SO DONE WITH HIGH SCHOOL, UNBELIEVABLY SCARED OF COLLEGE

You know how obnoxious the "No Child Left Behind" legislation has proved throughout my life? When I was in elementary school (Oh, how I miss last year), I lived elsewhere, and the grade above me was a rambunctious crowd. They were always ruining things for my grade. Like, in the fourth grade, we were supposed to go on an overnight trip to an rural area that, according to urban legends, reeked of fudge. The grade above us stole money from one of their counselors while on Fudge Paradise The Best Yummy Island, and we were denied the fudge-filled excursion as a result of their irresponsibility. When I was told, I was overcome by a bizarre physiological experience - the exchange of a watering mouth for watering eyes. My class was likewise crushed, and in desperate need of comfort food. Fudge would've done wonders. They should have at least shipped in some fudge to have on hand when they told us. I guess I do understand Michelle's Project Healthy Schools thing. It would not be far-fetched to label our level of disappointment irrational. Far-fetched sounds like far-fudged. Then, two years after that, we had to go to a water waste treatment plant instead of ice skating. If administration thought, "Aye. A trip's a trip. The kids will just be happy to get out of school," they were tripping. Maybe the grade above me brought in some weed-laden fudge or something. Probably they had a fudge-making center in some basement, and the funds they had extracted from past counselors allowed them to get all the drugs and corn syrup they needed to sh*t on our hopes and dreams. I don't swear, but given the water waste treatment connection...plus I a*sterisked it. Maybe they thought surrounding us with brown-ness would help clear the air regarding the infamous Fudge Denial Incident, but the air was not clear. It did not reek of fudge at the water waste treatment facility. It just reeked. That was a real stinker of a trip. A reek stinker of a trip. This isn't even clever. Once in gym class, we played an intense game of ican'tremember, and at the end the winning team got ribbons and the other team didn't. I was on the other team. The next day ribbons were begrudgingly bestowed to everyone who hadn't won the day before, by a gym teacher that had clearly been bombarded by many a vicious email from anal-retentive soccer moms the past night. My mom was so excited that I had been denied a ribbon. She hated the "Everyone is special, we can't award recognition to those who have succeeded for fear of upsetting those who haven't." I didn't really get it. I guess, even though the No Child Left Behind principles have impacted me negatively, a part of me has entirely bought into them. A part of me really does believe I am special. Even as I am typing this, there's this voice in my head, building me up: "Far-fudged! You're the best! Keep it up! Keep the genius coming!" I think I'm better than what I am, for sure. And this isn't insecurity. I'm not really a fan of fishing, even if it is for compliments. It's a statement of fact. One of my friends got into New York University. Another, Yale. YALE YOU GUYS. YALE. YOU COULD GO TO JAIL. JAIL, RON. JAIL.  I applied to Ohio State University, University of Michigan, Cornell, Dartmouth, Northwestern. Northwestern was ridiculous from the get-go. I know a girl at my school who got in. She got a 28 on the ACT, and had probably well over a 4.0. She was 13th in our class. I had a 31 on the ACT and was 34th. I guess I thought maybe, with my after-school activities...well, if Steven Colbert applied, so can I! Rejected. No surprise there. However, it was, in a sense. Part of me, a part I am intent on learning to destroy, was pretty sure I'd make the cut. Pretty sure I could go to NORTHWESTERN. After failing AP Environmental Science. After failing ALGEBRA 1. Well, the first time. The second time I was amazingly amazing at it. Due to extreme paranoia, but a 98 is a 98. See there it is again. My "youdabest" streak kicking in again. Why would I think I could go to Northwestern? Why does a small part of me still think this is just the worst dream ever? Why would I dream about watching 90210 if this was a dream? I do enough of that in