Tuesday and Thursday with a bunch of little brats? What am I getting myself into?

Yeah, that’s about it. She asked me to help coach the Blue by U track program with Kevin and Cliff who had already spent time coaching for a week and a half. Last year she had a group of children only half the size of the group this year. She was in over her head. But just a little bit.

So, I said “sure!” …and then I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. She sounded desperate, and that won me over. It wasn’t that I spoke before I thought (I’ve learned that thinking before speaking is essential in this world), it was that I truly wanted to help out. I’m glad I said “sure!”

A month later, here I am. The program is over (well, they have a meet on Thursday, but I have plans with friends that day so I am unable to attend) and I’m really glad that I offered my services. I met a great bunch of kids (and sure, a few pips here and there). The girls basically worshiped me and the boys never stopped trying to race me with hopes of beating me (I may have crushed their spirits a bit). The coaches thought Cliff, Kevin, Christian and I were experts on everything having to do with track. I guess we all kind of are. We’re all running nerds.

All in all, it was a great experience. The kids I got to work with were great (for the most part). The girls that acted bratty around the boys (Cliff, Kevin and Christian) ended up being absolute sweethearts to me. The boys that were troublemakers for me ended up loving all of the older boys. I was just like the girls when I was little. I didn’t want anything to do with boys, and whenever I saw an older girl (like the age I am now) I wanted to be their best friend. That’s exactly what these girls did to me. They wouldn’t leave me alone. It was really neat.

I’m glad I volunteered. Not only can I walk away from the track with a smile on my face, but I can also put this on any resumé I make up in the future with Coach Jen as my reference. She suckered me into all this, and I’m really glad she did. I had a blast.

Susan Boyle: an inspiration

My mother got on the computer, went straight to youtube, and pulled up a video from a show called Britain’s Got Talent. “This is their version of American Idol – and you just have to see this,” she told me.

She clicked on the arrow to play the video, and it began. The first second of the video began something that was to go on for seven minutes and thirty-four seconds more, and I watched in awe as this woman performed. She confessed that she’d never been kissed, had on a frumpy little dress, her name tag wasn’t even on her dress (it was stuck to her chest), and her hair needed some brushing. I instantly fell in love with her appearance and attitude.

The audience angered me in the beginning. They heckled, laughed, and their expressions openly admitted their opinions of her. I could instantly hear their thoughts in my head. Susan didn’t seem to care; I’m sure living with this humiliation for 47 years has made her strong. She didn’t back down, she didn’t shake with nervousness when she sang…overall she seemed so confident, and I wish I could have been there to witness this amazing performance. When she opened her mouth to sing, I swear that you must have been able to hear a pin drop in the audience. Her voice was so powerful, and that definitely hushed up the people that had been heckling her only moments before. They stereotyped her, and they were proven wrong. Don’t judge a book by its cover.

This woman, this one frumpy-looking woman poses as such an inspiration. It’s hard living in this particular time period. Growing girls are told what is “beautiful” by pictures they see in magazines and on television. Supposedly, if you’re not beautiful, no man will ever love you, and you will not get anywhere in life. Susan Boyle is the perfect example of the opposite of this. Maybe she’s not the most attractive woman on the planet, but her soul, her attitude, her voice… all are beautiful. I think that maybe the people of the world needed to realize this.

Thank you, Susan, for providing a different example for girls to look up to. You proved everyone wrong as soon as you opened your mouth and that beautiful music escaped. You’re going to go far, and now the many people who are inspired by you will as well.

After seven minutes and thirty-five seconds, my mom looked up to me and smiled. I rubbed my arms to rid them of the goosebumps that had risen, and tried to hold back a few tears. “I told you,” she said with a grin.

Emily’s poetry, a history

I’ve been writing poetry for years. My mother named me after her favorite poet, so why not carry it on? I started out with a composition notebook that I decorated with stickers. Everyone just assumed it was my diary, as if it couldn’t be anything but a shallow notebook with all of my deepest secrets and fears hidden inside. Nobody gave me enough credit. Boys would steal it from me, but I managed to get it back without any harm done. They were only teasing. Teasing is harmless, right?

After that was filled, I moved onto a pink camouflage notebook that had pens attached to the front of it. It was nifty because if I had an idea I didn’t have to hunt for a pen before being able to write it down. The pens were just there. That notebook was also known as my “diary” and even a teacher asked: “why do you bring your diary to school?” To which I simply replied: “it’s not a diary.”