my waking hours, for whatever reason. Then, Cornell and Dartmouth. My peppy of-course-you're-in streak was full blown for Cornell. Even after I did so horribly on my SAT Subject Tests I should've pulled my application right after taking it. I did better than 21% of people on my math section of the SAT Subject Test. That is downright embarrassing. I didn't even make top 50%. And, in my strong suit, in the areas where my scores always exceeded 30 on the ACT, only did better than 75% of people in Literature. Come on, idiot. Quit idioting. This is colleging. Let's do something impressive for once. Cornell doesn't want me. Dartmouth doesn't want me. Let's be real. They are pretty much the same school. Except Cornell is way better. I don't know why, but I know it is. Rejected a second time, rejected a third. Michigan. I had gotten into OSU, now I was waiting for the email saying, "We want you to be a wolverine! Here's a massive scholarship! Please just come here please! It only took so long to tell you because we wanted to rack up funds for your hugely huge scholarship! You've got a full ride and also we we actually pay you money to leave Ohio to come here!" And then it'd be so fun to post something to Facebook like, "Whoa. OSU acceptance vs. University of Michigan acceptance. What to do...? Maybe you guys can help me out in the comments" or something hideous like that. Even my neurotic internal cheerleader wouldn't disagree that such a status is obnoxious as all get-out, but I would've proudly sent that sucker into cyberspace. But, Michigan doesn't care that I'm wanting to compare two opposites who have both extended a hand to me. Michigan is fine with letting Ohio keep me. Well, I've got news for you Michigan. I am not so fine with letting Ohio keep me. You know what is the worst is part of me thinks that these colleges will read what I am writing and be like "You can't ever come to us because you talked bad about us and even though you have freedom of speech this is taking it too far." As if these colleges care about what I have to say. A lot of my friends were accepted to close to ten schools. It would have been pretty ridiculous to be accepted to nine schools, seeing as I applied to five, but more than one would have been nice. I'm not one of the kids who applied to one school and one school only because they know what they want and that's it done and done. I'm a girl that thinks herself way better than she is. That the only place who admitted her was the place she brushed aside and kept on the back burning as a last resort. I even changed up my general Common App essay a ton before submitting it. My dad helped me with one and he revised and revised and we worked to sculpt my Anne Frank essay into something beautiful. Then, before I submitted it, I decided I hated it. It was very late at night. I rewrote it, probably into a mess, and clicked "Submit" in terror, but with a bizarre sense of self-assurance. I guess sleep-deprivation and incurable narcissism could do that to a girl. I decided to look on Common App, just to see what crap I sent to these places. There is a typo in what I sent. The number oneTHENUMBERONE rule is not to have a typo. That shows you don't care. The lady that came to my English class said if she encounters a typo, she stops reading the essay then and there. "Because of Anne Frank, I know that it's okay to grow into yourself. I know
that itís okay to wait to share how you feel and what you want until you knowing you're telling the truth" REALLY THOUGH, MYSELF? REALLY YOU JERK?!? YEAH I FINISHED READING IT AND YES I REALIZE CAPS LOCK IS ON BUT I AM PRETTY PISSED BECAUSE THAT WAS ABSOLUTE CRAP THAT I SENT. THE COLLEGES THAT REJECTED ME WERE PRETTY GENTLE IN USING THE WORD "REGRET." Oh you regret that I can't come? I regret that I wrote an essay about sticking ticket stubs to my wall into of Nelson Mandella and Anne's Frank's specific experience. I regret that I revised the crap out of my dad's (who has served on admission committees, just as a side note) suggestions until I was left with crap. Typo-ed crap. I am a reek stinker. And no I'm not going to read through this because I'll just find a buttload stop with the toilet humor of typos and I can't take it.