I poured random thoughts and whimsical dreams into those notebooks. Within about a month, the pages started ripping out of the pink camo notebook, so I saved the paper, but threw the rest of the notebook in the garbage. It was time to move on again.

I found a regular old yellow spiral notebook and plastered it with quotes, stickers, drawings, and pop-up sunflowers that I ripped off a thing I had at home. Poetry was transferred from my head onto the pages of that thing for about a year. I entered the seventh grade with the same notebook, and only showed the ones I was proud of to my then English teacher (who is now a teacher in the high school). The boys in my grade grew up a little and stopped calling it my diary, and I continued writing.

For my birthday that year, one of my best friends (we barely speak anymore…) bought me a hardcover spiral notebook with puppies on the front. Said notebook lasted me for nearly two years. That notebook taught me something important. Because I wanted the notebook to last, I only wrote poetry when I really really felt like it and had a good feeling about an idea. I decided that I didn’t have to write about everything – but there are some things that I will always wish to remember. I still have one page left in that notebook that remains empty. If I fill it in, the notebook is done forever. I always want to have the option of being able to fill it up totally. It’s amazing to go from the earlier poems in that book to the last few. It’s like traveling through two years of my life in thirty minutes.

Eventually, I took a little notebook that was a party favor at some birthday party I went to (I think it was Carin’s) and ripped out the used pages. I then covered it with duct tape, and voila! New notebook.

Using the duct tape notebook, I rewrote some of the ones I am really proud of, but I also wrote a year’s worth of new material. I am still busy filling it up with my life, so it’s a work in progress. It’s crazy to see how much I have grown in the past year. There are some poems in said book that are extremely naive and young-sounding. I know I will say the same thing in the future when I look back at what I wrote when I was fifteen (the present… for now), but I like what is exploding out of my pen at the moment. Maybe I will post some examples in the near future (which is defined as: later today).

Don’t “go with the flow”

These days I live in a world where people quote lines from movies constantly. Maybe I am bitter about this because I do not tell stories or quote movie lines very well, but it gets annoying when I ask a question and someone responds with a line from Stepbrothers or Juno or The Dark Knight. It’s as if there are no more original thoughts anymore… it’s like everyone has their own personal screenwriter. I guess people just piss me off in general.

Am I the only person in this world with confidence? When I first brought my knitting to school, everyone laughed at me – but was I discouraged? No. I kept bringing it to school despite what people thought or think. If you like something, don’t be afraid to express it. Liking something makes you who you are and what’s wrong with showing who you are? Watch me walk down the hallway in what people call my “hooker” boots and my adorable Tripp skirt. Sure, people will stare, but do you know what they are really thinking? I think that they are wishing they could do something like that; dress like that; be who they really are. I can tell when someone has their shield up…and it’s kind of disappointing. I am kind of sick of taking the initiative. There are too many people that just “go with the flow.”

I have a friend who has changed a lot in the past year. Sure, I have changed too, but I haven’t changed what I believe in or my sense of humor or anything. My friend (he has been a friend for years) recently discovered his love for God. He goes to this church that sucks people in (at least, I think they do) every Sunday, and for the extra teen things that they do. I think of it as a cult. Going to church (should church be capitalized? ‘Cause I really don’t think it should be) so often has changed him completely. It’s as if he thinks he needs to be righteous all the time and do the right thing. If we gossip around him he gets pissed off. Oh, but when he wishes to gossip, it’s okay. I really miss who he was before he became super religious. Before he started bugging me about going to church. I feel like he has a wall up, and it needs to come down. I wish to knock it down, but we fight everyday over stupid things, and I never get the chance. I am very opinionated, and he can’t seem to accept my opinion, so he gets all cheesed off when I say mine. When he says his, I consider it. I don’t really know about him anymore. He is a completely different person these days. I don’t know what happened.

Anyway, yeah, people piss me off. Most people are selfish and it drives me nuts. I may not seem like it, but I think about other things besides myself. I am concerned about world hunger (which is why I visit the Free Rice website often), the economy – I was even thinking about how I was complaining about having to wake up early to go to school this week. Then I thought about it and here’s what I came up with: here I am complaining about going to school to be with friends when there is some kid who has to wake up early to go to school and gets beat up everyday and comes home covered with bruises that his/her parents don’t even notice. Yeah, suddenly waking up early to go to a place where I have friends and am at no risk whatsoever of being beaten up (unless I piss someone off) doesn’t sound too bad.

I have scratched the two resolutions I wanted to tackle. I can’t just quit everything cold turkey – I will ease into breaking free from my habits. Right now I am trying to be extremely thoughtful. And people still piss me off.