Crap.

Of course my last decision of 2009 would be to bail on New Years Eve party plans with one of my best friends. Of course I wouldn't even have a real excuse. Of course I wouldn't have the decency to even think of one.

I went on a walk to try and think, starting out with the "I am a horrible person" outlook. A car whizzing by seemed to agree, as sped past me and splattered most of my left side with slush. I was a little taken back (the audacity!), but kept walking (I'm a trooper - what else could I have done? Curl up on the side of the road and wait for someone to find me and carry me home?). At the end of my walk, I came to a conclusion: "I am a horrible person".

What kind of teenager wakes up on New Years Eve and decides she'd rather play Bananagrams and drink spumate and set off Farmville fireworks at midnight instead of following through with normal fun plans with someone her age, with food and a sleepover? Plans that she'd been looking forward to a mere 8 hours before. What kind of person wants to hang out with the family that drives them crazy when they could be hanging around their friends? What kind of person can't even think to blame their parents for the change of plans when they bail?

Friend: So what do you what to have for dinner?
Me: I don't know if I can come.
Friend: What?
Me: I might be hanging out with my family.

How would a person respond to that? You invite someone over, offer them fun and food, and they accept, then they decide they would rather spend New Years Eve like they did when you were 6 and leave them in the dust. Why can't I go back? Where's my universal remote? Why couldn't I say:

Friend: So what do you want to have for dinner.
Me: Dangit! I can't come - my parents want me to be with the family. Which I understand, but I have to bail.
Friend: Oh ok. Well that's too bad. But that's okay. At least you have a valid excuse.
Me: Yep.

Or even better - I could have been normal and gone along with it:

Friend: So what do you want to have for dinner?
Me: Whatever you want. We had pizza last time though, so maybe we can change it up a little.
Friend: Chinese?
Me: Great.

What the heck is wrong with me? Why go out of a year like this? I can't call back and change why I can't come. I can't go back and say I actually can come. It's just an awkward uncomfortable I'm-stuck-and-it's-my-fault situation. And it sucks. Or sticks. Whatever.

Oh and leave it up to me to dedicate a blog entry to my horrible friend ways, proving myself right by not dedicating a journal entry to the fabulously elegant Amelia Diehl, who is turning a whole year older. I suck. Happy New Year.

Why is my life so weird?

Counselors and Sopranos and Conflict, Oh My!

I am finally out of choir and in acting. It's been a crazy ridiculous class switch, so crazy ridiculous I couldn't even narrow it down to one incredulous adjective crazy ridiculous, a good story if you want to hear it. I love acting. I hate choir. Problem solved.

Yesterday

What a day.

In chronological order:
- Discovered this gem of a website
- Discovered it was National Talk Like a Pirate Day
- Talked like a pirate
- Went to Subway to place an order that took thirty minutes to fufill (Nine five dollar foot longs take time)
- Took off band-aid
- Went to emergency room
- Returned from emergency room
- Brushed corn starch through hair
- Went to lame western themed church dance

If it kills me...if it kills me

I'd like to dance. I'd like to study abroad. No. I'd like to be abroad. I'd like to not have a plan, and just go. I'd like to go wherever I feel like, and work in cafes to make ends meet. I'd like to go to New Zealand and Hawaii and maybe even Arkansas. I'd like to be in Europe. I have no idea what I want to do with my life. But I have pictures in my head.

An apartment with worn glossy chestnut colored wood floor. The kind of house that is light and bright and has an sea salty fresh smell and a great view. The window open wide, a breeze winding gently through the house. A total paradise. White washed walls with rich splashes and shocks of color. Deep turquoise blue, burgundy. A yard of sand outside, and pretty glass bottles that glitter when the sun shines through them on the window sill. A soft tinkle of wind chimes from outside. Seashells and heavy thick ceramic dishes that are navy blue. A luxurious bed with fluffy white blankets and duvets and comforters and pillows galore. Walls that are in and of themselves collages or artistically crammed with photos.

I'd like to always have a book around to read, cheap fifty cent or less paper backs, a jumbled and beloved collection. I'd like to be fearlessly spontaneous and make bigger leaps than my quest to wear 12 hair clips in my hair to church today. I'd like to have furniture that has stories behind it, tall tales of lucky finds and garage sales. I'd like to have stories to tell bigger than throwing the frisbee up on the roof when a friend was over. I'd like to do a lot of things.

I'm torn between these vague desires and the Practical Becca. Focus on school. Good friends. Go to church. College. Family. Kids. Die.

Practical Becca kinda sucks right now.

There has to be a more upbeat way to end this.

iSpy a Musical Genius

regina spektor

I love her. She is my female Ben Folds equivalent.

And I know you love my song lists. This one is long.

Dance Anthem in the 80's
Two Birds
Raindrops
Better
Folding Chair
Eet
Love Affair